Group Story ver.3 - Grey Citadel

[Stigmata]

The Grey Citadel​

***

Part 1: by Draklyne

***

It was grey, grey and dull, but mostly grey.

Sprawling leisurely over a matter of nearly a century, they city had grown jaded with itself, with its past, and with its colorful flavor. So it left it all behind, and became simply grey.

It was in this grey city that Hunter Mark-Simmons donned his uniform and enforcement accoutrements. It was in this grey city that Hunter Mark-Simmons would head out on patrol, looking for rabble and whoever else might cause trouble. It was in this grey city that Hunter Mark-Simmons would carry out, faithfully, any order given him.

So, when he spotted four unauthorized and armed citizens on his beat, he immediately contacted his superior officer for orders.

"Number 04391 reporting on the locations of four..."

It was also in this grey city that Hunter Mark-Simmons, Combine Soldier number 04391, gained his name.

***

Part 2: by Top Secret

***

"... civilians, waiting for orders."

"Roger that 04391, execute standard capture and retrieve procedure."

The Combine slipped a fresh clip into his SMG and cocked the gun in one smooth motion. He stood there on the corner under the shade of the tree. The Combine clicked on his short range radio

"Roger"

He started down the street, following the scurrying civilians. They didn't seem to notice him and appeared to be checking out the wrecked cars down the street. He could see them, not more than 50 meters away. He remembered training, saying the regulations over and over again inside of his helmet.

"When dealing with alien combatants, observe before any action is taken."

He didn't notice anything strange, nothing un-expected or out of the ordinary, so he moved closer. He stood behind a silver wreckage that read "Civic" on back. The civilians finished their sweep and started to head back. They were walking right for him. Two of them pulled out guns. One looked like a stolen Combine SMG and the other like a 9mm pistol of some sort. The Combine opened the trunk of the car and slipped in, leaving a 3cm gap in the trunk lid. He could hear the civilians talking as they got closer.

"I can't believe we actually found it in Dr. Mason's car."
"Yeah, this will really help out the resistance."
"Both of you, shut up, you never know who's listening."

The civilians were meters away from the front of the car, and started to walk up to it. The Combine could feel one of them leaning against the car, so he didn't let a breath escape him. He watched two of the civilians walk away from the rear of the car and walked down the road. The other two passed not three meters behind. He slipped his finger down the side of the gun until he felt the safety switch. He flipped off the safety and put the gun in single shot mode.

He lifted the trunk and sat up, raising his SMG. He aimed at the back of the first civilian with the SMG not more than 5 meters away and let a round loose right into his back. Before the others could even react he put a round into the man with the gun, catching the top of his head. The other two laid down as he moved forward. He fallowed procedure and eliminated those who posed a threat, and captured those who did not. He checked the dead bodies and secured their weapons. He noticed a CD, a human data storage device, handing out of one of the civilians pockets.

He thought that might be of use and secured it in his pocket.

***

Part 3: by Chainer

***

Caymon took his position in an old apartment complex across the street from the pickup site. He gazed through the scope of his silenced M-16, the street below was desolate. Buildings lay in ruin, the burnt wreckages of vehicles lay scattered about the street.

“Well at least there is good cover if they need it.” He muttered scanning the street from left to right.

He shifted his gaze as he saw movement in the ally next to a half collapsed supermarket. His men were moving into position to search the area. According to Commander Rigg this was a ‘low profile’ mission so minimal firepower was needed.

----------

Sean glanced around the corner of the crumbling building. The street was clear, and their target was in site; Dr. Mason’s Civic set not but 15 meters away riddled with bullet holes. The passenger window was broken and Sean hoped there objective was not already gone.

He clicked the safety off as he crept around the corner. Glancing upward he spotted Caymon in an upper window.

“Ok people lets get this done with.”

He slowly moved forward motioning the others to follow. The sound of broken glass crunching under their feet echoed as they cautiously crossed the street toward the vehicle.

A noise to his left made Sean turn quickly toward the right; Pigeons flew from behind a turned van. Sean held his breath as they neared the vehicle.

“Set a perimeter.” Sean whispered.

He motioned the others to spread out. Using hand gestures he signaled Jay to approach the car.

Jay slowly moved forward and peered in through the broken window. A glint from the passenger floorboard caught his eye. As Jay leaned in to retrieve the CD from under the seat he drew in his breath. He was seconds away from getting away from this hell hole and going back to camp. His fingered brushed the case as he leaned in further. Cursing under his breath Jay grasped the case. Retracting from the car relief flooded over him.


“Objective acquired, move out.” Sean commanded.

Jay turned and walked back to the group. As they gathered and began to leave a noise rang out through the empty streets.

Sean’s chest exploded showering blood all over the left side of Jay's body. Before he could even gag Brian fell to the street. The remains of his skull splashed across the pavement. Jay knew this routine, these were Combine capture tactics. Eliminate the threat and capture any that remain. Jay fell to the ground face down, the CD clattering to the street.

----------

It was supposed to be another search and salvage mission. That was until the Combine showed up. After retrieving the objective Caymon watched as Jay paced back to regroup with the others, seconds later Sean and Brian lay dead on the ground. Caymon struggled to see where their assailant had come from.

Looking back to the car he saw the Combine soldier approach Jay and Carlos who were now laying facedown on the ground. Caymon know the Combine soldier wouldn’t harm them, the threat had already been eliminated. Now he was looking for captives. Caymon waited for a clean shot. The soldier walked toward Jay and Carlos picking up the weapons now laying on the ground. Caymon disdainfully watched as the soldier picked up the CD case. A buzzing noise drew Caymon’s attention to the sky.

A Scanner hovered past the window Caymon was peering through.

“Shit!" Caymon said as he let loose six rounds.

