"Archangel! We know you're in there!"
The Blue Suns Sargent pounded on the apartment door with his armored gantlet. Finally, they had tracked the bastard down! The dark knight of Omega and his team had slipped up and the Blue Sun had taken full advantage, separating the Turian leader from the group. They had chased him all across the station to this very door, eager for a fight and a promotion.
"Open up!" the Sargent roared again, pounding the door. From the other side came shout, though none of the squad could make out the words. "We'll blow the fucking door down! You hear me? We don't care who you're hiding with, they're dead because of you! You hear me you fuck?!"
Silence.
"Alright," the Sargent growled, motioning to his demo expert. "Hand me the breachers. We'll-"
The door suddenly opened and he whirrled around, weapon primed, only to come face to waist with olive green metal. Growing paler each second, he slowly looked up to meet the single blazing eye of Cherno Alpha. The monstrous machine looked down at him and gave a questioning rumble.
"Uh... Archangel?" the Sargent asked, suddenly very willing to make peace under the scrutiny of the Bane of the Maws.
Cherno thought for a moment, scratching the place where his chin would have been, then shook his head.
The Sargent scowled. "We know he's here. Just hand him over and there won't any problems."
Again the Jaeger shook his head, letting out a warning growl, then stepped back, shutting the door behind him.
The Sargent snarled and stepped forward to pound on the door again. His men took ten very wise steps back.
"Archangel! Come out!" he screamed. "You can't hide from-"
The door opened again and Striker leaned out. Before the Sargent could open his big mouth he was grabbed and yanked inside, the door slamming shut behind him. His fearful men waited breathlessly for a minute before it opened again and his dead body was thrown out, tied in a perfect pretzel knot.
They stared dumbly at it for a moment before unanimously deciding that no promotion was worth that and turned on their heels and fled. Archangel had escaped again; that was all their superiors needed to know.
"Ah come on," Striker grumbled, cracking his knuckles as he watched the men run from a security camera outside on a terminal. "I need more practise on my knots."
Crimson looked up from where he was working on some unknown device in the Kitchen. "Well, at least you didn't get blood everywhere like last time."
"Yeah, that was fun. You owe us one, angel boy."
"I can live with that," the lone Turian in the room said, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the active HV and trying to purge the memories of the poor Sargent's fate from his brain. No one, not even an Asari was supposed to bend like that.
Beside the Turian, Cherno rumbled contentedly and gave him the lightest tap to the shoulder as he could. It still almost knocked him down.
Crimson looked up from his work. "Why were they chasing you anyway? I hadn't heard of any raids today."
"Been on the run," Archangel sighed. "Me and my team got separated a day ago. It was too risky to link up with the Suns on my tail. Sorry for all the trouble."
"Don't worry about it. Any time."
Archangel certainly was a character. They first ran into each other in a market place, quite literally. Striker, as bored as he was, almost pounded the Turian into the deck then and there. Then the group of Blood Pack who had been chasing him showed up. With all four of them there the fight was sort lived. But when the Turian had given them his alias Crimson had immediately recognized him, something about hearing his voice somewhere.
Striker hadn't cared who the guy was, but when the talk had gotten into why he was being chased he revealed that he was after a slaver. Out of the goodness of their hearts the Jaegers had joined him and together pounded the merc to dead under their iron heels.
The blame all went to Archangel, as no one on Omega was stupid enough to openly oppose the Jaegers, but from it spawned a beautiful friendship. If there was one thing Archangel and the Jaegers had in common, it was a thirst for justice; as cheesy as it sounded. Though the Turian told them nothing about his past, not even his real name, they got on well together. In fact Gipsy called him their first real friend on Omega. Sometimes they would even hit slaver bases together, striking fear into the slave markets as they learned that the Jaegers were onto them. But sometimes Archangel would use their place as his 'smoke and vapour' card. No merc with half a brain would follow him in here when the Jaegers were home. Then he would just vanish with a wave through the vents.
Striker didn't mind. It was bringing free entertainment right to his door step, what was there to bitch about?
"Need us for anything else?" Crimson asked, returning to his work.
"Nah, I should be good," the Turian replied, rising to his feet and heading to the burned out bedroom where the vent opening was. He paused as the door opened and looked back. "Hey. Thanks again."
Cherno rumbled happily, waving good bye. Striker only scoffed and turned back to the terminal, hoping for more reinforcements.
And then the Turian was gone, once again vanishing into the depths of Omega. It left the place feeling empty, making Striker aware of a missing presence. "Where's Gipsy? Haven't seen her all day."
"Markets," Crimson said, not bothering to look up. "Said something about a game, I think?"
Striker snorted. "Galaxy of Fantasy? Damn stupid idea I you ask me.
"I didn't."
"I mean, why the fuck would you buy a game about killing shit when you can go out and do it for free?"
"Because its illegal."
"Not here."
"You know what I mean."
