Here we are again! This is our merry little band's first mission. I hope you all do enjoy. Thank you for all your reviews. I really do enjoy hearing what you think of the story. Speaking of which:
Generation Zero: Thanks! So am I. One of the most fun part about all these universes is the technology. Hopefully you enjoy this chapter!
BonesofSmite: Ah, a .45 enjoyer. Saul would be very unhappy with you. I'm trying to add more Solo and Ahriman into the story, because those two seem to be my most requested characters. I'm glad you enjoyed last chapter, and I hope you enjoy this one!
Madara95: Thanks! I'm glad you liked the fourth wall break. I thought that was pretty good, though it's hard to do without making it either ridiculous or jarring. To answer your question: oh, yes. There are a lot more characters coming. The first of which we'll actually see in this chapter... I hope you enjoy it!
LezGo35: Yes. Of course. We just can't leave the spooky kleptomaniac behind, now can we? He'll have so much to collect...
CommunistBaboon3: Thank you. I'm glad you enjoy the story, and I appreciate your feedback on Drake. I do get that feeling sometimes too: I'm trying to fine-tune him between being too powerful and not powerful enough to stop everyone from killing each other. I'll have to work on it some more, but I really do appreciate the heads-up. Hopefully this chapter does a bit better.
Ketchup imaginario: Thanks. I appreciate the feedback. I'm still trying to nail down Drake to perfection: he has to be powerful enough to stop everyone from killing each other, but not too powerful or powerful enough to stop any of them. As for the part with him taking on everyone else, that was his own in-character thoughts on his contingency plans. It's not necessarily conducive to reality, and he knows it. He's just putting things in place in case they go sour. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Rykord: We'll call Drake's galaxy 'Tongues of Fire' from now on. I'll put it in the Codex, I suppose. As for Cooper... sure. But such things won't be for a long while. I had some thoughts on the matter, and I'll take your input. I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Austin: Everyone's going to be interacting soon enough, don't you worry. As for the bad guys, they'll be here soon enough. I'm really looking forward to it, actually. I hope you like this one!
187: Thank you! I'm glad you're enjoying it and the balance of characters. The Chief with a bolter is quite interesting. I think he'd like it. I'll take it under consideration.
oOo
"Pax Magnifica, Bellum Gloriosum." (Magnificent Peace, Glorious War) -motto/slogan of Twilight Imperium
oOo
Rock and Roll
"Right, so, here's the deal." Thomas Drake looked around at the collection of curious individuals huddled around the main holoprojector within the command room aboard the Apocalypse. It was the group's typical bizarre mis-mash of clothing: bright yellow jumpsuits clashed with jet black combat armor, casual pants and vests, long leather coats and t-shirts, and heavy, ridiculously-ornamented gold-laced greatcoats. The usual. "On the planet below us, conveniently named 'YP-36-2134' due to its remoteness, is a base used by a group of mercenaries who've stolen an item we've been paid to recover."
"Who are these guys, and what exactly is this thing?" asked Solo suspiciously, stepping forward with his thumb in his belt. Most of the others around the holoprojector nodded. Drake gave them a grin.
"They are a small-scale mercenary operation. The thing in question is a black box from an advanced prototype starship that was being tested on the outer edges of the galaxy. It just so happened that the ship crashed where this mercenary group was doing some exploring. No one else was around, so they took the black box back to their base of operations, which just so happens to be on the planet beneath us." Stepping forward, Drake touched a button on the holoprojector, and a three-dimensional layout of the mercenary base appeared. "Our goal is to take the black box by whatever means necessary and return it to the company it belongs to."
"So how exactly do we go about doing this?" mused Shepard, all business, stepping forward to peer at the layout. Drake shrugged in reply.
"Well, there are a great many ways we could go about it," he replied. "First and foremost, we could bombard the base from orbit." He pointed out a singular, secure-looking underground room. "The box is being held in the vault. It would be secure if we simply wiped out the surface base." He looked around at the few pensive and a few horrified expressions meeting his gaze. "Nuclear weapons would do the trick. Destroy the base, walk in, take the box, walk out. No resistance."
Nearly everyone was staring at him, appalled. Drake crossed his arms, unconcerned.
"Wha- We… we can't nuke the base!" replied Vir.
"That would be a war crime," agreed Kirk, sharing looks between his two accompanying officers. They didn't look exactly happy with Drake.
"Besides, we can't just walk through nuclear radiation to retrieve this thing!" added Vir, horrified. The others nodded in emphatic agreement.
"Eh, radiation isn't a big deal," piped up Jean Garang from where she stood with Drake's armsmen commanders. She tapped her breastplate of behemoth bronze-brown power armor. "It won't affect us in armor; we get back and take a scrub." She cocked an amused eyebrow at everyone else. "Technology has improved since 1950, you know. Besides, even if you aren't, we're trained for that sort of thing. We're the best in the business, after all." Garang bumped fists with Saul and Rilgaldis. The Scoundrel commanders let the challenge go as they took stock of each other.
"No," said Shepard, stepping forward in her black armor emblazoned with a red N7 insignia. She spoke for most of the group: Kirk, Vir, Cooper, and Quill nodded along with her. "Nuclear bombardment - any orbital bombardment - is out." She crossed her arms, daring Drake to challenge her. The black-clad mercenary commander merely shrugged.
"However you wish," he replied. "The floor is yours. However, you must realize there are two ways to do this: either no bodies to notice or no one left to notice the bodies. I myself prefer the latter. It's simply… simpler," he finished ominously.
"Okay, yeah, we're not doing that," replied Kirk.
"I'm not sure if you'd exactly noticed," chimed in Colonel Kasteen for the first time, "But none of us are exactly suited for stealth operations." Interestingly, Cain let her speak for the regiment. While he had the power of the Commissariat, Kasteen was the regimental commander and he differed to her as such.
"We can't just murder everyone there!" objected McCoy from behind Kirk. Kasteen rolled her eyes. Cain and Broklaw shared a glance that seemed to say 'get a load of this idiot'. The Chief appeared to be cocking an eyebrow behind his helm.
"Calm down, everyone," said Vir, holding up his hands for peace. "I think it might be best to try and do this both ways." The others looked at him, curiously. Drake stood back, hovering, arms crossed. It was no longer his limelight. He'd go along with what the others planned. "We could have an infiltration to steal the black box while a group of soldiers distracts the mercenaries."
"Good idea," agreed Cooper. He pointed to a small tunnel that seemed to lead to the base's lower levels. "What's that?" he asked Drake.
"Service tunnel," came the reply. "You could open it and get through it easily enough."
"What if they spot us?" frowned Quill, hand on his chin, considering the layout. He might not have been the greatest tactical mind there, but perhaps unlike the impression he gave, he was no pushover.
"They've yet to notice our ships in orbit," snorted Drake. "I doubt they're exactly attentive. Whoever's going through should be fine."
"But what if we do get noticed?" stressed Solo, frowning, mind flying with possibilities.
"Okay, okay," said Shepard, interrupting. "So here's the plan as it is. We'll have an infiltration team, consisting of Vir, the Chief, and I."
"Why you?" asked Cooper, curious. Shepard shot him a dirty look.
"We can't have too many people: three is best. And the three of us should be more than able to take care of any problems that come our way," she replied. "While we sneak in, we have another team do the same thing from here," she pointed to a side entrance, "And act as a diversion."
"Sounds good to me," muttered Solo.
"And if you run into trouble?" asked Kasteen pointedly.
"We have soldiers outside as another distraction," replied Vir. He looked over to Drake and the Imperials. "My marines, plus your Guardsmen and your armsmen," this was said with a nod to Kasteen and Drake respectively, "Can wait outside the main area and simply act as a massive force for them to contend with while the others go in." He received a series of nods. "The only question left is who's on the second team."
"Us," said Quill immediately.
