Well, a few weeks turned into nearly 4 months. For that, I sincerely apologise. Due to work and real life things giving me bag RNG rolls, this had to take a serious backburner whilst I got my shit ironed out.
Whilst said things aren't entirely resolved, they're being managed to the point where I can comfortably eek out a few hours for writing every so often, which brings me to this new chapter being released! Hlaf of this has to be attributed to the support you guys give me, so this one's out to you lot!
Do enjoy!
- S
Prologue
Chapter VI - 'Induction'
~ Lizzie
~ 21 minutes later
She slammed herself hard into the cinder block cover- armour mashing into her flesh to provoke a discomforted growl as a fusillade of bullets sailed over her head. Taking a moment to control her breathing, Lizzie chanced a glance over her cover to reassess the battlefield.
The sun was halfway through breaking out in the morning, shining a gradually-brightening amber hue on the open training ground, which was laid-out with DB Industries-branded infrastructure to represent all the necessary terrain for a firefight; stairways to lead to sniping vantage points, winding corridors with scant few exits for close-quarters combat, and vast open ground with evenly distributed cover and walls for long-range firefights and suppressive fire. Whilst it would never be able to replicate the random chaos a real war zone provides, it's a fairly faithful close second. She grits her teeth as another payload narrowly misses her head, activating her tac-com to relay to her squad.
"This is Carmine! I'm pinned-down at central zone delta-two! Need covering fire, over!" The sound of mechanical boots drew closer and closer, and she felt her heart begin to jackhammer against her breastplate.
Of all the training exercises the drill sergeant could've assigned Echo with, today, the asshole just had to give them 'Breakthrough'. 'Seize Ground' or 'Elimination' were fairly-common, and still required focus and dedication, but Breakthrough was just full-on ass to do against a squad of DeeBees. A small zone in the DeeBee deployment zone needed to be stood in and held for fifteen seconds to achieve a successful run, all the whilst the enemy team is appropriately programmed to be the most counter-aggressive, dug-in fucks to the point where even the Locust would've had a hard time digging them out.
The catch was the attacking team only had one shot-per-Gear to reach the centre, whereas the defending team were only temporarily eliminated. Or in this case, a new training DeeBee got sent off the shelves to replace the ranks. And that just sucked.
Almost every move Echo made was countered by a bot repositioning- vantage points were flanked or blocked-off by shock grenade throws that were just a bit too accurate, and even when Echo managed to get a clear shot and put one down, another marched onto the field in a dozen seconds.
She loved that Dr. Baird had the grace to continuously improve DeeBee intelligence and combat effectiveness, but she fucking hated Breakthrough.
"Carmine! Sit tight, I'm grabbing the flank, right side, over!" Al's voice crackled through the comms. Whilst she knew Al was but a few dozen yards away, and would be reinforcing her in little time, situations like these seemed to make time slow to a crawl whilst the enemies and bullets continued in normal motion, getting closer by the second.
And sure enough, Lizzie heard the familiar mechanical thud of studded metal feet stomping above her position. She canted her gaze to the small watchtower that connected to one of the DeeBees' flanks. Over the ridge, she saw a set of azure lenses look over, clicking and readjusting as they set on their new target.
And just like that, she got flanked with no way out…
"Fuck." Was all she could muster, hunkering down as the Shepherd braced its Enforcer on the rails, and aimed down on her, before a large serrated bayonet erupted from its face. Sparks flew with spurts of oil with high-pitched whines of sheared servos and computing systems going haywire; the bot twitching as its 'brain' got skewered from behind by one angry redhead. Alvarez let out a loud shout as she pushed with all her might, dislodging her bayonet whilst shoving the wrecked bot over the rails to crash down below a mere metre from Lizzie.
She took a deep sigh of relief that just about emptied her lungs, and shot Al a thumbs-up, who reciprocated the gesture, and braced her Markza on the rails.
"Echo! Left flank is secured! Move up!" Gorchev growled through the radio- the harsh crackling of the radio's static paired with Vas's legendary 'sarge' voice kicking inertia into Lizzie's legs as she leapt from her former cover behind the block to hug the hollowed wall beneath the watchtower, which provided not only more ample cover from the repositioning DeeBees, but also gave her a better line of sight to manoeuvre in case she was advanced on again. Her boot hammered onto the dead DeeBee's exposed neck- the softer metals, fibreglass casing and brittle wires cracking under her foot and causing stiff fingers to violently twitch in spasms.
The left side of the field was utter pandemonium- a ceaseless discharge of gunfire and flashes from varying distances that suddenly gave way to a loud shout of pain. Lizzie's breath stilled, and after a brief silence, the tac-com channel opened.
"Echo. This is sergeant Gorchev. I've been eliminated. Good luck." Vas's voice was laboured and filled with pained breathing. Clearly he took a good few shock rounds to the chest. Either a DeeBee caught him whilst he was moving up, or the bot was smart enough to wait for him to give suppressing fire before it fired a countershot.
Regardless of the rounds in the training issue shock enforcer being non-lethal they still fucking hurt, and Lizzie remembers all too well her first time she took a full clip to the back. Fun times…
Steeling herself, she peeks around the safety of her corner to see a DeeBee entering the cover she was in seconds ago. Its robotic lenses were affixed on the staircase directly adjacent to them that led to the left flank, where Vas was, and no doubt where Thorne still is.
She didn't see much of him once the siren rang for the training to begin...the guy just sped off to secure the left flank, with Gorchev hot on his trail, leaving the entire centre field and right flank to just her and Al. All she heard was the occasional status update of his positioning or a confirmation of an order via tac-com. She didn't hear anything of him being eliminated, yet for some reason…she felt a strange notion of concern for the new guy. Maybe he was out of his depth? That the aloof tough guy act turned out to be nothing more than exactly that once the chips came down and he had to be shot at for once? Or maybe he'd actually hurt himself, and that his tac-com had malfunctioned so he couldn't radio it in?
It was only then did she realise her fretting sibling streak was beginning to come through; shaking her head inwardly, Lizzie shoved her invasive thoughts to one side and trusted that the newbie was doing just fine, and focused on the opportunity in front of her.
The DeeBee had miscalculated; it had secured itself some decent cover with a wide view of the battlefield with a potential to either push on Thorne's last known position, or flank around behind Al, but it didn't know Lizzie was right behind it.
She licked her lips under her helmet; tasted the stale, leftover balm from yesterday, and smiled as she gripped her enforcer tight. These rounds were most -certainly- lethal.
'Gotcha, bitch.'
Putting the energy into her legs, she pushed around from her cover, and dashed across; the short distance between her and her target seemed like a mile, yet she didn't let it sway her charge. She brought her SMG taught into her shoulder and slipped her gloved finger into the trigger, yet not once did her target pay heed- still oblivious to the charging Carmine.
'This is it! Take this fucker out, Al can cover me! I can advance up the middle, she can bring the flank! This is it! This is what I trained fo–'
She never fired. She never got the chance.
Her thoughts and pride shattered like a bright light in the darkest sky, and in an instant, her world was a static carousel of white noise and numbness- her vision screamed in a blinding haze as the ambience of the chaos instantly faded into a distant whine like someone just set off a flashbang upside her head.
It was only when her vision began to clear after that split second that she found she was no longer running towards the DeeBee, but falling sidelong to the cold, hard tarmac.
