The Past Is No Longer In Our Way (Closed)

[corriger]

The Point Man's ever-vigilant gaze wandered about, keeping focus upon the energetic little girl that frolicked about ahead of him. Simple moments like this, no matter how frequent they were... it put his mind at ease.

Even now, six years after that horrific incident with his mother and Fettel, the Point Man still couldn't believe that it was over. It was all he had known in his life, the only constant that continued to plague and corrupt him. For a while, it took him quite a bit to finally get over the whole thing. To get over the death of his whole family.

The family he had a hand in destroying.

Had he been anyone else, he may have been wracked with guilt - the Point Man, however, had long realized that there was no point in dwelling in the past, one where he was nothing more than the pawn of greedy corporate bodies. And on the matter of Armachan, he hadn't seen or heard of them ever since the Fairport incident... frankly, he hoped they had all died and gone to Hell - then again, when was he ever that lucky?

"Big brother, stop being so slow!" He was pulled back out of his thoughts from a light tugging on his arm. Whatever reminiscing thoughts that choked his mind were all but entirely cleared by that bright smile on her face. "We're gonna miss the horses!"

Every time he saw that happy, youthful expression, he couldn't help but smile in return. No matter what happened in the past... this was his future. This child was all he needed to worry about, and the rest of the world could go to Hell for all he cared.

Still smiling, the Point Man let the child lead him away, and to the center of town.

[echidna]

Amity park was an interesting town - That was a gentle way of putting it. It was a hotspot of supernatural activity, a melting pot of spectral shadows. After that incident with Hazama, Eliza had taken a special interest in it - the undead, malign spirits in particular. If she was to deal with Hazama in the future - and oh wouldn't she just love to crush his throat under her heel - she would need to understand spirits a lot better.

That was why she was there, anyhow - what she did during daylight hours was another matter entirely. A bit of sleep deprivation, both from keeping up normal pretenses and from late night research and ghost hunting made a certain platinum-haired young woman's sketches take a turn for the odd! Currently, she was drawing a spooky skeleton in a suit dancing with a ghostly woman while an opal beetle (A species of giant beetle that were roughly the temperment of housepets, and had become common as pigeons in the last couple years) sat upon her head, munching quite cheerfully with a sort of SNAKSNAK noise upon chunks of lettuce that she offered up to it occasionally.

Incidentally, it was the beetle that noticed Point Man and Amelia first - she didn't think much of it at first - the child was what she focused on, but then she realized that her mind's eye through the beetle's gaze was sliding off Point Man. He moved like a predator, a panther in tall grass the way he wore the world around him, never speaking, just... following a little girl who called him big brother. For some reason, she thought about Bioshock, but... color her intrigued! Not many people moved like that. He was protecting the girl, and not in the normal sort of way. Fascinating... what was a monster like him doing being some little girl's 'Big Brother'?

The swarm responded to her interest by keeping an eye on him - about thirty eyes watched him then as she carefully tucked away her sketchbook, put the lettuce in a paper bag, and set the Opal Beetle into her bag so it could be close to mommy. Slade had taught her alot about trailing people, how not to look at them and keep track of their progress. She didn't need to follow Point Man closely - Opal Beetles filled in the spaces of her perceptions, sweet creatures that they were... and one squad of Raveners - Damascus, Fubar, Tamale, and Shadowdancer - had come with her to the Amity Park in case things got serious and she needed protection. There were other little considerations, but no bother. She followed Point Man a good distance away.

[corriger]

Amelia's tiny little hand was practically glued around the Point Man's two fingers as she led the way. He had to give the child some credit: she went about Amity Park as if she had lived here her whole life... when in truth it had been but a mere three months. It was a wonder just from whom, exactly, she inherited this trait from - her mother, or that "Becket" man.

Shaking his head clear of the thought, the Point Man focused upon the present matter. While his knowledge of the town was, to put it simply, utter shit in comparison to Amelia's, he still knew the layout well enough to know that they were approaching town square at a surprising rate; this little walk should've run on for at least thirty minutes, but it was likely to only last about ten.

"Hey, big brother?" The Point Man looked down at the spry young girl - Lord, that smile was so sweet. "When we get there, can I ride one of the horses?"

Thinking for a moment, he eventually nodded in response - after all, he was sure that such an event would at least cater to the other children that would undoubtedly be there. As if it weren't blinding enough already, her smile brightened further at the Point Man's affirmative; pace quickened, she pulled along her guardian towards the event location.

For some odd reason, though, he felt as if they were the focus of some kind of... nah. He was probably just being paranoid.

After what the Point Man estimated as a measly seven minutes, they arrived - and to say the least, he was not expecting the occasion to be so... significant. According to their neighbors - both very kindly seniors, not to mention helpful - this was suppode to be nothing but a simple equestrian parade; this spectacle before his eyes was by no means "simple". Not just city hall, but several streets had been closed down and repurposed for this event. Occupying the streets were loads of horses, each of different shapes and sizes, all marching on with a certain discipline that he never even saw in humans.

He couldn't stop the twitch in his left eye; perhaps saying the mayor liked horses was putting it FAR too lightly...

The Point Man didn't break his gaze from the equestrian creatures, even as Amelia reach for his taller self - the univeral sign for "up". Reaching down, he grasped his baby sister beneath the armpits and hoisted her up, placing the child onto his shoulders. Amelia giggled, resting her bony little elbows atop his head as she watched the event go on with a beaming smile stretch across her features; the Point Man didn't even notice, his focus remaining on the parade of horses.

[echidna]

Appearantly, there was some kind of festival or event - Opal beetles elsewhere were seeing... horses? Dear god, the horses. Festivals were sort of lost on Eliza - just because she was constantly busy (yes, sketchwork counted). She had a nonschedule for sleep, an uncrowded schedule and addressbook... it was days like this that made her think of childhood.

Point man and Amelia were... sweet together. Eliza slowed, and ducked into a coffee shop, but kept her childrens' eyes on the man and the little girl. Distractedly, she ordered a strawberry chai latte, sat, and watched the world go by, eyes shutting as she enjoyed her 'nap' treat, and felt the caffeine do her mind some serious good.

The Point man was a mystery, not what you'd call handsome, not exactly... he looked, well, frightening and fierce, but not when he was holding a little girl on his shoulders. Maybe he was a bodyguard, but he cared about the girl - that much was obvious to anyone with eyes. He was protecting her from something though, wasn't he. To the side, she roused her sons, a creeping feeling of... dread rising in the back of her mind. Their sleepy minds roused into the thrumming pulse of the Brood from laconic slumber, slightly confused about this instruction after only four hours of rest, but the older of them, Fubar, knew the score. Keep quiet, keep out of sight. They might not even end up being needed, after all, Mother was nervous and protection missions were becoming increasingly common - they knew the drill well enough, and began to move.

As for point man and the girl, the parade and the fair was all there was - the cautious machinations of the Brood were not something they were privy to, and Eliza intended to keep it that way unless they were beset. Why was she doing it? .... cause! She didn't have any answer to this that wouldn't evaporate in the heat of one of Slade's cryptic questions. Because she felt like it. The child was happy with her 'big brother' and having a peaceful day, and guys like him attract trouble. It was good exercise in daytime stealth for her children, and on top of that, she bloody well felt like it. Bugger all else.

Beetles who had nothing to do but chew on something took off, and buzzed away to help with this. She checked rooftops, scanned windows, looked for the good sniper spots and checked them - her training with Slade was extensive and she'd worked hard at her studies. This was almost second nature to her now - it was an exercise she'd gotten used to in NYC. Any sloppy bugger planning on giving Point Man a bad day would have a serious problem on his hands.

