Lightning and Truth

by Saiyanchick4

Since going missing after the events of the World Marshall incident, Raiden's family has come to believe that he has abandoned them. That belief is shattered when he is found after years of isolation and captivity. The old team at Maverick along with some familiar faces aid Raiden in his recovery and search for those responsible for hunting the former members of the Devils Army.

19. Chapter 19

Authors notes: Warning for bloody stuff and violence in this chapter.

.

Many things had crossed the mind of Ian Sanders on that fateful morning several weeks ago when he woke up to find that his body was no longer his own. Confusion at what was happening. Terror upon the realization that he had been hacked. Dread over what his unseen puppeteer was going to do with him. But the thought that came up most frequently as the days of unending hell stretched on, which came from a petulant almost childish part of his mind, was that television had lied to him.

On the movies and the dramatic tv shows when the writers have a character being brain jacked it's always depicted as an almost out of body experience. They are an outsider looking in as their physical self is being marionetted about furthering the plot. Perhaps there is some distorted superimposing of the characters thoughts as they mentally grapple with the thoughts of their hacker. Sometimes the character is able to break away from the enslavement whenever their loved ones are in danger. Other times they fail and are left with the crippling guilt of having pulled the trigger despite their struggles against it.

Reality was neither so poetic or gentle.

Brain jacking was a horrific dehumanizing nightmare that seemed like it was never ending. There was nothing out of body about it. You were perfectly aware and in the moment and there was no possible way to fight it. Trying to wrest back control of your body was an exercise in futility not too unlike trying to punch or run in a dream except that you never woke up. You could mentally scream at the situation to stop all you want but the hacker either did not hear you, or if they did, simply did not care. The hacker had all the power and ambivalence as an uncaring god and you couldn't do a damn thing about it.

He tried so hard and for so long to break free but it was for nothing. Ian had to impotently watch as his hacker lived his life as an impostor. From the humiliation of his physical needs being tended to by someone else to the frustration and hurt that none of his coworkers seemed to pick up on any difference in his behavior, Ian could do nothing but passively bear witness to his private nightmare.

The only silver lining in this whole ordeal was that his digital captor seemed to not wish any harm upon the poor soul caught in his web. Ian was being cared for with the same level of diligence that he would have applied to himself. Everything was normal, everything was routine. Everything was an endless hell waiting for some change upon this situation.

It had puzzled the captive man for weeks now. The hacker was not using his position at Maverick to dig up information. He could have had all the data about the company's finances and contracts by now had he wanted. It was only after hearing the gossip by several coworkers during break did Ian realize why he had been hacked. In his own distress he had forgotten that Maverick was currently hosting VIP's. It was then he numbly caught on to the fact that he was to be the way for an outside force to get inside the building.

The realization that there was nothing important about him that warranted his hacking other than opportunity nearly drove him mad in his trapped mind. He was just a tool that was picked up to be used and would be sat down out of the way once the job was done.

That feeling of being used only intensified that morning as apparently the time had finally come. It was to be his day off but Ian was shaken from his stupor from within his mental prison as his captor began dressing him as if for work in a speed that Ian himself would have never have been capable of.

Instead of waiting for the bus as was the usual routine, his hacker placed him in a vehicle which was already occupied by several masked and armed cyborgs. Each of them sat as rigidly and silently as Ian. He had little doubt that the unfortunate bastards were also being brain jacked. Perhaps it was cruel of him but at least he had the bitter comfort of knowing that he was not alone in this hell.

The taciturn ride was over all too soon as they quickly arrived at Maverick headquarters.

Ian Sanders helplessly watched as his hand inserted the key card and the code to enter from the garage was harvested from his mind without resistance. Reading his bio-metric ID, the door slid obediently open unaware of the deception and that three strangers that walked in after Ian were in fact, not his invited guests.

He wanted to cast his eyes up to the camera in the elevator in a silent warning and a plea, but even that small amount of control was beyond his abilities. This time of day on a Sunday Maverick was sparsely staffed but Ian prayed for someone, anyone, to notice what was happening and sound the alarm. Surely whoever was monitoring would recognize that these other men were intruders. Someone had to notice that something was off. Right?

