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CHAPTER 14

Somewhere near Keslow, Colorado

---- Hours, August 22** nd ***, 2052*

The coyote sat down next to Warren and gave a small chuff of amusement. It had climbed out of the shadows at the far end of the room as soon as a soldier bringing him some water had left.

+How's your little plan coming? Still clinging to that little nail? It'll never work, you know. They do have these little things called 'guns'. They are fascinating tools; one pull of the trigger and a life is ended. BANG! Quite a sobering thought, really.+

It gave a mighty yawn and looked over to him, the grin still tugging at the corners of its mouth. Its eyes were a glowing crimson this time.

Warren looked at it and shook his head. "You don't exist. You can't exist."

+What was your first clue?+ tittered the creature, its tail giving a quick whip of amusement. The edges of its fur seemed to fade out of existence before materializing solidly again.

Warren didn't answer. +Well,+ the animal continued, +I'd say I'm as close to existing as it's possible to be. At least, for you. I imagine your gaolers probably wouldn't acknowledge me.+

"I shouldn't either." growled Warren.

+Oh, but you do. That's really the only reason why I'm here."

"To kick me while I'm down?" hissed Warren as he shuffled around to be on the far side of the pole from the immaterial canine. His chain clattered about and he almost lost his grip on his precious nail, the small shard of metal almost leaving his fingers for a moment before he managed to clasp it in a tighter grip. The coyote gave another small laugh, something no real coyote could ever do, as it walked around to face him again.

+Why, that would be counterproductive. In a way, that would be like me kicking myself.+ The animal's eyes glimmered as it registered the look of hatred that it received.

It sat down, this time in front of Warren and scratched at the scar on its neck with one of its rear limbs. Warren's own started acting up, but he suppressed it. +No, I'm here to ensure that you don't lose your mind.+

Warren looked up, meeting the animal's now silver gaze. "What do you mean 'ensure you don't lose your mind'?" he asked. Despite himself, he knew the answer. He was losing it. It must have been that drug it... it messed with his mind. It made him act... different. Warren could hardly even remember why he was in the basement anymore.

+I mean that you are going nuts. Bonkers. Psycho. Crazy. Mad. Twisted. Coo-coo. Insane. And I can't say that that would be good for either of us. I am here to try and keep you sane.+

"I don't see how. A talking animal is hardly a normal thing."

The coyote barked laughter, taking a good few seconds to calm down.

+Hahaha! Oh really? Well, I take it you've never looked in a mirror! You yourself are barely above what I am!+

Warren opened his mouth to answer, but it closed as he dipped his head. He had nothing to say. All of his life, save these last five or so years, he had been treated like a common animal, a pet, something to be regarded with a mixture of both fear and pity. He had been ordered around, beaten, yelled at, called down, ridiculed, and passed from one owner to another to repeat the vicious cycle. The coyote was right. He was an animal. He could talk, walk on two legs, think, dream, laugh, love, hate, write, and read. But he was still an animal.

+But you know,+ grinned the coyote, +There are benefits to being an animal.+ It flashed its teeth and gave a maddened bark in his direction as if to show off. Then it laughed and resumed its knowing grin.

A surge of anger overtook Warren and he lashed out at the creature with a foot. His leg passed clean through the coyote's head and body, the animal fading like smoke where he had intended to hit it. Nevertheless, Warren growled at it and spat a curse. "I AM NOT AN ANIMAL!" His voice came out coarse and strained, but it felt good to yell it. "I AM NO CREATURE! I AM... I am... I... I don't know what I am...." Warren's voice faltered as he admitted the one uncertainly that loomed dreadfully over all of the many others that riddled his life.

The lithe coyote cackled and jumped about joyously, its claws clattering on the cement. It proceeded to strut around the small room, clearly revelling in the admission. It did several giddy laps around the circumference before stopping in front of him again. +Well,+ the creature said, its face losing the smile and making it appear serious for a second, +we'll have to find out then, won't we?+

The coyote vanished again into the shadows as Warren heard the trapdoor being pulled open. He could hear voices as a bunch of people came down the stairs.

"But he's in no condition for this right now! The drugs must have been defective; he hasn't moved in hours and he seems unresponsive. If he isn't treated now, he will suffer permanent damage!" protested the elderly doctor who was limping along behind Auburn in an attempt to keep up. Several other armed men were with them and they fanned out in a semicircle around Warren.

"It doesn't matter; he's not going to do anything more here." said Auburn. The ex-Phoenician was dressed in his battered power armour, the armour plates dented and scored from John's impromptu attack several weeks earlier. He turned to one of the men. "Get him up and ready to move."

"Sir!" said the one nearest him, a redheaded male with a skeletal frame and pistol strapped to his waist. He moved forwards and walked around behind the pole that Warren was bound to. The other two moved forwards to his sides, kneeling down so that they could grab him by the arms. Warren let out a low growl that made the one on his left flinch before the man reasserted himself at a glare from Auburn and grabbed him.

Warren heard the click as the padlock that had held the chain around his wrists together was opened so that he could be moved. He took a deep breath, feeling adrenaline surge through his veins and sharpen his wits, effectively banishing the haze that had overcome him as of late. Then, he acted.

