I am so sorry this took so long to get out. I think the reason for it was both due to not getting a whole lot of time to write and because I keep trying to write long chapters with multiple different perspectives, which means I really end up writing nine short stories, each with their own starts and ends, which is rather difficult. So, from now on, I think I'll keep these into more singular unified structures to get them out quicker.
However, AS RECOMPENSE, there is a 'Things Space Marines are No Longer Allowed to Do' for the Warhammer fans among you, there will be a 'Things the Scoundrels are No Longer Allowed to Do'...
And a certain someone will be showing up in this chapter.
I'm looking forward to it.
187: Oh, I have a special chapter planned for that. I think I might just have to pull it out soon. I'm glad you like the Master Chief, and I hope you enjoy him in this chapter.
Guest: I agree. I think I'll have to write a chapter involving that soon. I hope you enjoy this chapter.
138: Honestly, it doesn't really matter. I'm just trying to balance a fictional reality made of fictional realities. There's gonna be some things that work, don't work, and some people don't like. I hope you like the rest of the story!
BonesofSmite: Well, this is the third review mentioning the Imperium's universe. I think I should write that chapter then. I'm glad you liked it and I hope you like this chapter as well!
Ravenguard0009: Yeah, I'm still trying to figure out exactly how old Cain is at this point and how to bring it up. I think the easiest way to do it is... to not bring it up, as amusing as it would be. This is another review for Imperial's galaxy. I guess that seals it. That chapter will be up in a few.
Guest: Thank you! I hope you like this one as well!
LezGo35: Yes, they were dropped off. I think it's easier not to bring things up to complicate it so much, but here we are. I hope you enjoy the chapter!
michaelwilber2022: Thank you! I am returned once more. I'm so sorry that it took so long to get these chapters out. I'm working on getting them out faster with a better chapter structure. I hope you enjoy!
Guest: Thank you! I'm glad you enjoy the story. Another review on the Imperial's xenophobia. I really do need to get a chapter out. I think you'll all like it. As for what you specifically mentioned, I won't be getting rid of their xenophobia. In fact, with what I have planned, I think a few other people might realize exactly why they are the way they are. I really do appreciate your review, and I hope you enjoy what's to come!
Guest: Oh, dear. I think it's telling that's fairly low on the list of "most disturbing ME fics" I've hear of.
jacobdkidder: I'm not trying to do versus, but rather make everyone look good while being realistic. So, realistically, Warhammer is designed to be stupidly over-the-top and overpowered, so I have to work with that. I think the other galaxies will scoff at Warhammer... until they realize the Imperium quite literally has more men then they have bullets and aren't afraid to do that math.
Vumanchu: Thank you! I'm glad you like it. Drake should be unsettling. He likes to keep people on their feet, and while he is being honest about these things, he's a mercenary and has zero qualms doing really nasty things, as you'll see in this chapter. As for Adam Vir, he's starrfallknightrise's character, who was nice enough to help and give me permission to use him for this fic. Starrfall has a story called "Empyrean Iris" written about him that you can find in a lot of different places. It started out as a series of short snippets on Tumblr, and was made into a full story on AO3 and a couple other places. If you're interested you can look around or ask more. Anyway, thank you for your review. I appreciate the compliment, and I'm glad I'm writing them all well. I hope you enjoy the chapter!
oOo
Scoundrels Unbound
"I love the smell of napalm in the morning… That smell, you know that gasoline smell? The whole hill. Smelled like… victory." -Col. Kilgore, Apocalypse Now
"Peace is not sought in order to provoke war, but war is waged in order to attain peace." -St. Augustine
oOo
What was ultimately decided was the best way for soldiers and crewmen to get to know each other was for the soldiers and crewmen to get to know each other. Of course, the entire point of the meeting was for the various Scoundrels to command each other's forces. This would go in tandem with the troops mingling: a best for both worlds.
It was decided that each commander would lead a multi-galaxy group of soldiers upon an individual mission. No one quite knew where Drake had managed to pull so many high-scale missions from. No one quite wanted to ask.
Regardless, the group would go forward with what they did best: missions. But this time, it would be with other people's crewmen.
oOo
Tali'Zorah vas Neema walked numbly through the halls of the Normandy. There was no light in her silvery eyes hidden beneath the violent tint of her faceplate, no spring in her step as there usually was. When she finally got to her cramped engineer's quarters in the bowels of the vessel, she flopped onto her bed and stared at the wall like a zombie.
They had just completed the series of missions commanded by the various captains, commissars, and other various leaders of the fleet. Of course, she hadn't been under Shepard's command: the first time Tali had actually served under anyone that wasn't Shepard or her relatives back home. Instead, she had been under the command of Captain Drake.
The mission had gone… Well… It had gone. She wasn't entirely sure she was happy about things. In fact, she was probably more afraid of things now. She'd seen a side to Drake and a few people that she didn't really want to know about, and that made her reflect on quite a few things, many of which she wasn't certain she wanted answers to.
Drake was a very straightforward man. He was cheerful, he was happy, he was honest… and he was scary. In short, he was an excellent commander.
When the group had met up, Tali had been rather nervous. Scratch that, she'd been downright afraid.
Quarians were not looked upon very fondly by the rest of her galaxy. They were seen as vagrants and thieves, scornfully referred to as 'suit-rats'. They couldn't really hold jobs, they couldn't eat where others ate, they were looked down upon by everyone and could never amount to anything in galactic society outside their own Migrant Fleet.
Shepard had been one of the only people that looked at her and treated her like she was actually a person. If the rest of her galaxy was bad, then what would people from other galaxies be like? Tali was especially worried about the Imperials. They despised aliens and weren't afraid to let anyone know.
Would they kill her? Would they kill Garrus? Would they kill Drake and everyone else on their new, ad-hoc mixed team? The questions flew through her mind, pounding again and again, unable to leave no matter how hard she tried to focus on other things.
They had been sent aboard the Apocalypse for a short journey to a planet in Drake's galaxy. Tali didn't know its name. Instead, she spent most of the trip worrying and trying to avoid everyone else.
That became impossible once they arrived and the actual mission started. Tali and all others that would be with Drake on the ground were summoned to the hanger where Drake was waiting to brief them and one of the Apocalypse's gunships was waiting to take them to the surface.
The team was made up of herself, Jack from the Normandy, a few marines from the Omen, a redshirt or two, some scowling Valhallans, and, of course, Captain Drake.
Drake himself wore his usual attride, and came striding up to the group as if he were in complete command. Which, Tali supposed, he was.
"Good morning," he began, voice powerful and smooth, commanding and elegant. "If you don't already know, I am Captain Thomas Drake. Today you will be serving under me. You are to work together as a team and treat each other as such. This is not a threat. It is not a question. It is a statement. It is a fact. Am I clear?" he asked, looking around to every one of the team members, meeting each of their gazes in turn.
He had looked pretty similar to Shepard, honestly. The only outward difference in his face was he looked more cheerful; more of a quirk to his smile. However, there was something else, something in the eyes and lurking behind the smile. This wasn't Shepard's 'don't screw with me because I'm the Commander and I will outlast you' face. Instead, it looked more like a 'you'd better not screw with me because I can and will gruesomely murder you and no one will care' look.
Tali, the Omen's marines, and the redshirts nodded. The Imperials stared at Drake, supremely unhappy.
But. But. Tali was surprised to realize it, but for all their xenophobia, the Valhallans were professionals. They were good soldiers. Good soldiers followed orders.
"Clear, sir," replied the leader. If Tali remembered correctly, she was a sergeant named Griffin. Draked nodded, satisfied. His gaze turned to Jack. Tali's eyes widened behind her enviro-suit. Jack was always a problem. Surly and boisterous, she was a biotic of extraordinary power. She utterly despised authority and let everyone know it. Tali didn't really know how Shepard was able to keep her in line.