"I can go," volunteered Cooper at nearly the same time. The Guardians of the Galaxy shared a look with the Militia Pilot.
"Whoa, whoa, you're not leaving us behind," protested Solo. Chewbacca growled what seemed to be an affirmation of his captain's reply.
"Okay, so then you three," replied Vir. Cooper, Solo, and the Guardians nodded, satisfied.
"And what about us?" asked Kirk dryly. "Are we taking part in this grand plan?"
"From what we know, you guys have… uh… teleporters? Right?" asked Shepard. Kirk sighed.
"Transporters, yes," he replied. Shepard nodded, satisfied.
"So if there are any problems we run into, or if we need more reinforcements, you guys jump in." Kirk nodded.
"Sure. Fine," he replied. Each galaxy had its own technology, completely alien to everyone else. While certain things, such as laser weaponry or A.I.s were game-changing to those that did not have them, teleportation technology seemed to simply make everyone wary. It was just… unnatural.
"Well then, it seems we have a plan," commented Vir. He looked around to everyone else. "Let's get to it, then."
"Chief, Vir, meet me on the Normandy," instructed Shepard. "Our shuttles can take us down. They're quieter and we have some screens added." The super soldier and the admiral nodded.
"Very good," said Cain. "Let's go."
oOo
Master Chief John 117 frowned behind his golden visor as he sat on a crate in the Normandy's hangar. His standard MA5B assault rifle was in his green-gauntleted hands. It was cleaned and in perfect condition, as always. He still checked it over before every mission, just in case. It was simply good practice.
Despite Drake offering literal hundreds of weapons to pick from, the Chief stuck to what he was familiar with. While something like a laser weapon or a mass effect-propelled railgun weapon could be helpful, his own weapons were perfectly serviceable against nearly any enemy. He knew that from experience.
The others in the hangar gave him a wide berth. Vir was over by himself pulling on some sort of heavy armor, the Normandy crewmen were either milling around speaking with each other or trying not to look like they were looking John's way.
He didn't really mind. He was used to normal human soldiers being curious and wary around him.
As he finished with his rifle, a voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hey, Chief, how are you doing?" asked Cortana. Internally, the Chief breathed a sigh of relief. He hadn't been hearing a lot of her lately.
"Doing fine," he replied within the privacy of his helm. "Anything going on I should know about? Did you find anything?" he asked, both as a means of tactical necessity and, though he'd never admit it, because he wanted someone to talk to. The life of a Spartan was lonely, even though John may not have had the necessary social skills to entirely realize what he was feeling.
"I have, actually," replied Cortana. The Chief cocked an unseen eyebrow.
"Really?" he asked. "What is it?"
"Well…" Cortana hesitated. "Maybe it's actually best if I just let them introduce themselves…" The Chief felt a spike of alarm at that. He turned upward, trying to look at a being that wasn't physically present. What exactly had Cortana been doing?
"Cortana…" he warned, trying not to panic at the thought of what his friend might have gotten herself into.
"Hello, Master Chief. It is good to meet you," came a feminine yet distinctly robotic voice. The Chief resisted an urge to roll his eyes. What had Cortana gone and done now?
"Who… are you?" asked the Chief cautiously.
"I am EDI," came the immediate reply. "I serve as the Normandy's artificial intelligence."
Ah. Well.
So that was what Cortana had been up to.
"It's good to meet you, EDI," replied the Chief, his tone still neutral. He had no idea how else to reply to this.
"And I am BT-7274," came another voice, this one still robotic, but much deeper, masculine, and bass. "I believe we have seen each other on the Apocalypse, though I did not have the time to speak with you." The Chief's mind was racing as he sat there, stunned, trying to figure out exactly how to process a conversation with three intelligent, very different A.I.s.
"It's… nice to meet you as well, BT," he responded as diplomatically as he could.
"Thank you, Master Chief," came the reply. The Chief gave a minute shake of his head. What was he going to do as the human contact for three A.I.s?
"So, uh…" Master Chief was rarely lost for words. To him, everything spoken had a purpose. Unnecessary speaking was pointless. But this… This was an entirely different situation. Taking a deep breath, John focused and returned to the only thing that mattered; the only thing he knew. The mission. "Is there anything I need to know going into this?" he asked. Technically the question was directed to Cortana, but if any of the A.I.s responded, then he guessed that work as well.
"No," replied Cortana chipperly. "This should be no problem with the talent we have." The Chief nodded.
"Very good, then," he replied. "So… why are you three here?" There was a slight pause.
"Well, we are going to have to reveal ourselves eventually," said Cortana, snark in her voice. "And you and Cooper are the only ones who are completely fine with A.I.s talking to them like this." John shrugged. He supposed that was fair. "We'll be going now, but if you need me, I'm here, as always," she assured him.
"Good," replied the Chief. It was. If Cortana trusted these other A.I.s… Then perhaps he'd have more company. And perhaps they'd lead him to know more about and understand Cooper and Shepard better.
"If there's anything you need aboard the Normandy, you only need ask," added EDI.
"Thank you," said the Chief. It was genuine, too: there were few people he could ever legitimately thank.
"While I am not able to regulate myself to systems outside of my chassis like Cortana or EDI, if I may provide any assistance, please notify me," said BT. The Chief gave a small nod. He hoped BT could see it as Cortana could.
"Good luck, Chief," said Cortana, signing off. John did have to appreciate that she apparently hadn't shared his real name with anyone. It was a testament to their bond and trust. While a name was simply a designation, it was really the only thing that he truly possessed. It was him, in a way that the MJOLNIR armor and Spartan genes weren't. So far, no one else aboard the fleet knew it, and he wasn't entirely sure he wanted them to. Something to think on while he went back to reviewing his weapons.
Well, it seemed he now had two A.I.s running around helping Cortana. He wasn't entirely sure if that was a good or bad thing, though he desperately hoped it was the former.
oOo
Admiral Vir looked around the hangar of the Normandy in interest. There were simply so many new alien species here! Blue ones, green ones, tall spiky bird-like ones, ones that had to stay in their eviro-suits all the time, a massive lizard that looked vaguely like it wanted to eat him for breakfast… All sorts! He couldn't be more utterly delighted.
The Master Chief was there too, sitting alone in the corner checking his weapons, a species all of his own. There were a few curious looks thrown his way by the Normandy's crewmen, but no one went near him. The Chief seemed perfectly content to be by himself.
Vir frowned over his own gear. He was in his equally wonderful and hated Steel Eye armor. A metallic carapace covered him, cybernetic-like braces attached throughout his body. The suit made him into far more than man: he was now a super-soldier, with enhanced speed, strength, and all other bodily functions needed to destroy the enemy in battle. However, it left a taste of ashes and mud in his mouth.
He had been one of the men to test the prototype in battle. That suit was much worse. Memories of screaming men, blood, pain, and death rose in his mind. Those who made the suit to win a war hadn't cared about those wearing it: only winning. It had been attached directly to the bones, and could only be removed by surgery, unlike the suit he wore now. Vir still was haunted by a nameless dread whenever he put on its successor.
Still, it was the best of the best. It could turn a mere human into a nearly-unstoppable force.
Vir's musing on the Iron and Steel Eye suits were thankfully broken as Commander Shepard walked into the hangar in her full suit of black N7 armor. She was accompanied by the tall, spiky alien named Garrus.
Vir longed to ask both Garrus and all of the other aliens on this ship thousands upon thousands of questions about… well, everything, but the time for that would come later. The duo was busy anyway, and Vir could overhear the last of their conversation.
"...I know, but what if it's not?" asked the alien, his voice ringing through the air. Vir tilted his head. It sounded as though there was some strange harmony within his voice. It was intriguing: merely one more thing Vir longed to ask about.
"Again, Garrus, it'll be fine," assured Shepard. The duo stopped, and Shepard briefly reached up a hand to rest it on the taller Turian's forearm. "This is just like any other mission: better than quite a few we've been on, in fact."
