Kooroo
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“With all due respect, Masons, you must be completely mental,” Devon stated, as matter-of-factly as he could manage, “if you think we’re equipped to take on an unspecified number of Lexicon Hybrids without specialised weaponry.”
Their Acting Captain shot him a wry smile as she kept stalking forward, against the flow of evacuating engineers and scientists, with most of their team struggling to match her pace. “Feeling scared, Loake? I thought you ex-Military types were a bit more courageous than us lowly civilians.”
“We can occasionally come off as a bit ‘gung-ho’,” Devon nodded. “But we’re generally much fitter, more experienced, and—when compared to certain individuals—a lot more sensible with the fights that we pick. And I’m telling you that if you go through that door with no additional support or equipment, then pretty much everyone on this team wil—”
Masons’ eyes narrowed and her jeering leer became a dark scowl. In hindsight, it mightn’t’ve been the best idea to snub her, even if she were a few cents short of a dollar. What the woman lacked in sense, she made up for with sheer stubbornness and irascibility. “You’ll go through that door because I am ordering you to go through that door, is that clear?”
Ah, of course. Pulling rank. Classic.
A touch annoyed, the ex-Commando held his tongue as he considered what his options were, though the only other solution that immediately came to mind—besides more fruitless arguing—was ‘shoot her and tactically withdraw before they reached the Contained Sector’. ‘Relieve her of command’ would be the proper Military term, but the problem was that they weren’t military. Devon wasn’t sure what the fallout would be, but he found himself hesitating.
On one hand, innumerable repercussions heaped upon himself.
On the other, yet another transfer to a new team. That’d bring the counter up to a nice, round ten in the span of four-and-a-half years, though he’d been part of this one for almost a whole year.
The lives of ten, good and decent people—plus Masons—or some unknown-but-probably-dire consequences upon himself?
While Devon was incredibly fond of himself, he was of the opinion that he’d probably make it through alright. Maybe the Director would actually do something in his favour for once. Although he had to secretly admit, he was rather fond of the lads and lasses he’d been working with for the past eleven months. They were a young and bright bunch, that’d just had the misfortune to be assigned an absolute prat as a Captain, on this cloudy Sunday.
Just as the Administrative Agent was wondering whether he could draw and plug Masons before she could react, he felt a hand on his shoulder. “Dev.”
“It’s Devon. Don’t call me Dev,” he instinctively replied, turning around to address…. Francis.
His squadmate grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. You might think that we’re all a bit ‘fresh’ and can’t hold our own, but we’ve all had our fair share of tough assignments before.”
Devon was just about to reply—to ask if any of them had fought or even seen a human-Word hybrid before—when the lights went out, shrouding the maintenance hallway in darkness.
There were shouts and curses as people ran into each other, along with some audible, nervous murmuring amongst, before his colleagues’ flashlights started flickering o—
The building shook as there was a deafening explosion from up ahead, followed by a crash as something large and heavy struck… something else.
Then there was shouting, followed by the crack of a gunshot, then more silence… and then running and pushing, as the civilians around them hastened their evacuation. Devon could only stand his ground and give the occasional nudge or push as the crowd around the team rushed and surged around them. Amazingly, the evacuees all remained silent, despite the panic and fear he could see through his night vision filters.
It was only another half-minute before the rush of people thinned and the hall around then emptied.
And then Devon saw them.
A small crowd of men and women ahead of him, all clad in what seems to be half-jackets and bodysuits, their heads covered by thick, bulky helmets. Each one wielded a rapier in their right hand and a duelling pistol in their left. Upon sighting the Administration Team, the group of fashion victims raised their blades as one, aiming them skywards, before advancing forward.
Damn, was all the ex-soldier could think, before Masons’ barked an order and there was movement all around him.
Into the fray.
To her credit, the lass came forward to meet Devon’s advance, sidestepping his shot and then ignoring the mark it left on her pale little cheek. Admirable, though praise and commendations tended to only save one from bureaucracy—not bullets and blades.
Five strides forward and one pace right, then the Admin pushed off and lunged in, falcata meeting battleaxe in a resounding clash of metal. He drew back and then swung in again, first aiming low, then high, before pivoting and striking high from his left.
His partner deigned to receive and not reply; the young girl blocked and parried each blow solidly, though her movements lacked the grace of a seasoned fighter. It seemed like Devon had a case of a caster turned unwilling barbarian gladiator in front of him. Judging by the… ‘determined panic’ in her eyes, it seemed he was spot on.
Better make this quick, so he could finish off the other two and—
His stomach gave a slight rumble as the lass stumbled away from a chest bound thrust and the ex-Commando clicked his tongue.
—get a bite to eat, apparently.
With both hands on the falcata’s hilt, Devon angled in a neck-high strike from his right, only to be blocked by the axe’s haft as the young miss found her backbone and moved in to the blow, before pushing the pair apart.
Well, you had to learn to ‘take the fight to them’ eventually. It’d be a bit unusual to just backpedal all day, unless you were hoping they’d trip and break their—
His next move was met with the girl’s own double-handed blow, their weapons crashing again in a clamour of steel. As the two blades separated, Devon threw his left boot out, catching his quarry in the stomach and sending her staggering back.
Another two paces into the left, and an underarm arc to the gut would open her up, spilling her to the tiles. Easy and simple plans made the best plans, after all.
