The Viper Pit, a SFWish community server about XCOM fanfiction. Collecting one degenerate at a time. www.*discord.*gg / PBFpc4g
The car drove through the night.
Road lights drew shadows across the interior over and over again. The dim glow of the console provided the only steady source. The highway mulled over the driver's thoughts as the hum of tires caressed his brain.
A sharp rattling noise broke him out of the trance. Their shared soda cup was nearing emptiness as his companion sucked away at the straw, lone drops fighting with the force of gravity. Iso acknowledged the intrusive noise with a glance toward Will.
A funny comment, a remark or rebuttal was anticipated. But Will just turned his head back to the road.
Iso took a deep breath and set the empty cup back into its holder. She joined him in highway gazing, but to encourage thought instead of discouraging it.
"You're worried."
Will's two-fingered, underhand control of the wheel turned into four. "I'm fine."
Iso let the noise of the car fill the space between them, carefully planning her next words. "It's okay to talk with me about how you feel."
"You already know how I feel." His eyes stared blankly at the road.
"So you are worried?"
Will sighed and sunk into his seat. He wasn't going to get out of this one. A quick glance revealed Iso's eyes. Open. Receptive. Listening.
"Of course I'm worried. I want my father to like you. Obviously it's…"
Iso stared silently with her hands together. She tried this earlier at home. The built up tension, the prodding to meet his parents. His mother was nice and kind over the dinner table. But even she avoided the topic of Will's father. It was a forbidden subject that she finally pressured her partner into committing to. There was a hole missing that made up Will, and she wanted to be welcomed to see it. It was a matter of Will accepting the necessity.
"It feels like I'm crashing my car. I'm going to get hurt."
Iso frowned a little. His pain was her fault, indirectly. But she hurt deeper inside knowing he didn't understand how important this was to her.
"Look… I know you're worried. You're anxious. But knowing your family… that feels like a big step to me."
Will relaxed his shoulders, and the smallest, appreciative muscle tugged at his lips. He looked over and ignored the road, placing a hand on Iso's forearm.
"I cherish you Talaniso. I really do."
The viper gave a full, fangy smile back. "I love you too, Will."
A raindrop announced its presence with a tiny smack against the glass. As Will returned his eyes to the road he felt a peck on his cheek. With a blush he turned off his exit, the car's tires on the wet road humming a different tune. His focus sharpened as lazy bends in the highway turned into sharp corners and unpaved roads. He discovered his hands in an overhand grip as he parked his car in the humid woods.
Will slammed the door in the tepid rain. He was used to it. Georgia's precipitation wasn't going to yield with the arrival of summer. The night droplets were cool and refreshing compared to the muggy reminders of daytime rainfall. He watched the headlights fade away as he gazed at the small brick house, nestled away under great cypress trees. Out of the three windows one was lit. The living room cast out its contents into the rain, puddles and pools reflecting the incandescent yellow as drops fractured the image over and over again.
Will stared at the house. The paint wore thin. There was some clutter collecting on the side. The forest's branches, heavy with rain, bowed their boughs over the house. They owned more of the landscape than they used to.
A slam to the right confirmed Iso had left the car. The rain pittered away against her large hood, the house light revealing a nervous, but determined look.
Eric leaned back into his arm chair. The rain pittered away against the roof of his home, the explosive end of a thousand raindrops morphing into an altogether pleasing ambiance. Dinner plates were sitting in their designated soapy bath. The air conditioning kept it a nice cool, dry sixty four. Another successful day of retirement as he gazed into his living room.
His eyes perused the shining golds and rich colors of his memoirs. Occupying an entire wall of his living room, shadow boxes displayed medals and scraps of the past. Old Glory hung nicely near the door, it's fine reds and blues of yore tarnished by time. Various acknowledgements and tributes were written in newspaper clippings behind glass. His favorite achievements were proudly shining under the light. An International Service Cross, awarded for his extensive service across the world, and a Council Medal of Honor, earned by participating in numerous missions critical to its liberation.
The Medal of the Defender hung solemnly in the middle of the two. Below it a brass placard inscribed the word "Solo."
Eric glanced at the calendar next to him, on the end table. One month out of date. He flipped May for June. The year 2060 taunted him still, plastered above every month he's flipped through so far.
