Malign Contingency

[Edcrab]

I was thinking of an excuse to cast someone who requires many things to be explained to him- and also an excuse to cast an unscrupulous git in the leading role. Came up with something eventually...




Chapter 1: Redeemer


“What?” Quarir Nalore sat down heavily. It was all too much to take in.

“Yes. I imagine this is difficult for you to understand.”

“I’ve told you about that mind reading thing!” Quarir snarled. “Give me a little privacy!”

“No,” Maintonon said simply. “I do not believe you deserve privacy. You are certainly in need of redemption- you can expect my respect once you have earned it, and not before.”

Quarir sighed and sank deeper into the over padded chair. That was strange in and of itself, because if this was a mental reproduction of his apartment and not the real thing there was no reason for imperfections to-

“Credibility,” the Supercomputer interrupted. “I would not stoop to creating an unbelievable reproduction merely to satisfy you. I have pride in my simulations."

“I’m doing you a favour here,” he snapped at the invisible speaker- the only sign that this wasn’t a real building was the fact that, above him, there lay nothing but impenetrable blackness. “You could be a bit less-”

“I am doing you a favour, Nalore. By all rights you would be dead now. Under Domarian law, I would have had you atomised. The process is quick but by no means painless. Now, you can repay your debt to society with a marginally more pleasant approach.

Quarir shuddered, and reached for the small glass of water on the coffee table. He drank it, wondering how he could possibly be consuming a liquid which didn’t physically exist. “That always struck me as odd,” he muttered. “Unfair, in fact. People like Voln avoided execution, and all I did was defraud the odd corporation-”

“Voln may have been a homicidal cyborg but he certainly had his uses. You may think yourself a harmless petty thief but you are a frankly evil confidence trickster who has cost entirely legitimate enterprises billions. You have funded terrorists and had your competitors murdered. You have many talents, but have abused them.”

Quarir nodded. Maintonon was right- he’d made many bad career moves. Trying to con a Domarian Legion representative on Colony 351, for a start… those fascist bastards were always a danger to approach.

“That is right,” Maintonon said solemnly. “Everyone knows that more enlightened cultures allow unrepentant squanderers of humanity to walk free and unpunished.”

“I thought you things couldn’t be sarcastic?”

“I am the Ucelsian Supercomputer, Nalore. Do not mistake me for some lesser intelligence.”

“Hah. If you’re so super, I don’t see why you can’t do your own dirty work, not if these Combine things are such a threat to us-”

“I am a nanotechnological core the size of a large city. I can hardly send myself plummeting into the planet, although it is an interesting proposition.”

“You know what I mean. Send one of your sucker agents to do this.”

“I have several agents working against the Combine. Or, more accurately, I am one of several agents working against the Combine. They threaten many civilisations, not only my Legion. I pledged long ago to defend the Domarians, and I gladly work alongside other entities wishing to disrupt the Combine threat.”

“They’re in another galaxy,” Quarir spat, standing up and addressing the limitless void above him. “They won’t be much of a-”

“So are the Arcadimaarians, yet they still plan to invade. They, too, play a part in my plan.”

“What, you plan on setting those two super-empires against each other?” Quarir nodded in genuine approval and admiration. “That’d be an interesting war to watch.”

“Something like that, yes. You are more perceptive than you appear.”

“Hah,” Quarir preened himself. “I didn’t get where I am today just on my looks, you know.”

“Yes- you got yourself into a position where an omnipresent mainframe is forcing you to accept an assignment. How clever of you.”

“All right,” Nalore snarled. “You’ve briefed me and mocked me and done all sorts of shit to me. Now just tell me what you meant about ‘others’ then send me on my way.”

“I am not the only force intervening to alter this planet’s destiny. There will be others there, operatives influenced by powers that are not dissimilar to myself. You are not to disrupt their missions.”

Quarir snorted. “How am I to know who else is being bossed around by a pompous lump of circuits?”

“Because they are the best at what they do. Warriors, diplomats- even shysters like yourself.”

“Hah,” he adjusted his tie, pointedly refusing to rise to the bait. “Why don’t you just send a couple of Behemoths? Those Striders the Combine use wouldn’t last a second. Synth tech builds quick but it just ain’t-”

“For some reason, I do not think sixty-foot war machines would avoid detection. Expediency is key, but this mission MUST remain covert.”

“All right, all right,” Quarir rolled his eyes and waved his hands conciliatorily. “If this job is so important you should just-”

~

There was a crackle of blinding, multicoloured light, and Quarir found himself sprawled across a dusty floor. His clothes were filthy, but they weren’t his clothes- he was wearing some sort of nondescript worker’s uniform. He felt like a Maintenance Association technician, one of questionable cleanliness and, for that matter, sanity.

“Vrrrurrk,” gurgled some unspeakable abomination.

As the gore-spattered clawed thing lurched towards him, Quarir enterprisingly reached for his holster. But he didn’t have one anymore. Maintonon hadn’t seen fit to arm him.

He didn’t have a Warden plasma rifle or a Sentinel sidearm, let alone the XDC 25k “Obliterator” Fusion Cannon he’d been half expecting. He didn’t even have a damn knife, and right now he’d have settled for the most pathetic looking toothpick.

The creature lunged at him.

 

[tinyxipe]

Very nice! Quarir should be an interesting character. I was a little confused at first, but I saw where you were going with it and it worked out well.

Looking forward to the next chapter!

 

[Edcrab]

Thanks, I'd worried about the start a bit too; delayed explanations are always a bit of a gamble, you never know what the final effect will be- confusion or revelation. Anyway, here's the first half of the second chapter...


Chapter 2: Failed Rendezvous


If someone had been told that a con artist would face a host of a Xenian parasite, they may well have expected him to meet an end that was both grisly and deserved. But Quarir was an adaptive soul; his life experiences had been intensely varied, and very few men who had taken his choice of lifestyle had got quite so good at surviving.

The “zombie”- if he recalled his briefing correctly- took an appreciably deep slice out of the concrete floor, but missed his rolling form. He leapt to his feet- relieved at the fact that he’d recovered more quickly than the former human- and landed a powerful blow to the “headcrab” sitting smugly atop the body.

Quarir was no ordinary human, and the punch would have broken a normal man’s neck. But, despite a satisfyingly organic squelching sound, the zombie barely flinched. Hardly the smartest of creatures, but the things were certainly hardy…

Just as he was wondering whether he should prise the ‘crab from the shoulders or merely run like hell, a gunshot rang out, and he was doused in warm, sticky goop.

“Are you all right?” asked a voice that sounded equal parts irritated and concerned.

“Nothing a little ion scan wouldn’t clean up,” he replied brightly, and instantly wished he hadn’t spoken out of turn. They definitely wouldn’t have even that simple device on this backwater planet…

“Wait,” he said suspiciously. “I see what’s happening here. Bit convenient, you turning up. You’re one of ol’ ‘Ton’s plants, right?”

The woman blinked incredulously. “Excuse me?”

“C’mon, don’t play that game with me,” he rolled his eyes in the way that even hyper intelligent constructs found annoying. “Chick with a revolver just happens to be around to save my life? Give me a break.”

“Are you really sure you’re-?”

“Oh, drop it already. I see he gave you a weapon. Or did you just mug a native or something?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” the resistance member screeched.

Quarir was taken aback. “You’re… you’re not one of Maintonon’s guys?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re mumbling about.”

“Really sure you’re not the one I’m meant to meet?”

“I think I already explained that I’ve got no idea what you’re saying.”

“Uh, neither do I,” Quarir said lamely, making an attempt to wipe some of the yellow entrails off his jacket. “Being coated with the guts of a Xenian critter always screws up my thinking processes.”

“I’m sure,” the woman sniffed. Satisfied that the crazed fool wasn’t going to attack her or anything, she holstered the .357.

“Well, I’ll, uh, be on my way,” Quarir moved towards the doorway of the crumbling residence.

“What? No thank you? I just saved your life!”

“Yeah, but I was quite capable of saving my own life. I’m a bion.”

“A what?”

“A bion. You know, another word for cyborg? As in-” Quarir suddenly realised what he’d said. “Oh, crap. I mean… that is… can you just forget I said that?”

“Are you a Combine spy or something?” the woman’s hand slowly reached back towards her firearm.

“Ah, to hell with this,” Quarir muttered, and with that he leapt forward.

To his intense surprise, she was quick enough to draw and fire, and he staggered from the impact of the projectile. For a moment neither moved, and the smell of blood and gunpowder began to overpower even the rotting stench of the downed zombie.

“Oh god, I…” the citizen paused. “You’re still alive?”

“Barely,” Quarir winced. “A bit further up and you’d have hit something a bit fleshier.”

“What are you?”

“I could ask you the same question! I thought you unaugmented, non-serumite cavemen where meant to suck at fighting?”

“Why are you talking like that?”

“Because I’m a visitor from another galaxy, and probably another dimension,” Quarir said with forced sarcasm, as the statement was entirely accurate.

“That’s helpful,” she muttered. “I’m Nuri. Are you one of the new immigrants from City 13?”

“Actually I’m Poytr Quanalitch, a runaway from City 11,” Nalore continued smoothly, “I’m sorry, I thought you were some sort of Combine agent yourself.”

“Of course,” Nuri said sweetly, “but I hope you realise that spur-of-the-moment bullshit isn’t convincing anyone. I just shot you in the heart.”

“Well,” Quarir said, hiding his humiliation at the failure of his badly timed ploy, “to be honest, no you didn’t. Most of my internal organs are encased in neat little metal packages, and I’m pretty sure your bullet bounced off a titanium rib of mine. No wonder the Combine are trouncing you if that’s all you got to fight them off.”

“While I’d love to stand here and be pelted with your drivel, we need to move out before the scanners find us. Not that I’d feel particularly guilty if they carted you off to the Citadel.”

“Scanners? What are- oh, yeah. Those’re the stupidly big recon drones. As for the Citadel, pfft. There’s not much they could do to me, I feel like I’m already half Stalker.”

“Stalker?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s something we know about but most of you don’t. I’d forgotten.”

“Just come on! I don’t know what you are but-”

Quarir had decided that culture shock would hardly be an issue, since this was a society that had been already been overrun by alien invaders. “C’mon woman, is it that hard to imagine another world? You people are working alongside three armed things that can shoot lightning for god’s sake!”

“That’s a scanner,” she said resignedly.

“Now what are you gabbling about?”

“That’s a scanner,” she repeated, “the floating thing flying over the three CPs that are about to arrest us, you bastard.”

 

[knut]

I like. ;D

 

[Edcrab]

Last half of Chapter 2...


“I’ve told you,” Quarir said calmly, “I’m one of you.”

For a faceless pawn of an oppressive regime, the Civil Protection official managed to look suitably unimpressed. “We have no record of anyone matching your description,” the Metrocop barked, each world engulfed in static.

Quarir matched the unblinking stare of the four CPs. Well, for all he knew they were blinking like crazy, but since all of the freaks had gasmasks he’d be hard pressed to confirm either scenario. None of them looked like the blinking sort, however- the Combine enforcers clearly favoured an awful cop/psychotic cop routine over the more traditional good/bad approach- they were almost as bad as the Legion’s Security force.

“Run the scan on me again,” Quarir instructed, as if dealing with the whims of a weak-minded child, “and tell me that humanity managed that alone.”