The first two shots missed but the last four hit home. The Scanner exploded in a shower of flame. Caymon ducked into the window as shrapnel riddled holes in the walls. Caymon got to his feet rushing back to the window. As he approached the sill shots rang out from below. Caymon hit the ground again as bullets flew through the open window.

“Damnit!” He yelled as he pulled a radio from his belt. There was slight static as he pressed the talk button.

“This is Lambda 2, repeat this is Lambda 2. I am under Combine fire, Scanners have been spotted and more Combine are incoming. Project junkyard is a failure. Retreating to safe position.” The radio hissed out as more bullets penetrated the wall.

Caymon thought back to his captive friends, cursing as he sprinted back down the hall.

 

[Stigmata]

***

Part 4: by stigmata

***

"Oh, God DAMN it!" yelled Rigg at the Resistance's makeshift headquarters, and threw down his headset. He turned on his worn-out swivel chair to the communications liaison opposite him. "What the hell happened? I was under the impression that the Combine weren't sweeping the area until 1800 hours?"

The comm liaison, Jackson, looked utterly confused. There was absolutely nothing in the mission briefing that had prepared the runners for an enemy presence. The mission intelligence had supposedly been tapped from a high-level Combine military source, so there was no reason to believe that any enemy forces would have had a reason to show up.

A breath escaped his mouth, and Jackson replied, "It looks like the Combine might have tapped into our communications." He paused. "Although, you'd think they would send more than one soldier, considering how important that MCD was."

Hands behind his head, Rigg stretched his arms to keep himself from lashing out on the equipment. He'd needed a vacation for months now, but he doubted there were any vacation spots left in the world. Rumor had it that the Combine had drained nearly the entire planet of all resources, leaving little for the native lifeforms. Only the oceans remained, devoid of life other than that of the Xen forms. What a vacation that would be. He felt a little better. He sighed heavily. "Okay, Jackson, I need a status update on the Lambda team."

Jackson turned back to his console, and tapped the right earpiece of his scavenged headset. "Sorry for the delay, Lambda 2. I copy your transmission, what's your team status?"

The line hissed silence. The line encryption program was running slowly. The modified radio Lambda 2 was carrying had a tough time with the software, unable to support more than a 300 megahertz processor. Then, a crackle of static came through, and Jackson could hear heavy footsteps, and deep breathing. "I- I'm not completely sure, but it looked like Lambdas one, three and four are KIA, Lambda five has probably been taken into custody. The disk is --" The transmission cut off for a short time. "Sounds like a Combine APC is on its way, maybe a Gunship too. I'm not sure."

"Roger, Lambda 2. However, mission outline dictates that the mission cannot be deemed a failure until the disk has been recovered by either side. We both know that we need to get that data disk by any means necessary. I'm sending reinforcements, they should be armed heavily. We can't give up this mission without a fight."

"Roger that, Jackson. Continuing to my safe position, should be back to base by 1600 hours."

"Good luck, Lambda 2. Over and out." Jackson reached forward, and switched the line. "Yahn, you copy that? We need six men to grid one-five-three-by-five-oh-nine, all heavily armed. Prepare for enemy artillery, and make sure you get that disk for Kleiner."

This time, the response came immediately. "Yeah, I copy you Jackson. I've only got three men with me, so you'll have to contact Carson's force, they're nearest the objective. We'll be there in five. Over and out."

----------

Hunter Mark-Simmons wiped the blood from his mask as he walked toward the two survivors. He reopened communications to C17 High Command. "Capture and retrieve procedure complete. Two survivors, objective intact. Recommended course of action?"

"Recommend interrogation on-scene, enemy reinforcements expected."

Good, he thought. He always found a primitive satisfaction from interrogation. Training taught him that his base instincts caused trouble with his suit's cerebral taps, which were used for all electronic operations, but nothing ever happened. In fact, it also resurfaced old memories. Memories he thought were lost forever...

He stopped mid-step, and invisible to the enemies, Hunter Mark-Simmons' eyes glazed over...

He was walking down a narrow European street. The city seemed to have an unnatural haze about it, obstructing and blurring his view. It was getting late, though as he looked up, he noted that the sun was still bright. Well, at least it would keep the-- What the Hell...? He quickly looked up again. What he saw was not a burning ball of gases, millions of miles in the distance. It was a large electric-looking ball of... something. Lightning shot out in all directions, and a particularly large bolt managed to destroy the area directly beneath the ball. All of a sudden, there was a bright flash, like that from a nuclear explosion, and he could feel his retinas burning in pain. When he reopened his eyes, a large superimposed image of some sort of tower was burned into his retinas. He hoped it was temporary. But it didn't seem to fade. As he concentrated on the towering image, a blurry form jogged towards him.

The form yelled, in a warbling voice, "Get on the ground, hands behind your head!"

He stopped, confused. Why was he under arrest? It was now too late to ponder. The dark form was mere meters away, and yelled "I am now authorized to use force! Get down!"

As he got to his knees, he found that he hadn't moved fast enough for the form's liking. Stun rounds lashed from what looked like its hands...

"04391, enemies detected, destination deemed your current position. Recommend capture and removal operation."

Hunter Mark-Simmons collapsed, unconcious.

"04391, respond!"

 

[Max35]

I like it. Keep up the good work

 

[Draklyne]

Caymon breathed hard, legs burning and heart pounding. The high, whining sound of rotors impinged on his hearing and he stiffened, drawing himself up like a board against the wall, plaster falling away from the contact. The whining noises wandered off hesitantly as the flock of rotor-bladed machines lost their target.

Crunching old plaster beneath his boots, Caymon holstered his pistol and unslung his sniper rifle from across his back, flipping out the bipod and looking for where he had last seen Jay and Carlos.

"You're lucky sons of bitches, guys," he muttered as he immediately sighted the three figures.

