*jumps online to post this and immediately runs away again because I'm trying to avoid Multiverse of Madness spoilers*
Hi. Hello. Hey. So... uh... how are we all feeling after last week's chapter? I'M SORRY, oh my god, I didn't realise I'd make so many people actually cry! Also, fun fact, you nearly didn't get this chapter on time because up until 4am this morning I was still stuck in another country without internet. There's an entire story there, trust me, and it reads like a comedy script. Absolute disaster. Anyway. I'm here and the chapter is here and it's all good! Let's go!
GDF facilities ran on localised power grids but even those had been extinguished. The parking lot remained dark and desolate as they carefully skirted around the horde of infected milling in the front quad. The building layout was projected over their visors. Their entry point was marked in blue. The door itself remained locked but a laser-cutter and a few other tricks had it open in next to no time.
Virgil caught it before the hinges could collapse and draw every infected in a five-mile radius. The hallway within was drenched in darkness. Alan directed his flashlight over the floor, revealing trails of rusty blood. The beam ran out a short way ahead, unable to probe into the deepest shadows. There was a distinct scuttling sound. Something dripped. Wind whistled as it rushed into the new space.
"Stephen King would've had a field day with this," John commented.
"You know," Scott began, very aware that he was within elbowing range, "every time you reference Stephen King…"
"Don't say it."
"Just once?"
John glared at him. "No."
"Here's Johnny."
"Oh, screw you."
Alan took a cautious step over the threshold. Tiny shards of bone crunched underfoot. He backed up a little until Virgil caught his shoulders.
"You okay?"
Alan nearly blinded him with the flashlight. "This place is giving me weird vibes."
"Vibes," John scoffed. "You're worse than Gordon with his squid sense."
Except, Scott reminded himself, Gordon's squid sense usually tended to bear some weight. Little brother had been uncannily accurate with certain past predictions.
Virgil shot him a knowing glance. Apparently they were back on the same wavelength. But whether Alan's instincts about this place were correct or not, they couldn't afford to stand around deliberating it. Each second they spent in the same place increased their chances of being found by infected. And so onwards into the hallway of hell it was.
Bone shards littered the tiles. They splintered underfoot into dust like shattered glass. John was obviously itching to scan it, to analyse, but without a connection to Five there were very few answers readily accessible. He kept his eyes on the ground, tension steadily seeping deeper into his shoulders with every step.
Virgil slowed to a halt, twisting to spy John's expression in the flashlight. "What is it?"
"Sorry, what?"
Virgil motioned to the shards. "You have a theory and whatever it is, it's bothering you."
John nudged a larger bone fragment into the main beam. It was faintly scorched at the edges as if it had been exposed to open flame, but there were no traces of any soot or burn marks along the corridor, at least as far as Scott could see. He snagged the back of Alan's suit before the kid could wander off, still laser-focussed on the path ahead as if he had tunnel vision. Alan startled, whipping around like an agitated cat, eyes wide in the overly bright glare of the flashlight.
"What?" he hissed.
John crouched down and delicately plucked a shard from the floor. Virgil stepped around to shine the flashlight onto the fragment. The scorch marks were undeniable this time, but so were the splintered edges, as if someone had taken a mallet to the remains. And there were hundreds of pieces, discarded like fallen leaves. The majority were collected by the door, heaped against the wall, blown aside from the force of the laser-cutter.
"This isn't the parasite," John explained, keeping well clear of the light so as to conceal his expression in shadows. There was something odd and unreadable in his voice, not quite robotic but not entirely different. "It's… the parasite consumes marrow. Larger samples will absorb everything. This isn't…" He paused, searching for the best phrasing as if trying to break bad news to rescuees and that rang alarm bells.
"If it isn't the parasite," Alan whispered, stepping closer so that he no longer had his back to the darkness. The lines on his suit were faintly glowing, casting a ghostly pallor over his skin. "John?" His voice cracked. "What did this?"
"They could be animal remains," Scott suggested, even though every instinct was screaming at him otherwise. He knew the truth without needing confirmation. Based on Virgil's horrified stare and John's reluctance to speak up, his brothers knew it too. He cast a swift glance over his shoulder as his mind projected tricks where there was nothing but invisible ghosts.
John wordlessly revealed the projections from his console. Scott questioned why the hell that was one of the pieces of data held offline from Five. When had they ever had a need to confirm the origins of biological material?
"They're human remains," Virgil read aloud.
John brushed his gloves clean. For a moment he remained frozen, staring at the carnage as if not truly seeing anything at all or perhaps seeing everything that no one else could.
"Human remains. Broken down into smaller pieces. Attempts were made at cremation, presumably, based off the marks, but the temperature required would be near impossible to reach without proper supplies." That detached voice was back, shut down activated, drifting into the realms of this is too much, only John wouldn't ever let his emotions get the better of him like that, so the result was this: focus on the data, on the logic, and not the human response.