Warren swung his right arm out, the movement coming across as foreign from the hours of stillness, and planted his captured nail squarely in the redheaded man's temple. He didn't cry out as he fell down dead. The second went to pull out his sidearm, but Warren was faster. He lunged forwards, jumping quickly to his feet in a blur of motion, and pulled the man closer with his other arm. Then he bit him. Warren's teeth sunk into the man's neck and he tasted the soldier's coppery blood in his mouth. The man thrashed about wildly, his arms beating against Warren's bruised chest and making him wince. But the coyote fur didn't let go, instead closing his jaws tighter and trying to block out the feeling of the man's blood washing down his throat and the disturbing small lump of flesh coming free in his mouth. As the man died Warren pulled the gun from his holster and flicked off the safety. He was leaving.

Hearing the soldier behind him shouting and making a grab for his own weapon, Warren opened his mouth. The bitten man fell to the floor to join the other one, his blood mixing with Warren's in the fur's mouth from where the tongue wound had been re-opened from the sudden action. Warren brought the gun up and fired twice as he spat the second man's larynx from his mouth, the sound of the glob of flesh smacking onto the ground drowned out completely by the roaring noise from the pistol. The man staggered as the shots mauled his neck, the scene almost as grisly as the one Warren had just perpetrated with his teeth and jaws.

He snorted, swinging around to face the last two. He was met by an armoured fist that hit him in the side of the head. Hard. Warren saw stars for several moments and staggered backwards. Reeling, he tried again to bring the gun to bear, but he failed as a heavy boot swung out at his knee. It connected and Warren stumbled. Auburn followed up with a knee to the fur's muzzle that made his nose start to bleed freely. Finally, Warren was hit on the top of the head with a powerful crunch and clattered to the floor to land atop the man whose neck he had torn out.

His vision grew dim as he heard others thunder down the steps. He was slowly lifted to his feet, this time with far more force. One of them made a point of stepping on his tail as he was tugged upwards, but he didn't reward them with a response. "Get him out of here." said Auburn as he strode back to the doctor, shaking out his hand. "And somebody clean up this mess."

Warren looked up groggily, his face smeared with arterial blood and head aching. Auburn met his stare and spat in his direction. "Filthy animal." he said. Warren growled menacingly in return.

+At least you tried.+ came the voice of his imagined quadrupedal acquaintance. Warren's eyes caught a glimpse of the coyote behind Auburn's legs, its eyes now a baleful yellow. It grinned almost as if it was silently smiling at a private joke. +But that's not saying much.+ Then the coyote shook slightly in breathy laughter as it retreated back to a shadowy corner, its body disappearing in a cloud of smoke as it called over its shoulder.

+I told you that it would never work.+ It was the last thing that Warren heard before he passed out, the sudden expenditure of energy finally taking its toll on his body.

**

20 Minutes West of Keslow, Colorado

1845 Hours, August 22** nd ***, 2052*

Marcus pulled the SUV over to the side of the road and he noted with a quick look in the mirror that the pair of MAVs had followed suite. They had killed their diesel engines and were tucked in behind a small grove of trees that obscured them from view of the small house that sat perched atop a small knoll near the base of the first few foothills before arriving at the mountains proper.

The house itself was nothing at all to spectacular and served to remind Marcus of one of the ranch houses commonly depicted in western movies. It had two floors with a layered blue roof and white shutters bordering the panelled windows. A small porch surrounded the building and a dirt driveway flowed away from the front to come to an end at the main road, a red pickup truck and a dark SUV occupying the parking area.

Marcus exited the vehicle, cutting the vehicle's electric engine off and pocketing the keys. He took up his rifle and started making his way through the thin line of brush, the sun starting to dip low in the sun.

"This is Phoenix-one. All units report." he ordered over his helmet mic. He frowned as he said the call sign. It had been Owen's before he had gone missing. His had been Phoenix-Two, but that had changed when they had reorganized their structure following that mission in the mountains almost a week ago.

"Phoenix-four reporting." said Sam as she took up a position on Marcus's right flank.

"Phoenix-seven, comms green." Paul sighed as he swept up his rifle gingerly. Marcus caught the smallest glint of the skeletal engravings on his armour to his right before the sniper engaged his active camouflage.

"Maverick-One reporting. Our squad is good to go." came Wilks's voice.

"Maverick-Two. Ditto." responded Martinez.

"All units, follow engagement plan and proceed to holding positions. Await my mark." Marcus said crisply. "This is going to be a complete sweep; no hostile survivors. Maverick teams will stay back and catch any stragglers."

A chorus of affirmatives echoed in his helmet as he pushed through the final line of undergrowth, his active camouflage flickering as it went to work projecting an image of his surroundings onto his armour. He clicked the safety off on his trusted Sabre 190. His armour had interfaced with the gun and a readout occupied the bottom right of his HUD, telling him that the weapon was fully loaded, the safety was off, and the gun was ready to fire.

Marcus pushed a scrawny sapling out of his way deftly as he ran a quick motion check over the building. He got some hits.

"Phoenix-seven; we have sentries at both one and two o'clock." He growled, not slowing down his progress in the slightest. He started across the small clearing, trusting his active camouflage and squadmates to cover him as he closed on the building.

A muted cough barely reached his armour-enhanced senses, followed quickly by another as Paul took the two men guarding the front door out. The first one, a human male leaning back in a chair with his rifle leaned against the wall behind him, looking almost as if he was waiting for somebody to pick up a banjo or a set of spoons so that he could jump up and dance in a square, was hurled backwards as the bullet took him directly in the centre of mass and blew out his chest cavity in a violent spray of gore. The second had time to look over at the small commotion that resulted from the kill before his head exploded off of his neck, which resulted in a spurting fountain of bright crimson leaping forth from his mangled ruin of a neck. Paul had hit him square between the eyes and completely beheaded him. "Porch clear." said the sniper as the second soldier fell.