The four of them ascended without alarm or resistance. 'Why was security letting this happen?' He silently questioned, rattling once more against the invisible bars that trapped him.

Unable to even cry the helpless man writhed within the confines of his own mind at the unfairness of it all. He was just an accountant, not someone important, he didn't sign up for this. Of course he had known there were risks with getting cybernetic work done. It allowed him to do his job more efficiently, opened up a new world of interaction online, and made it easier to keep up with the constantly advancing technical world.

That and he had wanted at least something about himself to be special.

At forty two Ian was what many would consider painfully average. The body of his twenties and thirties had long left him, being beat down by his sedentary lifestyle. He never had any romantic prospects other than a few short lived flings. Frugal living combined with a lack of a spouse or children left him with plenty of disposable income. And so, wanting to rise above his mediocrity even if just mentally, he had gotten the cybernetic brain implants done.

'Looks like you were right Ma.' Ian thought bitterly. 'This tech stuff is going to be the death of me.'

That call for Maverick's security updates had been too late, several weeks too late. By then the hacker had been dug into his brain like a tick and had covered his tracks well. How could this have happened? Maverick was a security company, Ian thought out of all the places in the world that he would be safe here.

Ian's railing at the his situation was cut short as the four of them arrived on the twenty ninth floor and disembarked. Even without their face shields, Ian could tell that the other men would have been displaying that same lack of emotion that he knew that was present on his own face.

As they neared the door that had been guarded at Maverick for the past month, Ian wanted to fight, to struggle against what was going to happen. He didn't though. The captive man was too beat down over these past few weeks to even attempt what he knew was impossible. The small sliver of hope that he would be left alive and released after the hackers work was done was all he had left to hold on to.

Once again he wished that the out of body experiences that screenwriters were so fond of was the truth. What was coming he wanted no part of. The betrayal, the bloodshed…

By the slim chance that he were to somehow make it out of this situation alive, he hoped that Boris and the others would someday forgive him for what he could not help but do.

-0-0-0-

John hadn't pestered him with questions after the encounter with Sam, for which Raiden was very grateful for. The teen had looked him up and down for any hint of harm whenever he had returned from that brief conversation in the hallway, sighing with barely concealed relief when all seemed well. Raiden had wanted to reassure him, to perhaps clarify a few things before they could fester into questions that he really didn't want to answer, but no words would come to him.

In the end he had just sighed before turning away from his son and disappearing into his room.

Raiden had wanted to lay in the dark room and forget that the encounter had ever happened. He didn't want to wonder about how exactly Sam had survived. He didn't want to think about how he had been betrayed and replaced. Raiden didn't want to think about any of it at all. There would be no answers, just a blur of feelings and questions that would be without end that would only serve to exhaust him further. He was exhausted enough as it was.

Nearly an hour later and Raiden was still determinedly trying not to think when there was a timid knock on the door.

"Dad?" John spoke hardly above a whisper as if he were afraid of waking him up or disturbing him further.

"The door is open son." He flatly responded without bothering to roll over from where he faced the wall.

A wedge of light pierced through the darkness as the door slowly opened. Against the light cast on the wall appeared a shadow as John peered inside.

"Lunch is going to be soon. Do you want me to bring you any of it?" The teen's voice was still whispered. Subdued.

"I really don't feel like eating." Raiden sighed.

"Oh. Ok. I'll just put it away for you and maybe check in later. Alright?"

"Yeah. Sounds good."

The shadow retreated and the wedge of light slimmed until it disappeared entirely, casting the room into darkness once more. The nearly inaudible sound of John's soft footsteps retreated until the only sound to hear was his own slow artificial breathing.

Raiden felt guilty for dismissing the boy like that, but the feeling was somewhat soothed by the certainty that John would understand his need for space. Just like Rose, the teen had proven rather adept over this past month at reading his moods. Resolving to later make it up to the boy somehow, he settled back into the dark and silence that reminded him of his former cage and sanctuary and returned to trying desperately not to think.

He had not been laying there for long when a crash and the deafening sound of gunfire shattered the silence.