Strangely, it was now the combine soldier who was on the floor and Jay and Carlos who were rising, albeit distrustfully, to their feet.

"Holy mother of Jesus," Caymon whispered, disbelieving. What had taken the combine down?

A grin swept across his face as Jay and Carlos began to savagely beat the soldier on the floor. Soon they had their pistols out and had emptied a few rounds into the thing's exo-armor before falling back into simple physical attacks. He sighted on the combine's head, laughing internally while he imagined the surprised and horrified expressions Jay and Carlos would soon be wearing.

Hitting his team radio, he said simply, "Hey guys, you're in for a treat," and rested a light finger on his trigger...

A crackle of radio static interrupted his glee.

"White team, you are to secure that soldier for Yahn's team to bring back to headquarters for interrogation."

Another crackle, and the voice was gone. Final. No revenge for the deaths of his friends and family. Gritting his teeth, he rubbed the trigger of the rifle, making the scope dance up and down.

"Damn."

He quickly sighted and shot, a statuette on a lamppost exploding into a thousand pieces, the head of the formerly rearing horse landing strangely untouched on the floor.

-------------------------------------------------------

~Exo-armor serial code 04391...Exo-armor serial code 04391...Logic circuits corru- Database corrup- sensory...data...dat...da...d...______~

~System failure detected. Restarting system...~

~Basic core circuits enabled.~

~Fatal malfunction in core operating system...Emotional Control Unit disabled...Artificial Intelligence Core disabled...Communications Filament subsystem disabled...errors in memory subsystems 08a00077638 through 12b00099285...~

~Redirecting resources to repairing Communications Core...COMMUNICATIONS WITH GREY CITADEL MUST BE REESTABLISHED AT ALL COSTS...~

-------------------------------------------------------

Hunter Mark-Simmons floated on the top of a synesthesia of senses, sights blending into sounds blending into smells blending into memory, and more indescribable sensations. His head felt strange, expanded and empty at the same time, lacking something...a guiding voice or a tyrant, he wasn't sure which. As he floated, he fought to recall small things, like the color of the sky. Suddenly he was sure of one thing.

My name is Simmons. Hunter Mark-Simmons.

And then another revelation came to him.

I was...I am...human.

He remembered something else. The coffee he'd had before being captured was a swirling frappucino carefully stored and then poured out into his mug. The familiar cat who had come by that morning was a vividly contrasting black and white blur. More and more memories flooded through him; his wife's face as the Combine tore her from their daughter, his daughter's desperate screams, his shame at being unable to protect his family, his own utter terror in the face of the emotionless Combine...

Each memory that came rushing back punched through him like bullets. Even though he could see them, Hunter Mark-Simmons was unaware that the Resistance men had gathered around him, unable to see past the image of his wife, Processed, coldly shooting their daughter in the temple for causing disturbance.

And he hadn't cared.

-------------------------------------------------------

Caymon sighed and took off a glove and spat, the sound of his rifle still ringing in his ears. As he finished taking off the other glove, he froze.

Whining rotor blades swished through the air towards him.

When Caymon had initially escaped, seven strategically placed scanners took up positions in major choke points in the area where they could watch virtually everything that occured in that sector of the city. The instant the sound of Caymon's shot reached the scanners they immediately uploaded the input to their community flock AI. Out of the seven, two had gotten clear indications of where the shot had come from, and two had gotten more indistinct clues. It was enough to triangulate his position.

As Caymon rushed to escape, he ran through the watching gazes of the other scanners.

Breath hard and eyes wide, he radioed headquarters and spoke with whatever extra air he could dreg up while he ran.

"Sir- shit...sir, they're all over the place...think I can escape here- shit! Shit! They've got me boxed in! Shit!"

"Son..." a grave voice on the other side said solemnly.

"Son, you know what you have to do."

"I...but...I think I...I..." A whimper and a small sob escaped Caymon's lips in between breaths.

"You have to do it. For the Resistance."

Caymon's breath rasped, and sweat streaked down his face.

"For your people."

Caymon unholstered his pistol.

"For your lost loved ones..."

Caymon brought the gun to his head, arm shaking.

"For yourself!"

Caymon's arm firmed, and he pulled hard on the trigger.

Suddenly, the wall behind him exploded in a shower of brick debris. Confused, Caymon looked up and saw a gloved hand gripping his wrist.

Caymon grinned. His buddies from the Resistance had saved him.

Then he noticed the glove had a combine insignia on it.

And it was breaking his wrist with its grip.

The gun fell from his clawed hand as he screamed, flooding the radio with noise. Promptly and efficiently, the combine tore Caymon's headset from him and crunched it underfoot, silencing the annoying, questioning voice of the commander. Then he spun Caymon about and forced him onto his knees. A nearby scanner hovered closer and inserted a slim needle into his neck. The sedative knocked him out in less than a minute.
-------------------------------------------------------

 

[Chainer]

Part 6
By: Chainer


As the sound of Caymon’s screams flooded the room all hope Comm Rigg had left his body. As the screams ceased an eerie silence swept through the room. Jackson turned in his chair and looked at Rigg. The squeal made by the old swivel chair split the silence.

“Sir, the mission appears to be a failure. What do you recommend we instruct Yahn’s team to do?” Jackson was hesitant at first, fearing Rigg would lash out in anger.

“Radio Yahn and instruct him to abort.” Rigg turned his back on Jackson.

“Would you like his team to scout for survivors?” Jackson’s voice trembled.

“I gave you an order soldier!” Rigg blared as he spun to face Jackson. “You are aware of the Combine’s procedures, I am not going to lose another god damn man to this insane salvage mission.” Rigg turned again and left the room.