"Why?" Alan wrapped his arms around himself. A droplet of water dripped from a mildew-encrusted ceiling and he flinched. "This is… Why would anyone…?" He bit his lip. "Maybe they were infected?"
"It's possible," John acknowledged, although he clearly didn't buy the theory.
Virgil returned the flashlight to the corridor ahead. Shadows cascaded from the ceiling. If it had been unnerving before, now it was menacing on an entirely new level. Thick webs caked in dust drifted on an unknown breeze. Strange scuttling echoed along the vents.
Alan took a step forward, flinching at the brittle cracks that sounded from under his boots. "These were people," he croaked. "Oh my god. This is so fucked up. So fucked up."
Virgil struggled to find any words of reassurance. "There's a lot of good in the universe," he replied at last, voice damp and twisted behind unshed tears. "But there's evil too. Right now, you're seeing some of it. Just… try to remember the good."
John still hadn't moved. Scott knocked their shoulders together.
"Talk to me."
John flexed a hand. There were fragments of dust clinging to his knuckles. "I never had much faith in humanity." He kept his voice low so that Alan didn't overhear. "I'm hoping I'm wrong about this, but in all honesty, I don't think I am."
Scott resisted the urge to look back at the door. His skin was crawling. He repressed a shudder. That scuttling in the vents was back. "This wasn't a mercy," he concluded, reading the confirmation off John's face. "They weren't infected."
"It's unlikely."
"What's your full theory?"
John observed Virgil's and Alan's flashlights flickering across the hallway ahead.
"I don't think the infected are the only things we should watch out for. I think there are survival groups, but those aren't the last humans still around. The Hood told you there were scavengers, right?"
"Why would scavengers murder innocent people?"
"Accident? Caught in the crossfire? Trying to protect supplies?" John drew a deep breath. "I don't know. There are any number of reasons. But if you leave bodies in the open, it would be a dinner invitation to every infected in the area. It makes sense to burn them."
Scott curled a hand into a fist until metal knuckles bit the vulnerable skin beneath. It stung but it was a distraction from the rising nausea. "This is mutilation."
John looked haunted. "I know. But… Christ, this sounds horrific, but… dead bodies weigh a lot. And take longer to burn. If you… smaller pieces… No, I can't. Just- fuck. You know what I'm saying."
Faint thuds reverberated through the walls. Scott shoved John behind him and aimed his gun at the door before he'd had a chance to even breathe. John caught his wrist and squeezed.
"Calm down." His voice sounded faint, although perhaps that was the speakers in the helmets. He reached around to lower the gun with a single tap to Scott's hand. "There's no one here. Just us."
"'M'good."
"I'm sure you are, but maybe try saving bullets, yeah? We don't want to attract any more infected than we absolutely have to." John caught his eye as he released his tense grip. "Are you with me?"
"Yeah." Scott took a shaky breath. "I'm with you."
The corridor led to a room teeming with empty shells. Bullet holes pot-marked the wall. Streaks of blood trailed across the ceiling, the overturned desks, shattered computer screens. Everywhere they turned revealed more carnage. The decaying remains of an infected were strewn in a corner. The skull had been completely smashed. Even through rebreathers, it stunk.
Alan took one look and jolted out the room, only the corridor was another house of horrors so there was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere left unscathed from whatever tragedy had occurred here. What had once been a state-of-the-art facility, a frontrunner of the modern world's achievements, was now a place best left to the (un)dead.
"Is anyone else…" Virgil began, unwilling to step over the threshold.
The question trailed into obscurity, snatched by an inhuman wail that rattled the ceiling panels, funnelled through air vents. It faded slowly, still ringing in their helmets long after the vents had quietened, leaving an ugly silence in its wake. No one seemed sure what to say.
"Was that-? That was one of the infected, right?" Virgil queried.
"Or ghosts," John mentioned, faux-casual, and Scott shot him a sharp look because that wasn't- John didn't believe in ghosts and yet managed to nurture a healthy fear of the supernatural at the same time and it was a riddle which no one had ever been able to fathom. Contradictions aside, however, it was still a strange thing to say, especially given what they now knew about this place. But darkness always drew demons from the mind and tricks were easier to believe when fear had you in a chokehold.
Alan directed the flashlight over one of the upturned desks. Blood smeared the underside. Rubber marks scorched the floor as if someone had been physically dragged from the room.
"Bad vibes," he whispered. "Very, very bad vibes."
Something in the distance crashed. Metallic. Heavy.
"That was a door," Virgil hissed.
"Too heavy," Scott shot back.
"No." Virgil reached for Alan's shoulder, tugging him into the room and out of sight of whatever may have been lurking at the far end of the corridor. "The doors are airtight, standard security feature at GDF facilities. That's- It was a door."
