Ch. 49: Apocalypse: Bad Influence

A.N.:

Hey everyone!

I hope everyone had a great Winter Break!

Sorry about how long it is taken me to update and the short chapter length. It is that time of the year for drama unfortunately. I went ahead and posted this because it has taken me so long. I will try to get another chapter typed up and posted soon.

To be honest, typing up long chapters is starting to get to me. Just, it takes up massive amounts of time for me to type up long chapters, proof them, and then post. So…I might go back to shorter chapters posted more often. Would that be acceptable? In my opinion, that would be easier on the readers.

Oh, and I was tempted to post a new Christmas Short. However, as with A Christmas Story 2 (yes, there was a sequel), Christmas Specials should NEVER have sequels.

Anyway,

I reveal something about Alma that I have been hinting at for a while and the reason why she often has knowledge about things that no one else in this universe does. It makes sense if you think about it. They do all bear resemblances to each other.

As always, read and review if you want.

As I moved down the concrete steps into the cold, damp bunker interior, I sensed Alma peering into my mind out of concern and confusion for my sudden change in mood. I could feel the telltale sensation of spiked numbness, which vaguely reminded me of an "asleep" appendage, slowly traveling around my skull's interior. However, I shut her out of my psyche out of shame. How could I explain this to her?

She had forgiven me a long time ago for leaving Fairport when I was eighteen. I just could not handle my family any longer. If I had stayed, I would have killed myself. How could have been so selfish? I betrayed the only person that loved me and that I loved in return. For what? Becoming a butcher that had killed so many people?

Every decision that I had made had only caused me to become more of a monster. Every single life that I had taken, every life that I had destroyed, and every life that I had failed to protect, I saw their faces every time that my mind became idle. I remembered them all. A life was a life, no matter the circumstances. Everything had a right to exist from the particle of dirt on the ground to the human being standing on top of said particle of dirt. The people that I had, and would, cut down had just as much of a right to exist as I did.

However, of all the things that I had done, leaving Alma in Fairport was the one that I struggled with the most. At the time, I could not remember her due to Armacham's drugs. In my mind, that did not reduce the guilt that I felt. My only friend and lover, and I had left her to die. I had since learned that she had already died by that time. Moreover, she had assured me that I had nothing to be sorry for and that she had never blamed me for anything that had happen to her.

"Michael, please, tell me what's wrong. You're hurt…I don't like it when you are hurt."

By then, I had reached the bottom of the stairs. Before me was a straight corridor approximately forty yards long. The slime-covered concrete walls were simple and flat, giving the corridor a depressing, rectangular appearance. Every ten yards, there were sealed, heavy, reinforced steel doors that reminded me of vintage submarine watertight hatches because of the strange tubes on its exterior that operated the locking mechanism. At the far end of the corridor was an exit that was nothing more than a rectangular opening that was narrower than the surrounding path.

With my beaten assault rifle at the ready, I moved to the far right wall and then crouched. With my senses strained, I slowly moved forward along the damp concrete floor towards the first door. Subconsciously, I used my left hand to grab my rifle's sling and draw it up closer to my weapon by pressing the section of the sling against the bottom of my rifle's foregrip with my gloved palm. I had no idea what to expect on the other sides of these doors, but I had no choice but to neutralize any hostile contacts in the areas beyond them.

As my team made it to my location, I turned back towards them and then motioned with a nod of my head towards the other doors. Silently, my veteran allies moved in a similar cautious manner to the other doors. Foxtrot 813, Sergeant Morales, and Lieutenant Stokes went to the second door while Juggernaut, Bravo 2, and Sergeant Price, a Delta Force Operative from Fairport, went to the third door. Sergeant Passalaqua, Sergeant Tanner, and Sergeant Jericho went to fourth door with Passalaqua as their point man.

Upon reaching the door, I paused and then listened. I detected a faint mechanical click that sounded all too similar to a firearm's bolt begin pulled back and then released. Machine gun alley deathtrap. Likely preplanned and protected inside a concrete housing. Breach, smoke, flash, storm before defenders can react, and mop up survivors.

"Michael, your all-powerful wife is right here, remember?" my enchanting companion asked through our bond.

Before I even realized what I was saying, I replied, "No, too risky…you might get hurt…I am not going to put in harm's way."

With a slow, stunned tone, Alma asked, "Michael?"

Trying to regain my composure, I explained, "I mean…uh…I don't…"

My wife interrupted with a disarming tone, "It is sweet that you want to protect me, my love, but don't worry. I'll be fine…after all, I'm Alma."

Trying not to further embarrass myself, I replied, "Right, of course, my dear. Let's do it!" My companion purred suggestively, causing me to groan and then remark, "Alma, you have a filthy mind."