[corriger]

It didn't take long for Amelia to grow bored of simply watching the parade - though in truth, the Point Man was pleasantly surprised that her interest was held for even that long. He had figured she was growing bored when she started to tap the top of his head similarly to a drummer. Looking around, he had noticed that a few people and their children were queued in front of a tent - perhaps it was a line to actually ride a horse?

As it had turned out, his first guess was right on point. The wait had taken nearly an hour, and Amelia - being a six year old, and all - was slightly grating on his nerves with her constant head drumming and whining and sighing, but as it turned out there was kinda worth it - especially since there were numerous little ponies for the children to ride and play with. As such, the Point Man patiently stood by while his little sister played around to her heart's content.

Sometime later, the parade ended, and everyone had retreated back to their homes. Amelia was perched back on top of the Point Man's shoulders, yawning ever so slightly in weariness. It was to be expected, after all: she had gotten up around 6:00 in the morning, been moving around nonstop since then, and had been riding the ponies from start to finish. The girl had a very fulfilling day, no doubt... and so long as that was the case, the Point Man himself was content.

However, he found himself plagued by that very same unease from before - and he was certain that he was not simply being paranoid. Cautiously, he removed Amelia from her perch - the girl seemed too tired to really notice - and held her close. So far, Amity Park seemed relatively peaceful by his standards... but he could never be too sure.

[echidna]

((Post compleet))

Eliza would have enjoyed being wrong about things. For once not having something go down when she was paying attention - was that too much to ask? One of the opal beetles came upon a position in an abandoned part of an old office building where a man in a private military outfit - she didnt see an insignia - was assembling a high powered rifle - 50 cal, by the look of it. The beetle scuttled, turning to face outward. The window was... overlooking the parade from a good distance off, and the man was setting up so he could fire from inside the room - he meant business, and he was no novice.Again the beetle turned, just in time to see the throwing knife coming at it.

Obviously, this was not the first time members of the brood had died, but each time was like a snowflake - unique and different. She would never get used to the brief toothache flash of pain and the accompanying void that opened up. She stood in a huff and a cold sweat, her chair clattering to the floor behind her! People looked up in surprise, and before two seconds had passed, Eliza was running, mind icy with calculating rage that resonated through the brood. People who deliberately killed her children and did other deplorable things had accidents. The Raveners were already moving.

She had a safehouse. Several, in fact - places that she set up for the purpose - Slade's training. They were private, scouted for the sole purpose of seclusion, of secrecy, where people just did not go. The Raveners were near the rim of the city, where the chance of discovery was cross referenced against the time it would take them to respond and traverse the radius. She had minutes until they got there. Too long... so that left only a couple options. As she neared her destination, however, she became
aware of voices that did not belong. They were conversations carried by men, by people who shoild not be where they were. It was right about there that Eliza realized she wasnt the only person who could identify a decent safespot. She hadnt exactly been paying attention to her surroundings, but the Opal beetle tensed and made a soft little keening noise just as a soft metallic click sounded just behind her. Someone had pulled a gun, and a cold little spot on the back of her head told her he was putting it to her skull.

"Allo, girlie." A thick aussie accent said luxuriantly, as if he had all the time in the world and was in no hurry to do anything today. "Howabout you jus' turn righ' roun'. Noice an' easy nau." She did. He wasnt bad looking - a young man, curly black hair, twinkling eyes, a boyish little grin, and a magnum.

"There nau, no need fo'a fuss, roight?" He said, with amiability that would have made a demon envious. "We's both reasonin' folk, ay?" He grinnded wider, and winked at her. She smiled back at him and nodded very slowly. Clearly this was not the response he was seeking. His expression almost changed before the red came, lighting up his face. He looked... concerned, and curious, but she helped him to the ground and took his gun and... oh, a radio, three hundred in cash, and a pack of tic-tacs!

"Just breathe, friend. You will be just fine, if you focus on breathing" and with that, she adopted caution and slinked into the shadows.

They were a team of professionals. They moved with purpose, each clearly knowing what was expected of them, trading banter as they went. They sounded european, at least most of them. She counted four that were southern, none of them where their accents made them at home, so that meant this was a high funding job with a specific purpose in mind. The key to stealth, Slade had told her, was patience... but that sniper? She already had more cautious beetles going to the tower... from what she could tell, he had only gotten to his spot a minute before she found him... so that did not likely mean she had long. Things like this werent coincidences. Experience had taught her that much... but all of this... for him? It didnt make sense... but the sniper would be able to see his face in that scope, and seeing them now, it was clear they all wore a uniform. And they were all right ontop of where she stashed her gear, the bastards! She was alone... what could she do? Alesis was foodrunning with another squad, and the squad shed brought with her were minutes away. She did not have long. Not long enough to be stealthy anyway. So this called for some guile. What was the classic way to defeat a foe who had numbers? Right...

Options. What did she have on her? In the sanctuary of the shadows, she crouched down, keeping her eyes on the men as she navigated her backpack. Sketchbooks, pens, pencils, brushes, a couple magazines, a hardcover romance novel... and a small metallic cigarette case. She blinked! Pulling it out, she broke visual to look at the object! It opened neatly with a little clasp, to reveal a velvet interior set with little depressions under glass - it was a fancy little item Charlie had whipped up for her... to store her Lifeseeds. There were even three of them in there! Two devourers... and a Vivern. Well, she'd made these three seeds for such situations, and the presence of at least... SOME backup gave her some definite options. Note to self - use these more. It was a miracle she'd not left this on her desk drawer.

To use them though, she had to step back a little ways - the change wasn't completely silent. It would take them... oh, four seconds to realize there was a sound and investigate. So, that meant so many steps away from the perimeter to give her the time for her children to be born from the Lifeseed - it would take seconds opposed to hours, since the energy was already spent, the genetic structure already established. She selected the Vivern - she needed serious fire support for this one.

Removing the three seeds, she smiled as she tossed one, like a farmer casting seeds. "Playtime."

Midair, the seed ignited in cool blue light, already glowing long before it hit the ground. With the rush of growing life came a hissing, spitting sound, like boiling oil. The small orb spread out, hitting the ground as it bulged and distorted, taking mass from its environment as it would take energy from mother, the energy in the reaction immense. Eliza hadn't realized how much energy was involved in making her children - oddly, she had only ever done this with the Lifeseeds once before, when she figured out she could do it. A pleased, excited grin spread across her lips as the spideresque monster took shape. The radio was going nuts - the noise was loud, after all, they'd have to be deaf not to have heard it by now.

Limbs took shape, a head rose from the mass, an abdomen, claws, spines, eyes opened... it was beautiful to a mother to see her daughter developing from the mindless slumber of the Lifeseed. New consciousness came into being in a sudden popping rush, an intellect of catlike malice and vicious fury.

By the time two of the paramilitary soldiers reached the spot, they found one massive black scorchmark, and nothing more.

"What the fuck?" one said, his face looking like he lost a fight with a lawnmower and tried to eat a cat. His partner, significantly younger and less-scarred, shrugged

"Fireworks?" he suggested

"Smells like... burning grease." said the first, in his thick french accent.

"Yeah... weird... Brimstone-ish, ya?"

"Brimstone - don't be stupid, it smells like sulfur!"

The second rolled his eyes, and sighed. Bloody muscleheads. Unbeknownst to either, something was lowering its mass behind them, jaws salivating, the Vivern's hunger only matched by its sheer pissed-off at its sudden awakening. Like a cat, She would play with these little mice.