As Rigg paced down the hall towards the labs he overheard Jackson radioing Yahn’s team. Utter rage burning inside him.
------------------------------------------------------------

As Caymon regained consciousness he struggled to come to his feet. All around him was darkness, panic hit him like a bucket of water. He was bound and blind in Combine hands, in his mind things couldn’t get any worse.

‘Where the hell am I?’ Caymon thought. He struggled again against his restraints.

‘You are in safe hands.’ A voice echoed. It almost seemed the voice was inside his head.

‘Who are you?’ Caymon screamed into the darkness.

‘That should not concern you, what you should be concerned about is; who are you?’ The voice sent chills through Caymon’s body.

This triggered something inside Caymon, he remembered seeing his friends get to their feet and the Scanners, and then being abducted by the Combine, but everything before that was a blur. Frightened by his memory loss Caymon went over the basics.

‘I am Caymon Haynes.’ He strained to recall something else, anything else but as he strained to recollect something else a sharp pain shot through him. Caymon screamed out, it felt as if his mind was on fire.

‘You will learn not to do such foolish things as think of the past.’ The voice seemed to be coming from all around.

‘What about my friends? What have you done with them!?” The searing pain intensified.

‘We had no use for them; they have been…… delt with.’ Silence followed.

‘What makes me different?’ Intense fear swept over Caymon, he could only imagine the things that would be done to him.

‘You are unique; we have found a very suiting purpose for you. Now 06955, be calm, this will relieve you of all your kinds weaknesses.’ A humming noise followed, and the intense pain started again.

Even with the pain increasing Caymon kept whispering; ‘I’m Caymon Haynes, Caymon Haynes, Cay…………… I’m 06955.’ As all the pain fled his body he lacked any fear or doubt in his cause, now it was pity, compassion and mercy he lacked. With a new purpose in sight 06955 knew what to do. And all memory of Caymon Haynes was gone forever.

----------------------------------------------------------------
“This is 02135 to base, we have spotted the civilians. Waiting for orders.” The Combine soldier whispered into his mic, as he crept past the wreckage of a burnt van.

He gazed out through the broken window of the van, he stopped his scan when he came across the civilians standing over a fallen soldier.

“Eliminate all hostiles, armed or not.” The speaker in his helmet hissed.

----------------------------------------------------------------

“This scum is going to pay for what it did when we get it back to HQ.” Said Jay, brandishing the handgun close to the fallen Combines face.


Carlos kicked the fallen soldier in the ribs, as he turned to pick up a pipe on the street something splashed across his back. He turned just in time to see the remains of Jay’s face fall away, Jay’s body fell shortly after, landing atop the fallen Combine soldier. Startled and covered in his friend’s blood Carlos dove towards Jay’s pistol, rolling to the left after grasping the guns smooth rubber grip. Scanning the area for his friend’s assailant Carlos looked franticly around.

Suddenly a sharp pain erupted from his gut. Looking down Carlos saw his own blood flowing from a large wound in his stomach. Three more shots followed before Carlos fell to the ground, the two resistance fighter’s blood pooling on the ground.

--------------------------------------------------------------------
“Base this is 02135, threat eliminated, waiting for further orders.” The soldier rose from his crouching position behind the van.

“Scout the area for hostiles.” The hiss ceased and the soldier moved onto patrol the area.

---------------------------------------------------------------------
Mark Simmons opened his eyes to view the sky for what seemed the first time in his life. As he tried to rise his body objected with immense pain coming from what seemed all over. Noticing his right hand move slightly Mark Simmons did his best to assess the situation around him.

A dead body lay to his left, the individual’s blood was now pooling around Mark Simmons legs, as he looked toward his legs he saw a second dead body. It was collapsed on both his leg preventing him from moving in his weakened stats. He strained trying to move again, the pain rushing over him again. The pain was so great Mark Simmons felt himself loosing consciousness. Before passing out he realized what seemed to be the most important thing of all; “I am Mark Simmons.”

 

[Stigmata]

***

Part Seven :: by Stigmata

***

One of ninteen functional vehicles scattered throughout City 17 came speeding southbound down Road 118. Months ago, Yahn would have taken pride in the fact that it was a powerful, gas-guzzling imported SUV. But his tastes had changed; when he once complained from a lack of chrome-coated wheels, he now bursted with joy on the discovery of a working spark plug.

The scavenged shock absorbers groaned in protest of the unusually heavy load. A roof-mounted M249 SAW, two RPGs with at least ten working rounds, four armed and armored humans, and an MP7-PDW for each. Yahn didn't hear the radio's static over the aural bombardment until Jackson's message came through.

"Yahn, what's your status?"

He looked down to the radio, reached for it with his left hand, and pulled it up to his mouth. "We're en route to Operation Junkyard, ETA Holy Sh-" he swerved wildly, barely avoiding a misplaced dumpster - "Heh, sorry about that. ETA is three minutes." He paused. "Why do you ask? You're acting like we're in major trouble, something wrong?" He feared the worst.

"Yeah. We think Caymon's been captured, and things don't look good for Jay and Carlos."

"What?!" Yahn exclaimed. "How the Hell did that happen?"

"Yahn, there's nothing we can do to help him. I'm just as sad as you are, and I know you want to be a hero, but Rigg has ordered you back to base." Jackson took a deep breath, clearly audible through the radio. "The only catch is, your radio is on the fritz, and I haven't been able to contact you."

Yahn was a depressed, enraged, and puzzled mess of a person. He could tell that heartless joker was smiling ear to ear on the other end, and he couldn't stand it. "God Damnit, Jackson, this is NO time for jokes, I..." He trailed off.

His depression and rage melted away.

A grin broke across his face.

"Copy that, Jackson. I'll see you soon."