Marcus hoped that nobody inside the house heard the considerable racket. Oh well,_he thought, _at least if they are aware they might stand a fair chance of putting up a decent fight.

"Roger that. Closing on the building now." responded Marcus as he crested the small hill and drew level with the house. "Maverick team, get ready to move up and provide support."

"Acknowledged." said Wilks.

"Moving around back." reported Sam as she slid past him and wrapped around to the rear of the building.

"Roger that, proceed with caution." said Marcus as he crossed the dirt driveway to come up to the parking lot, tucking in behind the red pickup. A quick glance confirmed that there was still no motion from inside the house, so he moved forwards again.

The wooden steps creaked under his weight as he passed by the first sentry's cooling corpse and took up a position at the door that reminded him almost perfectly of the night previous when he had taken the upstart anti-gene project Mr. Johnson. A green light blinked quickly before disappearing from his view. Sam was in position.

He felt nothing, no surge of emotion or the thrill he had come to associate with a coming firefight. Actually, he realized that he did feel something. There, at the edges of his brain, was a seed of coming retribution. He hoped it was justified.

Let's get this over with....

**

Eldora Resort, West of Denver, Colorado

1854 Hours, August 22** nd ***, 2052*

Owen whirled around the edge of the door frame to the chalet, firing off the last of the rounds for the assault rifle that he had stolen from the corpse of one of the first few of the day's casualties. The brass casings poured out of the weapon's breech, tinkling and clattering to the floor.

The man that he had been shooting at had managed to find the refuge provided by a small boulder dug into the side of the mountain, effectively making the rifle's final shots useless. The rifle clicked as it ran out of ammo and he dropped the weapon in profuse anger. In the distance, he heard one of the tripwires that they had set up earlier go off. A chorus of shouts and a dying man's scream told him that at least some of the hostiles were going down. Hopefully it was a sniper trying to get a decent shot, but Owen wasn't about to be too picky.

"They just keep coming!" shouted Lily from behind the sill of one of the large windows. The glass had been broken almost immediately after the Humanists had came into contact with the chalet and its less-than-eager inhabitants. Now the entire building shuddered with incoming small-arms fire and the grounds surrounding it were flickering as the Humanists fired at the dug-in defenders. The pings of ricochets and the whines of near-misses filled the far-from-still air. The heat inside the structure from the summer heat and weapons discharge was stifling; Owen was starting to feel sweat run down his forehead even with his armour's internal climate control system maxed out.

"Let them come!" growled Sasha as she took up the other side of the door frame across from Owen. She had just finished rigging the backdoor with their final couple of frag grenades and shot a trio of rounds out at the encroaching enemy. "The sooner they die, the sooner we can get out of here safely!"

As much as Owen wished that it were true, he knew that such a thing was going to prove nigh on impossible. The Humanists had proceeded up the hill a bit more warily after the first ambush, but they had still managed to crest the top of the mountain and engage the Phoenicians in short order. Now Owen, Sasha, Lily, and John were penned inside the building making what seemed like a last stand against the merciless enemy troops. Owen was usually a reluctant optimist but even he knew that right now numbers counted for everything.

The only good thing that had happened was that the one APC that had been left intact after their first ambush seemed to have gotten stuck somewhere along the line and had yet to show up on the battlefield. Such a thing was almost a godsend, as it would have made short work of the cornered defenders.

Owen reached around his back and grabbed the hunting rifle, the dog tags tied to his wrist jingling as he armed himself again. He once more popped around the edge of the door and brought the rifle to his helmet, searching for a target.

The hostile forces were spreading out in a tight arc around the building, effectively surrounding them and cutting off any routes of retreat. There were about twenty-odd very angry men with perfectly lethal weapons quickly trying to end their life, most of which were hiding behind various shreds of cover and making themselves a nuisance to get rid of. He took aim at one of the ones that was himself seeking a target, and was about to pull the trigger when a withering hail of rounds started chewing up the door frame. Splinters of shrapnel blew outwards in a blizzard of sharp shards and Owen ducked back into the building with a curse.

Though the APC was out of the picture for the moment, three drones were still moving along with calculated advances and lethally accurate fire. The two that had been disabled earlier had been replaced with the second wave of aggressors, which had put an immediate downer on the morale of the Phoenicians. It was from one of these that the shots had spat forth from and he winced. They had nothing that could really take the machines out, save maybe a lucky shot to some important component, and the only thing that they could really do was hide away from their weapons until the helicopter arrived. If it arrived before they were riddled with holes and leaking large amounts of vital fluids, that is.

Despite that, Owen found himself wishing that his MAW had some ammunition; The magnetically-accelerated darts would have made short work of the drones. He looked down at the bulky system on his right arm and cursed at it under his breath.

On the marginally-bright side, the machines would find entering the chalet difficult. The tables from inside were made of solid oak, a defence that Owen knew that the drones would need to wait to have cleared. The Humanists undoubtedly knew that, and were moving the infantry forwards to try and dismantle the ad hoc barricades.