The frenchman with the crossworked face was the first to notice - a bit of burning oil dropped onto his shoulder in a spike of pain. He was a seasoned veteran, and his first impulse was to raise his assault rifle and cry out. He managed to roar a little, but the rifle was neatly smacked out of his hand by one massive foreclaw, striking him full-on in the chest to send him flying like a ragdoll. He would survive - more than could be said of his friend.

The gigantic armored spider reared back, the younger mercenary looking dumbfounded and terrified as the Vivern seemed to swell a little, little red-glowing mandibles glowing with hateful intent, its multitude of eyes gleaming with malign intelligence.

"Get down, man!" the frenchman cried out, but too little, too late. The fire came all at once in a dread rush, and the man was washed away in a tide of flame, his form briefly visible before it became ashes and faded, leaving only his legs beneath the shin.

The frenchman raised his rifle and screaming a litany, fired, right at the... the THING'S face! Training took over, and he rose, squeezint the trigger in controlled bursts, peppering the screeching, furious creature with bullets. Nothing likes hot lead, but the weaponsfire was like using mace on a bear. It certainly felt it, but it was hardly subdued. With little pockmarks in its chitin and a couple put out eyes, the Vivern began flailing madly, screeching painfully as it swiped at the soldier and advanced in a pain-addled fury. To the merc's credit, he actually managed to dodge the first two swipes, but he lost his footing and ran out of ammunition at about the same time. Sensing the weak moment, the spider monster reared over the man and was about to come down on him to tear him apart when it... stopped. The merc only had a moment to consider before a boot collided with his head.

Eliza asserted her dominance over her furious daughter, and stared the Vivern down. It backed down and simply shuddered in pain from its missing eyes and dinged up armor. Honestly, Eliza was impressed. She hadn't been sure how a Vivern's armor would put up with military hardware. If it hadnt been hit in the eyes, assault rifle munitions would merely be annoying, like beestings. More men would be coming, to the displeasure of the newborn Vivern.

Eliza smiled at her daughter and pet her alien face, murmuring softly as her hands began to glow, pressing her energy into the monster's flesh. The newborn monster was amazed at her own feelings of adoration for Mother, and that this affection was mutual. The brood was suddenly felt, and its core cared. The Vivern's natural malice was soothed in the warmth as the pain of its injuries faded. Mother loved her.

With the weave of the healing myomer ingrained into the Vivern's flesh, Eliza moved to search her new mercenary friend. Guns really weren't her style, but the assault rifle was valuable, and she could use the cash. Another issue, for another time. A couple clips, two flash grenades and a frag - not bad. Once shed finished searching him, the Vivern helpfully webbed him to the floor.

Eliza raised the radio she'd been "given" and smiled. "Now hear this, now hear this! she said in her best radio announcer voice, dripping with ice. "Whatever you've been paid, you got cheated, gents." again in that 50s announcer voice, full of mocking.

The chatter went dead, and a moment later, one voice with a northern accent came across to break the quiet.

"Who the hell are you?"

Eliza grinned as she dissapeared into the shadows with her newborn daughter, taking one of the late newbie's charred legs with her. Opal beetles were coming in now, those that werent busy elsewhere. They filled the darkness with clicking, buzzing life...

"Least of your concerns, gentlemen... Already got three of you... all of this to kill one man and a little girl? Naughty naughty, Billy? What would your mother say?" she said, amusement ringing on every tone.

More silence. She could practically hear the gears turning across the airwaves.

"How do you know about these things!"

Bing-bong! We have a winner! Billy was getting agitated, too!

"I didn't, you just told me, Billy! Ha ha ha! Ill make this simple, gentlemen: leave... or else."

"Or else... what?"

She'd hoped that he would ask... so she wound up and, with all her strength, hurled the severed leg through the darkness - she knew where they were, what they were doing, and she could see the looks on their faces when a severed leg struck whom she was now certain was the squad leader full on in the chest. On cue, her daughter added to the horrification by giving a hateful rumble of inhuman laughter that bounced all over the concrete darkness. Eliza could have kissed her - that was a stroke of genius.

Psychological warfare is an important part of battle. Scare them, and they don't think as clearly and you have the advantage. The man did a champion job of keeping his voice steady, but she could see the sweat on his brow and the look in his eyes as he stared a t the charred appendage.

"There there, Billy! Little Jimmy didn't suffer long at all! So how about it, sport?"

The man had heard about Amityville before, and one of those guys he'd sent to check out the noise earlier had said something about Brimstone! Now a charred leg and that voice over the radio? He was not a religeous man by any measure, but this was... unnatural. He made a lightning comparison of rate of pay against current job conditions, and chose carefully. They weren't paid to die. They'd been paid to take out one man and a girl, not a damn demon!

He did not even bother replying - he just... ordered the team (which was relieved) back into the van, and they took off in a screech of rubber. Besides... they still had their eye in the sky - that sniper had taken 30% of the pool, the bastard, but he was... damn good. Let him deal with this shit.

"Good decision, Billy! Ha ha ha!"

Eliza had no problems letting them go. She had a sniper to catch, and she was sure the team wouldn't interfere at least for a while - not as long as they were sure their sniper was in place. She would deal with them soon enough, she was sure. In the dark of her safespot, Eliza got into her own uniform. Today, the Broodmother would make an appearance in Amity Park.

The sniper was nearly ready to take his shot - she could see him clearly now through the Opal beetles she'd sent to keep an eye on him. The parade was over, and people would be going home - she had to get there quickly to ensure the safety of the man and his 'little sister'.

[corriger]

Caution dictated that he slow down his pace - experience told him otherwise. Obeying the latter, the Point Man quickened his stride, holding Amelia closer to his body, presenting a much smaller profile. His train of thought bordered on paranoia for most people... but the Point Man? Well, he just happened to have a knack for sensing danger - no matter how far, no matter how deadly, he could sniff it out - and pretty much every time he had one of these "paranoid streaks"...

Well, let's just say that psychic ghosts with a fury the likes of which even the depths of Hell cannot reach are not the best of company.

The Point Man must've gone about four, maybe five meters before he heard... gunfire. Jesus, gunfire in a place where they had freaking pony parades? This wasn't good, not at all... The Point Man moved faster, hoping he could either get back to the apartment well before any trouble could happen - yes, it was possible that whatever the source of the gunfire was, they wouldn't necessarily be looking for them, but either way... he didn't want to expose Amelia to any dangerous situations.

He couldn't have her turning out like Alma...

His controlled worries kicked his senses into... well, "high gear" may have been an understatement; to the Point Man, time seemed to slow down to a crawl, if only for a moment. The breeze wafting across his face, the newspaper skittering across the sidewalk, even his walk was about the same speed as an old turtle. The sensation that accompanied his adrenaline coursing through his body was brief, and before long he'd see the world as a normal human again...

Or, rather, it would have, if he hadn't seen a red dot steadily travelling across the wall...

"This is your Phase Commander. I want that biological freak disposed of NOW."

The Point Man mentally cursed. As if traversing ANY area wasn't already dangerous with the numerous amounts of soldiers about, but now they had to contend with snipers?!

"My, my, brother." His gaze broke away from the upper level of the plaza and to the psychic ghost on the opposite side of his position; leaning against the wall with a smirk on his face was his younger brother, Paxton Fettel.