----------

What the Hell can Jackson be talking about for two minutes? Rigg thought to himself. A simple order to return to base would take twenty seconds, max. He paced back through the door, into the comm room. "Jackson, what the Hell are you doing, you should have been done five minutes ago!"

His back to Rigg, Jackson tried to suppress his smile. If Rigg had any idea of what had just gone on, he would walk out of here minus a leg and a quart of blood. Finding it impossible to change his expression, he compromised, and decided not to turn around.

"Sir, I couldn't contact Yahn. I tried all the channels, nothing but static and scrambled Combine transmissions, Sir."

"Fine," Rigg growled back. "But if they end up dead -"

"You'll end up with my head on a spike," Jackson echoed back, barely holding back a chuckle. Rigg really needed to find a new threat.

"Good, I see you understand. Try Carson's channel, see if they can get Yahn and his team back to base." Rigg performed a slow and unbalanced about-face, and left the room slightly more disheartened before. He really needed to find a new threat.

----------

"02135, due to a Neural Communications Filament subsystem failure, 04391 has been forced from C17.Mpolice network. Recovery of Mark-Simmons is

[TRANSMISSION INTERRUPT]
Error -> Communications Subsystem incompatible with incoming transmission
Executing Network.Rebuild...
NETWORK PROTOCOL REBUILDING... DONE
CHECKING FOR CHANNEL BLOCKFILES...
[error] UNABLE TO CONNECT TO CHANNEL BLOCKFILE SERVER
REVERT TO DEFAULT: 485764/485764 CHANNELS ENABLED
NETWORK STARTUP... DONE

Incoming Transmission (source UNKNOWN):
galMILKYWAY.armORION.starSOL.pla03.C04 assimilation process has encountered unexpected resistance. Human interference will be dealt with through force. Expect low slave output over the next 30 Earth-standard days/43 Homeworld-standard revolutions. Carbon output change of -22%; attributed to increased Human resistance to Combine assimilation procedures. Additional time is required to properly nullify existing resistance forces; again slave output is expected to be

CHANNEL BLOCKFILE SERVER LOCATED
COMMUNICATIONS SYSTEM SHUTDOWN FOR UPDATE...
[update]DOWNLOADING BLOCKFILE... DONE
[sysPatch]NETWORK PROTOCOL... DONE
UPDATED NETWORK STATUS: 000005/485764 CHANNELS ENABLED
NETWORK STARTUP... DONE

information is contained in natural memory banks of subj. Mark-Simmons. Recovery is paramount, contained information may be vital to success of Human resistance. New course of action update: Recapture and Assimilate subj. Mark-Simmons.

"Orders acknowledged," replied 02135. With the located enemy forces terminated, the recapture process would proceed without interruption. She raised her standard-issue OICW and proceeded to the target objective.

As she made her way to the somewhat-concious Mark-Simmons, a loud, deep vibration filled the air. Rubber tires squealed around a corner, supporting a large, black SUV. Something mounted on the roof of the vehicle pointed at 02135 and flashed twice in quick succession. The large metal slugs easily penetrated the neck and helmet of 02135's suit, neutralizing the threat. The crack of the machine gun fell on the deaf ears of 02315.

And on the quite functional ears of 02313, 02314, 02316 and 02317.

----------

The dark SUV slid to a stop.

"Target neutralized!" yelled Ben, from outside the sunroof.

Yahn turned around in his padding-less driver's seat. "Nice shooting, Ben. Is the area clear?"

There came a loud thump from the rooftop.

"Ben?"

As Yahn looked around, Sarah pulled the side door open and leapt out. Blood trickled from the roof, onto her sunny blond hair. "Oh shit! Ben is dead!"

He turned forward, and looked out the empty metal frame where a windshield would usually reside. He saw a piece of a wrecked building tumble to the ground, and another piece shifted to the left. "Everyone, fan out, they've got reinforcements!"

And from behind a fully destroyed building, a Combine Gunship soared into the air, and turned its heavily-armed nose to the SUV.

 

[-JeZ-]

Good stuff guys!

 

[Draklyne]

"Gunship!"

Leaping up to gunner's position, Sarah efficiently displaced Ben, whose dead body tumbled to the floor with a wet thud.

"Floor it!"

The two cries dovetailed each other perfectly as the SUV lurched into motion, gravel spewing up behind it. "Fan out" was forgotten as those who had exited the vehicle scrambled for cover and Sarah began firing round after round of machine gun ammo at the gunship, demanding its attention.

-------------------------------------------------------

One of the remaining five Resistance soldiers screamed, and suddenly four Combine appeared on the scene, fanning out loosely from an alleyway the now-dead Resistance soldier had fled to. Their presence made the atmosphere of the open town square go cold. They kept suppressing fire on the Resistance fighters, who dodged and crawled amidst the wreckage of the city, varying their shots to reload at different times.

One Resistance member, a Zachary Oler, fired his last round and searched himself for ammo. Finding none, he began whipping rubble and fist-sized rocks at at the Combine soldiers.

Combine Soldier No. 02313 ignored the rock as it thudded against his armored chest, focusing instead on the rate at which Zach threw the rocks. A shot through the hand was as good as incapacitating the weak human. With that thought, he shouldered his gun and took careful aim, AI aiding him. Another object bounced off his chest, landing on the floor at his feet.

The other soldiers immediately noted the different sound and spared a second to glance over. Eyes widening inside their utility masks, they threw themselves aside and took cover. 02313's concentration on Zach's position wavered as he realized that Zach had stopped throwing rocks. What remained of his subconscious made him look down.

Zach rolled the grenade's pin between his gloved fingers as he waited the remaining half second for the explosion.

-------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile, through the helicopter-like sounds of the gunship, Sarah was yelling to Yahn from her gunner position.

"Yahn, get this boat out of this street! I can't keep saving your ass!"

