Two morons sat on a bench. Andy could only wish it was the beginning of a shitty joke.
.
"Can you stop doing that?" W asked, though her voice didn't quite paint a picture of annoyance, more of boredom. "Hella irritating."
"Doing what?" He retorted, seeking his fault, yet coming up blank. The two had their legs joined by the thighs, arms crossed and politely awaiting an order. Or someone to come in and flood the empty training hall with life. At that moment, the room seemed more like an unfinished storage unit than anything else, with the lights barely working and an entire area left unpainted, glaring with its waves of cold metal spilling from behind patches of haphazardly applied paint. Maybe that's one of the reasons why his knee kept jumping up and down on its own, burnt from beneath by embers of nervousness.
"That. This, exactly this." She said, then slapped his leg in a clear display of violent displeasure. "What're you even so worried about?"
"I'm not worried, just hate waiting."
"You're that impatient for me to kick your ass? Really?" She chuckled. "It's kind of sweet, really. You little masochist, you."
"What do you mean "kick my ass?" Andy flicked her hand off his thigh, then shot her a look. "We're supposed to be training here, not–"
"And how do you think they're gonna train us? Put us up against one another, let us brawl it out, most likely. You know, like fighting hounds. See who comes out on top, throw the other down a garbage chute." She shrugged. "... That's what I'd do, anyway. They should really put me in charge, now that I think about it."
"They're not putting us up against anything, anywhere." Andy shoved her away from himself, only for W to return like a slung yo-yo, gluing their shoulders back together. "The only thing I'm putting up with is you, dumbass. … And barely." He added, after a split second of hesitation.
"Likewise." She sighed, then softly slung her head onto his shoulder. Andy followed suit after a moment of silent grumbling, burying his horn into the fluff of her hair, then slowly blew a raspberry. W sensed the encumbering air of boredom tying its veil over them both, and grabbed the angel's tail to entertain herself. "... Lawdog?"
"Mmm?"
"Y'know that this is just temporary, right? All this, it's passing."
"What?" He glanced down at her face, obstructed by a waterfall of messy hair, unsure of what she meant.
"Yeah. Hedley was talking to those creeps in charge, signed a week-long lease on our asses. Not exactly the holiday you were expecting, I bet."
Just one week? Working professionally for once, for once with a bed and a whole bunch of paperwork to fall back on, and it would only last a week? Andy blinked at the revelation, unsure of how he felt. Like an adopted puppy, posed with the prospect of being returned back into a cold, shapeless cage after a short playtime with a potential new owner, at their potential new house. Then again, the cage seemed more familiar than the house. Solidified and dry in his memory, unlike the house, still dripping wet with paint.
"So it's just that? Useless training with that Victorian twat, then we're saying goodbye to Her Majesty's operation and going back to sleeping in the mud?"
"Yup." She hummed, while carefully sieving the tip of his tail through her fingers, rubbing and tracing the leathery flaps. The worm squirmed in pleasure, wriggling eagerly further into her lap, which W didn't even seem to notice. "... What, disappointed?"
"I mean… yeah? It feels normal here."
"It's not normal, it's boring." She murmured. "Lock a sled-hound in a warm, stable home with a loving family by its side, and it's gonna tear their throats to pieces within a month. Hell, a week, even. All that pent up energy, and no way to relieve it is a recipe for a very gory disaster. It's… it's suffocating. Some people just aren't meant to be cooped up in places like these."
Andy mulled her words over, but couldn't quite force himself to agree, no way he looked at it. He even caught himself trying hard to find some reasoning, but the four walls around him (however stripped of paint they might've been), spoke their own truths, tales of longing for stability and peace. With a sigh, he said: "Some people like you, yeah?"
"Some people like us." She shifted, taking her head off his sweater. "... What's with the look? Don't tell me you actually wanted to stay."
"I don't know." He answered, then crossed paths with a thought. Was it not the wisest man who knows he knows nothing? W couldn't understand the wisdom, so she scoffed.
Before more mockery could fall from her lips, the door to the training hall fell open. In, came a breath of fresh, metallic scented air, along with their newly met "leader." Now sporting a pair of cargos that would put Andy's endless pockets to shame, and an impressively loose shirt splattered with cryptic, seprent-like writings that read: "SEX & WITCHCRAFT" once Andy took a closer look, Newmaker strolled casually across the empty space, with a gigantic blade following him suit, effortlessly floating through the air. Both morons stood from their bench, a little startled by the noise the sword spewed as it went. A low, distorted buzzing flew from its very core – a tiny, crimson gem settled in the handguard.
