Venture Capital VI: Rolling Blackout

Jefferson Tower

December 14, 10:50 AM

The armored chopper swerved as it rose, batted around by the raging winds. Below, the Jefferson Tower rocked under artillery fire, the entrances already breached and battle raging deep within its halls. Even further underground, the citizens of Jefferson City were making their choice – stay and accept their new masters, stay and fight with the resistance, or evacuate in the shelter's transport copters. By the terms of the Houston Accords, Blue Moon was not allowed to attack the evacuation choppers, but worse things had been done in the excitement of seizing a capital, even a regional one. By all accounts, many civilians were making for the choppers, but there was only room inside for a few.

The snow had died down now, giving way to driving rain. Inside the chopper, General Vance and General Carpenter sat with their guards, tensely holding onto their seatbelts.

"We should not have let them go!" General Vance spoke in reference to Captain Allen and his equally psychotic OF, Jackal, who had disappeared on a supposed 'direct scouting opportunity' just before the battle was clearly lost. "If they're cornered, they could decide to defect to the enemy!"

"Patience is a virtue, Vance." General Foster, communicating with them through the transceiver, put her hands together, a dark twinkle in her eye. "Allen and Jackal are killers. They thrive on situations like these."

"Bah." Vance fell silent, glancing nervously at the swirling rain. "I suppose our first worry is escape from the battle zone."

Silence for a few moments. On the other screen, General Bernstein scratched his head. "And there is still no news of Nell."

Vance growled, but said nothing. Even General Foster's usually smug face showed a sliver of concern. The silence continued; one of the guards hung his head, drawing the ire of Vance. "Don't be stupid, soldier. The notion that one person can win a war is laughable anyways."

Allen's tactics had caught Blue Moon by surprise, but the enemy's commanders were not fooled for long. There was a simple answer to the riddle of how Orange Star could maintain such a counterattack despite being backed against the wall: they couldn't. The attack had staggered Blue Moon, as their forward units had mobilized for assault rather than siege, but that didn't mean their back units were in the same predicament. Indeed, once Blue Moon had been pushed back to the siege lines, Orange Star's assault had sputtered out. From the looks of it, all Allen had done was make the battle for Jefferson City bloodier.

Foster had disagreed with that notion. "More of our soldiers died, yes, but they would soon have been captured or dead anyways thanks to Blue Moon. This way, we took more of them with us. Do note that Allen didn't order them all forward – after all, someone needs to organize the resistance once the city has been occupied."

"A resistance that will lead to nothing," grumbled Vance under his breath, but Foster heard him.

"Have more faith in our people, General. Not every civilian down there is a coward. True, we have weakened under Nell, but our nation's spirit stands strong. If nothing else, this is a wake-up call for our people. Now that Cosmo Land has fallen, every able bodied man and woman will stand up and do their part instead of hiding behind the nation's finest."

Carpenter stared at the screen. "Foster. You've given up on Cosmo Land already?"

"We'll be using Falcon Island as a foothold for satellite links and evacuation of our remaining soldiers." Foster gave them her best Baba Yaga grin, making her artificially-young face look quite menacing. "Until Nell's return, President Drapela has placed General Bernstein in charge of the military details."

Bernstein spoke again. "I have delegated the overall national defense plan to General Foster. We have decided to focus our efforts on the mainland and strike while the iron is hot, so to speak."

Vance and Carpenter spoke at once, neither audible above the other's words as they grew louder and louder. Eventually, Vance shut up, looking sullen, and Carpenter spoke.

"You propose to invade Blue Moon on the mainland, then. Am I understanding you properly?"

"On the contrary, the invasion already commenced at 0600 hours this morning," Foster said neutrally. "Hm? I did send you a message to that effect."

"We were a little preoccupied," snapped Vance.

A bump was heard on the outside of the T-Copter, causing Vance to jump. "Just some turbulence," the pilot said. "I'll tell you when to panic."

Foster sighed. "Blue Moon didn't expect this move. They see us as little weaklings who cling to each other and always try to do the hero thing. Well, let's see them defend their homeland when the bulk of their military is committed to Cosmo Land. Did you know that our counterattack has already pushed them back to the border?"

Silence. Vance sneezed into his handkerchief. General Carpenter stared down at her tablet, scrolling through the images of the battle's lines. They were now flying over Blue Moon territory; the bullets would start coming at them anytime now. Carpenter wouldn't admit it to the other generals, but she sorely wished Nell was there. She shut her eyes, trying not to think of the people they had failed.