Cherno groaned, crossing his arms.
Striker snapped his head around and glared at him. "I don't play that fucking piece of shit!"
Cherno seemed to grin knowingly, slowly nodding his head and keened humorously.
"Fuck you!"
The titan shrugged and returned to watching the HV, some program about a dead commander or something.
Grumbling under his breath, Striker returned to the terminal. What a stupid idea; Galaxy of Fantasy. He didn't need games to entertain him, he had Omega for that. Just walk outside, pick a fight and boom; short lived entertainment. And that app had been on his omni-tool from the beginning! And maybe its previous user had some high level characters that he used once. Only once.
Once.
But that raid... he just needed to get the artifact for the solo run and then...
He snarled, focusing again on his task. But nothing happen. Ten minutes passed and still no one else came to investigate Archangel.
Twenty minutes passed. Still no one.
Thirty.
Fifty.
An hour.
"Fuck this," he growled, slapping the door controls and stepping out. "I'm gonna go find Gipsy."
He missed their reply as he stomped out and headed for the skycar station. After a quick trip he soon found himself in one of the markets Gipsy often went to, parting the crowds like Moses and the red sea. Apparently some gaming company had set up a stall in the hopes of some more revenue and Galaxy of Fantasy was their main attraction. Gipsy was hooked the moment she saw it, giving the vender a heart attack when she came back after trying the trial version and demanding a full deluxe copy.
Now she was their biggest costumer on Omega, literally. The stall was the only place in the system with a dedicated server, so she often wandered over to play for a bit with the vender. The guy didn't mind the giant killing machine gaming with him. After all, muggers and thieves stayed well away when they learned that the shop was protected by Gipsy Danger.
Striker didn't like the game, but he couldn't say he hated. It just... there was something in it. Those raids, those quests, something about it always left his finger hovering over the app. But he wouldn't fall into that trap. He had better things to do than worry over some stupid fucking game!
Then why had he gone looking for Gipsy? More than that, why when he knew she was playing the dumb GoF?
Then the terrible truth dawn on him.
He threw up his arms and screamed in frustration, scaring everyone and created a good fifteen meter safe zone around himself as they fled. Curse her! Curse Gipsy and her damn attractiveness! The bitch had...
His processors ground to a screeching halt as he realized what he just thought. Gipsy? Attractive?! Where the fuck had that come from?!
"Fuck you!" Flipped off the general direction of the Jaeger in question, scaring a poor Salarian before stomping away in a different direction. Anywhere away from that damn infuriating game and that wanker, Gipsy!
Why did he even go looking for her? And no, it was not because he wanted to spend time with her! Yeah, he needed her for something. He just needed to remember what it was. Yeah, that was it.
But he was walking away. Didn't he need... ah, fuck it.
Snarling, he whirled, preparing to find her again, only to almost crash into a woman trailing him. She was attractive for a human, with curves in all the right places and long raven black hair. But the thing that really set her apart was how she bravely stood in his way. She looked nervous, but didn't shy away from his wrath.
Striker's fists clenched. He could have easily gone around her, but fun would that be? "The fuck do you want?"
To her credit, the woman swallowed once than answered calmly, putting on the bravest face he'd seen so far. "Striker Eureka?"
He blinked at her very distinct Australian accent. Now this might be interesting. "Yeah. What do ya want?"
"Your friend was looking for you," she said, meeting his piercing gaze evenly. Brave girl, he'd give her that. "He's lost on the lower levels and asked for help."
"Then he can find his own fucking way back," he snorted, pushing past her, grumbling to himself. "Fucking Cherno and Crimson. What are they doing down there?"
"I-it wasn't any of your friends," the woman said as she fell into step beside him. She was either extremely brave or just oblivious to the danger of being in close proximity of a irate Jaeger. "He looked different than the four of you."
Different? The four of them? He wasn't Crimson, but that would imply that there was a fifth...
Oh shit, not this again.
"Hold up," he said, stopping her with a raised hand. "Are you saying there's a fifth Jaeger here?"
The woman nodded firmly. "Yes. Looked like he didn't know his way around Omega. He didn't believe me when I told him of you."
Really? His visor narrowed at her. Did she honestly think she could fool him like that? Since the Maws had been defeated two random scammers had run up and said they had found another Jaeger and they could tell them where he was... for a few credits, of course. There was a third incident, but that was almost too stupid to count. An entire planet covered with sexy Jaeger ladies? There wasn't much left of the guy after that, courtesy of Gipsy.
He wasn't buying it. They would have heard if there was another Jaeger wandering about. Still, there was one way to figure out the truth. Every Jaeger had a name, and he knew them all.
"Really?" he leered at her, crossing his arms, "then what was its name, bitch?"
For the first time a twinge of unease crossed her face as she stammered, her tense as if ready to run. "Uh... C- Coyote Tango."