"Mornin' again, sunshines." He welcomed them cheerfully. Once he finished his stroll, the blade fell to the floor with a "KLANG!", balancing itself up straight on the tip. "Hope ya got some proper warmin' up in, when I was out 'n about, 'cause we're jumpin' straight into the deep end 'ere."
"Deep end, "mate", 'f course we're ready, ain't we?" W parroted in her mocking, broken Victorian accent, then patted Andy on the back. He bent a little under her strength.
"Aye, "mate", yeah…"
"Oi- oi, oi, oi, I see what's happenin'." Newmaker raised an eyebrow at their switch in vocabulary, but his smile never faltered. "Fans of all that is Victorian, yeah?"
"Oh, BIG fans." W snickered.
"Huge ones, yeah." Andy added, following a soft snort.
"Ain't that just great. Means we can properly introduce ourselves with no sticks up anybody's arse, yeah?" Newmaker nearly blinded them with all his perfectly white teeth. "Call me Anton, would ya? No codenames, none of that crap."
"Mmm."
"Yup."
"And you? Should probably ask." He followed.
"Andy."
"W. Just W."
"Andy and just W, perfeeeeect. Now we got some credibility to your humanity, don't we?" He chuckled, then stretched, leaving the two of them slightly confused. "... We'll start off easy today. No pissy fight courses, no blowin' apart sandbags and practice dummies, just hand to hand, steel to steel action. You two, versus me."
The mercs exchanged a look.
"... Two on one? You sure?" Andy asked, but W started rubbing her hands in anticipation, much like a fly. All her attention was focused on thinking up the best way to turn their new, Victorian friend to a pile of smoldering rubble.
"Two on one, yup. First my buddy, Uri, then… IF you manage to beat him, maybe myself." He tilted his head, carried away to a land of heavy thinking. "... Two on one, that's a little unfair, though…"
"Yeah, thought the same thing." Andy said, then wiped some drool off W's face and shook her back into the present. "... Hell, maybe get us a third guy to even out the chances, huh?" He joked, but Anton shot him an approving glance.
"Third lad! Third lad's a good idea, but I dunno if anyone's available… I mean, hell, I barely even managed to sweet talk my way into Scout's good will to let us use the training hall at 'is moment…"
"Yeah, I was, uh… I was joking." Andy cleared up. "... We'd def-o appreciate having our weapons though, so if we could just scurry over and grab them–"
"They're 'ere, Andy-boy." Anton pointed behind himself with a thumb. "... Take a shufti, should be e'rything."
Low and behold, behind their leader's shoulder, a little pile of rags and weaponry lay in peace, unbothered by the world. How or when it got there, neither W or Andy knew – though, he could swear he saw a pair of black hands floating through the air, away from it all. The sight brought back some rather unpleasant memories, which made him shudder in discomfort. W only shrugged and stepped over to collect her rifle and grenades.
"... You want us both to kick your ass and you're bringing our toys? Tch, how nice…" She muttered, while slinging the murder-tools over herself. Andy followed, reunited with his shotgun which welcomed him with a loud, warm "AAAAAAAANDY!", then followed immediately with an offer to blast apart the entire landship and leave not a single person standing. He slapped the barrels to shut them up, then turned back towards Anton.
"Alright, geared up, mmm? Look at you, birdies. So deadly, are ya?" Their leader chuckled, then nonchalantly sprawled himself over the bench. Leg over leg, hands behind his head as a pillow, he laid down, using his massive sword as a cuddle-buddy, then yawned. "... Ya manage to beat Uri, we're squarin' off."
"Yeah, yeah. Call that "Uri" in already, I'm itching to blow shit up." W scoffed. Andy would love to share her enthusiasm, but an unwelcome wave of chillingly cold terror swept through his hair like a gale. Something shifted in the world, an imposing presence had entered the room. His legs and arms froze, he couldn't move even if he wanted to, but neither one of the rest seemed to notice. Anton glanced at them from his bench, then raised a brow.
"He's right behind ya. Knock yerselves out, abosh."