I sensed her pout in an adorable manner before she replied, "But I like sex…especially with you…you're so cute when you are beneath me and inside of me." She then teased with her child form's voice, "You like your filthy little girl, don't you? Does Michael enjoy his wife's wight wittle woles?"

I turned back to find her child form's face inches from my own. I felt as if I was drowning in the onslaught of the psychic power that she emitted in such an unnervingly casual manner. I idly wished that I could have seen the look on the Project Origin scientists' faces when they saw that Alma's telepathic signature had not only remained active even when her heart had ceased to beat, but that it had also continued to increase exponentially in strength as she was finally freed from her mortal body. How does one handle the realization that, due to their greed, they have managed to unleash an incalculably powerful demigoddess that was determined to bring the full extent of her rage down upon them?

In the brief moment that we stared into each others eyes, I felt a sharp stab of agony in my chest. I had traded this beautiful woman to be Sergeant Becket? Sensing my distress, Alma cupped my left mask-shrouded cheek with her pale right hand. To everyone else, my beloved wife was an infallible, unbreakable being that never suffered from self-doubt or any other "human" problems. However, despite her abilities and her immortal condition, Alma was very human. We were both extremely sensitive to each others emotions and, despite her dominatrix demeanor, she was constantly second-guessing herself when it came to me.

I leaned into her touch to show my gratitude before I motioned that it was time to get to work. My companion nodded in return and we both stood. Along with Alpha 1, we faced the worn steel door. My brother retrieved a flashbang tactical grenade from his equipment rack along his heavy armor with his gloved left hand. As he held the black tube-like device in his hand, he gave me a slight nod.

The raven-haired goddess beside me asked, "Would you like to do the honors, my love?"

I replied, "No, my dear, you can have them."

She asked, "You sure?"

I replied, "I insist."

My wife asked with an amused tone, "The man insists?"

Alpha 1 remarked, "Uh, remember we talked about you two doing...whatever...this thing is...right?"

Alma remained straight-faced as she pointed at me, looked at him, and then said, "But the man insists."

I joined in as I added, "The man does insist."

Then, we both said in a singsong tone, "The man insists." My brother let out a noise that vaguely sounded like a sigh, causing Alma and I to laugh for a moment.

When we stopped laughing, I said, "You're the best wife ever." She winked at me before her enchanting orange eyes began to burn with sadistic pleasure. Before my eyes, her child form transformed into the murderous little girl in the blood-stained red dress that every single being rightfully feared. Her shiny hair once again hung down to shroud nearly the entirety of her heart-shaped face save for her glowing eyes lit up by hellfire while a shimmering black miasma appeared around her frame.

Meanwhile, my frame had become enshrouded by a hellish red aura as my own immense psionic power surged from inside of me. Such was the disturbance of my own psionic power that my HUD began to flash sporadically until, finally, the display powered off completely. The three of us faced the door and, with a mere nod of her head, the immortal killer sent a massive psychic blast into the steel obstacle.

Giving off an ear-shattering screech, the reinforced door submitted to the onslaught and flew backwards as it tore its surrounding frame out of the concrete wall around it. Before the door had even hit the floor, my brother had tossed in the flashbang grenade. I was unable to decide what caused more of a disturbance, the door crashing onto the floor a good foot from its former threshold or the grenade detonating. However, I hardly had any time to ponder that particular question before, with my dented rifle at the ready and my reflexes activated, I stormed into the area beyond.

I found a similarly rectangular space beyond the threshold. With the world around me moving at a snail's pace, I immediately focused on the business end of a Russian RPK light machine gun that was protruding from a slit in a concrete wall, which was protruding from the left wall to about halfway into the passageway. My honed combat instincts made me move almost autonomously as I aimed through my pseudo-ACOG scope and fired fifteen rounds in a line starting from the bottom of the protruding wall up to just above the slit before the machine gun's operator had time to react.

The 7.8mm rounds from my Patten Assault Rifle were deceptively potent. While they lacked the raw power of the 12.7mm or .50 caliber rounds often associated with "material penetration", the 7.8mm rounds were still capable of penetrating material such as reinforced concrete. The hell soldier operating the RPK was cut down by the penetrating rounds from my rifle and I continued forward.

As I neared the now neutralized machine gun nest, I noticed that the passageway beyond it widened significantly to the point of being nearly six times wider. The space I encountered beyond appeared to be some kind of supply cache because there were at least twenty large, metal storage boxes stacked up in columns around the room that was about the size of a typical high school gymnasium. The room was a dead end and appeared to be octagonal in shape.