Despite her nonchalant attitude, she had taken several hits on her legs, most of them shrapnel from the car's roof, and a bullet wound in her right shoulder. Luckily, she was left handed, so it didn't affect her shooting immediately.

Yahn knew that she really had been saving his ass, disrupting the gunship's aim and shooting down Combine along the way, though she hadn't been able to hit the gunship very often due to its mobility. Yahn also knew that her chances of surviving were slim to none; a major artery had been cut in her shoulder, and the rough and tumble ride wasn't doing anything to help.

Which is why Yahn yelled back lightheartedly as he outdistanced the whir of the gunship, trying to take the edge away from what he thought were her last moments.

"Hey, honey, if you stop saving at the Ass Bank, you lose interest!"
"Yeah..." she screamed back in between shots, "like I'd have any interest in your ass!"

Yahn's eyes flicked back down to the readout. The machine gun was almost out of ammo.

"Yahn...this thing is running low," she noted, mirroring his thoughts.
"Don't worry about it...I think I know where we are, and that thing is going to have a hell of a time following. Save your ammo."
"What about your ass?"
"S'okay, I'll suspend your account for the time being, interest n' all."
"Sounds fine t'me. What'll I be shooting at that needs my ammo so bad?" Already her words weakened from bloodloss.
"I'll think of that later. For now, think of yourself. Get that shoulder bound up."
"I don't know if it'll do any good, Yahn..."
"It doesn't matter, get that messy bleeding stopped. It's fouling up my rear view."
"Ha ha, Yahn. You always knew the best jokes to crack during a life or death situation. I'll bandage this little hole up just for you."

Yahn just barely heard the sound of cloth tearing over the roar and rumble of the SUV and concentrated on his barely embryonic plan. He knew this area of City17 passingly well and hoped that where he was about to turn led to where he thought it did.

"Get ready for a sharp turn!"
"Roger...that," she returned weakly. More cloth tearing.
"Are you ready?" he shouted anxiously.

There was no answer, and the gunship's whir grew markedly noisier.

Cursing under his breath, he turned right, making it as soft as he could. Even so, his turn caused boxes of arms, ammo, and other equipment to tumble across the floor. Strangely, the mounted machine gun on the SUV let out a short burst, blasting chunks from the wall.

Knowing Sarah was unconscious, but hoping she held on, he hit the gas, sending the SUV careening down the alleyway.

Far ahead in the alley, Zach rolled his grenade's pin between his gloved fingers as he waited half-second for the explosion. And explode it did, tearing apart the combine soldier and throwing the others from their feet, knocking them unconscious and leaving them vulnerable to the Resistance's nearly empty guns. One was thrown backward into the alley...directly into the SUV's path.

Yahn grinned maniacally, his reason for saving ammo both apparent and, now, unnecessary.

He had forgotten momentarily about the gunship behind him.

A flurry of bullets pockmarked the ground behind the SUV, catching up to the car swiftly.

While Yahn had forgotten, Sarah took aim, the gunship perfectly silhouetted against the sky and pinned between two buildings.

Yahn thought he heard, "Crash and burn, bitch," but he couldn't be sure over the sound of the machine gun chambering and firing.

Suddenly, the machine gun stopped, and with it Yahn's heart beat. Had Sarah gotten shot? Unconscious?

A quick glance at the readout informed him that the gun had run out of ammo.

Just as he began to contemplate his coming death from the sky, a minor explosion sounded, then another. Suddenly, the explosions weren't so minor anymore, and the sound of the gunship faltering was music to his ears.

Powering over the wreckage of the building, Yahn screeched to a stop. Dangerously fast, the remaining mass of the gunship hit the floor with a sound of horribly tortured metal, bounced, and then plowed through the wreckage towards the SUV. Caught on a piece of the rubble, it spun and side swiped the SUV. Rubber from the SUV's wheels ground into the floor, and, half bouncing, half sliding, the SUV stopped just short of Mark Simmon's inert body.

Not caring about the fallen combine soldier, Yahn slid out of his seat and looked up at Sarah, an idescribable mix of emotions in his eyes.

Sarah was looking back at him with half-closed eyes and a slight smile. Then she winked, and her eyes finished closing. Slumping down, she fell out of her seat, but was held by something, conspicuously unbound shoulder bleeding sluggishly. Yahn looked at her hands.

She had tied herself to the machine gun's trigger with the strips of cloth meant for her shoulder.

:sniper:

 

[Chainer]

Part 9 By: Chainer


As Mark Simmons came too all he could think about was the death of his family. Immense guilt coursed through him, then he thought of the things that had caused his families untimely demise. The things that had taken him captive and had forced him to do their dirty work, as Mark Simmons recollected these long forgotten memories his guilt was replaced with rage.

Taking into account the fact that his armor was severally damaged, Mark Simmons began rising to his feet.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Zachary Oler rose to his feet. His body was throbbing from diving into the pile of rubble when he had taken cover. Surveying the area he noticed he was much better off than the people around him.

A resistance soldier lay contorted on the ground only feet away, his body seemed to have twisted in response to the immense pain caused by the visible bullet holes in his body. The poor man’s blood was pooling around his lifeless figure.

The Combine soldier that was firing on Zachary before he threw the grenade lay directly in front of him. The forms body was torn to shreds by shrapnel, Zachary kneeled down to raid the motionless corpse. Taking whatever wasn’t damaged by the blast he recovered a SMG, a sidearm and a few clips. It would have to do.

A noise in the adjacent ally drew his attention. Zachary recalled seeing Yahn speeding away, leading the Gunship away from the battle. He also recollected seeing Sarah in the back of the SUV, all the while the SAW blazing in front of her. He only hoped they were ok.