Every tiny sound had stopped. Even the faint call of the wind had been silenced. That scuttling was gone. Tip-tapping of droplets – water, blood, parasitic slime – all frozen. It was an eerie quiet. The sort of silence that held a pressure, where you could practically feel the weight of your own mortality all around. Cold. Unnatural. A warning. The eye of the storm, a promise that everything was about to get so much worse. A sense that a single wrong move could shatter the world. Heartbeats seemed thunderous. Each breath a roar. Waiting – but for what?
"Could have been the wind," John ventured, although he'd taken a step closer to join their huddle in the doorway, peering over Scott's shoulder at the unseen monsters in the dark. He wasn't complaining about the raised gun this time. "The door- the wind? It could have…" He paused. Swallowed. Tried again in a more level voice. "What else would it have been?"
Virgil caught his eye but didn't say a word. Scott tightened his grip on the gun. The silence crept closer, suffocating, reaching for every light to snuff it out. Were the flashlights growing dimmer or were their eyes betraying them?
"There's someone else here," Alan breathed, not in a question, but as if he knew.
"Don't say that." John softened his voice just in time to keep the words from sounding like a snap. He rapped his knuckles on the back of Alan's helmet, quietly, until his brother turned and caught his reassuring smile. "You sound like a demon child. I know I said about Stephen King, but come on Allie, this isn't actually The Shining." He shot Scott a warning look. "Don't say it."
Alan curled a hand around the doorframe. Wet wood crumbled under his glove. Something shiny and alive scuttled free from the open plaster. Virgil kicked it away with a startled yelp.
"Congratulations, Virg," John drawled. "You've successfully defended us from a beetle."
"They're more scared of us than we are of them," Alan murmured, sort of dazed, as if he'd taken a hit to the head at some point without anyone noticing.
Virgil inconspicuously scanned him for a concussion. "Most creatures are more scared of us than we are of them," he agreed slowly, glancing to Scott as if he had any better idea as to what the hell Alan was going on about. "I don't think that applies solely to beetles."
"What?" Alan shot him an exasperated glare. "Dude. No. I meant, yeah, there's probably someone here with us, but what if they think we're the bad guys?" He lowered his voice to a hopeful whisper. "What if it's Gordon?"
John directed a pointed look at the empty shells pinned beneath his boots. "I don't recommend announcing ourselves, just in case."
"But what if-"
"Look, if it is Gordon, he's hardly going to miss Thunderbird Two in the parking lot, is he?" Something creaked. John lowered his voice. "If he's here, we'll find him, or he'll find us. But we've got to play it safe. Someone – some people – have the ability to do all of this." He gestured to their surroundings. Scott caught another shell under his heel before it could knock into the metal door and alert everyone and anyone to their presence. "We're not just up against zombies, but humans too, and I know which one I think is the bigger threat."
There was a distinct clanging. Fine dust rained from the vents. Vibrations ran through the walls. Scott pressed a hand to the door and felt those bone-deep rumbles, counting them like the seconds between a lightning strike and the resulting thunder. Whatever was lurking within these walls, it was getting closer. Instinct promised him that he wouldn't like the culprit.
He reached for the map, seeking a different route. "There's a tunnel. It runs underneath the main complex and comes up on the other side of the building. We could use it and take this corridor here to double back to the supply room. It leaves us nearer the comms centre too."
He stopped himself short as Virgil seized his wrist, stop, now, something's wrong. The silence pressed closer. Infiltrated radios. His skin was crawling. Light split across the room, reflected in thousands of different shards as that beetle crept between the shells, sending them rolling across the abandoned battleground. He inhaled. The air tasted of rot, seeping past the chemical tang of filtered oxygen.
Glass crunching. Echoing. Shadows slipped higher up the walls. Except- it wasn't glass, was it? And was that smoke or a trick of the light?
"Flashlights off," he whispered, unable to shout for fear of drawing the monsters closer. John reached over him to tap something on Alan's console. A moment later the kid's suit went blank, visor dark, those bright lines fading into the same obsidian as the fabric. Virgil copied. John tilted something sharp, just within Scott's sight – knife – gleaming in the glow of his own suit before he cut the lights too.
Cave rescues were always disconcerting. The deeper you went, the darker it got, until you literally couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Oppressive darkness. The same sense of oblivion that could be found at the very deepest points of the ocean, or in Space, on the dark side of the moon staring out at the expanse of stars and suddenly realising just how vast the universe was. It wasn't merely darkness, it was the abyss and if you didn't escape quick enough, you would lose your mind far before you lost your body.
"Guys?" Alan tried, more of a squeak than an actual word. He backed up a step until he collided with Scott's chest. "Who-?"
"Just me." Scott wrapped an arm around his brother to keep him close. "Virgil?" He held out a hand, fumbling in the pitch black until he felt someone grip his wrist. He tapped once and received a double tap in response. Okay. Two. Definitely Virgil then. "John?" The radios were choked with silence. "John. Where the fuck are you?"