Raiden was rolling off the bed and onto his feet before his mind even had a chance to catch up to what his body was doing. In the several steps it took for him to lunge for the door there were another two shots fired along with the sounds of a scuffle. But all other sounds meant nothing to him compared to the sound of John's pained cry.

Fear and dread surging through him, Raiden flung open the bedroom door and took in the scene with a speed that only a cyborg could manage.

The formerly peaceful living room had been cast into utter chaos. Their guard was currently engaged in hand to hand with an invader, and was losing badly. Trent had his right hand curled protectively to his chest, mangled from the gun being swatted out of his hand with enough force to break concrete.

The man's dropped weapon was nowhere to be seen but the guard was after a different approach. He kept trying to reach for an EM grenade clipped to his belt but his opponent gave him no opportunity. It was either dodge or die to a single blow.

Raiden sized up the intruder nearly instantly. Cyborg. Standard PMC model. Lightly armored. Lone Star logo emblazoned upon his gear. It was not one of Mavericks employees. This individual came from a neighboring PMC down in Texas. He had been disarmed by one of Trent's shots judging from the invaders bleeding hand and the handgun lay in the middle of the floor, still smoking.

Near the gun lingering in the doorway was a second man. Slightly overweight and in business attire, he was observing the fight with an oddly detached expression. Two other PMC cyborgs could be seen clearing the other rooms, firearms raised and at the ready. Neither of them seemed to care about their comrade engaged in the fight. In fact they seemed to be searching for something, or someone, far more dangerous than just a fully human guard.

With a horrified flash Raiden realized that this was all his fault. There was no one left to guard them because he had drove them away.

"I know you did Wolf. Just...gimme some space today, yeah?"

"I stayed with Maverick because I was wanting to ask you something, but I think I already have my answers."

Both Wolf and Sam were gone because of him. With his words, his actions, the two individuals who could have resolved this situation instantly were no longer around. Now it was just Raiden himself in a non-combat body with all of his current handicaps, and an unmodified guard who was unarmed and injured. If that realization was not stark enough, there was still the sound of John's cry echoing in his mind and the boy was nowhere to be seen amidst the chaos.

The fact that he didn't see his son on the ground with a widening pool of blood allowed his formerly frozen heart to beat once more. The parental terror for his child was still surged through him as he wondered how bad had he been hurt? Where was he?

Then he spotted him.

Once more Raiden's feet carried him forward before he had even made the decision to move. As soon as he had saw a foot sticking out from the other side of the couch he was charging forward. The fact that there was spatters of blood staining the white sock only made him move all the faster.

Unfortunately in that brief second it took for Raiden to access the situation and to spot John the intruders had also spotted him.

The expressionless man by the door was the first to sight him. Instead of the expected up cry of alarm, the man just turned to face Raiden. The cyborg fighting the guard turned eerily in unison. Immediately there was the sounds of the other two returning. It was almost as if they were not individuals but part of some sort of a hive mind.

'Well shit.' Was the only words that came to mind about the seemingly hopeless situation.

Somewhat stumbling in his attempt to run, Raiden fell to his knees as he rounded the end of the couch. John gave out a terrified shout at his abrupt appearance, throwing up bloody hands in a warding gesture before he could register who it was. Before the sound of the teens cry had faded away there was a high pitched whine and a small explosion.

A feeling like concentrated static flooded down Raiden's spine and he knew Trent had taken his opening to throw the EM grenade. Thankfully he had been far enough away to only feel the peripheral effects instead of the full paralysis. There was the sound of only two bodies hitting the floor instead of the hoped for four. Raiden silently cursed the fact that the invading party had been too spaced out to drop all at once. That would have solved all their problems nicely.

Praying that John was not too injured and that they boy would forgive him, Raiden wordlessly snatched his child into his arms and stood. John shouted again, this time in pain at being abruptly plucked from his huddled position into being held bridal style. Yelling was good, yelling meant vital things were still working.

Raiden saw that it had been the two armed cyborgs that Trent had dropped as they were the most pressing threat. Their limbs spasmodically reached for the dropped guns as their internal systems fought to overcome the stunning effect of the electro magnetic hit. Unfortunately they were not the intruders currently blocking the exit.