A frown appeared. He sighed, and picked up the book laying across his lap, letting the rain coax his mind back to a fictional world.
A slam from outside cut through the rain.
Eric looked toward the front door, the direction of the slam meaning they wouldn't pass by the window. He waited patiently with his ears doing as much work as his eyes.
He heard a conversation. Whoever it was knew him, seeing how he lived in the middle of nowhere. The idea of an unread message beckoned him to check his phone, which beckoned him further to get up and grab it from his room. His porch served as an excellent amplifier of sound however. He heard footsteps, but there was a slight dampening as he listened from his chair.
Relief found Eric as the door opened. The most familiar face in the world appeared. How could he not recognize his voice, or his footsteps? It was strange he never received a call or a text earlier, but it was a welcome–
A yellow apparition slowly came to form. The striking silhouette left no doubt as to what it was, but Eric's mind was blind to the possibility. Only until she came into full view did Eric compartmentalize, analyze and dissect the idea in front of him: A viper.
"Eric!"
Eric stared at the thing that was once a man. Just a few minutes ago he was walking, talking. Making conversation.
"Eric!"
His body laid quietly in the snow. Well, as quietly as singing flesh could be. What was his head had vaporized and left behind a successfully cauterized stump of a neck. The armor that was touted as the latest and greatest. His weapon, calibrated and formed to his liking. His training that marked him as the best, no, the only in the world.
All for a headless body slumped in the snow.
A hand hit Eric in the shoulder and forced his eyes to readjust. A woman stared at him, her blonde hair and sniper rifle marking her as Spades.
"Wake the fuck up!"
A sharp flash of green illuminated them both from above their log. Spades peeked over, and Eric ducked down further to think.
Wardog was dead. Quoda might still be alive, still probably surveying the octagonal building with his stupid drone. Spades had the best chance at a shot if she could set up.
He looked at the trees, gripped his shotgun and bolted. He had already set up a path of approach earlier. Wardog was supposed to cover him, but it's up to luck now. Eric sprinted through the snow and planted his boots behind another gargantuan pine. The snow gave no recourse, and the man slipped and tumbled into the fluffy pile of white.
"Shit!" He was exposed and on his ass. It would just take a couple fractions of a second for him to die now, like Wardog.
And in that exact moment a shot rang out, a bang that meant gunpowder.
A thud could be heard as the beast's three hundred pound body slapped the roof. He managed to post behind the tree, but his watch was late. His eyes quickly scanned the surroundings to make up for lost time.
Eric's panicked breathing slowed until his ears only reported trees brushing in the wind. Reinforcements will arrive any second now. The sniper and the ranger watched quietly. A minute passed by, and then another. Both operatives stared down the sights of their weapons, anticipation slowly tensing their trigger fingers.
It was the crunch of snow to the left that broke Eric's watch. Half tempted to bring his shotgun around, a quick glance confirmed that it was Quoda, who previously flanked left.
"GREMLIN's now positioned above the building. If anything comes in or out we'll know."
Spades kept her eyes on the building. "Are they screaming for reinforcements?"
Quoda sighed, still standing relaxed in the open. "We have about ten minutes."
Eric released his gaze on the building to address Quoda, turning around with a tense grip on his gun. "Let's get Wardog and call Firebrand."
"No."
Both Quoda and Eric looked down at Spades, her steely watch still covering the building.
Eric spoke first. "We lost a man. It's time to cut our losses."
"You slip on your ass once and you want to leave? Typical…" The last word trailed under her breath.
Eric's eyebrows fell. "I'm fresh, but that doesn't mean I'm a coward."
Spades huffed, affecting her grip on her rifle. For a second her eye disconnected from the scope. "A body bag won't be the only thing I return with. These are my people. They called us to help. If this building is why they are slaughtered in the night, then it's our job to destroy it."
Eric sighed at Spades' righteousness before she started up again. "Besides, maybe you'll get to test that steel on your back."
The sheath that he wore around his chest reminded him of its presence.
"We don't know what this building is. It could be a warehouse for all we know." Quoda said.
Spades looked down her scope. "They said to me, it's where the serpents come from."
Quiet overcame the landscape again. The building stood with a new purpose now, erected in the middle of Siberian snow.
Quoda's general calm faded as he brought his assault rifle to his shoulder. "Okay. Eric, grab Wardog's demolition charges. We'll set up to breach doors. Spades, can you see through those windows?"