"I'd hate to be in your position right now, he said rather coolly, idly observing his own fingernails. "I can say this from experience: a bullet to the head does not feel nice... And unlike myself and our dear mother..." The ghost looked up and grinned at the Point Man, his eyes twinkling with what appeared to be childish amusement.

"... YOU will not be coming back."

The Point Man couldn't help but roll his eyes. Psychic bastard...

He ducked back under cover as several bullets whizzed right on by, barely missing his face by a few inches. Shooting Fettel one last glare, he nudged his head in the general direction of the Armachan squad that stood in their way. Raising three fingers, he began a countdown.

Three.

Two.

One.

Fettel immediately stepped into the line of fire, the bullets whizzing right through his ethereal form - not like anyone could see the ghost, anyway. Raising a hand, the ghost allowed a smoking red lance of psychic energy and latched onto the furthest soldier of the group - within moments, the soldier was possessed.

Fettel's job was done... the Point Man waited for a moment for the gunfire to stop coming his way - and then jumped out.

Time slowed to a crawl as he maneuvered out of cover, aiming down the sights of the submachine gun in hand. From the looks of it, there were only about five soldiers that needed to be taken care of; up top, a lone infantry unit was settling into his perch, getting ready to take aim.

Not on his watch.

Three seconds, several bursts in quick succession - the ones that stood closest to the Point Man's intended means of cover dropped like rag dolls in low gravity. Using the recoil from the gun to aim upward more quickly, he pulled the trigger again and reduced the sniper's head to little more than brain matter splattered all across the wall.

The Point Man dove for cover just as Fettel handled the remaining troopers, gunning them all down in a hail of lead - and, as per usual, exited the host body in a bloody burst of gore.

"Impressive, brother," Fettel remarked, leaning against a column and looking onward with a bored expression; of course, it wasn't long before a new batch of infantry moved in. "Psychic washout you may be, those reflexes of yours are admittedly... refined."

If he didn't need his hands to remain firmly on his weapon, he would've flipped Fettel the bird.

That flashback was quite immediately followed by action. Adrenaline coursing through his body, he traced the red marker back to its origin - and far off on another building was exactly what he expected.

A sniper.

Twisting his upper body to keep Amelia partially shielded with his own being, he immediately sprinted forward - if he had run backwards, it would've been far too easy to simply readjust and take aim anyway. By running into the sniper's sights, the guy would have to actually stop and readjust his sights; that would give him enough time to find somewhere to hide.

He kept running, looking every which way for some means of getting out of the sniper's line of fire... there! An alleyway, with two towering buildings on either side of him. The sniper wouldn't be able to reach him there... Immediately, he ducked into the alleyway, making sure all the while to keep Amelia shielded.

There was a door up ahead, to the left of the pathway; he ran up to it, and tried the knob. Nothing. Gritting his teeth, he tucked his leg in and thrust it forward; sole met door, and the door gave way. He felt Amelia stir, but aside from that there were no movements - she was sound asleep, thank God... The Point Man surveyed his new surroundings, trying to find a place to put Amelia... a cupboard. Easily big enough to fit a six-year old child in.

Opening the doors of the cupboard, he carefully stowed Amelia inside. Yet again, the child stirred, and she let out a soft yawn. "Big brother...? What are you doing...?"

Jesus, that innocent question... The Point Man simply motioned for the girl to stay put and not make a sound; fortunately, the girl was too drowsy to make any arguments, and simply curled up into a little ball and went back to sleep.

Smiling a bit, he closed the cupboard up before standing up to full height. His smile disappeared, giving way to a stone-cold look - the countenance of a man who knew nothing more than to kill. A soldier that had been through Hell and back... twice.

The Point Man reached into his jacket, withdrawing a sleek black handgun and flipping off the safety. He knew that these people wouldn't stop, not with Amelia at stake... So he was just going to have to take matters into his own hands.

[echidna]

The familiar tightness of her combat suit made the Broodmother's head clear. Something about the world seemed simpler, easier to grip, when her vision was flooded with the red of her combat visor. Slade's work was impressive as hell - it gave her everything from wind direction to active radar alert, let alone light and heat amplification visors. She didn't have time to fathom the good fortune of owning such a fine thing, however - it had a use. She had a use.

Shooting a glance, Eliza told the Vivern all she had to know - it didn't need telling twice. With a chitter of irritation at being forced to be stealthy, it scuttled into the darkness and faded, even its thermal scan gone in moments as it darted around cement walls. If those men were the assholes Eliza thought they were, that her training said they were, her daughter would be ideally placed. The Broodmother was already moving - she didn't have the luxury of a lot of time.

A half-hearted inquiry told her that her sons were maybe a minute out yet, and it was the work of a couple moments to track the movement of the Point Man. She had been right - this man was clever, incredibly, almost supernaturally skilled. Something wasn't right though... Her beetles couldn't see the other figure, the one who had a hole in his head, the one who made one of the soldiers tear into his comrades then burst in a gory display. But Eliza did. Now that... that was interesting.

The acceleration actuators in her suit kicked in as her palms planted on one of the metal outer rails of the parking garage. Her legs flew up behind her and she did a handstand before bending in a clean arc, feet contacting and vaulting her out into open space, bridging the gap between it and the building across the way. Now was not the time for subtlety, and the fastest way through anything was a straight line, right? Right...

A middle-aged office worker probably doesn't deserve having a girl in a mask burst through his third story office window, not a day after his promotion, but imagine his surprise when this just happened and she, whoever she was, kicked down his door and kept trucking like she hadn't just violated his personal office LIKE A BAWSS. Such things could be safely disregarded in this town. Bloody Amity Park.

The rows opened up in front of the man's door, and people all-too-gladly moved out of her way. But some folk have a knack for getting in the way at just the wrong time. An irritating voice that was just a bit too familiar came from some distance ahead of her, inaudible to any but Eliza.

"IYAM THA BOX GHOST!" the voice said, with obnoxious loudness "YORE CUUUUUBIC SLAVERY PLEASES ME GREATLY, WORKER DRONES! FOR IYAM THA BOOOOX GHOOOOOOOST! YOO WILL BOW... TO MEEEE!" it continued, and the source materialized in front of Eliza. Good god, it was HIM again.

"God... DAMNIT!" Eliza hissed in fury, and the ghost cackled with maniacal glee - well... idiotic glee, but the point remained that he was in her way.

"Language, little lady!" the Box Ghost said, wagging his index finger at her. "Tha Booooox Ghooooooost will make you regreeeeeet what you diiiiid..." he said, in a voice he probably thought was spooky. Here it came.

"BEWARE!" and a cubicle unit slammed into her. At least, it seemed to. It just kept going though, and it was right about there that the ghostly assailant realized it had been cut in two - computer, dividers, desk, and coffee mug, all quite neatly, hurtling across the isle, and The Broodmother was suddenly upon him. Humans shouldnt have been able to touch him, but this one managed it, and dragged him by the collar until he was level with her face. The whole exchange had taken a moment, and despite the fact that her touch burned like acid, he smiled disarmingly.

"Ahm... Tha box ghoooost sees the error of his ways now?" he suggested feebly.

"Darn right you do... You just wasted my time with.... with your cubic evil! Now you're going to help me get it back!" she hissed, in a tone as cold as ice, voice distorted horribly through the filter of her mask.

"Ahm..."


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

Some seconds later, Eliza found herself riding in a cubical as a ghost in blue overalls carried her across town, levitating stories above ground. He could have dropped her, it was true... but... but that would destroy his box! That... little girl dared command him! HIM! THE BOX GHOST! LORD OF EVERYTHING RECTANGULAR AND SQUARE! .... ... .. ... But... but he couldnt drop her, could he? It would probably just make her mad, anyhow, and he couldn't put up with much more of her white fire - that stuff hurt! Begrudgingly, he set her where she'd instructed him to, and she strode out.

