Published at 12th of August 2022 9:14 pm

Book 2: Chapter 49: The Raid (Final)

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Cornelius had a simple, straightforward goal. He was going to rip off the Natural’s helmet, and fire a thermite flare down the man’s throat. Chaos raged around him, the sounds of battle and dying men. He caught flashes of it in his peripheral vision, bullets pinging off ethereal shields, waves of ice coating the floor, the roaring of Lynx as she bulldozed half a dozen men through a concrete pillar.

He stood at the center, a wide circle of growing devastation surrounding he and his enemy. This was how things were done; the strong against the strong. None would interrupt until it was done. It was too dangerous, Cornelius knew enough about his foe to fight him safely, but he lacked the time to communicate the particulars. He needed to press his advantage. Allies, even members of his own team, would just get in his way.

Cornelius threw out a textbook low kick at the man’s knee. The impact jarred his shin, but he grinned viciously as the Natural’s armor bent beneath the blow. A spike erupted out from his enemy’s solar plexus, and Cornelius retracted his own limb before it could be taken from him. He moved into the counter, ducking low and letting the spike brush past his shoulder, then slammed a fist right into the base of the protrusion. The armor broke and his fist touched flesh. He felt, more than heard, the breath whoosh out of the Naturals’ lungs as his diaphragm spasmed.

The big man doubled over in agony, and Cornelius twisted into a vicious uppercut. The man’s helmet held, but teeth shattered, and blood sprayed out from the man’s broken jaw. Cornelius grinned in triumph, having proven his suspicions true. The Natural’s control was poor, either lazy training or a lazy mind bringing about a critical flaw. The spikes weakened his armor, drawing from the surrounding material to be formed. The Natural would defeat himself by attacking.

Cornelius pressed forward, sticking to the man like glue. He trusted his superior reflexes, and his own read of the man’s combat pattern. Jab, jab, hook, armor shearing— backpedal! A spike whooshed past Cornelius’ cheek, and he responded by booting the Natural in the groin. The man sucked in a sharp breath, dropping down to a knee, and Cornelius contemptuously shattered the spike still sticking out of the Natural’s shoulder. He cast the material away, then jackhammered his fists against the top of his enemy’s head.

The helmet crumpled into liquid, but spikes erupted from every inch of the man’s back, arcing towards Cornelius. The armor peeled away to fuel the attack, and Cornelius danced backwards, drawing his flare gun. He fired the thermite round at the Natural’s face. The man’s power caught it, but it was too late. Cornelius didn’t understand the science backing the round, but he knew the effect. By design, the impact would release the already active exothermic reaction, creating a violent burst of intense heat that melted flesh like tallow. It wasn’t good for more than a hundred feet or so; the reaction burnt itself out too fast, turning the bullet into globs of superheated lead. But this was optimal for the situation, and the Natural’s power did nothing for the temperature. The chemical reaction glowed brighter than the sun, and the Natural screamed as the superheated metal making up the bullet coated the skin of his face. Several surviving Crew members flinched at the noise, and the smell of cooking flesh filled the room.

The Natural dropped to the ground, and every ounce of matter on him fired off in every direction. Cornelius dodged the spatter, taking note of his enemy’s nude form and wet hair. It seemed that he’d caught him in the shower. The Natural moaned incoherently, his face a twisted mess of black and red skin. His features resembled a lit candle, dripping down his face like melting wax. The man would be healthy enough for an interrogation, but Cornelius doubted he would enjoy being conscious.

Cornelius took stock of the situation. The last few bastions of resistance had crumbled with the Natural. Several Crew members had up and surrendered, casting aside their weapons and throwing their hands into the air. The rest were scattered across the ground, dead and dying. No sight of Andros Bartholomew, but he could make out a few Crew lieutenants that the APD had been searching for.

“Secure the area,” he bellowed to his team. “Look for a basement!”

The floor was shielded. Even now, his HUD showed that purple haze overlaid on top of it, signifying that scans were being repelled. Thermal imaging showed nothing, and after a glance to Charlie squad, and their sonar-equipped infiltration specialist, Cornelius confirmed that sound also failed to penetrate. Clearly they were hiding something. He was betting on a cosmic generator.

The Crew must have access to at least one, and it was more stable than most. They’d upgraded upwards of two dozen people in the span of a few days. Most black market generators, kludged together heaps that they were, would have exploded under such a strain. It took a very specific pattern of radiation to create a specific upgrade, and the process strained the device being used. Cornelius would very much like to lay hands on the Crew’s generator, and claim whatever pattern they’d been using against the APD.