"...?" W narrowed her gaze, then flicked around on her heel. Andy tore himself from the frozen daze and followed. His eyes swam across the room, only to drown in a dark void of depth, a wall of pure nothing. Both mercs took a step back to take the sight in, from the very bottom – clawed sollerets bit into the floor, then gave way for spiked greaves to blossom upwards, all the way up the cuisses, where a pair of razor sharp gauntlets kept curling and loosening its serrated fingers. It was all connected to a massive chestplate, boasting a richly decorated cuirass, all welded and molded from a blackened metal that oozed cold in the form of a faintly dimmed fog. Andy felt himself growing more and more uneasy, the further his eyes took the armor in. Once the helmet revealed itself to be a perfectly molded beak, instead of a more traditional shape, he muttered a soft "What in the fuck…"
It was huge. Absolutely massive, the entire thing. From the tip of its metal antlers, to the sole of its gigantic shoes, clearly unfit for any standard-sized bloke to be locked inside.
Even W lost her smirk, with her eyes widening at the sight. Much like her mouth, they shot wide open, and she took a step back.
"Is-... Is that…?" She muttered, only to be cut off by Anton.
"Wendigo, yeah." He casually threw back, then hugged his sword a little tighter. It buzzed softly, then seemed to further shift and burrow into the man's shirt on its own. "... Just don't get caught between the moving parts and plates. Can crush a bone by accident."
"What parts-...?"
Andy tried. The words fell from his lips, but soon came to a screeching halt, when a tangly mess of wire-y metal encapsulated his throat in its cold embrace. Eyes wide with surprise, his world got wiped clean like a brand new canvas – everything he knew and loved disappeared, instead becoming the object of some lowly performance artist's affections. The artist readied their cans of pain, then haphazardly dumped them onto the clean slate, painting his world as a rain of incoherent smudges and colors. Gray, black, red, something W-like, then more gray. Way more gray. Only gray, when his face crashed flush against a wall. W watched the entire ordeal, and the way the animated set of armor flung Andy across the room as if it was nothing almost made her want to snicker. Just for a moment, though, just before the armor set its empty, soulless eye-sockets on her.
.
"... Fuck." She whispered.
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–
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Somewhere far away, a pair of devils found themselves occupied, taking refuge on a lowly sheet of metal softened by years of rain and millions of footsteps. With the foreign wind on their faces, Hoederer and Ines stilled their gazes on a point unrecognizable and unknown to both, just over the horizon. The barren lands that once used to flourish, now lay as nothing but an open patch of dust and rock formations, ori-roses and the occasional nomad band, or unnamed graveyard. The sun painted their silhouettes black behind their backs, taunting and annoyingly flicking its rays past their eyelids from time to time – away from the gray hallways and floor to ceiling windows, they could even feel its warmth on their skin. Neither said anything, and the silence broke only when a third party came into contact with the sliding door leading back towards the landship's bridge. The mercs averted their eyes from Mother Nature's gift, instead focusing on their new company.
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"You've decided, then?"
Her steps drew short, akin to the clacking of a typewriter. One after the other, each precisely concise, much like her words. Out of the well mannered patch of rot eating his heart in a place buried well beneath, Hoederer welcomed the medic with a polite nod. Kal'tsit didn't bother returning the gesture, her eyes instead busy with sizing Ines up.
"Decided to stick around for a few moon-loops more, doctor. Doctor was the title, correct?" He inquired. The two women spent a good minute or two battling it out with just their eyes, before Ines finally realized she might've taken on a bit more than she could chew. Her gaze fell downcast, and Kal'tsit spoke.
"Correct. I don't fret much for titles, anyhow. There is simply no point in keeping up such nugatory practices while at war." She observed, rather than said, then took a moment for her eyes to soak in the barrenlands. Countless moons and countless suns throughout history have been witness to this exact sight. The mercenaries simply helped roll the wheel of time. "... However, I came to set a few ground rules."
"Of course." Hedley politely agreed with her unsaid regulations. "I am sure your organization thrives off the enforcement."
"The enforcement of directions bestowed by high command doesn't guarantee growth, it guarantees a fine line drawn between humanity and savagery." The doctor continued, to which Ines couldn't help but snort.
"So, being human is when we're politely letting you drag us around on a leash?" She asked, her voice now having regained some hints of challenging moxie that burrowed beyond her initial fear of the woman's imposing gaze.
"Being human is living with boundaries. Rules set them. You obey. I obey. We all do, you're no exception." After a moment of barely noticeable hesitation, she added: "... You don't need me to tell you that, I'd have assumed."
"Sure. Surely not." Ines smirked, which earned her a rough clear of the throat from Hedley.
