Red America
Part Eleven: In A New York Minute
Kitty watched in horror as the metal giant looked curiously at the limp, sagging figure of the red-headed woman he had just killed, and laughed in the strangely detached fashion that mirrored the way he had been speaking only a few moments beforehand. Then, tossing the body aside with bone-cracking force, so that it hit the closest wall and landed in a smashed and crumpled heap, the monster turned towards the small group of rebels – who, like the Soviet soldiers who had just witnessed the murder of their commanding officer, were frozen in place like rabbits caught in headlights – and began stomping towards them with brutally powerful resolve, every footstep causing the ground almost to shake.
"I don't like rebellion," the giant snarled, a devilish sneer etched crookedly onto his gleaming features. "Rebel filth like you deserves nothing better than to be exterminated. Goodbye." And at that moment, the giant stopped in his tracks, his eyes rolling up into his head for a moment or two, before he shook himself and re-focused his gaze on the broken corpse of his superior officer.
"You have murdered Major Grey," he said in a low voice, fury bubbling just beneath the surface of his words as he pointed to the upturned body lying against the wall, with greyish brain matter oozing from its shattered skull and pooling thickly around its shoulders like spilt glue. His face twisted itself into an enraged mask of hate, and, roaring in anger, he charged straight at Kitty. As he did so, she saw tendrils like those she had seen on Omega Red slither out of his bulging, bandaged wrists, slick with blood and oily slime. Instantly, her mind made a connection between the mangled surgical tools that she and the rest of her squad had seen on the way down to the lab where they were presently being pinned down, but just as quickly she discarded it, because she had far more important things to worry about. Phasing with a single thought, she swayed reflexively out of the steel behemoth's path so that his charge hit nothing but thin air. Snarling, he swung about on one heel and sent one razor-tipped tentacle snaking towards Hank with blistering speed, as the other big man made a charge of his own towards the enraged Russian. Hank managed to throw one meaty forearm up to intercept the tendril but as it wrapped around his arm, he was yanked off his feet and then hurled aside like a rag doll. He slammed into the nearest wall, bloody lines stitched across his forearm where the tentacle's sharpened tip had carved through his skin, and for a second or two Kitty thought he was dead. Then he twitched and spat a thick glob of blood-streaked spittle onto the ground, and a brief ripple of relief passed through her, before she realised that to have any chance against this brute she and her squad needed weapons – any kind of weapons.
"We need our guns back!" she yelled at Madrox, who was busy taking cover behind a cabinet full of bulging files when Kitty joined him, as bullets began to erupt from the Russian soldiers' newly-raised guns. Apparently their shock had begun to wear off, and they were supporting their hulking comrade as best they could while he began wiping his opponents out. Evidently they weren't going to try to arrest him for killing the redheaded woman; and for that, Kitty didn't blame them. He was apparently so enraged he might have killed them as well.
"Tell me something I don't fucking know," Madrox snarled, before a thin splinter of metal embedded itself deeply into his forehead. He shrieked in pain and then hurled a binder full of patients' notes at the closest soldier in a fit of hopeless anger, with blood trailing down the bridge of his nose and dripping onto the leg of his fatigues. It hit the soldier full in the face and sent him tumbling backwards, clutching his pulverised cheek. "You really have a talent for stating the goddamn fucking obvious, Kit." He wiped blood from his face and flicked it onto the white floor tiles, spraying bright red droplets across the pristine surface in a wide arc. "How the fuck have you survived this long?"
Kitty fought the urge to smile – right now was most definitely not the time for that, she decided – and nodded over to where Cecilia and Sam were backing nervously away from the huge Russian, who was stalking towards them with determined resolve, his hands flexing open and closed while his tentacles slithered through the air like snakes on the hunt for prey. "Give those two a hand," she said, helpfully slapping Madrox around the face so that a dupe popped into existence beside him. "I'm going to go get tooled up. Wish me luck."