As of now, Jack and Drake seemed to be in some sort of silent battle of wills. There was most certainly a silent conversation going on between them of facial expressions and background knowledge.
Eventually, to Tali's great surprise, Jack looked away.
"Clear," she muttered. Drake grinned, somewhere between cheery, commander-ish and serial killer-ish. It was a very odd look. Tali still had no idea how this mission was going to go.
"Excellent," purred Drake in reply. He grinned at them all mischievously. "Right. Today our mission is to kill this man." With a gesture, he brought up the computer mounted on his wrist. It sprang to life, and showed a hologram of a fairly average-looking human man. "He's the head of a company that's been doing some rather nasty sidework, and thus I have been hired to eliminate the man and wreck the company. Any questions?" he asked, looking around.
"How exactly are we going to kill this guy?" asked Griffin, looking doubtful. Drake grinned. That particular grin was far too bloodthirsty for Tali's liking.
"Jack, you, and myself will be walking into his office and I will kill him there," replied Drake. He held up a hand to forestall any questions. "Reasoning: you two are the best in a close-quarters fight. How? I have passes; I'm invited. Jack, you'll have to wear a shirt and jacket," he continued, looking down at Jack's bare tattooed torso. The only thing covered were her breasts. Tali had no idea how anyone walked around like that all the time. The biotic looked like she wanted to protest, but Drake moved on before she could. "Tali, you'll be our technological expert. You'll be in a building across the street. All access to the building's systems should be within the powers of your omni-tool and within the range of your technical expertise."
Tali started. She was not expecting that. She was expecting to be ignored. At best. Instead, Drake treated her… like everyone else?
That was the first thing she realized about Captain Drake. He treated everyone equally. It wasn't even a conscious thing, or at least she didn't think it was. One of his men? Same as one of the Omen's marines. A Quarian? Just as good as a human. Imperial xenophobes? Yep. They, too, were treated professionally.
It was refreshing.
He didn't care. Didn't care who you were, didn't care about where you came from, so long as you got in line and obeyed his commands then you were the same as anyone else. Tali could certainly get used to this.
"The rest of the team will be split in two. One breaching team will be on the back entrance, another towards the side. When I kill this guy, both move in." Drake turned to look up. "Any questions?" Everyone, Imperial, alien, human, and everything in between stared at each other. Well. That was a very quick and straightforward briefing.
"Yes," replied Griffin. "What we're doing is going down and killing someone on this planet, in the middle of an office building, then going into the office building. What are we going to do there? And is this legal? Is someone going to stop us?" Yeah, those were pretty good questions, in Tali's opinion.
"This company is involved in criminal acts, and is currently bribing local law enforcement," said Drake. "We'll be entering to put an end to them, and take whatever information we can on them. As for any questions about the possibility of people stopping us…" His face took on a devious smirk. "As a criminal organization, company security and employees have weapons. But, firearms are illegal in this particular region of the planet below us, which means standard police don't carry them. Which, in turn, means the police won't be a problem, even if they decide to show."
Well, that seemed case in point to a lot of missions with Shepard Tali had been on.
"Anything else?" asked Drake, looking around to a group that seemed to realize he wasn't actually insane; in fact, he'd put a lot of thought into this.
"Yeah! Why do I have to wear a shirt?" demanded Jack indignantly. Tali and most of the others laughed.
oOo
But then… Then they found themselves on the ground.
Jack was wearing a shirt. Drake was scarily good at convincing people of things through a massive array of coercions, bribes, persuasions, white lies, small threats and not-so-small threats. Tali shuddered to think what would happen if Drake ever decided to run for office.
Tali was assigned to a nearby building with one of the redshirts, named Dave, as a bodyguard. She'd protested having a bodyguard because she had a shotgun and by the ancestors did she know how to use it. However, Drake had given the perfectly reasonable explanation that she was to focus on technology and not on defending herself (again, he should, or maybe really shouldn't, run for office.) Besides, Tali liked Dave. He treated her like she was actually a person.
So Tali and Dave sat in some abandoned but still fairly comfortable office across the way from the large glass office building that was their target.
She was watching the team through the camera's of the building she'd hacked into. Drake was right: their security was laughably easy for her.
He was also right about them being expected. Before her, Tali could see everything happening. They waltzed into the building as if they were expected guests, Griffin in her Valhallan uniform, Jack in her leather pants and now a plain black shirt and jacket, and Captain Drake in his typical gloves, boots, and coat.
Drake greeted the woman at the front desk with a smile and shook her hand, introducing Griffin and Jack as his lieutenant and bodyguard, respectively. The front desk representative beamed like a good little minion, and bade them to follow her. First they went through security, where they were scanned and checked over for weapons. None of them had any. Tali wondered how Drake was going to kill this guy. Maybe he would have Jack kill him with biotics. That was a likely answer, though Tali didn't like it.
The trio walked through the pristine halls, looking no different from a million others throughout countless galaxies. It was only because Tali was listening to their comms that she could hear when Drake slightly leaned back and spoke softly to Griffin and Jack.
"If anyone tries to kill us, kill them," he stated. It wasn't an order. It was a fact. Both women nodded shortly in reply. Dave glanced nervously at Tali. She found it strange that a security team member was more shy of death than she was.
Eventually, the trio reached the target's office… and everything seemed to happen at once.
The target stepped forward from behind his desk with a perfect businessman's grin and reached out his hand. Drake mirrored the gesture.
"Ah, Captain Drake. It's a pleasure to finally meet you."
"Oh, I can assure you, the pleasure's all mine, Mr. Cartwright," replied Drake, hints of something else lurking in his voice. The moment his hand touched Cartwright's, his glove crackled to life. Cartwright died screaming, his body pumped with deadly electricity.
Two bodyguards burst through the door, submachine guns already up. Griffin turned, fear in her eyes. They'd be dead if she had a weapon, but she didn't.
It didn't matter. Jack did.
With a roar, she unleashed two bolts of biotic energy, one from each hand. The guards went flying into the wall, dead before they hit the floor. Drake was already moving, a grin on his face. He took their weapons, giving a pistol to Jack and distributing everything else equally amongst Griffin and himself.
"Excellent," he said, voice carrying clearly over the comms. "Now comes the fun part. Breacher teams, enter the building. Rules of engagement: if it moves… kill it." Jack gave a gleeful smile. Griffin slipped on an expression that was all business. Drake looked up and gave a charming smile to one of the cameras, and by extension, Tali. "If you would, Miss Zorah, could you take control of the PA system and put this file across it?" he asked. Her omni-tool pinged with a file sent her way.
"Of course, Captain," she replied politely.
"If it moves, kill it?" asked Dave beside her, voice nervous and worried. Tali shrugged helplessly. Her two long, slim fingers moved over her omni-tool with practiced ease. Drake sent her… an audio file. Which made sense, considering he wanted her to play it on the PA system. Tali did so and returned to watch the cameras. The cheerful sound of some sort of human music (Tali thought it was called 'rock-and-roll') sounded over the address system. Drake's grin became feral.
What followed was a slaughter in every sense of the word.
Drake, Jack, and Griffin moved through the halls from the office containing three bodies, weapons at the ready. The secretary outside the room had a gun up, ready and waiting. Griffin shot her through the head with the casual ease someone might shoo an insect away.
The two breaching teams were moving through the first floor of the building, neat and professional. Whatever differences they might have had were now gone, vanishing in the need for professionalism and staying alive. They ducked behind and out of cover, firing and moving as any good, well-trained team would, as all the while Drake's music played over the PA system.