She never registered the force of the blow to the side of her head until she collided into the ground in a messy heap. Despite the insulated padding layers within the thick wall of steel that was her helmet, every inch of the right side of her head began to pulse with insatiable pain that bled through her skull.
She never saw the other DeeBee coming…never thought that the one she thought her target was just bait; a string of bullshit numbers in their coherency coding that aligned perfectly to game her out. And it friggin' worked. The other bot's fist found its mark, and dropped her like a sack of spuds, sending her enforcer skittering across the ground.
Staring up into the morning blue sky, a set of robotic eyes creep into the edges of her vision, before it is all she can see. Lizzie could've sworn she heard the faintest muffle of Al's voice shouting her name- followed by the faintest crack of a drowned-out gunshot. The shepherd's head near-silently burst in a shower of shattered debris, blue-hued sparks and fluids, before the construct collapsed out of her view.
What followed was the unmistakable deep-based buzz of an enforcer discharging, followed by a muffled cry of shock and pain. Even with her head still swimming, Lizzie knew Ellen had just been taken out; her moment of vengeance costing her the game. And now her original target was looming over her, bringing its enforcer to bear for the final shot. The tables had been royally-turned, and Lizzie felt that sharp sense of indignation pierce her heart.
"Can't…end like– I ain't fuckin' done." Lizzie hissed as she tried her best to move, and even though her dead weight was beginning to fade, her limbs were still filled with lead; she twisted awkwardly on the ground, gritting her teeth in mild panic, before her struggling stopped altogether. Her fight was gone, and the bots had won. She tensed her muscles, and waited for the pain.
What came instead, was a horrific tooth-grinding scream of shearing metal; torn apart and thrashed into fine shreds by the telltale howl of a lancer's chainsaw bayonet- a noise so unmistakably terrifying that it filled Lizzie's senses with adrenaline, flushing out the remaining white noise in her ears as she focused on the scene above her.
The DeeBee violently spasmed as the whirring teeth tore through its left shoulder, carving a messy path all the way to and out of its right hip.
Torso slithered apart from torso with a screech of parting metal, clattering onto the concrete. Standing above her was the oil-spattered form of Thorne- lancer hungrily snarling in his quaking arms as he looked down upon her. The lengthy pause as they locked visors felt like a long time; she really hoped she didn't look as bad as she felt.
"On your feet!" came that accented voice in a surprisingly-sharp bark, and in one sudden movement, he folds the chainsaw's throttle inwards to deactivate the bayonet; swooping down to grasp her gorget. One rough haul, and Lizzie was on her feet- the sky coming to meet her and only making the pain in her head blossom from a burning ache into a forest fire in her brain as her centre of gravity returns to bite her in the ass.
'Jeez…guy's stronger than he looks.' her addled thoughts began to wander, before his voice scythes through them and grabs her attention.
"Are you injured?" He stares at her, helmeted gaze wandering her form. The fact her brain feels like it's spilling like an overfilled cup doesn't help her swaying, but before she can give her answer, the shrill of barely-missed enforcer rounds buzz over their heads, causing both herself and Thorne to flinch in reflex. His hand grabs her wrist, and she's dragged up the stairs into the looming shadow of a small raised platform. Her soldiering instincts kick in, and she hugs the wall- adrenaline smothering the pain in her head.
"Oi! Wake up!" Benik shouted over the pangs of the platform's surface being riddled with gunfire.
"I'm fine! Just got my bell rung." She scowled ever so slightly at the harsh tone of the newbie. Whilst she's grateful he saved her bacon from getting zipper-jacketed, his dickheadedness was still untarnished. Yay.
Either way, he didn't seem to care about her semi-snapping back. Toting his lancer into a ready stance, he chances a peek around the wall of their cover, and lasts about a second before he has to tear his head away from another suppressing fusillade with a grunt.
"How bad is it?" Lizzie asks with a small tone of scepticism. Being able to hunker down on the ground and letting her brain realign itself was certainly doing wonders of getting her back in the fight. She could really do with some callouts from Vas and Al from the benches; they've got a whole view of the training ground, and as such, have a broad scope of all attack angles, and all the players on the field. That's why drill sergeants are always precise with their assessments.
She knew there was no chance of getting any tac-com help from either of them; seeing as how they were technically 'dead', so giving 3rd party help and advice wasn't allowed. Meaning she had to put her trust in Thorne; not exactly an amazing prospect. But hey, if there was an example of a perfect team-building exercise, this would certainly qualify.
Suddenly, she realises her hands are empty. She barely tunes into Thorne when he starts talking along the lines of tactics when the realisation smacks her.
"Fuck!" her hands ball into fists, as she lowers her posture more, and peeks down the stairs from where she was dragged. Thorne looks at her pointedly, clearly unimpressed with her interrupted outburst.
"What?"
"My enforcer! It's on the goddamn ground! Son of a bitch!" Lizzie hammers the smooth-finished hull of the stair guard with the underside of her fist, staring forlornly at her SMG that sat idly in open ground directly in DeeBee line of fire.
The remaining DeeBees had taken a defensive stance now Thorne had reinforced her whilst they waited for fresh recruits for their mechanised squad, so any efforts to run across to reclaim it were "suicide".
"You have your standard service s–"
"Yes, I know, jeez." She interjects bitterly as she draws her sidearm. Despite being reliable against outsiders and unarmoured targets, the amount of ammo and consistent firepower a snub needed to drop a DeeBee was something lamentable. But it was either that, getting mowed down trying to get a - real- gun, or using her knife and fists.
With a begrudging sigh, she takes her pistol in both hands and squares her shoulders. Eyes on the flanks, she concedes to the shitty situation. But before she can take baby steps forwards to turning the situation to her favour:
"What's the plan?" Thorne's question stumps her completely, robbing her own words out of her mouth. What -was- the plan? They were half a squad down, and any semblance of tactics had gone nose diving into the trash. He just rocks up out of nowhere and expects her to provide a way out of a loss? She gives him a wide-eyed stare from behind her visor; she was somewhat pissed at the fact he couldn't see her incredulous dagger-glare he was receiving, given his lack of a reaction.
End of the day, though, she was the senior now the sergeant had been snuffed. She couldn't give this asshole a bad first impression.
She exhales, and wracks her brains, trying to un-FUBAR herself and the newbie, drowning out the statico of enforcer rounds buzzing about them to keep them suppressed.
"Uhhm…we were supposed to move up. Alvarez was gonna cover fire whilst I pushed on the zone. No clue what Gorchev had in mind on his flank- you just zoomed off before he could give us a battle plan. And now we're stuck here…pinned. Without much firepower, time is running out and there is no back-up." She tried to keep the snark and humdrum resignation out of her tone, and watched Thorne's head slowly nod to her surprise.
"So, the same thing we were doing. The plan's unchanged. More or less." Lizzie felt her jaw drop in absolute surprise. Broody asshole or not, his level of calm was strange to behold. Sure, the sense for self-preservation was there, along with an evident adrenaline spike to his awareness and flinching to the gunfire sailing about him, but him keeping his cool the way he did, despite Lizzie's fairly spot-on analysis of their currently-fucked standing (which she felt rather confident of) was something Lizzie found…kinda fucking admirable.
~ Benik
Fuck Breakthrough.
Things always went to shit whenever this exercise was picked. Casualties were high and failure rate was shoulder-to-shoulder with success. It was hardly down to the skill of the gears participating, it was just rigged to high heaven.
