"Godfuckingdammit," Marcus spat, clearly agitated at the situation. He certainly used a lot of profanity, Rosie noted. She was very impressed, however, when he had told her not to run, because she had been calculating the odds of escaping at the very moment he had said it. Of course, these humans couldn't damage her in the slightest; it was only an armored SUV and a larger armored vehicle. She'd be perfectly capable of disarming them all, rendering them all unconscious and leaving without sustaining so much as a scratch.
She would never, under any circumstances, submit herself to any form of human capture or confinement. Not because she couldn't escape (she easily could, from any location she might be imprisoned at) but because any chance of her being found out as being part of the Fog was utterly unacceptable. And not for the reasons one would think, either. It wasn't because they could glean some sort of important information about the Fog, it was because that if Rosie was, against all odds, captured or even found out for what she was, then humanity would know she had been among them, studying them. They would perhaps tighten all of their security (especially in America, where her entire ten years had been spent) and it would be become more troublesome, maybe even impossible for her or any other mental model to easily collect further information on them.
Rosie had learned so very much about humanity over the past ten years, most specifically and importantly about emotion. She had even begun experiencing it herself very quickly while among those emotional creatures. She couldn't compromise further study. Supreme Flagship Yamato had been explicit on the importance of this mission and Rosie's continued dedication to its success.
And now after all that time and after finally leaving the continental United States for the small, isolated and completely cut off state of Hawaii, she had, within an hour, found perhaps the most interesting human subject she had ever seen.
Here was a man who had just, seemingly as easily as breathing, killed another human to defend her. The irony, of course, was not lost on her in the slightest. Her attacker would have never, in a million years or a million chances succeeded in harming her. His death was utterly meaningless. But Marcus didn't know that.
Marcus had reacted in such a way, with such speed and precision (for a human) that Rosie was genuinely shocked. It was rare to see a human so composed and sure of their actions. Had she been a human, Rosie was sure she would have been incredibly grateful for what Marcus had just done for her and what he was seemingly still set on doing for her.
What compounded her fascination with all of this even further was that Marcus was, to Rosie at least, clearly intoxicated. Once he was close enough, her olfactory scanners had noticed a very high alcohol content in his breath and she further noticed a slight wobble that was not attributable to his limp. She had studied the human commodity known as alcohol quite intensely. It amazed her how creatures with such a finite amount of life would make choices that would inevitably only serve to shorten what little time they had, but it was something that was extraordinarily common.
The armored vehicles were only a few seconds away and Rosie watched as Marcus waved to the vehicles and (as if to further emphasize her thoughts on the self destructive habits of humans) pulled a cigarette from a metal case in his pocket and lit it with a lighter stored in a pouch on his belt. It was a move so fluid that he obviously had performed it on numerous occasions before.
Yes, this was most certainly a human that she needed to study further.
"Okay, try not to say too much and don't contradict anything I say, okay?" Marcus said, smiling at the lead vehicle as he was bathed in the light from it's headlights and not at all turning to speak to her. "And stay calm. I've got this."
The vehicles screeched to a stop only a few yards in front of Marcus, who was standing in between the lead SUV (a Humvee, Rosie identified) and Rosie, who was a few feet behind him. The second vehicle was a large, eight wheeled monstrosity that Rosie knew was called an Armored Personnel Carrier
A uniformed and helmeted Airman manning the rather large machine gun turret on the Humvee shouted "Identify yourself!"
"Senior Master Sergeant Marcus Hardy," Marcus responded, calmly and clearly "The girl behind me is my friend Rosie. She's with me."
Rosie glanced at Marcus before returning her gaze to the Airman in the Humvee.
"Like I've reported, we were jumped by that scavenger laying in the road right over there," Marcus gestured to the downed man in the pool of blood behind them with one hand while taking a long drag off his cigarette with the other. "He's quite dead; got what he deserved. We're both fine and we'll be returning to my home after I give my statement."
"Where's your I.D.?" the Airman barked.
"In my pocket, dipshit!" Marcus retorted. "I know for a fact there's someone in one of these vehicles who knows who I am."
And on cue with this, the front passenger door of the lead Humvee opened and another uniformed, helmeted and body armor clad Airman with a holstered sidearm stepped out, only this man had a jovial smile.
"It's cool, Airman," this new player said. "I know him."
"Technical Sergeant Sullivan, you fucking asshole," Marcus said, puffing on his cigarette. "I should have figured."
Sullivan raised his hand to silence communication for a moment before speaking into a handheld radio. "Alarm, Storm Three. Storm Three and Storm One are on location at the corner of Marina and Dovekie. Have made positive contact with Hero, plus one. Stand by for further."
A garbled reply of affirmation came over the radio before Sullivan turned his attention back to Marcus. He walked over, stopped a few feet in front of Marcus and snapped a sharp military salute, which was returned with some obvious reluctance.
