Hunted: Conspiracies 14

Sammy groaned, her brow furrowing ever so slightly.  The smell of cooking flesh had reached her nostrils, rousing her from her slumber. Slowly, she opened her eyes. A pastel sea of red and grey swam before her, bringing with it a splitting headache. She let out a small whimper, and tried to move. She was vaguely aware of an obstruction, and shrugged it feebly aside.

Tanya's body flopped off her, and without warning, the world rushed in. Her memories sorted themselves swiftly.

They'd made it as far as the rear drop bays before it all went  to hell. Reality had broken. The world had bent to obscene angles that tore at her mind, and her skin had prickled. They'd fallen, slowly at first, then with terrible suddeness. They'd hit the ground, and broken through it. The falling continued for another few seconds; and then they'd struck bedrock.

Crunch.

First came images, then concepts to link them together. Tanya's eyes, burning brighter than flames that wilted steel and shattered windows. The screaming of the crew. The ship splitting half as it fell, tearing the oscillation array clear in two. The witch had shielded them somehow. The first impact had not been too rough, but the seizmic force of the second had knocked them senseless.

The floor beneath them was inclined slightly, such that water had pooled in the corner. The roof was gone, shorn clear away during their descent. A tree hung limply from a mangled gun turret, while a thin mist of rain still reached them from the surface.

"A... tunnel?"

Sammy sat up, then winced as something bumped her head. A door was sticking out of the wall above her - lodged just inches above her head, it had struck the surface with such force as to melt and amalgamate with the steel surfacing.

"That's right. A tunnel. Do you still have your ID, or did you lose it in the crash, sister?"

"...My name is Ingrid Hall... I'm Tanya's person ..." she murmured reflexively. She hadn't quite regained her senses just yet. She noticed chemical fires still burned on the water's surface. They created a dim, red orange ambience, more stable than the chain lightning far above them. The blazes were conveniently confined to corners and craters, where the flow was deepest. Occasionally, a halogen torch beam would catch her eye - she and her interrogator were not alone.

The outer walls had been reduced to bent, shorn crenulations of armour plating and structural steel, pockmarked by molten gashes, bullet holes and impact deformities.

That was not all. The rear drop bays were small for a reason - they were beset on both sides by the two of the oscillation array's anti-gravitational turbines. Access to them had once been limited to key personnel, via a series of shafts on the upper levels. This was no longer the case.

One of the cores had been wrenched off completely - it had probably fallen away during their descent. This had created an impromptu exit into the much larger tunnelspace. But on the opposite side, the wall seemed to have bubbled and burst from the opposite side. Beyond the resultant breach was a sight that shook Samantha to her core.

A great vortex of twisted metal branched into a series of tunnels and optical illusions, creating a space far larger than it truly was. Whether her perception was tricked, or whether space and dimension were truly discordant here, she could not tell. In that cavernous void, with its crystalised iron walls crumpled and bent to non euclidian angles, tortured corridors and wrenched wiring twisted and bent into themselves and each other, again and again and again. Here and there, familiar objects were fused with the abstract abomination. Their presence only augmented the madness laid out before her, made it real and tangible in ways that nightmares never were. To focus on it was to question all she knew, all that was, all that should have been; and with it, all that clearly wasn't. To her horror, she beheld a man's torso jutting from a wall, his skin grey and mottled by intense heat and radiation. From his eyes, gun turrets once twice his size bristled angrily, bullets and shells orbiting them like tiny planetoids. Gravity was broken here, mass and relativity perversely altered by the collapse of order, and the triumph of chaos. It was distant, and yet it was close enough that her eyes could make out every detail. The ship had been warped inside itself a billion times, until words like 'inside' were no longer relevant. Until the human tongue and mind were as obsolete, as redundant, as spheres in a one dimensional universe.

Tearing her eyes away from it, Sammy struggled to regain her sense of perspective. The Paladin seemed to understand. His practical, businesslike approach was just what she needed.

"Ingrid Hall, huh? Haven't heard that name before, but your face is familiar. Apologies, sister. It's a miracle you survived. Gaia be praised. Is the Witch alive? We need all the firepower we can get. There are only ten of us left. The other fifty nine Paladins were either killed, or trapped in the drop bays under the fission boiler. It landed about a  mile ahead of us. The whole area's bathed in radiation, so I don't hold out much hope for them. We were meant to be in reserve in case the ship was boarded. Aside from Chaplain Petrov, none of us exceed the rank of Knight. Still, we are Brothers for now, until we return to base and assume our ranks once more."