DeeBees getting spat straight from the assembly line to reinforce the flank with enhanced intelligence programming whilst the gears bust their arses for a single shot of victory? Bullshit.
If there was one thing he learned from all his failed attempts, it was that aggression was key for winning this game.
DeeBees worked on a wave frequency like tac-com, only instead of actually speaking into a headpiece, binary orders are shared in the blink of an eye; relaying orders on radiowaves and synchronising the bots together for better coherency and shit-hot tactics. Rather fascinating stuff that warranted attention, seeing as one of Sierra-5's own used to intern at Damon Baird Industries.
Aggression and unpredictability of a human soldier still trumped strings of computer programming hands-down; move fast and strike hard, you'll constantly interrupt the flow of orders, and the 'radio traffic' becomes gridlocked as they rapidly try to reconfigure and adjust until you're right upon them.
It sounded insane- hardly coffee table chatter- but the concept was true to the core. He couldn't really explain this mad science bollocks to the sergeant in the span of seconds. Time was of the essence, and even then, this Gorchev guy seemed like a bit of a knob; the less he spoke to him outside of orders and battle plans, the better.
Gorchev caught up fast after he sped off with the beginning of the trial, and collared Benik by a low wall, though he seemed at least smart enough to realise that an instant all-out attack was the best bet, and was clearly saving his reprimanding for after they took the win. Or got stitched with fucking horrific shock rounds; whichever came first.
The plan was simple; they moved as one, inch by inch, covering one another's advance until they were at the last stretch of the capture point's right flank. Alvarez and Carmine would be on the left, and then himself and Carmine would pincer and secure the objective. The DeeBees would simply struggle to cover both fronts effectively, provided they hit before they dug themselves in.
The man seemed to forget that plans never survive contact with the enemy. The DeeBees had already been positioned and slowed their advance to a halt, which ultimately resorted to simply trading shots from cover. No ground was gained or lost, and shit remained stagnant until the sergeant finally got dropped.
Wasn't his fault; Benik got acquainted real fast that Gorchev was a mean shot with the lancer GL. He bagged a few competent kills, and could've easily held the line if he ordered Benik to continue alone. One bot just got an incredibly lucky shot on him before it got shredded by the indie's own hail of bullets.
It did, however, mean Benik was officially headed for Shitcreek Falls without a paddle to save himself with.
Communications had ceased between their half and the left flank; the women were dealing with their own firefight. For all intents and purposes, he was alone, but dealt with the problems as they came and went with tactful squeezes of his trigger. It was only after he made his way into the small raised plateau in the central right flank did he get a good view of Elizabeth Carmine catching a Shepherd's fist upside her head, followed by an exchange of gunfire that left 2 scrapped bots and one eliminated redhead- Alvarez if he called correctly.
The situation went from bad to worse in a matter of seconds, and Benik hugged the wall, gritting his teeth in frustration.
"Fuck sake. Breakthrough." His outburst was quickly curbed as rationality took control again. Tactics and adaptive strategy was hardly his forte, but right now, he needed that second gun on his side; Carmine's bound to be hurting after that robot suckerpunched her, but until she was shot or physically couldn't move, she wasn't eliminated just yet. Guess she'll just have to deal with the hangover effect whilst they scrape together a win. Chancing a peek over his cover, he found no immediate threats to himself, and Alvarez had managed to cut two assailants down to one. The 'one' being the bot about to magdump the floored private.
'Girl's got fight. Got to admire that; sure as shit need that.' he inwardly remarked as he watched and heard Lizzie struggle. He saw his opportunity, and took it. Bounding out of cover, Benik revved the chainsaw on his lancer; the bot barely had time to turn its head before he'd already slammed the whirring teeth into its collar, and let it carve itself a path of messy devastation. Benik silently thanked his helmet as oil and fluids spurted like arterial gore all over his face- venting out his frustration in a deep roar that merged with the howl of his saw.
Staring down upon the private was a sorry sight indeed. She'd tumbled hard, and the way her body was contorted was a big sign that her consciousness had lapsed for a moment after the blow. She's definitely gonna be feeling this later. Needless to say, he felt like a fool for staring (certainly didn't help that she met him inch-for-inch in visor) as a swarm of stinging shock rounds barely missed his head.
Despite being successful in hauling Lizzie to her feet and getting themselves behind cover, their situation was still dire; the plateau provided only 2 angles of assault (both of which will be watched) and there was nothing stopping the DeeBees from initiating a counteroffensive. Certainly didn't help that Carmine neglected her SMG on the ground, leaving her with only a sidearm and a scrambled brain that struggled to think of any way to salvage the mess they were in.
'Certainly no Clayton, that's for damn sure.' He inwardly chimed. At the same time, he felt he needed to take some slack off from the poor private. They were both stuck in this mess, and she was technically in charge, so he let her off with her snippets of lippyness and snark. He was hardly one for thinking of battleplans, either. He was just a fan of the classic point-and-shoot doctrine. However, when Lizzie spoke of how her and Alvarez were pretty much on the same wavelength as Gorchev's plan, Benik felt the faintest glimmer of opportunity flash in the dark. He gives a firm nod.
"So, the same thing we were doing. The plan's unchanged. More or less."
He could've sworn he heard Carmine's jaw hit the base of her helmet as she stared at him incredulously.
"You're kidding, right?"
"Deadly serious." Slipshod foundations of a plan were beginning to form, even as the young private continued to presumably deathglare him from behind the visor.
"We're outnumbered, man! All I got is this peashooter! The moment we cross ground, we'll get hosed." She wasn't even attempting to hide the concern in her voice, and more importantly, the stark bemusement. But Benik was sure as shit that once they get into the positions he had in mind, whatever happens after this might just possibly work.
"DeeBees may be expendable, but that doesn't mean they'll throw self-preservation into the wind. We need to fight smart, but stay on the aggression, otherwise they'll come flush us out, and we're truly fucked. We take the back route. I cover fire, you advance until you reach a safe spot to hold up, then we figure out the rest from there."
Benik wasn't an idiot; he could see perfectly well the stipulations he was thrusting on to Carmine. They'd barely been in close proximity for longer than six minutes since he was first introduced to Echo, and now he was expecting her to trust him to simply…move into the lion's den and wait? Given their current standings with one another, he had to smooth things out, otherwise they might as well just wave the white flag. With a soft, muffled sigh, he slants himself along the wall slightly to invade her line of sight, rewarding him a silent glare.
"Look. This is a shit situation. But we have to work together if we're gonna have a proper shot at winning this. I know I'm asking a lot in expecting you to trust me, but we can do this. I'll watch your back. Just wait for my signal. We've got this." He kept his tone as neutral and friendly as a warzone would permit. Her posture relaxed, but he watched her gloved hands tighten around the pistol grip. A peace offering came to mind. Reaching behind to his belt, he pulled his two spare snub clips and offered them out to her without hesitation. Not like he'll need them, anyway. Either they win, or they'll be eliminated before he can even think about grabbing his sidearm.
"Here. You'll need these more than me."
The silence between the two was deafening as Carmine inspected the offering. With slow, cautious hands, she takes the clips and looks back up at Benik. This time, he was certain that there was an understanding that had been reached.
The two exchange nods, and switch positions. Their backs were pressed to the walls, and they made ready to burst for the back of the right flank that was shielded by an overarching DB Industries superstructure.