"I think I'm gonna need all that luck myself," the first Madrox muttered. "Come on, loser. Might as well go out in a blaze of glory."
"Or as a greasy red smear," the second Madrox countered acidly.
"Yeah," the first Madrox replied in a flat kind of way. "See you soon, Kit."
And with that, the two Madroxes dashed across the lab with their heads down, hails of bullets following them as they did so. Kitty didn't look at them as she willed herself intangible again and ran out of cover. Keeping her head down instinctively, she moved quickly towards the pile of weapons that was stacked haphazardly behind the line of Russian soldiers and their new commanding officer, the weasel-like young man who had been standing behind the red-head like a beaten dog. As she neared their line she saw the young man firing his rifle from the hip – and also holding his left arm up and shooting what looked to be spikes of hardened ice at her, leaving a line of them embedded in the wall behind her as she ran, the spikes having driven themselves an inch deep into the plastic. "Die, you bitch!" she heard him scream as his rifle cycled dry and he began using both hands to fire the ice-spikes at her. "Fucking die!"
Kitty diligently ignored him as she neared the pile of weapons, but she knew that she'd soon have to go solid for a few seconds in order to even pick up one weapon – and that was the real problem with her idea. Great, she thought, mentally rolling her eyes at her own stupidity. Why didn't I think of this before? Then she noticed a hand grenade sitting at the top of the pile, staring her right in the face. A flash of inspiration suddenly lit up like a neon light in the back of her mind.
Gotta time this just right…
Diving towards it, she went solid just long enough to close her hand around the grenade and then phased herself through the weapons so that she had enough momentary cover to throw herself behind a bloodstained research table, pull the grenade's pin and hurl it towards a knot of Russian soldiers. "Fire in the hole!" she yelled as the grenade hit the ground, shredding the Soviet troops as it exploded. Even as she was dropping to the ground to cover her ears, though, she saw several ice-spikes punch their way through the table's thin metal skirt, barely inches away from her face.
"We're coming to get you, you little bitch," she heard the young man saying, every word dripping malice as he drew nearer to where she was hiding. "Time to die."
We'll see about that, asshole, Kitty thought sourly, scrabbling for another helping hand in the pile of weapons that lay beside her. Her frantic fingers found two pistols with full magazines, and she grinned in relief before dragging an automatic rifle out of the heap of weapons and taking it in both hands. That little prick of a Soviet officer wouldn't even know what hit him, she decided. As his voice got louder and louder, Kitty gathered strength in her legs and dived out from her hiding place, phasing right through the bloodied desk and past the young officer, causing him to let loose a spread of ice-spikes that hammered into every solid surface around her. As she did so, she cried "Jamie! Catch!" and threw the rifle towards where Madrox and two of his duplicates were standing. The closest Madrox caught the rifle in one smooth motion, while at the same time evading a wild, furious punch by the giant metal soldier, and then pumped the trigger twice quickly, spraying a lethal spread of bullets towards two of the steel monster's vulnerable squad-mates. They fell, clutching wounds that had suddenly flowered on their arms and legs, and then thrashed uselessly as the ground around them slowly turned crimson.
Kitty suppressed a haggard smile at that, and then ghosted towards her team as fast as she could, bullets whipping through her phased form as she did so. Leaping towards the steel giant as he stalked Sam and Cecilia like a panther, she reversed a serrated knife in her hands, and, as she neared him, drove the intangible blade into the back of his skull up to the hilt. Then she let go and watched the giant stagger, flapping at the knife with weak, kittenish hands before his knees folded and he fell heavily on his face, causing his Russian comrades to fall into a stunned silence. Kitty savoured the short pause as much as she could before she rejoined Madrox in his well-covered position, laden down with extra weapons.
"Damn, Kit," Madrox murmured as he cocked his rifle, "remind me not to piss you off."