As for Drake himself… Tali did a double-take as she looked back through the cameras.
Griffin was a grim executioner, a proper soldier, dealing death with precise, emotionless, lethal efficiency. Jack was as wild and brutal as ever, throwing around biotic power as if it were nothing, massacring anyone that stood in her way. Drake was every bit as utterly savage and ferocious as Jack. However, instead of biotics, which were powerful and clean, Drake was messy. Dirty. Horrifyingly so.
A man, wearing a suit, untrained but still wielding a weapon due to the true nature of the company, stepped out from one of the side rooms. Drake grabbed his arm and twisted, then slid under him a step, bringing up his stolen pistol and blowing his head away at point-blank range. Blood spattered Drake's face and most of the wall behind the dead man. The captain didn't seem to care.
They continued like that the entire way, murdering their way through every hallway with clockwork efficiency, a trail of blood and bodies left behind them as they maneuvered through the building to meet up with the breaching teams.
It was now, back in the comfort of her bunk that Tali relieved the entire affair in horrible, gruesome, play-by-play detail. It made her think (and shudder).
Combat was something she was now used to. Once upon a time, it scared her, but she was still no coward and jumped into it like a pro even when she was just on her Pilgrimage with no experience in the wider galaxy. With some help from Wrex, Shepard, and Garrus, she took to it pretty well.
Fighting with the rest of the Normandy's crew was fun. Looking back, reviewing everything, Tali was a bit ashamed to admit it. But it was!
It was fun to be with your friends in the thick of things, showing off your skills as they showed off theirs, joking with everyone and knowing you were doing something to save the galaxy. Garrus and Shepard cheerfully competing, or snarking back and forth with all sorts of puns and jokes was something fun, and when you passed the bodies of evil men with neat mass-accelerated holes in their armor, you could tell yourself the things you did were just.
But watching Captain Drake kill someone by smashing him into a wall, gouging his eyes out with his thumbs, then ripping his face apart was a brutal, crystalline clear reminder that combat was not fun. It was messy. It was violent. It's horrifying. You were killing people. Their lives are ending.
It shouldn't be fun. But sometimes it was. Drake, Jack, and others liked them thrived on it. They loved it, and not just the thrill, or the camaraderie, or the banter slung between each other like with Garrus and Shepard, but the death. The killing. The blood. The feeling that someone else's life was in your hands and there was nothing they could do about it.
Then there was the second, perhaps more frightening aspect. People like Jack, like Zaeed, were brutal because that was all they'd ever known. That was their world; how they viewed everything. But Captain Drake… Captain Drake was civilized. Cultured.
Tali had been inordinately excited that Drake actually knew a few phrases in Quarian; knew Quarian culture. He'd demonstrated it to her on the way down. He knew Imperial scriptures and Federation laws, both to the delight of the Valhallans and redshirts. Even his taste in music was cultured! Tali looked into human music after this mission, and there were dozens of songs from dozens of eras and genres.
And when Drake walked out of the building and back to the rendezvous point, leaving nearly every single living thing in the building messily dead, his boots and gloves and face smeared with blood, he wore his usual serene and cheerful expression, hands clasped neatly behind his back. His mannerisms were that of a man who'd gone for a brief stroll instead of having just killed at least thirty people in every way imaginable, from knives to guns to grenades to his bare hands.
He was as perfectly polite as ever, congratulating them all on a job well done. He treated them all the same; even thanked Tali for her skills. He thanked her. The only other non-Quarians that had ever thanked her were probably Shepard, Garrus, and maybe Wrex and a few other humans of the old Normandy.
But now, as Tali sat in her bunk aboard the comfortable ship she called home, she pondered. Thoughts of war swirled through her head. What was it exactly? Why did she have such a reaction when she'd seen so much fighting and death before? Sure, Drake was perhaps far more visceral than what she'd experienced, but did that make it any different? Drake himself didn't think so. War was war, and he would win by any means necessary. Tali really couldn't fault him for that.
But then what about him? While he might have commanded with Shepard's ease, he was nothing like her. Polite and genial at one moment, and utterly brutal the next. What was she to think?
She didn't know. But either way, she got to know a lot of people a lot better. For better or for worse, that was the point of this mission, and it was certainly accomplished.
oOo
"How are we possibly supposed to keep up with them?" exclaimed Kasumi Goto with a huff, gesturing to the two super-soldiers presently slaughtering their way through a group of IMC soldiers in what seemed to be a good kilometer in front of the main group.
Lieutenant Lustig sighed and rubbed his forehead beneath his gray-blue Valhallan officer's cap. Why did these sorts of things always happen to him? Or, he supposed, more accurately, why did these things always happen to Cain and Kasteen, and now Cooper, the Chief, Shepard, Kirk, Quill, Vir, Drake, and Solo and leave him to pick up all the messy little pieces they left behind?
"I don't know," he muttered, straightening his cap and tightening his grip on his laspistol. "Just try, I guess." Kasumi, the large Drev called Cannon and the assorted soldiers around him huffed in annoyance. However, they still made their way to the duo in front of them, grumbling all the while.
Meanwhile, ahead, Master Chief and Jack Cooper smashed their way through IMC lines. The Pilot flickered through the air, cloak engaged and disengaged, appearing, disappearing, and reappearing. He would show directly behind troopers, snapping necks, sending flying knees to the face, throwing them to the ground to stab them, and, of course, stealing their weapons and using them against their former owners. Walls, windows, and defensive positions were no challenge to him. His Pilot's suit ensured that.
Cooper was backed up by BT, his Titan running on its A.I. BT had a massive 30mm, fully automatic cannon in his hands, and alongside liberal use of feet, fists, and rockets, was peppering any enemy soldier unlucky enough to pop their head out in the open with terrifying efficiency.
BT had been met with… mixed feelings among the other soldiers on the mission. The Apocalypse's armsmen had been around him more often, and so were more used to his presence. The redshirts were either very wary or rather intrigued to meet an A.I. The Imperials were very wary of BT, muttering something about 'Mechanicus automata' upon meeting him.
Meanwhile, the Chief destroyed anyone that came across him with sheer, ruthless efficiency. There was no maneuvering with jump packs and large mechs, no sneaking, no long-range sniping, no trickery, just death. The green-armored super-soldier was the ultimate killing machine, requiring nothing more than his bare hands to carve his way through scores of normal men. Of course, on the battlefield, he had his entire arsenal with him, which simply made him all the more dangerous.
The Chief's assault rifle kicked out, blasting through IMC soldiers like the lethal weapon it was. All it took was a burst at most: the Chief killed with pristine accuracy and horrifying efficiency, moving from one opponent to the next in short, fluid, perfect motions. Grenades, both those he had brought with him and those captured from IMC stores, were tossed out with precision, ripping through strongpoints. The Chief's massive bulk would then follow, destroying any remaining resistance.
"Pilot Cooper, the remainder of IMC forces have congregated around the central base defenses," announced BT as he fired a salvo of rockets at a bunker, obliterating it.
"Gotcha, BT," replied Cooper, hopping off a wall he'd been running parallel on and in front of his Titan.
"Are you two going to actually wait for everyone else?" asked Cortana over the duo's comms, sounding amused and slightly exasperated. From where they were, Cooper and the Chief both stopped, glancing at each other, slightly guilty.
The issue wasn't that they were glory hogs, or thought they were superior: it was just that they were faster. The flow of battle waited for no man, and if they had an upper hand they would push.
Still, as both Cooper and the Chief looked at each other, by unspoken agreement they decided to wait for the rest of the soldiers for the final push. Cooper jumped upward, BT catching him and depositing him within the Titan's cockpit. He had a better vantage point from here, and could protect any infantrymen better, unless they were squirreled away in places BT's weapons couldn't reach like the previous situation.