"Move over!" Sasha cried as she executed a perfect SWAT-turn around the door, her tail flowing behind her. A drone took notice and Owen saw the turret set onto the rear portion of the machine swivel to track her. Owen felt his heart skip a beat as the rounds tore up the area she had just vacated and knew instantly that the barrage would have gone straight through her armour without pause. She didn't seem to notice though, seeing as his helmet stopped any facial expression in his tracks.

"Thanks!" she said curtly before turning and firing again. She had slid in beside him smoothly, not even flinching at the amount of incoming fire. Owen forfeited the position to her without the need for her to ask, knowing full well that it was a bad idea to crowd too close together when they were taking that much heat. He crouched low and worked his way along the wall beneath the sill of the boarded up windows. The boards shuddered and several holes were ripped in them as the Humanists tried to end their existence, sunlight lancing through the new peepholes in the wood.

Owen came to a gap in between boards and stood up long enough to fire off a shot in the direction of a man getting a little too close for comfort. The man fell back, the hunting rifle in Owen's hands providing more than enough power to put him down. Owen grinned a bit; at least if they were going to die, they would take some of their attackers with them. It was a comforting thought even if it was a dark and morbid one.

His smile disappeared as a throaty roar echoed about the mountain and the APC grumbled up the hill, its tires tearing through the knee-high grass and bouncing over any rocks hidden therein with ease. It slew to one side as it came to a stop, the rear doors banging open and unleashing yet more Humanist infantry at the far edge of the ring of oncoming attackers. The turret swivelled to face the chalet, and a knot of fear gripped Owen's heart in its icy fingers.

The autocannon atop the lumbering vehicle chugged as it opened fire, the immense rounds punching fist-sized holes in the walls of the chalet which pounded quickly along the wall towards him. He flew himself flat on the floor, both a grunt and a curse escaping his mouth, as the rounds transformed the ad hoc barrier above him into so much cracked firewood. If the trend continued, Owen knew that their time could now be measured in seconds instead of the minutes that they had to look forward to earlier. His mind raced as he tried to think of some way to get out of the situation to no avail; they were too few and the enemy outgunned them immeasurably.

"We need to fall back!" called Lily from behind him and the refuge provided by a small partition wall that separated the dining area from the walk-around path. The Humanists were all over the hill in front of the building now, their advance becoming quicker and more aggressive as they rallied around the newly-arrived vehicle. Where before they had moved slowly and cautiously as to watch for any traps, now they knew that they were in the clear and their blood lust surged to the fore, making them rush headlong into the guns of the defenders.

"Agreed." confirmed Owen as he saw harsh light strobing from her direction. She was firing on full-auto. It wasn't good for conserving ammunition, but it gave most people facing it pause. Owen's mind raced and a last-ditch idea came to him. They could fall back into the kitchen area where it was less open, taking up positions at the back entrance and the area leading to the back. If they could hold out there, it would stop both the APC and drones from destroying most of their cover. If nothing else, it could at least buy them some more time. And time was what they needed. "Fall back to the kitchen, staggered line."

A trio of affirmatives rang in his ear over the helmet mic and he fired another couple of barely-aimed rounds with his rifle in a pitiful attempt of covering fire. His gloved hands worked the bolt quickly between shots, but the motion caused the barrel to shift and quickly lose its target. He was forced to reload as the rounds in the rifle's magazine were expended and another burst from the autocannon tore towards him. Owen hadn't hit anything, but it stopped a trio of soldiers from advancing towards the chalet as they scrambled to find some cover to duck behind.

Sasha and Lily started falling back through the dozens of tables and snapping off shots as they went. Owen saw two more of the green-clad Humanists go down. One got back up, his KEVLAR vest having proved just enough to stop the bullet. Owen scrabbled to his feet, his feet slipping in the pool of shattered glass that had gathered beneath the long windowsill on the floor and clattered about as he got up. He put out a hand to support himself and managed to get steady. Almost as an afterthought, he shot the man whose vest had been reliable in the face, his aim proving true this time. His head ceased to exist as Owen's round burst it like a melon. Bulletproof or not, the vest was still a vest.

He flicked on his active camouflage, hoping that the imperfect disguise would at least stop the Humanist foot soldiers from being able to fire at him with any accuracy. It proved to work well enough, the soldiers apparently still waiting for him to appear above the lip of the window so they could lodge a bullet deep in his brain case.

Owen reached the small counter located in front of the swinging doors that led to the kitchens. He moved quickly to take up a position behind it. Lily had arrived before him and they both turned to fire at the first mob of Humanist troops to try and rush the door. One of them went down, a crater where his chest should have been, but the rest took up spots just on the other side of where they themselves had been sheltering themselves from the advance. Owen frowned.

Sasha and John reached the doors and passed through, heading for the back door to safeguard it against anyone trying to force their way through from that direction. They had locked the door and wedged a heavy stove in front of it, but they were under no illusion as to how long that would last against somebody with a breaching charge.

"Looks like it's the end of the line, eh Smith?" asked Lily with a small edge of regret to her voice.

"Might be." he said weakly as he fired again. He reloaded the bolt-action weapon when the rounds in it were spent. "But if I'm going down, I'm at least taking a few of these bastards with me."

She laughed. "Sounds like a good a plan as any."

That's when a small round object decided to land next to him, bouncing off the top of the counter before settling to the floor with a clatter. He grabbed it up in a darting hand without a second's thought, tossing the grenade quickly back over his head, praying that it wouldn't explode in his hand as he did so. It exploded with a heavy thud on the other side and destroyed a couple of chairs and a table as it went off. A loud curse told of a Humanist who had been in the blast radius.