"We split at the archway. I go right and up, you go left and under." He made sure to keep his words short and his tone as undemanding as possible; Carmine seemed savvy enough to know what would be required if this was to work.
"Ready?" He asks. She nods. "GO!"
~ Lizzie
She pushed off the wall like a shot; putting all her adrenaline and stamina into her leg muscles to drive her up the stairs and around the corner. The metal walls around her loudly drummed with the hail of enforcer rounds that were not even remotely close to hitting her. It was still enough to make her flinch and duck down as she pressed forwards and round the archway. That, and the loud roar of Thorne's lancer letting out a furious burst of return fire to cover her retreat was like rocket fuel in adrenaline format for her legs, pushing her on.
Benik was not far behind her the moment he stopped firing; posture solid and pace matching hers. Any thoughts she held of him being inexperienced were most definitely banished as afterthoughts at this point.
The bullets inched closer and closer with each fusillade; Shepard targeting optics refining and getting more focused the longer her ass stayed in line of sight. The crossroads came up in the form of the large tower that acted as structural support for the overhanging passage on the left down a flight of steps that meandered into the DeeBee left flank, whilst the right side of the tower held an ascending ramp that led to a small plateau that provided considerable suppression fire potential on the Breakthrough zone. Only problem is it was rather exposed from another arching staircase on its northside. Should any DeeBees wander to the foot of the stairs, they'd have a clear line of sight to Thorne with no distance to cover, meaning he'd either get magdumped, or he'd find himself in melee in seconds. Whatever he had in mind, the timing had to be perfect, otherwise they were well and truly fucked.
They reached their split-up, and the two exchanged a final nod, before she took her diversion to the left. The morning sun flickered amidst the stratas of stone arching above her head, bathing her in blue-hued darkness as she descended down the steps with a small echo of her boots on the corrugated deck rolling around her. An opening in the small chasm was rimmed with the sun's light, and Lizzie practically threw herself against the wall parallel to it, in cover.
Chancing a peek around the corner, she let out a sigh of taught hope as she laid eyes upon the objective. About a hundred yards past the opening was a small 10 metre-squared tile marked with flagpoles at each corner; the whole space painted in a fluorescent blue. The Breakthrough objective.
And with that, she saw the half-dozen stacks of four foot-high manufactured crates distributed in tactical L-shaped formations that made up the core challenge of getting there…each one occupied by 1-2 DeeBees a crate.
A lump formed in her throat as she spotted one of the Shepherds look her way; quadruple lenses clicking and whirring as it caught sight of its new aggressor.
"Hostile located. Flanking to zone alpha_one."
"Acknowledged. Moving for assistance."
"Acknowledged. Suppression fire protocols engaged." The baritone drone of Damon Baird's voice grates through the open air with the weight of the reaper's scythe; two DeeBees rise from behind their cover, and break into a heavy footed dash to their immediate right, whilst another Shepherd dashes straight towards her. It occupies one of the frontline crates facing her opening, ahead of the Breakthrough zone, and simply braces its enforcer on the cover, locking onto her position.
The lump thickened.
Swivelling her head and getting back to the safety of the overpass wall to avoid getting immediately shredded by the now closer-than-comfortable bot, Lizzie catches a glimpse of the sun's light coming to her right; a much larger opening from the outside arena complete with its own set of crates yawned as a paved way to her right flank of which she'd completely missed when she initially arrived at the foot of the stairs.
Déjà vu played in her mind like a busted record with unwelcome familiarity. She was about to get flanked again, and with only a snub pistol to protect herself, she was boxed in, and done for.
"God fucking dammit." Her deflated voice is hoarse, accompanied by a dry laugh as she accepts her defeat.
'Well, anytime now Thorne…' Her anxiety with the creeping doubt returned with a vengeance as the Shepherds loomed ever closer. If this was the signal Thorne was talking about, she was gonna have so much fun headbutting him, later. So much for a solid plan. Gripping her snub in both hands, she readies herself with a series of deep breaths, swallowing that lump balled in her throat. Time was up, and she was out of options bar one. She readies herself, and rounds the corner, pistol raised to trade shots with the waiting bot in cover ahead of her.
'Well. Thanks for nothing, Thorne, you useless shithead.' She spat his name in her mind, gritting her teeth and stared down her foe with an iron determination. She wasn't getting out of this one, but if she was going down, she was going down guns blaz–
The bot never got to set the enforcer to its padded shoulder. A hail of bullets coming from its upper left hammered into it with deadly force, tearing it to shreds in a shower of sparks and oil. Lizzie stopped in her tracks, and after a brief pondering, she registered the signal; a small smile played upon her lips.
"Get a shift on, will you?" Thorne curtly shouted from atop the stairs. Lizzie rolled her eyes, but the smirk remained on her face; she was actually glad to be yelled at. Definitely wasn't useless. She'd never profusely apologised to someone in her mind so much in her life. Casting a quick glance over her shoulders, the rich blue hues stalking towards her in the cavern were the proceedings of her flankers. Holstering her sidearm, Lizzie surged for the cover ahead of her- palms placing flat on the surface as she bodily hauled herself over into a tucked roll as a small burst of shock rounds narrowly missed her left side.
Landing behind the cover on her back with a heavy thud, she exhaled the impact from her lungs; biting back a swear as the pain in her head throbbed. The warm, sticky wetness in her hair trickling behind her right ear was a nice indicator her head had been cut by the punch she took earlier, but at least she can rule out concussion. She pressed herself flush against the crate as much as her bulky breastplate would allow; tucking her legs in tight in case she needed to roll or bound out. Only one Shepherd was currently guarding the capture zone, and it was currently under an oppressing level of suppression from Thorne overhead.
None of the shots were landing, but they didn't need to. Regardless, she felt the need to keep an eye on it lest it decided to be brave and try to blindfire her; fortunately, she's fairly confident the DeeBee combat programming doesn't include firing around a corner like a maniac.
Metal feet got close, and her breath caught in her throat when she realised her flankers had reached the bottom of the stairs. Shit!
She had seconds before one of the bots would take a glance up the stairs, spot, and then inevitably pepper Thorne. Looking around, she finds the enforcer of the now-slain DeeBee forgotten on the ground, up for grabs. Snatching it up, she fluidly cracks the breach open, sees at least a three-quarter mag, and snaps the breach shut. She didn't have time to take aim, she could practically hear the bot looking up; hear Benik's stifled swearing…
Speaking of blind fire.
She throws caution into the wind; gripping the handle of the SMG tight, she anchors herself against the cover, and clamps on the trigger- rotating her wrist in an arcing scything motion. The cavern opening from whence she came is drowned in a statico of electrified rounds swarming forth like a cloud of rattled hornets, and within a second, Lizzie heard the telltale shriek of shearing metal, frying circuits and overloading components, followed by the clattering crashes of two slagged bots.
Chancing a look up to the plateau, she sees the hunkered form of Thorne lift his head. He briefly checks himself over, and looks down the stairs at the two bucketheads smoking on the tiled ground, and then to Lizzie.
The idea alone that the helmeted stare was…unreasonably soft and relieved already seemed like a breach in whatever character he was attempting to be when he first met Echo; a very obvious nod shot her way in thanks. She can't help but smile again, and reciprocates the gesture.