The officer didn’t scan the prisoner for a second time, although he did check the original readout more thoroughly. “Hmm,” the cop rumbled, “your internal mechanisms do not match recommended Union augmentation. They are not as developed.”

Yeah, because I like to think for myself, Quarir thought privately. “I’m a basic prototype,” Quarir said aloud, as if indulging an idiot, “I may lack the structural strength but I’m far more suitable for infiltrating the enemy ranks.”

One of the lower-ranking CPs snorted, an electric crackle that grated across the nerves. “The ‘resistance’ isn’t worth spying on-”

“I’m referring to events on a galactic level,” Quarir snapped. “Intervention on this world by third parties.” He was searching frantically for an appropriate civilisation, but his questing mind drew a blank. He was going to have to chance it…

“Remember the Klichuk uprising shortly after we absorbed Synth Variant 3? Or all those problems with… uh… the Hokum-pokums on Derdidi V? Imagine that all over again. It would make the fall of Nihil…” Dammit, what was the word… “…ich look like an accountancy problem.”

The CPs exchanged glances, and Quarir relaxed slightly. Inhuman as they were, they clearly weren’t infallible, and it was obvious this his bold announcement had unsettled them. They were clearly aware of the Combine’s overall position and their dedication to the human race’s “betterment”, but they’d be uninstructed in the fine detail- namely just how big the Universal Union they half-worshipped truly was, and just how rebellious the rest of their “ benefactors’ ” member planets really were.

The four converged on the same corner of his cell in a simultaneous group discussion. They were uneasy, certainly, but whether that’d mean they’d refer him to a superior or merely dispose of him on the spot he wasn’t sure. He was going to have to play his trump card…

“Take a look at The One Man they’re all talking about,” Quarir urged them, “it’s obvious he’s not just a figure they’ve made up or a merely competent resistance member. He’s an alien plant.”

“You mean The Free Man?” a cop- possibly the same as before- boomed, whirling on the restrained “citizen”.

“That’s what I said,” Quarir sniffed. “He was, in fact, my target.”

“Your… target?” the officer sounded intrigued, in a vocally-amplified way.

“Yes. Surely you’re aware just how many of us are trying to track him down, see if he poses a genuine threat? I’ll admit that I’m not happy with this situation,” Quarir said sadly, but cheered up immediately, “although I suppose I’ll have a convincing story to relay to my so-called colleagues. I hadn’t got very far into infiltrating their little cell as it was.”

“You were going to let a resistance cell survive?”

“Of course. We need something to lure The One Free Man out of hiding- something for him to ‘aid’, to ‘rally’ to… and,” Quarir ended darkly, “die for.”

The CP leader had made up their mind. “You- stay here. Guard him. I am going to link with the Overwatch.”

One Metrocop saluted and stiffly stood to attention beside the item of furniture Nalore could only think of as a dentist’s chair, while the other three filed out. Could’ve been worse, Quarir decided, not as good as them just letting me go, but a damn sight better than being tortured or killed.

Quarir treated his lone guard to a brief glance: they had some useless combustion pistol- not a pulse rifle or anything posing the remotest threat. Even if the CP got a few rounds off at him, any of his plated components would shrug off the impact- although, admittedly, he wasn’t entirely augmented, and there were plenty of locations that could do without a slug of hot lead. Not to mention there could be any number of Combine in the corridor beyond, ready to render assistance.

He flexed his arms experimentally, and felt the metal braces clamped across his wrists loosen. That was reassuring- plain old steel, not one of the super-alloys that the Combine used with depressing frequently these days.

Right, his options- wait for the CPs to return, try to talk his way out, or go on a violent rampage.

Well, he doubted he’d be able to pluck on the heartstrings of a brainwashed meat puppet, and the oh so reliable rampage might encounter problems, so, depressingly, it seemed like playing the waiting game was his only viable option.

Quarir Nalore had heaps of patience, because his calling demanded it. It didn’t mean he particularly enjoyed the prospect of sitting on his ass for hours-

-although, he decided, as the ground shook and plaster rained onto his unprotected head, it would be marked improvement over being hit in the face by a mortar.

 

[DeusExMachina]

I'm really liking this. Can't wait for the next chapter.

 

[Ennui]

It's looking good so far.

 

[Edcrab]

Thanks for the encouragement. Glad to see something is more popular than Charlie's antics.



Chapter 3: Scheduled Chaos


It’d be typical, Quarir thought bitterly, to die like this after all I’ve been through.

While a man who’d set his priorities straight might have concentrated on finding a way out of this mess, Nalore stubbornly stuck to mentally bemoaning his life choices, oblivious to the CP who was bellowing for aid and fleeing from his position. For a brief time period Quarir had been very rich and slept with a variety of interesting women, but he’d also spent a year on the run from the authorities and had, eventually, been waylaid by a remarkably angry Security mech that had thrown the book at him; after, of course, throwing him through a wall.

There was another explosion, and part of the wall collapsed. Quarir examined it, idling wondering whether it would’ve crushed him had the mortar landed closer to his chair. The question was answered when a second volley of artillery dislodged a significant portion of the roof, which duly flattened him.

Deciding that waiting would be the worst life choice he’d made thus far, Nalore broke free from the squashed remains of the chair, and tried to concentrate on the fact that he was alive rather than the likely probability that, as well as being quite horribly bruised, several of his bones were broken.

He managed to shove his own personal concrete mound aside in time to see a handful of Civil Protectors sprint past the doorway. Treating every step like a titanic feat, he edged his way outside the interrogation chamber- the spasmodic sensation in his leg was unbearable. “You’d have thought those lousy biotechnicians would’ve given me a few pain dampeners,” he muttered aloud, rubbing the offending limb and trying to ascertain whether what he was feeling was muscular strain or an actual break. That was the problem with being a bion- just because you could walk despite having a house sit on you didn’t necessarily mean it was something you should do. Medicine was one of the few fields he had little knowledge in, but Nalore was fairly sure that walking on a broken leg wasn’t a sensible decision.

There was another explosion, followed by an earth-shattering rumble that sent dust motes flying. He coughed and spluttered noisily, but from force of habit, as he was equipped with lung filters. His eyes, however, were wholly organic and thus he stumbled blindly through the cloud of choking powder and into a door, which splintered slightly as it met his skull.

Staggering backwards, holding his throbbing head and wistfully thinking of his cosy penthouse atop the exclusive district of the Ucelsian Heights, Quarir became aware that someone was shouting at him over the ringing in his ears.

“Hey! Let me out of here! You haven’t even charged me yet!”

More from curiosity than from any philanthropic urge, Quarir tried the handle, finding that, as he expected, the cell was locked. He still cursed, however, as the Combine bastards had fitted it with a magseal- an exterior magnetic lock which they tended to fit to existing doors to improve their resistance, as the technology was infinitely superior to even the most advanced mortise lock.

But the door itself was just as fragile as its original locking mechanism, and so it split neatly in half as both of Quarir’s fists hit its centre.

Nuri had wisely backed away from the entrance, and so the splintering wood lacerated Nalore’s hands and little else. She raised an eyebrow.

“You?!”

“No, I’m a clone. Hello.”

Nuri snorted and pushed past him, giving him time enough to notice the ugly black eye she was sporting. “We have to get out of here,” she shouted over her shoulder, neatly sidestepping a Metrocop who had been buried under falling masonry.

“You don’t say,” Nalore ran to keep up with her. For an unaugmented primate, she was pretty fast on her feet.

“I just thought I’d mention, as last time I tried to be urgent you ignored me and got us arrested.”

“Yeah, but I got us out too, so it equals out.”

“Hmmph.”

Quarir slowed down slightly so he could follow her, although he’d never of admitted it- she seemed to know her way around the place.

She skidded to a halt outside a door marked “Armoury”, and managed to force it open with a few well-aimed kicks. Nalore shook his head disdainfully- to think the Combine had gained a reputation for being security-conscious, and yet had matchstick doors peppering their territories.

“Oh, thank god,” she said, sighing in relief. She grabbed her shiny revolver from a strange-looking Combine shelving unit and held onto it protectively. “I was afraid they might have put it in the confiscation lockers-”

Another explosion, another tremor as something collapsed.

“-which, I think, have just been blown up.” She grabbed a weapon from the same sconce and tossed it towards Quarir, who managed to catch it through sheer luck. “Come on.”

She practically leapt away from the storeroom and Quarir struggled to keep up, although in his defence he was trying to figure out what the hell kind of gun she’d given him. It looked like a rapigun, which probably meant it was an SMG, or whatever they called those small bullet-sprayers.

Nuri abruptly stopped, and, for a brief moment, she appeared panic stricken as she realised the stairwell was blocked with smoking rubble. Then both her expression and resolve hardened, and she threw herself out the nearest window.

Uncharacteristically, Nalore hesitated, but he quickly did likewise when another thunderous detonation rang out, worryingly close to home.

Quarir landed heavily in the muddy ground, relieved to see Nuri in once piece but also relieved to find they’d been on the first floor. She nodded, and ran round the back of the building, which was bigger than he’d have thought-

-although, as they rounded the corner, it had been reduced somewhat. The other end of the former police station was a fiery ruin, although that wasn’t what held their attention.

A dozen strange, crablike creatures were lumbering through the ruins of the small town, launching horribly angular shells from their back-mounted cannons and smashing their way through walls. The huge Synths came in two varieties- some smaller, seemingly designed for use against infantry, with their bigger cousins geared towards larger-scale destruction. Between them, they were reducing the once prosperous community to scorched earth.

“They’ve started,” Nuri said flatly, as if she’d come to terms with the tragedy long before it had happened.

“But aren’t they Combine creations?” Nalore asked her in increasing confusion. “Why would they-?”

“Obviously they didn’t bother telling the CPs when they’d start the demolition.” She rubbed her swollen eye and spat in the general direction of the former Protectorate. “I hope they all died in there.”

Quarir just nodded, watching the Synths at work. Although they weren’t actively targeting the civilians, they weren’t above taking pot-shots at those who came too close, whether by accident or to offer futile opposition. The Combine clearly held efficiency over life, as their refusal to instruct the evacuation of the settlement showed.

“They knew the resistance here was too active for them to retake the city,” she sobbed. “So they destroyed it. I didn’t believe they’d do it, not even them.”

“Well, they haven’t thought this through,” Quarir offered in an attempt to comfort her, “the existing rebels will just fight back harder- watching their homes blow up won’t make them sit down and cry.”

“Exactly,” Nuri said in firm agreement, hurriedly wiping her eyes. “We won’t apply for resettlement; we’ll keep up the fight! We’ll-”

“Run?” Quarir suggested, noting the approach of the Synth horde and the appearance of some sort of cacophonous flying vehicles.

“That might be an idea, yes, but afterward we’ll dispense justice…”

 

[knut]

Excellent. Nalore reminded me of the new Doctor Who guy.

 

[The_Wookie]

It's a good start. I would advise, if you haven't already, writing a short synopsis of where the story is going and where it will end with the main highlights listed before you write too much more. If you don't the story may wander muchly and lose the power it currently has.

If you have got the story outlined, ignore all the above.

Looking forward to more installments.

 

[Edcrab]

Yes, I've planned ahead- but don't think you've picked up on a nonexistant factor, I myself think it's a little meandering at times

First part of C4...