He stepped forward, ready to make said plan into reality; but upon taking his second step the lass twisted and pivoted clockwise, before striking back out. Such a display of athleticism and balance would’ve been laudable in any other circumstance that didn’t have to do with murder nor forcing him to hurriedly twist to parry.
The axe head struck against the falcata’s flat, sending it wide and now Devon was unbalanced and on the literal back foot.
A darkened, gauntlet-clad fist came in and crunched into his chest. The ex-soldier hissed, specs askew, and conceded more ground, just as the lass blurred into action.
She dashed in low, then swept at his left leg, before pivoting with the motion, her weapon outstretched in her hands.
Clever lass.
The Administrative Agent felt the flat of the axe crack into his shin and then he was falling backwards. His back smacked into the tiles, marble crunching beneath him, as the dark-haired miss moved in with an overhead swing.
The axe came crashing down, so Devon—
—rolled to his right, avoiding the hammer as it broke the floor where his head had been. He kicked as he started to rise, catching the Hybrid in the knee, but it didn’t fall nor budge at all.
Fantastic.
The first bunch of rapier-wielding, gun-toting lunatics had all been dispatched, just as the lights had come back on. But what the facility managers had failed to mention was that there’d been multiple breaches. So immediately after the remainder of his team had dealt with the first batch, another group of Hybrids had smashed through the adjacent wall and into the room. Talk about literal gatecrashing.
The first batch had probably—no, almost certainly been hybridised with Duel. It couldn’t’ve been more obvious, what with the funny little swords and pistols.
These new ones though? No idea. Didn’t have the foggiest what they could be. Hammer, Demolish, or something way too obscure to know without the help of a dictionary or something. A standard dictionary, not the supernatural compendium of language that was the cause of all this crap.
One thing that they’d found out—the hard way—was that they were goddamn durable, so the Team had decided to split up, since taking them on directly wasn’t going to work. “Split up and try to stay alive”, as Francis of them had put it.
“Easier said than done,” Devon muttered, as the Hybrid charged forward again.
Another lunging, overarm swing came for him, blisteringly fast, so he—
—threw the blade up, intercepting the strike. Barely.
Fortunately for him, the lass had fully committed to the blow and left herself open for yet another boot to the gut. The ex-Commando was only too happy to oblige. Devon allowed himself a slight grin as he felt his heel crunch into her bodice and heard the air leave her lungs as she went soaring backwards.
Ignoring his protesting back, Devon rolled his hips and legs back to his chest, then threw them forward, pushing off against the floor with both hands simultaneously, launching himself to his feet. Most of his former colleagues called it showy.
Efficient was more like it. Time wasn’t everything, but it was a damn important element that you could never have enough of.
Upon righting himself, he was greeted by another mess of black smog. There was little doubt as to what the young miss was attempting to do—either buy herself time or prep an ambush—but she only got points for trying.
A mental command and his thermals activated, revealing the lass in a prismatic smattering of colours. She was up, but didn’t seem to be ready to spring anything on him. Not yet, at least.
Devon didn’t feel like gracing her another chance to surprise him—it wasn’t his birthday for another few months—so he dashed in, with his blade held low.
Whatever she’d been expecting, the miss hadn’t been counting on him knowing exactly where he was. The battle axe came in again to meet the ex-soldier’s underarm slice, but she’d been caught off guard; the block came late and left her off balance, due to an awkward stance. To add on to that, the young lady was just about to find out how awkward.
The Administrator pulled the trigger and the falcata barked, almost directly into his quarry’s left knee.
She cried out and her leg buckled, her bearing dropping, along with her grip on her weapon. Devon flicked the axe aside, then moved in and kicked her as she fell, sending her skidding along the marble tiles and out of the smog.
He deactivated the filters and approached his downed foe, reloading as he walked forward.
“A good try,” he admitted, somewhat grudgingly. Why was he talking to her anyway? A nice chit-chat before he blew her brains out? Not exactly his style. Probably just better to get it over with.
Devon raised the blade and pressed it to the young girl’s throat and then… hesitated.
On one hand, there wasn’t any need to actually kill the lass. She’d lost. On the ground, without her weapon, it was unlikely she’d pose any further threat. And she was…. What was that cliche? ‘Young, with their whole life ahead of them?’
But at the same time, if there was the slightest chance she’d try for one of those ‘revenge plot’ backstories. If she was a fan of the shows or movies… That was, of course, if they even had shows or movies from whatever realm she came from. Which wasn’t impossible. They seemed to have some basic amenities—judging by her dress, they’d had to have dry cleaning. That certainly didn’t seem machine-washable.
Best to just take her out and—
And then, a high, ear-rending wail filled the air, drawing forth a cacophony of howls and screams from around them.
The falcata jerked, almost tearing itself from Devon’s grasp and nearly finished the job for him. Luckily for the girl, the Administrator managed to hold on and instead stumbled to the side, nearly tripping over some of the Arena debris.
Lovely, now what?
Ah, the ‘queen’. Practically right behind him. She had impeccable timing.
If she wanted to interject, then Devon was willing to grant her an audience first. And not to mention, shut her up. That bloody din she was making—
He pulled out his stopwatch with his left hand and flicked it open, briefly checking the time. It was almost noon. Even if he wrapped it up now, it was unlikely he’d be able to beat the lunch crowds. Well, there wasn’t any helping it.
With a click, the ex-soldier triggered the movement’s Distortion mechanism and time around him slowed, as though being dragged through water. Closing it, he pocketed it once more and then rushed the Queen of Liars, sword levelled at the woman’s back.
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