Alan made a querying noise. Virgil's grip tightened. Something big was sweeping along the hallway. The crunching of bones was almost thunderous. Clicking, too, like the safety of a gun on-and-off, over and over and over. And dripping. Tip, tap. Closer. Closer. Closer. And-
Absolute silence of an impossible magnitude.
It was so dark that Scott could see things which didn't exist. Strange shapes, mirages of monsters, eyes glaring out of the gloom. Something trailed along his back, only it felt as though it were beneath his uniform, under that protective armour, and- don't lose your mind in the dark. He clutched Alan as close as possible, thanking the universe that the kid hadn't hit that overdue growth spurt because it meant he could tuck Alan safely under his chin, sort of enveloping him with the gun in front, a shield and a sword at once. He squeezed Virgil's hand, tugging slightly, come here?
There was a pause. A second, a minute, an hour – all at once.
Virgil cautiously stepped closer. Scott sensed the movement just before their shoulders brushed. He wanted to reach out, seek John – where the fuck was John, oh Christ, oh no, no, no – only that would mean letting go of Virgil or letting of Alan (and the gun) and he couldn't do either of those. He had to trust that John was there.
Something was shifting. He could hear fabric rustle. It seemed as though it were right there, in front of them, in the corridor, and if it took a single step closer it would see them, tucked just behind the door. He didn't dare breathe. His chest ached. His grip on Virgil's hand was probably painful but then again Virgil's hold on his wrist was too tight, balancing one another once again. He couldn't say a word. All he could do was listen to the radio. He couldn't distinguish his own breathing from Virgil's, but Alan's was faintly strained. Don't panic, not now, Al, you gotta be quiet.
What the hell was out there? Stalking them, like an animal. A hunter. That was- they were being hunted. And whatever it was didn't need to see or perhaps it feared them too because it wasn't using a flashlight. It remained perfectly still. A standoff. Frozen. Neither one of them making a move or daring to dash for freedom.
Virgil tapped against his wrist. It took Scott a minute to recognise morse code.
H.U.M.A.N.
Scott listened. Nothing. Deafening silence. But it was there. He could sense it.
M.U.S.T. B.E. He tapped back.
W.H.E.R.E. I.S. J.
Fuck. Fuck. He'd been hoping that John had somehow looped around to Virgil's other side but apparently not. He felt around blindly until his hand hit the wall. The thud was faint, barely a sound at all, but in the corridor there was a defined shift. Silence. Seconds, passing by in an infinity. And then- bones crunched. The door creaked further open.
Alan made a tiny, choked sound. He flinched back against Scott's chest, trying to stay silent, stay still, only it was in the room with them. Gotta be human, Scott thought, unwilling to risk firing the gun because he didn't have enough bullets to take out all the infected that might attract but mainly because he didn't know where John was.
Virgil was tapping again. W.H.A.T. D.O. W.E. D.O
Scott was very tempted to tap back, how the hell am I supposed to know? Stress was contagious. He breathed deeply. Listened. The door ever-so-slowly moved. Hinges squealed. Alan was deathly still. Scott couldn't even feel him breathing. Shells rattled, knocking against one another, discarded by what sounded like heavy boots carried by light steps. It had to be right in front of them. He closed his finger around the trigger, just a fraction away from pulling it.
But all was still.
It was right in front of him.
There was a rich stench of copper. Fresh blood. Oh shit, shit, shit. New kill. Who? Other survivors? John? Gordon? And- movement. Scott held himself perfectly still. He couldn't see a thing but that primal instinct which had kept humanity alive up until this moment kicked into gear. Something was moving, just a short distance away. He shifted just enough to put Virgil slightly behind him, out of the direct fire.
Dripping. Too thick for water. Too fluid for the parasite. Blood, then. Which was so much worse. The people who had murdered before, who had strewn these corridors with death, were still here. And Scott had brought his brothers into the heart of their hunting ground. This was a trap. Supplies, GDF gear – it was like waving a hunk of meat above a pit: survivors came closer and fell in. They'd walked in and ignored every red flag even when warning signs had been staring them in the face. And now they might not walk back out.
Sharp movement swept forwards. Scott took the shot and prayed in a heartbeat that John was somewhere safe. The shot rang louder than an explosion. Radios screeched with feedback. Darkness piled higher and higher, and Scott couldn't see a thing, but he could hear the whistling of motion, of something coming directly at him, almost inhuman in speed. Silence erupted into shouts and screams. Virgil was gone. Scott twisted and slammed Alan against the wall just in time for another wild flail to pass across his back.
Flashlights flooded the space. Something squelched. There was rapid breathing over the comms.
"Oh, f-fuck," Virgil choked out. "What did you- oh my- what- you- John. John, what the fuck?"