The people they were leaving to suffer or die in what had weeks before been her favorite city.

Blue Moon Forward HQ

10:52 AM

"Let 'em go."

Lieutenant Nyberg blinked: that hadn't been what he'd expected from CO-Colonel Grit. Perhaps a "I'll deal with them later," or more likely an "oh, that's nice."

"Sir?" he repeated. "Let them go? But..."

"Now, I know for a fact that Gen'ral Bernstein and Gen'ral Foster ain't on that box. Foster's a crazy one; if the rumors are true and she's back, it don't bode well for us or them. Bernstein plays the long game – he ain't near as good as Nell, but unshackled by the two head clowns, he'd be a bit of a problemo."

Nyberg blinked. "But if we don't know who is onboard... there could be someone important, maybe an OF or such-"

"Nah. I don't feel anything from that big flying box. That being said, you can't say the guys up top that tower were doin' too good at running this whole shebang. I figure we want people who can't plan well in charge of the enemy, not the unknown factors that could take their place."

"They're incompetent generals, so you'd rather have them alive than dead?" Nyberg paraphrased.

"Great job, Hadrian. You got it. If Frosty was fightin' someone b'sides Orange Star, he'd say the same thing." Grit leaned back in his chair – Hadrian saw his eyes flicking between the 6 screens above and around him. It was the most work he'd seen his CO do since he'd been assigned as his advisor.

Grit noticed. "When the battle looks won, that's when there's the most uncertain-ness. Orange Star's got hidden guys everywhere – let 'em go now and that might mean more of ours die later, while lockin' down the city."

Nyberg looked at his screens. The Bowlheads were still putting up quite a fight even though it was hopeless. Once again, Grit's intuition about the situation had proven true. It was almost scary how accurate it was, but Nyberg reminded himself that Grit had once been part of Orange Star – it was natural that he knew how they worked.

"And Nell's disappeared." That was the one piece of bad news to Hadrian, though it looked almost like Grit was relieved. Their failure to capture her would have dire consequences later, he imagined.

"I didn't expect we would anyhow. That woman's good, and she knows the tunnel systems." He sighed. "But the young lass Sasha insisted on goin' after her, so there you go."

"What do you think of Colonel Sasha, sir?" Nyberg hadn't gotten much of a sense of it from the conversations he'd listened to them have.

Grit shrugged. "Nice girl. Kind of pushes herself too hard. She's a great leader to the troops, but I got the feeling things'll end badly for her someday."

That wasn't something Nyberg had heard Grit say before. "Sir?"

"Just a feelin', Hadrian. Ramblings of an old cowboy. I don't b'lieve in prophecy except if it's a CO Power. Pretty sure there's an OF out there who can do that, actually, but it sure as spit ain't me."

Grit paused, frowning. Lieutenant Nyberg heard the noise through the Comnet at the exact same time – it could only be described as noise. He felt the flashes of death, received the jumbled visions and sounds of soldiers on the verge of death. In a second, Nyberg cut himself off from the Comnet... it was too overwhelming.

"Sir..." The Lieutenant realized he was face-down on his desk. "What..."

"Hold a sec." Silence filled the Command Room for almost a minute as Nyberg scrolled through the console's tracking screens. One of their squads in the Jefferson Tower had been wiped out, and as the second minute began, signals from another squad began to disappear. Their satellites couldn't see inside the Jefferson Tower, but with the chaos in the Comnet and squads in such a manner, there was only one conclusion to be drawn.

"Well, Hadrian. Looks like we've found the other enemy commander." Grit stood, and Hadrian knew not to argue. Orange Star would only have placed an experienced OF in charge of the capital's defense while Nell was absent. Their soldiers on the front lines would stand no chance... but Hadrian knew that no matter who it was, they'd be no match if Grit got serious.

He really, really hoped Grit was going to get serious.

11:40 AM

Jackal giggled under her breath in the shadows, knowing her voice was just as inaudible to the Moonies as her body was invisible to them in the office room's darkness. This was despite the flashlight they slowly shone across the room, as well as the night-vision goggles worn by the team's leaders. The flashlight traced across her body, crouched atop the cubicle walls in the center of the room. They saw nothing, of course – her powers made sure they could not see, hear, or even smell her as long as she remained relatively motionless.