If this where his old body, his old self, Raiden would have skirted around the both of them and fled down the hallway with John. No...he would have simply killed them before they could have made it into the room. The ugly reality of the situation was he was not his old self and he currently didn't trust in his abilities in running or fighting.

In Raiden's brief moment of uncertainty, the other two threats in the room did not hesitate to take action. The average man moved with an unexpected speed towards the dropped gun laying before him. The other cyborg moved forward with violent intent, needing no weapons and knowing it well.

Trent abruptly tackled the advancing opponent, striking him high and using the top heavy nature of the armored cyborg to help topple the man.

"Go!" His old comrade cried out as the force of his rush sent him tumbling to the ground as well. Raiden had half a mind to try running for the door past the average man anyway, uncooperative feet be damned but the flash of the gun muzzle being raised killed any hope of escaping by the front door. He turned his back to the armed man, using himself to shield John against any bullets and darted for the only place there was he could possibly go: the false escape of the bedroom.

Two bullets hit him in the back with a substantial punch and the third embedded itself in the doorway, narrowly missing his neck. Raiden kicked the door shut and hoisting John up higher with one arm, reached over and locked it with the other. The sound of several more bullets embedding into, but failing to pierce through the thick wooden door sounded out in the small room. The deafening gunfire was complimented by John's terrified gasps of air.

"Where are you hit? How bad?" Raiden asked the teen, completely heedless of the two slugs in his own back slowly spreading red down his shirt. He didn't even care about the revitalizing blessing of pain, only that of his child's pain mattered. John had his red streaked hands clasped over his ears and his face buried in Raiden's chest nearly hyperventilating. Taking a moment that they didn't have, he looked over his son for the source of the bleeding.

There. On his right leg. There was a deep graze on his calf that, while it had not hit an artery, was bleeding steadily. The wound also meant that there was no possible way for John to run away even if Raiden did make a last stand to give him time to escape.

There was a thud against the sturdy wooden door that hit far harder than any bullet could have. The other cyborg must have taken care of Trent and was now coming for the both of them unobstructed. He felt a twinge of remorse for his old friend and gratitude for his help, but there was no time to think about the man and his fate. Raiden bodily pushed the dresser in front of the door, sending the colorful cards cascading down like autumn leaves. It was not much of a barrier but it was something at least.

When Raiden tried to access his codec to call for help only static could be heard. The signal was being jammed and they were cornered. The situation was looking more dire by the moment.

The door was struck once again, the frame splintering but not giving way just yet. It would not withstand another strike. The bathroom was another dead end and hiding in there would only serve to corner them once more. Without any other options open to him Raiden rushed for the window, barely managing to keep his footing in his hurry and yanked it open. Scanning frantically he looked for ledges, awnings, cables, anything that he could grab onto.

Nothing. There was nothing but a straight drop twenty nine stories down onto concrete below. He briefly considered on surrendering to the invaders. He would be taken back to the dark of course but so long as John made it then he would find a way to live with it. It was only the teen's steadily bleeding leg that turned him away from the option. They had already harmed the boy, there was a possibility that they would simply finish the job once there was no further resistance to be given.

Raiden didn't have to look behind him to know that the resounding crash just now had been the door finally giving way. The screech of the dresser being pushed aside announced that his time to make a decision was up.

"John hold tight." Raiden pulled the teens arms up to his neck even as he climbed through the open window.

"Dad what the hell are you doing?" John's voice was shrill as he caught a glimpse down, instantly clasping onto the older man's neck like a vice.

"Tight as you can. And close your eyes." He held the window ledge with one arm and held the teen snugly to himself with the other.

"Dad nooooo!" John cried out as Raiden let go.

As gravity took hold of the both of them John screamed in terror. The feeling of free falling was disconcerting but not something Raiden was unaccustomed to. While John was gripping him hard enough to nearly cut off artificial circulation, eyes closed tight in his fear, Raiden was looking down to his target.

When he made a grab for the next window ledge, hardly more than an inch or so wide, it slipped right out of his grasp without a hint of slowing their decent.