His gaze immediately snaps back ahead, and his rifle's raised.
"Get down!" He squeezes off a few more rounds over her head, causing Lizzie to instinctively flinch; throwing herself back over the opposite side of her cover, and bunkers down tight in time to avoid the shots of a reinforcing DeeBee. Her tac-com crackles into life, Thorne's voice fizzles through.
"Fuck me. Am I the only one who forgot these tossers have infinite replacements?" It wasn't supposed to be funny, but Lizzie found herself snickering all the same. Shaking her head, she scrabbles her hand forward. She purloins two barely-used mags from the dead DeeBees- stuffing one into her belt and reloading the other one into her SMG; the old casing clattering to the ground.
"So what's the plan, now?" She asked with a slight pip in her voice. They'd barely moved a few inches forwards, but it was progress, all the same. The faintest spark of hope began to burn within her; a teasing notion that they might just have a chance. Even with one DeeBee back on the field and two soon coming off the assembly line to make the odds 2-1, she couldn't help but feel like they might actually just pull this off.
"You're the senior here, Carmine." The response wasn't cold. The exact opposite, actually. It was a concession; Thorne wanted her to lead. Her brows knitted together at that. She didn't have the foggiest clue on leading. But…surely it wouldn't be too difficult, right? It's not like she had to direct a whole squad. It was just her and him, and he'd already done a job of setting up their success; she just needed to fill in the blanks and make it snappy. Now was the best chance they had. Exhaling through clenched teeth, she counts to five in her head.
'Remember what Uncle Clay said. Scan. Think. Plan. Move.' She looks above from the safety of her crate. Ahead of her lay a few scattered crates before the actual capture zone which lay beyond a small hab cluster populated with racks on racks of inert Shepherds, lying in suspended animation…waiting for their turn to join the fight.
In the zone itself was the lone bot that Thorne had dedicated to keeping pinned- nestled safely in the corner of an L-shaped cover formation on the very edge of the zone. On its right flank a mere couple dozen yards away was the newly-awakened DeeBee, who was also currently being pinned by Benik in an adjacent wedge of cover. Scan.
The bots were pinned, but Benik was draining mags at the rate of knots, and sooner or later, the bots would move to a more problematic position to accommodate the arrival of their chums once he'd used the last mag. They needed to move fast. Think .
Lizzie will move under the cover of his fire to the small block to her left by the rockwall. She'll give cover, he'll make his way into the cover she'd just vacated. Rinse and repeat, they creep closer whilst the DeeBees are unable to return fire or even move. All they'll be able to do is stay still, and hope they're fast enough to react to close combat. Good thing these assholes didn't 'hope'. Plan .
Lizzie ran her tongue along her lower lip in anticipation with a giddy smile. The plan had formed, and it was going to work. Nodding to herself, she clears her throat, and reopens the tac-com.
"Cover me! Once I'm in position, you move on down- take my right. We switch cover, fire and advance until we're right upon 'em. On my mark; make it snappy, got it? Over." She only realised after the message was relayed that her tone may have come across harder than intended; she allowed herself a small chuckle. Uncle Clay would be proud for damned sure.
There was a faint pause, before the channel crackled.
"Copy. Out."
She got herself into the zone, focusing her mind to a sharpened point; determination laced her tired muscles like steel, reinvigorating them beyond all explanation.
'Born soldiers. That's what Carmines are. That's what -I- am.' She repeated this in her mind, over and over like a mantra. All her training comes down to this moment, entrusting herself and a soldier she didn't even know to finish the fight. To win the fight.
She propped herself on the balls of her feet- the boots' many plates sliding along one another as she readied herself. Gritting her teeth, she closes the channel with a final word.
"Now!" Move.
The sudden bark of lancer fire came the instant Lizzie gave the signal- another commendation to Thorne for truly keeping it snappy- and she sprinted like a shot for the cover to her left. A large u-shaped triumvirate of mechanised crates that was staggered some distance away from the Shepherd on her right. Thorne's fire saturated the two crate dug-outs as he alternated between keeping both DeeBees pinned as ferociously as possible.
Lizzie was so close, just a few yards to go. That's when the lancer stopped firing. Her eyes widened the moment Thorne's loud swears hit her ears. Whilst the silence only lasted a couple seconds, and was replaced with the sharp crack of a snub being fired in broken rhythm, the delay was enough for the second bot to get a brief window to fire a shot. Gritting her teeth, Lizzie threw herself forwards into a dive, tucking her head into her shoulders and rolling with the impact as her armoured shoulders slammed onto the deck with a thudding shriek; the momentum carrying her into the box's safety just as a swarm of enforcer rounds slashed across the covertop. She tried to ignore the fact she felt the bullets graze the metal of her back. If she hadn't rolled…
Shaking her head to clear the black, dazing spots the desperate manoeuvre elicited from her head injury, she adjusted herself to the cover, squatting behind the barricade and keeping her head down as she stared back to Thorne's position.
'Impressed' would be a gross understatement at the man's adaptability to shitty situations. His lancer had clearly run dry, yet he'd wasted no time to use his right hand to draw his sidearm (the one he'd willingly given her ammo from) and pepper the bots with it. The bot on the left, which had shot at her, was having a faint twitching fit behind its own bulwark; sparks flew from a rend in its shoulder inflicted by the sidearm, forcing it back into cover and giving Benik time to slam a fresh mag into his lancer.
Lizzie couldn't help but admire the man's work. Lack of tactical acumen and social warmth aside, the guy knew how to handle that rifle; she'd wager he'd be able to give JD a run for his money. Banishing her intrusive thoughts to one side, she seized her moment. Rising from her squat with an invigorated litheness, she sprays the uninjured Shepherd with an unrelenting salvo; her forearms and biceps bulging to control the unruly upwards recoil of the SMG as it stitched a swarm of electrified munitions into the DeeBee. The bot responds by rightfully ducking behind cover. Leg servos whirring audibly as it strained to avoid the fusillade.
Within seconds, the steps arching from the plateau rumbled with rapidly-descending bootfalls as Thorne stormed down the stairs with a fresh mag inside his lancer. Covering the gap between Lizzie's previous cover and the bottom of the stairs was no effort at all, and in a heartbeat, Thorne's bracing the base of the magazine atop his cover, and resumes his own suppressing fire, readying Lizzie for her push forwards.
The process repeated several times; one would lay down fire, the other would advance, one block at a time, creeping closer. Everytime a Shepherd tried to halt the assault of the two gears, it was forced to duck back down from each punishing volley. They couldn't even retreat; their position pinned between two overlapping fields of fire. The two gears fought in perfect unity, and every step of the way, Lizzie was smiling, never breaking stride.
As they reached the last hurdle, she wasn't even fazed by the click of her empty enforcer; she discarded it without a second thought like the dead baggage it was to her, her snub brandished with a proud flourish. Her precise trigger pull was rewarded with an audible 'plink!' as one of the eyes of the Shepherd taking shelter in front of her was sheared off in a flash of sparks and scrap. It violently spasmed, staggering out of cover- foot barely in the zone.