Eventually, the other troops caught up to them, panting as they slowed their jogs and runs. The lead one, Lieutenant Lustig of the Valhallans, offered a hurried salute to Master Chief. The super-soldier gave a slight frown behind his visor. He still wasn't exactly sure where he stood among the various new groups he'd met. Back home, most soldiers (Marines and Naval personnel, both enlisted and officers) were extremely wary and even afraid of Spartans. Spartans were a breed apart. Officers colonel and above (and ONI agents) usually were the ones to give orders to Spartans, and usually saw them as living weapons.
But here… The Chief was something of an officer himself, put in charge of this mission alongside Cooper. He wasn't just expected to kill, he was expected to lead. It was an odd situation for him, made odder still because his rank was Master Chief. Lustig was a lieutenant, and Cannon was in charge of the Omen's Drev contingent, which probably translated to a major or colonel. John-117 was a leader, yes, but a leader of Spartans, his brothers and sisters. Not like this.
"Sirs," greeted Lustig, not knowing what else to call them. The Drev, Cannon, the lithe thief Kasumi and most of the soldiers were frowning behind the lieutenant.
"Lieutenant," rumbled back the Chief with a nod. He… honestly wasn't entirely sure what he should be doing right now. His instincts screamed at him to ignore the normal humans and march straight into the fight, but he knew he was supposed to be in charge here. He didn't know how that translated.
"Sir," replied Lustig woodenly, a good subordinate to his core, waiting for the Chief or Cooper to give them orders. The other soldiers seemed to follow the Valhallan officer's lead.
Above them, BT's cockpit hatch opened up and Cooper joined them. Despite his full helmet, the Chief could tell Cooper was smiling.
"Well then, everyone," he began, "The base's center and main control room are at this point." BT activated a holographic projector on his chassis, throwing out a three-dimensional map of the base in front of all those present. "We're here. The plan is to push ahead, myself, BT, and the Chief in a head-on assault while you," this was directed at the whole of the waiting soldiers, "Split in two and flank either side." Cooper's Pilot helm turned to stare at everyone. "Any questions?"
"You gonna leave us behind again?" muttered one of the soldiers. The Chief was sure he wouldn't have heard if not for his augmented ears and armor's auditory systems. Judging by his laugh, Cooper's helmet had the same abilities.
"Well, that depends on if you can keep up," replied the Pilot, a challenge in his voice. A few of the troops grinned at that; a few frowned. Lustig and Cannon's faces remained neutral. "Okay then, if there are no more questions, let's get moving." Cooper jumped upwards and BT reached out, depositing him within his cockpit. The Chief gave the soldiers a slight nod of his head before taking off on a jog.
"You're that excited to get away from talking to other people?" teased Cortana in John-117's head. The Spartan mutely gave his head an exasperated shake.
He could both hear and feel BT behind him, lumbering in a walk instead of a full run. Even a Spartan couldn't keep up with something three or four times their size. The Titan, its Pilot, and Cortana were blessedly silent as they moved up to the final pocket of IMC resistance.
The Chief found it rather strange to be working against the ruling government of Earth in this galaxy. Spartans were originally created to put down insurgents, and though their purpose evolved to fact the Covenant threat, the first purpose of their blood remained. Politics was not really something John thought about often: he was a soldier. His sole purpose in life was to kill the enemies of humanity. Who those enemies were was blessedly easy most of the time, and most of the rest he was told who to fight.
But this… He frowned. Cooper was firmly a rebel, as was Han Solo. They would be considered terrorist insurgents against the UNSC in his own reality. But here he was regardless, fighting alongside Cooper against the Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation. Sometimes John wondered what would have happened if it hadn't been the nine specific people and crews that had met. What if there had been others? What were the other, perhaps opposing or allied factions from other galaxies like?
Above all, however, John-117 was a soldier, so he pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind and focused on the mission ahead.
They were fighting in Cooper's home reality because he (and ONI) didn't want anyone to work for them yet. He was here to gather information. Why, he still didn't know, but that wasn't his job. Taking this motley crew of mercenaries, rebels, outlaws, explorers and soldiers into a full-scale war against the Covenant wasn't on the agenda.
Yet.
oOo
BT and the Chief arrived at the central area first, as expected. They had waited slightly this time, moving a bit slower to ensure the troops would have something to contribute rather than walk up to a carpet of bodies with two super-soldiers standing above them. However, they still showed first, and they would both be loath to let such a good opportunity go to waste.
BT's cannon opened up, peppering the IMC lines with heavy rounds. The Chief then moved in, covered by the Titan's firepower, and slid inside one of the blockhouse buildings guarding the central research area in front of him. A terrified IMC soldier lurked within and raised a weapon to John's face: he was unceremoniously cut down, and the super-soldier moved on.
The enemy troops fell back to interior positions, afraid of BT's firepower. A few were nevertheless shredded as they tried to fall back, but now the Titan could not participate in the battle unless the IMC soldiers were stupid enough to come back out in the open. The Chief frowned. This would get interesting.
The Spartan continued to move, assault rifle firing at a brisk clip, shredding through anything that dared to stand against him. The terrified IMC soldiers tried grenades and heavier weapons, but the Chief dodged them with the lightning speed only a super-soldier could, or absorbed them harmlessly on his armor's shields.
John turned a corner, running into another defensive barricade bristling with IMC troops. However, before he could do anything, Cooper burst in behind them. A grenade, followed by copious gunfire, flew towards the IMC. The troopers tried to scatter, but they were no match for a flanking assault led by a Pilot. Within moments, they were all dead.
Cooper gave a nod to the Chief, grinning behind his helmet.
"Well, that went well," he said. John merely gave a curt nod in reply. Nothing more was needed.
"Oh, come on. You're not going to talk to him?" asked Cortana privately. John resisted the urge to sigh. Nothing more was needed for him. Some people were more fussy.
"Pilot Cooper, Master Chief, the others have arrived," rumbled BT's deep voice over the duo's comms.
"Acknowledged," stated the Chief.
"Gotcha, BT," replied Cooper. The duo were already in motion, weapons ready, moving at blinding speed towards the center of the facility.
Shouts and the racket of weapons fire, mixed with explosions, sounded ahead. Cooper and the Chief increased their pace.
The two slammed into the massive central room of the facility they'd been sent to. It was a battlefield: Drev, Valhallans, Apocalypse armsmen, and some redshirts were locked into a gunfight with the remaining IMC defenders. It was a desperate, no holds-barred battle, made slightly less brutal due to the fact that neither side wanted to close and expose themselves to the full firepower of the other.
However, the odds were immediately tipped by the arrival of two super-soldiers.
The Chief vaulted over the high railing of the entrance they'd arrived through, landing with a deep, threatening boom. His rifle was already out and firing, blasting through the closest troops beside him.
Cooper had engaged his cloak the moment he walked through the door. The Chief saw a blur of movement on one of the walls before Cooper rematerialized in midair, a grenade spinning out, carbine firing. Soldiers fell beneath him.
It was a remarkably quick battle after their arrival, the Chief acting as a one-man battering ram while their allies peppered everyone with fire. There were two semi-invisible blurs moving now, picking off anyone out of position or anyone looking particularly dangerous.
Soon enough, all of the IMC soldiers were dead. John reloaded his weapon and scanned the room carefully.
Cooper and the lithe thief, Kasumi, winked into existence beside him. He was not startled by their sudden appearance: instead he cocked his head. Interesting. He had not known Kasumi possessed a cloak similar to Cooper's. He'd have to look further into it.
"Well, that was exciting," grinned Kasumi.