Scott blinked away spots and was suddenly very glad that he was blocking Alan's view because there was a dying person on the ground. There was so much blood. More than was survivable to lose. And- Virgil had a hand up, bracing himself against the wall, pale with fear and horror and perhaps a trace of something else, something unknown and unfamiliar. Scott followed his gaze down to the open knife wound in the assailant's back, directly above the heart, twisted and gory and agonising to even witness.
John dropped the knife. The clatter seemed extraordinarily loud. The blade was smothered in crimson, but it coated his hands too, drenching his gloves. It dripped from his fingertips onto the floor, steady, like a heartbeat. He staggered back, eyes wide, as if he couldn't quite believe what he'd done, and slowly, fearfully, met Scott's gaze.
Alan tried to move. Scott smacked a hand across the kid's visor. "Don't look."
"But-"
"Alan, he said don't look," Virgil snapped, sharper than he'd ever been with his youngest brother before. "Trust us. That's- just trust us. Don't look."
Scott cautiously lowered his hand. For once his life, Alan obeyed orders and darted across to Virgil's side without looking down. Virgil dragged him into a hug, which conveniently happened to keep the kid facing away from the scene.
John took another step back.
Scott lifted his hands. "John," he began cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal. "You, uh… Do you want to… maybe… can you come here?"
John stared at him. "I killed someone." He sounded robotic. Contradictory, given his hands were shaking. "I… They were going to hurt you. I had to- I wouldn't have, not unless I didn't think- I had to, you see? Because they kept coming closer and then- I had to react. I had to do it. It was them or you. That's-"
"I know." Scott carefully sidestepped the knife. "I know. You did what you had to. It's okay."
"They were human," John whispered.
"It's okay."
"It's- No. No, no, oh fuck, that's- I- what did I-?"
"No, don't look at the- Just look at me."
There was blood smothering obsidian gloves, smeared over metal knuckles, but this time it wasn't Scott's suit. He took a steadying breath and stepped within touching distance. Away from the pooling crimson. Away from the cooling corpse. Away from a knife that should never have been put in John's hands, in anyone's really.
"Johnny," he tried again, softer. "You did what you had to. What's done is done. It's over with. It's gonna be okay. You're going to be okay. But we have to get out of here. I need to know that you're hearing me."
John tore his gaze away from his gloves. "Y-yeah. I…" He coughed. "I hear you."
"We're going to head for that tunnel and out the front. We can't go back the way we came because that gunshot will have attracted every infected in the area. If we find Gordon as we go, that's great, but the priority is returning to Thunderbird Two. Everyone clear?"
John gave a sharp nod. Virgil whispered something inaudible, but Scott trusted him enough to know it was a yes. Alan's tiny FAB was just as shaky as John's hands. They filed out of the room, Virgil taking the lead. Scott paused in the doorway for precisely ten seconds before finally persuading himself to walk away without looking back.
The tunnel was flooded. Not badly, only up to their knees, but scans showed that the waters were teeming with bacteria and all kinds of filth. There were faint traces of chemicals – varying kinds, all pollutants that would eventually poison whatever foliage survived the radiation slowly blanketing the globe. Thick mildew coated the walls and ceilings, too slippery to grip onto, so they had to rely on the reinforced soles of their boots and pray there would be no sudden currents or steep inclines.
There were cobwebs, too, thicky, ropey things like candyfloss stolen from a mirror dimension. Virgil deliberately kept his focus on the water, unwilling to glance up and risk spying an eight-legged demon. He brushed low-hanging strands away from his shoulders with visible shudders. Alan kept close to his side, flashlights mixing to illuminate the space ahead.
No one was speaking. The rush of water made it harder to hear, although they could have muted their surroundings over the comms. Scott fell into step beside John and tried not to hover too noticeably. Normally John would have called him out on it. Then again, normally John wouldn't have been the one Scott was fretting over, so nothing in this situation could be compared with their ordinary circumstances.
The tunnel seemed to continue for miles. The GDF facility was a lot larger in person than it had appeared on the schematics. Thank God for waterproof suits, as the levels rose towards the end, shortly before Alan spied the ladder highlighted on the projections. Virgil pried the hatch away from its rusted lock. There were no immediate signs of life, so they silently convened in the corridor above. Scott replaced the hatch to cover their tracks. John folded against the wall, shivering, although clearly not from cold. At least the water had washed the blood from his gloves.
The supply room had already been pilfered. Virgil picked up a couple of boxes of bandages but with the exception of litter, there was nothing left on the shelves, so they made their way to the comms centre as the place seemed empty.
Alan stopped short. "This is wrong."
Virgil paused, hand already on the door. "What's wrong? This is the right room."
"I know. But it doesn't feel right. One person couldn't have killed all those survivors, or whoever those bones belonged to. There have to be more."
"Maybe they already left," Scott suggested.