Among the columns of storage boxes, I saw ten hell soldiers. Five of them were the standard grunts, two appeared to be technicians because of their lack of combat armor or weapons, two were close quarters brawlers armed with combat shotguns and heavier armor, and one was an imposing "commander" that sported heavier armor than the standard grunts and a distinctive black aura which signified his link to Akira. Upon identifying my targets, I took aim at the commander and neutralized it with the remainder of my clip. I then quickly holstered my rifle across my back by its strap and drew my stainless steel Super Redhawk .44 Magnum Revolver from its holster on my right leg. Just as the hell soldiers were finally raising their weapons to open fire at me and my reflexes were about to deactivate, I took aim and fired a round from my hand cannon into the center of one of the heavy soldier's gasmask.

The echoing thunder of my hand-held piece of artillery vibrated the walls of the room while the round obliterated the damned soul's head. My reflexes deactivated just as I managed to get behind the minor protection of the nearby protruding concrete wall. Alpha 1 quickly backed me up by rushing forward to be next to me while firing his scavenged Penetrator into the surviving heavy soldier. The 10mm rods pierced the body of the hell soldier, shredding its frame until it burst into a cloud of ash.

My brother joined me behind the wall and, while we were reloading our primary weapons, I felt the change in the air that signaled the coming demise of the remaining hell soldiers. A soft giggle echoed through the room as the overhead lights began to flicker. Moments later, the scorched humanoid skeleton of one of the soldiers flew past us as it dissolved into a cloud of ash. Gunfire filled the air for a moment before the sound of inhuman agonized cries replaced it.

By then, I had reloaded my rifle. Leaving the cover of the wall, I was meet by the sight of the remaining hell soldiers being levitated in the air above Alma in a circle as the room was engulfed by flames. However, I noticed different about her. Instead of her red dress, she was wearing a soot-covered, old-fashioned, blue school dress. Meanwhile, her eyes were nearly jet-black, and she had a cruel sneer as she glanced at her victims. Then, before our eyes, she vaporized the hell soldiers with the raw edge of her rage. The black particles of their remains rained down onto her frame, coating her in a light layer of powder.

I admit that I was slightly unsettled by her new appearance and the frigid, icy stare that her jet-black eyes held. While I had gotten used to Alma and her psychopathic tendencies, I had found that she often held back unless her wrath was invoked by ignorant, would-be assailants. Alma was not violent in nature. In fact, she was a very peaceful individual. I admit that it had been so long since she had demonstrated her capacity for brutality and sadism that I had somewhat forgotten that she was death incarnate for those that fell on the business end of her power.

I approached her and tried to hide my fear by remarking, "I like your new form."

My wife's eyes changed back to the glowing orange orbs that I was so accustomed to as she gave me a confused look. Then, as if she suddenly realized her different appearance, her eyes widened momentarily before she gave me an embarrassed smile. Her attire changed back into her iconic red dress as she remarked with a humorous tone, "Oh, sorry…I got carried away."

Confused, I said, "That dress…I feel like…I've seen it…before."

Alma smiled before she replied, "Nonsense, my love."

I was certain that I had seen a dress similar to the one she had been wearing somewhere. I argued, "But…I…"

She assured me, "It is nothing, Michael."

I studied the dark-haired goddess before me for a moment and then realized something remarkable about her that had not crossed my mind before. I smiled slightly and then asked, "You have many names…don't you?"

Alma asked in turn, "Would you love me any less if I do?"

I laughed briefly and then replied, "No, of course not."

She smiled and then nodded as she remarked, "In that case, then…yes…I am a multidimensional being…if that was what you meant. Constants and variables...some things change, such as my name, but others stay the same."

Suddenly feeling less important, I said with a saddened tone, "I see…"

My companion assured me as she moved closer, "Michael, it doesn't mean anything…you're the only one that has my heart."

I asked timidly, "You…mean…that?"

She smiled brightly before she replied, "Of course I do."

I smiled in return and went to embrace her but stopped when I noticed that the tips of one of the patches of manifested flames were curled towards the nearest section of the surrounding wall. I nearly face palmed in irritation of my own lack of perception. Naturally, the surrounding metal boxes had to have come from somewhere else. The required manpower it would have required to move the large, bulky containers alone would have rendered their transportation into the bunker in a manner that we had entered it logistically unsound.

Sensing my line of thought, Alpha 1 remarked, "That would explain the machine gun emplacement by the entrance." My brother moved past us to the wall sections around the bent flames. Without speaking, he began to move along the contours of the wall while knocking on the center of the concrete sections with his left fist every few feet. Finally, his knocking resulted in a dull, hollow report and he stopped. I moved forward and stood next to him as we both inspected the innocent-looking section of the wall.

If my suspicions were correct, then the entrance would not be hidden in a clever manner and the façade before us was merely for aesthetic purposes. I failed to see any scratch marks on the floor in front of the façade so it either raised or lowered rather than swung out to allow access into the area beyond. As I scrutinized the bland surface of the concrete section before me further, I was able to make out a spot along the left side near the center that did not match the rest of the wall. Upon inspecting the spot with my gloved left hand, I discovered that it was just a covering for an elevator call panel.