"At least someone's having fun," sighed Lustig as he walked forward and saluted Cooper and the Chief. The Chief saluted back on reflex. He looked around. He wasn't sure what to do. Cooper stepped forward and saved him.
"Excellent work, everyone," he said with a nod. "Now we take the research they've been doing and get out."
"Very well, sir," replied Lustig, motioning for the other to follow him. The Chief simply stood and watched. Despite being a leader here, despite doing well, he still felt… off. Like he wasn't a part of things despite being a part of them.
It didn't matter, in the end. He was sure Cortana would say otherwise, but he didn't care. He was a soldier, a weapon, and nothing more. He'd done his duty, and it was good enough for him.
oOo
"Listen up, you fat barrels of monkey spunk!" Saul's glare somehow managed to permeate itself from behind his helmet and settled into the very souls of every single one of the men and women in front of him. Ramirez found it rather impressive: but then again, any NCO worth their salt should be able to do that. "All of us are now under the command of Commander Shepard! You will treat her, me, and each other with respect! You will call her Commander as per her request and you will call me Saul or sir because I have the privilege to no longer be in the Army and thus I have no rank! I know this may be an unusual situation, but there will be no breaches of discipline here! If any of you happy gargling oxygen-wasting buffoons commit any bullshittery on my watch I will break your fucking kneecaps and shove them up your fucking nostrils! Is that clear?"
"Yes, sir!" comes the immediate, ingrained chorus. Ramirez stood a little straighter through sheer force of habit, despite the fact he stood to Saul's side and didn't really have to respond.
They were in the Normandy's hangar, a sleek and clean area far smaller than the massive open space on the Omen Ramirez was used to. The squad of crewmen and troops from the various factions and realities was assembled within. Ramirez was one of the several marines the Omen had sent (well, he'd really been assigned here, but that didn't matter).
As a sergeant, he wasn't in line before Saul: oh, no he stood beside him and in front of Commander Shepard, who was busily hiding a grin at Saul's epic tirade. Technically speaking, Saul was only a rank or so ahead of Ramirez, but he was at least a decade (maybe two) older with much more experience. Besides, Saul was a team leader aboard the Apocalypse, which translated to an unofficial lieutenant. At the least. Maybe a captain or even major.
But, when Shepard had first met with her two noncoms, she had politely asked what rank Saul was. He'd bristled when she implied he was an officer, and clearly stated that he was a noncom, because he worked for a living. Shepard and Ramirez had both grinned wildly at that.
He hadn't lost any of his old fire from what he stated were his Army days, either, as was being demonstrated in front of Ramirez's eyes.
Commander Shepard stepped forward, amusement in her eyes. Saul stepped back with a nod to her, and Ramirez followed.
"Thank you," she said to Saul politely. She turned to address the troops, her hands easily at her sides and hints of knowing and amusement in her eyes, like any good officer. Saul stood behind her, glowering at the troops like any good noncom. Ramirez gave a stupid grin like the reprobate he was. Hopefully the troops found that intimidating. "Ladies, gentlemen. Today we're here to put a stop to mercenary activities on this moon. The Blue Suns have been harassing nearby colonists, and are currently on a base on this moon. Our job is to put a stop to their activities. Any questions?"
The assorted group of Valhallans, redshirts, marines, and armsmen shook their heads 'no'. Shepard nodded, satisfied. She was already in her full combat gear, a suit of trim black armor with a single red N7 on the breastplate. Her rifle was folded over her back, red hair tossed over her shoulder. Ramirez never did understand long hair: his closest female friend, Maverick, wore hers perpetually short for convenience's sake.
The folding weapons Shepard's galaxy had was another thing he didn't understand. Apparently they used some sort of advanced technology to blast small pieces of metal at massive speeds. Railguns, but better. Ramirez could approve of that, sure, but it was weird when your weapons was some little folding thing that made noises more like a laser toy than a real gun when you fired it. He preferred something with more umph to it, even if it might not logically be any better.
He'd love to get a crack at some of the other realities' weaponry… if he could get in line after Sunny, Adam, and probably the entire contingent of the Omen's engineers. The Imperials had honest-to-goodness laser rifles, and not some little rinky-dink things either: they were full-fledged blocky black battle rifles that were bigger than his own assault weapon.
Of course, the troops and tinkerers from the other galaxies would probably like to do the same thing. Ramirez sighed to himself. Lot's of crazy things happening now, and he was right in the middle of them.
"Move out!" came Saul's ordered cry, and the troops started to scramble around to the shuttles. Ramirez grinned to himself. Ah, well it seemed like some things never changed, regardless of reality.
oOo
"Upper stair, eleven o'clock!" Ramirez pivoted, rifle already on his shoulder and ready. A mercenary appeared on the walkway above them, and was subsequently cut down by at least half a dozen weapons. In front of them, a large, open door led outside of the large warehouse they were currently making their methodical way through. A mercenary popped his head through the door: Saul, leading the team, immediately opened fire. His bullets pinged harmlessly off a translucent barrier in front of the man's face, who quickly ducked back into cover. Saul swore.
"Little bastard shithead son of a bitch mother-" He trailed off, continuing to move forward, rifle raised. Ramirez had to agree with him. Shields were something new. Everyone in this galaxy had their own personal shields that stopped physical projectiles.
Of course, you could wear them down-
The mercenary popped his head around the corner once more, his own rifle raised, only for his head to subsequently disappear as a streak of red light blew it apart.
And kinetic shields didn't work against laser weapons.
The Valhallan trooper behind Ramirez grinned as he smirked at Saul.
"It sure would be a shame if you didn't have a laser weapon, now wouldn't it?" he snarked. Saul shot him a dirty look.
"I'm still your superior, Private, so shut your trap or clean bulkheads with a toothbrush. Clear?" he snapped back.
"Clear," muttered the Valhallan in reply. Ramirez grinned again. Soldiers were soldiers were soldiers. It never changed, and he basked in the sheer comfort despite his extra-galactic surroundings.
The group continued moving through the warehouse, weapons trained and ready to blast anything that twitched wrong. They walked through the main doors, blowing away at a few more lingering mercenaries. Ramirez tried not to grunt or sigh in annoyance as his bullets flicked off shields but the Imperials' lasers blasted straight through. He'd have to figure out a way to get his hands on one, but judging by how… possessive the Imperials could be, he had a feeling it wouldn't be easy.
Reaching another side door, they lined up against the wall beside it, Saul in front, Ramirez behind him, the other troops bringing up the rear. Saul nodded and made a motion with his hand. One of the Omen's marines nodded and swiftly moved to the other side of the door. With another signal, both kicked the door open donkey-style while still pressed against the wall. Saul tossed in a flash-bang grenade. It exploded with a pop, and the troops moved into the new room, weapons out and searching.
There was no one in that room. The next was another matter. Grenades flew as freely as bullets and lasers as Ramirez ducked and turned and blasted back with whatever he had in his arsenal. The variety of shenanigans the soldiers of this galaxy had was getting annoying. Shields were only the tip of the iceberg; apparently incendiary grenades, fast-healing gel, explosive concussive rounds and weird energy-sorcerers called biotics were also included.
Didn't mean they wouldn't win anyway.
Apart from the lasers, which really seemed to catch the mercenaries opposing them off-guard, there was the sheer fire, fury, and training of the allied force to aid them. Ramirez grinned. There were no mercenaries in the galaxy that were going to stop them.
They made their way through the room, firing and advancing, picking off the mercenaries one by one. Some of them died hard, with all their gadgets and fancy tricks, but died they did. Ramirez couldn't help but smile. They were good, but he and his new allies were better.