Alan observed the silent corridor. "Maybe," he acknowledged after a moment, but kept his hands tightened to fists. Virgil hesitated a second longer but turned and pushed the door wide open.
At first glance, the comms room was abandoned. Scott made a mental note of the various exits and was pleasantly surprised to discover that there were multiple. What he didn't consider was that exits could also serve as entrances. He also didn't consider the part where he was used to having John in his ear informing him of his surroundings.
John not only didn't have access to tech right now but was also seemingly on the verge of a nervous breakdown and was coping only by repressing and focussing tunnel-vision on the battered comms units. Virgil was more concerned by John's state of shock than the possibility of other attackers.
Apparently it was Alan's turn with the family braincell, as he turned to Scott and asked, quietly so as not to disturb Virgil or John, "Shouldn't we be worried about an ambush?"
Scott reached for the gun but didn't take his eyes away from the delicate holograms John was coaxing from the desk, nor Virgil's concerned frown as he attempted to scan his brother for injuries or physical symptoms of shock. Alan traced patterns in the dust coating computer screens but remained notably on edge, stalking back and forth along the platform to try to keep equal attention on each of the doors.
Virgil was raising some fairly valid – and highly concerning – points as the med-scanner trod the line between amber and red readouts. But he knew when to pick his battles – there was a certain point at which continuing to push wouldn't get anyone anywhere – so resorted to sorta hovering instead with a disapproving stare for good measure.
"What are you looking for?" Virgil asked, benching any further medical complaints for the time-being. He brushed cobwebs away from a blank computer screen, rapping his knuckles against the underside of the panels to no avail. The majority of displays remained as dead as dodos. The only thing saving the main unit which John was currently working on was the emergency generator, working to power the bare minimum: lights didn't come under essentials when flashlights were available, but maintaining a working comm and access to the mainframe apparently counted.
John took a moment to reply. He was used to working with the integrated tech of his IR-suit and this newer, bulkier z-rated gear did not come with the advanced systems available on Five. It clearly grated to be forced to do this the old-fashioned way – cracking codes like Parker cracked safes because none of them had the appropriate GDF clearance for this. The words registered after a few seconds and he glanced across at Virgil.
"Bunker coordinates." He paused, tracking the slow scrolling of digits and symbols which belonged in one of Alan's favourite sci-fi shows, and hissed through gritted teeth as it flashed red. "Oh, you sonuvabitch."
Alan's steps had fallen conspicuously silent. Scott twisted, pulse elevating until he glimpsed the kid frozen on the far side of the room, gaze fixed on a steel door.
"Does anyone else hear that?"
Scott lifted a hand for Virgil to be quiet, still talking through the data with John. In here, away from the corridors and mothballed vents, there was next-to-no sound at all, just the whirring of the display as it struggled to keep up with John's coding.
Alan paced back-and-forth like a caged tiger. "I swear I heard something." He came to a halt, chin slanted towards a second door as he listened, all attention fixed on that one point. "Scott," he began, unease running rampart in his voice. "I'm not messing with you, I can hear something."
Virgil pushed himself upright, away from the displays. "John. We've gotta go."
"I need another minute."
"Wrap it up, Johnny," Scott called, turning so that he no longer had his back to a door. "We might not have another minute."
"We won't have anything at all if I can't find these fucking coordinates," John snapped, not quite a yell but damn near close, too close for comfort, echoing around the empty room so that Alan flinched. "Gordon's not here. We need a lead. I can get us one. Just give me a goddam minute."
Scott backed away from the door. Alan was right – there was definitely something out there. He couldn't quite make out the sound – whether they were footsteps or a shuffling or possibly a faint whine of something electric, like an engine but closer to a taser powering up. There was no distinct noise he could put a name to, but instincts assured him that danger was close-by.
Virgil moved to stand at John's back. John, still engrossed in his work, didn't question the obvious fretting. If something came rushing through the door without warning, his reflexes were too shot to handle it, and everyone knew that, Virgil most of all.
"Which door?" John asked, without looking up. He gestured for Virgil to pass him the cable discarded along the floor.
"The one nearest me," Alan reported, just as Scott heard a low screech of metal-against-metal behind his own guarded door.
John shot them both an exasperated look. "Well, which is it?"
"Both," Virgil answered for them, taking a faltering step towards the final door. "There's footsteps out there too."
We're surrounded.
John slammed a hand on a newly illuminated button, realisation stark in his expression just as it dawned on the rest of them. Automatic locks connected, coinciding with a flurry of sparks from the displays. Lights ignited in a blinding flash. Bulbs shattered. Glass cascaded all around. Locks disengaged. Alan ducked under the overhang above the door for shelter. Virgil yanked John away from the wires just in time as the entire relay exploded in a torrent of raw electricity.
"There go the locks," John announced darkly. Virgil gripped his shoulder in case he made another attempt at fixing the systems. There were still sparks jumping across the displays. Fallen glass had carved a jagged crack down the centre. There was no coming back from that.
