Don Kuat

There's a first time for everything. The first time you fall in love, become raging drunk or get as high as a kite. Its not always a positive experience, but one that is supposed to support your personal growth. To help turn you into a better person. At least that's what the people back on Earth would say. Personal development never stops, so on and so forth. So for the first time in my second life on this world, I am proud to declare that I've reached a new peak in personal growth tonight.

For the first time ever, I feel scared. And I don't mean just feeling nervous or uneasy either. What I am experiencing now is sheer, unadulterated pants wetting terror. 

I am lying flat on my back, trapped in complete pitch black darkness, my HUD having gone dead from whatever had happened in the ward just now. The system barely responds when I switch vision modes, filling the HUD with static for a few seconds before going dead again. I cautiously attempt to flex my limbs and the machine responds with a groan, the servos sputtering to life. My heart lifts at this response, since it means that the bulwark is still online and reacting to my commands. I send a mental command to the machine, ordering it to begin its diagnostic process so that I can ascertain my current status. 

Then my heart sinks again when I realize that thanks to the HUD being kaput, I would have no way of reading the diagnostic report. A beep comes from the system, mockingly telling me that the report is done and all I have to do is to access it through the infinite darkness that is all that's left of the machine's interface. 

"Damn!" I shout and swing one of my arms in a moment of frustration. There's a loud crash as the bulwark's metal fist craters the floor. I immediately rein myself in, the last thing I need right now is for the floor to give way and send me plummeting down to who knows where. Death sense continues to holler away at me, sending tremors through my veins that sink deep into my bones. Not only am I functionally blind, a deadly threat is rapidly approaching. 

Should I use my operatives powers to repair the bulwark? I would like to, but that hollow feeling within me is a reminder that I'm running low on serum. With no way of knowing exactly which part of the machine is damaged, I would need to perform a blanket repair, burning off a large chunk of the remaining serum. I would be able to see again, but almost helpless in that bad bargain. If I could jettison part of the bulwark's armor, then maybe I could pilot it manually using my own sight? Risky, but it might be the better option. As I agonize over the bad situation looming over my head, a series of clanking noises approaches me. Two pairs of metal feet. Bulwarks. 

Blue Ocean. Shit. 

"What do we have here?" an amplified voice asks rhetorically. Before I can respond, my body is thrown painfully to the side as a kick slams solidly into my machine. 

I instinctively fold myself in a fetal position as several heavy stomps begin pounding away at the frame of my bulwark. My teeth shake unpleasantly from the impacts as the HUD erupts in a shower of blinding sparks, a crack growing across its width. I quickly avert my face, but a burning sensation washes over one of my cheeks.

"Not so fun now huh, Directorate fucker?" the amplified voice taunts, "How's it feel to be beaten up just for being on the different side?"

"Agh!" I shout as another kick lands squarely on the pilot's cocoon, causing my head to jackhammer hard on to the console.

Warm blood begins to ooze from my scalp and I blink my eyes to clear them for whatever good it might accomplish. I swing my arms hard in the direction the blows are coming from but strong fingers intercept this attack, easily keeping me at bay. Its no good, I can't match Blue Ocean without my operative powers. As this realization sinks in, my head explodes into stars as another hit is levied against my bulwark coupled with the sound of its armor buckling. 

No choice then. I sense the serum still swimming in my bloodstream and begin gathering every single shred I can muster, invoking its power. I'm going to have to go big or go home. 

"Halt!" the guy beating me up suddenly shouts and the blow I'm expecting does not land, "What in blazes are you?"

"Shoot it! Shoot it!" the other Blue Ocean operative shouts on the open mike before being drowned out by the trademark bark of rifle fire. 

Gritting my teeth, I focus on repairing my damaged bulwark as quickly as possible, not bothering to conserve the serum. From what I'm hearing, the shit has truly hit the fan. I need to be up and about right now. The sparks coming from the HUD begin to die down as the crack starts to mend in reverse. With a final burst of effort, I feel my machine's systems restore themselves and the interface blinks back on again, with everything registering green. There's a snowstorm of static clouding the HUD, but it rapidly cleans up as the sensors come back online. 

And I find myself staring face up at a pair of metal crotches. Wonderful. Neither Blue Ocean Operative notices my revival, too preoccupied with blasting away at whatever their target is. As the heat of the serum dies down, I sense a small amount left within me, too little to fight, but it just might be enough to allow me me to escape. I don't fancy my chances against whatever that can tank the attacks of two operatives. 

