The Cold Does Some Crazy Shit to People

It was blisteringly hot. That's the only way he could describe it. As a child, Stephen used to enjoy the heat. The heat meant summertime, it meant no school, and it meant he could spend time with his mother and Aunt Grace. Now, the heat meant no sleep. It meant constantly looking over his shoulder for an IED, or quite possibly, as of yesterday, a child carrying a box labeled "sweets", written in rough marker and in garbled English. Of course, they now knew that there really weren't sweets inside, instead it was filled with C4. And enough C4 to blow a three foot deep crater in the ground, as well as enough to take the Sergeant with them. That's where his new promotion had come from. He was now a Sergeant in the Colonial Marines.

Three months. That's how long they had been searching the jungle. Like a giant comb scouring the surface of a scalp for lice. Still, they didn't know what they were looking for and every time they asked, they'd get the same answer: "Keep looking. We'll tell you once you find it."How the hell were they supposed to look for something they didn't know anything of? Not what it looked like, not what it felt like, not who it was, or even who they were. Nothing. Not one damned clue as to what they had been probing for. If he had known, Stephen would have informed the men what their quest was, that was why Command wouldn't tell him shit.

It was night and the heat was worse than ever. Bugs gnawed on their skin, even with the repellent they were given by Weyland Yutani. It was ridiculous and it was irritating. But most of all, it was pissing him off. Stephen smacked another mosquito on his arm before it could draw blood. It exploded in a small rupture of gore. He flicked it off of his palm into the fire. Even if the temperature was searing their skin, they still needed to see in the dark and dank jungle. Better to be hot than to be ambushed.

Still, Stephen felt uneasy. The boys were relaxing for the time being. Fourteen hours of constant movement through Venezuela really put a damper on physical conditioning. Colonial Marines and the regular Marine Corps, working together. It was quite a force to be reckoned with. And he was in command. Twelve boys. Five from his original squad and seven newbies.

His Aunt had always told him that he was a natural leader. He didn't like to think so. It gave him a falsified ego that he hated. He still refused to believe that he was all that good.

One marine, Sully, Stephen thought his name was, made his way over to him. Good guy he was. Smart, funny, and a tough son of a bitch. Boy took down an illegally purchased AMP suit by himself… with the help of a few grenades of course. Still, the boy showed no fear. Respect, that's what he had gained in Stephen's eyes. But, still didn't mean he could remember the kid's name.

"How's it goin', Sarge?" He asked, flopping down into the dirt next to Stephen. His weapon was still cautiously held in his hands.

"Fine, fine. Temperature could be a lot nicer." The kid laughed.

"I heard that sir. Still, it's a beautiful jungle." He looked into the canopy above. Towering tropical trees almost moved as critters jumped from branch to branch. One of the only forests left in the world. And there they were, fighting a war inside of it. "I wanted to talk to you for a moment, if that's okay."

Stephen nodded, indicating him to proceed. "That was some serious shit taking down a Mobility Suit by yourself. You deserve a little rest."

Sully, he thought, laughed and shrugged. "Wasn't that hard. Though, I don't think we are out of the line of fire yet."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. But that's war for you, Corporal. Never out of the line of fire. Never." Sully nodded.

"I just get the feeling that… that we are being watched." They sat quietly, listening to all the noises the world had to offer.

"Now that you mention it-"

A man came bursting through the brush, covered in blood, screeching like a wild turkey. His eyes were filled with horror. He began randomly firing rounds into the darkness. The spray took three people out, three marines dead in only a few seconds. Stephen was quick to the draw, pulling his Colt Python .357 Magnum from his boot and putting a round in the crazed Venezuelan's shoulder, before he could kill anyone else. Five marines were on top of him, two GS-221 .30 CLMG's (Caliber Light Machine Guns) and two M41A Pulse Rifles were trained on him. Another Marine pummeled the man across his mouth. They were all screaming at him, all of them at once. The man was frantic, trying to throw himself against the blows, trying to get away. He stopped when a large boot was pressed against his chest and a silver barrel was just far enough away from his face so the man could stare down the dark tunnel. He stopped moving and gulped. The gun clicked, signifying the imminent danger it possessed.