"Not really. Separate rooms."
Spades detached her bipod from the log, and the two carefully approached the building, keeping the black streaks of trees between them and what seems to be the main entrance.
The sound of crunching snow faded as Eric stood above Wardog's body. It wasn't the gore that affected him. He tried to ignore the wound, the wrongness of a missing head on an armored torso. Eric ruffled through his kit, looking for unassuming white bars. Gravity reduced Wardog's limbs to a set of hinges. Eric's movements quickened, intensified. He found what he was looking for and buttoned the pieces into a magazine pouch. With a quick pull Eric ripped Wardog's tags from him. Forgetting he didn't have a neck, the force was unnecessary, Eric's fist almost hitting himself in the face.
He marched toward the military structure, imagining its destruction. The squad of three set up on the wall of the complex, ears tuned for footsteps, slithering, anything that could mean death. Only the wind answered back.
Quoda acknowledged the obvious. "Anyone else find it strange they're not flooding out to get us?" He asked, his eyes on his wrist tablet as he attempted to crack open the main electronic door.
"Maybe no one's home." Eric suggested.
Spades remained silent as Quoda's face lit up with green. "We're in."
Eric felt Spade's hand on his back as she threw in a smoke grenade. Strangely, the lights were turned off, the interior of the building returning only darkness.
Spade tapped twice on his side, meaning it was time. As the ranger's eyes adjusted he could see the interior features of the building draped in smoke. A simple hallway forced Eric to choose to look right, expecting his squad to cover his left.
A thud, and then another thud reverberated through the wall he posted himself on. Quoda and Spades made it in. With no gunshots.
"Where the hell are they?" Eric's finger held the trigger taut.
Heavy breathing was the first response. This is an Advent structure. There was a guard on the roof who caught Wardog. They should be under fire, under attack. But nothing.
"Where's the center of the building Quoda?" Spades asked.
"GREMLIN's got us near it. Let's head east and see what we can find."
Eric stepped forward with Spade's pistol near his shoulder. Quoda covered their backs as the trio headed further into the structure.
"What do you see?"
Eric thumbed his flashlight. "Row of doors on the right. Opening to the left."
"Head left. That's the center."
The soldiers ran through the darkness, eyes watching for any movement. Their boots echoed down the hallways. This building's walls weren't just exposed plumbing and wires. The floor wasn't an array of metal plates. It was smooth, simple. Almost seemed like a human construction, or something Advent would build in the city.
The next room was large, about the size of a basketball court. Flashlights cast shadows on rows of tables and… chairs.
"Here we are." Quoda found the sticks of explosives on Eric's belt.
"Go for it."
Quoda let his rifle hang as he retrieved Wardog's high explosives off of Eric, enough to destroy a bridge.
Eric took a knee to steady his shot. There were three other entrances into the area, each a possible source of the enemy. He scanned from left to right, knowing… hoping his flashlight was bright enough to affect the aim of his enemies. But on the floor, where his light caught the undersides of a few tables, laid a pair of eyes.
Eric fired instantly at the glow. He blinked, and when he could see again a fine splash of yellow had cascaded across the surroundings of the unknown agent.
Quoda dropped the explosives to retrieve his rifle. Every door was covered by a gun as Eric tried to understand what he shot.
"Jitters got you Eric?" Spades asked.
"A… Viper. Hiding under the table there."
The room crackled in response to the buckshot that tore through its walls. Still nothing.
Quoda stared ahead. "What the fuck is this place–"
Green shot above Eric. The heat of the plasma jet dared to singe his skin. He switched targets and fired instantly. He fired again and again, every shot meant for a glimpse of yellow he might have seen out of the corner of his eye.
He pulled the trigger again and readied his shoulder, but only heard a click. Eric backed away immediately to find a counter to hide behind, enabling the safe reload of his weapon.
The room was full of noise as the walls, shot by bullets and plasma, shed their broken contents under the sudden stress. Those were vipers, hoods on their heads and plasma rifles in their arms. He ran through his memory to see at least two confirmed kills, one smashing back as his buckshot hit its torso and another receiving impromptu facial reconstruction surgery.
"Quoda?" He tried the technician first.
Nothing.