"About the ground rules…"
"Well." Her icy gaze melted off Ines and traveled back onto the Srakaz. "For the duration of your contract, your formation will be split. Can't allow you to work in your traditional format. Not when your former teammates are simply not fit for any task that isn't degrading themselves to simple laughing stock."
"So- so, no W for a week?" Ines raised a brow. No one needed to blind themselves with shadow-reading arts to notice how much hope and glee the prospect had sparked.
"One way to put it." Kal'tsit dryly shot her down. "They're being trained. You, I assume, don't need such friv-..."
"Training?" Hedley narrowed his gaze at the revelation. "... What training, doctor?"
"..." Kal'tsit had to take a split second of rational thinking.
Could it ever be called training? Where does pushing one's limits end, where does sadistic torture begin? A flawed mind in the rough cannot sharpen others into bright diamonds, that much was a given. A mind lacking in rationality and, let's be frank, intellect, cannot guide others towards the gift of knowledge and prowess. Why did she chuck them down that rabbit hole?
She couldn't even answer before herself.
"Standard operator training." She replied, calmly. "You're exempt. Unnecessary worry. Let's discuss your pay more hands-on, however."
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The mercs blinked. Split a mind in two, cast away the worry and attachment – She had them both at the word "pay."
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Down in the tangled maze of hallways and corridors however, the loud boom of gunshots, explosions and metal slamming hard against concrete sounded out without any sign of stopping. The "training" seemed to be commencing in full swing.
.
"Fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck. What the fuck…" Andy kept mumbling under his nose, while his hands haphazardly tried scraping a W-pancake off the hall's floor, under a pair of eye-less sockets watching amused from a distance. Laid out flat, she shot him a quick thumbs up, then slowly rolled over to her back.
"... I'm a-okay. All good in the hood." She muttered, though her face painted a clear picture of savage brutality and desecration. It reminded him slightly of that one, eventful night spent playing with their new buddy Mittens and her arts-hands creations. Andy had to forcefully swipe her sticky hair away from her eyes to unblind the moron. "... What's happening? We win yet?"
"Almost." He said, then quickly helped her up, arms slung around her shoulders and waist. "L-Let's just book it. Book it for the door, get the hell away from here, I didn't sign up for–..."
Before he could finish his complaints, a metric ton of steel and hatred crashed against their backs. Both took flight for a moment, swishing through the air without any grace or reason, pathetically flapping their arms around like fowlings learning to fly.
THUD.
Their bodies hurled at and mushed against a wall, causing a shower of plaster and dry paint to follow suit on their way down to the ground. Grumbling and mumbling, they found themselves tangled in a mess of warm limbs. Heavy breaths and soft groans of pain filled their little, personal bubble, as they tried to somewhat gather themselves after the kick. In the distance, the Wendigo stood and watched the two, with both massive claws on its steel hips, and a rather impatient gaze.
"... You know, you should really try swtichin' that technique of yours." Anton hummed, lost in a thoughtful battle. As the two mercs flicked their gaze from the armor to the bench they landed next to, they caught their "leader" locked in a tough stalemate with his gigantic sword, a checkerboard filled with tiny pieces separating the two. He sighed, then slid one of his rooks right under the blade's bishop, which earned him a soft, distorted hum. "... Just you wait, you metal twat. Part of the master plan."
"C-Can you… Can you tell it to stop?" Andy pathetically bleated, then slid from beneath W, who let out a huff of dissatisfaction and reached for a grenade in her pants.
"Stop? Who, Uri?" Anton glanced at the two, which immediately prompted a response from the sword. It flicked a few of his rooks off the board, then returned to a static slumber. "You're supposed to beat the cunt, not have me tell him to stop, y'know. Where's the fun in having someone else do it for ya?"
"But we can't…?"
"Oh, bwuuh." He scoffed. "Cool ya jets, guv. Sure you can."
And to demonstrate, he stood from his seat.
"...?" Andy and W watched from the floor, as their newly appointed leader grabbed the handle of his sword in a rather nonchalant manner. The gigantic pile of steel buzzed in protest, and Andy swore he could see the gem in its handguard glaring its "iris" at the man in annoyance. Anton sent the whirlwind of metal spinning around his hand, then whistled, grabbing the armor's undivided attention.
"Oi! Oi, twat!"