Chapter 4: Odysseys, Genocide and Stompy Robots

“I don’t see why you keep looking at them,” Nuri snapped.

“I just didn’t think the Combine would use rotary transports,” Quarir explained, sheepishly turning away from the patrolling craft.

“Normal people call them heli-cop-ters,” she said sarcastically, “and the Combine use them because we did- they absorb other cultures and-”

“Yeah, I know, but I’d have thought they’d use Synths or Murocrachian organisms. I mean, they made grunts out of the Vortigaunts, why not convert a Murochrachian Lightspore into some sort of assault vehicle-”

“They do use Gunships closer to the Citadel, and they’re Synth,” Nuri said absently, centring her attentions on the suspiciously blank horizon. She paused, and turned back to Nalore. “What the hell is a Muddyratchet?”

“Murochr-,” Quarir began, and then thought better of it. “Never mind.”

“You keep doing that! You’re bullet-proof-”

“-in places,” he corrected.

“-in places, yes, but nevertheless bullet-proof, and you’ve got knowledge of things I’ve never heard of. Who and what are you?”

“I’ve told you,” he said tiredly, “I’m a bion. I’m a human- like you-” he added, as if not believing it himself, “but with genetic modifications and the odd artificial part.” He remembered his pulled tendons and the pothole in his chest, and winced. “Not that it does me much good…”

“That doesn’t really answer my question.”

“Yeah? Well I’m from another world, and, I think, another dimension,” he declared dramatically.

“Oh, like Xen?”

“Like Xen, yes,” he said testily, not pleased at having the wind taken from his sails, “just without the screwed up gravity and floating rocks. Basically, I’m a representative of a number of planets that want to disrupt Combine activity.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You what?”

“I can believe that. You have to remember, we’ve been enslaved by alien invaders and, like you said, we work alongside three-armed things that shoot lightning. It broadens your horizons.”

“Speaking of horizons,” Quarir nodded towards the plane, acutely disappointed that she hadn’t been interested in his nature, “I thought you said there’d be a relocation outpost over there or something?”

“There used to be,” Nuri said warily, “it was just a big camp with a lot of CP APCs inside.”

Nalore sniffed. “What City was this?”

“Eleven. That’s why I knew you’d lied about your own relocation. That, and the fact I’d shot you a minute earlier. How is it, by the way?”

“What, my bullet hole? It hurts, but I think my nanodrones have stopped the bleeding. I’ll have to pluck it out when I get the chance-”

“Oh god…” she breathed.

“I was wondering about that,” Nalore mused, following her over the crest of the hill, “do you people use that exclusively as a swearword or do you have religion like us- oh, shit.”

The pass, bordered on all sides by impassable walls of rock, was a writhing sea of bodies. Thousands of citizens were attempting to pass through it from either end- some fleeing the destruction of their homes, others the terror that awaited them beyond the canyon. A solid wall of wheeled vehicles blocked the mouth of the pass, and, seemingly acting at random, CPs were alternating between gunning the defenceless civilians down and bundling them into the personnel carriers.

“They’ve obviously been ordered to pick up the pace a little,” Quarir grimaced.

“What are we going to do? We can’t walk through the pass, the ‘cops will recognise me as a resistance fighter… and if we move over these hills, the choppers will mow us down.”

“Well, at least they don’t know who I am,” Nalore shrugged.

“Oh, shut up,” Nuri turned on him. “What kind of ‘representative’ are you, anyway? Where are your huge battleships and soldiers or even a damn ray gun? Why’d they just send you?”

Quarir backed away, mouthing nothingness. It was a thought that he’d had himself…

“Because, you useless little ape,” someone sneered, “the Traitor Mainframe wishes to remain covert.”

Nalore swivelled around, right in time for a fist to meet his midriff. There was a horrible cracking noise and he sunk to the floor. As his consciousness ebbed from him in a torrent of pain, he recalled that Maintonon had said he wouldn’t be the only operative acting on this world...

“And in doing so he guarantees his failure. Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.”

Nuri backed away. The newcomer was six foot tall, white haired, and clad in clothing she could only describe as a robe. He didn’t look too dangerous; but if Quarir really was an elite warrior selected by their would-be alien saviours, and this man had dispatched him so effortlessly…

It means I’m in big trouble, she decided, as the grinning humanoid effortlessly lifted her off her feet, walked to the edge and held her, at arms length, over the perilous drop of the precipice.

“Combine, Domarians, Terrans… you will all fall. It’s a pity,” the man leered, stroking her face with his free hand, “you’re not entirely defunct as a species-”

If he’s anything like Quarir bullets will just bounce off him, Nuri thought, frantically planning ahead even as she recoiled at his touch, even as the humming rotors of the Hunter-Seekers drew nearer, even as Quarir lay dead or dying… I’ll have to make do…

She withdrew her revolver and fired into the air, and her captor struck the pistol from her hand.

“Now, really,” he tutted, “what was that meant to do? I-”

Responding to the shots of insidious, rebellious forces, the three helicopters deluged the rocky crevices of the peak with rocket fire.

 

[Edcrab]

The end of four...


“Hmm. I found you first. I was kind of hoping I’d find my .357.”

Quarir groaned. “I feel like I’ve been buried under a heap of rocks.”

“You have been buried under a heap of rocks.”

“Ah. That’s the second time. Third if you count the ornamental boulder back in the Arts Facility.”

Nuri offered her hand, and Nalore graciously let her help him up. “Thanks,” he said, after a great deal of thought. “What actually happened?”

She told him, and his eyes bulged. “He dropped you off a cliff and you survived?”

“I have hands, you know. And I can climb. He was too busy being hit in the face by a rocket to come after me.”

“Ah,” Quarir nodded, ineffectually dusting himself off. “That explains all the scorch marks and smoke. Where are the rotorcrafts now?”

“Helicopters. They flew off for some reason after levelling half the hillside. I think they’re needed elsewhere.”

“Good for us, eh?”

“Well, yes and no- I saw a contingent of CPs leave the blockade and start making their way up here. I doubt they’ll take too long to find us. I don’t suppose you’ve seen my-” she began hopefully.

“No, and I lost my own gun. Just tell me- what was this robed guy like?”

Nuri shuddered. “About your height, whitish hair, red and gold robe over some sort of armour-”

Quarir sighed. “Sounds tasteless enough to be an Arcadimaarian. I hope those rockets really finished him off. Their Zealot’s are damn hard to kill.”

“A… Zealot?” Nuri temporarily ceased her combing of the rocky ground.

“A glorified psycho. Assassins that are given a target and never stop until one of them dies, no matter what they’re ordered to do.”

“What are the Arcadimaarians?”

“They’re a race of a similar age to the Combine, except they’ve kept themselves looking humanoid through sheer pride. I think all their genetic tampering helps too. They’re basically wannabe-Uclasions who want to destroy all inferior lifeforms- which is everyone else in their eyes- or enslave them.”

“Like the Combine,” Nuri muttered, making her way down the steep trail. “What are Uclasions?”

“The Uclasions are a really ancient species that wiped themselves out but left a few massively technological relics around- like Ucelsia, a big boxy artificial planet. A lot of Domarians live there. But the Combine just wants assimilation and supremacy- the Arc’s revel in destruction; they’re a bunch of hedonistic bastards.”

“I think you lost me at ‘really’.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Quarir murmured, nearly tripping over a large stone, “both powers are planning on invading us, but you could argue the Combine are a bigger threat. Actually, you could argue that the Arc’s are a bigger threat… I guess it depends.”

“How the hell does it ‘depend’?”

Nalore shrugged, which was a mistake as he came very close to falling over. “Well the Combine are more likely to invade, but they’re likely to try and absorb us all. The Arc’s a little less likely to, and they’ll probably just kill us, because they hate Maintonon- that’s the Domarian’s leader, this computer thing- and they prefer relying on their own tech. Although they’re not above using whatever Uclasion artefacts they can find. We could probably beat them one on one- I mean, we’ve got big stompy robots- but they outnumber us-”

“You’ve really lost me,” Nuri interjected.

“You’ve lost me- slow down, it’s not a race-”

“Shh,” Nuri ordered in a harsh undertone, raising a hand for silence.

Quarir, annoyed, listened intently, and eventually picked up what the sharper woman’s ears had already detected- the synthesised voices and heavy footfalls of a gaggle of Civil Protectors.

Nuri pointed, and, sure enough, around six of the masked enforcers were making their way up the hill, slowly defeating the steep landscape. “We can still go around them,” she whispered eagerly. “Look what’s at the foot of the hill.”

Quarir looked- it was a large, shiny, black-plated ground car. “A vehicle?”

“A Combine APC. Do you think you could drive it?”

“Me? No way, the Combine I’ve seen in action doesn’t go near wheeled vehicles. Then again they’ve got a friggin’ huge empire…”

“I’ll just do it then,” Nuri stated icily. She half ran, half slid down the remainder of the stony path, taking great care to keep as low as she could. Quarir, again, had great difficulty keeping up- he kept telling himself it was because he was so injured, not because some non-serumite was fitter than he was.

Nuri, surfing the gravel like water, came to a halt behind a conveniently placed boulder. Checking that the CPs couldn’t see her, and giving Quarir time to catch up, she moved from mound to mound, utilising the cover with tried expertise. Nalore grudgingly admitted to himself that she was really good at what she did.

She reached the APC and pounded on an area that was presumably the door. “Locked,” she shrugged, “but at least they didn’t leave a guard.”

“Amateurs,” Quarir mumbled. “You want to pick the lock, or should I just-?”

“Oh, no, go ahead and do your freakishly strong door breaking routine.”

Nalore chuckled, and managed to lever the hatch open, but not without considerable effort.

Nuri sat herself at the controls. “Simpler than I expected,” she announced, and Quarir was inclined to agree- the black plastic- at least, he presumed it was plastic- was positively covered with all manner of button and switch, but it was blatantly obvious, even to him, what each did.

Nuri pressed a button marked with some sort of half-circle, and the small glass dome topping the vehicle noisily popped open. “You can manage a gun, can’t you?”

“Probably-”

“Then get up there. They’ve seen us!”

Nuri placed a hand on the steering wheel and did something to some foot pedals- the APC shuddered into life. Quarir wedged himself into the constrictive turret cockpit and managed to slam the transparent shield down, just as bullets began ricocheting off the surrounding metal.

Shouting at the escapees, each other, and at their radios, the CPs desperately tried to make their way back to the ground- but they were far too late. The APC roared away- at a speed that even the hovercar-owning Nalore could appreciate, despite their bumpy transition.

“Can’t close this damn door!” Nuri shouted, muffled considerably by the combination of engine and thick armour. “Won’t be good for my protection!”

“Well, I couldn’t help it!” Quarir bellowed back. “At least they don’t lock their controls!”

“They don’t see the point of doing both,” she replied. “Uh-oh- I think they’re coming our way! Get that gun working!”

Quarir risked a backwards glance. Three APCs had detached themselves from the barricade and were speeding towards them, gaining ground at a disturbing rate. Swearing loudly, he grappled with the control mechanism of the machinegun mounted nearby, and he saw the pulse weapon swivel towards their pursuers. He pressed what seemed to be the trigger.

A rocket, trailing flame and smoke, screeched from a firing port and slammed into a hill, creating a burst of blinding mud that forced one of the APCs to veer aside.