'This is it! We've got this! I've got this! I've been training for this shit. Fuck Breakthrough! Breakthrough's my bitch! Lizzie Carmine's bitch!' She growled through gritted teeth; her legs screamed in exertion, adrenaline tanks almost depleted. But she pushed on, spurned by her obsession to see this through. Thorne seemed to pick up on this, as she could very faintly see him matching her vicious pace in the corner of her vision. As she reached the obstacle standing between her and victory, she fluidly holsters her snub- deft fingers popping the clasp on her knife sheath and drawing the wicked standard-issue blade of the COG army and gripping it in reverse. Her free hand splays palm-flat on the cover top and bounds over the crate, jutting herself boots-first into the lower back of the staggering DeeBee with a satisfyingly-loud crack. She felt things of brittle fibreglass and aluminium casings crumble and break under the force of her kick beneath the insulated padding that clad its exoskeleton, causing it to stiffen and tremble precariously as it struggled to face its assailant.
Its arms tremble violently, unable to raise the enforcer even in melee range- she'd definitely ruptured some servos that connected to the arms. For good measure, Lizzie presses herself chest-to-chest with the Shepherd; left hand pushing the top of the enforcer down and away from her as she brings her right arm up and down with the force of a comet. With a singular yell of heated exertion, she drove the knife directly into the DeeBee's face- the weighted metal tip biting into the machine's face with a tooth-grating scream. Its face buckled inwards around the width of her blade- glass shattering and wires fizzling, before she tore the knife free; its serrated edge tearing the cavity in its face into a mechanical yawning mess. Sparks and oily fluids spurted over her face and shoulder, and its knees gave way without any semblance of weight or stability- it collapsed to the deck, well and truly inert.
Lizzie stared at the wreck at her feet. Her blood thundered in her ears and her breathing was heaving.
'One down. One t–Shit! The other one!' The telltale click of any enforcer being brought to bear. Snapping her attention to the right, she sees the other Shepherd take aim. She was in the open, without a gun. She wasn't ready for the pain, this time. Her eyes went wide with fear and shock. And then he appeared.
A firm hand grasped the Shepherd by the back of its collar, followed by a sharp, filtered growl as Thorne bodily ragged the bot off its feet and across the top of the cover. Its processors went haywire, as any intention to shoot Lizzie went out of the window the moment the younger gear began to drag it around like a ragdoll. Thorne hauled it over the crate; the metal back of the Shepherd shrieked mechanically as it scraped across the fabricated surface until it was left half slumped over both edges like meat on a butcher's block; its head hung over one edge, staring up at Benik, its legs dangled loose over the other.
Thorne released the DeeBee, staggering back with a gruff exhale at the sheer effort needed to drag the machine onto the cover. But that didn't stop him. He consolidates his breathing into stark growls and grunts, before he violently brings the butt of his lancer into the bot's face. The glass of its eyes cracked wetly, and the Shepherd spasmed on the spot, stunned by the blow.
"Mother fucker!" He snarled, before cranking the handle on his lancer, awakening the saw with its terrifying scream. Smoke billowed from the vents on the rifle's side, before he swung both arms into the air, and hammered his bayonet down like a guillotine into the Shepherd's neck. The sound of whirring teeth ripping into the Shepherd's throat was enough to make a man's ears cringe, and Lizzie found herself wincing at the cacophony of shredding pipes, shearing metal and spattering fluids, all drowned by the dull scream of the lancer and Thorne's baleful roar. The DeeBee's legs and arms flailed in spastic throes as the chainsaw rips its way free through the back of its neck in an arterial, oily spurt. The head slithers down the wall of the cover, cyan-hued eyes flickering their last whilst the rest of the bot goes rigid. Sparks and fluids continue to pump and jet from the ruined stump that was its neck.
Thorne idly boots the head away- lancer saw no longer roaring, but forever thrumming in hungry anticipation for more victims. The whole while Lizzie was staring. She'd seen many gears act like badasses or maniacs. A lot of the time it came across as very contrived or an unnecessary flex, which was always a hard turn-off (not in that sense). But Thorne's approach to fighting was something…very real. Pure. And that…
'...that was fuckin' hot. Jeezus.' She didn't even feel ashamed at such a pervasive thought. The man carried himself like a born soldier, and that proficiency with the lancer was nothing short of inspiring. A bit broody, but goddamn did he make sure the job got done. She couldn't help but notice how much his arms bulged whenever he put the saw to work, making his deceptively-average build seem much larger. And by God, she was all for that.
She didn't realise how she'd been awkwardly staring at him- both covered in smears of DeeBee gore. What made the situation even more awkward was he was matching her stare inch-for-inch. Usually, staring contests were something that she found annoying or uncomfortable, depending on the person. Yet with Thorne, she felt…strangely curious. The initial wonder he had to him when they first met had returned with a stronger urge for her to know more.
There was certainly more to this guy that met the eyes. It's just a shame he hid it behind a wall of–
"You waiting for a fucking invitation? Get on the point!" Yeah. That. She rolled her eyes at the harsh cut that his voice inflicted. Thorne put the chainsaw to sleep by setting the throttle to the side, and mantled over the crate his butchered victim was laid upon, and made the final dash for the flagpoles; Lizzie followed behind at breakneck speed, trading her knife into her left and to free the right for her snub- crossing her wrists over so the blade rested beneath the snub's clip housing, poised to strike if anything came too close.
But victory was close at hand. The objective was in sight. But she was so damn tired. Her breathing was hoarse and laboured from her past knockout and injuries; her teeth chattered as she made the final surge onto the zone- Thorne right by her side.
The moment her boots touched the painted decking, the whole arena resonated with the droning howl of the klaxon. The countdown had begun. The only issue was her and Thorne were completely exposed; no cover within the zone, and she could already hear the decompression of two DeeBees being dropped off the rack behind the vault doors ahead of them. The DeeBees needed to be shit shots, otherwise they'll get downed on the point, which is straight-up embarrassing in concept.
Training her pistol on the doors, she gives Thorne a side-glance. He'd just slung his Lancer onto his back, and had drawn his own snub; he'd run out of ammo, but goddamn did he make every shot count. Chewing her lip apprehensively, she called out to him.
"Hey. Hey, new guy!" He looks at her wordlessly. "You did good." She winced inwardly as her own words left her mouth. 'You did good. Awesome choice of words, jackass…' There were probably worse last words in existence and history, but her choice was still pretty shit by usual standard. Thorne looked at her almost awkwardly, before he gave her a shallow nod, and returned his focus to the door without a word. Lizzie thought best to save face, and say nothing else.
The klaxon sounds again- ten seconds to go. The longest ten seconds in recent memory…her fingers wiggle and tighten around the pistol and knife.
The two giant pistons that keep the door sealed hiss with a release of hydraulic pressure. With the assistance of a thick gear on either side, the door begins to slowly rise. A black void awaited underneath the growing entrance to the storage rack; the tell-tale hue of low light-emitting bulbs bled into the black, gently blanketing the void in a crimson flush. Two sets of heavy boots echoed from behind the door, waiting for the void to give way to the arena. Lizzie grit her teeth, taking deep, measured breaths to hide her trepidation as she kept her pistol aimed at head height for the door. Thorne was right by her side.
The klaxon blared. She could've sworn it got louder, each time. Five seconds.
The doors part open, and two sets of robotic eyes cut through the darkness enveloping the storage block. The forms of the Shepherds came into the light; enforcers were bared and ready to fire. Her lungs seized. Even at the distance between herself and the robots, she could practically hear the triggers press down to the metal of the handle. She never had the chance to fire.