Alarm began to ring out in his mind as the speed of their fall only accelerated. Raiden did not fear his end, he had walked beside of death far too many times in his life, but he would not let his mad gamble of his claim John's life.

With more determination behind his grasp he managed to catch hold of the second window ledge, causing him to slam against the building with enough force to wind him. He took the brunt of the force to his side, managing to hold John free from the impact. Unfortunately the weight of a teenager and cyborg falling two stories being caught on a surface area no wider than the span of a few fingers was more than the narrow structure could take and it crumbled away.

Trusting John's vice like grip on him, Raiden reached out with both hands as they fell one story further.

The architecture held this time. Feet splayed out so that John would not be sandwiched between himself and the building, they once more jerked to a stop from their descent. The teen held tightly to him without budging, having wrapped his legs around Raiden's midsection in the free fall despite the injury. The man pulled the both of them up the as much as he could. A quick look told Raiden that there was no way to open the window from the outside. Not that it mattered much to him.

He thrust a fist through the glass, heedless of the cuts on the artificial skin that the Dok had been so proud of. The glass didn't shatter but fractured into pebble sized clusters that clung together barely. Sticking his hand through the opening, he was grateful for the more secure grip that holding onto the window from the inside provided. Raiden knocked as much glass away as he could with his free hand sending the fragments tumbling and glinting in the sunlight as they fell to the ground below.

"John, I need you to let go of me and climb on through." Raiden reclaimed his hold on the teen after the last bit of glass was knocked away. Impossibly John's grip tightened even further at the prospect.

"Nuh-uh." He shook his head fiercely, face buried in Raiden's shoulder to avoid having to look down.

"C'mon son. I know you can do it. I can't do this on my own." Indeed the effort of holding them up was getting more difficult as the damage to his shoulder was making itself known. 'Damn this soft civvy tech.' The terrified teen slowly unburied his face and gave his father a slow shaky nod before reaching out for the opening in the window.

John climbed up carefully, terrified of losing his grip. The teen shook so violently that he could hardly move, a combination of fear and possibly shock making his movements uncertain. Raiden boosted him up with his knee as far as he could. Trying not to jar his injured leg too much or drag over the crumbles of broken glass, John went up and over the ledge and into the darkened room beyond.

Raiden climbed in after far more easily than his son had. The two bullet wounds on his upper back were further aggravated with the stretching and exertion but if anything the injury helped sharpen his focus. Once his bare feet were on the cool carpet of the office floor Raiden leaned back out the window and looked up.

Two masked faces were looking right back down at him. No emotion could be gleaned from the covered faces or from the set of their shoulders. Raiden narrowed his eyes as one of the men retreated and the other began to climb out exactly as he had done, preparing to drop down after them...

"John hide!" Raiden commanded. A quick look behind him revealed that John was already scrambling underneath an office desk at the command. Right as he turned back to face the window the cyborg dropped down onto the opening, concrete crumbling under its grip.

He was in a civilian body. His opponent was combat grade. He was still recovering in addition to being freshly injured. His opponent was fresh and fully prepared. Despite all of the odds stacked against him, Raiden still struck first.

It was during his early days at Maverick when Raiden first went up against a group of high quality cyborg opponents. After his forced conversion he had crossed swords with the occasional cyborg here and there, but they had never been a challenge. Raiden had always assumed that his victories had always been a mix between a matter of skill level and cybernetics. To his surprise the seven PMC grade opponents had been just as slow as the typical ones and just as easily defeated.

He had brought it up to Doctor Morris one evening while he was being worked on. Dr. Morris was a man unlike the Doktor in a variety of ways. Most notably where Dok liked to talk (and talk) Morris was a rather taciturn individual. Raiden was not a chatty person himself but there was only so long he could stand the silence while having shrapnel from a car bomb removed from his back.

"So is it the Patriot tech or the upgrades that Boris ordered for me that made the difference?" Raiden asked, voice muffled by the way his head rested against his folded arms as he lay prone on the table.

"Hmm? What?" Dr. Morris absentmindedly asked as he pulled free another shard of metal. "What difference?"