Slinging the SMG over his shoulder Zachary Oler sprinted toward the ruined ally.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As Yahn struggled to free Sarah form the gunners position he heard someone running toward the ally entrance, taking his Desert Eagle from its holster Yahn told Sarah to stay low. Creeping past the demolished Gunship Yahn peered out the ally entrance.

“Is anyone alive in there?” Zachary yelled.

“Zach! I thought you were worm food when I saw those Combine surrounding you.” Yahn said as he lowered his weapon.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence you ass. I can handle my own, thank you very mu…” Zachary was sentence was cut short by a buzzing sound coming from out in the street.

“More Scanners, Hide!” Yahn shouted running back to Sarah to pull her from the wreckage.

Zachary dove behind the devastated Gunship just as a Scanner rounded the corner. It hovered in place for a moment. There was dead silence in the ally, all three of the surviving resistance members held their breath.

The Scanner hovered back out into the street.

Zachary let out his breath with a loud gasp. Yahn shot him a look that would have stopped a man dead in his tracks. The buzzing sound returned as the Scanner rounded the corner once again. This time three more Scanners followed, they all hovered midair at the opening of the ally.

“Screw this!” Yahn shouted as he rose from behind the SUV with his weapon raised.

As soon as Yahn’s head cleared the SUV the Scanners flew back out into the street with lightning speed.

“Let’s move before reinforcements show up!” Yahn shouldered Sarah and started to move from behind the wreckage. Zachary peered to the mouth of the ally checking for enemy units, seeing none he ran towards Yahn and Sarah.

As Zachary turned and ran, a loud buzzing sound erupted from the buildings above. He was half way to the truck when the flying unit made contact with his back. The blades of the unit ripping into Zachary, tearing through his combat vest, then the soft flesh underneath and eventually lodging itself into his spine.

Zachary’s last breath erupted from his body in the form of a blood curdling scream. There was a hollow cracking noise as the unit pulled away from the now dead soldier.

---------------------------------------------------------

Hearing the buzzing and then the scream Yahn spun in his tracks. What he saw stole his breath away; eight units plummeted from above the building. One unit had already lodged itself into Zachary’s back. His blood sprayed the walls of the ally.

“Oh my God, Man hacks.” Sarah murmured as she stumbled and fell.

Yahn raised his weapon and began to fire, flames spewing from the barrel of his Desert Eagle. Two shots hit home on one Manhack as it exploded into a cloud of flame. The remaining seven swiftly hovered toward Yahn and Sarah. Letting loose four more shots Yahn destroyed another one of the flying deathtraps. Six remained as they closed in, continuing to fire Yahn felt the gun click in his hands.

“Shit.” Yahn yelled as he felt his belt in search of remaining clips. Glancing back toward the SUV he saw one clip laying on the ground.

Sprinting Yahn headed for the vehicle. A sharp pain came as a Manhack sliced the back of his left leg. Yahn stumbled to the ground, his weapon sliding just out of reach. Yahn rolled onto his back looking up at his inevitable doom.

The Manhacks hovered closer moving in for the kill. Yahn closed his eyes and waited to be torn into.

Six gunshots rang. One by one the remaining six Manhacks exploded in rapid succession. Yahn shielded his body as best he could from the falling shrapnel.

“Sarah how the hell did you……” Yahn rolled over to glance back to where Sarah was. Instead his vision settled upon a Combine soldier holding his smoking pistol. Sarah lay unconscious at his feet.

“Wha….” Yahn tried to put a sentence together but the words stuck in his throat.

“You looked like you could use some help,” Mark Simmons said as he stared at the man on the ground.

 

[-JeZ-]

Now THAT's a cliff hanger!

 

[Draklyne]

Simmons swallowed, voal chords used to denote warmth and friendliness sore and withered from disuse.

Yahn got slowly up to his feet, masking his wariness with a facade of amiability and trust. Simmons shuffled closer, as if to help Yahn to his feet, but stopped short, awkwardly.

"Yeah...I did. I needed that help back there. Thanks."

Simmons and Yahn stood about for a bit longer. When the former combine realized Yahn was staring at the mask which had covered his face for a huge portion of the past, he jerked his hands to his mask, trying to take it off.

Undoing a few latches connecting his mask to his uniform, he feverishly continued up the edge of the mask, unlatching and worrying at the restraints. He stopped cold about halfway up his face, where the mask merged into the skin of his head in a seam.

He was just beginning to hyperventilate when Yahn, suspicious, took his thoughts away from the horror of his mask.

"Why don't we just get in the car and I'll bring you back to the Resistance, huh?"

Simmons began to ask what the Resistance was when his Combine memories kicked up and he remembered mission briefings mentioning a human presence, a resistance to the Combine. He instantly recalled the faces of all the Resistance men and women he had killed coldheartedly. Vaguely aware than Yahn was urging him forward, he numbly turned towards the car.

He pointed towards the bodies of the men he had just killed that very day and, in a broken whisper that carried through his mask and directly to Yahn's ears, said, "I killed them...I'm sorry, I-"

A wet crack came from the back of his head as Yahn pistol whipped him, and he dropped to the floor.

Yahn picked him up silently, slinging him over a shoulder, then walked over to Sarah and hoisted her up similarly.

To the rest of the soldiers, he announced, "Alright, we're done here, get in the car. Gather memoirs of the dead and anything useful the Combine left and let's get out of here before anything else shows up."

Complying silently, exhausted from the death and battle, the troops filed into the SUV. They gave crammed into the mid seat, giving up the backseat to Sarah, though it was anyone's guess whether she would survive, if she was still alive now.

They shoved Simmons into the trunk, and Yahn wearily radioed in to headquarters, waiting the appropriate time for the encryption to start, and then made his report. Likely it would be recorded and listened to later.