His heart in his throat, Quarir tried the other trigger, and the pulse weapon spat radiant blue light towards the enemy- in a manner that was reassuringly reminiscent of the photon armaments back home. It pattered harmlessly off the automobile’s hull but he felt immensely cheered.

He concentrated his efforts on the domes of his fellow gunners, and a burst of pulse fire shattered the closest APC’s bubble, shredding the occupant in a puff of red mist. The driver slowed down to let his intact colleagues overtake him.

Nalore had no time to celebrate, however, as the two remaining carriers let loose a barrage of screaming rockets; following their every move with unerring accuracy, they left a wispy trail that would have pleased an aspiring artist in happier circumstances.

“I’m going to have take evasive action! Spray rockets everywhere, we’ve got plenty!”

Quarir didn’t need telling twice- as Nuri swung their vehicle aside wildly, he sent a steady stream of explosive projectiles towards the enemy, keeping the luminous crosshair of his reactive dome as near to them as possible.

For an eternity, the three APCs poured their full firepower towards each other, but eventually Nalore’s famous luck played out- one of their attackers overcompensated after swerving around a crater, and they entered an irreversible skid that left their side exposed for two full seconds. He took full advantage of the moment.

Two rockets slammed into the sliding carrier, and it flipped upward, landing as a smoking wreck. Whooping in unashamed joy, Nalore focused on the last one, which had unwisely slowed so as to best avoid the new obstacle. A rocket hit it dead on, and it stuttered to a halt.

In impotent rage, the crippled APC’s gunner fired upon them one last time. Even over the engine noise and the aftermath of battle, Quarir heard Nuri’s pained grunt as the shots hit home.

But he had little time to worry about her fate, because at that moment they flew over a cliff.

 

[Sloth]

awsome
13char

 

[Edcrab]

Chapter 5: Hitting the Railroad


Quarir’s first thought- I’m alive.

His second thought- But I wish I wasn’t.

And, his third, surprisingly enough- Where’s Nuri? Hope she’s in one piece…

He arduously pulled himself from out of the turret- its metal wars had been contorted by the impact, and, sandwiched between the lacerating edges, he felt like the damn thing had tried to bite him in half.

His side was damp with blood and hurt abominably- and that, he reasoned, when coupled with the injuries from all his previous escapades, meant he hurt all over.

He dropped down from the smoke-enshrouded APC. Coughing his habitual cough, he waved the fumes away and examined the object that had broken their fall. At first he was at a loss to explain why a colossal steel column would be jutting out from the sea, but when the whole structure shook he made the connection.

Trains- finally, there was something common to all three civilisations. Funny, that.

As the locomotive thundered overhead, he kept an eye out for both a way to safety and Nuri. But whether he’d find her or a gruesome corpse, well, that was the real question…

“Hello.”

“Wah!”

In complete defiance of his vascular regulation systems, his heart managed to skip a beat. Nuri was sitting on the cockpit’s crumpled seat, a white case in one hand, fixing him with a quizzical gaze.

“I half thought you’d dropped in there,” Nuri casually indicated the choppy waters far beneath them. Nalore shuddered.

“I’m… fine, more or less. How are you?”

“Bullet hit me and I lost control, that’s all,” she said defensively, pointing to a red circle on her upper arm. She continued to hold the odd-looking white device to the offending limb.

“What is that thing?” Quarir asked, curiosity overtaking his atypical concern.

“Medkit. I don’t pretend to understand how they work, but they do their job. I found this one under the driver’s seat.”

Nalore nodded, slowly. It did look like some sort of medical equipment- the red cross on the casing was a hint. The plastic was bordering glass cylinders full of some green fluid- presumably a symbiotic bacterium like myre, although maybe they had reparation nanodrones themselves and they weren’t as backwards as he’d thought…

She proffered the half empty unit. “Can you bions use these?”

“I don’t think so,” he admitted cautiously.

“Well, you can’t get any worse. Try some.”

Shrugging, he accepted the device, located the lone port on its back and held it to the wound between his ribs. “Nothings happening,” he narrated.

“It’s not automatic,” Nuri sighed. “Just press the big green button.”

A touch embarrassed, Quarir did so, and he was treated to the frankly bizarre sensation of having pressurised liquid injected inside him. The pain eased instantly- if he didn’t know better, he’d have said that this stuff was exactly the same as myre.

“Bet you feel better. Come on, there’s a ladder on the other side of this walkway.”

She was right- he did feel better. But he also felt like he’d spent half of his life being told where to go by this one chick. Of course, if she really knew where she was going, that wasn’t a big problem. He wasn’t sexist, no sir…

He followed her to the other end of the support pillar, and clambered up the ladder after her, spying the hole in the ceiling that she was headed to.

“Hey, where’d you get that backpack?” He called, suddenly noticing the container slung over her shoulder.

“Inside the APC- they had a little ammunition and a few SMGs. I thought we could use it.”

“Resourceful,” Nalore said in what was almost a congratulatory tone. He pulled himself through the opening and stood next to Nuri. “You sure you don’t want me to carry some?”

“Go right ahead,” came the response, and Quarir, who had expected her to turn down his offer, strapped himself into the load, muttering about women’s lib.

Another train passed, and the resultant vibrations shook the whole bridge for a second time. SMG at the ready, Nuri sprinted towards the epicentre with Nalore in tow.

They emerged out of the rusty passageway and onto a concrete expanse that vanished into a far-off tunnel. Train tracks and road markings ran its whole length, and the imposing watchtowers were set into the bridge at strategic intervals.

“They’ve got force fields,” Quarir told her sagely, spying the wavering wall of cerulean light that linked two of the outposts. “We’ll have to find some way of disabling them.”

“Alternatively we could just board that train and it’ll let us pass.”

“Or we could do that, yeah.”

Nuri stealthily approached the idling locomotive- a tall, thin, sinister looking contraption that put Quarir in mind of some bladed instrument. He followed behind the resistance member guardedly, aware at all times of the sentries standing atop the watchtowers, on flimsy-seeming structures that looked like surfboards wired to masts.

The train was designed efficiently: it wasn’t entirely dissimilar to its Legion equivalent, and Quarir grimaced at the likeness. The engine and carriages were windowless blocks of metal, but the freighters beyond were simply skeletal arrangements of girders, with all manner of securing device designed to hold every sort of container.

Nuri pulled herself onboard and helped Quarir up. He would’ve commented on how ironic it was that the freighter seemed to be transporting APCs, but Nuri held her hand up in the “silence” signal he’d long grown sick of.

Four Combine soldiers- their uniforms subtly different and more armoured- were inspecting the other side of the train, opening the APCs and checking their contents.

“A search party? Hope it’s not for us,” Quarir whispered, noting the angular but functional pulse rifles they all carried. He could just do with a more advanced weapon…

“Probably just routine,” Nuri replied quietly. “Now either we wait here and hope they’ve already inspected this side, or we-”

Quarir pulled her away, and they huddled in the cramped gap under the APC and its hefty securing mechanism, waiting for what felt like an infinity of discomfort as a different patrol moved from each of the vehicles, checking their cockpits and passenger compartments.

Eventually they left, and the two fugitives emerged. “Thanks for that,” Nuri said, and she actually sounded sincere.

“Anytime,” Quarir leered.

Nuri sighed. “Are all Domarians as perverted as you?”

“I’m not Domarian,” he said, incensed. “I mean, sure, I lived on their worlds and colonies but I wouldn’t call myself a Domarian. We’re all human, yeah, but they’re just… bastards. I’m not a pervert either,” he added as an afterthought.

“Whatever you say,” she said soothingly. “We’re going to have to find somewhere to stay- when the razortrain sets off the speed will probably send us flying. Either that or the wind resistance will freeze us.”

“We could always hug each other for warmth.”

“I was thinking that sitting inside an APC would be a better option. As would freezing to death, come to think of it.”

 

[knut]

Brilliant.

 

[Edcrab]

Thanks again for the feedback.

Although I've got a fairly detailed outline of the story I'm not sure whether this is going to be an epic or whether I'm going to end it fairly soon. Quarir's adventures seem to have attracted more interest than Charlie's, which is probably a promising sign- might be worth detailing his further exploits once I've wrapped this one up.

 

[Edcrab]

Drawing Chapter 5 to a close...



A Domarian railtrans could move at over two thousand miles an hour- Quarir wasn’t quite sure how fast the Combine’s aptly named razortrain traversed its line, but he’d have guessed that it had broken the sound barrier a while back.

Yet, although it was likely that the simpler locomotive moved markedly slower than its Domarian counterpart, Nalore felt as if his head was being rhythmically pounded against a hard metal wall.

This was because his head was being rhythmically pounded against a hard metal wall. It was likely that the journey was so turbulent simply because the APCs weren’t fastened to the freight latticework as strongly as they had looked, but for all he knew there were CPs sitting upfront in the monstrous carriages, falling over each other and considering it a first-class experience.

Nuri, irritatingly, seemed unfazed by their unsteady transit. She was leaning against the wall, dozing. If Quarir had asked she would have explained that once you learned to sleep through a Combine artillery barrage you could sleep through anything, but he didn’t ask. He just sat down and sulked.

Once upon a time he’d have been in one of his many limousines about now, winging his way home from a high-powered business meeting. He would have been relaxing, thinking of his oversized Jacuzzi, and possibly the various women sitting in it, depending on how much money he’d made on the day.

If someone had told me that just over a year later I’d be fleeing a demolished city on some backwater planet while trying to undermine the presence of some generic galactic threat, I’d have laughed in their face.

Quarir considered this- no, he amended privately, I’d probably have had them shot. Just because I could.

It was odd, though. The Combine was one of the oldest, most powerful empires in existence, yet Maintonon had never worried about them- not until very recently. In fact, very few Domarians even knew of the encroaching borders of the Arcadimaarians, or the steady territorial expansions of the Combine.

Then again, Nalore thought darkly, if we had no chance against either of them, what kind of leader would let us know?

The razortrain abruptly stopped, and the APCs pendulous motion sent him sprawling. Nuri woke up instantly, bright-eyed and annoyingly alert.

“That was quick. How long had we been moving?”

“Beats me,” Quarir muttered grouchily, getting back to his feet. “An hour, if that.”

Nuri nodded, and went to the APC’s rear hatch. She opened it by the tiniest possible fraction, then, seeing nothing, she slid it all the way aside and leapt out. Nalore shouldered their backpack and followed her. It wasn’t as if he had any other option.

So far Quarir had seen very little to expose the Combine presence- granted, they’d fortified the rail bridge and employed their own trains on the lines, but just like everything he’d seen thus far they’d merely added to what was already there, utilising existing human architecture and adapting it for whatever function it was most suited to.

But this station was purpose built. A nightmarish ribcage of black archways, a hideous but practical train depot, dropped in the middle of this country’s rough terrain. Everything had a strange, almost organic sheen to it- from the bizarrely smooth concrete to the nameless alloy that the Combine seemed to favour.

“Lovely,” he said weakly. Nuri merely shuddered.

Several rail lines converged on the facility, but it seemed oddly deserted. As they made their way through it, they passed platform after empty platform- no passengers, no guards, nothing.

“This is a resettlement outpost,” Nuri said in sudden, exasperated revelation. “We tried and avoid this place and we end up here anyway!”