"Whatever happens, thanks." she admitted sadly as she slid her last magazine into her rifle, slapping the bottom of the magazine with a gloved palm.

"For what? Getting you into this mess?" He didn't feel like he deserved a thank you. Not now. Not for this.

"For letting me get into this mess." she said after loosing off a couple of shots towards the second door. Another squad of angry soldiers were trying their best to get into the seating area, finding getting past the barricade rather trying.

"You're welcome." Owen replied hollowly. A Humanist ran forwards from the barricaded door to their right and Owen snapped off a shot with the rifle. He grinned evilly as the round took the man in the throat and he fell to the floor, toppling over a pair of wooden chairs as he did so. Another pair ran through the doors, these ones managing to take cover behind some of the immense wooden pillars that held up the building's roof despite his best efforts.

The acrid stench of gunpowder was starting to cloy the air now, and the filters in Owen's helmet were struggling to scrub the oxygen that he breathed in to a semblance of normalcy. The noise of the gunfire was now a constant roar as more Humanists closed in on the building proper, breaking down the barriers that the Phoenicians had erected earlier to get draw a bead on the small counter. A dull boom echoed from behind Lily and Owen, and the floor shook beneath them.

"They've breached the back!" called Sasha over the squad channel.

"We can't fall back any more." sighed Owen morosely as he slid the final rounds from his webbing into the rifle's magazine. The clicks sounded like a morbid clock ticking off the seconds until his death. "We either hold them here, or we die trying." His words sounded hollow even to his own ears. He thought he could taste ash in his mouth at the prospect of defeat.

**

20 Minutes West of Keslow, Colorado

1902 Hours, August 22** nd ***, 2052*

Marcus edged the door open silently and slipped inside the house. The front door opened into a small hallway free of any ornamentation and padded with dull grey carpeting. He checked it quickly, and a small den that was to his left, while giving the small stairway a wide berth. It was probably the only way up and would likely be a high-traffic area.

That's when he heard conversation coming from off to his right and decided to investigate. He rounded an archway past where the den had been cautiously. There was a small room, probably a dining area, that was unfurnished except for a small table and some milk crates to be used as seats. Two men were engaged in conversation around what looked to be a collection of MRE ration packs scattered across the cheap plywood table. They were obviously relaxing, totally unaware that their fellows on the porch had just been killed.

"... he was a mess. I had to carry him out of there. His jugular was ripped clean open!" said the first, a middle-aged man with a star tattoo on the back of his neck and brown hair.

"Heard he got Barney too. Shot 'im in the neck." snorted the second, this one a man in his late twenties and about twenty excess pounds. "Now I'll never get my money back."

"Not like it matters now anyways. The world's gone to-" He was cut off as Marcus plunged his blade deep in the man's neck from behind. He had snuck up behind them as they had conversed, his armour's camouflage being more than sufficient to hide him from their lazy eyes.

The man with the tattoo gurgled as he fell face-first onto the hard table. Marcus pulled his knife free. The second man, who had been sitting opposite the first, panicked. He made a frantic grab for the gun that had been set on the counter next to the table. Marcus was faster. He swiped his knife down quickly, slashing the tendons on the man's wrist. The man let out a cry as his hand ceased to work. That is, he would have had Marcus not grabbed him quickly about the throat. His cloaking system was still active, and the man struggled against a force he couldn't see as he was raised up from the floor.

"Where is he?" hissed Marcus. His voice betrayed a hard edge of steel and anger.

"W- Wh-o?" choked the man as he brought his hands up to his neck to find invisible hands encasing it. Marcus could smell the man's rank breath even through his helmet.

"Warren Dracrovian."he answered by way of a menacing snarl. The man desperately gasped for air as Marcus relaxed his grip. But only a little. Just enough for the man to talk.

"Never 'eard of him!" he wheezed. Marcus tightened his grip by a fraction.

"Some of you bastards abducted a fur by the name of Warren Dracrovian. Where is he? I won't ask you again." He loosened his grip again.

"The 'yote? He was-"

"Bill, is everything alright? I thought I hear- OH, SHIT!" Another man had stumbled into the room, this one brandishing a submachine gun. He raised it to cover what looked like his friend. His friend that was hovering a few inches from the ground, talking to somebody, and whose buddy was dead on the floor. "WHAT THE HE-"

Marcus acted faster than the man could finish his exclamation. He threw the man he had been holding at his comrade. The thrown soldier cleared the small table, wrappers and unused MREs scattering in his wake. The motion elicited a bark of gunfire as the man who had appeared in the archway twitched. The gunshots were loud in the confined space and the shots tore the man whom Marcus had been interrogating to a ragged mess.

The man didn't stop shooting. He practically hosed down the entire room, his face contorted in both panic and confusion. Marcus rolled, feeling a few of the rounds skip across the armour encasing his back. He brought up his own gun. It coughed twice before the room was silent again. But it wasn't silent for long.

Marcus heard footsteps pounding above him as men who had been upstairs heard the brief gunfight and tensed, readying himself. He sidled into a position behind a door frame from where he could cover the stairs. He keyed his mic. "We have contact. Maverick teams, move to cover. Phoenix-seven, keep their heads down. Phoenix-four, enter and engage."