Eventually, they reached the next room, where Commander Shepard and a few more troopers were. The Commander had led another team through another entrance of the structure, sweeping out the mercenaries there to meet with Saul's team in the middle.
"Saul," greeted Shepard with a nod of her black-helmeted head. Nearby, her men were sprawled around, standing warily or taking ready positions against uncleared entrances. One of the Valhallans had a dark stain of blood on his upper torso near the shoulder.
"What happened, Berkin?" asked one of the other Imperials, looking at his comrade's bloody shoulder. The trooper, Berkin, shrugged, apparently completely unconcerned at the wound. Ramirez stared, interested. That placement should, at the very least, limit arm, shoulder, and upper body movement. It seemed as if he was fine. Maybe it was someone else's blood?
"He dove in front of me to shield me," replied Shepard, looking at the Valhallans, apparently impressed by the man's actions.
"Forgot you had shields," mumbled Berkin, red-faced. "It was stupid of me." Shepard shrugged.
"Well, the medigel fixed you right up, so it's fine." She stared him in the eye. "And I do appreciate it. Thank you," she continued softly. The trooper flushed again. Ramirez cocked an eyebrow.
Well. That was interesting, for three reasons. First, shields, of course. That one he and everyone else not here would have to get used to.
Secondly, this new medical technology. Ramirez was certain Kril would throw a fit over it. Whatever this… gel stuff was, it apparently healed gunshot wounds like they were no issue. Or the Valhallans were being tough. He'd have to look more into it.
Lastly, the fact that one of the Imperials took a shot for Shepard. Now that was something worthy of taking back. He'd have to update Adam and the other officers on this. But for now, they had a mission.
oOo
Ramirez ducked behind cover, popping out to fire at the assorted mercenaries opposing him at intervals. Around him, his various allies moved and fired, covering and advancing.
"The best story I have is the Eggnog Riot of '75," called Shepard over the gunfire. "A bunch of cadets at the military academy took offense that the Christmas party eggnog wasn't alcoholic, so they decided to start their own party with their own alcoholic eggnog."
A shot whizzed by Ramirez's head. He blasted back, then grinned. Now this was how it was done. A battle with everyone starting to chime in with taunts, cheers, jokes, and crazy stories.
Dinner and a show. Cheers.
"The cadets got increasingly drunk, the officer in charge of the barracks got more frustrated, then everyone gets more crazy, the officer got knocked out, cadets are everywhere, a group of them steal band instruments and start drunkenly playing, then the commandant gets word of this, and, after one destroyed barracks, one destroyed storage area, the guards being called out, we end up with seventy arrests and twenty court-martials."
Ramirez shook his head in admiration. Ah, if only he'd done something as crazy when he was in training. He slid forward behind another concrete barrier, checked his ammunition, and took in the situation. There were more mercenaries ahead: keep everything up. They were winning as it was. Shepard was good, Saul was an excellent second, and all the troopers behind him were solid.
"And where were you during all of this?" asked Saul, skeptical, as he slid a knife into the neck of a mercenary who got too close to him.
"Oh, I was in another barracks," replied Shepard cheekily.
"Uh huh," replied Saul, unconvinced.
"Oh, what do you mean 'uh huh'?" said Shepard. "I was a good girl. Cross my heart." Ramriez could tell she was grinning behind her helmet from where she shot another cheeky look at Saul. "So, what's your craziest story?" she challenged. Saul snorted.
"The last CBRN range I was on one of my guys, big kid named Rydoff, takes his mask off in the chamber." Ramirez's eyes widened. CBRN meant 'chemical, biological, and nuclear'. A range involving that usually meant the troops would get into full anti-chemical gear, go into a chamber usually pumped with tear gas, then run out and go onto the firing range. "And then this moron, this man, this legend, this magnificent bastard, drops and knocks off at least sixty pushups. Everyone's watching; no one says a thing. To interrupt that would have been blasphemy. And then the buzzer sounds, the door opens, and Rydoff gets on his feet and puts on his mask like nothing ever happened."
Saul actually got a few incredulous whistles, noises of admiration, and praises for Rydoff over the comms. Ramirez grinned. Now that was a good one.
"Where's that guy now?" muttered one of Ramirez's marines, her voice quiet but still easily understandable over the comms.
"Why? You want to marry him?" teased Ramirez.
"Yeah, sure," replied the woman with a shrug. "Seems like a great guy," she continued, slightly dreamily. There were a few more chuckles over that.
"So, any other insanity anyone feels like sharing?" asked Shepard good-naturedly as she blasted away another mercenary. She rolled behind a barricade, and dropped another mercenary. She was good, Ramirez had to admit. 'Course, they were all good. (No one was as good as his marines, but, then again, he might be just slightly biased.)
"Well, let me tell you about the time the Admiral got drugged by a flower on an alien planet…"
They continued, fighting and talking, joking and story-telling all the way. Ramirez smiled to himself. Now this was how things should be. It felt natural - as if he were right back with Adam, Maverick, Sunny, and the others on a mission from the Omen.
Really, people from all over, even different realities, were quite similar to each other.
oOo
Gamora didn't quite know what to think when she was put under the command of Commissar Cain. On one hand, he was an Imperial, and a Commissar to boot. Gamora was no fool, unlike a few of her crewmates: she did her research. Anyone with half a working brain would.
The Imperium hated aliens with a zealotry that came close to, if not surpassed, her adoptive father. That made her shudder. Thanos was insane; the Imperium perhaps moreso. Her ex-father's goal was to bring balance to life itself by randomly wiping out half of it. It made no sense, but then again neither did suffer not the alien to live. The forces of the Imperium worshiped their Emperor as a living god and destroyed every single non-human in their galaxy without a shred of remorse in his name.
In addition, Commissar Cain was just that: a commissar. From what she could find out, commissars were in charge of Imperial military discipline, and had a terrifying reputation. His powers over his men, up to and including the regimental commander and officers, was literally unlimited. He could summarily execute them at any time.
On the whole, this painted Cain as a bloody-handed zealot, grim and remorseless, who would slaughter anyone and anything that got in his way with zero regard to anything but duty.
However, on the other hand, Cain seemed like a perfectly reasonable, perfectly kind officer and man. If there was any distaste he had for aliens (which Gamora was certain he did), Cain hid it well. He was polite to everyone, and the worst Gamora could see was an ever-so-slight, miniscule, microsecond's hesitation in his eyes whenever he talked to or ordered aliens that was not present in humans. Honestly, she'd seen a lot worse from many who came from nothing like the same background. She was sure most of the others didn't even notice it.
But such thoughts of Cain were put to the back of Gamora's mind at the present. She was her galaxy's greatest assassin, and that title did not come if one was sloppy with their deeds or thoughts during a mission.
Cain's strike force was on a mission to some out of the way scum-hole of a planet in Gamora's own galaxy. Usually, the mission commanders would go to their own galaxies, as they better knew their homes. Cain, however, had balked at going back to his own galaxy. He didn't say why, merely darkly hinting that most missions against foes he knew wouldn't go well. Both due to this and the harder-to-breach galactic barrier around his home reality, it was decided his strike force would go elsewhere.
That somewhere was a miserable hellhole with a rather dangerous terrorist cell operating beneath the streets of the planet's largest city. Fittingly, the entire planet was gray and dreary. Perpetual rain poured down, soaking everything beneath it. At least they were out of the rain… but, in contrast, they were in the slimy, dank, miserable tunnels beneath the city.
Gamora moved silently through the tunnels, boots a whisper even on the wet stone ground. Beside her were a small assortment of specialists from a plethora of her own and other vessels. Drax was there, as bellicose and eager as ever, almost hopping up and down at the prospect of getting into combat. Beside him, even taller, maybe even stronger (Gamora would like to find out) was Solo's companion, Chewbacca. He spoke a language of growls, hums, and grunts that none of them could understand, but still was able to convey what he meant through shrugs, nods, and context. Gamora suspected he'd dealt with others that couldn't understand him before. Besides, it helped that he could understand them.