"THE BOOOOOX GHOOOOOOST HAS REPAID THE SCARY MASK GIRL NOW! BEWAAAAARE!"

She shot him a look, and he winced as he took his voice and his ego down a couple decibels. "bewaaare!" he whispered. She nodded at him.

"Thank you." she said, and was off again, kicking open the fire escape on the roof of the sniper's old office building and darting inside. At least she'd been polite... after a fashion. But he had to admit... he was curious... what could have someone like her so riled up? Dipping through the floor, he decided to investigate.

When Eliza at last kicked down the last door, leading into the sniper's refuge of before, she found it... empty. What?! His bag was here, she was certain she had the right room, but...

Her Radar suddenly went ballistic, and she saw the red dot on her shoulder, traveling up towards her head just in time to throw her weight to the side, a little POK of plaster marking the spot where she just was. He realigned, and she turned her dodge into a roll, another hole marking where she'd just been. This sniper was... very good. Frighteningly good. It was all she could do to stop, his third shot marking the spot where her head would have been if she had kept running forward. Her boots contacted the ground in a kick, pushing her back just in time to avoid the next shot - four. She couldn't keep this up forever. He must have known someone had been coming for him, and now he knew it was her, whoever it was. She ducked - Five. How was he this good? It was incredible! She spun out and ducked through the doorway, slamming it behind her just before it splintered - six. She booked, putting as much distance between her and that man's sights. But she couldn't run forever - not if she wanted to help that man and his little sister. But her sons... they wouldn't be much help against this man. Mentally, she redirected them - someone would have seen Point Man duck into that place and leave her in a cupboard. All but Fubar complied readily. His choice. He wouldn't let mother face something like... like that man alone. It was against everything he stood for.

What was the scary mask-girl doing? There was someone trying to kill her with a sniper rifle? The Box Ghost did not understand - he couldn't be killed by any mere round shaped metal thing, but she could, couldn't she? What could she possibly do against a weapon like that? But she climbed onto the roof anyway, plain as day to the sniper on the building opposite.

Impossible... she could see on thermal where his dot was as he lined up his shot on her heart. How could he move that fast? How on earth had he managed it? That wasn't the problem now though... it was time to test how far she'd come with her defense spellcraft. She was already muttering something under her breath, and the Box Ghost, some distance behind and to the side, felt his SPOOKY HAIR stand on end as she unwound her power.

"Θέλησή μου είναι η ασπίδα μου, καρδιά μου προφυλαχθείτε από το βέλος!"[/color] she muttered, her voice rising as she raised her head to the sky, to where the sniper was in his position, his dot raising to her face. "Αφαιρέστε τα αγκάθια!" her aura streaked and rose, superreality imposing itself, making the colors of her immediate surroundings become more vivid, distort under the heat of her weave.

The sniper took his shot.

"Απεργία!" she screamed, and thrust her hand at the oncoming bullet. Time seemed to slow for her as adrenaline blasted in her veings, heartbeat raging as one rapid thump in her ears. She felt the bullet enter her zone of willpower, tangling into the nets of her will, her hands seeming to move like they were made of taffy as she akwardly wrapped her power around the slug, pulling it aside slightly, curving its path midair as she strained with all her strength to push the supersonic shot aside. She managed - it diverted, but she hadn't been able to do much to it - all she could do was have it miss her, curving wildly down to street level until it buried itself into a car's engine block, the round driving clear through and into the concrete below, creating a spark - enough to cause the vehicle to explode.

"Απεργία!" she cried again, even louder, and felt the bit of moisture in her mask - her nose was bleeding from the effort already, but she had to try again! This was metal versus magic.

The second bullet entered her will, and this time she managed to enfold a couple layers of will around it before it careened off course at a 90 degree angle - much better a result this time, but still no cigar, and the Sniper had a six round clip. Her head buzzed and throbbed madly in the agony of pushing herself... But she was giddy! She was redirecting supersonic bullets!! She had to try it again! Even if it gave her an aneurysm!

"Α-Aπεργία!" She screamed, desperation and exhilaration surging in her voice as her unwound power, at its peak in her rushing tide of adrenaline and pain grabbed the last bullet she could manage with her strength, seizing it and enshrouding it in layer after layer of her energy, yanking it hard off course... and pulling its path under her control! She did it! She bloody well did it! Reaching out, gripping the bullet in bindings of iron will.

Imagine the sniper's surprise! She'd have given money to see the look on his face when the bullet, trailing white fire, curved a full 360 degrees in a wide arc, and came back, tearing through his own gun and right through his sternum, shattering his chest and sending barbs into his vital organs. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Eliza felt... nothing. She sank to her knees, blood trickling through the mouthguard of her red-and-black mask in a rush. Her vision was going white - the effort of doing that once had been enough to make her nose bleed... but three times? She wondered if this was the end of her life. As far as lives went... despite the darkness, the pain... she was glad she'd lived it. It was a pretty good life. She had her children, and she'd used it to protect a complete stranger. Was that enough to redeem her? Was that enough to avenge the people her children had killed? To make things right with humanity? Probably not... but she felt good about it. As she sagged back, she felt arms encircle her to break her fall, and she looked up into the face of one of her beloved sons. Fubar's claws removed her mask, and his expression turned grave.

"Ma..." he murmured, his alien, handsome face contorted in concern before hardening. He was such a strong lad - she was glad he'd disobeyed her. Such a good son...

"Hang on ma... We'll get you home..."

She was too weak to speak across the link - that part of her brain was numb.

"S-save... save th-th..." she croaked, tears burning her eyes. She was in a lot of pain - the only thing keeping her from feeling most of it was shock. He understood though. She'd done this for those two down there.

Right about there is when the gunship rose above roof level, its minigun already in its spinup sequence. Fubar hissed an annoyance and took off, mother in his arms as the bullets began to fly, the massive form sliding into the fire escape on his side, mother clasped tight to his side - she could hold on only weakly, and he could feel her fading. She was dying and there was nothing he could bloody do about it! But there was something... wasn't there. The gunship was getting distance now - it intended to blast the building! Fubar pushed himself to his feet and, clutching mother, tore off down the stairs, skipping entire flights as he vaulted down them. The first explosion took out the floor a couple just above him, but he kept trucking. He had to get downstairs, like a minute and a half ago!

But men were coming up the stairwell, now, too - at least that meant the gunship would back off a bit, right? Another missile impacted a floor above him, and he supposed not!

"BASTARDS!" he roared at the top of his voice, plowing through the first man on the stairwell, knocking the screaming figure down the center divide with a dopplering scream. Two more fell when his spiked, clublike tail drove three spikes each into their necks, chests, and torsos, pinning them to the opposite wall some ten feet behind them like some kind of morbid bug collection. By the time the last four had recovered enough to fire, all they had was a trailing, monstrous figure's whip of a tail and a leg to fire at as it chose a floor and darted inside. By the time they made it to the next floor to chase him, it, whatever it was that was clutching their fallen target, they had nothing to go by.