"Speed. It's like those guys were moving underwater. They couldn't touch me. Well...not until that car went off anyway." Raiden lifted his head up to look over his shoulder. "There's gotta be some tech difference in there that makes me so much faster than they are." Dr. Morris wordlessly pushed Raiden's head back down. That man always had been terrible with his bedside manner.

"No. Not really. While its true that there are differences in your cybernetics there is nothing to cause as drastic of a difference as you say." The man said in that distracted way of his as he began to dig around for another shard of shrapnel.

"C'mon. There's gotta be something. Some Maverick tech I'm not high leveled enough to know about?" Morris pushed his head back down again, heedless of the irritated huff of his patent.

"While Maverick does not skimp on tech, the only difference here would be yourself I should think." Plink went another shard of metal into the tray. "It would not be your opponents hesitation for they have none, being emotionally suppressed. I can only surmise it is due to whatever training you had prior to joining our company.

Raiden had fallen silent after that. His inquisitive, almost playful mood turning decidedly sour at the other man's words. Dr. Morris was probably glad that Raiden was no longer moving about and was oblivious to his patient's shift in mood.

Prior training indeed. As a child he and the others quickly learned that hesitation got you killed, either by the enemy or your own side. Thinking at all was not something that was conductive towards one's continued existence either. In the end it boiled down to act or die. Their training had been so ingrained into them Raiden would be surprised if it hadn't been etched into their DNA.

It was a lesson that had served him well throughout his life despite his hatred for it. Like the skilled Iaido masters, often while opponents were still sizing him up Raiden had already struck. He wielded violence like an extension of himself. He didn't have to think, strategize, or plan his attack. It happened at the speed of reflex, like hearing the thunder after the lightening had already crashed against the earth.

Before the armored cyborg could fully climb through the window Raiden struck out like a viper and snatched the man's knife from its sheath. He immediately thrust the blade between the armored plating at the junction of the thigh and the groin.

Instead of crying out in pain and buckling enough to allow Raiden to knock the man out of the window, his opponent seemed utterly indifferent about the wound. Raiden was forced to retreat a step back as the man came on through, jumping down to the floor with enough weight to rattle several decorative items off of the office desks.

The blade and gun rose at the same time. In this body Raiden was nowhere near quick enough to dodge or block bullets. Before the weapon could be fully aimed at him, he closed into the man's space taking himself out of the line of fire. His opponent tried to re-aim but Raiden locked the outstretched forearm under his arm preventing the gun from being re-aimed. The slash at the cyborgs throat was predictably stopped, solid fingers wrapping around his wrist tight enough to make the metal inside creak and threaten to warp.

It was fated to be a short lived stalemate. There would be no way he could overpower his opponent, or even mange to get enough leverage to throw him. Artificial pain washed over his mind along with warnings of imminent structural damage from his captured arm. Instead of fighting to keep the blade Raiden let it fall from static filled fingers.

As he twisted Raiden felt a brief flash of gratitude towards Rose. That long suffering woman had trained him out of many bad habits brought about by his rough upbringing, one of which had been wearing boots to bed. After that encounter with Sam, Raiden had reflexively kicked his shoes and socks off before laying in the dark to sulk. If he hadn't done so, there would have been no way for him to grab the falling knife out of the air with his toes as it fell.

It was not his most graceful kick, locked in with one another as they were and the angle at which he had to twist and thrust up. Raiden was less preoccupied by the aesthetics of the action and more by the wonder that he had actually managed to pull off that tricky bit of coordination in his condition. But then again as he had discovered practicing CQC by himself, his will to commit violence didn't seem as hindered as the rest of his actions.

The blade slid neatly under the curve of the man's jaw between his face and neck plating. Blood spurted violently from the severed carotid artery, spraying all the more forcefully than a normal persons blood would as the pressure was backed by the strength of an artificial heart. Through the crimson shower Raiden scowled at the fact that once again, his opponent seemed heedless of his injury.

'Is this what its like to fight me?' He sardonically wondered as he still struggled to keep the arm holding the gun locked and from being brought to bear on himself. Raiden didn't have long to ponder that thought as the second cyborg abruptly dropped down into the open window.