The sound of steel crashing down into concrete followed, as he cast the sword away in a rather unorderly fashion. He produced a bright red handkerchief from his pocket and flung it open in a very ostentatious manner. The armor shot him an unamused glare, then seemingly rolled its non-existent eyes, before deciding to play along and taking a step back to get in a little run-up. Anton smirked to himself, watching the Wendigo bite down into the floor with its massive steel boot, sliding it back and forth like a bull preparing to charge. W and Andy could only stare, hobbled together close like a pair of beaten puppies, as the massive pile of steel took off, beelining it straight for their "leader." Thuds filled the room, as the air of anticipation threatened to boil and spill. Anton watched the approaching wall of metal with a somewhat carefree expression, his hands busy with waving the handkerchief around. His Feline ears flickered, fluttered in anticipation – steel wailed with glee, the sharp claws flew back and forth, eager to catch the man and presumably throw him into the nearest wall, much like they did with the mercs.
But he simply wasn't there.
When the iron fist attempted to tighten around his waist, it hit nothing but air. Sharp fingers scraped against one another, as a somewhat blurry outline, much like a drop of black paint dropped into a glass of water, flung out of the Wendigo's way and shot to the side, arriving in a matter of a split second by the massive blade's handle. A hand of flesh met the steel, then the hand met its arm, then a blanket of fabric, followed by its other limbs, torso, and finally the head and his overly long ponytail. Anton simply warped back into existence out of nowhere, gripping tight onto his blade.
A split second later, he swung it hard into the Wendigo's legs. Steel clattered, and the air shook with the might of a giant toppling over. It fell to its back, just a couple meters away from Andy and W, who were frozen in awe and just a tiny bit of terrified glee. Before the beast could get a proper feel of its surrounding, Anton nonchalantly hopped onto its chest and carefully slid the tip of his sword between a tiny slit separating the beak-like helmet and the torso. He then shot the two a quick wink and pressed down hard on his sword with an elbow, effectively cracking the entire thing open. The blade itself buzzed in dissatisfaction, as the helmet fell to the floor and rolled flimsily across the hall, followed close by the mercs' wide open eyes. It rolled and rolled, frolicked about carelessly, until finally it reached the two and stopped still, glaring at them both with its empty, lifeless eyes.
Andy blinked, then looked back up at Anton.
"... That's it?"
" 'Bout the gist of it, yeah." He shrugged, then hopped off the pile of steel and gave it a hefty kick, which produced a very hollow sound. A rapid intake of air followed, as the impact nearly broke the bones of his toes. "... So it's not impossible, yeah? 'S the standard procedure 'ere."
W just barely managed to stand, then pulled Andy up with zero hesitation. "Yeah, I don't really believe that, somehow."
"Oh, c'mon." Anton scoffed. "It's just a big trainin' dummy, no higher philosophy to it. You two made it through Kazdel, you can make it past a heap of oxidized metal, no?"
"I've never trained with a training dummy that almost broke my spine." Andy pointed out, staring at the helmet. Just as he reached out to touch the cold surface, it buzzed with a lively hum, then rapidly floated back into place, right atop the armor's massive chest. It took both him and W off guard, watching the entire thing just disassemble itself for a quick second, then rejoin back into a steady shape a fraction of one later. "... And could do that."
"Bah, bah. Whatever." Anton parroted, then shrugged. "I can't really let either of you go now. Can't let you go 'til you're the top of the top tip-top sharpshooter and demolitions expert, y'know."
"Why?" Both of them asked at once.
"Why? 'Cause Kal said so, duh." He flicked his hand, as if it was something absolutely obvious. "Whatever she says, it goes. Good thing ya got this end of the deal, though, not that faceless fuck. You'd be cheap cannon fodder for him to throw away as a contingency when needed be."
"Faceless fuck?" W perked up. "Who, the-, the "Doctor" guy?"
"Who?" Andy turned to her, slightly confused.
And as if on cue, the door to their facility beeped. With some cogs making noise and a whole multum of wires shooting sparks, it slid open, revealing what one might've assumed to be the aforementioned "faceless fuck."
Standing motionless, staring at the mess of bloody limbs on the ground, then Anton and his Wendigo buddy, the figure assessed the situation at hand, then stepped in. Their long and dark lab coat swished behind with each step, housing a rather petite and unthreatening figure underneath. Although they couldn't see their face (hence the nickname), Andy and W felt strangely bare and naked whenever the visor beneath their hood turned to study them through – as if the eyes behind could glance into the deepest, most hidden and well protected parts of their soul. Not even Ines and her blinding mish-mash of shadow reading and guessing had that effect on them.