"Objective acquired, we are en route to HQ. Heavy...medium casualties," he winced, hating both the fact that 50% death or incapacitation was "medium" for encounters with the Combine and hating that the loss of Sarah alone would have counted as heavy in his heart.

"On arrival, we found the previous team completely exterminated, presumably by Combine Soldiers. Eliminated one hostile on sight and encountered difficulties with four combine soldiers still remaining. A gunship appeared on scene, but it was destroyed by Sarah with the mounted SAW machine gun." He cleared his throat.

"Objective is currently unconscious, but it was...he was acting highly out of character for a Combine. Aided in destroying several airborne aggressors, AKA "man hacks". Possible signs of dementia. He has been rendered unconscious for security reasons."

With that he flipped off his radio and drove away from the carnage-filled scene.

-------------------------------------------------------

When the dust from the wheels' backsplash finished settling, all was still, like a painting devoid of its subjects. The void, however, was about to be filled.

From the cracks between the rubble crawled a disgusting creature shaped like a pouch of pus with four hooked legs spaced evenly around a squarish body. It leapt and squealed, tiny sqqrr sounds that seemed to make the remaining dead bodies twitch.

Attracted by the warmth of the body, it leapt and latched itself onto the foot of a combine soldier, clawing its way up to the face and resting there. Soon, crunching and slurping noises arose from the body.

Twitching noticably now, the body began to rise to its feet...

Abruptly its head exploded and it was cut in half at the torso.

Menacingly glowing man hacks buzz sawed through it over and over.

Nearby, a scanner recorded the anomaly and reported the alien presence back to the Grey Citadel.

~Alien presence detected in Clear Zone. Tagging Zone "contaminated"...
Done...

Detection of xenoform leak
2ND PRIORITY...

Retrieval of Hunter-class Soldier No. 04391
1ST PRIORITY...~

 

[Draklyne]

...oops...screwed up the order...apologies all around...stigmata, chainer...I guess it's stigmata's turn...

Boy do I feel stupid now!

 

[Draklyne]

I'm taking over until I know what the **** is going on...
-------------------------------------------------------

Mark woke to the sight of an old and decrepit man's face. His eyes widened slightly, but he hadn't been human for long enough to show any more signs of surprise. The austere white light behind the man's face shone irritatingly through his visor.

"Awake?" the man asked, withdrawing to his seat. Mark followed him with his head. His mask distorted speech. Drawing his hand obsessively to the seam between Him and Mask, he rubbed mindlessly.

"Yes..." he croaked, finally.

The man's eyes flickered to Mark's hand and back to his eyes. Realizing what he was doing, he stopped.

"I'm Doctor George Albert. I'll be helping you recover and analyzing what the enemy has done with you." George reclined farther as he indirectly named the Combine and watched for a reaction. Mark merely blinked and his eyes flickered as he dimly realized that the enemy was the Combine. He nodded.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Mark said, "My name is Hunter...Mark Simmons."

"Hunter Mark Simmons?" Albert asked, "an interesting name."

"No...Hunter is just what they called me...I'm just Mark Simmons." He began rubbing his mask again.

"Well, Mark, I expect we'll be removing that mask of yours soon and helping you in other ways as well. For now, sleep, and we'll investigate how to remove your...um, equipment."

With that, the doctor stood up and backed away, smiling reassuringly. Mark's eyes never left him and he never blinked. At a certain distance, the doctor turned and exited, closing the door behind him. Mark stared at the door for several moments, then closed his eyes, seeking sleep.

He was denied. Visions of what the Combine had done to him to make him one of them haunted him.

-------------------------------------------------------

06955's vision flickered and dimmed as burning fluid dripped into his open eyes. He held them open, the AI in his suit whispering sweet reassurances to him and cutting off his pain receptors. At this point, the Combine owned his mind and soul to the point that he didn't need either. The fluid was replacement for the inferior lens in his previously purely organic eyes, which the Combine had kindly removed. The new lens was responsive to his AI's command and also served as a heads up display.

The Combine treated him very well. He had thousands of attendants who carefully monitored his condition at all times. He had been nourished automatically through IV for several months and fed, in preparation. He and his surroundings were kept completely sterile for his delicate immune system. He was ready, and they wouldn't feed him for a while.

06955 literally could not feel anything - his body had been remade in too many places and too many times for the AI to risk overloading his brain with pain. He lay on an operating table completely naked. His shirt, "Caymon Haynes" emblazoned on a patch over the heart, was on the floor.

Several specially engineered and tentatively beta-stage strains of bacteria had been released into his blood stream to reinforce bones, maximize oxygen exposure to muscle, and perhaps riskiest of all, completely rewire his nervous system for much faster response time. Meanwhile his AI made virtual worlds in his mind and trained him in countless situations. His body was becoming a liquid Combine experiment, and when he resolidified he would be the perfect soldier. And it was all due to a flaw in his immune response that he could be remade into an image of perfection.

The Combine treated him very well.

-------------------------------------------------------

Yahn squatted in the hallway, his hatred for the Combine burning him from the inside. Across from him Sarah's recovery room's door remained closed, guarding her from anything else.

Yahn rose up and left, grieved. She had done her duty, and done it with pride.

But she didn't need to be guarded from anything anymore.

Yahn choked back a sob, then stopped in front of another room. There was something he could do...

His eyes, blank with hatred, stared emptily forward. Grasping the door knob, he stepped into the room and rested his hand on the table, casually placed on a pair of scissors..

-------------------------------------------------------

Mark heard Yahn sob. Mark saw him open the door. Mark saw him grasp the scissors. Mark thought he was going to die.

Mark didn't care.

-------------------------------------------------------

 

[adulus]

So the combine are some sorta variation of the borg? interesting....
keep it coming though, great story.

 

[CrazyHarij]

Great stuff, really enjoying to read!