Next were two individuals from Shepard's ship, Thane and Zaeed. Zaeed was human, a mercenary, and a good one. Gruff, aggravating, and good at what he did. Nothing to it. Gamora knew a thousand men like him, good soldiers all.
Thane was an assassin. He dressed the way Gamora dressed (though he had a long-coat), moved the way she moved, and she could see him picking apart his surroundings with a clinical eye. Though he seemed kind and extraordinarily calm, he was someone to watch. He could be a great threat; plus, Gamora could feel him seeing everything around them in the same way she did. Watching. Waiting carefully for the best time to strike.
Lastly, as backup, there were a few Valhallan soldiers, and, of course, Commissar Cain and his aide, Jurgen. Cain was in the midst of the group; an oddity considering his distaste for xenos. Perhaps he wanted to keep an eye on them? Regardless, his tall form marched beside theirs, boots competently silent on the stone. His chainsword and laser pistol were in hand, and he frowned as he glared at their surroundings. Gamora thought the chainsword was a brutal, uncouth weapon, instead preferring thin stabbing swords or knives, but Cain wielded the massive thing with practiced, contemptuous ease.
Their way was led by Jurgen, a massive, black blocky weapon called a melta gun clutched in his hands. Gamora frowned as she regarded him. There was something… off about him. She couldn't place it, and that was what frustrated her. It wasn't the fact he was an Imperial, nor was it his competence or his unkempt appearance.
But still, whenever he looked at him, a weird, stretching, shuddering, itchy cold feeling crept up and down her skin. There was something wrong about him, something that set well-trained and well-kept alarm bells in her head ringing. She shook her head. She'd watch him, but it was something for later. Right now, there was a mission.
"Whenever we're with you, Commissar, we always seem to end up in tunnels," muttered one of the Valhallans bringing up the rear good-naturedly. Beside Gamora, Cain smiled humorlessly.
"Yes, we have a love-hate relationship," he replied quietly. A few low chuckles from the Valhallans echoed around them. Gamora cocked an eyebrow. Well, it seemed as if Cain's troops were comfortable enough with him to make jokes. That was a good sign.
From up front, Jurgen held up a closed fist, motioning the group to a stop. Everyone did so, tense and wary, weapons at the ready.
"Which way?" asked Jurgen softly, pointing to the multiple branches of the tunnels before them. Beside Gamora, Cain tilted his head, considering.
"It would be best if we split up," he replied, looking around. "We don't know which tunnels lead where, and we could be down here all day hunting people that might get away if we take the wrong one." Gamora frowned. He was right; she didn't have to like it, but he was right. Their mission was to get rid of these people, the sooner the better. This was a mission, not a campaign.
Chewbacca growled something that sounded like an agreement, though it easily could have been a complaint of the dampness of the tunnels seeping into his fur. Gamora and the others merely nodded. Cain was in charge.
"Very well," continued Cain. "Jurgen and I will take the right branch." He glanced around the others, considering. "You four, through the center." He pointed to Gamora, Chewbacca, Thane, and Drax. "Everyone else," Zaeed and the few Valhallans perked up, "Go left." Everyone nodded and did as they were told, Cain disappearing into the right branch with a final swirl of his black greatcoat.
Gamora frowned as they moved. She had certainly noticed he put all of the non-humans together. What was his game? Of course, they didn't exactly have a lot of people (Cain and Jurgen were alone, testament to that), but still. He could have split them up. That was too many coincidences.
"I see it's only non-humans left," noted Thane softly. His dark eyes glanced merrily at Gamora. She frowned again.
"He's up to something…" she muttered in reply.
"Who cares?" replied Drax, trying but failing to speak softly. Gamora rolled her eyes. Drax didn't know the meaning of the word stealth. "So long as we get to kill these beings, his plan is fine." Thane smiled; Gamora rolled her eyes. Drax had a one-track mind, and the result of that track was almost inevitably the thrill of battle.
Chewbacca growled something softly, adding to the conversation. Thane glanced up at the Wookie.
"Terribly sorry, but I'm afraid we didn't catch that," he said politely. Chewbacca huffed something under his breath. Gamora sighed, and the group continued.
They moved through what seemed to be endless corridors and shafts, stretching for miles upon miles. Everything was all the same: the same structure, same dampness, same rancid smells…
Until suddenly it wasn't.
Tunnel turned into a massive chamber with little warning. The four stopped suddenly at the opening ahead, looking and gesturing silently among each other. The noises of people moving and speaking echoed through the tunnel. Gamora frowned. Stuck in an open tunnel with an unknown area with an unknown number of what were likely hostiles ahead was not a good situation.
Drax was grinning like a lunatic, ready to be unleashed. Thane and Chewbacca were wary, weapons raised. Gamora frowned, tilting her head, trying to listen to what was happening ahead. She couldn't hear anything beyond indistinct muttering, so with a sigh, she gestured for everyone to move ahead. They silently complied.
They were nearly to the room's entrance when ahead of them, a man dressed in gray armor abruptly turned to face their way. His eyes widened above a mask on his lower face. Gamora cursed. The man turned and shouted something in a language she didn't know (and that didn't translate) before being cut off in mid-sentence by Thane's sniper rifle.
But the damage was done. Gamora and the others charged forward, desperate not to be caught and slaughtered in the coverless confines of the tunnel.
Moving forward, Gamora entered the massive chamber before them, eyes widening in shock over its size even as she slid behind a mountain of heavy containers. Drax was cackling maniacally as he charged forward, Chewbacca was laying down explosive covering fire with his laser crossbow weapon, and Thane rolled behind a concrete block with perfect ease and was picking off gray-armored terrorists one by one.
Gamora peered around the containers, unslinging her own rifle from her back and opening fire. Two more terrorists dropped with surprised screams. Gamora ducked back as a volley of shots plastered their way against the metal before her. She frowned once more, mind running at lightspeed.
They were vastly outnumbered and pressed against the room's entrance. Not a good position. However, their opponents were poorly trained, disorganized, and had no coherent strategy. Gamora silently thanked whatever beings might be in charge of such things that their enemies were imbeciles. If they weren't, they'd be in a very bad position indeed.
She ducked around the corner of her cover and fired again, bringing down two more gray-armored terrorists. Tables in the middle of the room laid sprawled with wires and miscellaneous parts to what Gamora was certain to be explosives. It seemed they had interrupted this little group in the middle of bomb-making activities.
Drax was in the middle of a press of them, slashing with knives and bodily throwing them through tables, pillars, and various other obstacles. He was doing well enough now, but if and when the terrorists decided to focus more firepower on him, he'd run into trouble. Gamora sighed to herself. That was how he usually went, and today seemed no different.
Thane was elegant and refined, calmly picking off opponents one by one. A few decided to charge the assassin, but were stopped short as he raised a hand. Gamora watched as his fist glowed with deep blue energy. He made a flicking motion, and a bolt of the same power rocketed towards the group, bowling them back and sending them flying. Gamora pursed her lips, surprised. Now that, whatever it was, was something she needed to look into.
Chewbacca seemed to be having the best time of things, blasting away with his explosive laser crossbow, forcing the rest of the terrorists back and into cover. If not for him, they probably would be in a very tight spot by now.
However, Chewbacca only had his fur for defense, forcing him to stay carefully back. Regardless of all their power, there were only four of them against somewhere around sixty terrorists. Not good odds. They needed more people. Where was Cain? Had he gone? Left them to die as xenos filth and claim deniability? Was he lost? Where was everyone else?