"Good for you," Tanya groaned, "Anyone have an aspirin? I think my head's going to explode."

Dragging herself to her haunches, Sammy watched a black boot sail past her field of vision. The tails of the super soldier's coat fell about him as he knelt beside Tanya. He assessed the woman, and chuckled.

"No aspirin, Doctor Nemeth. But this should do the trick"

He lifted her with chilling ease, and carried her through a gaping hole in the remains of the hull. Placing her on a slab of concrete, he produced a bulky, cylindrical apparatus from his belt. A comparatively diminutive pistol grip was attached to one end. He wielded it expertly, his hands slender and agile beneath his gloves. Paladins were strange creatures - their strength was rarely linked to their physical size. They truly were 'monsters' in their own right.

He flicked the trigger forward, and the business end - a bulbous, domelike affair - first extended an inch or two from the body, then split down its center, unfurling to reveal a slender needle.

"This may sting a little..." he sniggered, jamming the needle into Tanya's carotid artery and depressing the trigger. The Witch's eyes widened and she choked, feeble hands fighting to dislodge it. Grunting, the Paladin parried her strikes with his free hand, his movements mechanical, precise, and impossibly quick.

Tanya quickly went limp. Sammy experienced a moment's clarity, in which she lunged at the Paladin, hoping to distract him. Someone caught her by the collar, and lifted her a full five feet into the air.

"You make wrong choice. I stop you."

Sammy was prone to bouts of despair and inaction, but frankly, she was tired of being pushed around, and tired of being saved. She fought savagely, flailing about like a wildcat, struggling to free herself from his grasp.

"Let me go you mutant freak!" she screamed, clawing at his fingers, "What the hell are you doing to Tanya?!"

"Comrade Butler give her medicine shot. Hold still and stop whining. You stay here until medicine is working."

There were nine of them, discounting the one that held her. They wore long, dark grey greatcoats, matching cargo pants, armoured flak vests, utility belts and steelbound combat boots. The hilts of their blades rose from below their collars, while their trademark rifles hung in slings from their shoulders.

"You'd better not hurt her, or I swear to god I'll kill every last one of you!" Sammy spat viciously. The Paladin chuckled, his voice unnaturally deep.

"Again I give you advise. You do this, and you make wrong choice. Here is why. My name is Chaplain Petrov, devotchka, and I have kill more men, and more monsters, than you have eaten hot meal in evening. Medicine is combat serum for your friend. Accellerate healing, and make you strong, like bull! Fast, like bullet! Your friend, Comrade Ivaylo, he recover prototype from dead American. I kill Americans once, back in old times. They are all so small!"

Sammy ceased to struggle, hanging wearily from the Paladin's grasp. He was a giant of a man, and easily shifted her from one hand to another, holding her by the back of her vest. It was a surprisingly comfortable arrangement, which placed no pressure on any particular part of her frame. Her limp, dirty arms swayed beneath her, and she found herself staring at his boots.

Like the rest of him, they were huge and heavy, with ironbound square toes. Sharp barbs extended from both the front and heel of each boot, allowing the Paladin to climb rapidly, and kick brutally. Standard equipment for all Paladins of rank 'Knight' or higher. Gunmetal scaffolding eclipsed the leather in places, adding structural integrity to the design while negating the reflective qualities of carbon steel. They were robust, functional and sinister, reminding Sammy of her 'industrial punk' phase. Black really hadn't suited her. All to impress that dickhead Mitch, back in highschool. What a douchebag he'd turned out to be!

"...You say you killed men..." she murmured softly. "I thought you Paladins protected civillians and avoided engagements with 'human forces'."

"I was not always Paladin." he replied quietly, his booming, bearlike voice reduced to a husky whisper. "I once kill for money. Wetwork in intelligence community. I did well. They say I am credit to team. But I am too good, and win when I work against them every time. So good that I become hazard. I never pick side. That makes me target for former employers, after I send their little men back home in tiny baby boxes. They send more girly men to find me, and I break them with bare hands. But then they send more and more, until I cannot sleep without tiny insect coming for me, and shooting bullet with baby gun through window. They shatter photograph of Great Stalin on bedside table. This was last straw, so I find new picture, and join Order as Paladin. I kill many little furmen, and become Chaplain. Is like Commissar, only bigger sword and no hat. If not for Order, I would still be running, and I would still be killing. Is funny to me that so many little men cannot defeat just one of me. But there is problem. I slowly run out of money, and with no money, I cannot buy bullet for weapon. Then I would soon be dead. Is not so funny, I think to myself. Greed is poison, and it almost kills me, like it did many Comrades raised in Glorious Motherland of USSR. You cannot work for highest bidder, nor can you kill for righteous man. For this world is without 'righteous man'. So now I kill for righteous woman; Mother Gaia. HA HA HA HA HA!"