A small choir of 'rogers' sang in his headset as the first of the Humanists came blundering downstairs. Marcus fired at him and caught him in the thigh. The man tumbled down the carpeted steps, dropping his gun and the grenade he had primed. Marcus pulled back behind the wall as his HUD highlighted the falling object in red. It exploded with a furious bang and the bottom few stairs, and the man who had fallen while holding the deadly explosive, were annihilated.

His helmet registered gunfire elsewhere in the building even as he peeked out to cover the stairway again. The others were joining the fight. A window above him crashed in upstairs, probably from Paul's rifle, and a flurry of gunshots echoed from the backdoor.

Another grenade was lit up by Marcus's HUD, this one tossed down the stairway intentionally, and exploded a bit closer to where he was sheltered. He didn't have time to throw himself back behind that wall and he winced as he felt a red-hot pain sprout in his thigh. He managed to take shelter once more and looked down to see what had happened.

A fragment of sharp metal was sticking out of his leg just above the knee. The shrapnel had found a part of his suit only partially covered by metal plate, lodging itself about a half inch into the meat of his leg. He growled. His gun was levelled again as the man who had thrown the device decided to come downstairs in a fashion more cautious than his deceased partner.

The man looked terrified. His hands were shaking on his rifle. Marcus guessed he was asthmatic from the way that he looked as if he was struggling to breathe. His assumption proved correct as the man started coughing and wheezing. He even dropped his rifle as he doubled over onto the floor, falling into the remains of his friend.

Marcus approached him cautiously, trying to hide his limp. It was best not to show any sign of weakness. The man didn't even seem to notice the armoured Phoenician until he had let his stealth system flicker off and nudged him with one booted foot. The man looked up, still trying hard to breathe, and his eyes grew incredibly wide, almost popping out of his head. He held up a hand weakly in a vain attempt to protect himself.

Marcus shook his head. He reached into his webbing after kicking the man's gun away, withdrawing a small, one-use syringe of tracellophen. His gun still held in one hand and directed in more or less the direction of the stairs, he plunged the ampoule of painkiller into the man's thigh.

The man's breathing soon took on a more regular pattern and Marcus noted that the swelling in his neck was starting to go down. The drug had acted as he knew it would; calming the man and relaxing his muscles. Marcus then pulled another few objects from his plethora of pouches; a pair of zip ties which he wrapped around the now-dazed man's wrists and ankles. Marcus would make him wish he were dead later. He looked up from the task after a few seconds and noticed that the gunfire had died down. He keyed his mic.

"I've captured a Humanist soldier and holding him in the den. Status report."

"Rear rooms clear." came Sam's voice. "Moving to your position now."

Paul was next to respond. "Top floor looks to be clear. Moving up to support Maverick teams."

Then the MAV teams. "We caught about four soldiers making a break for the treeline. We've managed to catch one of them, but the rest are KIA. We're moving in to secure the area."

"Acknowledged." said Marcus as he stood up from his captive. The room was a mess; very little remained of the walls, and the floor was shredded from the pair of blasts from the Humanist grenades. Blood was spattered about and more than a few chunks of meat were scattered around as grisly decoration. Sam approached from the hall, moving slowly and straining to find any more signs of hostile activity.

"You're bleeding." she stated over the squad intercom.

"It's nothing." he grunted as he made his way to the hallway. The pain in his leg flared every time that he stepped on it, but it was hardly the worst thing that had happened to him. His left eye 'click'-ed in sympathy and his prosthetic arm tightened its grip on his assault rifle. A little bit of pain wouldn't stop him.

"If you say so." she shrugged as she looked down at the man practically hogtied on the brutalized floor. "He put up much of a fight?"

"Enough of one." Marcus replied as he proceeded to clear the rest of the ground floor room. His voice was cold and calculating. "Leave him there; the others will pick him up. We still have a job to do."

"Sure thing, Alpha." she shrugged. "I'll check upstairs."

"Do it. I'll see if this place has a basement."

"I saw a storm door when I went around back. It's on the south side of the house." she offered.

"I'll go take a look."

"Be careful." she called as she started making her way up the partially-dismantled steps.

"You too." he replied. Marcus sauntered out the door he had come in just in time to see the two MAVs rev up the driveway and start disembarking soldiers. Sergeant Wilks nodded in his direction and he returned the gesture as he rounded the corner of the building.

The sun was starting to set now, dipping low over the mountains to the west past the foothills. Marcus hardly noticed the beautiful display that nature was putting on, too intent on searching the basement to care. If there was anywhere to keep a prisoner, it would be there.

"Sir!" called Wilks as he jogged over to where Marcus was looking down spitefully at a lock holding a metal chain in place over the door. "Thought you might need some help."

"You got a pair of bolt cutters on you?"

"Er- No sir." Wilks shook his head. "I think there's one on the MAV that I could get."

"Don't bother." sighed Marcus as he levelled his rifle at the offending lock. The man winced as as Marcus pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the padlock with a sharp snap and a flash of sparks that quickly dissipated. Marcus tugged the chain that it had held together around the handles and it came free with a metallic rattle.

Marcus gave a huff of contentedness and he pried the doors upwards to get them open. The metal hinges squealed as they were forced into motion and the wooden planks that served as a set of storm doors unfolded to reveal a dank hole. A skeletal staircase descended into the cellar, and Marcus lead the way.