Striker froze, dumbfounded. No way in hell could she have made that up. Another Jaeger was here! "Where is he then?" he demanded.
Relief shot across her face, but it was instantly wiped away. "Down in the lower levels. I can take you there."
"Then what are you fucking waiting for?" Striker shouted, waving his arms and making her jump back for fear of getting beaned in the head. "Go! I'll even pay you if you want," he added begrudgingly.
She smiled, then took off at a run with Striker following at a jog. As they ran through the twisting halls, Striker tried to call the others on his omni-tool. All he got was static. Weird. Next he tried their internal radios, only to remember that Cherno and Crimson were out of range. But Gipsy wasn't.
"Gipsy, you there?"
"Yeah," came her distracted reply.
"We got-"
"Hang on! This little prick is giving me a hard time!"
"Oh for fucks sake! You're not playing that stupid game are you?" he shouted, unheard by the strange woman.
"Its a work of art," Gipsy harrumph back. "And you like it just as much as I do."
"Bullshit!"
"I see you looking at it! Soon you will join me in the pits of terror!" she cackled.
He swore explosively. He was getting side tracked. "Listen, some bitch said she found Coyote."
"Wait, what?" she spluttered. "Coyote? As in, Coyote Tango? The Jaeger, Coyote Tango?"
"Yes, damnit! I'm on my way to check it out. Could you call the others? My omni-tool's fucked up, can't get a damn signal."
"Got it," she said, suddenly serious. "Did she say where he is?"
"Somewhere in the lower levels. I'm following her now."
"Got it. We'll be on our way before you can say-"
He cut the comm before she could continue, and for good reason. They had passed through the quarantine zone set up in light of the Vorcha unleashing their bio-weapon on the Maws. Aria had quickly sealed the station off, saving the rest of its inhabited. The area beyond was almost abandoned, expect for the human scavengers who were immune to the plague and Vorcha fighting foe territory. They had left the check point long behind, the guards jumping aside to let the Jaeger through. Being fear and respected had its perks. Now they were passing through a long corridor, bare of any exits. The woman was picking up speed, somehow managing to pull ahead.
Almost like she was trying to get away from him. Call him crazy, but-
A door slammed shut in his face, cutting them off. He hit the brakes but could stop himself in time and hit it head first with a loud clang, making a large bent in the metal before bouncing off and falling to the floor.
He moaned, content to lie there for a moment as the stars stopped dancing before his visor. His brief rest was interrupted as another door slammed shut behind him, cutting him off from the outside world.
"Well fuck me," he grunted, pushing himself to his feet and activating his radio. "Gipsy? I got fucked."
A long silence met his words. "Uh... Okay?"
"Not like that," he growled, glaring around. There were no other doorways in the hallway he was trapped in, and the walls were too thick to tear through in a timely manner, especially if he was gonna catch that bitch for locking him in...
A low humming sound suddenly came from the walls, growing in strength until his audio respirators rang with it. Suddenly he had a very bad feeling about this.
"Gipsy, I think I-"
He was cut off as lightning shot out from hidden arrays, flowing over his body in a flurry of sparks and flooding his nerves in waves of agony. His whole body twitched and jumped like a puppet under its influence, and the pain... it hurt too much to even scream, his vocal systems sputtered and gasped in a twisted parody of speech.
Time lost all meaning as the torture continued, his vision fading away as blackness in crept in along the edges.
And then it was over. The lightning suddenly vanished and Striker sagged, all feeling in his body gone. Then he pitched forward, falling to the floor with pained gasp, his whole body limp. His vision swam before him, threatening to cut out at any moment as he fought away the growing urge to sleep.
Bloody EMP...
"Striker?! Striker, what's wrong?" Gipsy cried in a panic, faint and distant through the radio. "What happened? I heard you screaming. Striker?! Striker Eureka, can you hear me?"
Striker tried to speak, but all that came out was a weak gasp. He was so tired. Even twitching a finger was like lifting up a mountain.
It had been a trap. That fucking bitch.
As if reading his mind the door slid up with a groan, revealing the bitch in question flanked by a number of white and yellow armored mercs. She looked down at him with a fascination then turned to the man next to her. "Sargent, you're the one who suggested the name Coyote Tango?"
He nodded as Striker's vision wavered, awareness fading like a flickering candle. "Yes ma'am."
"Striker? Striker, can you hear me?"
Everything was turning black, his body slowly going limp. The conversations around him and Gipsy's panicked pleas merged into one droning cacophony as the group closed in around him. But through the tangled mess he heard something, one single name. The bitch: Lawson.
"Lawson."
The entire group jumped back as he growled weakly, glaring up at the woman. She met his furious gaze evenly, almost smirking at his helplessness. "Not so tough now are you, Jaeger?"
"Lawson," he gasped, "you... bitch..."
"Striker, who's Lawson? What's going on?"
Then the world faded away, Lawson's face forever burned into his memory as he finally gave in to sleep.