The room enveloped him as it creaked and groaned.
"Spades!" He called out.
"I'm over here!" She responded, on the opposite side of the counter. Eric quickly vaulted over to see the sniper on the interior, blood splattered across her head.
Eric's breathing accelerated. "Fuck, did they get you?"
Her wide eyes remained on the ground. "They got Quoda."
Almost on queue, a human groan could be heard from their previous position. He was the only one standing up when the firefight started.
Eric jumped over the counter again with his shotgun full. He scanned the doorways that were once the positions of their enemies, seemingly empty again. Once his flashlight reached the growing pool of crimson he knew where he was.
Quoda laid on the ground with a divot in his chest the size of his fist. The armor stopped the plasma, but only enough to prevent the jet from piercing through him. Instead of cauterization, his organs received liquefaction. Steam from his right lung caught the light.
Eric's stomach turned as he gripped his squadmate's hand. Quoda's eyes were barely present.
"Firebrand, this is Reynard." Eric stopped as he tried to find the words to say in his transmitter. "Two casualties. Requesting evac."
Firebrand copied, without giving an estimated time of arrival. They both knew Firebrand was required to drop them off miles away, where he was keeping a holding pattern to stay out of detection. Now it didn't matter.
Eric scanned his squadmate's body. His eyes were frantically trying to find something, anything, somehow if he knew something he didn't know he could…
"Eric." Spades' voice found its way into his ears.
The ranger stood up and turned around, teeth clenched.
"Explosives set. Just need to get out and we'll det."
"They killed Quoda."
"I know. We'll exit out of one of the separate rooms, the main entrance is probably covered now."
Eric put his eyes back onto Quoda's. The grasping remains of consciousness had left.
"Got it." Eric replied.
He stood and readied the shotgun in his arms. Dark red stained his heavy coat, the occasional droplet of blood seeping out of the fabric. The hidden rage inside of him grew stronger. He knew he had to keep calm, stick to training, keep his finger with a set tension on the trigger. His knuckles grew white gripping his shotgun.
Quoda's pool of red ended as the two moved through the room full of tables and chairs, flashlights scanning the destruction. A splashing noise came from Eric's boot. He looked down to find the hiding viper from earlier.
Its face took the full brunt of his shot. Its hood was full of holes, its forehead a mangled mess of brain and scale. Eric expected the metallic scent of blood, like with Quoda, but it seems viper ichor lacked that trait. It was a strange thought, but the lack of a weapon in the viper's arms only confused him further. And this viper… was smaller than usual?
"No weapon." Eric pointed out the oddity to Spades, tapping the creature's forearm with his boot.
"Keep going."
"I hit two, not including this one. You?"
"I hit one." Her usual stately tone wavered.
"One confirmed. Three missing. Great."
The second viper was confirmed as the exited out one of the doorways. This viper was armed, but had no armor save for a soaked gray jumpsuit, and was normal sized. Perturbing thoughts itched Eric's mind, but he would have to save them for later. Eric's mind drifted to the Avenger's halls. How they would have to explain how the mission went. How they lost two operatives, how they still have no clue what the purpose of the building is. This whole op was a fucking mess.
The hallway lost its echoey quality. An orange liquid that coated their soles cushioned their steps. They had their eyes on one of the doors in the outer hallway, one part of a row. Upon closer inspection, the doors here used actual doorknobs, not some automatic sliding slab of alloy that the aliens swore by. Eric pushed his curiosity to the back of his mind. He had to stay sharp, focused. Alive. His hand grasped the cold knob.
"Ready?" He asked Spades. She nodded.
The door opened and cast out a brilliant white light. Although they were indoors, this room had a large window, the view capturing all of the snow outside and allowing it to reflect in. Eric checked his corners and ran into the center of the room. He saw yellow, and all of his training told him to fire. But he didn't.
A mass of scaly, serpentine forms cowered at the back corners of the room. Their posture didn't scream enemy or hostile. It screamed don't look at me. Don't shoot. Their arms were by their sides, a few vipers shielding other vipers… and they shared the same size as the viper he shot in the commons.
That's the word.
Eric's left ear deafened. A wetness hit his face, and one of the vipers recoiled backwards. Spades' revolver lit the room as she fired again.
Eric swung around, his hands foregoing his shotgun to snatch Spade's arm. But he was too late.