Alan nearly tripped over his own feet, jolting away from the door. "Multiple footsteps. Four… five sets." He retreated to the centre of the room, on the other side of the displays from Virgil and John, running a thumb along the sharp ridges of the knuckles on his opposite glove as if to reassure himself that he had some feeble form of defence. Weapons weren't on the checklist for his suit, not like they were for Scott's. "What do we do?"
John activated the building maps, blinking to activate his contacts only to recall a second later that he wasn't wearing any. He reached for his console with barely concealed irritation. On the upside, at least the adrenaline rush seemed to be combatting any shock symptoms or banishing unwanted memories. Of course, on the downside, there was the possibility that they were about to get torn apart by something even worse than the infected – because maturity meant realising that humans were far scarier monsters than anything else in the world – but one problem at a time.
This time, there was a distinct crash outside. Something revved. Some sort of engine. A hiss, very familiar, and Virgil looked up sharply, recognition flickering in his eyes.
"They have lasers."
"Uh…" Alan shifted from one foot to the other. "That doesn't sound great."
Scott retrieved the gun, suddenly very conscious that he was the only person with a weapon. Sure, their suits had the metal plating, Alan had martial arts training courtesy of Kayo and Penelope, and Virgil could pack a mean punch if he truly wanted, but based on the evidence they'd come across, they were hopelessly outmatched. They didn't even have the knife anymore because John had dropped it and Scott hadn't thought to pick it up again.
And now they had no way out. They were trapped. Scott took a deliberately deep breath, but no, okay, his pulse was still elevated, instincts itching at the back of his brain and his skin crawling. Shit. This – just shit. Okay. Plan. Strategize. He looked to John on instinct because Johnny was the guy with the plans, telling them where to go when and how to get the hell outta Dodge when everything was about to go to shit.
John met his gaze with that uneasy look, not shielding away from the fact that they were, perhaps, just a little bit screwed. He lifted the console so that Scott could glimpse the results of the thermal scan. Too many assailants to count, all zeroing in on their location. The footsteps were an actual rumble now, as if someone had activated Two's VTOLs in the distant parking lot.
"Scott," Virgil prompted, although his voice lifted into more of a question.
Scott went to speak, realised he didn't actually have any answers, and trailed off again. He lifted the gun into the beam of Virgil's flashlight and watched his brother's face fall.
"We're fucked, aren't we?"
And that, right there. That new edge, which Scott hadn't ever heard from Virgil before. It was jarring. He didn't quite know how to translate it. It wasn't quite defeated as such, but it was damn near close, fearful too, with a healthy dose of dread as he instinctively took a step closer to Alan.
John raised a brow. As in, you gonna let this happen?
"Oh, hell no," Scott snapped. "We survived the literal zombie apocalypse. We're not dying here."
Alan's eyes went wide. "Wait, dying's… that's an actual possibility? We can't… there's…" He craned his neck, seeking something with the flashlight until the beam reflected off glass panels. "Okay, okay, I've got a crazy idea. But: there's a skylight up there. We can bring Two overhead. Break the glass. Grapple out."
Scott looked to Virgil.
Virgil activated his console. "It's worth a shot."
"Try it." Scott kicked a sharp-edged panel which had been sheared clean away over to Alan. A makeshift weapon was better than nothing. He didn't trust John not to freeze up if he offered him anything resembling a blade, but the gun wasn't an option either, not when Scott was the better shot between the two of them.
John offered him a wry smile. "I'll let you handle this one."
"Alright. We've got thirty seconds. I'll try to take out any who get too close. Use the displays as shelter. We don't know what weapons they have or any of their skillsets. Don't let any of them get close enough to land a hit but if they do…"
"Kick their asses?" Alan suggested.
Virgil spared a moment from his console to flash him a smile. "That's the spirit, Allie."
"Exactly," Scott concluded. "Let's give 'em hell."
Bravado only ever got anyone part way. False confidence couldn't stand up to a united enemy. This wasn't their home-turf, they were lacking weapons, defence was a non-starter – in fact the only thing on their side was that they'd heard the group coming. At least a sneak attack wasn't on the cards. John beamed the thermal scans onto each of their visors and backed up a pace to guard Virgil's back. Thunderbird Two's engines rumbled, faint, too far for comfort.
And then the world exploded.
Literally.
Scott rolled onto his front and scrambled upright, clawing at the wall for support. His vision was spinning. He couldn't hear anything past a high-pitched ringing. Thick smoke choked the doorways. Whatever explosives had been used were strong enough to have rocked the foundations, leaving great cracks spreading across the walls. Pain throbbed across his back from the impact where the aftermath of that pharmacy incident was still haunting him. He fumbled for the rebreather until the filter dialled up to the max and merciful oxygen eased the throbbing at the base of his skull.