"Yes, but…" Garrus sighed. "We were there with you all the time. I'm not sure if I completely trust… everyone here," he finished. Shepard sighed with a smile.
"Garrus, I woke up in a Cerberus base. There's plenty of people we might not have necessarily thought had the same goals or ideas as us, but it worked out. And I trust Vir and the Chief more than I do a few of the others." Garrus sighed.
"Yeah… I suppose so," he concluded. He looked over at Shepard with a sudden intensity. "Just be safe down there. We're here if you need us." Shepard winked and bumped his arm.
"Always," she replied. She stepped forward and nodding towards Vir, walked to him. Garrus watched her, doing an alien equivalent of frowning if Vir was reading him right.
"Commander," said Vir in greeting.
"Admiral," she replied, nodding her head in an equivocal gesture, red hair spilling down the sides of her face.
"Ready to go?" asked Vir for lack of anything better to say. He supposed he could ask a thousand questions about a thousand different topics, but that would have to wait for when they didn't have a mission at hand.
"Yep. It'll be just a minute," replied Shepard. "We're prepping the shuttle and moving everything into position." Vir nodded. Apparently overhearing their conversation, the Chief sat up and walked over to them, weapon cradled casually in hand. He said nothing, but merely nodded at Vir and Shepard in greeting and acknowledgement.
The three stood there for what seemed to be an eternity of awkwardness but was in reality probably the span of two or three seconds. They were saved from having to say anything by one of Shepard's crew, who enthusiastically jogged towards her commander.
It was the violet enviro-suited alien, noted Vir. A… Quarian. Yes. That was the name. Vir grinned internally. He prided himself on his ability and knowledge of memorizing alien races, facts, and other customs. Tali'Zorah vas Neema, Quarian engineering expert. Confined to a suit due to her species' poor immune systems.
"Shepard!" she grinned in greeting before doing a double-take, seemingly noticing Vir and the Chief for the first time. "Oh… I, er, sorry about that. I'll just… Just that I, er… I don't want to interrupt you, so I'll-"
"It's fine, Tali," reassured Shepard with a small smile. Vir bit back a few dozen questions he wanted to ask the Quarian. "Did you need something?"
"No- well, it's that-" Tali swallowed and visibly composed herself. "The other engineers and specialists of the Fleet and I have gotten all of our comms interconnected and working." Shepard beamed.
"That's great!" she said.
"It'll be a big help to have united communications," added Vir, looking at all three of those standing around him. It would be a great advantage.
The Chief apparently decided there was nothing further for him to add to the conversation and merely nodded.
"Yes! It's quite fascinating," said Tali enthusiastically. She tapped her wrist and an orange hologram appeared around her forearm. The Quarian engineer stared intently at her wrist. Vir and the Chief watched, fascinated. From what Vir had heard of these so-called 'omni-tools', they were quite helpful. Of course, they were called omni-tools… "Let me see here…" Tali peered at her omni-tool, then looked back up to the commanders. "We have it organized by group then channel… It's a bit complicated with all nine groups… But we got it working. Ah! This one should be one of the Apocalypse's channels…"
Tali pressed another button, and Vir could instantly hear a new communications channel tuning into his helm. Judging by the Chief and Shepard's expressions, the comms had been routed to them as well.
"So… If a tomato is a fruit… Then does that make ketchup a smoothie?" Vir, Shepard, and the Chief exchanged a look.
"When you put it like that… I guess," said someone, seemingly off-put by the idea. Tali was fumbling with her omni-tool, looking embarrassed, probably thinking she'd gotten the wrong channel. Vir was trying not to crack up over what he was hearing.
"Well, ketchup had vinegar in it, right?" came another voice. "So if that's the case, then I don't think it's a smoothie. Unless you put vinegar in your smoothies, Reiner."
"Cut the chatter!" Saul's voice snapped over the channel. "Leave this channel open."
"Yes sir," came the abashed reply. There was a moment's pause. "Sir, I have a question." Saul's sigh was so heavy Vir was certain it had physical form.
"What?"
"...is a hot dog a sandwich or a taco?" Before Vir and the others could hear what was probably a rather impressive string of profanities, Tali switched the channel. She looked up, sheepish.
"Er, sorry about that," she said. "I thought we'd hear something interesting over the channel… It was just a test," she mumbled. Shepard laughed.
"Interesting, yes. Useful, no," she replied. Vir was about to reply when the newly switched and still open comms channel buzzed.
"Okay, guys, listen. What we're here to do is to go in, get the thing, and not die doing it. That would be bad," said Quill's familiar voice. "What I'm trying to say here is that we shouldn't fail. Failure is not a good thing, and it won't do us any good in the short run, and it won't do us any good in the long run, so we need to do this as best as possible, and are you even listening to me?"
"No," came the blunt and completely unrepentant reply. Vir didn't recognize the speaker, though the voice was deep and masculine. "Should we be?"
"Arrgh!" Tali fumbled with her omni-tool again.
"Er, we should probably get on with things," Tali mumbled. "Hang on, that's the wrong button…"
"Okay, Chewie, I think that should do it," came Solo's voice. A gargling growl was the reply. "Now, we need to get down there soon, so flip on the nava-computer and we should be done here…" There was a brief pause, then a distinctly electrical bzzt noise followed by a rather girlish scream. "Yeow! I said the computer, not the power lines!"
Tali flipped the inter-faction comms channel off. Vir missed it already.
"Who knew all our oh-so professional comrades are a bit… less so?" asked Shepard rhetorically with a grin. Vir shook his head ruefully.
"Well, my guys are the same way," he offered, turning to Shepard, "And I think yours probably are too." Shepard merely laughed and nodded as Tali looked on sheepishly.
"The Marines where I come from are much the same," intoned the Chief. Vir couldn't get a read on any emotion behind the words, but he felt there was a silent addition of 'but I'm not'. The admiral merely shrugged internally. If the Chief didn't want to have fun, that was his problem.
"I think we should get going," he said instead. Shepard nodded.
"Agreed," she replied. She put her hand to her ear. "Is the shuttle ready?" Apparently receiving a positive response, she nodded and gestured for Vir and the Chief to follow her. The duo walked behind, their armored footfalls much heavier than hers. The Normandy's commander pulled up the inter-fleet communications channel and spoke. "This is Shepard. We're ready and leaving." A series of acknowledgements greeted her.
"Understood," came Drake's voice. "The operation is ready, and we'll be planet-side to assist if need be. Good luck. Drake out."
The trio swiftly sat down within the sleek shuttle and buckled themselves into place. Instead of the roar of jet engines Vir was so familiar with, the shuttle only hummed slightly before a feeling of pressure washed over him. They were now airborne, and as Vir looked at his two silent companions, he couldn't help but feel as if this were the beginning of something grand.
oOo
Twenty minutes later
Upon the mud of the unnamed planet beneath the watching eyes of the fleet, dozens of Imperial Guardsmen, Apocalypse armsmen, and a goodly sprinkling of the Omen's marines stood in the looming shadow of the mercenary base. It was a simple affair made of concrete, with walls centered by a heavy stamped metal gate. All seemed to rise from the mud, and fit the dark gray sky and gloomy atmosphere of the place.
The group of allied soldiers stood in the open, near the front of the gate. Some had their weapons ready, poised in defensive positions in case someone should come out of the gate. A few milled around. Most, however, were clustered around the black-armored figure of Thomas Drake.
Drake himself wore a suit of sleek plated armor, covered in a helm with two lenses glowing cerulean blue. He peered at his wrist computer as the various soldiers clustered around him anxiously, trying not to look nervous.