Fubar took refuge in one of the cubicles, a good distance from the door... Mother was dying in his arms while this piss-ants played soldier! He hated having to do this... but he blessed Charlie under his breath as he pulled out one of the Devourer lifeseeds. Mother's eyes were out of focus as he opened her mouth, and pushed the lifeseed between her lips, but they almost immediately snapped back into focus, her mind jumpstarted mid-shutdown. It was a temporary fix, he knew, and she was still too weak to be much help, but her mind linked into the relieved brood again. He smiled, and she returned it, sniffling wetly. Opal Beetles moved by her control now - they needed all the help they could get. Her expression focused, and he held her tight to him again just as one of the soldiers reached their isle. Imagine his surprise when his lower body suddenly failed to be attached to his upper, and he fell to the ground, still alive but divided in half, seeing his legs cartwheel off into a far wall! Fubar grabbed his weapon and crushed his skull underfoot with minimal effort. One of his comrades barely had time to grunt before his own partner's weapon gunned him down, and while those bullets couldnt pierce his bulletproof vest, the spines that chased the gunfire sure as hell could, sending him flying some thirty feet backward. He heard a little squeak from mother in his arms, and turned his shoulder just in time to take a burst, bullets impacting his back and hitting his thick, tough flesh with a wet THOCKTHOCKTHOCK. They didn't get too far in - his body was dense, like gravel, but it still wounded him. He returned fire, and again chased bullets with spines, filling the offending soldier full of holes. He was moving before he even had long enough to start bleeding.

One of the Armachan soldiers rounded the corner just in time to get trampled down by a rampaging Ravener, and the last was hurled through a window neatly. More would be coming... he couldn't keep this up forever. Not with a gunship dropping level with the window, again winding up its minigun. Fubar took off again, just as the machine began firing, cutting joists, glass, and pillars neatly as it tried to track him, to compensate for his speed - he was just managing to outrun that heavy weapon, just managing to keep ahead. The door to the far stairwell was inviting... but men burst through that too - this whole building was a deathtrap! Ducking into an office, Fubar only accelerated as the pane of glass came up. His foot hit it first, and he, clutching his mother away from the glass, sailed out into open air. What else could he have done? At least the Gunship wasnt going to shoot them midair... waste of bullets... the ground would do it for them.

A familiar warmth washed over his wounded shoulder. He looked down. Though she was shaking, mother was... muttering, she was healing him! How pointless! They would be dead in a couple seconds! But she smiled at him. Right about there was when he noticed a low droning noise and felt little presences all around him, felt little claws grab him. He'd never really much cared for Opal Beetles, but as the swarm enfolded them both and slowed their fall, he blessed every one his mother had ever given birth to. So that was what she'd been up to! It wasnt enough to stop them completely... it would still break his legs to land like this, but... at least they'd live. Then he hit something that met him and slowed their fall a great deal, merely painful instead of the bonecrunching agony he'd expected.

With a chittering scream, the Vivern landed again, and kept on trucking down the street. If big brother could disobey mother, so could she! The monsterous spider hissed vehemently into his mind, and booked. She had never run like this before - no Vivern ever had the chance to be this open, this visible! She was easily outpacing the street-speed cars, her claws scoring deep pockmarks in the cement. But what about the gunship?

Fubar, setting his mother safely on her daughter's carapace, turned his head to look. Sure as shit, the Gunship was rounding on them, picking up speed as it began to spin up its weapon again. He hissed, and leveled his weapon, but the Vivern spun, spearing one of the cars going its direction with its rear claws to hold its weight for a moment, leaving Fubar to face forward - soldiers were on the street, more of those Armachan bastards! A flash of heat, a rush of light, and a veritable beam of flame lanced from his little sister's mouth, striking the gunship full on, her aim precise despite the distance, lancing the minigun and shearing the props off neatly, sending the machine careening in their direction. Sis spun again, dragging the beam of flame with her with little care for her surroundings, doing thankfully little damage, but giving the Armachan a hell of a surprise, scoring a livid white hot line along the pavement, ashing one of them instantly and sending the rest flying in the ensuing explosion of escaping heat. She tore her claw out of the car, and picked up just a little more speed, skidding a little and dipping into a side-street just as the crashing helicopter caught up and careened past.

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

From the shadows to the side of Point Man, several figures materialized from the darkness - inhuman, massive figures - and they, in a universal sign of non-hostility, held their hands up and dipped their heads.

The first, a jet black Ravener (Save for a silver skull pattern on his facial fur) with feathers (and one batarang) braided into his mane bowed to the warrior.

"The Broodmother'll give ye a hand, mister, ye an' yer sister - yer not safe, deres soldiers aaaaall aboot an' we cannae stay! Ye gottae come wie oos, ye cannae hold off an army!" he said, the worry and fear in his voice readily apparent. "Our mother gae' a lot tae' help ye and yer little sister, mister - please, we cannae leave ye!" He said, the tension in his voice appearant - this wasn't the behavior of a murderous monster - it was the behavior of a concerned man with a lot, a looooot on his mind.

[corriger]

First order of business: neutralize the sniper... and anyone brave/dumb enough to get in his way.

The Point Man held his sidearm with both hands, barrel aimed downward and safety flicked off, and moved forward - before immediately ducking behind a dull green dumpster as a lone individual walked past the alleyway. He had only gotten a glance at the person, but he already knew who they were, why they were here, and why they were armed. Slightly luminescent goggles, ceramic face plating, bulky armor, and a G3A3 rifle held firmly within its grasp...

Replica trooper... Armachan.

The Point Man risked a quick, very quick glance around the side of the dumpster, just enough to take a look and see if the alleyway was clear - unfortunately, it was not. Luckily, the trooper didn’t seem aware of the Point Man’s presence; it seemed like a perfect opportunity to take this one out. Of course, there was the risk of alerting other nearby Replica forces to his location, but if he knew how Armachan operated, then they wouldn’t risk sending in a whole battalion of armed forces in as tame a place as Amity Park.

Regardless, he needed to be quick and silent, or the trooper would give him away.

The Point Man slipped his sidearm back into its concealed holster, before stealthily moving forward. His footfalls were silent, his awareness amped up by the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Not for the first time or the last, the Point Man was glad that his reflexes, at least, were one of the few good things that came out of being a part of Project Origin. The trooper seemed too preoccupied with speaking to whomever was on the other end of his com... perfect.

“Negative, commander: no contact with either target so far.” Wait, “Commander”? The Point Man’s expression twisted into a fierce scowl; had he the capacity of speech, he would’ve let out an instinctive curse and possibly gave his position away... luckily, he couldn’t. Odd how that worked out when in a hostile scenario.

The trooper continued, still very unaware of the pseudo-psychic killer that was closing the distance between them. “Mhm... Yes... Copy that, sir. We’ll continue the search.” The trooper keyed off its communicator, before rolling its shoulders and moving to continue its search - or, at least, was thinking of doing so; the Point Man had moved in for the kill as soon as the Replica trooper ended its report to the Commander. His right hand wrapped under and around its chin, the left quickly wrapping around its face as it was pulled right into the alleyway. In a single, deft motion, the Point Man pulled both arms away, twisting its neck and severing the cervical and thoracic vertebrae. The body twitched once, and only briefly at that, before going completely limp in the Point Man’s arms.

Any “normal” neck-snapping instance would’ve left room for numerous reflexive twitches; this unfortunate trooper didn’t even get that.

The Point Man dragged the limp body over to a dumpster, making sure to relieve the dead trooper of its headset, rifle and ammunition, before hoisting the corpse up and dumping it into the bin and closing the lid. As he surveyed the weapon and made sure that it was in proper working order, his thoughts raced ahead of him, assessing his option. Killing the trooper bought him a little more time to put some distance between himself and Amelia, and reduce the possibility of Armachan happening upon her... but the sniper would know; he was still up in that building, and no doubt had a clear view of the alleyway. Perhaps if he could draw its sights elsewhere... but with what?