Worse still, the gray-armored men and women seemed to be regrouping, throwing off their initial shock at the intruders' appearance. Larger, more dangerous-looking weapons were being brought up, and groups of them were falling into fire-and-maneuver patterns
Then Cain was among them.
His arrival was heralded by a tremendous hiss-whomp, and a flash as bright as the sun as Jurgen fired his melta gun. Gamora ducked and shielded her eyes. A group of terrorists screamed in agony, then were cut suddenly silent. When Gamora looked back, there was nothing left of them save scorch marks.
Cain himself charged forward from a tunnel to the side and behind the group, Commissarial greatcoat flapping and swirling, weapons in hand. He shot a nearby terrorist neatly through the face with his laspistol, dropping her dead on the concrete floor. His chainsword flashed out, and a man screamed as it sawed through his throat, scream turning to an awful rattling gargle. Blood spurted high, the chainsword grinding as it beheaded him.
Cain turned, elegant as a dancer, and the purring weapon bisecting another screaming man. Pistol and sword moved in harmony, taking out targets both close and farther away. Cain did not miss a shot, did not fault a swing: every movement, every shot, every squeeze and twitch and swing was perfect, as graceful as a dancer and powerful as a boxer. It was as if he were a blur, a god, untouchable as every movement killed but nothing could come close to harming him in return.
Gamora realized he had come at the perfect time, in a perfect flank, ambushing the enemy exactly when they were bouncing back, thinking they had the upper hand. She watched as he turned and spun, casually killing another terrorist with a flick of his chainsword. She'd like to spar against him at some point. Thanos had pitted her against all sorts of horrible opponents in her tenure in his service; she'd faced even more afterwards. But Cain… his style was completely different, and despite being 'just a normal human', she could tell he was good. Good enough to kill much more terrible things than what he was facing now…
The odds were further tipped in their favor as Zaeed and the Valhallans arrived through another tunnel entrance. A hail of lasbolts and mass-accelerated fire smashed into the enemy. Terrorists went down screaming. Gamora grinned and advanced.
It was over relatively quickly after the new arrivals. A few terrorists tried to escape but were swiftly shot down. Gamora stepped forward, tucking away her weapon.
"Well, that seemed to be par to the course of what usually happens in these tunnel fights," noted Cain idly as he cleaned off his chainsword.
"Tanna, sir?" asked Jurgen, slinging his melta gun and pulling out a thermos, offering it to Cain.
"Thank you, Jurgen," replied Cain, gratefully taking the offered thermos and taking a sip of whatever was inside. He glanced around. "Excellent work, everyone," he said with a polite nod. "We'll return to the surface." So saying, he turned and headed for the exit.
Gamora glanced around. Everyone seemed to be unharmed. Well. Perhaps Cain wasn't tricky.
Perhaps he was actually everything his men claimed him to be. Time would tell, and Gamora wanted to learn more, both about Cain and the strange Imperium he served.
oOo
The halls of the behemoth, nearly planet-wide structure were made of void-black stone, the only light illuminating them an eerie pale green that seemed to flicker throughout every area. There were no living beings on this planet: or, at least beings that could be considered living in the truest sense of the word.
The structure was guarded by strange figures of gleaming silver metal. They were humanoid, with two arms and two legs, but tall, spindly, and skeletal. Their limbs were bone-like, their torsos silvery armored rib cages, and their heads skulls with elongated lower jaws. Most held weapons, from under-slung cannons glowing a menacing green to ornate blades of the same color.
Their purpose, their singular, endless, undying purpose, was to guard this place: the greatest museum in the universe.
Throughout the grand halls of black stone and green light, endless numbers of exhibits marched from one end of the massive structure to the next. They were of such massive and complex variety as to stagger the imagination. However, perhaps most intriguing of all, the exhibits were not limited to mere artifacts. No. Beings were here, of every sentience and species, frozen forever in time by the technological prowess of the museum's master.
Pottery shards, ancient weapons and paintings mixed together with behemoth battle scenes stretching over kilometers, their original players still intact and frozen forever for historical preservation. Priceless relics of dead species lingered next to endless numbers of biological specimens collected throughout the galaxy over the course of millions of years.
The last high council of the destroyed Craftworld Idharae sat upon their wraithbone chairs, preserved forever since the death of their home. Thousands upon thousands of Space Marines, taken from the Drop-Site Massacre of Istvaan V, fought without moving, their battlefield laid out on black sands stretching throughout kilometers of the museum. A twelve-foot tall Kork from the War in Heaven, wearing power armor more advanced than any species alive today, stood solemn vigil beside one of the Emperor of Mankind's own gene-altered golden bodyguards.
A troupe of Harliquens stood beside Drukhari Haemonculi and ancient Eldar Exodites from dead worlds. A Magos of the Adeptus Mechanicus, red robes of Mars squished around his form, stood in another exhibit: he was here on his own request, kept frozen but aware, peacefully meditating on blessed mathematics in the silence of the museum.
There was more; far more. One could spend a mortal lifetime wandering through these halls. Preserved parts of human heroes (and sometimes the entire body), famous weapons both borrowed and found, and a single, perfect, white-haired giant in violet and gold power armor were only a tiny smidgen of the endless exhibits of the galleries on the planet.
The most movement besides patrolling guards within the planet was inside the behemoth central chamber of the complex. There, behind the forms of silent metallic guardians that had stood aware but unmoving for the span of centuries, was a massive holographic map of green light. Overlooking it was a large, ornate throne of shining metal, it's back rounded and hunched over like a massive hood.
Sitting atop the throne was one of the metallic beings. However, this one looked far more ornate. A large metallic hood folded over its head, and its body was far more ornate and fine than any of the typical guards within the room. A cloak of interlocking metallic scales was draped over its back, spilling downwards, and a large, ornate staff of bronze-gold, topped with a large, glowing green orb, was in its hand.
Between the throne and the map stood another metal being. It was far more ornate than the common guards, but did not come close to the regality of the one on the throne. A pad and stylus were in its hand, and it constantly jotted down everything said and done.
"Lord," said Sannet the Light-Sculptor, looking up at the throne where his master sat, "We have calculated and mapped each of these new galaxies. A catalog of all of the history records we could find is also available." The being on the throne nodded and subsequently took the information directly from the holotable into his head. Sannet looked up once again from his pad. "Lord, far be it from me to suggest things, but whispers of darkness can be felt even here. If they are true… That which is there now might not be later." The being on the throne stood, and Sannet kneeled and bowed low.
"Oh, I couldn't agree more." Trazyn the Infinite, Lord of Solemnace, Archaeovist of the Prismatic Galleries, Liberator of Antiquities and historian extraordinaire turned around with a grin on his face. "It's time I went collecting."
oOo
To answer any questions, yes, Cain absolutely went with Jurgen because he trusts him (and not a group of xenos), got lost, and just happened to arrive in the right spot at the right time. As per usual.
Shepard's Eggnog Riot story is actually based off a real event that happened at West Point in 1826. Look it up; it's called the West Point Eggnog Riot of 1826. It's a pretty amusing story.
Trazyn is here! Every chapter, we'll be seeing more of the… intriguing denizens of the universe as a last snippet. We've already seen Kaiser and Cypher, now Trazyn, with a few more to come. Things will be heating up. Next chapter we'll finish the Scoundrels missions with the remaining characters, then the chapter after we'll do some cross-reality cultural exchanges. After that, as per reviewer request, we'll see exactly the reason why the Imperium of Man is so brutal and xenophobic. I can't wait! As usual, I appreciate any questions, comments, concerns, criticisms, and reviews!