The klaxon blares in harmony with the baritone drumming hiss of the enforcers, and this time there was nowhere to run. Every muscle in her body suddenly locked out and burned like a thousand iron pokers were thrust deep into them. Immeasurable pain wracked her body as the shock rounds grappled her in their invisible grasp. She couldn't even scream; only a repressed whine slipped through her clenched teeth, before her legs finally gave way. The shock was followed by a cold numbness; she felt weightless and free, as the world tumbled around her. She didn't register herself landing back first onto the deck; she didn't much care, either.
Black spots began to creep into her vision- a warm darkness that resonated from the cut upside her head. With a small smile on her lips, Lizzie let one last thought have its final hurrah, before the abyss enveloped her.
'I won.'
Lizzie's eyes opened with a creeping slowness. She stifled a wince as mint-hued light invaded her tired eyes that had barely been filtered by her helmet's visor. The sensation of feeling returned to her body, and she was greeted by the cold touch of a metal surface rubbing against her raven-black hair. She realised at this point that her helmet had been removed, and she was lying flat on her back. That explained why the lights stung her like a bitch.
Lifting a gloved hand to shield the offending rays from her eyes as they adjusted, she refamiliarised herself with the surroundings of the inside of the training hab. A cold, bland gathering hub populated with weapon racks and armour stands, with the occasional emergency infirmary station- all bathed in a minty-citrus tinge from the shit-tastic light bulbs the COG were obsessed on filling their infrastructure with.
Hissing through clenched teeth, Lizzie attempted to rise from her seated position as she saw three figures in the distance. Her brain was still unscrambling itself, so the figures were completely indistinguishable from one another. Straining with a soft groan, she suddenly felt a familiar set of hands rest behind her unarmoured shoulder and right bicep; holding her steady with a faint shushing.
"Woah, woah, woah. Easy there, Liz." Alvarez hushed soothingly. Lizzie was hardly surprised Al had practically camped beside her during her blackout. She'd have done the exact same thing. She didn't bother asking the redhead what brought her here; her brain wasn't that battered.
"How long was I out?" Lizzie rasped. Talking was hard. Everything was.
"About twelve minutes, give or take."
"Fuck me. DeeBee got me that good, huh?" Alvarez smirked with a faint lightheartedness.
"You did take a pretty good punch to the side of your noggin. Me and Vas were both surprised you weren't out like a light, but, well…"
"Well what?" Lizzie gave the kashkuri shifty eyes at her shameless trail-off.
"You're a Carmine. Tough bunch of bastards, you are. If Clay was watching, he'd have been giving you a standing ovation." Lizzie couldn't help but smile at that. Alvarez certainly caught the gesture, so lightly rubbed her arm. "C'mon. Sarge'll wanna give you praise. You somehow won -and- lost. Shoulda seen his face; guy was about to shit a ticker." Lizzie let out a gigglesnort. She takes Al's offered hands, and is slowly brought to a seated position, her legs dangling freely over the edge. The world came to meet her lopsided brain much slower than when Thorne unceremoniously ragged her to her feet, and by god was the sensation so much more accommodating. Lizzie felt her stomach lurch for a moment, but there was no stark stab of pain in her skull. Shutting her eyes momentarily to balance herself, she gives Al a faint nod to signal she's okay, who then proceeds to guide her to a stand. Her mind wandered as the man's name became the forefront of her thoughts.
"Shit. Thorne. Is he–"
"Guy's fine. He got dropped the same as you. Though without his bell being rung, he just hit the deck like you. The moment the game was declared over and the bots stopped hosing the poor bastard, he waited by you until the medics came out. Gotta admit, thought you two were gonna be an invincible duo. Shoulda seen Vas's face when he got to work with the saw; lad's got some fire in his belly, that's for certain." Lizzie hummed in thoughtful agreement. He stood by her until the medics came out despite their barely-rocky standing with one another? Duty and simple squadron courtesy aside, it showed a pretty deep integrity to the man; she found herself increasing his standing more and more, just like how her initial reservations of him got absolutely dashed in minutes of fighting alongside him.
Kieran never took his role as a gear seriously; he was a fun kid, but he came from a well-off family and he simply wanted to rebel and do what nobody would've dared dream him capable of doing. Fighting was a game to him, and whilst he carried himself well enough, and on the exterior that made him likeable and bubbly (which is kinda why she had a thing with him), it made a shit soldier without much discipline. He didn't quite get the danger until it caught him in the side of the head in the shape of that damn sniper round. He was a good kid, but not a gear.
Thorne, on the other hand, was something else. He was disciplined, hardy, adaptable, and knew his limits. But that didn't stop him utterly smashing the competition to bits. And fucking hell is he good with the lancer. If her womanly intuition wasn't offkey from her headache, she wagered from his size and build, he may have only been a few years older than her; the fact he didn't have his helmet off only made that estimate harder to certify. To be that age and have all the traits for a model soldier was always a big thumbs-up.
"Yeah. He's got that, alright."
Making her way out of the infirmary, she makes her way over to the other gathered three with Ellen by her side. One was visibly Vas who was conversing with drill sergeant Makowski; the third would be Thorne, though she couldn't get a good visual on him given how both sergeants were blocking any view to him. As she got closer, the attention of the two older men turned to her. One was arching a brow in utter bewilderment at her; the other was grinning like an idiot. Vas- the latter, gruffly patted Lizzie on the shoulder, which caused her to rock and cause her brain to rattle. She groaned a smidge, earning an apologetic smile.
"Look at you, little voin . I knew you had that fight in you!" The ostri sergeant proudly huffed, which drew an involuntary flush in her cheeks. Braying through her lips in dismissal, she pats the hand off her shoulder.
"C'mon. I wasn't exactly…y'know, alone." She cants her head sidelong to try and peer past the barricade that was Vas and Makowski's arms. Vas caught the hint square on, and he turned sideways, beckoning for Thorne to step into the ovation gathering. This was the first time she'd seen him without his helmet on, and suddenly, the flush in her cheeks began to feel impossibly hotter than usual.
His face was young, but hardened by frown lines and wrinkles from evident combat experience; rich brown eyes complimented by short, muddy-brown hair that was shorter on the sides, complete with a recently-shaved stubble.
Bad attitude aside, the guy was a fucking looker. Lizzie was suddenly feeling like one of those cliché schoolgirls who fawns over the jerk with the looks. But Thorne was anything -but- that. Sure, he was rough around the edges, but the guy was a damn good shot, worked as a team player when the situation called, and didn't mess about. And god, that accent…
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she forces herself to look back between Vas and Makowski upon realising Thorne wasn't even giving her a glance.
"Credit where credit's due. Carmine for getting back up after taking such a shot to the head. Thorne for taking control of a shitty situation. And credit to both of you for going down swinging." Vas clasps his hands together audibly with a rather paternal grin. He even gives Thorne a hearty slap on the back, which causes the sage-armoured gear to lurch forwards slightly. As expected, a rather inconvenienced glower creases his brow.
"And somehow still winning." Makowski adds with no small measure of embittered surprise in his voice. Folding his charcoal arms across one another, the helmeted drill sergeant gives a gruff exhale. "But yeah, nicely done, Echo-2. For still being rusty with a new squaddie, you smashed expectations. Plenty of scrapped bots, too. Not like I give a shit about that though; I don't foot the bill to DB Industries." Rolling his shoulders apathetically with a crack, he lifts both hands in the air. "Y'got ten minutes Echo, then you're going back in. Grab a coffee, restock, rearm and discuss tactics; next exercise is Seize Ground. I'll be in the booth if any of you wanna pester me about shit you should know at this point." The sergeant then departs, but stops three paces ahead. Clicking his fingers, he turns and points at Lizzie. "'Cept for you, Carmine."