The Point Man’s gaze flicked about, finally coming across an empty bottle. It wouldn’t be much, but it should give him a little time. He picked the discarded disposable up, before coming precariously close to the edge of the alley wall - before spotting a vacant car nearby. His gaze lingered on it for a split-second, but to him he may as well have been looking at it for five. An idea suddenly popped into his head, and he slowly raised the bottle up - and hurled it right at the car.

As expected, it hit the driver’s side of the vehicle - and the alarm started to blare. As skilled as this sniper may have been (though he doubted it was up to par, if the guy had let him slip away with Amelia), it was unlikely that he could resist the simple human nature of being distracted at the very least by the sound, if only for a split-second.

A split second that he Point Man was allowed to thoroughly abuse thanks to his enhanced reflexes.

For him, it took a second-long count to slip out of the alleyway and sprint down the street, adrenaline pumping some added energy through his veins. He dove for cover behind another car, one that was several meters away from his previous location; hopefully the sniper wasn’t able to trace him... Wait a minute. There was activity going on over the channels. The Point Man listened carefully and quietly, keeping his profile as invisible as he could from behind his form of cover; the vehicle was much smaller than he liked, and carelessness on his part would only give that sniper something to shoot at. Yes, his reflexes were far superior to any human’s... but he himself was still human.

Oddly enough, he heard gunfire rather than voices; through the slight static, he could hear the distinct booms of sniper fire. That was... well, he didn’t know whether or not he should consider that fortunate. On the one hand, the sniper was distracted; on the other, the sniper was distracted enough to blow his cover. Now he had another reason to get up to that building... whatever it was that was up there, it was an unknown variable in an already complex scenario. And somehow, the Point Man felt that it would only get worse...

Now that he didn’t need to worry about getting shot at, the Point Man felt it time to get on the move - and move he did, shouldering the G3A3 in his grasp and moving for the end of the road. If he could recall correctly, the sniper’s perch was some two blocks away. The quickest way to get there would be through central park, giving him a way to bypass all the needless twists and turn of the damn city... it’s a wonder how Amelia can navigate it so easily... in any case, he had to be quick; even if his killing of that Replica trooper hadn’t quite registered, the predicament going on with the sniper most definitely would.

His footfalls were quick and urgent, and he had decided to ditch taking the sidewalk and just run right down the asphalt road - thankfully, it was clear. He just hoped it stayed that way. Given the distance, it shouldn’t have taken any longer than seven minutes with the pace he was maintaining. So long as he didn’t run into any other troubles...

“Target sighted! Take him out!”

The Point Man came to a dead halt as soon as he set foot into the park; headed right in his direction was a squad of Armachan soldiers, all armed with submachine guns and approaching fast. He glanced around, looking for some sort of substantial cover... crap. Nothing but shrubbery and a bench in close proximity. And the bench looked like it’d fall apart in anything about two or three shots.

But he wasn’t exactly swimming in alternatives, so he had to make do with what he had.

Immediately, he ran for the bench right as the soldiers came within range and opened fire, ducking low as several bullets punched through the bench and whizzed over his head. How he was going to get in any shots with this going on, he hadn’t an idea. He could wait for at least one of them to run out of ammo... but then the others would just open fire on him... It was then that he heard not one, but several clicks. Risking a glance over his ravaged source of cover, he very nearly shook his head in disbelief. There they were, all standing out in the open while they reloaded. So they ALL fired at him? At the same time?

It took a split-second for the Point Man to finally put it all together: these were Armachan soldiers. Not even Replicas, just the regular old mercenaries... well, this was going to be simple.

He brought the G3A3 to bear, his reflexes kicking into high gear as he got ready for the kill. Four soldiers, all of them still reloading, just one of them realizing that the Point Man was about to return fire. Had he been fast enough - or smart enough - he would’ve warned his comrades or just hit the deck... then again, if he was smart enough to do that, then he would’ve been smart enough to have not gotten into such a terrible situation to begin with... ah, well. The Point Man didn’t waste a single beat: five pulls of the trigger, an equal amount of three-round bursts, and the five inept soldiers were neutralizes, their heads rendered into little more than pulp by the high-caliber rounds. The Point Man lowered the weapon and stepped around the bullet-ridden bench, over the still-twitching bodies of the Armachan grunts, and kept moving forward.

Alright, he had traversed one block, and fortunately that little firefight hadn’t taken too much time. Now all that was left was to get to that tower, and find out just what the hell he was dealing with. He was focused solely on getting to that building, taking care of this whole fiasco and ending it today. The burn of his lungs, the strain of his ever-sprinting legs; all of it was ignored. All of it. Almost including the gunship that had flown right overhead, its propellers shaking the very air with their movements.

Instinctively, the Point Man dove for something, anything to take cover behind - which happened to be a fire hydrant. It took him a couple of seconds to realize what had just occurred... if he could curse, he would have. And rather loudly, at that. The arrival of a gunship meant one thing: Armachan knew something was going on. They knew that something more severe than a few grunts could handle was happening right now... at this point, whatever it was that was distracting that sniper was far from pressing.

He had to get back to Amelia, and he had to get her out of here.

The Point Man turned on his heel and ran as fast as he could back to where he had left her. His lungs burned, his legs strained to keep him moving, but he didn’t, he couldn’t stop now. If Armachan was sending in gunships, then they were planning to do something that would affect the whole damn city. Jesus... it was Fairport all over again. He couldn’t go through this again... he had to get Amelia away from all of this! The desperate killing machine tore through the park, sped down the asphalt road, rounding and weaving around every corner he had to until he could reach-

Hello, ‘Point Man’.

Not for the first time, he came to a dead halt, his heart pounding in his chest. It had to be him... that “Commander” that Replica he had killed earlier was reporting back to. He could hear the voice through the headset, but it sounded close as well... this was bad. He needed to get Amelia out of here now - he didn’t have time to waste trying to kill this bastard!

The Commander continued to speak, even as the Point Man warily made his way to Amelia. Fancy finding you here, of all places... Seems the lab rat managed to worm its way out of the maze. Wouldn’t you agree?

He ignored the voice and kept moving. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not now.

I wonder what’s going through your mind, Point Man... Do you really think you could escape us so easily? Did you think that you could just disappear off the grid, and we wouldn’t find you?

Keep running, just keep running...

Did you really think you could keep your only remaining family from us?

Almost impossibly so, the Point Man ran even faster, his heart pounding, a chill creeping up his spine.

Well, unfortunately for you... we’re not done with Origin just yet. And now that we’ve found where you’ve been hiding for so long... all that’s left to do is to catch you as well. Dead or alive... Armachan doesn’t really care.

For the third time in little more than ten minutes, the Point Man came to an abrupt halt; he could’ve sworn his heart skipped a beat.

”I suppose that you’re going to try and take her back, now.” Slowly, he turned around, G3A3 already shouldered and ready to aim, and he fixated his fierce glare onto the owner of the voice. The massive, eight-foot, heavily armored soldier that glowed with that all-too familiar blue glow... With several squads of Replica shock troopers behind him.

The Phase Commander folded his bulky arms across his chest. ”Well... I invite you to try your luck. With a slight chuckle, the armored soldier stepped back as the Replica troops moved forward, their weapons all aimed at the Point Man.

”Kill him.”