The soldiers in the squad fanned out, searching the room – they traveled in pairs of two, one covering the path ahead, one covering the back. That would not save them. After all, her everything was also in the room. All she had to do was attack when he told her to. That was the eternal constant of her life.

A crashing noise sounded at the edge of the room, and all eyes turned to look – all except the eyes of the two soldiers at the far end of the room from where the noise had occurred. These were veteran soldiers, not simple recruits. They knew that turning all eyes to the same point would be a tactical mistake.

Of course, Jackal had expected this. In terms of Breakcom ability, she was ranked as an OF, signifying that she needed to enter a trance to project her Comnet. However, this was not strictly true; as a matter of fact, she was capable of projecting a small Comnet, capable of linking 3 or 4 others, while lucid.

Captain Ellis Allen received her signal, and triggered the explosives he had placed on the floor above, collapsing the ceiling on the four soldiers closest to the door. As the others scrambled for cover, Jackal dived off her perch, claws of energy emerging from her fists. Two of the soldiers were torn apart by her first strike; the final two pulled their rifles to the ready and let loose a flurry of bullets at her.

She leaped up into the ceiling, then pushed off it and dived into the soldiers, tearing one in two with her claws. The other dodged her blow, backing off into the room's corner and readying his radio-

Only to be shot in the head by Sergeant Tyler Plaise, who had been concealed in a hidden closet in the back of the room. Captain Ellis Allen emerged after him, and Jackal's heart leaped at the sight. She bounded over, leaning into his nails as he scratched the back of her neck.

Mentally, she received a warning. Another squad incoming... no, two. At Allen's direction, she leaped onto the roof instead of the cubicle; as always, her master's orders were wise, as she saw that the incoming Blue Moon soldiers did not enter the room. Rather, they were preparing RPGs.

Allen gave her the signal, and she leaped off the roof, diving into the mass of Moonies. As they stabbed at her with their bayonets, trying to break through the shell of energy surrounding her, she sliced one RPG wielder's arm off and caught the weapon with her other hand; then, she pounced two paces down the hall and fired straight into the crowd.

As the soldiers scattered and dived out of the way, she pounced on them, ripping and tearing away. The ones that stood again were quickly taken out.

"Not all OFs are this good," Allen drawled to Sergeant Plaise. As he spoke, he fired his pistol, putting a bullet into the Moonie squad leader's brain before he could radio for help. "She's a Colonel for more than just her command aptitude."

"You mean, *your* command aptitude?" Plaise countered.

Allen chuckled. The man knew how to play suck-up, but it wasn't entirely untrue. Jackal was a tactical savant, but Allen handled the overall battle strategy, as the poor girl didn't know how to handle the wounded and dying too well.

Yes, it had been Allen who had come up with this game of making their way down the Jefferson Tower, hunting down Blue Moon soldiers while they were at it. They could have escaped by air or through the tunnels over an hour ago, but his charge wanted to have a little fun; he couldn't say no to such a sweet request, especially when he was thirsty for a little blood as well.

It did play into his strategy of bleeding Blue Moon out, but that was a secondary concern.

Through Jackal's small Comnet, he received a message from his other confidant on the roof: 'Got something on the sensors. We got a Breakcom on approach to the tower by air, ETA ten minutes.'

'Right on. I'm fixin' to leave soon. Better close up shop, Ili. You know where to meet us.' Allen nodded to Plaise, and they walked out into the hall, paying no mind to the scraps and blood staining the floor and now their pants.

Allen put his hand on Jackal's shoulder, rubbing it affectionately. The girl looked up from her art, and stared into his eyes. He leaned in close and whispered to her: "The Moonies are coming to ruin our fun. Let's find a place to stay the night, okay? We can hunt again at dawn."

She nodded and stood, closing her eyes. Through the Comnet, Allen watched her look over the map of the tower, searching for the best escape route.

The Moonies would have blocked off the stairs and elevator by now; there were probably hundreds of them in the lower floors. Allen was on the fifth floor, so the best stairs to take would be...

Jackal's conclusions matched his: the Jefferson Tower would remain a haven for them until the Moonies turned off the tower's interference field, exposing Jackal's Breakcom signature for their satellites to track. They would have to enter the tunnels by then to remain undetected, but the Tower would be safe for at least another hour. They had plenty of time to round to the Tower's other side, well away from the pattern of carnage they had caused.