"... Anton." They welcomed the the entire room without a gesture, just a dry word. Even with the cool voice, neither W or Andy could tell what it was the creature actually had in their pants. "I authorized the use of this training hall for Scout yesterday. I wasn't expecting anyone else."
"Yup." Anton blew a spit-bubble. "But you got me. Problem?"
"..." The Doctor's shaded gaze swept the room like a broom, lingering for far too longer than necessary on the mercenaries. Under his eyes, Andy kept hearing a snuffed whisper coming from his gun's upper barrel, a whisper that begged him to slot a bullet into the tube and blow the hood apart to check what lurked beneath. The lower one asked to at least aim for the throat so the face would be left intact. Andy clicked his tongue and snapped the voices clear from his head. "I'd rather have these things be discussed with me first, before tearing apart other's schedules. You were supposed to aid recon at six."
"I reckon recon can manage without 'ol me." Anton casually shot back, now leaning leisurely against the massive armor's side. The wendigo stood motionless, arms crossed, sockets locked on the "Doctor's" visor. "... Besides, I don't remember taking up that job."
"It wasn't a matter of taking something up or not. It was a direct order."
"A direct order from you. Whoop-dee-doo." Anton yawned. "I got another one from Kal, scored much higher on me importance list."
"That will be discussed later. When an order comes from high command, your attention should remain undivided and focused on–..."
"Too bad I don't have to take orders from you then, innit?" He spoke with an underlying hint of challenging annoyance. Neither W or Andy knew how to act as the moment took an unexpectedly heated turn, so they just took to gluing themselves to one another – their favorite defensive mechanism, physical closeness in any given way.
"Overconfident, again." They cut back, without the slightest hint of emotion in their voice. "Is it the new recruits? What's the source of your overbearing moxie today? You'd think you'd know better than to try and overcompensate in front of new faces. I don't care about causing a scene and having a few cheap mercenaries see. And I don't care about your empty threats."
"What DO you care about then?" Anton hopped up straight, then took a few thundering steps towards the figure. "Do you care about a single person in this 'ere landship? Or do you just want to make sure your pawn-box stays full?"
"This has nothing to do with the subject at hand."
"Does it?" He asked, mockingly curious. "You wanna make a scene, let's make sure the entire bloody landship hears, ah? 'Cause to me it seems like you're again forgetting I'm not here for you, Doc."
"And to me it seems like you're deliberately stepping out of line again."
"Maybe I am?"
"Maybe you should shove aside your inflated ego and humorously pathetic sense of pride and let the process flow like it's intended to." The "Doctor" stepped up, meeting Anton with his visor. Electricity crackled in the air, but none of the surrounding spectators had anything to say. They just sat and watched, unsure of how to react. "... I'll have the incident reported. Next time there will be repercussions. More than just a slap on the hand."
"Oh, sure. Report all 'at gaff talk, come back with somethin' heavier." Anton chuckled. "Can't wait to hear all 'bout them repercussions. Now out, or I'll have Uri drag you."
For a moment or two, the Doctor's face seemed to shift. Neither mercs could see, but Anton caught a shadow of something moving under the visor, almost as if their face twisted and raised an eyebrow. Without a word, they turned and left the hall, accompanied by the buzzing and crackling of the messy door trying to function properly.
.
"... What the fuck." W mumbled, after everything was done and dusted.
"Yeah. This is the kinda company I'm forced to be workin' with. Imagine holding back the urge to strangle that fuckin' prick at night. Really drives me round the bend, and I mean it with all of meself." Anton sighed, then shook his head and turned back towards the two. "... Anyway. You caught a breather yet?"
"Wuh…?" Andy blinked, W followed.
"Good." Anton waved his hand, sending a signal to someone stood behind the mercs. Before they could both notice the four, or five meter tall heap of metal breathing pure cold down their necks, its steel claws grasped their tails and flung them up into the air with ease. "... Time for yer round two, then."
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And as their bleats of pathetic protest filled the air, Uri clapped both hands together, flush, sending them barreling into the other.
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…
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Back on the surface, Hedley sat defensively in a foldable garden chair, still overlooking the barren wastes of, as he's learned, South-Eastern Victoria (the parts FAR away from fertile farmlands stretching on for miles). War called for many cutbacks on leisurely commodities, so that's all Babel could spare at the moment. Ines uncomfortably aided his verbal battle, trying her best not to accidentally try and read Kal'tsit's shadow. From their long, painful conversation she's learned enough to know the attempt would be plenty fruitless and overall dangerous.