Rosie was fluent enough in human (specifically American) military etiquette to figure out what was going on.
"It's good to see you, boss," Sullivan said, shaking Marcus's hand. "Out for another walk with some scavenger killing on the side?"
"Yeah," Marcus said flatly, with no hint of satisfaction. "It's just what I do, apparently."
"Where's your cane, man?" Sullivan asked, looking around.
Rosie had noticed that Marcus seemed to have an issue standing, as his face was reflecting a good deal of pain. She was a little irritated with herself that it hadn't even occurred to her that he needed an implement to help him walk.
"It's over there," Marcus nodded his head in the direction behind the body of Rosie's attacker. "Dropped it before shooting the hell out of a wannabe rapist."
"I'll grab it for you in a sec. And I'm not surprised! That girl's a keeper. You're literally having to fight dudes off with a stick!" Sullivan lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper which Rosie heard perfectly. "Haven't been drinking too much, have you? Pretty girl like that, you need to kinda maintain a certain level of clarity, know what I mean?"
Marcus shook his head, not amused, it seemed to Rosie, by Sullivan's banter. "It ain't like that. She's just a friend."
Sullivan looked aghast. "Okay, brother," he glanced at Rosie. "Your loss... She have her I.D.?"
"It's at the house," Marcus nodded. "Didn't even think to tell her to grab it."
"Well, that's fine," Sullivan shrugged, "That's all I nee-"
"Is there a problem, Technical Sergeant?" A new voice and footsteps came from the direction of the larger armored vehicle.
Sullivan spun on his heel to face the speaker, a younger man in uniform with identical gear and attire to Sullivan with a holstered sidearm of his own whose posture reflected an air of leadership.
"No problem, Lieutenant. Just starting to get the Senior Master Sergeant's statement. You haven't met the man, have you, sir?"
The young Lieutenant stopped and also saluted Marcus, who didn't return it this time. "I haven't had the privilege, no." He extended his hand. "Second Lieutenant Burrell. It's an absolute honor, Senior Master Sergeant. You and your father's exploits are required studying for all military personnel on Hawaii."
Marcus extended his hand slowly, shaking the Lieutenant's hand more out of sense of obligation, it seemed to Rosie, than anything else.
"Yes, I'm aware." Marcus replied coolly, exhaling smoke. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Lieutenant? I'm giving my statement to Sergeant Sullivan and then I'll be escorting my friend home. It's been a long night."
"Of course!" Burrell replied. Now, if I could see both your I.D.s, we can get that out of the way."
"Everyone knows who I am," Marcus stated, agitation beginning to show in his voice.
"That may be true," Burrell shrugged, "But procedure dictates a full identification check of all personnel, civilian or otherwise in circumstances just like this one. I'm going to need to see both your I.D.s."
Throwing his cigarette butt on the ground and stepping on it to smother the ember, Marcus shook his head. "No, Lieutenant. I've had a long day and I just fucking killed someone in front of my friend. She's a little freaked out and you boys, no offense, aren't helping. And I don't blame her. I'm going to give my statement to Sergeant Sullivan. It'll take five minutes, then we're leaving."
Lieutenant Burrell smiled. "I don't care how famous you are. You're in my world now, Sergeant, so I expect you to play ball."
Burrell turned to Rosie. "Ma'am, I need to see your I.D." He smiled wider. "Now."
"You don't need to see shit, Burrell," Marcus's voice was a similar tone to what Rosie had heard just a few minutes prior when he was speaking to her attacker. "And frankly, you're starting to offend me. I suggest you get back in the APC and try to have a pleasant rest of your night."
Lieutenant Burrell just smiled and placed his hand on his sidearm while Sullivan looked on with an expression of pure shock.
"Sergeant Sullivan, place these two under arrest and get them into the APC. Maybe a day or two in lockup will smooth over this rather unpleasant attitude. Sorry your girlfriend had to get mixed up in this Sergeant, but that's just what happens."
Before anyone could move or any protests were made, Marcus's pistol was in his hand and it was leveled directly at Burrell's face.
"Woah!" Sullivan exclaimed, as the Airman manning the machine gun swung the turret and pointed it at directly at Marcus. Burrell, obviously terrified, quickly raised his hands above his head.
"Bad move," Marcus seethed. "I was going to give you a pass because I can tell you're a fresh butterbar Lieutenant who's just trying to throw his dick around and make a name for himself, but you just had to push me."
Rosie had never seen anything like this. Nobody defied the military; not in her experience. She had researched of the time before the Fog where the human military were all about protecting and serving the common people, but after the uprisings and civil wars that look place following the Fog's invasion, a more militaristic sense of order had to be imposed for the common good of humanity. In the old world, this sort of situation was highly unlikely to happen at all. In this world, the world of the Fleet of Fog, this was the norm for humans.