Allenn, nodded, then walked ahead down the Tower's tiled halls. Their enemy would be here soon, but they'd be long gone by then, ready to coordinate the resistance. And those old bumpkin generals had doubted him! Well, all except Foster, who was the oldest of all. The bitch scared even him, but it was a good thing he had her support in this. From now on, though, he had to stay out of her sight. She was a sharp old bat. Why, if I get careless, she might discover that

Boom.

A spike of fear went through Captain Allen – not only his own, but also from Jackal through the Comnet. Allen looked left and right, mentally piecing together the events of the last five seconds.

Tyler Plaise had jumped between him and the outer walls, throwing his arms outward. At the same time, something had broken in through the wall, flying into the Sergeant's body at the ribcage with the sound of a sonic boom. Plaise was alive and still breathing, but had been thrown back. How had Plaise survived that shot? Simple:

...my two bodyguards are unregistered Projectors.

Allen stared at the wall, mentally cursing his error. He'd expected that the Moonies would have sent Sasha, their special forces commander, to hunt him and Jackal down. It would have made the most sense.

Instead, the one to come after him had been Grit.

Grit stared through the scope of the BSVK sniper rifle, mounted in the open side window of his transport helicopter. He frowned; what kind of power had that soldier had used to block his bullet? Was that man the OF he was to target, then? He'd heard that the OF was a young woman.

Thinking about it any further would be a waste of time. He peered through the scope; as with all military HQ structures, the satellites were blocked from viewing inside the Jefferson Tower thanks to the Cartoulli Field reinforcing the building's structure, but the field did nothing to block Grit's powers. Some might call it X-ray vision, but it wasn't exactly sight. Rather, it was an extra sense, a knowledge of what lay on the other side of the wall.

The same applied to his sense of the shot's trajectory, though that was also projected within his vision. Even the immense recoil of his anti-material rifle was dampened away by the B-field that came from his powers. He readied the sniper rifle again, taking aim at the female among the group inside the Tower. If he shot her, he'd soon see whether she was the OF.

The lights flickered in the helicopter at the moment Grit pulled the trigger. He blinked; the shot had gone wide by almost ten centimeters. His power compensated for natural interference, though, which meant...

Grit stared through the scope, his sight automatically marking any hostile targets. There it was: a female figure on the roof of the Tower, staring him down. He didn't know how, but he knew that she had been responsible for what had happened to the helicopter.

"Just a lightning impact, sir," the pilot reported. "The chopper's EM-shielded against stuff like that."

Grit understood: it hadn't been the lightning that had knocked them off course, but the change in heat in the air from the strike. At such an extreme range, even the slightest deviation in the helicopter's course would cause a massive difference in the impact site.

His hands had already readied the rifle for another shot. The Jefferson Tower was a large building, but if the OF and her cohorts found an intersection or 90-degree turn in the hallway, that would give them a path right out of Grit's range. By the time he got closer to the Tower, they'd probably be at the center or on the other side of the building, and his rifle couldn't shoot through *that* many reinforced walls.

He pulled the trigger again, and this time, his bullet hit the target, though not dead-center; the woman in the building was hit in the arm. She rolled over for a bit, and one of the men ran over and hoisted her over his shoulder. Judging from the fact that her arm hadn't been torn half off by the bullet, he could tell that she was a Breakcom. What did that make the others with her, then? Were all three of these Orange Star soldiers Projectors that he hadn't heard about before?

The next bullet was ready, but Grit paused at the sound of the pilot cursing. "Something's gone wrong with the blasted..." The pilot switched the electronic guidance systems on and off. "Sir, we've got a problem."

"Told Frosty he shouldn't 've cut funding to air R&D," Grit drawled.

"It wasn't the lightning! Wouldn't have been such a gap between the lightning and the short-out... damn it!" The pilot kicked at the controls, but it really wasn't Grit's problem; he could still adjust for it. Grit returned to the scope.

He was still in command through the Comnet, despite the strain it put on his to use his powers personally and globally at once. Through it, he could tell that another squad had made contact with the OF and her cohorts. After sending them a warning to be careful and keep their distance, he aimed his rifle at the second male inside the building. When he'd fired his first shot, the other male had jumped in the way. Grit felt the maelstrom eat away at his body as he expended power into the barrel of the gun; perhaps he really was stretching himself too thin, but he could worry about that later. Time to see just how special this guy actually is.