Raiden was very nearly not fast enough to use his weakening grappling opponent as a shield to avoid the volley fired his way. Despite the blood loss and bullets peppering the cyborg, his opponent took the opportunity of Raiden's distraction and position to wrap the him in a breath stealing bear hug.

Despite his kicking and thrashing, the most Raiden could do was manage to knock the man's gun free from his grip. Before he could make a grab at it with his feet the newcomer kicked it sending it skittering away across the floor. Raiden had no choice but to cease his struggling as the new cyborg leveled his weapon towards him, with clear intent to fire if he so much as flinched.

The grip around his torso began to weaken as his first opponent began to succumb to blood loss. There would be no way to move quickly enough to dodge or use the first man as a shield once more. The newcomer had positioned himself well out of kick range. Raiden couldn't even try to pull the knife free from the first man's neck and attempt a throw as his dispatched opponent finally yielded to his injures and crumbled to the floor behind him taking the blade out of reach.

Not bothering to glance at the fallen opponent, Raiden kept his focus on the silent threat before him. He slowly raised his arms in bitter surrender.

"Who are you?" The question was bit out as a low grow. Raiden honestly did not expect an answer but he had to attempt to play for time. The best he could hope for was to stall until help arrived. That is, if help was coming at all. "What do you want from me?"

Raiden would never know if the cyborg was going to reply or not. Rather than demands or threats, the explosive sound of gunfire filled the room. Instead of feeling the punch of the half a dozen rounds from his opponents weapon, the man before him staggered back as the one being shot.

Peering out from underneath the desk, gun in hand, was John. The teen had retrieved the dropped weapon and was firing at center mass exactly how Raiden had taught him. Of course normal rounds would do nothing against an armored cyborg other than stun them for a moment, but Raiden was already moving to address that little problem.

The knife pulled free of the fallen man's throat with a screech of metal grating against metal. Ducking low underneath the line of fire as the staggering man tried to bring his weapon around at his charging opponent, Raiden closed the distance between the two of them in a flash. There was no hesitation in his steps, no stumbling of his formerly traitorous feet. For the first time in years Raiden felt like himself again as the blade thrust up and found its target true.

Instead of a stubborn struggle to fight to the very last breath like the first man had, as soon as this cyborg had been struck mortally he simply… stopped. Dropping to the ground like a marionette with its strings cut, the cyborg fell limp even as his heart continued to force blood to spill out onto the scratchy carpet.

Suspecting a trap, Raiden quickly prized the gun away from unresisting fingers. Gun in one hand and knife poised and ready in the other, he watched as the motionless figure in the floor finally succumbed to either death or a protection program execution. Eyeing the window for the possible arrival of the third assailant, Raiden made his way over to the desk his son was hidden under.

"John. John are you alright?"

"What?" The teen asked, voice much louder than usual. Raiden had to fight back a smirk as he beckoned the boy out from his hiding spot. He had built in protection against loud noises such as gunfire but unfortunately John's ears did not. With multiple rounds fired in such a small office the kid's ears had to be ringing something fierce. Tinnitus was a far smaller concern than the still bleeding wound on his leg.

Crawling free of the small space, John froze upon seeing the two bodies on the floor. At the sight of blood staining the navy carpet black the boys own face drained of blood. Raiden shifted to block the teens view of the bodies with his own form. The horrified expression didn't change as he looked upon his blood soaked father, still holding the bloody knife.

"Not dead." Raiden told him. Then repeated it a little louder as the boy rubbed at his ears. "Not dead, stasis. They can still be revived."

Raiden felt guilty at the relieved sag of John's shoulders. While not technically a lie, it was unlikely that these two would get medical attention in time. Especially as there were still two more assailants gunning for them. Shooting a glance at the open window, Raiden pushed down the bitter wish that John hadn't seen him fight and addressed the more pressing matters at hand.

"Someone appears in that window, you fire." He spoke loudly next to John's ear, encouraging the still trembling hands holding the gun to aim at the window. John swallowed hard then wordlessly nodded before watching the broken opening with single minded intensity.