Quarir conceded that she was probably right- it would explain why it was so quiet, as it wouldn’t be commonly used. He didn’t know what to say, and impotency wasn’t a sensation he savoured. He hated feeling helpless.

There was a gunshot, and Quarir and Nuri instinctively sought shelter behind a ridiculously slender pillar- something they’d got horribly used to doing. Panicked shouts split the air, followed by the harsh commands of Civil Protection lackeys.

The two of them slowly broke cover and edged across the concrete floor, making their way through the roof’s supporting columns. Reaching a gap between the disconcertingly skeletal frameworks, they stared across four rail tracks at the platform beyond.

A dozen or so Metrocops were shepherding terrified civilians into an overcrowded carriage- and this one looked far different to the razortrain. Nalore was prepared to bet it was a native vehicle, as it looked old and, bluntly, inefficient.

One bloodied corpse lay sprawled across the concrete, presumably some ill-fated resistor to the Protectorate’s relocation scheme. A woman was huddled over the body, sobbing, but an unsympathetic ‘cop beat her once or twice with his metal cudgel, and she eventually allowed herself to be dragged in.

“Where do we go from here?” Nuri asked softly, a question meant more than herself than for her clueless companion. “Look at that compound,” she said bitterly, indicating the low black walls of an improvised parking lot, “look at the APCs. I’m willing to bet these people are from the exact same mass abduction we just-”

“Halt, citizens. What are you doing here?”

Quarir, without thinking, hit the CP in the face. The stunned guard staggered, and Nuri forcibly banged his head against the column to guarantee his silence. With a pitiful gasp, the officer crumpled.

“That was sensible,” she said sarcastically. “He could have warned the lot of them. There might have been more than one, and we’d be dead by now.”

“I’m bullet-proof, remember? I wouldn’t be dead,” he reminded her snidely. “Either way we’re alive. Not to mention,” he said thoughtfully, “better equipped.” He seized the comatose ‘cops pistol and baton.

“Never mind that,” Nuri said dismissively, her eyes on the increasingly full train, “I’ve just had an idea…”

 

[tinyxipe]

My goodness! How do you crank these out so fast? I'm sooo slooow.

Excellent work though. Very good dialogue. My only small criticism was that chapter 4 didn't feel like it was in much of a setting (does that make sense?). Lots of dialogue, little description. Still very enjoyable though. Maybe I shouldn't even say anything because chapter 5 gave me a very good picture of their setting. Especially liked the description of the station.

Can't wait for chapter 6!

 

[Edcrab]

Ah, there's no secrets between authors I cut C4 down to size because it felt really sluggish, yet, ironically, it seems others agree that now it's a bit too shallow- it really does feel like a placeholder.

The description broke up the action too much for my taste- but I'd probably have been best suited slimming it down rather than dropping it entirely, as dialogue/confrontation segments need something to break them up in my experience.

Anyway, thanks for the feedback all, it's fuel to my literary ego :E

 

[Sloth]

Just a pet hate, don't make any characters immortal, unable to be killed.
Just makes it seem to un-real (even if it is in HL2 world)

 

[Edcrab]

If you're reffering to Quarir's augmented nature, rest assured he's very mortal. He's highly resistant to projectiles, but he's no Captain Scarlet

EDIT: To avoid a double post...


Chapter 6: City 17

“Since it was my idea, I fail to see why you get to be ‘cop,” Nuri protested.

“That guy was my size. Besides, you’ve still got that black eye. If anyone asks, I beat you up. For whatever reason.”

“It doesn’t suit you.”

“Good.” Quarir adjusted the padded black vest. It made no difference- it was still tight and itchy. “Since I’m always fashionable they’d never think it was me under this crap. Hah.”

“Witty. Now put the amplifier on.”

Pride forbade Nalore from asking exactly how he could affix the mask and its inbuilt transmitter to his head, so it was fortunate that he felt the face cover click into place after he applied gentle pressure to its sides.

“Can’t see a thing,” he muttered, and both he and Nuri jumped as a voice, entirely unlike his own, croaked from out of the vocal unit.

“If you’re going to talk to me take that off,” she hissed, “this ruse is probably doomed to failure as it is, never mind if you’re swaggering around calling me ‘chick’!”

“I rarely call you chick,” he said petulantly, removing the gasmask after a brief struggle with its fastenings. “And you’re optimistic, aren’t you? Like you said, it was your damn idea!”

“I was thinking more along the lines of you keeping them busy while I run to the train. The ‘guard escorting prisoner’ routine is the oldest trick in the book.”

“Well, where I come from the oldest trick in the book is the one where we jump up, screaming, and fill them all full of photonic death. I mean, hot lead. Whatever it is these things fire.”

“It’s going!” Nuri screeched.

Nalore slammed the mask back onto his face and made to follow, but Nuri restrained him.

“It’s too late,” she sighed, “it’s too far gone.” The train, filled past its capacity, was pulling out of the station. Even if they reached it, the sight of a lone citizen and a lone CP pursuing it would arouse suspicion.

“At least there aren’t as many guards now,” the synthetically enhanced voice barked.

Nuri hit her “Metrocop” escort on the shoulder. “Just stop talking already. There’s another train over there- and right now I don’t care where it’s going. We’ve got no chance of rescuing the others now.” She thrust her ammunition-filled satchel in his face. “You carry this. Whoever heard of a captive with guns?”

Quarir hung the bag over his shoulder, and checked the other platform. There were four guards there, and the train had three carriages- including its engine and the obligatory freight container- although they were in marginally better nick. They looked practically deserted.

Nuri, every inch the disconsolate prisoner, slowly strode ahead, her eyes on the pavement. Remembering his own part, Quarir kept his SMG on her back, and occasionally prodded her with the weapon. For once, she wouldn’t be able to complain-

“Who’s this?”

Quarir met his apparent colleague’s gaze unflinchingly, or at least his eyepieces. “Someone ‘special’. Apparently the bitch tried to run from City 11, and they’re having me take her to… a more fitting location.”

One of the CPs chuckled nastily, but Nalore had the distinct feeling that the others weren’t so convinced.

“Are you four taking this train?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

The troupe paused, and then shook their heads. “No.”

“Right, I’d best go with her,” he said dejectedly. “It’ll be my ass on the line if she escapes again- they say she’s a well known sympathiser, though she doesn’t look much to me. But we always know how to persuade ‘em to stay put, right?” He patted the baton on his belt and sneered.

One or two of them laughed in agreement and Nalore relaxed. They clearly didn’t suspect him, at least not enough to challenge his feigned authority.

Nuri found herself wondering just what Quarir used to do. He was certainly convincing, so perhaps he really was the many-skilled alien super soldier he claimed to be. Maybe she had-

She stumbled as he shoved her. “Get in. Now.”

Repressing the urge to kick him, she stepped onboard. With a knowing gesture to the four Metrocops, who, to Quarir’s intense relief, returned the wave, he followed.

She sat down, morosely, at a window, and he stood over her threateningly, brandishing the gun. For an eternity the train seemed to sit idly by as they waited under the scalding scrutiny of the four CPs, but a reassuring rumble heralded its departure, as did some incoherent mumbling from the station’s announcement system.

Convinced they were out of danger, Nuri breathed again. “That was worrying.”

“You were worried?” Nalore sniffed, tossing the hated mask onto the red seating row as he collapsed beside it, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so shaky.” That much was true- never in his heyday had he found lying so gruelling. But even then, there was that old tingle of excitement…

“Don’t see why you care. You’re bullet-proof,” she mimicked.

“Some of me is. A lot of my parts aren’t, and they’re all my favourite parts.”

“Urrgh,” Nuri made a face. “Are all Domarians like you?”

“No, the others are very different to me. Not that I’m a Domarian or anything,” he added hastily.

She nodded. “That’s reassuring. Now I can understand why this boss of yours doesn’t want the Combine killing them off.”

“That’s not very funny.”



Nalore dreamed. He dreamed of space, of armadas, of stars, of wars that scoured whole planets barren.

He also dreamt, for some reason, of a gigantic lobster. It was lumbering around in a blue ocean, but, in surreal clairvoyance, he knew that it was very unhappy with its lot. He supposed he would be, too, if he was a crustacean watching war waged upon high.



Nuri shook him, none too gently. “Wake up,” she snarled. ““Get your mask on now.”
“What’s the problem?” he asked yawningly. Still muddled by sleep, he tried to resist, but she kept berating him until he donned the disguise.

Nuri grabbed his head and swivelled it so it faced out the window. “They are,” she growled. “We’ve got to get moving.”

They were in a station- but this time, from the concrete and bland steel awnings, he knew it to be a native construct. Three strange metal contrivances were floating overhead a depressed-looking huddle of citizens, who were moving between platforms, hastily boarding trains not from their own desire for punctuality but from fear of punishment from the soldiers standing watch.

Nuri, practically crawling on her belly, approached the door. She rose cautiously, then gave it good solid kick- the flimsy material concertinaed open. She stepped down onto the rails- glad of the fact that the train was between her and the activities of others- and, reasoning that even her legs would be shielded by the raised concrete and the idle locomotive, she ran pell-mell to the freight carriage.

Nuri grappled with the padlock, but found this last obstacle unmovable. She gave Quarir a withering glance as he caught up with her. “In your own time, there’s no rush.”

Flushing, he heaved on the lock, which split with a disturbingly loud pinging sound. Together, they slid the heavy door aside, and pulled themselves up, closing themselves in just as they heard the drone of a flying scanner as it oversaw a pair of citizens embark.

Nuri, panting, lazily dodged the gasmask hurled her way by the piqued Nalore.
“Any reason you made me wear that?” he snapped over the protracted roar of the train’s engine.

“So that, if we were spotted, we’d be slightly better off than if we were two runaway citizens,” she explained levelly.

“Personally, I think you just like torturing me.”

“Yes, I do consider that a perk.”

 

[Sloth]

that was awsome
“Don’t see why you care. You’re bullet-proof,” she mimicked.

“Some of me is. A lot of my parts aren’t, and they’re all my favourite parts.”

pure gold!

 

[Edcrab]

Sadly, I ripped that part off from Red Dwarf

Adapted from Lister's thoughts after he sets fire to himself in the first book. I'm a fraud!

EDIT: Again. Last tiny segment of Chapter 6:



They had no idea of knowing how far they’d roved- neither being quite sure of how long they’d been travelling, or just how fast their transport was moving; not to mention how their irregular sleep patterns had wreaked havoc upon their biological clocks.

Quarir was now grateful for his stolen uniform- once he’d sweated in it prolifically, but now the getup was shielding him against the howling wind invading the gap left by their forced entry.

Nuri curled up in a corner and shivered amongst the dusty crates. She was heartened by the sudden deceleration of the train- it heralded both an end to her discomfiture and their reunification with civilisation- even if the civilisation in question had been corrupted beyond all recognition by the Combine.

“So,” Nalore said as the locomotive drew to a shuddering stop, “where are we?”

“I’d presume one of the Cities,” Nuri yawned. “It’s unlikely that this train would keep going between resettlement facilities.” She pushed open the door, and after a well-practised search for hostiles, the two stowaways stepped down.

“Oh, no,” she said, rather inexplicably.

“What? A rotorcraft? Those scanner-things? A Strider?”