"Aaannnd… time!" announced Drake, looking up. A few of the soldiers grinned. Most groaned, shaking their heads. "Alright, whoever had ten minutes or under has to pay up." The groaning troopers, still shaking their heads, pulled money from their pockets and handed if over to their still-grinning comrades. "Alright, now we watch for fifteen minutes. Fifteen, ladies and gentlemen, fifteen. Place your bets if you will." As the various soldiers huddled around, murmuring their new bets among each other, Commissar Cain stepped up to Drake.
"Are you sure they're not going to just come out?" he asked. Drake turned to him with a snort.
"No. These guys are morons," he replied jovially. "Listen, they didn't notice our fleet, and we've been standing out here for ten minutes and they still haven't noticed us. Why start now?" He shrugged. "It should be an easy in and out for our team, though." Cain merely sighed and shook his head, looking up towards the concrete of the mercenary base with a frown.
"Hopefully they're doing well…"
oOo
"Get your foot out of my face," hissed Vir, annoyed. Shepard turned backwards as much as she could on her hands and knees within the cramped dark space.
"Well I'm sorry," she hissed back. "There isn't that much room."
"Sorry," replied Vir. He shook his head in what space he had. "I shouldn't have snapped. It's just…" He gestured helplessly to the cramped utility duct they were currently wedged in. "Hundreds of meters of this are driving me crazy. Maybe we should have taken up Drake on the bombardment option," he mumbled. Shepard visibly rolled her eyes even within her helmet.
"Oh, yeah, I agree," she replied, gesturing in front of her to the green-armored form of the Master Chief who just barely managed to wedge himself in the duct with enough room to maneuver. "And I have to deal with this." Despite not being even able to see the Chief's head, Vir could somehow tell he was rolling his eyes too.
"I offered to go last," he rumbled. Shepard huffed.
"Yeah, well, your arguments on how your armor and shields would deflect anything if we came into a hot zone were a little more persuasive," she replied. Vir managed a weak chuckle. His knees… well, one remaining non-prosthetic knee, was killing him. So was his back. And his elbows.
It was tough going. They'd arrived on-planet ten or fifteen minutes ago (Vir had long lost count) and landed in knee-deep mud. The utility shaft, made of concrete and metal and dug into the soft earth of the planet, had been directly in front of them. The Normandy's shuttle had swiftly let them off and left as the trio entered the duct to make their way into the base.
It had been tough going from the beginning, and only got progressively worse as time went on. The utility shaft seemed to go on forever. Honestly, it looked like such a small thing on the holographic map, but in reality, it stretched far beyond the base for access to outside power sources.
They had been here for around ten minutes, which was about nine minutes longer than what vir would have wanted. He didn't complain (none of them did) but it was frustrating to crawl through what seemed to be miles of empty and cramped concrete tunnel. He'd run what amounted to a marathon's worth of distance on a desert planet to go get help to save his crew once - that was a miserable experience, but this was here and now and so incredibly cramped.
"Still, I have to thank you, admiral," said Shepard as they continued on their arduous journey through the shaft. "You're a perfect gentleman."
"What?" asked Vir, confused. Shepard gave a breathless laugh as she hauled herself over a protruding cable.
"Cable. Watch it," she called back. "Anyway," she continued, "You're directly behind me and I haven't felt you stare at all." This was said with a lopsided and rather mischievous grin thrown back at him. It took Vir a moment to understand what she meant, but then the fact they were all on their hands and knees with him about a foot from her rear suddenly dawned. He blushed beet red inside his helmet and tried to stumble out something - a thanks for the compliment, an assurance, something, but nothing came out.
He could tell Shepard was grinning in her helm; the Chief was probably rolling his eyes at the two normal human's conversation behind him.
"Again, a perfect gentleman," said Shepard towards Vir's embarrassment.
"Quiet," muttered the Chief. The two instantly fell silent, consummate professionalism snapping into place. "I think I see light."
oOo
On the other side of the mercenary compound from where Cain and Drake were positioned, Jack Cooper, Peter Quill, Gamora, Han Solo, and Chewbacca paced in the mud. They stood beneath the shadow of the concrete wall, speaking in hushed tones, careful to make sure that no one knew they were here. They were the backup, the diversion: while the Chief, Shepard, and Vir were to steal the plans, and Drake and Cain to provide a full assault if needed, it was their job to harass and infiltrate if something went awry.
"Should we get going?" muttered Quill. Cooper frowned within his pilot's helmet.
"Not just yet; I don't think so," he said. "Where's the rest of your crew, by the way?" Quill sighed.
"This is an infiltration mission. While my crew is great, I don't exactly think that's their forte…" Gamora gave a mirthless chuckle.
"Hopefully they're not destroying the ship right now," she added. The group fell silent for a moment. Chewbacca muttered something in his growling language, and lifted a muck-covered furry foot, staring at it with annoyance. Solo rolled his eyes.
"Yes, I know," he replied. "Some of us wear boots, though, so it's not a problem." Chewbacca huffed. The group's comms suddenly crackled to life.
"We may have a bit of a problem…"
oOo
"We may have a bit of a problem," muttered Vir. He stood in a small room of concrete, light dark, with metal fuse box panels, wiring, and all sorts of power stations surrounding him. Ahead of him, the bright white lights of the base's interior shone through the concrete entryway to the room. The three were standing to either side of the entrance, weapons raised and poised.
The issue was in front of them. A barracks room, filled with mercenaries, lay before the maintenance room.
"The room in front of us is a barracks," relayed Vir. "We're going to need that distraction, 'cause there's no other way through and we don't want to get caught in the tunnel."
"Understood," came Drake's reply. There was a moment's pause. "The only way to do this now is go loud. We'll start our attack. Cooper, Quill, Solo, your group moves in afterwards to harass and cause confusion. While the guards are away, Chief, Shepard, and Vir steal the box. We adapt as necessary. Understood?"
"Understood," said Quill, Solo and Cooper at nearly the same time. Vir looked to his two companions. They gave him brief nods.
"Understood," he replied. "We'll wait here and hope no one stumbles on us. Start the party."
oOo
Drake grinned beneath his helmet as he cut off his comms. Around him, the soldiers sat back in dips, divots, and prepared positions in the ground. Commissar Cain readied his weapons with a frown on his face, shooting a suspicious look at Drake. The mercenary captain ignored it and stepped forward to the wall.
Beside the metal gate was a small intercom and camera to see whomever might be arriving. Drake snorted. The fleet's technological experts had jammed it for the time being. These mercenaries really were stupid. Deserved what they were about to get, actually.
"This is Drake to the fleet. Whomever might be listening, please unjam the base's front comms system." He simply sent a general message: one of the technological experts aboard at least one of the ships would hear and answer.
"Acknowledged," came the reply; Drake wasn't entirely sure who it was. "It's unjammed."
"Thank you," replied Drake with a half-bow to no one. He stepped forward and pressed the intercom button. "Hey in there! This is Captain Thomas Drake. I've been sitting here for about fifteen minutes, and you imbeciles somehow haven't managed to see me! I want the box, and you're going to give it to me. I'll give you two minutes to surrender, or else I'm coming in there. Your move." So saying, he turned back to the rest of the soldiers. Cain stared at him.
"You think that'll work?" he asked doubtfully. Drake chuckled humorlessly as he fiddled with the panel controls.
"Yep," he replied. He glanced backwards at the soldiers. "Move into positions and take cover where you can. L-shaped ambush. Catch whoever comes out in the crossfire, destroy them, then assault the base itself." The troopers nodded and moved into position. Even if they weren't part of Drake's armsmen, he and Cain were the commanders of their section. Their orders would be carried out to the letter.
"Everyone in position?" asked Cain, unholstering his own pistol and stepping beside the wall, ready to blast anyone who came out. He received a series of nods and affirmatives. "Very good." He keyed the comms device in his ear. "Our end is set. We're mounting an attack on the base."
oOo
"Understood," said Cooper into his helmet. He turned back to his companions, each who had received the same message. "Looks like we're on." Turning, the Pilot peered towards the concrete wall and the interior compound beyond. "I can jump over the wall and see if there's anyone there."