A massive yellow form was behind her. An open vent in the ceiling revealed its origin. The viper struck upward, sinking her claws into Spade's side as it tackled her. The two barrelled past Eric and slammed into the ground.
Eric reached behind his back and equipped his sword. Spades writhed on the ground, trying to escape the viper who already sunk its fangs into her. With a swift movement Eric's blade chopped straight into the back of the viper.
Spade's screaming ended as the viper's hiss began. Eric yelled, his arm plunging the blade into the floored viper again and again. The viper slammed up, somehow ignoring the damaged muscles in its back, and faced Eric with her deadly maw. Absolute rage enveloped this creature's face. Its hood flared, teeth extended, eyes red with murder.
With both arms, Eric's blade cut cleanly through her trachea. Its hands clasped at the gouge, and the beast collapsed onto the floor.
Eric panted in the middle of the room. The yellow blood covering him was finding its way down, flowing across his arm and dripping off the machete's hilt. His eyes wandered the space. The last fluttering breaths of life escaped the attacking viper, along with Spades' as she died on the other side of the room.
The vipers in the back somehow found a way to smoosh in further. One of their peers laid in a pool of yellow on the floor, repelling them from a semi organized group into two masses for each corner.
Quiet hissing underlied Eric's heavy breaths. Pairs of eyes waited, these younger vipers of different colors creating an abstract painting in their corners of the room.
There was no point to what Eric was about to do. It was contradictory to his initial reaction when he entered the room. It was contradictory to his rational mind solving the puzzle of this building's purpose. It was contradictory to the brief feeling of guilt that he pushed far, far down when he first killed the small viper hiding in the cafeteria. But his entire team, his friends, were dead. If only he saw the sniper. If only he saw the guard who aimed at Quoda. If only he heard something in the vents above. His mind was washed with a pulsing white, the clashing of humanity's instinct to survive and the mind's instinct to understand. This failure was his fault.
But the mind always finds something else to blame.
"Pa?"
Eric's hands were clamped to the arms of his chair. He realized and let go, returning to reality to see the viper next to his son.
They stared in confusion, waiting with anticipation.
"Get out." He mumbled, scarce under his breath.
"What..?" Will turned his head to hear.
"GET OUT!"
Eric launched out of his chair. Will and Iso jolted back instinctively as he screamed his two words. His eyes lost any portion of humanity, his teeth clenched together like a vise and a posture poised to attack. The man previously thought as a father now had more in common with a cornered, feral animal.
Will found himself in front of Iso. His hands were splayed backwards, his foot somehow decided to step in front of her in the few calculating moments his brain had to analyze the threat. He stared down the beast. His heart beat as a chemical fist slammed into it, demanding the body be ready. He was afraid. But his heart sunk as it throbbed.
Will's eyes pleaded as he stared across the room into his father's eyes. He received nothing.
He felt Iso's quickened breath on his neck, her hand on his back. His heart beat harder.
Will lowered his hands into fists. His eyes reflected back his fathers. He took Iso's shoulders in one arm and headed for the rain. With both outside, Will tore at the doorknob to his father's home, the slam shaking the walls of the house more than a yell ever could.
Eric found himself alone.
His ears slowly succumbed to the sound of the rain. Fists unclenched, muscles relaxed, a strenuous ache overtaking his aging bones. His mind went through a few steps as it rebooted. He felt the carpet between his toes. He was in his home. And he just saw his son, the posture, their attitude, the space between them, they were…
With time to think, the man's mind became a collapsing wall of emotions. Years of frustration. Thousands of regrets. A rage so pure struck him and paralyzed him. His outburst earlier was his brain's only possible way to continue functioning in some capacity. The purity he felt now was due to the single reason behind his rage: himself.
His eyes glanced toward his shimmering wall. It was ugly. Disgusting. His mind demanded him to get out. To escape.
The coolness of the rain was barely registered as Eric walked out the back of his house. It thundered upon him, soaking his clothes and creating rivers across his face. He didn't care.
Eric sat down with his house's light behind him. He cast a long shadow across the forest floor, cutting an outline of himself in the downpour. He wanted to scream again as his memories forced every mistake to the forefront of his thoughts. He wanted to scream until he ran out of air to breathe.
Instead, for the very first time, the veteran wept.