Nuri just shook her head, and, as confused as ever, Nalore tagged along after her as she stealthily hugged the train. The carriage disgorged a trio of men- which was odd, because both fugitives could’ve sworn that only two had boarded. Convinced that the briefcase-carrying passengers and the vaguely familiar bearded one had neither seen nor heard them, they ran to the right-hand platform and the relative safety of its obtrusive wire fence.

“Who’s that guy?” Nalore asked, nodding at the colossal vidscreen which dominated the station.

“Breen. Our ‘spokesman’.”

“Welcome,” Breen boomed over unseen speakers, “to City 17.”

 

[Agent G-Man]

Very short chapter, but an excellent one.

 

[Edcrab]

Thought I'd best get 7 started, what with the fierce competition from the likes of tinyxipe


Chapter 7: Dystopia Central

“So is he the only guy on the vidscreen around here?”

“Yes.”

“Woah. The Propaganda Channel, 30/10.” Quarir considered this. “A bit like the Council Media News, come to think of it.”

“30/10?”

“You know, hours ‘n’ shifts? Wait. You’ve got a 24 hour day here. I screwed that one up.”

Smiling slightly, Nuri circumvented the fence, which, strangely enough, didn’t run the platform’s entire perimeter. The compound beyond overlooked the steady trickle of downtrodden citizens making their way through the expansive station; the place was littered with all sorts of refuse, and a hunched figure was attempting to sweep the floor clean…

“Vortigaunt. Those guys are friends of you people now, right?”

“Yes,” Nuri confirmed, “but I think that one is shackled.”

“Oh, the mind control things? Or mind reading. Whatever. Either way they get hurt if they do the wrong thing, right?”

“If by the wrong thing you mean whatever the Combine doesn’t want them to do, then yes.”

“Right.”

The craggy-skinned alien was working steadily, although it hardly approached its tedious task with enthusiasm. A Metrocop, as coolly vigilant as ever, oversaw the otherworldly cleaner.

Fortunately, after they’d skulked in the shadows for just enough time to make them consider retracing their steps, the CP withdrew into a doorway and slowly made his way down a dark corridor.

“Right, let’s go.”

“Will you stop saying ‘right’?” she snapped at him, “It’s getting quite tiresome.”

Nuri’s stealthy walk had been perfected from years of persecution and flight, while Quarir’s own abilities had come from the golden days when he’d stolen physical property rather than conning his way into the bureaucratic hearts of corporations. An observer would’ve been hard pressed to spot either-

“We see you, Nuri Daekkler,” intoned a throaty voice. “Come before the oppressor returns from their patrol. Inform your follower to stop shuffling through my paper. The pile took much work to complete.”

Quarir guiltily stepped out of the fair-sized heap he’d just disturbed. Nuri, ever cautious, checked the area beyond the enclosure before stepping out.

“You need not fear detection. None have noticed you. Few ever look at this place. That is why my task is such an exercise in meaningless. An affront to my purpose.”

Nuri eyed the bonded gate and the equally obstructive fence that bordered it. The Vort was friendly, as they always were, but if it was plugged into the Overwatch’s sensory array, it would mean that the Combine would-

“Do those things hurt?” Nalore asked the creature, innocently indicating the alien’s green, luminescent shackles and neck brace.

“We are used to such devices. Note that mine are not functional, Quarir Nalore.” It touched a strange device around what Nalore could only describe as its waste- it looked like a circuitry-wrapped chastity belt. “I am an emissary of Eli Vance. The oppressor mistakes me for one of my enchained brethren.”

“How the hell do you know my name? I thought you guys were only telepathic amongst yourselves-”

“Yes. We remember you from Colony 351. It was an interesting incident.”

“There aren’t any Xenians on 351!”

“You are gravely mistaken.”

“That’s all very good.” Nuri lied, disquieted by the discussion of topics she had no knowledge of, “But did you just mention Eli-?”

“Secrete yourselves, they return.”

The two human’s scattered, and the Vortigaunt was patiently tending the pile that Nalore had ruined when the CP arrived. The officer took very little interest in anything other than his charge, but lingered for many long moments before moving on.

“I’m getting sick of this,” Nalore muttered, picking a snippet of wastepaper out of his ear.

“Endurance is the path to serenity. As our greatest philosopher once said, ‘ch’lar grak dur vik-chuirl darlungh’.”

“You sounded like a Desz. Well, a bit. They sound like phlegmy cement mixers.”

“Moving on,” Nuri interrupted as loudly as she dared, “you mentioned Eli Vance. How is he… I mean, how are they… how is everything going?”

“Since the fall of Ravenholm we have toned down our expeditions. Such acts attract too much attention and endanger us all.”

“I heard about Ravenholm,” Nuri said sadly. “But we all knew it would happen someday.”

“Except for the hundreds that were claimed. They had no inkling that their final reckoning had come.”

“I hate it,” Nuri glowered angrily, “when you are so… so calm about things like this!”

The Vortigaunt raised one of its three arms, and they sought cover for what felt like the longest period yet.

Eventually the CP left again, and Quarir dislodged a surprisingly large ball of crumpled packaging from his left nostril. “This is getting beyond a joke,” he spat, tumbling out of the long-discarded produce.

“Yes,” the Vortigaunt agreed solemnly, “I have waited here long enough, and an alien certainly warrants my return. My report shall be given, and you shall be aided. Remain here.”

Quarir slowly realised that he was the alien the ‘Gaunt was referring to. It was a disturbing thought, but then again, considering how much the Domarians had employed their technologies to best perfect their bodies, they were something other than human…

The Vortigaunt possessed an odd gait, but their loping stride covered ground efficiently. The janitor was within the corridor within moments, broom and all.

Solider, less organic footsteps followed, and after a few seconds there was a splintering sound, a nearly inaudible gasp of surprise, and a thud.

“I have improvised, as the resistance teaches,” the Vort announced. “The oppressor is dispatched. Follow me for the betterment of all our species. But note that you still have a KnuttyKrunch wrapper in your hair.”

 

[tinyxipe]

“The oppressor is dispatched. Follow me for the betterment of all our species. But note that you still have a KnuttyKrunch wrapper in your hair.”

Lol! Very good!

So, it's competition you want! Ha-Ha!

*opens new document and flexes fingers ominously over keyboard. Stares blankly. Is distracted by shiny object and wanders off*

 

[Sloth]

if you want competition maybe i should start my ideas for a fanfic
*opens brand spanking new doco, starts to type, stops looking at HL2.net, and contuies typing*

 

[jondy]

Edcrab, beautifully written. It reminds me of Adams

 

[Edcrab]

Thanks! That's the highest praise I can imagine I am a huge fan of authors like Adams and Pratchett- although sometimes I feel that I'm emulating them too much. *cough*Ripping-them-off*cough*

Mid section of the chapter...



“You must have damn good night vision,” Quarir said, a hint of admiration in his voice.

“We do see things differently,” the Vortigaunt replied. “That much is accurate.”

“I always wondered about getting my eyes augmented, but you wouldn’t believe how much optics cost these days.”

“We cannot claim to understand or desire bionics.”

“Yeah, there’re not to everyone’s taste,” Nalore shrugged. “I mean, back in Ucelsia some people see them as fashionable, but a lot of people think they’re really-”

“We are trying to sneak through a disused access tunnel,” Nuri said with great restraint. “It’s practically pitch black. And you are discussing the finer points of disgusting plug-ins that I’ve never heard of.”

“Better than just stumbling around and sneezing from the dust,” snapped Quarir, who, in a few poetic seconds, sneezed and walked into a small boiler.

“This deep within the labyrinth, you need fear no Combine presence,” the ‘Gaunt began, apparently ignorant of Quarir’s bruised pride and Nuri’s stifled hysterics, “these tunnels are no longer useful to their twisted cause. They are a place of refuge.”

Nuri yelped and tripped over a corroded pipe that was inexplicably running across the floor. Quarir helped her back up, and although it was too dark for her to be certain she would’ve bet a week’s rations that he was wearing a suitably smug expression.

“Chuy-gug glo’wroina,” the Vort exclaimed despairingly in a voice like damp gravel. “There is no need for this to continue. By the journey’s end you would both be worn to dust by your collisions. Secrecy is no longer our aspiration…”

With those words, the Vortigaunt brought light into being. It wasn’t much- merely painting the edges of their surroundings in neon green- but it at least meant they wouldn’t blunder into the clearly defined obstacles.

“That’s pretty impressive,” Quarir said approvingly. The source of the illumination appeared to be an emerald flame in the alien’s palm, but on closer inspection the glow was down to a tiny, flickering bolt of electricity, constantly wavering between two of the Vort’s fingertips.

The ‘Gaunt said nothing, just nodding and moving on.

For a moment Quarir did too, but then he stopped, and just gaped at the scene before him.

“There’re a hell of a lot of dead people here,” he breathed. Nuri actually retched slightly.

The corpses were- perhaps fortunately- old and desiccated, mostly rag-clad skeletons littered between the dilapidated machinery. And yet none of the faded clothes resembled standard citizenry attire, Nuri realised, wondering just how old the bodies were…

“These passages were scene to a massacre,” the ‘Gaunt began, acting as both historian and tour guide. “The workers once stationed here refused to bow to the Combine. They instead remained and lived off supplies. But the Combine struck back at their defiance, and made them an example to us all.”

“They didn’t even move the bodies?” Nuri grimaced in disgust. “That’s just-”

“Inhuman? Last I checked these things weren’t human,” Quarir ranted.

“Nor are we, but we value life and mourn every tie that is severed. Respect is not exclusive to your species.”

The two human’s had the decency to look embarrassed, but brightened up considerably when the tunnel did likewise. A steep ramp led to sunlight, and- as contrived as it sounded coming from a man who’d spent most of his adult life inside a floating metal box- Quarir was glad to see it again.

“Yes. We often find your world intriguing. An interesting but melancholy change of climes.”

“Xen didn’t have sunrises or sunsets like that?” Nuri asked sceptically, indicating the magnificent skyline- it was ruined only by the ever-present Citadel on the horizon.

“No. But somehow your world still instils a sense of purpose. Of safety-”

“Which is a false sense, I assure you.”

The Vortigaunt’s death cry echoed for miles around, mingling with the cacophony of the two bullets that had split the air, just as they had split the craggy hide, spilling yellowish blood upon the soil.

“Surely you didn’t think a few primitive combustibles would stop me?”

And there, before them, holding Nuri’s long-lost .357 in an extravagant gauntlet… was the Zealot.

 

[Joe Nomalos]

I like your story. It's very clever and new not to mention highly refreshing. Hope there's more.

 

[Edcrab]

To answer a question I was asked, yes, I'm aware its a much simpler style than Charlie's Angle. But that flopped, so go figure- besides, Quarir is just badass, in a strangely ineffective way.

This is the end of Chapter 7- and, for the second time, all four societies clash.



Okay, Nalore thought calmly, even as their Vortigaunt ally twitched spasmodically, think rationally. This thing is probably a thousand years old, and he’s probably assassinated hundreds of people, easily. So fighting is out of the question. You’ll just have to think your way out.

“Oh, shit,” he said aloud.

“Indeed,” said the ancient psychopath, who appeared completely unharmed by his brush with a salvo of high-explosive missiles. “Please excuse the projectile weapon- I merely thought it would be appropriately ironic to finish you things off with it.”