"And how are you going to do that?" asked Solo, unimpressed, as he crossed his arms. "Unless you can jump the seven or eight feet to get to the top. And if there is someone there, they'll see you." Cooper grinned beneath his helm. He'd felt as if he were outclassed by the others in their previous meetings: he didn't have any allies or crew, he didn't have the physical power of some, and was outclassed in the mind-games department by quite a few others. But now…
Now was his time to shine.
"Just watch," he said with a grin. He tapped a circular device on his wrist with a practiced gesture. His form blurred and shimmered, becoming translucent like the static of an old television screen. The others took a step back, impressed. Solo whistled.
"I've got to get one of those," muttered Gamora. Cooper smiled again beneath his helmet. With a running start, he took a great leap. The jump jets on the back of his Pilot's suit flared (though to those watching, they would have seemed part of the same translucent cloak he activated), and Cooper easily cleared the top of the wall. He did not land over it, but rather atop it, and perched there like a gargoyle, watching, seeing if there was anyone within the muddy compound beneath him.
There was no one. He turned back to his comrades and deactivated his cloak.
"There's no one," he reported. "Now let's get you guys over-" He was interrupted by Quill, who pressed a button of his own. His boots flared, jets coming alive, and he swiftly flew up to where Cooper was. The captain of the Milano flashed the Pilot a grin.
"You're not the only one who can do that," he said. Cooper couldn't help but give a smile of his own.
"Apparently not," he replied. The duo motioned the rest of their three companions, and quickly helped pull them over the wall. It took the two of them and Solo to heave Chewbacca's massive frame over, but somehow they managed it. The Wookie, accompanied by Solo and Gamora, quickly went to the rear entrance, and finding it unlocked (these mercenaries were really sloppy, apparently), motioned to Quill and Cooper.
The duo quickly followed, and once inside the metal and concrete halls of the base, Cooper tapped his comms and sighed as he said the most cliche but unavoidable sentence one could in this situation.
"We're in."
oOo
"Excellent," replied Drake. He, Cain, and their forces stood outside the main gate, waiting. He hefted his tri-barreled silvery automatic plasma rifle. His weapon was the latest and greatest from his home reality, and as the galaxy's richest and most premier mercenary captain, it was only right he was armed with the very best.
"I think I hear them," muttered a soldier behind him. He nodded. Everyone sighted down their weapons.
A moment later, the great metal doors opened with a squeal and hiss of neglected hinges. The soldiers outside tensed. A moment later, a group of mercenaries, clad in mismatched armor and whatever weapons they'd apparently found handy, burst through.
They were instantly met by fire. Bullets, lasbolts, and a few plasma bolts flew through the air, annihilating them in a storm of death. Men screamed as they died, crimson blood leaking out of bullet wounds. Las fire cauterized what flesh they touched and blew back screaming mercenaries. The stench of burning flesh filled the air.
Limbs were blown off. Men keeled over, screaming in agony. The crack of ballistic rifles and whine of plasma and las fire only served to add to the din. It was a perfect ambush, and within moments, all of the mercenaries that had so headlessly rushed out of their base were dead.
The soldiers, professionals all, quickly reformed. A few grenades were tossed into the compound beyond the wall in case of any stragglers or mercenaries waiting to ambush them in turn. As soon as they went off, the soldiers poured forward, weapons at the ready. There was no one.
Commissar Cain's gloved fingers flexed on the hilt of his laspistol.
"Move up," he ordered the soldiers. They swiftly complied. With the press of a button, the main doors to the base opened, and the troops carefully moved forward. The Commissar turned back to Drake. "Well, that ought to get their attention," he remarked dryly. Drake gave him a bloodthirsty grin beneath his helmet.
"Indeed," he replied. "Just as planned. Now we begin the assault. These idiots will never know what hit them."
oOo
Jack Cooper moved forward carefully, R-201 carbine in hand and ready to fire. His Wingman, the ever-reliable heavy revolver, was at his side. Behind him followed Quill, Gamora, Chewbacca, and Solo. They hadn't seen anyone yet, more testament to the unprofessionalism of the organization they were attacking, but it wouldn't do to be anything other than prepared on the enemy's home turf.
The halls were empty. Each was made of the same concrete and metal as the rest of the base seemed to be, designed to be plain and utilitarian. They started out narrower, more like those in a bunker, but as the group went ever-deeper, the spaces around them became larger, taller, and much nicer in appearance.
As they continued, boots ringing muffled on the plain gray floor, Cooper held up a halting hand. Those behind him instantly stopped.
"What's wrong?" whispered Solo. Cooper gestured ahead.
"Guards," he said, voice low. In the hall ahead of the intersection the group now sheltered behind, there were two mercenary guards, both in full armor with rifles hanging loosely in their grips. Cooper's team peered around the corner, then huddled back.
"How do you want to do this?" asked Solo. Chewbacca gave a short, low growl. Cooper had no idea what it meant; Solo didn't react, so it probably wasn't anything too important.
"We don't want to attract too much attention," replied Cooper. "That's Cain and Drake's job. Ours is to hit them when they least expect it. Silently." So saying, he touched the device on his wrist. His body shimmered translucent once more. "Wait here."
The four others watched, waiting on Cooper. A blur, moving on the wall, caught their eyes. It seemed as if Cooper had somehow… attached himself to the wall, and was running with it, rather than directly in front of the guards who might otherwise notice him. Solo cocked an eyebrow. Quill and Gamora nodded, impressed. They had to get their hands on that device…
The blur dropped noiselessly behind the mercenaries. Neither of them seemed to notice anything awry: they continued to talk to each other in low tones. From what could be heard from the intersection, they seemed to be hoping that the other mercenaries could take care of Cain and Drake's assault before they were called up. The four ducking in the shadows smiled mirthlessly at each other. Oh, if only they knew how screwed they were…
Cooper silently shimmered into existence behind them. In one fluid motion, he drew the sidearm of the mercenary on the right from its holster, spun, shot the man on the left in the head, and before the remaining man could bring up his weapon, put a second bullet through his head.
"Wow," said Solo, face a mixture of impressed and shocked. Cooper casually tossed the dead man's pistol to the ground.
"Come on. We have to keep moving."
oOo
The soldiers of Drake and Cain's group rushed through the halls of the mercenaries' base, weapons at the ready. Drake was in the frontal group, plasma rifle raised, while the Commissar took a middle position to keep an eye on the overall structure of the team. As they moved through the hallways, various troopers would branch off to cover intersections and check the myriads of rooms adjoining their path.
From a few of these side rooms, muffled shots and explosions could be heard as the troops cleared them, throwing in grenades and sweeping inside to kill anyone who remained. They would then swiftly move back to the hall under the cover of their comrades' weapons to rejoin the main assault.
It was quick and easy going, punctuated by brutal room clearing actions. But all of the soldiers here beneath Cain and Drake's command were highly-trained professionals, whereas their opponents were merely guns for hire, and not especially good ones at that.
The group hadn't yet heard from Shepard, Vir, or the Chief: it made perfect sense, keeping radio chatter tight and within their own assault groups to minimize confusion. Nevertheless, the assault force was quickly reaching the center of the base, regardless of anything or anyone that stood in their way.
Thomas Drake was smiling beneath his helmet. Oh, yes. This was exactly what he had envisioned when he put the team together in the first place. No one could really stop them or stand in their way. They would be quite the group to reckon with, both in influence, simple fights like this, and on a galactic scale.
His musings were cut short as the group reached another intersection. Leading the way, weapon raised, the captain of the Apocalypse was surprised as a mercenary rounded the corner at exactly the same time he reached it.
Drake didn't hesitate for a moment: he raised his plasma rifle. Unfortunately for him, neither did the mercenary, who saw the raised weapon and promptly tackled Drake.