His visor activated to allow him to see better in the dim light and he managed to spot a light switch as he stepped warily down the stairs. The light that flickered into being revealed a depressingly plain room. Whitewashed walls and a cement floor provided the room itself with an air of vacancy. The light wasn't enough to light the entire cellar, though, as deep shadows pooled and congealed at the edges of the room. A single metal pole and a pulley and chain contraption was rigged up from the ceiling. The faint scent of blood hung in the air and a sense of foreboding clung to Marcus's armour, but there was no Warren.

"Frig..." coughed Wilks as he followed the now-frowning wolf morph into the cool room. He looked around in awe. "It looks like a frigging torture chamber down here."

Marcus didn't reply. He paced the small room, a few random droplets of blood weeping from the wound in his leg and pattering to the floor. He grated his teeth and felt a crushing weight start to bear down on his shoulders. He stopped his pacing and looked at the pole. There was a spot of dried blood in a small corona at its base.

Warren had been here.

But he wasn't now.

**

Eldora Resort, West of Denver, Colorado

1903 Hours, August 22** nd ***, 2052*

A sharp burst of rifle fire rung out int the dust-filled air in an irregular beat with the sound of rounds hitting a semi-stiff target overlapping the harsh retort. Owen spun just in time to see Lily crumple down onto her knees heavily and heard her faint gasp of disbelief echo through the squad com.

"Shit! Lily's been hit!" cursed Owen, forgetting that to the others his voice would be unbearably loud over the intercom. "Hold on, I've got you!" He fired the final two rounds in his rifle at the squad of Humanist troopers that had managed to get within several feet of their position. He ditched the now-useless weapon and crawled over to where Lily lay cursing under her breath.

She was facing the wall, her back to the horribly mauled counter. Her left arm was clutched tight to her chest. Owen could see the blood starting to seep from between her fingers. Some of it was staining her tail as it rested beside her. It was a bad hit, but it wasn't lethal. Not yet. But it could be.

Owen hovered over her as she tried to reload her pistol with her shaking right hand. Her SCAR was beside her on the floor, the last of its shots long gone. Bullet casings tinkled as he pawed at her to turn around so that he could grab her. If Owen hurried, he could get her to the relative safety of the kitchen. As long as she cooperated.

"Come on," he said in a calm tone that was completely at odds with the way that he felt inside, "I'm going to get you out of here." Bullets zing-ed above them. One ricocheted and smacked against his boot. It failed to penetrate.

"No, sir..." she slurred. She was starting to lose a lot of blood. Too much. "I can still fight."

"It wasn't a question, Lily." he urged. He tugged at her arm gently, gingerly turning her around. He grabbed the back of her armour's collar and started tugging her along behind him. His armour helped him overcome the friction and she began sliding. "I won't have you die on me, Private."

"I- Nnnn!" she grunted as the pressure that his pulling was creating pressed on her wound. Owen hesitated. A small storm of incoming fire thudded into the counter in front of them. He had to get her to safety. He resumed his task, though this time he pulled more slowly, glad that the swinging doors were covered by the low counter. He heard her pistol clatter to the floor as she gripped her shoulders to try and lessen the painful pressure. She gave a pained cry.

"Shhh! Everything's going to be fine." shushed Owen as he pulled her through the doors. He couldn't help but make out a shimmering trail of blood leading back to where Lily had gotten shot as he looked back. Maybe it was even worse than he had originally thought. "I'm going to put you in the kitchen; you'll be okay there."

"Nnn! Yes... Yes master..." she grunted. She was starting to get delirious. She had not once called him that before, not even jokingly. That wasn't good. "I'll be good..."

"John! I need you to get to the front and hold them off while I help Lily!" Owen shouted over the comm. He was answered by a 'yessir'. Then to Lily as he gave her a small dose of tracellophen after depositing her gently in the middle of the tile floor of the kitchen; "Okay, easy now. I just need to see what happened, okay? Get you fixed up." At her weak nod, he pulled the fasteners on her armour and pulled her chestplate upwards. The dented and torn chunk of armour came off with a wet noise of suction as it was separated from the blood-soaked undersuit beneath.

Owen found the zipper for the layer of thick-woven material and pulled it down her shivering body. Knowing that now was not the time to be too much of a gentleman, he unsheathed Nevermore and cut through the shirt that she had been wearing beneath after folding the slick material away from her chest.

Lily's white fur was now a stunning crimson and matted to her body around the puckered bullet wound. She had been hit just below the ribs of her right side by a trio of rounds, just under the lung. Only one had made it through her armour. It could have been worse; the bullet had been slowed by the armour and thick undersuit and had stopped the shot from penetrating her through and through. But the damage was still terrible and doubt started to ebb into Owen's mind. He hoped desperately that any the bullet had lost most of its force by the time it hit her flesh, otherwise her internal organs could be beyond repair, in the field or otherwise.

He reached around her panting body and found one of the side pouches full of medical equipment. Owen rummaged frantically through it for several tense seconds before he managed to find what he was looking for. He pulled the pressure bandage out of the bag and unwrapped it swiftly, discarding the clear plastic coating. He pressed it to the wound and reached for a can of New-Skin, Lily's hands clenching into fists as the thick antiseptic pressed into the wound. He waited for the gel on the bandage to be sufficiently stuck before he withdrew the hand he had been using to supply pressure. He shook the small metal can of New-Skin and sprayed copious amounts of the clear liquid over the edges of the pad. Knowing full well that there was nothing more he could do, he was about to turn away when he noticed that she was clawing at her helmet, trying to get it off.