Captain Allen knew he was a sitting duck in the large storage room, where rows and rows of boxes and rations counted as jack-all when it came to cover; if Grit's power could give his bullets enough force to shoot through the Tower's outer wall, then it wouldn't take much more effort to shoot through the room's wall as well.

They had almost been at an intersection in the hallway, which would have allowed them to move deeper into the Tower and out of Grit's range. However, no doubt under orders from Grit, a squad of Blue Moon soldiers had been there waiting for them. Allen almost laughed – Grit had maneuvered them right into a corner. Allen was busy setting up his explosives against the wall at the northeast corner of the room; since there was no other exit right now, he'd damn well make his own.

Ellis Allen always carried high explosives on his person. Throughout his life, he'd often ended up in situations where he had needed them, so once he got into the habit of taking them with him, he'd never encountered a reason not to.

'Hurry! I'm interfering with their helicopter, but the sniper's about to fire again!' Lieutenant Ilijana Ercegovic was his eye on the roof. Her powers had proven useful to him time and again; it had damn well saved Jackal's life this time. She was there beside him, clutching onto him as the Emeraldine medical wrap around her arm somehow failed to fully stop the bleeding. The bullet had gone through Jackal's arm and out the other side, shredding the muscles inside as it went. A pang of hatred went through Allen's heart: that had been a bad move on CO-Colonel Grit's part. Nobody hurt his sweet monster – nobody. Whether Grit knew it or not, he was now Captain Allen's number-one enemy.

Allen finished with the explosives, then stumbled with Jackal over to the northwest corner of the room, behind several metal shelves and rows of boxes. On the south side of the room, Plaise contined his firefight against the squad. Allen could actually have Plaise exit the room right now and cut them all to shreds... but that wouldn't do. If he did that, Grit would discover Plaise's ability... and then he would know precisely how to kill him. That wouldn't do at all.

Allen reached into his pocket, removing the detonator-

And then the room was rocked by explosives. For a second, Allen thought he had accidentally triggered them early, but that hadn't been his doing. He saw through the Comnet that across the room Plaise had stumbled, almost falling over from the shockwaves-

Boom.

Jackal's throat burned from screaming. Her everything had been sitting with her behind a metal shelf, ready to trigger the explosives, but then the shelf had been torn open and half of him had been launched tumbling into the air, spurting blood all over her-

Her everything's blood was all over her. All over her. Everywhere. Spreading faster. Faster.

A crackling. "Captain! Are you okay? When the Comnet went down, I felt... Captain! Captain, please respond!"

Jackal couldn't comprehend those words. She couldn't comprehend anything at all.

Atop the Jefferson Tower, Ilijana blinked away tears, terror overtaking her body. Captain Allen had been shot, and she knew the culprit. She glared over at the speck on the horizon, the existence that her powers told her was a helicopter with a Breakcom aboard. She could feel his eye land on her, his sniper rifle lining up to take a shot.

"Take your best shot, shithound," she whispered. Someday, this would just be another example of why the whole population of Blue Moon had to be destroyed. Now, though... she could feel the power building up inside her, the hatred and rage. She didn't care what would happen to her body – if Allen was truly dead, then she had no reason to go on. After this, people would know about her powers, and with that... she didn't want to know her next commander's plans for her.

Which was another reason she had to do this. There was one principal witness, and if she killed him, then even if Captain Allen was dead... she might have a way to keep her powers secret after all. Yes, there was only one course of action for her to take.

Blue Moon's CO Grit would die today.

Sergeant Tyler Plaise roared in rage, charging out into the hallway, surprising the Blue Moon soldiers outside. The soldiers opened fire – one launched a rocket at Plaise, but it missed, and Plaise felt the shrapnel bounce off his body. He was lucky that hadn't hit him – that would have been bad – but unlike normal humans, he didn't have to worry about shrapnel... or bullets.

As the Blue Moon soldiers dropped dead or wounded from his bullets, he knew it was too late – a look of realization was plastered on the squad leader's face. They would have been linked to a Comnet, meaning that their commander likely knew what his power was by now.

More Blue Moon soldiers were coming, rounding the corner. Plaise knew they had to get out of here fast. If Blue Moon was smart, they would be wiring explosives either above or below the storage room. Then, there would be no rescuing the man who had saved his life.

There wasn't much left of that man at the moment – both legs and one arm had been blown off, one lung was punctured, and he lay in a pool of his own blood – but he was still struggling to breathe as Jackal wailed over him.