"... As stated, any ties to the Regent could be wiped, should any surface during our more thorough background check–" She kept on spitting out words, much like a typewriter, keeping Hedley on his A game in trying to make sense out of the word-vomit deluges. He perked up at the mention of the opposition.
"There won't be any. No need to pour water under the bridge, we're clean."
"Can't be certain." She replied. "As trustworthy and professional you might seem, there is no available way for me to take what's essentially a spoken promise seriously. Thousands of mercenaries cross the plains of Kazdel each day, catching contracts and jobs like diseases – some of them absolutely menial, only possible to elicit certain placebo reactions – the others, lethal, like Oripathy. And much like someone infected with Oripathy, I know they're willing to disguise, put on a masterful act, or go to lengths far grander than should be possible in search of ridding itself of it." She paused for a moment to take a small breath. "Put short, your word means very little to me. No offense."
"None taken." Hedley politely nodded back. "... On the topic of our lease, however."
"Of course." Kal'tsit ran her emerald eyes across the papers laid out in front (on a small, plastic, garden table, no less!) "... We are willing to consider the initial offer of a week, given you comply with all the ground rules established before."
"Not a problem." Hedley once more affirmed, which earned him a slightly skeptical look from Ines.
"Is that all you wished to discuss, then? I'd rather have someone show you to your quarters soon. Tomorrow seems busy."
"That is all, yes, but-..." He began, then gulped under the weight of the words that suddenly froze in his throat, courtesy of the doctor's freezing gaze. "... I'd also like to thank you and Her Majesty for the assistance during the ambush."
"You shouldn't be thanking me." She replied, then mulled the following words very carefully in her ever so burdened mind. Was she seriously just about to direct their thanks at… at HIM? It was the orderly thing to do, yes. "Your real rescuer was… a field operator."
"..." Sensing her shift in attitude, the mercs exchanged a glance and decided it'd be best not to prod. Kal'tsit however, took a small breath and spat out the rest. "... Operator Newmaker. Currently tasked with training your teammates. I'll forward your words."
"Thank you, doctor." Hedley nodded, then stood from the table. "If that's all that is required from us, we could really use a private room."
"Of course." She politely nodded them off, soon left alone with herself, her thoughts, and the overbearing image of Anton smirking smugly and jumping all over her. Massive claws of crystalized horror arose behind the jester and cut him down to size, starting with his head and finishing with each of his limbs. Kal'tsit sighed and promised herself to have Mon3tr wipe the smirk of his face, if the occasion ever came.
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…
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Down in the maze, the three were still having their fun. The further the "training" went, the more Andy and W learned both about themselves and Anton. And Uri – the name he kept using when referring to both the massive set of hollow armor and his blade. It was nice, knowing their adversary's name when discussing their battle plans between rounds of ass-kicking.
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Official reports from the session stated as follows:
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"Round 2" – Contemporary operator "W" and contemporary operator "Ricketts" sustained heavy concussive damage, both physical and neural, causing operator "Newmaker" to have them carried to the medical wing. The contemporary operators spent an hour in the medical wing, then were forcibly removed by aforementioned operator "Newmaker", who refused the staff's help, repeatedly saying "I NEED TO TURN THEM USEFUL BY THE END OF THE WEEK.".
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"Round 3" – Contemporary operators "W" and "Ricketts" tore a sizable hole in the training facility's wall using unregistered explosives. Written up as an accident, the training continued. Operator "Newmaker" and his undisclosed partner tore another sizable hole in the training facility's wall using contemporary operator "W". Contemporary operator "Ricketts" was then used to carve a dent in the ceiling. Damages are to be taken off operator "Newmaker's" paycheck.
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"Round 4" – Contemporary operators "W" and "Ricketts" filed a complaint against operator "Newmaker" for "rough handling". The training facility's door was forcibly removed using contemporary operator "Ricketts". Contemporary operators "W" and "Ricketts" filed another complaint on HR, saying the first one "fell on deaf ears." A few more dents were reportedly hammered into the training facility's floor, using both contemporary operator "W" and contemporary operator "Ricketts." No more complaints were filed.
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"Round 5" – Operator Newmaker received a complaint, this time from staff working a laboratory above the training facility for disturbing the peace with a loud noise. Reportedly, "he just kept blasting that damn guitar of his on full volume. Wasn't he supposed to be training someone? No, wasn't he supposed to go on recon?" Contemporary operators "W" and "Ricketts" reportedly enjoyed the spectacle and improved their efforts considerably. The damages done to the training hall became less frequent.