Shouting blended with the distinct pitch of rapid gunfire. Scott stumbled into a run, dropping to skid beneath a desk and kicked out the legs of the masked assailant closing in on John. He didn't hesitate to take the shot this time, twisting to grab John's hand so that his brother could haul him to his feet in time to land another direct hit on a second figure.
Outnumbered was an understatement. Within a minute he was out of ammo. He tossed the gun aside with a growl, shifting into a fighting stance instead. John seized his wrist, shouting so loudly that Scott could make out the words even past the ringing.
"Where's Alan?"
The smoke was too thick. Scott could barely glimpse Virgil, crouched below the desk, trying to focus on that illuminated console, Two's green avatar flashing warnings faster than the gunshots all around. There was no sign of Alan anywhere. John snatched up the gun from the floor and smashed the solid metal across the temple of an approaching attacker.
"Find him," he snapped. "I'll cover Virgil."
Scott didn't second guess him. He swung himself over the desk and landed in a crouch, ducking a swing from another assailant and launching into a sprint as soon as he was clear. The smoke was filling the room ever faster, but it didn't seem to affect the attackers in the slightest. They were wearing masks, too thin to protect against blows to the head but providing some sort of respiratory aid and apparently providing enhanced vision, eyes glowing a venomous yellow.
"Alan!"
He couldn't hear his own shout. He smacked a hand to his helmet as if he could physically knock away the ringing. Glass skidded under his heels, and he crashed into a masked figure, who didn't hesitate to fight back as they collided. Scott lashed out, caught himself, and let old training rise to the surface. The ringing was beginning to fade in intensity. He tore himself away from flailing fists and grabbed an abandoned panel, sharp enough to do significant damage, not letting himself hesitate even as he felt it slice into vulnerable flesh. Except- wait- panel. Panel 5B. Which he'd given to Alan.
No. No, no, no, no.
He launched himself into the fray. Attack, push forwards, don't think, just act. You know how to do this. You know which hits will hurt. Ensure injuries, not a kill – that would take too long. Prioritise speed. Get to the other side. Find him, find him, find him.
He was no longer entertaining a conscious line of thought. Pure action. Training alone. Giving into the inner demons that he'd denied for so long, hated himself for, only now he needed them, because okay, fine, send him to Hell, but let Alan be alright, please, please, please, where is my kid, give him back!
There was a group of three. Tall, over six-foot, cowards who were too scared to go after Scott or even Virgil or John but were content to corner a kid without any weapons. Alan had been doing a good job of holding his own, only he glimpsed Scott and let his guard drop, just for a second, but a second was long enough. There was a distinctive flash of metal. Scott saw red because that's a knife, you sick motherfuckers, I'm gonna kick your asses.
And then the ceiling collapsed.
Scott hit the deck instinctively, thank you IR training. Glass rained down: the skylight had broken. But the roar of engines remained too faint for it to have been Two, confirmed a second later when a new figure plummeted through the gap and landed perfectly in the space below.
They were not quite six-foot, with fluid motions as if they'd had professional training in the past, a sleek black suit, mask framed with fine metal at the vulnerable points, eyes gleaming bright green with enhanced vision. They dispatched the surrounding attackers in a matter of seconds, movements precise and perfect, dangerous, almost beautiful, as if fighting were a dance, light on their feet, not giving anyone the chance to land a hit on them – as if mimicking Kayo's style. And then they started advancing on Alan and Scott jolted back into action, sprinting across the short distance, only-
Only the newcomer slid their blades back into their holsters and reached for Alan's shoulders. Alan flinched back, smacking into the wall, voice rising in a petrified shout, preparing to lash out, and Scott was still too far away, but-
"Hey, hey, calm down, kiddo." The voice modulator scrambled the words. "It's okay, I swear, Alan, you're okay-"
Alan lashed out, too panicked to register the words. The newcomer ducked as if they'd expected the blow and shifted backwards a pace, raising their hands in surrender, one hand lifting higher to snag the corner of their mask, yanking it off to reveal their face.
"Just me," Gordon assured him breathlessly. "It's just me, Alan, calm down. You're okay, little brother, I've got ya."
Scott skidded to a halt. "What the fuck?"
Alan's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Gordon?"
"We've gotta get outta here. Reunions later, I promise." Gordon cut himself off as Alan lunged forwards like a loaded spring, pulling him into a fierce hug. He relented, wrapping his arms around his brother, expression softening as Alan buried his face in his shoulder as best he could whilst wearing a helmet. "Good to see you too, Al, but seriously, we have to go. These guys are bad news. Hey-" He rapped his knuckles on Alan's visor. "-c'mon nerd, let's rock this joint."
"Gordon?" Scott tried again, only it came out as more of a croak.
Gordon lifted a hand in greeting. "Hey, Scotty." He offered a tearful smile. "Fancy meeting you here."