The duo fell to the floor, grappling and punching. The mercenary seemed to be the only one here: as the Imperial, Apocalypse, and Omen's soldiers readied their guns, no one else came. The halls were deserted except for the singular man.
No one dared fire for fear of hitting Drake. He seemed to have the upper hand in skill; the other man, much larger, the upper hand in strength. They rolled across the floor, each desperately trying to gain something against the other.
After a moment, the mercenary rolled atop Drake and began an assault of fists on the captain's armored head. One of the soldier's raised their guns; Cain quickly gestured for him to lower it, just in case its shot hit their ally instead.
However, Drake raised his left hand and grabbed an unarmored part of his assailant's arm. Black gauntlet felt skin, and without warning, came alive with electricity. The mercenary, helpless, screamed and shook spasmodically as enough wattage to kill an oxen flowed through his body. The cracking buzz of electricity and smell of cooked flesh filled the air. A few nearby soldiers recoiled.
With a groan, Drake now pushed the smoking and still body off himself and stood. Cracking his neck and retrieving his rifle, he looked at the men staring at him.
"Well, that was a… shocking experience," he said dryly. Some of the soldiers laughed; the other half groaned aloud. Cain merely stared at him, unimpressed at the pun.
"Let's keep moving," said the Commissar in lieu of any other reply. Nodding, Drake took up his position and the attack continued.
oOo
"Well, it seems that they're putting on quite the distraction," muttered Commander Shepard as the sound of gunfire re-echoed through the base. Beside her, the Chief and Vir moved forward, weapons ready.
The barracks room in front of them was now deserted. The mercenaries within had left minutes ago to help fight off Drake and Cain's attack. Shepard, Vir, and the Chief walked through slowly, carefully, on alert in case anyone should remain or return. There was no one.
Beyond the barracks was a large, open intersection. Along one wall was a large metal double door, sealed and locked. There was no one guarding it.
"This must be the vault," whispered Shepard. The trio crept into the intersection, guns sweeping the corridors, ready for anything. The only thing that met them was complete and utter silence.
"How do we get in?" muttered Vir. Shepard frowned. The Chief merely stood watch, letting them do the breaking-in part of the job. He was there as muscle.
"I'm not sure," admitted Shepard. She raised a hand to her comms device. "This is Shepard. How are we supposed to get into the vault?" On second thought, they really should have planned for this. It had somehow been lost amid the scuffling and preparing and trying to fit nine groups into seamless soldiery perfection. This was one issue among a few they'd have to address after the mission if they wanted things to go better in the future.
Still, it was the group's first mission together. So far, no one had died and it was going rather well. Always a plus. You lived, you learned.
"The password is 935214," replied EDI's smooth robotic voice over Shepard's personal comms. Shepard started. The others simply stood by, weapons raised, waiting.
"EDI… How'd you know that?" The A.I.'s reply was instantaneous.
"I have broken into the base's computers, where the password is stored," replied EDI. "I must speak to you later about something, Shepard," she continued, veering off track. "And in addition, I have been asked to pass a message on to you. Kasumi says: 'Why didn't you tell me we were stealing something? I would have already been in and out by now with no one any wiser.'" Shepard stared at the wall.
"Ah… Yes. I will speak to you later." Kasumi, the Normandy's resident master thief, was another thing that slipped her mind in the hassle of planning and trying to make sure her more bloodthirsty compatriots didn't nuke the base. Whatever EDI wanted to talk about could apparently wait, though.
Stepping forward, Shepard inputted the code. The trio stepped into the vault, shutting the door but not locking it behind them. Neither the Chief nor Vir asked where Shepard had gotten the passcode, a fact the Normandy's commander was rather grateful for. Explaining an A.I. would be… interesting, to say the least.
"So… what does this black box look like?" muttered Vir. Shepard took a look around the vault's interior.
"I assume it's that," said the Chief, deadpan, pointing towards the far end of the room. There, upon a crate, sat a black box, about six-by-six inches, with circuitry and wires hanging out of it. Shepard raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah, that's it," she replied. She keyed her comms again. "This is Shepard. We have the box: it's a black cube with wires and circuits, about six-by-six inches. How copy?"
oOo
"That's it," replied Drake over his helmet's communications system. "We have to finish the attack. Take it and rendezvous with us in the center area of the base. It's where the command center is located. Drake out." The black-armored mercenary captain turned back to the soldiers following him. "They've got what we're looking for. Let's finish this." He was met with confident nods, the cocking of weapons, and a few subtle cheers.
The group continued in their formation, Drake ahead and Cain in the center, each watching and keeping everything in perfect working order. So far, nothing had gone wrong in their attack. No one had been injured, let alone died. Drake's fight with the random, out-of-position mercenary was the only slight hiccup, and that took the span of six seconds. In fact, the worst part of the ordeal (or perhaps the best, depending on one's sense of humor) was the pun.
Now the group raced through the halls with no one to stop them. The objective was the command center and the wide open areas of the central area. That was where Cain and Drake suspected most of the remaining mercenaries were gathered.
As they reached the final hall before the large central command area, the two commanders motioned for the men to tighten up the formation. Stepping forward, weapons ready, they reached the final reinforced door leading to the command room. Drake stepped forward and opened it…
Only to face an entire room full of mercenaries with weapons pointed at them.
It was instant pandemonium. No one fired: no one wanted to be the one to trigger a massacre. Instead, both sides, weapons raised and cocked, screamed at each other for the other side to lower their guns. There was certainly enough firepower to take out the vast majority of either side, and it seemed everyone there realized what might happen.
This continued for a second that seemed an eternity, until Drake stepped forward, shifting his rifle into one hand and raising the other in a conciliatory gesture.
"Hey, hey, no one needs to get hurt," he said, stepping forward as a gesture of trust. He crouched over and slowly put down his gun, motioning for his men to follow him into the room. They did so warily, lowering their guns but not putting them down. "No one needs to get hurt, see?" he said, hands raised at face level, elbows bent and palms forward.
One of the mercenaries stepped towards him nervously. Drake nodded him forward. Slowly, the man inched forward. The two sides were now within feet from each other.
For but the briefest of moments, the mercenary took his eyes off Drake to look back at his comrades. Seeing his moment, Drake pounced. A hidden blade sprang from a concealed sheath in his forearm as the Apocalypse's captain lunged, bringing it up in one neat motion to cut the man's throat. Scarlet blood spurted high. The other mercenaries in the room turned, crying in alarm.
Drake caught the falling body. Holding it with his left arm before him, his right found his holster. His heavy black sidearm sprang up, aimed over the dead man's bloody body, and fired. The crash of heavy pistol fire filled the air.
At the same moment, the allied soldiers saw their chance and charged. A few opened fire; many simply charged, trying to make sure the mercenaries couldn't return fire and make the room into a massacre. The result was an insane gutter brawl, with neither side able to fire for fear of hitting their own men.
Cain shouldered forward, drawing his laspistol. He fired point-black, and a mercenary dropped, a cauterized crater blown through their forehead. Another charged him, and he spun to take it, drawing his chainsword with his other hand. The weapon hummed to life, diamond-hard teeth purring menacingly as they blurred around the shaft of the blade. The mercenary started; Cain did not. He brought up the chainsword and ripped the man nearly in half with one brutal blow. The man screamed as he died. Blood drenched Cain's greatcoat and the shaft of his weapon as he began his grisly work.
Drake had expended his pistol magazine: there were six shots within it, and six shots had been fired into six bodies, killing six people. He re-holstered it. Instead, he drew the pistol of the body he was using as a shield as he veered to the right of the massive command room, firing indiscriminately into the mercenaries and giving his own troops room to pour into the space.
The brawl continued. The mercenaries seemed to be losing under the far more experienced marines, armsmen, and Guardsmen. Whatever they had been expecting, it wasn't this.