The giant guffawed heartily, slapping his giant chest with a hand like a hamhock. "Is funny joke, yes?"

Sammy groaned. Great. Another fruitcake Paladin. One in her life was one too many, and now she had two. She waited until he finished laughing, then posed a question to him.

"Are there any side effects to that drug? Long term or short term? Tanya has been exposed to a primitive regenerative serum before. I want to know if this will tax her body, just in case."

Tanya had been teaching her about 'combat drugs' since the 'accident'. Multinational drug companies invested heavily in their research and production, sidelining philanthropic or curative projects for this new and lucrative alternative. Cancer research was at a standstill, and the medical profession was falling apart. The Hypocratic Oath was the first casualty in a world where 'bioethics' was a dirty word.

Combat drugs were not, however, the disease killing medicinal science; they were merely symptoms of a world in turmoil. In short, they were the distillation of greed, avarice, desensitisation and bloodlust; caustic biochemical concoctions that gave humans an edge on the twenty-first century battlefield.

But not without a price.

Price or no, humans needed all the help they could get. Paladins could tear ordinary men limb from limb, and mechanised suits posed a greater hazard to infantry than tanks and mortars ever could. Scarspawn and associated I-Jin possessed a lethal and terrifying array of supernatural powers, while the broad Kingdom Anthropomorphia yielded sentient beasts with incredible survival instincts, superhuman strength, heightened senses, and bizarre occult powers.

"She will need  to sleep, yes." The man rubbed his chin with his spare hand. "For long time, and suddenly, too. As soon as danger is gone, she will rest, perhaps for two days, perhaps for three. Depends on how hard she fights, and for how long."

"She is not human," Sammy growled, "What if she uses her abilities while in this state?"

The Paladin set her down roughly on all fours, and she scrabbled quickly to her feet. Tanya was beginning to stir, her brow furrowed, mouth slightly ajar.

"Well. We soon find out, da? We do more than fight monsters today, devotchka. We do science! Hahahahahaha!"

Shuddering at the Paladin's hearty guffaw, Sammy rushed to Tanya's side. As she knelt down, she paused momentarily. Despite herself, she found herself worrying about about Ivaylo, even as she attended to her dearest friend.

He'll be okay, Sam. And so will I. By Jove, I've ever felt better!

Tanya was always so gentle and delicatewhen entering Sammy's mind. Now as always, she barely noticed the Witch's presence until she 'spoke'. It was as though her internal monologue became a dualogue; no more, no less.

"Come. We move, Brothers. We must find exit to tunnel! Shoot first and ask questions later. If our comrades are still live, they will contact us through Synaptic Implant Network. If movement occurs before contact with S.I.N signature, shoot to kill. Are we clear?"

"YES, BROTHER CHAPLAIN!"

They moved, but not as men moved. One  moment, they wandered, examining their surroundings, ritually checking their equipment. The next, they froze, listening to their orders. Having done so, they swept into formation, materliasing from the dark corners of the room and wider tunnelspace. In a perfectly straight line, they stood to attention before their defacto commander. The speed and the precision of each action was chilling. In stillness and in motion, they were anything but human. Their training so exquisitely complimented  their superhuman strength, celerity and agility as to form a symphony of sinuous, biomechanical lethality.

Sammy watched from Tanya's side, holding the woman's hand and helping her to her haunches.

"...I'm glad they're on our side, Tanya." she whispered.

"...Me too, Sam."  Tanya replied softly, disdaining Sammy's hand and rising to her feet. She stretched, strong, lithe body straining against her ski equipment. The Witch carried no weapons. Her mind was her greatest asset; it was all she needed.

And presently, it offered her a warning.

A strong, howling wind swept through the tunnels.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Tanya's eyes widened, her pupils shrinking to the size of pinheads.