The duo begin to slowly move forward, still firing their rifles. In the background, I hear an odd slavering noise, sounding like a cross between an animal panting and a human moan. Then there's an enormous roar, like a cannon firing. I wince backward as the torso of one of the Blue Ocean Operatives explodes in a shower of scrap metal and meat, leaving behind a pair of legs caught in midstride.

No way. 

One shotting an operative is impossible. We can all reinforce our armor and repair our machines at will. But it happened. The impossible just happened right in front of me. The remaining Blue Ocean Operative stands mutely rooted to the spot, no longer firing his weapon and dumbly watches the pair of metal legs clatter to the ground. Yeah, I know the feeling too. Fully sympathize here. Without the sound of rifle fire blocking out almost everything else, I can now hear a constant whirring noise, as if a motor is being spooled up. 

Then there's that earsplitting roar again and the last Blue Ocean flunky is smeared across the wall. 

That's it, I'm out of here. No way I'm fighting whatever did that. Engaging my thrusters at full power, I send my bulwark rocketing into a nearby wall before managing to wrestle back control and pulling up sharply. I punch through ceiling after ceiling without stopping, sending a shower of masonry raining down and finally tearing through the roof of the hospital.

As I emerge under the night sky, death sense screams a warning the same time I hear that cannon fire again. I bank to the side in an evasive maneuver, but pressure weighs hard upon my shoulders, a sure sign that I am not out of danger. But I can't see anything against the night sky. As I fly higher and higher, trying to buy myself some time, pain begins to burrow into my chest as the serum stirs angrily. Its coming. My death approaches. 

I've failed to evade it. 

My vision sharpens as I call on what's left of my powers and my eyes immediately home in on a tiny speck barely registering on the HUD. A cannon shell. But how in the world did it get up here?

I quickly break into a steep turn and to my surprise the cannon shell follows easily, hounding me like a piranha that has scented blood. And what's worse is that the cannon shell is fast. Far faster than the natural top speed of my bulwark. It has already eaten up a good part of the lead I had built up and if it hits, I can say goodbye to this body. My will stirs as the serum burns away, bending reality to my whim. 

Auto aim

Unstoppable

My arm snaps up, bringing the auto pistol to bear. The trigger is squeezed and a single shot rings out, flying forward toward its mark, irrefutable and undeniable. The shell explodes, unleashing a tidal wave of hot air and shrapnel. The wind proves too much for my machine to deal with, sending it flying off course and forcing me to break into a roll to bleed off the excess momentum. 

"Not now!" I curse as the missile warning system howls in a rapid succession of beeps, the HUD telling me that the incoming missile is too fast to dodge. With no other choice, I spend my diminishing reserves of serum to harden the bulwark's armor and brace for impact. 

An explosion blooms from under my machine's feet and I clench my fists tight, willing my machine's structure to hold together. The destructive force of the missile's detonation latches on to one of the thrusters, causing it to cut out, before spreading like a disease across the entire bulwark. I feel armor being torn away piece by piece as my machine plummets uncontrollably back toward the hospital roof. 

STRUCTURAL FAILURE

The HUD informs me unhelpfully before blowing out again as the pilot cocoon itself starts to peel away. Like a ragged cloth coming apart by the seams, the divine energy that makes up the bulwark unravels thread by thread with large chunks of the machine vanishing back into the ether. The metal shroud protecting my head collapses into fine powder before being blown away by the wind, exposing my face to the world. The rest of the bulwark is fairing no better either. Only tattered pieces of armor plate remain, with large parts of the bulwark's superstructure literally decaying before my eyes. But tunnel vision takes over and the only thing I can see is the rapidly approaching roof with the badly mangled corpse of the fat priestess left there by Blue Ocean. 

Bending my knees, I hope that enough of the bulwark still survives to break my fall. I crash on to the roof with all the grace of a belly flopping hippo but the bulwark thankfully holds out. The already dissipating construct outright shatters at several points but the servos keep me standing upright, though staggering badly. I draw a trembling breath -

- before being roughly pushed from the back and landing on my face. 

Instinct takes over and I execute a roll to face my enemy with the auto pistol drawn. And I see something out of a nightmare. 

Before me stands a Valkyrie, but her bulwark has been cruelly fused with her flesh. Wires dig harshly into several points of her body and the armor plates have been bolted directly on to the skin. One of her arms has been replaced by what appears to be a chain gun, but several times larger, with each barrel big enough for me to easily fit my arm through. I hear the buzzing noise and the barrels rotate with a click, with a fresh one brought up to firing position. A box launcher is mounted on the Valkyrie's back, carrying several missiles with the cables that control the device wrapped around her neck like a noose. 