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"Round 6" – Contemporary operators "W" and "Ricketts" were forcibly awarded two packs of imported orange juice from the cafeteria for their improved efforts during training by operator "Newmaker." The juice packets will be taken off operator "Newmaker's" next paycheck, along with the repair costs.
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"Round 7" – Contemporary operators "W" and "Ricketts" reportedly "locked in" after the musical performance and treat. Undisclosed partner of operator "Newmaker" shattered into pieces, following contemporary operator "Ricketts" shooting off its head using a twelve gauge shotgun round, and contemporary operator "W" depositing a grenade through the created hole. The time read twelve past seven, rounding up the day.
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…
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Even after the fact, Andy still could feel and hear nothing but the rapid beating of his heart. Blood pumped through his body like a wild flood speeding down the tunnels of a cataclysm-struck mobile city, each droplet of blood unsure of where it should deposit its oxygen first, as each and every of his organs screamed for a breather. He lay on the floor, absolutely spent, clutching his coach gun tight. Nobody but him could hear, but the barrels kept singing a screechy ode to victory, begging for him to turn them towards W or Newmaker next. The high pitched bellowing disappeared along with the smoke protruding from the tips, as his eyes caught a glimpse of reality, coming back from their blurry daze. The training hall, now more akin to an ancient, thousand year old battlefield, returned, and he found himself in the middle of a true massacre. Cracks and bumps riddled the floor and walls, holes were soon to follow – but before him, in the middle of it all, stood two massive legs of iron, void of a body to connect them. W sat right between them, panting heavily and clutching to a grenade in one hand, her own head in the other. He could still faintly see the scene from a few moments ago, him, masterfully avoiding a few swipes of steel barreling into his gut at an alarming speed, then throwing himself to his back and blasting off the monster's head, just so W could bounce off its retracting arm and chuck a grenade deep down non existent stomach, much like a Columbian basketball athlete scoring a slam dunk. Now, she was all bruised and bloodied, sure, but Andy still couldn't help but feel his heart churning at the sight. They managed the impossible, after all.
Slow, calm clapping filled both their ears. Soft footsteps followed, as they turned to look at Anton, casually sauntering around all the smoldering parts of Uri laid out across the battlefield.
"Weeeeell done, lads." He congratulated them both, with a hint of amused pride in his voice. "Took ya long enough, aye?"
"Shut up. Shut- shut the fuck up." W muttered through restless breaths that ravaged her heaving chest like wind tugging on a golden field of wheat. "... Never again. Never again, not once in my life."
"Buncha gloom, you are." He summed her up with a sigh, then waltzed over Uri's head and leaned down to help her up. "... You, Andy, you alright? A-okay?"
Andy laid back down flat on the floor, then shot him a quick thumbs up. Staring at the ruined ceiling, the LED lamps serving as their synthetic sun, he saw a flock of black steel flying off towards the center of the room, then forming into a Wendigo shape once more. Uri stood completely unharmed between W and Anton, cracking his knuckles with the screechy sound of metal grinding. Before he knew it, the giant seemingly floated or materialized by his side and pulled him to his feet with surprising amounts of gentle care. The three soon rejoined together, as Anton wrapped his arms around both Andy's and W's shoulders, bringing them in for a little debrief session.
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"... So. How'd you like your first day?"
"Terrible." Andy muttered.
"Fucking awful." W added.
"Great! Great, great, 'cause there's heaps more to come." Anton flashed them a smile that served as a bright beacon of pure glee. Andy wondered how anyone could ever keep their teeth this white. "... But not today. You deserve a little rest, don't ya?"
"I hope I don't wake up tomorrow." W hummed softly. Andy agreed, nonverbally.
"Well, I hope you two rays 'a sunshine wake up all fine 'n dandy tomorrow, 'cause we've got a whole week of fun stuff planned and I bet neither of ya would wanna miss it, hm?~" Anton warbled, while still hugging them close. "... Now off to the cafeteria, you rascals. Haven't eaten the whole entire day, I'm surprised you're still even breathing."
"Ugh…" They both groaned in exasperation, after the death grip had been lifted off their shoulders. Holding to one another, using themselves as crutches, they hobbled out of the training hall and slithered down the hallway like a pair of worms lured by the scent of a rotting apple in a garden.