"...Chaplain Petrov." She murmured softly, her quaint British accent as cold as ice and as hard as steel. "I would ask that you stand down as commander, and defer your authority to me. We need to leave these tunnels immediately. And if you do not follow my instructions to the letter, you and your men will be consigned to eternal damnation at the hands of immortal evil. There are fates worse than death. And here, in these tunnels, one such fate awaits the unwary."

"T...Tanya?" Sammy queried nervously. She'd never seen the witch like this before, and what she saw frightened her.

"It's okay, Sam." Tanya replied, disdaining her friend's hand. She rose fluidly from the floor, serpentine and graceful. Shaking her dark hair from her eyes, she produced a headband from her breast pocket. Reverently, she equipped the accessory. A series of L.E.Ds ran around its edges. She closed her eyes - Sammy's skin prickled, and the LED's buzzed to life.

"Dr Nemeth, you are scientist. I am soldier. This is warzone! You will follow me." The Paladin growled. His boistrous demeanour was suddenly absent. As he turned to face them, Sammy saw his face for the first time. He was an utterly terrifying man to behold. For a start, he had literally no neck. He sported a buzzcut on his thick, meaty head. A line had been shaved down the middle, splitting the grey fuzz in two. A hammer and sickle was tatooed onto one cheek, with a huge scar running down its center. This bisected a bulky mechanical eye. The apparatus was literally fused to his skull, surrounded by scar tissue and melted flesh. The eye itself was unnaturally large, and glowed an unsettling shade of red.

"But Chaplain -"

Sammy had seen Ivaylo fight in the past. But never had she been threatened by a Paladin in peak physical condition. One moment, the big man's hands were empty. The next, there was a breathtaking crack, followed by a clicking sound. A once-empty hand now held a pistol the size of a human head. And that pistol was held, at arms length, square against Tanya's forehead. The Witch didn't flinch.

"Do we have understanding, Witch?"

"...On your head be it, Chaplain Petrov. The lives of your men are forfeit. At least I tried."

"On my head? Witch, I am not one with GUN pressed to skull! If you continue to question authority of Chaplain and leader of Hunt, then I will kill you."

"The gun pressed to mine is in your hand. The gun pressed to yours - to ours - is all about us. Between every quark within every atom, it waits. Watching. Poised to strike. Hungering for your very souls." Tanya murmured. Her voice was devoid of anger, and she spoke without fear. Fear of him - or fear of the horror which she described so vividly.

"She is a witch, Brother Chaplain. Perhaps we should heed her - "

"SILENCE!" The Chaplain roared. He pulled the gun from Tanya's head with terrible speed, firing a shot at the unfortunate Paladin. The supersoldier's figure blurred as he dodged the round, which struck the tunnel wall, exploding violently on contact. The impact left a smoking, hamhock-sized hole in the aging concrete.

"I am in charge here. You will follow orders! You will not question them. You are Warriors of the Order! You will act like it, or you will rot in these tunnels. Do you understand?"

"YES, BROTHER CHAPLAIN!"

The Paladins fell into line once more, saluting smartly. Nodding with satisfaction, the mad Chaplain lowered his gun.

"This is good. This is what I want to hear. And now, we move. Brother Artemis, Brother Ignat, take point. Brother Malkov, Brother Simons, flanking positions.  The rest of you! Into the darkness. Adopt Owl Pattern, Shadow Doctrine, disciplines Five, Seven, and Eight."

Like liquid death, each of the paladins responded reflexively and without hesitation. Their lithe limbs carried them swiftly in a vast array of directions. Their paths often crossed, yet they did not collide. Had they been under fire, to hit any one of them would have been impossible. They crisscrossed one another, dodging, ducking, leaping and weaving between the twisted metal and broken concrete. They truly were the ultimate soldiers.

Some stayed low. Some kept in cover, while others mounted the tunnel walls.  They climbed with a swiftness and intensity more insectoid than mammalian. Metal claws found purchase in every crack, while their boots, sharpened like those of Chaplain Petrov, bit into the concrete with ease.

Sammy almost pitied any force foolhardy enough to oppose them. The Chaplain smiled, folding his enormous arms and nodding with satisfaction. Tanya stared after them grimly. Clearly, she did not share Sammy's confidence in the surgically enhanced supersoldiers.

She stood between them, and realised she was the ground between. She was not supremely confident, but she had yet to despair. This, she decided, would remain her stance, until one extreme or the other prevailed. Once again, she found herself the mediator. One who represented moderation in a world of absolutes.

So it had been since her earliest days, and so it remained, even these dark tunnels, filled as they were with waking nightmares and the stench of death.