"See? Every man listen's to the reasoning of a Colt Magnum. Now, son, this isn't your blood. I'd like to know… Jim, your mom is from Venezuela, aint she?" Stephen asked over his shoulder.

"Yes sir, Sarge." Jim never let his eyes, or his Pulse Rifle, leave the man on the ground.

"Mind translating for me?"

"Sure thing." He lowered his rifle.

"As I was saying, this isn't your blood."

Jim translated while Stephen spoke. "Este no es su sangre."

"I'd like to know, whose it is."

"Me gustaría saber, quién es."

They waited, but the man broke down. He began crying and lightly thrashing around and around, whispering, "Se han ido. Todos ellos se han ido."

"What's he sayin' Jim?"

"He keeps saying, 'They're gone. All of them are gone.'"

"Whose gone?"

"¿Quién se ha ido?"

"Todos ellos. Todos ellos. Todos ellos."

"He aint budgin sarge." Jim sighed and shook his head. "Bastard is scared shitless."

"Well… Ask him, what happened to them."

"¿Qué pasó con ellos?"

"La ... La selva, llegó a la vida y se los llevó."

"What did he say, Jim?"

All noise had ceased, nothing was moving anymore. The fire had stopped crackling, the animals had stopped moving. It was like the calm before the storm. Sully was watching the edges of the camp closely. Something was about to happen.

"He said… The jungle, it came to life and… took them."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Incoming!" Somebody shouted. A bright blue flash of light landed dead smack in the center of their hostage's chest. It erupted in a shower of bone, blood, and gore.

"What the fuck was that!"

"Do you see them?"

"Millitia!"

"Shit! Open fire!" Stephen shouted, holstering his pistol and pulling out his rifle. In short, controlled bursts he sent lead into the darkness. Bullets went flying like a swarm of bees, mowing down all that stood in their path. Both sides were taking losses. Jim was struck right in the mouth, spraying blood, saliva, and teeth from the gaping hole, while chunks of his brain and skull were ejected from the back of his head.

"Jimmy! They killed Jimmy! Mother fuckers!" Lance, another Colonial Marine, screamed and ran towards the brush line.

"God damn it, Lance! Get back here!"

"They fucking killed him! They killed-" Lance was hit by another flash of bright blue.

"What the fuck is going on!"

Rounds flew by Stephen's head. He grabbed the closest Marine to him, Sully, he thought, and pulled him down. "Take cover!" he shouted. As he did so, a clinking noise was heard only a few feet to his left. He looked, his eyes wide with terror, and threw his arm up to protect Sully; the grenade went off.

"No!" Stephen trashed about on the freezing metal floor, grabbing at his synthetic arm. He opened his eyes and looked around, still panting and gasping for breath. He was drenched with sweat and shivering with extreme force. "Fuck." He spat out a bit of blood. "This is just fucking ridiculous." Seems he had bitten his tongue during the dream. He was sick of reliving his past.

They had been at Khione a week. Trudy, himself, and Grace. Well, it might of well just have been him and his Aunt. Even though they shared a room, Trudy had avoided him since leaving Hell's Gate. He was hurt, painfully hurt, by her avoidance. He didn't know why. He had his theories, but Stephen had never been good with women or his own feelings.

If he entered a room where she was, Trudy would quickly leave, using some bad excuse. When he walked into their room for the night, she was usually reading. She'd see him, and quickly flip over and pretend to be asleep. 'Yeah' he thought, lying on the floor with an aching head. 'Hurt is an understatement.'

He got up and grabbed a pair of clothes. He needed to release some of his anger. It was time he stopped taking a "vacation", he needed to get back into killing mode. Stephen was pissed and there was only one place he wanted to be. The Training Room. He got up and left.

He wasn't the only one up. Right as their door slid shut, Trudy turned onto her back. With both fists she punched the thin mattress and growled. She was horrible with relationships, even friendly ones. That's the thing though, her best one ever, wasn't so friendly anymore. Nobody had ever tried to protect her, besides Stephen. It infuriated her to no end, but it touched her heart tenfold that he cared enough to take a knife to the shoulder. She had almost kissed him. Almost being the key word. He hadn't minded either and that scared her. They had only known each other for a week, but it seemed like so much longer. After that night, the night he had spilled his guts to her, she had this feeling. It went deeper than anything she had ever felt.