The Imperial Guardsmen seemed to be having the best time of it. Used to brutal close-quarters fighting in their home reality, each Imperial lasgun had a bayonet lug on it. Those lugs were now filled with their intended weapon, which the Guardsmen put to good use against the mercenaries. Combined with Cain's one-man chainsword assault, the Imperials were wiping the floor with the mercenaries at close quarters, annihilating them in a storm of cold steel and whirring teeth.
The fight continued throughout the massive expanse of the command room, a mess of punching and kicking, swirling and shooting, blood and death and screaming throughout. It was a maelstrom of churning bodies, with no discernable winner in sight.
Drake emptied the magazine of his borrowed pistol, only for a huge man to charge him. Unable to get out of the way with the dead man's body before him, he took the shoulder charge to the sternum and was knocked back into a bay of windows behind him.
oOo
Commander Shepard, Admiral Vir, and the Master Chief moved through the concrete halls at a jog. The black box was attached to the Chief's belt, both for security and so his hands would be free to wield his rifle. The two un-augmented humans followed him, their own weapons at the ready. So far, they'd seen no one, but again, that could change at any moment. Then again, it did seem that Drake, Cain, Quill, Cooper, and Solo had the remaining mercenaries well under control.
The trio had moved through a series of abandoned concrete hallways, always gradually upward from the vault in the basement. The base looked rather the same throughout its entirety. Privately, both Shepard and Vir vowed they would hate to live here for a long time.
Eventually, they reached a large, open circular room. Many different halls intersected here, leaving it as an open thoroughfare in the middle of the base. Strangely enough, unlike anything they'd seen in the base before, this area was multi-storied. The Chief, Vir, and Shepard stood on the hard floor beneath a large series of windows slightly above them.
At the present moment, those windows lit up with flashes of gunfire and crimson las bolts. Screams, shouts, and the crashing of a massive fight echoed through the command room above and the large intersection beneath. Judging by where they were and what they remembered from the map, the trio was most likely next to, or rather, underneath, the command center. Apparently one or both of the other attacking groups had reached there first and was now attempting to wrest control of it away from the mercenary defenders.
The three looked up in sudden alarm as the sound of shattering glass cut through the air. A shape, clad in black armor, came crashing through one of the window panes and landed on the ground before them, groaning.
"Drake?" asked Shepard, flabbergasted, as she stepped forward, concerned. The captain of the Apocalypse shook his head to clear it and stood up slowly, cracking various parts of his body experimentally as he did so.
"Are you okay?" asked Vir. Drake shrugged as he shifted his neck.
"Yeah," he replied casually. "Probably."
"Probably?" repeated Shepard, but Drake was already looking back up at the fight raging in the command room.
"We need to get back up there," he said with a frown. Before anyone could say anything further, the Chief deftly stepped in front of him.
"No problem," he said simply, before taking a running leap towards the smashed window.
The windows weren't all that terribly high up, but it was still a jaw-dropping feat nevertheless. Drake, Vir, and Shepard watched, stunned, as the Chief pushed off the ground and grabbed the bottom ledge of the window. He swiftly pulled himself up and punched a surprised and terrified mercenary in the face. Drawing his rifle, he shot the down man and moved forward into the brawl.
Vir turned and faced Drake and Shepard with a smirk.
"Well, we can't let him have all the fun," he remarked with a smile. With a running start of his own, he followed the Chief exactly, using his advanced Steel Eye armor to boost his physical ability. Below, Drake and Shepard turned to stare at each other.
"You win some, you lose some, some get rained out," muttered Drake, touching a button on his wrist. He, too, followed Vir and the Chief. However, he didn't quite make it to the window ledge. Instead, he hit the metal of the wall, and stuck on with magnets built into the forearms of his gauntlets. Pulling himself through the window, he drew his reloaded pistol to fight one more. Below, Shepard stared.
"Okay, fine!" She threw up her arms in exasperation. "Leave me here! Have all the fun without me!" She gestured towards a circular staircase that led upwards. "I'll just take the stairs, then. Ya'know, like a normal person." Grumbling, she did exactly that, mumbling about super-soldiers and over-prepared maniacs.
oOo
The fight was in full swing now. Each of the allied commanders was in the midst of it. The mercenaries were now being pushed back under the overwhelming assault. The chaos of the battle and the power of the attacking force was only added to when Shepard, panting and upset, finally hauled herself up the stairs, and the second diversionary force entered the doors behind the beleaguered mercenaries.
A volley of fire poured into the mercenaries' exposed flank. Chewbacca's heavy crossbow-like blaster threw a man bodily into the wall at the force of its shot. Quill, Cooper and Han added to the barrage, their pistol bolleys singing through the air. Nearly a dozen mercenaries fell.
Gamora stepped forward, eager for a close fight. The mercenaries quickly obliged, eager to get a body between them and the shooters. However, it didn't do them any good: Gamora quickly took them apart like clockwork. Limbs flashed out, hands moved along well-practiced and deadly courses. Bones snapped. Men screamed.
Each group and each commander fought in their own distinct style, honed from countless years of experience of fighting throughout their home galaxy. While each might have been slightly different, every single one of them was a death-dealing whirlwind, annihilating the ill-prepared mercenaries before them with horrifying ease.
The Master Chief needed no weapon at close quarters beyond his fists and the keen-bladed knife at his side. He fought with the terrifying grace and precision that only a genetically engineered super-soldier could. Each stroke was backed by the massive strength of his seven foot frame, and gut through armor and bone as if it didn't exist. He was a one man killing machine; he was a SPARTAN super-warrior. None stood in his way for long.
Ciaphas Cain used the same practical and lethal fighting style as he did in his duel with the Drev. His chainsword hummed and its teeth whirred as it cut through muscle and sinew, raising great gouts of blood into the air. In his other hand he held a laspistol, which cracked off shots at any who were beyond the reach of the deadly teeth of his sword.
Jack Cooper fought with grace and style. He danced around the enemy, using the extra speed and mobility of his Pilot's suit. His combat knife slid between ribs and through throats, and shots from his sidearm rang out, blowing ragged holes through heads and torsos. His legs lashed out in the form of powerful kicks, still with a Pilot's grace, and landed on kidneys and knees, knocking his opponents to the ground where he finished them at his leisure.
Shepard was used to fighting at a range. There were no close-quarters gutter brawls in the galaxy she was from; at least, not that she ever got into. If one got that close to the enemy, then you were already dead. Still, she was a highly-trained special forces trooper. It did not matter if the fight was unorthodox: she could carry through either way. Opening with a precision shot from her rifle that killed an enemy looming above one of the armsmen, she joined the fray, putting her elite hand-to-hand training to good use.
Drake fought dirty. No trick was too low, no tactic too underhanded. His left hand crackled and sparked with electricity, stunning and killing as he punched. When he got the opportunity, his revolver flashed out, shooting enemies point-blank with high caliber slugs, smashing through whatever protection they wore as if it did not exist. Keen-bladed knives flashed from hidden sheathes in his gauntlet or from his belt. He stabbed groins, hamstrung men, gouged eyes, and slit throats with impunity.
Solo and Quill seemed perfectly content to stand back from the wild melee. They stood in the doorway with Chewbacca, adding their fire whenever an opportunity presented itself. It was as much because this was where their talents laid as it was because it was their duty to prevent anyone from escaping.
The allies gradually whittled down their enemies, one by one, until there was only a small group, fear in their eyes, huddling against the back wall. They advanced, weapons drawn, and the mercenaries raised their own, prepared for one last defiant gesture. Then, the air shimmered and distorted, and Kirk and a group of Enterprise crewmen, weapons drawn, appeared as if from nowhere.
"Hands up," said Kirk with probably more amusement than was really necessary. Realizing they were entirely outnumbered and fighting people who could teleport, the mercenaries slowly lowered their weapons to the floor. The allied soldiers glanced at each other before Cooper broke the silence.