Comrade-Colonel Elisabeth Braddock took her gloved hands away from her temples and sighed. It was a shame to sacrifice such a useful tool as Comrade-Lieutenant Rasputin, but the greater good had to be served, she supposed. Besides the fact that Omega Red's tentacles could just as easily be grafted to another willing volunteer, she needed as few witnesses to her murder of Major Grey as possible, and the more she could wipe out in the course of this engagement, the better. That was why she had engineered it so that Comrade Rasputin had been just sluggish enough to allow the rebel girl to jam a knife into the back of his head. Let her believe it was down to her own martial skill, Elisabeth decided – there would be time enough for her to have that proven otherwise. She still had to get out of the Empire State Building, after all, and Elisabeth had no intention of letting her get out alive.
She chuckled softly as she realised that she would most likely be commended for this – her superiors in the Kremlin would probably tell her that her actions here would be "a valiant defence of the Revolution", and pin another medal on her chest while showering her with slithering platitudes. Meanwhile, Major Grey would get nothing more than a few overly-earnest words over her coffin, and a memorial stone that nobody but the most dedicated of party officials would ever read. Elisabeth sneered to herself as she mulled that thought over briefly, savouring the irony that someone who had spent most of their life as the Kremlin's obedient lap-dog would get nothing, while someone whose military career had sometimes been furthered through tactics that the Russian government disapproved of, would be richly rewarded.
So much for all your power, Major Grey, she thought, satisfied. Now you're gone, and I'm still here. I hope you're satisfied. Putting her gloating aside for a moment or two, she put her fingers to her temples again and initiated telepathic contact with Lieutenant Drake. Status report, she said simply, knowing that Comrade Drake would only give her the most important information, and wouldn't waste her time with irrelevancies.
The rebels are pinned down, he replied quickly. Comrade Rasputin is dead, but they're not getting out of here alive – and their leaders aren't going to get anywhere, either.
Good, Elisabeth told her adjutant. Now, I'm afraid I'm going to have to recall you, Comrade Drake. Concede command to one of your NCOs and return to my office. She felt him begin to protest, and cut him off instantly. Now, Comrade Drake – don't make me have you court-martialled for insubordination. When she cut the telepathic contact, her fingers moved silently to the desk drawer to her right, where her Russian Army pistol was stored. Turning the drawer's small key and hearing the click of the lock as it was released gave Elisabeth a new perspective on what she was about to do – the lock either was locked or unlocked. There was no mid-point. Her actions now were the same – there could be no compromise between her two options. And besides, this was something she had to do personally – there could be no compromise there, either.
Shortly, there was a knock at the door, and she told Comrade Drake to enter. As he slipped silently through the door, she raised her pistol and fired three times into his torso, knocking him backwards into the doorframe. He staggered forwards a few paces, looking at her with confused, pleading eyes, and then she stood and moved towards him, cupping his shaking jaw in her hand. "I'm sorry," she said, for once meaning every word, "but this is the way it has to be, Comrade Drake. I can't have any witnesses." Drake crumpled to his knees, his strength finally giving out on him, and then fell flat on his face. Blood from his wounds spilled out around him in a wide puddle, surrounding his body with a crimson halo. Elisabeth looked down at the corpse, and said "You were a good officer, Robert." It wasn't the first time she'd used his first name, but Elisabeth felt, somehow, that it was right to do so now. "But you were a liability, and I can't afford any liabilities. Not now."
Elisabeth holstered her pistol and then left her office without another word, instead silently communicating with her other officers around the building in order to set things in motion in the way she desired them. Pulling back her right sleeve, she began counting the pale, faded tally-marks she had carved into her skin years before, brushing her gloved fingers over the small bumps and remembering the blood she had spilt to earn them, kill by gory kill. It was a long and laborious task, to be sure, but she hoped that by the end of this engagement, she might have another few scars to add to her total. She pulled the magazine of her pistol out and slapped it back into the butt of her gun reflexively, as if to make sure that it was properly cocked and ready to be fired. Old rituals never died, she thought with sour finality as she pushed the pistol back into its holster.