Trudy never had a boyfriend growing up. She didn't like all that romantic jazz. For her, it was carpe diem. When she joined the Marines, nothing really changed. She dove into flying and did that religiously. It was the first thing she had ever loved. Now, she wasn't so sure.

Trudy had flown all three of them out to Khione right after their talk with Grace. It was of mass importance apparently. She'd never even heard of the area they were in, let alone Khione. Grace had explained to her that the Navi called it Eranda, Eywa's Breath.

Not only did they have to go on a wild and deadly goose chase, but Trudy was specifically told not to fly her Samson. It had crushed her. That was her baby, the only thing that kept her going. Okay, maybe that was a small exaggeration, but it was one of her most beloved possessions. Instead they had given her TN-348 Roc to fly. A bulky bastard, twice the size of her baby. The turns were sloppy, the controls were too new, and the hull was too bulky to her liking. She liked to be fast and precise. The Roc liked to go slow and turn whenever it felt to do so.

Trudy dug her palms into her eye sockets, grinding them down into her skull. She was tired. She was crabby. She was lonely. It pissed her off how she couldn't show her feelings, how she was expected to be the bitch that knocked a guys teeth out for breathing too loudly. For once, she wanted to be the one who needed help. And at that moment she did need help. She needed it horribly.

Their cabin wasn't big: two lockers, a double bunk, and two separate light fixtures for either of them. Warm air didn't pour from the ceiling that was about five feet above Trudy's head. Instead it was a balance of cold and not-so-terribly-cold air, the same kind that circulated through the base. It was necessary to have them conditioned, just in case the station last power. She shuffled underneath her blankets, biting the top one in anger, and then kicked the covers off.

Trudy hopped out of the bunk and felt a slight sting rise from her heel. She shuddered, taking in the cold. Swinging her head side-to-side she cracked her head. She took a deep breath and fought against the urge to jump back into her bed and hide underneath the covers, like a child hiding from the Boogeyman. She had to do this. The feeling she had was her Boogeyman, and hiding wouldn't make it go away.

Taking initiative, Trudy reached into her locker and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, and pressed the pad next to the door. It slid open, the gears whining like a far off fire alarm. She walked out and let it close behind her. Her feet were cold, but she could handle it.

She couldn't hear her footsteps. She always could. That was part of her life. RDA standard issue, always on her feet. That was how she kicked ass. That's just how it was. But, things were changing. She was changing.

Khione was rather large, so it was easy to lose someone in the halls. She'd done it to Stephen countless times. That was one good thing that came from her childhood in LA; she could hide anywhere, anytime. As she passed hallway after hallway, most of them leading to places not yet traveled, she had a feeling. It was as if she was being watched.

"What do I even say?" She asked herself. This wasn't her SA-2, this was more important. And she stopped right there. As that thought crossed her mind, she knew exactly what to say. Nothing ever came between her and her flying, between her and her baby. It clicked. Her skittish and un-characteristic behavior from earlier was gone. She was Trudy again. She was the RDA pilot who had thirty-nine banshee kills under her belt, the pilot who had flown into warzones against orders to pick up fellow marines. She was herself.

With her new revelation, Trudy sped up towards the training room, almost leaping like a hexapede. It was coming up quick, the door was. She felt her heart begin to beat faster and faster. The lights almost flickered out from the overload of energy being generated from the young pilot.

"Please." She whispered, pleading to no one and to some one.

The door was locked; she tried several times to open it but failed in each attempt. There were loud bangs and roars coming from the other side, loud and powerful. So, Trudy did the only thing left to do. She knocked.