“Won’t do to much to me,” Quarir waved a hand dismissively, although he was uncomfortably aware of the fact that the high calibre round would pulverise his unaugmented skull. “You didn’t plan too far ahead, did you?”

“Oh, you’re very wrong. I maintained my more… traditional weaponry.”

The Zealot made a slight gesture with his free hand, and a blinding flash leapt from his gilded digits and struck Nalore.

He felt as if a bar of white-hot iron had been slammed across his body- the SMG he’d been covertly trying to raise skidded across the floor as he weakened his grip. Just as Quarir tried to overcome the intense pain the Zealot twiddled his metal-clad fingers, lazily sending another blast towards him, this time lifting him off his feet and smashing him against a crumbling- but still excruciatingly solid- brick wall.

Smugly, the alien tormentor turned his attentions towards Nuri- and got a torso-full of 9mm rounds. She’d been prepared enough to seek shelter behind a jagged fragment of concrete, realising that Nalore, in a moment of rare bravery, had bought her enough time to do so- but she hadn’t been prepared for the bored way that the thing shrugged off her admittedly meagre firepower. The bullets had sparked off its tastelessly gleaming chest plate as if it had been crafted from a Strider’s chitin…

A .357 round left a smoking hole inches from her head. “You are conveniently fragile, of course,” the Zealot informed her friendlily. “Fitting that your own weapon will claim your life.”

Two more shots rang out- and missed, as Nuri deftly rolled towards a second outcropping of debris. Grunting in mild frustration, the Arcadimaarian fired his last shot, showering her in harmless dust as that, too, managed to miss her.

“Not that advanced really, are you?” she called out. Mocking an assassin with a superiority complex was hardly the wisest move to make, but it might allow Quarir time enough to recover and besides, the arrogant bastard deserved irritation…

“I do admit that this weapon is less potent than I expected,” the Zealot confessed, exposing the revolvers innards and dislodging the spent cartridges as if he meant to reload it. “I gave your society too much credit- but I can always improvise.”

He waved a hand over the gun’s empty chambers- and a second later six glossy bullets were nestled cosily inside. Nuri swallowed.

“I don’t remember it doing that,” said Quarir.

The Zealot whirled and fired at the prone Domarian, who managed to take the shot on his forearm. “You people mock us for using machines and sneer at the Combine for using biotech,” Nalore snarled, rising to his feet and reaching for his SMG, “and yet you come down here with your shiny psionic amplifiers and powered armour and lord over us. It’s just sad.”

He regretted the remark instantly- three more of the pulsing bolts of light hit home, and he again found himself lain across the broken bricks, unconsciousness threatening to envelop him. He’d have sooner been wrestling with a damn bullsquid… at least Xenians were consistent.

Nuri broke cover, firing as she leapt towards the wall with a vaguely Nalore-shaped indentation, and her rash move was rewarded- three bullets clipped the white-haired killer’s face, leaving bloody gouges in his cheek.

The Arc winced, gingerly touching the gaping wounds, but as he did so they healed up as if they’d never existed, engulfed by benign white energy. “Enough of this,” he spat, pointing both hands out towards the brick barricade, positioning them as if he was holding an invisible sphere.

The blast pulverised the wall with a sinisterly quiet impact, sending charred bricks flying overhead. Neither human was hurt, but they found themselves huddling beside a large crater, bereft of shelter.

The Zealot shook his head disapprovingly. “Two civilisations’ best offerings laid to rest already,” the Zealot tutted, levelling the Magnum at his two defiant targets. “I’d really have expected-”

Zhhum.

A brilliant orb of energy zapped out of nowhere, striking the alien’s shoulder and severing his limb, ignoring his gilded armour. Gasping, the Arcadimaarian grasped his horrific injury, only for the pulse grenade to rebound off a chunk of concrete and strike his chest, where it exploded in a shower of bright sparks.

Close to death, the ridiculously hardy Zealot wheezed something unintelligible, and vanished in a crackle of golden light.

A well-built, white-uniformed soldier sporting a cyclopean helmet and an angular pulse rifle loomed over the fugitives.

“A Combine Elite,” Nuri breathed, half shocked, half relieved.

“I don’t think he’ll be much better,” Quarir muttered. And then he fainted.

 

[Sloth]

Rock Rock ON
Good Jorb

 

[tinyxipe]

Whew! Never thought I would be so relieved at the arrival of a Combine elite. I was a bit worried for them towards the end.

I have to agree with jondyfun, your story definitely has an Adams flavor. I arrived too late here to really comment on Charlie's Angle and it's a shame you didn't feel encouraged enough to continue it.

I wish I could give you a better critique, I'm just not very good at it. You certainly have quite a skill for it, though. I've been enjoying reading this story. I think that humor is much harder to write than drama and I wish I had your talent for dry wit.

 

[Edcrab]

I found this chapter pretty damn interesting to write, but man, is it weird. First part!

tinyxipe- Just as you might find humour hard to write, I envy your ability to create darker, more serious material. As for Charlie, I genuinely feel Quarir to be more interesting to write about I mean, he's a weird alien getting attacked by other weird aliens! What's a daft resistance member got on that?



Chapter 8: Potential Scenarios


The Citadel was a colossal construct. Surpassing the clouds of the atmosphere, it was so tall as to be impressive even to the galaxy’s more advanced civilisations.

An erratic tower of constantly shifting plates of metal, the dark structure sat in a foggy abyss smashed through the Earth’s crust long ago. Huge, ponderous machines worked continuously in these gloomy catacombs, just a few of the innumerable devices constantly geared towards maintaining the Citadel and its surrounding territory.

Wires of all kinds- some electrical, some meant as suspension- snaked out from the structure, leading to all manner of location, although each was part of the vast monitoring and data processing network referred to as the Overwatch, a recon system that had become essential to the Civil Protection.

Indeed, some of the cables served this purpose exclusively. One such line meandered through the subterranean depths, eventually emerging from the ground and into a clinically clean Combine-garrisoned building.

Forty was one of the Benefited. The ignorant referred to his kind as a “Combine Elite”, lingering on his improved combat abilities rather than his higher brain functions.

He was a higher being- the closest step yet towards human perfection. He had embraced the Combine’s technology and ethos, even as he rejected his memories and personality.

He manipulated the computer console before him as if it was his brethren- which, in a way, it was. Forty barely classified as male, as such gender-based functions were deemed unnecessary.

He had no concept of political opinion or belief, knowing only that the Benefactors would save mankind, but as he was one of the few beings on the planet that could counter the choice operatives of any interloper, the Universal Union concluded that he and his fellows should at least possess knowledge of outsiders.

The Domarians, both he and the Overwatch’s archive knew, were a small, 780-planet empire that relied on advanced technology plundered from relics left by a long extinct race, including a hyper-intelligent computer that was their self-imposed ruler. The Extinct- dubbed the Uclasions by the Domarians- were thought to be the only species older than the Union, wiped out either by infighting or disease- concepts incomprehensible to the Benefited. The Domarians’ closest genetic relatives were humans, indicating that they’d undergone a similar evolutionary process involving primates.

He concluded that the subject, “Quarir”, was some sort of Domarian agent. His augmentation was above human capability, and his profile revealed him to be a genetically-enhanced serumite, like the majority of Domarians.

The Arcadimaarians were not only older than the Domarians, but they had been encountered many times before, hence the enormous amount of information the network bore. Their exact empirical size was unknown, but they were thought to possess at least 100,000 hospitable planets, making them one of the Union’s few “competitors”. They utilised Uclasion-derived technologies; mostly fusion-based- primarily terraforming, terracreation, nanotech manipulation and psionic amplification.

Unlike the enlightened Union, Arcadimaarians either enslaved rival species or drove them to extinction. They attempted no assimilation, reasoning that all other life forms were inferior and that thus all other technologies were unworthy of their use. Their ruling class- the “High Caste”- actively utilised genetic facilities to build variations of their own kind, all tweaked to best employ their natural telepathic capabilities. These so-called “Psychevores” ranged from ageless concubines to tireless servants and soldiers that leeched off pain and fear- they used the resultant energies to feed themselves or power purpose-built weaponry.

The “Perfected” were a bastardisation of the Universal Union’s Benefited, members of the High Caste adapted to one purpose. The creature eliminated at the disused warehouse was thought to be an Arcadimaarian infiltrator of some sort- Forty had retrieved the being’s severed limb for study but the actual body had been consumed by some sort of self-destructive process of last-resort. They appeared to rely exclusively on genetic adaptation, rather than the bionic/biological processes favoured by the Union and, to a lesser extent, the Domarians. There was a possibility that there was nanotechnology involved, but there was no conceivable remnant in the arm to support such a conclusion.

Forty moved to the computer’s next entry, reminding himself that the female was a human called “Nuri”. She was thought to have been an unrelated bystander, although she possessed a firearm without permission and was a noted terrorist sympathiser.

Some sort of massive deceit- involving carefully staged conflict- was possible, as the Union would never expect all three species to collaborate. But the hatred garnered towards the Domarians by the Arcadimaarians disrupted this theorem.

Domarian/Arcadimaarian co-operation was implausible, due to the apparently genuine combat and their long lasting hostilities. Human/Arcadimaarian co-operation was equally ludicrous, due to the Arcadimaarian’s consuming nature and scorn of all other life. Human/Domarian co-operation was highly unlikely, as neither species would gain anything from an alliance or the temporary “liberation” of mankind.

Forty agreed with the Overwatch terminal’s synopsis- the incident was down to nothing more than coincidence. Scouts from both civilisations had simultaneously surveyed this planet in an attempt to reconnoitre different sectors of the Union. Such an event was highly improbable but the most likely explanation.

Nuri and Nalore were incarcerated, destined for eventual interrogation and possibly dissection.

Forty and his peers had more pressing issues to consider. The Citadel was on full alert, dense clouds of scanner units swarming out of openings to flood City 17, as Hunter-Seeker helicopters scoured the land just as thoroughly.

Freeman was here. And no amount of perceived interplanetary threats would draw Breen’s attention away from him.

 

[jondy]

Write more, for the Sword of Damocles hangs above you, your inevitable demise forestalled by a hair's breadth of sweet sweet story goodness. Or something.

 

[Edcrab]

*eyes Damocles's sword warily* Better type something else to ward it off...



The cell had a window, but it was blatantly obvious that it was present merely to save wear and tear on light bulbs during daylight hours. Even then, the grimy, narrow opening barely illuminated the surprisingly large- if Spartan- chamber. Nuri knew after her first glance that the thick glass was too far from the floor to be a viable means of escape.

It didn’t stop her repeatedly using her uncomfortably hard bed as an ineffectual springboard, however. The stereotyped blood of East-European gymnasts ran through her veins and thus she got commendably close to the distant window, although the sheer walls and deep-set frame prevented her making any headway.

Finally, after she’d landed heavily for the umpteenth time, she sat disconsolately on her bed and thought of escape, Quarir, and a warm shower.


Quarir was thinking much the same, albeit with the items in a juggled order. Like Nuri he’d been wearing the same clothes for what felt like a decade- he’d rather unwisely worn most of his citizen’s outfit under the now-confiscated Metrocop uniform- but he craved a shower to rid himself of blood, rather than his sweat.