"Here, I'll get it." he said as he unclasped her helmet. It came off with a click and he placed it next to her. Lily's eyes were bleary with drug-induced numbness and they blinked as she tried to focus her attention on him, her ears moving sluggishly to face him full-on. After a while, the faint glimmer of recognition sparked into life in them.

"Before... I..." she groaned in between sharp intakes of breath, "I want... I want to.... I... thank..." Her arm came up, now still as the painkiller started to kick in, and found his shoulder as he kneeled over her. She attempted a smile, but it became a grimace as the movement of her arm caused her pain.

"You don't want to tell me that just yet. You know why?" She shook her head. "Because then we won't have anything to talk about on the ride out of here."

He grinned at her. "Besides, you know how much I hate people thanking me."

She seemed content after that, but Owen knew that it was more than likely the drugs working their way into her system than his attempt at gallows humour. Or the blood loss. She needed a medic. It was a terrible twist of fate that she was a medic. He left her there, laying on the floor of the burnished kitchen and headed to the hall. "Status report." he growled into the mic.

"They're still pushing at us, sir!" responded John from the counter that Lily had been shot at. "They just keep coming!"

"Same story at the back." came Sasha's voice. He heard a loud bang from down the hall that lead to the back door. "They're not giving up."

"Then neither will we." He said with determination as he made his way to the swinging doors and crouched low to pass through them. He was greeted by John shouting profanities at the aggressors as he fired Owen's borrowed pistol over the top of what could no longer be called a counter. Owen's foot hit something and he looked down. It was Lily's pistol. He picked the M9 up and checked the magazine. It was full. Good. An ammo counter appeared on the bottom right of his HUD as his armour's weapon recognition programs identified the gun.

"How's Lily?" asked John as he ducked just in time to save his head.

"She'll be fine. Just a little sore right now." Owen replied as he slotted a Humanist in the brow as the woman had tried to move to a closer piece of cover, knowing that he needed to downplay Lily's injuries to keep morale up. He didn't watch his target fall, instead shifting his arm to fire on one of her comrades who was frantically trying to reload. He missed, but it kept the man from achieving his goal. He had left his rifle in the open. And Owen wasn't going to let him pick it back up. His HUD's ammo counter dropped.

Seven rounds left.

"You have any more rounds?" asked Owen as he sidled into cover next to him.

"No." John shook his head. "I'm out. Down to the last mag."

"Thought not." sighed Owen. He popped up again in time to see the doors bang off their hinges on the far side of the room, crunching inwards as brute force smashed them down. One of the squat hostile drones had finally been ordered to enter the fight inside the building, and had found a way in that worked. The foreboding gun turned to point in their direction, the bulky form of the heavy gun whirring as it traversed.

Owen barely managed to dive out of the way of the .50 calibre rounds as the drone opened up. The roar of the support weapon filled the room, easily overpowering the noise of the less powerful firearms present. Owen was glad that he still had his helmet in place and that the sound-dampers were working.

He made it to the refuge that one of the support pillars provided. He could feel the entire support shudder as the armoured drone sought to keep him in cover. Owen hazarded a glance around the other side of the wooden pillar and was rewarded by another flurry of destructive shots hurtling in his direction.

A Humanist trooper tried to take advantage of the situation, coming around in an attempt to flank the pinned Phoenician. Owen would have none of it and caught the trooper with a trio of rounds in the chest, holding Lily's pistol in a two-hand grip. He fell back, but managed to crawl into safety. Not usually one for intense hatred, Owen nonetheless found himself hoping that he was going through the same hell that Lily was.

The ammo counter dropped.

Four rounds left.

**

"Shit! Lily's been hit!"

Sasha's heart skipped a beat and her blood froze in her veins as Owen's voice pierced the staccato clatter of small-arms fire. Her sister had been shot! Her little sister! Shot! She let out a fierce howl of anguish and turned her anger to the attackers trying to make it through the ragged aperture that used to be the back door to the building, leaning around the stove she had been crouched behind and opening up with her assault rifle.

She fired in controlled bursts, picking her targets just as Owen and Marcus had taught her to soon after their first meeting. Sasha knew that she wasn't nearly a good a shot as either of them, but she could still manage a decent shot grouping at the ranges. And her suit's suggestive-aim feature helped a bit. She managed to land a glancing hit on one of the offenders, making him spin and fall to the ground grabbing at his thigh. The others were quicker and managed to escape her wrath by diving out of her line of sight.

Her helmet sensors picked up movement as a grenade was tossed her way, hurtling to the floor beside her and rolling in a rapid circle. Sasha's breath caught in her throat. _So this is how it ends..._she thought. She closed her eyes and grimaced, preparing to be torn to shreds by the hundreds of fragments of hot metal.

Any second, and her life would come to an end.

After more than the usual five seconds, she opened one eye to see why she wasn't scattered about the small hallway in dozens of meaty chunks. The grenade sat idly on the floor in front of her even as a withering hail of gunshots tore through what remained of the doorway in front of her. It took her a moment to see what was wrong, but when she did notice what was amiss, she grinned inside her helmet.

Some idiot had forgot to pull the pin when they had thrown it! The grenade wasn't even primed! She couldn't believe her luck. Smiling despite the storm of gunfire. A burst of fire nickering around the hall made her second guess it and she fell back behind the battered stove. She waited for a lull in the deluge before returning fire once more.