***

"Mother fucker." Grace said, lying on her bunk, smoking the last smoke from her pack. It wasn't a big deal, she'd go and get more from the supply room, but that wasn't the point. No, the point was simple. She fucking hated Quaritch. Even if Falco had gone crazy and had tried to kill them all, he was at least pleasant sometimes…

Quaritch, however, was a tough bastard. One who refused to give up, with his constant onslaught of pestering and nagging her to investigate the disappearance of "his" men. She had been up forty eight hours trying to find out where the closest Navi could possibly live, and she had been rewarded with nothing.

So, there she was, lying in the warm and comfortable bunk, smoking her last cigarette. Next to her was an open book, a photo album. Her most precious memories lie in the book. From the school they opened for the Omaticaya, to her graduation from college. From her acceptance grant for the study of bimolecular engineering on Pandora, to the first run through in her Avatar form. But her most precious memories were kept in the back. Behind the slick cover of the hardbound tome, she had them placed. Pictures of her and Stephen playing in the park near her house. Pictures of family birthdays and of good times. The sudden and strong reminiscence almost brought tears to her eyes. But, she couldn't look at them. Not with the camera in the corner watching every move she made.

That was why she hated Quaritch. He had complete control and he wasn't even there. The camera watched her like a thanator watching a wounded baby titanothere. It swiveled back and forth, the little motor inside making the most irritating of noises. Grace was a bit edgy. She stamped the butt out in the ashtray and reached for the pack. It seemed very light.

"No. No. No!" It was empty. She had forgotten it was her last, and the fact that she had to go and get another pack. "Just fucking great. Fuck. Fuck!" She was tired. A tired Grace Augustine wasn't much better than a leonopteryx in heat. She got up, slipped on some wooly socks, gave the finger to the security camera, and walked out of the door, looking for a pack of Baltimore Blues.

The halls were quiet. It was a tad unnerving. It was like someone, besides Quaritch and his hard on for power, was watching her. Something was off, something was horribly wrong. She hugged her shoulders and continued walking.

"Would you shut up for one god damn second! Jesus Christ, let me fucking talk!" Grace slowed down as she heard Trudy's voice. She crept up to the door of the Training Room and took the chance to peer in.

Trudy stood defiantly in front of Stephen. Stephen was breathing hard and sweating. On floor was a pile of decimated training bots, each of them ripped into strange and erratic patterns. 'This isn't going to end well.' Grace thought to herself.

"Well, go on then!"

"Maybe if you stopped being a dick for one goddamn second, I would! I came here to talk to you and you just start accusing me-"

"No, no, no. Don't even start that shit Trudy. You have been avoiding me. Each time I see you, you run away. I thought you were tough. I thought you had guts!" Graces heard a loud smack and a few footsteps patter away. She peered in again and saw Stephen wiping blood off of his lip. Trudy was shaking out her hand.

"Shit man, what the hell is in your jaw?"

"I took shrapnel to the face as well as my arm… Pretty nice right hook you've got there."

"Don't patronize me." She sighed. "Look, I have something we need to talk about, but before I can, i nee to know that we're cool." She spoke solemnly, holding out her fist. Stephen pushed it away, shocking Grace. He was never one to not accept an apology.

Trudy looked really lost after the small gesture was denied. Stephen wiped blood off his lip again, lightly blotting the wound with his thumb. He looked down at the floor for a moment and then back at her. "Yeah, we're cool." He put his fist out, but she did as he did. She pushed it away. "Okay?" Trudy also added to it, by grabbing his face and roughly bringing it to hers.

Grace's jaw dropped and Stephen's eyes grew wide. He finally fell into it, putting his hands on the small of Trudy's back, but Grace stood there, watching dumbfounded. It wasn't often that Grace Augustine was stumped. But things do happen. And as she stood there, watching the two, the lights at Khione went off. Red strobes replaced the once bright atmosphere. An alarm sounded. Something had breached the perimeter. Something was inside the base with them, and it wasn't human.

A/N: So, I know it's been a while. I've been working on this since... Oh boy, thrusday. I would have had it done sooner, but I got the Avatar Game and you know, shit happens. Khione is a name I took from the "probable" Greek Goddess of snow. Why did I use it? C'mon now. I hope you guys are enjoying it, more explanations will come with time. There is always a method to my madness... well, maybe not always, but still close.