He had two .357 rounds lodged somewhere in his body, several sprained muscles, broken ribs and burns caused by some sort of… psychic energy… stuff. But, although the white-clothed Combine apparently wanted him alive, they didn’t bother issuing him pain relief as his augmentations meant he wasn’t in a life-threatening condition.

He wasn’t exactly in agony, as the few thousand- or was that million?- nanodrones in his blood were slowly repairing the damage to his body, but whenever he moved he had an unpleasantly cold sensation in his upper chest which he just knew was down to cooling lead in a sensitive area.

Nalore wished he’d been one of those shallow bastards who treated augmentations like fashion accessories- then he’d could’ve been some sort of killer cyborg maniac, rather than a disgraced businessman who was moping around a prison cell, worrying over whether he was still vulnerable to lead poisoning.

He also considered the possibility that, after a token interrogation, the Combine would have him tortured or vivisected. Or possibly both simultaneously, to save time. Strangely, that didn’t bother him too much, but he still harboured feelings of anger and guilt- guilt at failing the nation that was his home, if only he’d admitted it to himself, guilt at failing Nuri and her weird but vaguely pleasant planet, anger at that bloody computer who had given him very little instruction and then sent him down here to die-

“It is nice to see that you are as cheerful as ever, Nalore.”

“What the…?!”

“I did tell you- although you evidently paid me very little attention during your briefing- that I would contact you later.”

“How the haemorrhaging hell are you talking to me?” Quarir snarled at the unseen Supercomputer.

“A telepathic link. As I have explained repeatedly.”

“It’d be a damn sight more clever to send a horde of droids down here to clean up!”

“That level of matter would be incredibly difficult to transport. Although I am using enough power to light up Ucelsia for a day to communicate with you, it is a far more useful allocation of resources.

“Useful? I’ll tell you what would’ve been useful! Teleporting a gun in here for me! How am I meant to undermine the Combine presence here if-?”

“As I say,” Maintonon interrupted, “you must have paid me little heed. There is an individual here far more suited to weakening the Combine’s hold on this world. Your objective is far more… diplomatic.”

“Whatever! Just cut the mysterious crap and get me out of here!”

“All in good time, Nalore. But you are going to have to listen to me very carefully. You are going to have to set aside your petty grievances with me.”

“And why’s that? I don’t see why I should-”

“Because in 3.4 minutes a Combine operative will take you away for questioning. And if you do not get your story straight they will kill you and the woman. CONSIDER THAT.”

 

[Edcrab]

Oop... forgotten that I hadn't uploaded this bit. Penultimate section of eight...




Quarir was not a man who was used to taking orders, or even issuing them. He’d always operated alone, simply because he knew his own limits and knew just how reliable he really was, and- until the appearance of a certain manipulative computer- he’d never listened to anyone else in his life.

But he was a good judge of character- you had to be, if you wanted to be a successful con artist instead of one of the innumerable corpses the Security services frequently dredged out of the canals. And thus, even though she wasn’t of his world, Quarir had decided that Nuri could be trusted- and that, more importantly, she would make a convincing liar.

The only problem now, of course, was telling her this, and finding time enough to co-ordinate their accounts. Since they were being roughly frogmarched out of their respective cells, he’d have to schedule a more appropriate slot for a brainstorming session. Mentioning that a Supercomputer had popped into his head and explained what they had to do next probably wouldn’t have gone down to well with anyone- it was the kind of thing that would need the diplomatic skills that were Quarir’s bread and butter.

“You know,” he began falteringly, trying to strike up a conversation with his captor, “that’s an interesting helmet. Is it just a focusing sensor, or do you really have only one eye?”

“Shut up,” the Combine Elite snarled.

“Fair enough. Must be a sensitive issue. Talking of sensitive issues, could you put my other arm behind my back? ‘Stead of this one? It’s just that I’ve got a bullet in my elbow, and aargh. Right, just a suggestion, you can relocate my shoulder now please…”

As distracting as she found Nalore’s spirited attempts to taunt their escort, Nuri let herself be half-dragged through the complex, subdued as she was by a sense of quiet awe. Although she’d never been in this particular government building before the Combine put their indelible mark on human society, she knew enough to know just how many alterations had been made- sharp, caseless cables ran across every wall between pointed brackets, and every surface was bedecked with all manner of console and terminal.

And yet, despite their appearance, the control arrangements were unsettlingly familiar. The Combine, it seemed, favoured large, obvious buttons and sensible layouts, although perhaps only to cater to their demihuman cohorts. She was near-certain, for example, that the shimmering force field blocking one staircase was toggled by the tactfully placed device beyond it- it was dotted with lights and gauges and small, more subtle switches, but she was fairly convinced that these would manage the intricacies of the field’s workings, leaving its actual activation to a protruding control.

She made a note of her finding, even as she shuddered at the idea that the Combine’s lackeys still retained recognisably human preferences.

After his shoulder had stopped firing exploding stars into his vision, Quarir became aware of just how empty the place felt. Sure, there were plenty of machines, but he’d seen very few actual people- if you could call these psychotic cyclops-types people. In fact, the place seemed to be staffed entirely by the white-clothed troopers-

A door opened, and Nalore’s feet briefly left the ground as his freakishly strong guard flung him into a room. Despite his best efforts to cushion his fall, the impact jarred through every bone in his body, blinding him with yet another dizzying firework display.

Nuri got away with a shove and an inarticulate insult, since her own usher clearly hadn’t found her as annoying as Quarir. The Combine Elite made as if to slam the door in her face, but another gently blocked his arm, making a vague hand signal. The guard nodded, and withdrew, allowing his apparent superior to enter the room.

Quarir eyed him up, and quickly banished all thoughts of overpowering him from his mind. This was the guy who had taken down a Zealot… and saved their lives, although he hated to admit it.

 

[Edcrab]

Last part of Chapter Eight, with yet more tomfoolerly involving Combine technology. He'll never learn...



Forty strode confidently into the room- because he knew of no other way to walk, negative feelings not being a part of his limited repertoire. He was about to begin the strictly-regulated Interrogation Protocol- preparing to resort to extreme force if his captives tried to be incompliant- when the door swung back open, allowing Thirty-Eight back inside.

Quarir and Nuri watched blankly as the two briefly conversed- their words lost in the synthesised gargle that plagued all Combine vocal amplifiers- before nodding, leaving, and slamming the door on them.

The thick metal echoed throughout the room, as if lingering on the unnerving contrivances that littered the place. There were several chairs- all with sturdy constraints- and sealed containment units holding horrors that Nuri could only imagine…

“Right,” Quarir said cheerfully, “first things first, let’s screw up their security system.”

He sidled over to one of the containers, and smashed it open with his good arm. Whistling, he rummaged through the awful-looking contents, eventually producing what Nuri recognised as a Civil Protection Pacifier- a stunstick.

“What on Earth are you going to do with that stun baton?” she asked incredulously.

“Going to try and zap those computers into life, or at least vandalise them,” he announced, moving over to the hulking great cabinet that dominated the room.

Nuri doesn’t look too impressed, Quarir thought, and Maintonon won’t be either. But if that metal bastard thinks I’m just going to sit here and run my mouth off he’s got another thing coming…

Deciding that he didn’t have much to lose, Quarir crossed his fingers- which hurt- and slammed the stunstick into the flashing lights at the heart of the cabinet’s slick surface.

It shuddered ominously for a moment, sparks spraying from all openings, and then its sides opened outwards, revealing a vast array of monitors and buttons.

“Jackpot!”

“More like crackpot,” Nuri said, visibly shaken, “that was just luck. Do you even know how to use that thing?”

“No, but it can’t be too hard. I’m sure this button will-”

“I drove the APC, remember? Let me try.”

Quarir stepped aside, and within moments Nuri had all three vidscreens lit up, displaying promising- if unreadable- hieroglyphics.

“This data is written in English and some sort of pictograms,” she announced.

“As if I hadn’t realised that,” Nalore sniffed. He hadn’t.

“I’m not sure if this is a control unit or just some sort of browser- I don’t know how to-”

Quarir sighed and hit a key. “Worth a try,” he told Nuri’s shocked expression.

The screens flickered, and then showed… images. Strange images.

“This is some sort of database,” Quarir gaped. “Hey, look, they’ve got Synth in it! And that’s a Murocrachian! Don’t know what the fishy-looking thing is. Ugly. What the hell does that blue quarter-circle mean?”

He hit the button again, much to Nuri’s consternation.

“Oh, right, it’s some sort of threat level. Look- that Vortigaunt’s got a quarter-blue 5-point rating, but this nasty-looking thing with six arms has a third of a circle, so it must be more dangerous. What’s that thing? Looks like a Domarian kileech. Wait, no, it’s got lots of eyes, its Xenian. Xen leech- 1 green point. Practically harmless.”

“They’re deadly in groups,” Nuri amended. “Look- next to it, there’s another circle- seven points, yellow. Must be when operating as a unit.”

“Yeah, because the ‘Gaunt and the four-armed things have higher ratings there too. I think you’re right.”

He paused contemplatingly for a moment, then hit a couple of buttons at random.

“Hey, people! Looks like some of your kind.”

“That’s Eli Vance!” Nuri exclaimed, pointing an excited finger at the elderly red-rated human. “And that man with a beard… he’s familiar…”

“Orange armour?” Quarir made a face. “No accounting for taste. But hell, look, he’s got a 20-point red circle with another circle in the middle. Combine must think he’s real dangerous.”

He hit another button.

“What, only one Domarian entry? Oh- it’s a Behemoth. Double-red-circle too. Not surprised, the things are like sixty or ninety foot tall or something…”

“That’s… big…” Nuri hazarded.

“Combine must have seen one in action. Don’t think we’ve ever lost one in combat,” he said proudly.

Nuri was just glad that the Domarians weren’t their enemies- the titanic war machine, as well as being plated with some fantastical armour, boasted long, metallic claws, surrounded by strange- but undoubtedly destructive- weaponry.

Quarir hit the button again, even as Nuri backed up for some reason. “Ooh, Arcadimaarians,” he said, in mock fear. “Combine must have seen a lot of them. A Psychevore, some sort of toff with a sword- hey look, a Zealot. No rating though- either they think a killer psychic isn’t dangerous or they haven’t got enough data yet-”

“We better log off now,” Nuri said urgently.

“Why? I’m starting to think they might have me on here! I’m- oh.”

Forty was back, and he certainly didn’t look impressed.

 

[tinyxipe]

*Tsk-tsk* Watch your "point of view". You switched it around in one of your previous chapters too.

I really enjoyed the beginning of Ch. 8 with the explanations and backstory. It definitely had a different feel to it. As for my previous post, I just meant that I enjoyed the story. Quarir is certainly a much better character with much more...er...I hate to use the word "depth" for him. But, yes, I can see how he would be more fun to write.

 

[Edcrab]

Yes, sorry about the view-shifts- the spacing I left between the paragraphs (to represent such shifts) gets lost when I reformat the text for the sake of the forum. I should maybe go back to putting dividers (such as '~') between them, it's more obvious and less confusing...

And I know you were just commenting on how much you liked it, I was just responding to your condelences that I didn't feel the need to continue Charlie's escapades- ironically, I think I got the chance to flesh out the characters a little more in MC merely because I dropped some of the unneccessary details characteristic of Charlie's Angle, so it's all good...

...urgh. I better write something else to get the self-narration out of my system.