Plaise looked around frantically at the crates, hoping for medical supplies. All he found were food, rope, construction and repair equipment... he couldn't make out the rest because at that moment, all the lights began to flicker on and off repeatedly. He knew whose fault that was. He hoped she wasn't doing anything stupid.

"Excuse me." Plaise spun around, readying his rifle, but the man who had appeared in front of him had no visible weapon. His voice was calm and even, yet a little creepy. "It seems you're in need of a medic. Perhaps I can help."

Grit fired the last bullet in his magazine at the woman on the roof, but right before he pulled the trigger, the woman disappeared in a flash of lightning. As he pulled his eye away from the scope, he heard a *clunk* on the side of the helicopter. The electronically-locked door fizzled, then opened, letting in a rush of swirling air that almost bowled Grit over.

Grit's revolver was out in a flash, and as a shape appeared in the doorway, he fired out the door (bringing a shout of dismay from the pilot). As he'd had no time to aim, the shot merely grazed the figure, which swung inside the helicopter, her own pistol at the ready. The door closed behind her.

"Howdy." Grit stared the woman down. He couldn't make out her build or features under her thick winter uniform and helmet, but he could tell by her stance she was angry, distracted. Under normal circumstances, she would hardly register as a threat... but this was a cramped space and he was a gunslinger, not a brawler. Now if Maxie were here... Grit inadvertently chuckled.

"What the hell is so funny?" the woman demanded. "Do you enjoy shooting people into little chunks that much?"

"Hate to say it, but I kinda do." Grit shrugged. "From your question, I reckon you're a Projector type person, not a Breakcom."

"You shot Captain Allen." Her voice broke. "He might be dead. I'll never, ever forgive you!"

"I never ask for forgiveness," Grit said. "Well, I don't b'lieve I've seen a power like yours before. You got control over electric stuff, don't ya?"

"You weren't supposed to know. Which is another reason I've got to kill you!"

Something was wrong. "Never seen a Projector so devoted to one guy. You're not a normal weapon of the military, aren't you?"

The woman fired her pistol, missing Grit and blowing a small hole in the wall behind him. "I am not a weapon! I am human!" She fired again – Grit watched her pistol's direction and dodged the bullet. "Captain Allen made me human and I won't let you take that away from me!" With her left hand, she pulled out a pocket knife, then she charged him.

Grit stepped out of the way of her strike, then fired his revolver – the bullet went through her B-field and struck through her shoulder, causing her to drop her pistol. She dropped the knife as well, grasping for Grit – he stepped out of the way, but her hand brushed his shirt as she stumbled into the wall.

Pain surged through Grit like he'd been hit by lightning, and he fell to a knee, gasping for breath. The smell of burning flesh filled the air.

Guess this brings the situation from bad to real bad. Under these circumstances, he couldn't even grapple against her. Air travel had never been his thing, but after this, he really doubted

Grit's arms didn't obey at first, but after a few seconds, he could move again. His adversary had reached her pistol again, and fired off three more bullets – two struck him in the side, but thankfully, he felt nothing important rupture. The pistol she was holding didn't look like the same specialty model that most Breakcoms had, but since her power was electricity, she was likely propelling the bullets with her power, like a coilgun.

Air rushed up at Grit through the bullet holes she had made. He stumbled up, holding his side with one hand – with the other, his revolver was up and firing once, twice, three times. All three were direct hits. His enemy's body jerked and blood emerged, but she didn't seem to feel any pain in her rage. Break energy covered the wounds in a second, and she stood again, pushing off the ground in a Breakdash.

Grit fired again, but his enemy's Breakdash tilted the helicopter around in the air, and the shot only grazed her. She crashed into him, wrapping her arms around him, and then Grit was engulfed in pain and flashing lights yet again.

The pain lasted for what seemed like an eternity.

Then, it suddenly stopped. As consciousness fully returned, Grit heard a change in the noises around him. The helicopter's rotors didn't sound right. He looked out the window, and the clouds were tilted at a strange angle.

His enemy's face had gone slack with exhaustion. She was trying to put out more energy, but evidently, she had worn herself out using so much power. Grit reached out with his Break senses – there was another reason her attack was no longer working. His enemy had exhausted the ambient Break energy around them, and she had evidently used up all the energy stored in her body.

"It's too late..." she hissed, victory in her eyes. "I'm not getting out of this alive, but neither are you."