The squads aimed down their sights, and numerous targeting lasers appeared over the Point Man’s body. Their target was out in the open, with no source of reachable cover... they had him where they wanted him. There was only one flaw in this situation, however.

They kidnapped the sister of a God among Men.

Replica soldier were by no means a group of inept morons. They were mindless killing machines, they existed for nothing but war, and they were good at what they did. But the Point Man was better... and he was pissed. He had a reason to kill them; they didn’t. He had the advantages of human will; they didn’t. He had surgically-precise reflexes... they didn’t.

He had killed thousands of them. They didn’t have a prayer.

Faster than they could pull the triggers, the Point Man had moved forward. Their aim was thrown by what was to them an unexpected ploy: a straight-up forward assault against a better equipped squadron. They were engineered to kill, but they lacked the experience - unaccounted variables was something they couldn’t handle very well. The Point Man had learned this, and had constantly used this to his advantage; this moment was no different. In the time it took for them to readjust their aim, the Point Man had ducked down and rammed his left shoulder into the trooper on point. His reflexes granting him the precision he required, the killing machine had grabbed one of the proximity bombs strapped to the Replica’s belt, depressed its trigger, and let it drop in the middle of them.

The interesting thing about these proximity weapons: they acted based on DNA. The user was safe from accidental activation, whereas those that lacked a similar genetic structure were... not as fortunate. It made sense that Replica forces would be equipped with such weapons, seeing as they were all clones. Same facial features, same chemical makeup, same everything. However, should the enemy make away with one of these devices, they could easily cause as many problems as they solved.

So, almost as soon as the Point Man had shoved the trooper aside and dove to the ground, the bomb went off, effectively incapacitating or otherwise completely eliminating the threat of the Replica forces. But he didn’t wait for the dust to settle; his target was still active...

And had disappeared... Shit!

The Point Man picked up his G3A3 and immediately looked around. Dammit, how the hell was he supposed to find that bastard Commander?! He was just about ready to go looking around, when yet another gunship flew overhead... Wait. That wasn’t a helicopter. This one was far bulkier, required several other propellers to keep it aloft along with a jet engine... armored personnel carrier. It was headed east. He had to get there before they could take Amelia away. He would not let these bastard touch his bloodline again!

He ran as fast as he could, trying not to lose sight of the dropship. If it was heading east, then it would be headed for a proper landing zone. The only location he could think of was the top level of that mall complex... shit, that was miles away! How the hell would he be able to get over there in time?!

The Point Man’s distresses wouldn’t end there; as much as he pushed, his body simply refused to continue, and gradually he came to a halt. His breathing had regressed into uneven, strained pants, and he had to rest himself against the wall of a building to keep himself from collapsing. This was not good... In hindsight, he couldn’t help but wonder just why he thought it a good idea to leave Amelia alone. What was he thinking...

"The Broodmother'll give ye a hand, mister.”

His head snapped in the direction of the voice. Instinct nearly overrode his reflex, and he had nearly shot the... thing that had startled him. It was sheer surprise that kept him from pulling the trigger and shooting it. It was... nothing like the things he had to kill before. They were bipedal, it seemed, but their anatomy wasn’t human... Certainly not Armachan; they only experimented on human test subjects, and those failures still at least resembled humans... These creatures were something else. And judging by their demeanors, they weren’t hostile.

Nonetheless, he kept his weapon trained on them, index finger hovering over the trigger.

The worry on one’s face was evident; nonhuman anatomy notwithstanding, it seemed concerned with what was happening. As it should be...

“Ye an' yer sister - yer not safe, deres soldiers aaaaall aboot an' we cannae stay! Wait... it knew who Amelia was?! The Point Man’s expression darkened into a fierce snarl, his finger coiling around the trigger and just barely keeping from actually firing the rifle.

Seeming undisturbed - or at least too urgent for it to give it any notice - the creature continued. “Ye gottae come wie oos, ye cannae hold off an army!"

His first reaction was a sharp, physical decline, but then it’s following statement registered. “Hold off”... it meant to help? While the Point Man didn’t completely lower his weapon, his snarl did lighten up if only a little; he wasn’t going to shoot him or his companions... not yet, at least. If it was offering to help, then he wasn’t going to deny its aid.

[firstborn]

((With Eliza incapacitated, Ima post with her childrens' Firstborn account))

The raveners had not seen the Point Man fight, but the Opal beetles had, and this man was a defcon emergency unto himself, a force of nature as much as a man. Maybe more so! But the gathered Raveners had a reason to be here, a very important one, and they would not leave without their charge. Despite the alien visages they posessed, they gave that distinct impression. The speaking one lowered his arms from the supplication for peace position and nodded though, when the Point Man lowered his death-dealing arm. The others followed suit and relaxed considerably.

"Oor mum helped ye wie tha' sniper, mister, an' ---"

A heavy form skidded a little on massive claws, and came to a stop some ten or twenty feet from the group. With no further explanation, another creature like the others, but significantly more 'warrior' looking (as if the spiked, clawed, befanged Raveners didnt look warlike enough) than the others in the group jumped down, clutching a silver-haired young lady of eighteen or so, wearing distinct black armor and clutching a black and red mask in blood soaked fingers. Her blood - it was all over her face, like it had come from her nose, but it wasnt flowing anymore, she just had a pale, sick, look in her eyes, her jaw set hard against pain.

The warrior himself had been shot in the back and side, the wound glistening in the gloom. His tail was missing spikes, and he was wearing a white cowboy hat. Hell, he looked as if he should be smoking a cigar. Something about him just screamed 'Sarge'. He was strapped, wearing a bandolier and carrying a replica assault rifle in one hand like it was a toy and carrying the girl in his other. This was a person on the warpath - his gaze was steely, similar to the glint in the Point Man's own.

"He's gettin' his sister back, an we're gonna help him." he said in a rumble that left no room for arguments. The girl tore her gaze away from the pointman to look under Fubar's arm to the nightmarish spider monster that had carried them thus far. Another chance to run and burn things?! She was SO in! The great armored spider lowered herself down, and chittered impatiently.

"Names Fubar, mister, an'this (he indicated the girl) is our mother. Nice to meet'cha. Now get on - lets get your sister." he said, mounting up on the monster's plated back and offering his claw down to help Point Man up. "Ya get tae ride shotgun, mister."

[corriger]

The Point Man hesitated for a second - after all, just like nearly every other human, he was subject to "fear of the unknown". Not that he was particularly frightened of these odd creatures or doubtful of their motives, but he was just... not very receptive to anything that wasn't human.

And considering what he had gone through only moments ago, he wasn't taking all that kindly to humans either... or human clones... or giant armored freaks... yeah, he was just plain cautious around everything at that moment.

Finally, that momentary hesitation was overcome, and the Point Man lowered his weapon, tentatively reaching out with his left hand and taking the warrior type's offered appendage - "Fubar", if he heard correctly. Those claws really didn't look like they'd be very beneficial to human flesh... luckily, they didn't seem particularly sharp as much as pointy. Hoisting himself up atop the warrior's "steed" - a giant frickin' spider... now he's seen everything - he made sure to secure himself as best he could and once more shouldered his weapon.

His glance momentarily wandered over the wounds that punctured Fubar's hide, then down to the girl that was held carefully within the beast's arms. So they had been helping the two of them out... still helping them out. Unfortunately, their involvement had no doubt been reported to the higher-ups of Armachan; the Point Man was expecting a fair bit of mech support and heavy weaponry to assail them...

A slight snort escaped him as he steeled himself for the inevitable. This was going to suck so hard...