"Holy concealment, Batman."

I groaned at my wife's comment and then said, "And you complain about my jokes being lame."

She stuck her tongue out at me before she countered, "At least mine aren't about some lazy cartoon with a hippie, a talking Great Dane, a narcissistic jock, a want-to-be model that needs to eat something already, a ginger nerd, and a van that they apparently all sleep in but are still 'just friends' like that is completely normal and not weird at all."

I snapped, "This coming from the woman that raped a man and nuked a city."

She huffed and then countered, "And you married your rapist…we have all done questionable things, you jerk."

I faced her as I growled, "Do I need to slap a bitch?"

She narrowed her eyes menacingly and spread her arms out on either side of her small frame as she challenged, "Come at me, bro."

I replied, "I'm not your bro, friend."

My wife countered, "I'm not your friend, buddy."

I barked, "I'm not your buddy, bro."

Alma replied, "If I am a bro, you are a faggot."

I growled in irritation before I said, "You are so damn frustrating, you know that?"

She smiled with primal pleasure before she egged me on, "Yeah? What are you going to do about it huh? What are you going to do to me?"

After I dissolved my ski mask and holstered my rifle, I grabbed her and then roughly pinned her against the concrete façade. She started to cry out in delight but I silenced her by forcibly kissing her so deep that my tongue reached the top of her throat. However, Alma was quick to recover and it was only mere seconds later when she wrapped her arms around me to hold me close with her left hand ending up at the back of my head and her right hand ending up at the top of my neck.

Before I could react, she had bitten my tongue and then countered with her own assault. I tried to match her enthusiasm but quickly realized that my efforts were foolhardy gestures and I was left with no choice but to let her exert her dominance in our embrace. While we continued our heated duel, I briefly pondered if I should feel some revulsion at myself for so shameless engaging with Alma's younger form in this manner. I dismissed the idea however. I could not care less about what other people thought about the nature of our relationship anymore.

When we finally parted, Alma teased me, "There is hope for you yet, my dirty little boy." I noticed that I had subconsciously raised up the skirt of her dress and cupped the perfect contours of her left buttocks with my gloved right hand. She, in turn, had wrapped her skinny legs around my waist to straddle me as I continued to press her against the wall.

I shot back, "You are such a bad influence."

She licked my lips before raising her eyebrows briefly as she smirked at me. In response, I leaned in and teased the left side of her neck by lightly kissing and biting the soft skin. My teasing succeeded in causing Alma to let out a passionate moan. When I withdrew from the side of her neck, I noticed that she was blushing faintly, which, made her pale skin give off a faint glow that complimented the glow given off by her blazing eyes. To my surprise, she suddenly pulled herself up and leaned in close to my right ear. Then, she whispered, "Looks like you got the uniform and the girl...huh…Sergeant…Becket?"

I whined, "But…I…left…y-you."

The raven-haired child replied, "Michael, listen to me. I. Do. Not. Blame. You. I would not have blamed you even if there was something that you could have done...which, there wasn't." I started to respond, but stopped when I heard Alpha 1 open one of the metal boxes. I withdrew from Alma as I rematerialized my mask. Upon turning back towards my brother, I found him retrieving a Volmer Automatic Shotgun from the container that he had opened.

He looked at me while he was inspecting the weapon and said with his distorted voice, "If this bunker has a cargo elevator, the rest of them most likely do as well. Eighty-percent chance that there are connected underground networks between the bunkers along the coast. Ninety-percent chance that if we follow this bunker's access tunnel, it will lead us to the central command bunker for the entire defensive line along the coast."

I nodded in agreement. By then, my HUD glasses had reset and powered back on. The partially functional readout was still reorienting itself as I spoke into my com link, "All units, we have located a cargo elevator that most likely leads to an underground network that connects the defensive positions along the coast to a central command center. I want all search teams locate the one for their bunker and send a squad into it to clear it out. Alpha 1 and I will follow the one for our bunker to the command center."

Then, I said, "Keira, finish up here and then assist 1st Battalion in clearing out the trenches."

Her image appeared in my HUD as she responded, "Roger that, Becket." As her image left my readout, I heard the distinct sound of an elevator locking into place. I turned and saw that Alma had called the elevator and that the concrete façade was now replaced by a well-used freight elevator similar to the ones that I had encountered in Fairport.

The open platform only had the skeleton-like metal beams and the overhead covering of thin metal mesh around the functional circulation fan for the protection of the occupants. The metal floor of the platform was dirty and had deep scratch marks along its worn surface. The metal diamonds on the floor had been worn down to their base, so the platform was perfectly flat. A stack of metal boxes was in the left corner of the van-sized platform.

Alma materialized sitting on top of the stack in her child form with her legs dangling over the side. After Alpha 1 and I entered the elevator, I pressed the "down" button and we began to descend into the darkness below.