Raiden placed the two weapons down where he could snatch them up quickly if needed and pulled off his shirt. Despite his own blood drenching the back of his shirt and spray from his two fallen opponents peppering the front, he began ripping the once gray cloth into makeshift bandages.

Thankfully artificial blood didn't carry diseases the way normal blood did. John didn't protest or waver from his watch but the wrinkling of his nose said he was disgusted with the bloodied fabric being wrapped around his leg. Disgust gave way to a hiss of pain as the cloth was pulled tight. As he worked Raiden tried to get into contact with someone once more. There was still nothing but the predictable hiss of static on the other end of the codec.

Makeshift bandages secure, Raiden reached for the office phone on the nearby desk and placed it up to an ear. He threw the receiver in frustration as the line was completely dead. Looking from the open window, the empty hall beyond the office, and his son looking up at him with barely concealed terror Raiden made a decision. He crouched back down beside of John, tucking the bloodied knife into the waistband of his sweatpants and taking up the gun.

"Listen close." Raiden said checking the exits for other assailants. John nodded and leaned in to hear better. "We are going to make a run for it. I'll carry you and you…" He took the gun from the teen's cold and shaking fingers to check the ammunition before placing it back in his son's hands. "...keep this and cover our six. Do you think you can do it? Are you good?"

"Yeah Dad." John said, shaky voice hardly louder than a whisper. He swallowed hard and said with a little more conviction. "Yeah I'm good."

"Good." Raiden wrapped the teen in a brief hug, thankful that they had both gotten off as lucky as they had so far. He was determined to get them both out of this and in one piece. With one last check to see if they were still in the clear he gathered John up and stood.

"Dad you're hurt." The alarmed tone returned to the teen's voice as his vantage point over the man's shoulder gave him a clear view of the two injuries sluggishly leaking synthetic blood.

"It's nothing. Keep lookout." Raiden took his own advice and raised the weapon in his free hand, expecting trouble at any moment.

Peering over his right shoulder, John dutifully brought his gun up watching for any threats approaching them from behind. Raiden was grateful for enhanced strength, civilian model or not, as it would have been difficult to carry a lanky teen like a toddler one armed. Despite being on high alert as they crept their way out of the office, Raiden couldn't help but feel a little nostalgic as it had been years since he had carried John like this. The boy had grown up too fast and he had missed so much of it.

They made their way down the silent halls unaccosted. The lack of an ambush did nothing to foster a sense of hopefulness but rather one of dread. A determined hunter never gives up their prey so easily. And this Hunter was turning out to be pretty dammed determined. The cynical part of Raiden wondered when the other shoe would drop as they neared the hall with the elevator and stairwell.

Raiden paused as a faint sound tickled at the fringe of his enhanced hearing. It was the sound of thudding footsteps coming from inside the stairwell. The sound of a heavy armored cyborg descending and making no effort to be stealthy. And why should they? They had every advantage here.

Raiden looked between the stairwell and the elevator. Would there be enough time to call, board, and have the doors closed before their pursuer reached their level? With each second of hesitation the footsteps grew louder, echoing ominously in the stairwell. Making a split second decision Raiden turned away from the hall, putting as much distance between them and the invaders as he possibly could. He was aiming for the exits on the opposite end of the floor when the other shoe finally dropped.

Apparently seeing that they were not in trouble enough as it was, the powers that be chose for this exact moment for the power at Maverick headquarters to abruptly shut off casting Raiden and John into darkness.

.

Authors Notes: I've been studying martial arts for a fair number of years now and I have to say practicing with an Iaido master has to be one of my favorite memories. That man was fast. Watching the other students cocky enough to think that they could challenge this guy was a treat. While they were still thinking of how to attack he had already struck a killing blow (with practice swords of course). Fun stuff.

Also I wasn't sure if Raiden's little maneuver with the knife and his feet was actually feasible when I came up with it so I decided to test it. My bunk bed was my 'grappling opponent' and a plastic spoon was the 'blade.' My cats were judging the hell out of me the entire time.

Thank you all for reading and I hope you don't hate me too much for the cliff hanger. Try not to freeze, its been hella cold lately.