Grit struggled, finally breaking free as she released her grip on him, laughing. "Take a look. Take a look! We're going down now." The gunslinger staggered over to the cockpit – the pilot was unconscious, two bullet holes in his chest, one foot down on one of the pedals and the cyclic pitched at a bad angle. The helicopter's path led it right down into a skyscraper – there was no time to evade.

Grit shrugged and stumbled over to the crash restraints, strapping himself in. He had been in worse situations than this before – all he felt were the lingering pain and a slight sense of foolishness for letting himself get in this situation. Against a real opponent, it might've cost him his life.

"Sorry, lass, but it'll take a lot more than this to get rid o' folk like you and me."

12:00 PM

Down in the tunnels, Lieutenant Nemorov noticed the change in the soldiers ahead of him immediately. They looked almost like they'd emerged from a trance, sitting down and holding their heads. Nemorov held up a hand, a signal to his men to stop.

"What's wrong?" asked Sergeant Maksimov, the leader of his 2nd squad, from next to him.

"Their Comnet has been cut off." Nemorov repeated those words into his own Comnet, and Sasha's words came back almost instantly.

'Something happened to Grit? I wouldn't have imagined him to possess such... poor judgment.' Her voice was quite different when angry – it was cold, dripping with menace. 'He was deployed to assassinate the enemy's OF. The OF was a Colonel, so we judged that sending Dmitri would be too risky. However... this is ill news.'

Nemorov had heard only a couple things about Dmitri, the OF under Grit's command. Sasha continued: 'I'll inform Dmitri to take control – our sweep through the tunnels and up the Jefferson Tower will be disrupted without a Comnet. Lieutenant, continue the operation as before. I'll inform you should any alterations become necessary.'

'Understood.' Nemorov nodded. Blue Moon had long known of Orange Star's tunnel network under Jefferson City. However, it had been quite a coup that they had found the tunnels under the mall. There was still no sign of Nell, but securing the tunnels would deny their use to the resistance. It was likely that many Bowlheads had already taken to the tunnels. It would be best to dislodge them before they got too comfortable.

"Identify yourself." Sergeant Plaise felt his voice grow shaky as he stared the newcomer down. The man was broad, with dark skin, white hair, and dark, piercing eyes; he wore a wide trench coat and gloves. An aura of menace radiated from him, but Plaise couldn't detect a Breakcom signature. Could this man be another Projector? Or perhaps, he was something else altogether.

"Ask your captain when he awakens. We have met before, after all." The white-haired man strode over; Jackal growled at him and pounced, but as she leapt off the ground, her eyes widened and she fell sprawling to the floor behind him.

"Apologies, miss, but time is too short for your antics." The white-haired man knelt down next to Captain Allen and muttered some words under his breath.

As he opened his hand, Plaise saw a ball of shadowy energy appear inside it; a power that Plaise knew was volatile, dangerous. He stepped forward to intervene but the trench-coat man held up his other hand, and Plaise felt a sudden terror root him to the ground.

The black energy crackled, then expanded into a bubble around Captain Allen's body. Inside the bubble, Plaise saw something that couldn't possibly be.

His Captain's torso and limbs were slowly taking form once more. Within ten seconds, Allen was breathing again. The white-haired man slumped, visibly tired from the exertion; still, Plaise knew it would be a bad idea to jump him even though his back was turned.

"Watch over your captain. I must heal this one as well." He turned to Jackal, who approached him, an expression of curiosity on her face. The man bowed his head slightly, releasing a smaller bubble of black energy into her bullet wound.

With his work done, the man turned and walked toward the door. "Your associate has removed the sniper's threat for now. I will divert the remaining soldiers away from your position while their Command Network remains offline. Once your captain is able to move, take him to safety."

Plaise blinked. "Wait. Why are you doing this for us? At least answer me this."

"Again, your captain will have a good idea of why." The man stepped out the door without even turning around, and then Plaise fell on his hands and knees, coughing as he regained his mobility.

"Hey. That man... not so bad." Jackal gripped Plaise's arm, and he hugged her in relief. Thanks to their benefactor, their captain was making a miraculous recovery. He knew it would have been wiser to remain alert – there was no guarantee that Blue Moon wouldn't enter at any minute – but their irrational actions didn't prove fatal, and as they pulled away from each other, they heard Captain Allen cough. Jackal ran over and embraced him; Plaise resisted the urge. He had to keep watch.