She had doubted very much that Marcus would have been able to talk his way out of this, but she had calculated that it was a risk worth taking for a chance at some incredible observations. Now, she began calculating when she need to make her move and escape from here. She also noticed, now having seen Marcus aim a firearm on two different occasions at two different people that he definitely seemed trained to do so and was still effective at it even when intoxicated, evidently.
"You're going to get back in the APC," Marcus continued, "Or I'll be making a phone call to the Governor. You know, Governor Inouye, the man in charge of this fucking state?" Marcus nodded at Burrell's sudden realization. "Yeah, that's right, cocksucker. You think I live out here just for the fuck of it? I have direct permission from the Governor of the state. How fucked would you be if I called him to complain about a Second Lieutenant Burrell harassing me and my friend? Say goodbye to your career."
Marcus allowed his words to sink in. "Welcome to my world, little boy. Now, get back in that fucking APC or I promise that I will turn your little existence into such a shitstorm that you'll have wished I'd have just shot you."
Sighing, Marcus gestured slightly towards the APC with his raised firearm. "Now get the fuck out of my sight."
And Second Lieutenant Burrell evaporated from the area and was inside the APC at about the fastest pace Rosie had ever seen a human move.
Holstering his firearm once again, Marcus reached for and lit another cigarette before turning back to Sullivan. He laughed a little, the first time Rosie had heard him do so. "Hey Airman!" he waved at the Airman in the Humvee's gunner seat. "Thanks for not shooting me! Well, Sully, now I'm good and pissed off. How old is that fuckface Lieutenant? Twenty?"
"Nineteen," Sullivan returned the laugh nervously. "Yeah, he's a real piece of work."
"One of these new breed of officers, born and raised on this hellhole island," Marcus agreed, exhaling smoke. "Of course, that's mostly just like me, minus the officer part, but the quality of leadership around here is rapidly decreasing. If the Fog doesn't wipe us out, or if we don't wipe ourselves out first, I shudder at the thought of a military contingent run by a bunch of inbred fucks who've never even set foot anywhere else other than fucking Oahu. You better hope you don't get into a serious scrape with that douchewaffle in command, or you're all fucked."
Marcus sighed again. "Anyway, let me go grab my cane."
"You sure you don't want me to do that?" Sullivan asked helpfully.
"Nah," Marcus shook his head. "I figure by the time I stagger over there and back I won't be so mad anymore. Then statement time, then home, then cold one, then bed. Fuck today. Sorry things turned so shitty, Rosie."
And with that, Marcus began moving away from them into the darkness.
The moment he was out of perceived earshot, Sullivan turned to Rosie.
"Ma'am, if you don't mind my asking, how old are you?"
"Twenty-one," Rosie replied swiftly. She had been twenty-one for nearly ten years, as that was the best age to be for general human interaction. "I'm sorry I forgot my identification, sir. I've just been having such a good time and all, other than... You know..."
"Totally understandable," Sullivan nodded. He glanced at Marcus, who was almost out of sight in the blackness (for humans, anyway). "You're in good company, so you'll be fine. Obviously. Have you known Senior Master Sergea-, I mean Marcus, long?"
"Oh, I dunno," Rosie shrugged, one of the very first communication behaviors she had learned. "A little while I guess. He's nice. I like him."
"It's good to see he's attempting to make friends... Do you know who he is?"
"Yes, of course. He's Marcus Hardy."
"Yeah, but do you know who he is?" Sullivan pressed, obviously confused about Rosie's lack of knowledge on the subject. "He doesn't talk about his past or his service much, so I've heard, so I didn't know if he'd told you anything."
Deciding to tell the truth on this one, because it contradicted nothing that Marcus had said, Rosie replied "No, he hasn't told me anything like that."
"Well, ask him sometime, maybe. You wouldn't think it by how he looks, or hell, even how he acts, but that man right there is the bravest man I've ever met. I served with him, once upon a time. He's a legend on this island. I'm surprised you don't know any of this."
Brave? Rosie had seen that firsthand. Or had it just been stupidity? Sometimes it was hard for Rosie to tell the difference. But she was definitely going to study further in this human's case and see if the answer would come to her.
She looked at the figure of Marcus, heading slowly back out of the blackness, leaning heavily on his reacquired cane.
Rosie made the decision right then; it didn't even need much calculation. She had to know more about this man, this human who so interested (and intimidated) other humans. Plus, if Marcus was telling the truth, he may know humans on this very island that were in places of high command. He was exactly the sort of subject she constantly craved to meet and study and this seemed like a golden opportunity for more high quality research.
"I suppose I will ask him."
Author's Note:
Firstly, big shoutout to Theblackbird123 for being the only (wonderful!) person to review this story so far. I adore any form of feedback I can get, whether it be a critique, or a comment on something you liked, or a hope on something you'd like to see in the future. Also, questions! If you have any questions, do feel free to ask. I don't bite and I actually tend to be pretty social.
Save Me From What I Want, by St. Vincent