"What?" Lizzie's head turned on a greased swivel. 'Pissed' wasn't the word for her reaction to this. Makowski's helmeted gaze remained unflinching.
"You're barely standing on your feet. You've got Alvarez wingmanning you case your legs turn to jell-o and I can see the hangover effect in those baby blues of yours; if you think I'm letting you go back into a live fire exercise without -at least- a check-up at the doc's and letting your uncle ream my asshole, you're dreamin' kiddo." Lizzie's jaw hangs at the decisive blow the sergeant inflicted to her. She had no chance to retort, as he was already headed for the booth. The man had spoken.
"He's got a point, luv. I don't want you decking it because your head can't take the strain." Al pipes up from behind, feeling Lizzie's frustration seep out. "Look, just…get yourself checked-out, and go sit in the booth. Grab yourself a brew, eh? Grains are only half-dirt texture, this morning.~" She squeezes Lizzie's shoulder with a warm grin. Pursing her lips, Liz grapples Al's own hand, which slips out slowly. The redhead moves over to the munitions bay- probably to restock her markza.
Sighing tiredly, she looks up at Vas, who gives her a firm wink. Clapping her shoulders wordlessly, he moves to join Al.
"Good luck, grandpa." Lizzie calls after him, provoking a soft chortle from the sergeant. Then there were two.
Rubbing her eyes, she looks up to see Thorne was very much still in her presence. This time he was looking right at her- helmet slung under his left arm. She felt like she was shrinking under his gaze, and she couldn't help but feel stupid for it. Clearing her throat, she straightens herself out to look at the newbie.
"Guess you're gonna say some smarmy shit about me needing to be at my best?" She tried to keep the bite out of her tone, but given his track record in people skills, she expected some kind of half-assed lecture; best to come out the gates first whilst swinging, right? Much to her surprise, the young gear snorts dryly with a faint shake of the head.
"Actually I was gonna say you did good out there. If I took a smack to the head like that, I'd have been out like a light. You're tougher than you look." There was a…strange sincerity to his words. A complete polar opposite to their first encounter, and more importantly, his battlefield demeanor. She was fairly sure she failed to hide the shock on her face, given the faint amusement he showed.
"Oh, uh…thanks? You did good, too."
"I know I did, but it wasn't enough. I thought we were gonna lose; you helped drag it back." Flattery? This was…weird, to say the least. But he certainly wasn't being overly gratuitous. It still didn't stop that flush in her cheeks from painting her face almost rosé hue. Scratching the nape of her neck awkwardly, she nods.
"I mean, it was your plan. I just…followed orders, I guess." This elicited a short chuckle from Thorne; it was a deep, throaty noise that rumbled on her ears like it was her favourite music. It was certainly a noise she wouldn't mind hearing again.
"Hardly. I'm a shit leader. Tactics are hardly my thing; I gave you the base to work off of, and you gave us the angle of attack. You adapted and got us to the finish line. You're not as helpless as you think."
That made her smile. She'd chatted with plenty of smooth-talkers and silver tongues before; the assholes who knew how to say the right things to get a girl to fawn over them, even if they didn't believe half the shit they said. But Thorne's words were genuine. They resonated with her own insecurities without him even knowing what they are. It was a nice change of pace.
"And you're not as much of a dickhead as -we- think." She kept the tone light. Perhaps she crossed a line at that? Thorne registered the words and his brows raised for a moment. Then he smiled. It was fleeting and brief. But she knew what she saw. Tilting her head, she playfully narrows her eyes a bit.
"Y'know. I never pegged you for that." He furrowed his brows questioningly. "Your smile. You should do it more often." The silence that followed was deafening. The awkwardness followed not far behind. For a moment, she struggled to look at him; she could tell he may have been avoiding her gaze as well, though no doubt he was more nudged the wrong way by her churlishness than she was embarrassed.
She had to think of something fast to break the silence- kill the awkwardness. Smacking her lips, her first thought came to mind.
"So, uhm, when you're finished here, how about I give you a tour? Of our digs, I mean. Show you about. Ease you in. All that jazz?" She works up the courage to make eye contact with him, and instantly finds relief to see his pensive brows soften. He nods a few slow times, and his voice undertakes a slight huskiness to it.
"Yeah. Yeah, that'd be good." The two exchange another fleeting, almost obligated pleasant smile to one another.
"Okay."
"Alright, then."
"You should probably–"
"Yeah, yeah. You should go check out th–"
"On it. On it." Lizzie felt eyes on her from behind. She knew Vas and Al were no doubt staring at this beautifully-retarded moment between her and the new guy. The awkward smalltalk was certainly doing no favours, so she opts to be the first to disengage.
"So…good luck, Thorne." She gives him a pair of weak thumbs-up, to which he folded his lips in. 'Yeah, buddy. I'd be cringing too. Nice work, jackass…' her intrusive thoughts kicked at her like a mule, and with care to her steps, turns for the exit of the training hab. His voice calls out to her.
"Benik. Benik works." It was enough to make her stop in her steps. Her breath catches in her throat for a moment. That damn flush comes back in an inferno. Why? He only gave her consent to use his first name. Clearing her throat, she shoots him a look over her shoulder back at him.
"Okay. Benik. Good luck…you already know me, but…Lizzie is fine by me. Or Liz, whichever you–" she fumbles her words, and earns her a rather unimpressed shoulder sag from Thorne. His deadpan wasn't offensive in any way, but it was still an indicator she was well past due for shutting up.
Nodding to herself in finality, she turns to make her exit, but not before matching eyes with Al from all the way across the hab. There's a very familiar glint in her eyes; the same one she had when Liz and Kieran first met. Scoffing silently, she flags Alvarez the finger as she takes her leave- eyes like spears aimed at the redhead; thank god Thorne had already turned his back by that point.
Turning back on her bootheels to leave, a million thoughts flushed through her head all at once; all were conflicting. She'd made a fool of herself a couple times, yet Thorne didn't bite. And now they were on a first name basis? Lizzie chewed her lip in thoughtful anticipation as the door out of the training hab slid open with a soft grinding of metal and the hiss of depressuring pistons that birthed way to the long, stale corridor that led back to the interior of the garrison. She got a resounding victory out of today.
She won Breakthrough. She got to prove herself. She also had her first impressions of Thorne completely reversed.
Lizzie smiled to herself, the flush not quite disappearing. Today was totally worth that punch in the head.
Phew! That was a mouthful. This chapter was exceedingly long as I wanted to get the full start/middle/end of their first proper encounter together and establish the foundations that brings them to where they are today. Leaving their post-training encounter to next chapter would've been awkward and left it uncomfortably open-ended (given my current writing release schedule record...)
Now, I can't guarantee the next chapter will be coming soon, but I have a rough draft lined out. The next chapter is a compilation of flashbacks that time jump, before we finally return to the present day before the assault of Hadley's Gorge begins.
Thank you all for your continued patience, and hope you enjoyed the read!
Do keep your eyes on the Warhammer tab of this website...a side project may be rearing its head, soon.
- S