Kitty braced herself to break cover and fire a short burst from her pistols, when she suddenly heard the Russian troops start pulling back out of the med-lab. Astonished, she risked a glance out from behind her refuge and saw them moving through the door in a swift but still orderly manner, every weapon still raised high and every boot slamming into the med-lab's tiled floor with definite purpose. As she watched, one of the Russian troopers caught sight of her and fired a quick, opportunistic volley of rounds with his rifle, which didn't do anything more than just rattle her a little as they passed right through her face.
"What the fuck is this?" Madrox whispered, sounding just as stunned as she was. "They had us cold. They could have killed us right here."
"Who the hell cares?" Sam snapped, still clutching at the wounds on his chest and thigh. "We got more of a chance of getting out now. I say we take it."
"I don't think any of us would disagree, Sam, but we need to find Logan, and we need to help Hank," Cecilia said as she knelt by the unconscious form of her husband. "I think he's concussed – maybe a broken wrist too. There's no telling if he'll be able to walk without help."
"Then we might have to leave him here," Madrox said flatly. Cecilia started to swear at him, but he nodded towards the door. "Needs of the many, Cece. Hank would say the same, I bet. We don't leave him here, we all might die."
"Fuck you, 'best man'," Cecilia snapped, and began dragging the half-conscious, groggy Hank to his feet. "I'll carry him myself if I have to, but I'm not leaving him here."
Kitty ignored the argument for a moment and walked towards two black doors in the wall opposite her. She pushed them open and the sight behind them sent both a chill up her spine and a shudder through her guts. It was Logan, and he was being strung up in some kind of metal frame. Liquids laced with blood flowed in and out of him through long plastic tubes, and his eyes were fluttering beneath their lids as if he was having a hallucination of some kind. Kitty didn't dare imagine the kind of pain he was in, but she wasted no time in yelling out "I've found him!" Quickly her team-mates joined her, and her revulsion was soon matched by theirs as they saw what the Soviet scientists had done in the name of science.
"Jesus fucking Christ," Cecilia murmured as she stood with one arm supporting Hank's muscular bulk, one of his own meaty arms over her shoulders. "What did they do to him?"
"Using… healing factor… for soldiers," came a sudden hoarse whisper from off to one side. Kitty whirled, expecting to find another horrible experiment, but instead seeing Valerie Cooper simply tied to a chair with leather straps, bloody stitches sewn into her head and bruises peppering her flesh.
The first to react was Madrox. "Val!" he cried, clearly very surprised to see her alive. He dashed quickly over to where she was sitting and began loosening her bonds, grabbing one of Kitty's knives and slicing them in half with short singular strokes. Meanwhile, the rest of the squad bar Hank began pulling at the tubes tethering Logan to the metal framework, helping the little man down to the ground where he collapsed in a mangled heap. His wounds closed themselves quickly, but when he stood up again he still looked as if he would fall over again at any moment.
"You shouldn't have come," he whispered through a raw, dry throat as he accepted a welcome gulp of water from Kitty's small canteen. "They already got what they needed from me."
"What do you mean?" Kitty asked, unease creeping in at the edges of her voice as she did so. "What did they get?"
"Other than the location of every rebel base in this city?" Logan replied, his dry-leaves voice rustling from his lips. "They got my healin' power, kid. They copied it and they're mass-producin' it right now, right here. Sooner or later this city's gonna be crawlin' with unkillable Russkies."
"Then we have to stop them," Kitty said decisively, grabbing a bottle of surgical spirits and spilling it liberally around the med-lab. Flicking open her lighter, she hurled it into the closest puddle of liquid, making a flame leap into the air and scurry along the ground like lightning. As it did so, Kitty turned to her ragged team-mates and continued "Now, let's get out of here while the getting's good…"