"That was… underwhelming," he commented dryly. He got a few snickers as the allied troopers bound the now-disarmed mercenaries.
"What do you want us to do with them?" asked Shepard to Drake, gesturing towards the kneeling and defeated enemy. Drake pondered the question for a moment before shrugging.
"Eh, just leave 'em here," he replied. The other commanders either nodded, uncaring, or stared at him with incredulity.
"Weren't you the one advocating for orbital bombardment?" asked Vir. Drake nodded, unbothered.
"Yes, but that was so we wouldn't have any problems or casualties," he replied. "We have the box now. No need to kill them - no need to do anything with them, really. It's just good business," he said with a quirk of his lips, morphing somewhere in-between a smirk and smile. "We can just back up and go. Leave them here." The other commanders turned to each other.
"Well, that does make the most sense," offered Quill.
"Yeah, I guess," replied Shepard, taken aback at how this was going. The mercenaries where she came from were usually a lot nastier.
"Back up, then?" asked Cooper. Kirk nodded.
"I can just beam all of you back up to your respective ships. No need to wait for shuttles," he said. The others looked at him, intrigued. The Enterprise's captain turned to his communications device. "Scotty, can you beam everyone back aboard their respective ships?"
"Uh, yeah, I can, but it might take a bit," came the reply in a very Scottish burr. Kirk shrugged.
"Go ahead. It'll be quicker and better than waiting for a shuttle, anyway."
In groups, the allies disappeared in whirs and flashes. Smaller groups went first, then the larger ones. Finally, Kirk and the crew that had teleported down were up. They'd elected to go last, as a courtesy to their comrades. Kirk gave one last look at the prisoners staring at them from the floor in fear and awe, then turned to Chekov.
"Well, despite not getting to do a whole lot there, I think that went rather well," he said chipperly. "Not one of the redshirts died," he continued, making sure they weren't overheard. Chekov shrugged.
"Yes, but next time, I think we need to take a more active role."
"Agree," replied Kirk. "There's a lot of things we could do better. We'll have to refine everything, bit by bit. The only way we can do that is through communication, though." As Chekov nodded, the group was beamed back aboard their ship, leaving a group of bound mercenaries wondering exactly what they were supposed to do now.
oOo
"It seems as if they did quite well," said Cortana chipperly from where she… existed within the endless confines of computer-generated software. Beside her, her two A.I. companions sent feelings of agreement her way.
"They do make an excellent team," observed EDI.
"Indeed," replied BT. "However, I must note that there are multiple things that they lack, which will have to be fixed as time progresses. Only a deep bond will form the most effective fighting force."
"Agreed," replied Cortana. "I think we all noticed it. There are a few problems that are obvious, and, of course, they need to clean and tighten everything up. However, this was their first mission. We have time."
"Indeed," replied EDI. "And we'll be there to guide them all the way." The trio nodded their agreement. Whatever might happen in the world of organic life, they would do their best to help their friends and allies, no matter what. Now it was only a matter of how…
oOo
The room was completely dark. No interior lights shone forth. The only illumination came from the light of a nearby fiery star shining through a series of utterly massive gothic windows. Ten times the height of a man, laced with intricate metal filigree, the windows opened to the inky blackness of space. Directly in front of them, of course, was the star: a huge fiery affair, orange in its glow, haloed by the distant stars.
It was utterly magnificent. One rarely got the chance to see such a star up close, especially not through as magnificent viewing devices as these windows. Indeed, it was not only the windows that were magnificent: the light of the star illuminated a polished floor of gray marble, and intricately carved pillars supporting the window structures themselves.
The light of the star also illuminated two figures that stood before the mighty windows. They were the only thing within sight: the light of the star, slanted just so through the panes, only showed the floor and the two figures, nothing more.
The figure on the right seemed to be that of a human. It had two arms, two legs, a head, and was completely human in size and stature. However, its face was not visible: it was covered by an armored helmet of solid black, with two lenses of glowing red shining in the light of the distant sun. The rest of the figure's body was similarly covered in black armor. Not an inch of skin beneath could be seen.
The only other ornamentation upon the armored man was a belt of black, seemingly made of some type of reinforced polymer. A holster sat on the right hip, holding a massive sleek automatic ballistic sidearm.
The second figure, that on the left, was far larger than his compatriot. This was a giant to any human. He stood about eight feet tall, with a massive chest and limbs fit to his stature. He wore a suit of extremely heavy power armor, painted black, beneath a plain calf-length white robe. The robe swept up to form a hood, covering an unhelmeted head. Despite the shadow of the cowl obscuring all but the very bottom of the man's face, one could tell the figure beneath was indeed a he, with a heavy lantern jaw and head large enough to fit the rest of his stature.
Upon the figure's hips were two pistols. One was a very blocky and incredibly ornate weapon of black emblazoned with gold and brass filigree. It was sized to fit the figure's behemoth armored hands, and judging by the size and caliber, was a ballistic weapon of unparalleled deadliness.
The second weapon was much more strange. It too was a pistol, but nothing like that of the other weapons either figure wore. The top of the weapon, where the slide and barrel of an automatic ballistic firearm would be, was instead a series of coils, glowing a soft cerulean blue.
However, the strangest thing about the figure was the sword upon his back. It was an utterly mammoth weapon, a two-handed broadsword sheathed upon the giant's back. So large was the blade and handle that it was not made for even the giant's hands, but rather someone far larger than even he. The hilt was incredibly ornate, glowing gold in the light of the star.
The duo stood in silence for a moment, hands clasped neatly behind their backs, simply staring out into the void. The silence was suddenly cut by the figure on the left.
"That which cannot be undone has been done, thanks to the meddling influence of my cousin." His voice was soft and whispery, yet still a deep bass. The second figure tilted their helmet's lenses to look upward at the white-cowled face.
"Indeed," came the reply: a human voice, smooth and masculine and completely devoid of emotion. "You have already informed me of the issue: how it started, how it ended, and how it is all likely to end should we not interfere." He paused for a moment, tilting his head, considering. "The group that has met, the heroes… They show great promise."
"As do many mortal men, but it takes an extraordinary one, one in a trillion, if not quadrillion, to not only resist but surmount the obstacles they will face." The cowled face turned to look at its companion with a frown. "Save he from my home reality, they have no knowledge of the deeper truths of the universe." This was followed by something between a laugh and sigh. "Even he from where I come from has little knowledge concerning these truths, though he does know of them."
"So then what must we do?"
"We must put the universe to rights," came the giant's reply. "And to do that, we need allies." The black mask with red lenses stared up at its companion once more.
"And who would those be?" he queried. "Those who do have the deeper knowledge of what you have told me from where you come from either consider you a traitor… Or are far worse. Who else might help us? These heroes?" The giant shook his head.
"No. Theirs is a different path." The giant pulled a small piece of parchment from within his robe and handed it to his companion. While the smaller man made no outward move, the larger armored giant could tell a frowning eyebrow was being raised beneath his helmet.
"You trust them?" asked the smaller man.
"Yes and no," replied the giant with a small laugh. "But they will be a help… And are among those who we can actually trust to help us work in the shadows. If we went to others, more… publicly prominent ones, the Enemy would know of our plans and thwart them. As it is, both we and they are unbound by Fate, and so they will have to do." The smaller man carefully folded away the piece of parchment within a pouch on his belt.
"Very well," he replied. "It will be done as you say, Lord Cypher. Let's go collect some allies."
oOo
There we have it! I hope you all enjoyed our first mission, first fight, and our first little glimpse into the wider issues going on in the galaxy. For those of you curious about the two individuals in the last scene (I think most Warhammer fans picked up who the Marine was), consult the Codex. It'll be there now. As per usual, I always appreciate any comments, criticisms, questions, concerns, and reviews. I love hearing from you guys, and I'm looking forward to what comes next!