"Wha... damn. Hey, Plaise! What's going on with my body right now? Are we in heaven? Man, that limpdick at the gates ought to be more selective."

"We're alive right now." Plaise almost wept at the sound of his captain's voice. "All thanks to that man who came in to save us."

Allen looked down at the energy surrounding him. "Lemme guess. Tall and big, white hair, dark skin. Probably a trench coat. I get all that right?"

Plaise blinked. "Yes, sir. Exactly. Who was that?"

Allen started to laugh, but burst out coughing. "Man. That's right... where you grew up, you wouldn't have heard, would you? Probably what that guy was counting on. He's only the #1 most wanted man on the whole bloody planet."

"That was General Hawke?" Plaise didn't understand. "If he's so infamous, how did he get into the Jefferson Tower? Why did he help us?"

"Just a favor to an old friend, I guess." Allen's eye twinkled. "Nah, he's got a motive. He's playing some kind o' game here, but he knows I won't spill his secret. Honor among thieves and all that... restitution for a favor I did for 'im a while back."

"And that's the last favor he owes you, right?" Plaise tensed; that man was bad business. "Permission to go after him?"

Allen laughed again; this time, his lungs held out. "The four of us together couldn't take that man. All that power... he's what Yellow Comet wanted to turn you into, Plaise. Remember? The emperor's little project?"

Tyler clenched his fists. "...yeah. Did Green Earth put Hawke through something like that? If they did, no wonder he went after them."

"Who knows? The past never really came up between us." Allen seemed enraptured by the sight of his arm slowly coming back into being. "Where's Ilijana?"

"She..." Plaise looked down. "We haven't heard anything from her."

"She's too feisty to die against that sniper." Contrary to his words, Allen actually looked perturbed. "First thing's first: we take the chance Hawke bought us and hightail it outta here. If Blue Moon's got Ili, then we go get her back while the Moonies are still boozin' it up. I'll give up killing before I let that traitor yokel haul her off to be their guinea pig."

3:50 PM

From the tent that acted as Orange Star's forward HQ, David Carroll stared through binoculars down to the southeast. Down south, the river split several times, breaking into a series of smaller creeks that were nonetheless still too deep for the vehicles to ford. The satellites didn't lie – there were several tank platoons across the river, while Dale's one tank group was still ragged from the earlier battle.

And beyond those tanks lay the Lost Fortress, surrounded by those splits in the river in such a way that there was only one clear route to attack it. Even then, David wouldn't be able to rest.

"The Lost Fortress is a nice position and all, but we'll be crushed by the enemy's numbers if we try to hold here." Stoneham looked visibly more agitated with all his cigars gone. "In contrast, the Coral Fortress has an abandoned weapons factory nearby, and it seems Blue Moon have not managed to repair it yet. Now, we have a trump card who can do that quite handily, of course."

"Captain Andy, our OF." David nodded.

"CO now." Stoneham gave a quick nod. "He's on his way here as we speak; once we've taken the Lost Fortress, we'll link up with his fresh troops and have them lead the attack on the Coral Fortress. Well, that's the theory, anyhow."

David shut his eyes; Stoneham's subtle pronunciations of doom weren't helping. "Can't afford to think about that."

Stoneham shrugged irritably. "It's up to you, Advisor. Now, we did link up with an artillery group that was separated from Andy's force. They're positioned in an advance position, ready for your orders."

David began to enter orders into his command tablet – it was the closest he had to a command console here. "The enemy OF... Petrine's inside the Coral Fortress."

"You and Andy will make short work of her." Stoneham didn't sound convinced. "Well, that's the theory-"

"I've never fought an enemy Breakcom before. Has Andy ever fought one?" David asked. "Like, not just a spar. I mean, has he ever engaged an enemy Breakcom in direct combat?"

In the split second before he turned away to busy himself with his tablet, Stoneham's expression said it all.

Clara Foster

Rank: General

Affiliation: Orange Star

Skill: Due to her vast command experience, equal attack power to a standard CO. Boosted counterattacks. Defensive command is comparable to an OF.

Command Tactic: Scorched Earth (available every 6 turns)

Only usable in Orange Star territory. All enemy-controlled cities are treated as neutral during their next turn, and enemy units on cities lose 1 HP.

An elderly general making heavy use of anti-aging technology and medicine. Utilitarian hard-liner who will make any sacrifice to win.

Hit: Football (both American and International)

Miss: Golf

"Lesser evils lead to a greater good."