My eyes drift downward and witness the true horror of the being in front of me. At the waist of the Valkyrie are a pair of stubby, crippled legs left hanging impotently at a right angle and directly beneath this vestigial growths is a wolf's head mounted on where the Valkyrie's crotch would be. The wolf head stares blindly forward its expression locked in a permanent rictus of ecstasy or perhaps exaltation. Four armored legs complete the ensemble, with patches of fur poking out from under the clumsily applied armored plate. 

"Sammie." I grunt while scrambling backward and getting back to my feet, "Long time no see."

Sammie's head lolls about and she makes an odd squeal in time with the panting from the wolf head at her crotch. A trail of saliva drips from her mouth which she quickly wipes away with her free hand. There's a clank as the appendage moves and I notice a trickle of blood from where the armor bites into her skin. But the wound is quickly healed as if it was never there. 

Rapid repair. It has to be. 

And the cannon shells that tracked me. Could that be due to the auto aim modifier?

I'm in trouble, real big trouble. 

"Jackson and I managed to be together." Sammie giggles, "Things worked out in the end didn't they?"

"Whatever floats your boat." I say cautiously, looking for an opening. Sammie's not defending herself, but if she has powers equivalent to an operative, she wouldn't need to. 

"I still owe you for my legs." Sammie suddenly grimaces, a vicious look in her eyes. 

I mentally signal my bulwark's rocket pod to fire but instead there's a sharp, electric objection from the weapon. A small cloud of sour smelling smoke rises from the rocket pod's mount and the entire weapon drops to the ground like a piece of over ripe fruit. Sammie grins nastily at this development as she stalks almost animal like toward me. Without a moment's hesitation, I open fire with the auto pistol instead. 

And miss cleanly as Sammie's figure blurs right in front of me, her free hand grabbing my arm and forcing me to fire into the air. As I struggle with her, the wolf's head at Sammie's crotch snaps forward, biting deep into my thigh, sheering through the last of the armor and drawing blood. My leg sags and I fall on to my back again for the second time tonight. 

"Now, time to collect." Sammie smirks. 

Before I can react, Sammie's armored fist slams straight into my right leg, shattering it. I scream, louder than I have ever done in both my lives. But a small part of me nevertheless remains in control. Don's body ultimately isn't my body. I can still get out of this as long as I keep my wits about me. This thought is the only thing that prevents me from going completely crazy with pain as Sammie busts Don's other leg into pulp. 

"There." Sammie sighs in satisfaction and watches me crawl away with amusement. She's playing with me, but I can use it to my advantage. Sammie doesn't know about the last card I have up my sleeve. 

I direct Don's body to squirm like a worm and we work our way gradually to the edge of the roof. The bulwark finally gives up its ghost and vanishes into motes of light, the deployment ring on Don's finger crumbling into dust. Behind me, Sammie continues chortling to herself as I reach for the com unit that connects me back to Wu at the Citadel. 

"Wu, I found the Saint but failed the mission." I croak into the com unit, "I don't think I can make it, punching out. Rais Land. Sara."

With that done, I punch the transmit key, sending all my saved messages to Wu at once, no longer bothering about the possibility of the messages being intercepted. Don's done anyhow. Its time for me to go. 

"What do you think you're doing?" Sammie growls like an animal. I hear the whirring noise of that cannon readying to fire and sever the connection between me and Don. My sight begins to dim and numbness spreads all over Don's body. There's a gentle pull as my connection to Earth grows dominant without something to anchor me to this world. 

A loud bang, and I feel something lifting me high up. My vision spins, topsy turvy and I am thrown off the edge of the roof. As I fall downward, bits and pieces of meat shower me as well as what's left of Don's arms and legs. 

A head is really small by itself. Never realized that until now. 

Everything starts to grow dark and my awareness begins to fade. This is it. I'm leaving this world. Will the Management forgive this failure? I hope so. A suffocating sensation comes over me, as if a blanket has been laid over Don's head. As the head continues its descent, I feel gravity's pull as well and terror overwhelms me as understanding dawns.

Sammie killed Don with a single attack. 

While I was still in the process of separating from him. 

I timed it wrong. There wasn't enough time for me to ride the signal back to Earth. Don's death has become an anchor, pulling me into oblivion with him. 

I scream, but no one hears me. Rain falls on Don's face as tears run from his eyes. My eyes. 

Our eyes. 

While we fall downward, endlessly downward. 

Into the darkness.