Revenant, Beta team’s second-in-command, marched over to the downed prisoner and flipped him over. He pressed a hand against the man’s face. Revenant’s upgrade could muddle the senses of people around him, including their ability to feel pain. The Natural gasped raggedly as his agony disappeared.

“Where is Lieutenant Banks?” Revenant demanded. The Natural’s eyes roamed the room, foggy and disconnected. Revenant gripped the man’s cheek and squeezed. The dying Natural let out a groan, weakly thrashing in place.

Cornelius frowned but didn’t interrupt. They weren’t even sure that the Crew had anything to do with Banks’ disappearance. It was only guesswork and supposition at this point. It was assumed that the Crew were behind it, because they were presently the only group insane enough to attempt kidnapping a SPEAR team leader. Even that would have been uncertain a mere month ago. Any information, even a denial, would be useful.

Cornelius eyed the air intake sensor in his helmet. His surroundings were normal, perfectly breathable. He’d have expected Bartholomew to try something subtle by now, if he were here. That he hadn’t, boded poorly for the operation’s secondary objective. He turned to Revenant, who had resorted to shaking his captive like a ragdoll.

“Ask him about Bartholomew,” Cornelius ordered.

Revenant paused, frowned, then did as ordered. The Natural groaned something inaudible, and Revenant turned back and shook his head.

A call came over the radio from Haze. “We got something, sir. In the locker rooms.”

Cornelius stood up, checked his magazine, and jogged to the back of the gym. He nodded to his fellow team leaders as they secured prisoners. He tapped on his wrist, and his HUD flashed, signaling that Charlie team was in charge. He moved through the broken doorway leading to the locker rooms, glancing around. His HUD highlighted Haze and Lynx, and he moved towards them.

The ground and walls had been stripped bare by the Natural’s power. The lockers were slagged, turned into slurry and dragged across the ground like a snail’s trail. It was easy enough to follow the Natural’s passing. Cornelius found himself by the showers. He turned towards his team members, as they poked at another set of lockers. These were undamaged and untouched. They hung open, empty save for a few clothing hooks bolted to the inside.

Thermal vision revealed that their insides were sixty degrees Fahrenheit cooler than the surrounding air.

Cornelius processed this for a moment, then turned to Haze.

“Secret passage?” he asked.

“Secret passage.”

“Right.” Cornelius nodded, and gestured to Lynx. “Get it open.”

He could see her fanged grin even through the blacked out lens of her helmet. She turned, falling into a crouch. Her claws bit into the sides of each locker, and she grunted, easily tearing them right out of their fixtures. The metal warped and screeched as it gave way, and Lynx tossed the chunks of torn metal aside.

There was a narrow entrance behind the lockers, and it was completely covered in ice. Thermal imaging suggested that the ice branched out past the entrance, a solid block covering nearly ten feet in every direction. Cornelius stepped forward and punched a hole in the drywall next to the entrance. He winced as his fist struck something solid and cold.

Cornelius grunted in irritation, then tapped his communicator. “Delta squad, report to the locker room. We need burners.”

Five officers appeared within the minute. Delta squad had been outfitted with wrist-mounted flamethrowers, and each was resistant in their own way to the elements. Cornelius gestured to the ice.

“Burn it,” he ordered.

It was a tense minute of sustained heat before the ice gave way to fire. In that time, patrol officers had formed a perimeter around the gym’s block, and the SPEAR Teams had secured a dozen prisoners. Backup was ready to stream in, waiting only Cornelius’ word. He couldn’t give it, not until they’d cleared this last room.

He carefully stepped through the cleared entrance, waving away the mist. Cornelius was greeted by a set of stairs. His HUD flickered, as his sensor suite finally made it past the shielded floor. A single red outline greeted him, just past the bottom of the stares. He fell into a crouch, shouldered his weapon, and descended.

His team followed behind him, with Michelangelo on his six, ready to intercept any attack. It turned out to be unnecessary. Cornelius emerged into a wide room, and was greeted by a small, squat man sheepishly waving a white flag. His free hand was held over his head, while his implement of surrender wiggled back and forth.

“I give,” he stated amicably.

Cornelius glanced around, but couldn’t see a trap. The room was small, more of a hallway that branched out further through the basement, but the man seemed alone. He took two strides forward, and swept the short man off his feet. The man landed with a grunt, and an indignant, “Hey!”

“Shut up,” Cornelius stated. “Clear the room.”

His team fanned out. The room was poorly lit, but Cornelius could hear the soft hum of machinery just beyond this first room. He zip-tied the man’s hands together, but kept his gun leveled on his prisoner’s back.

“Name and upgrade,” he snarled.

“Roman Ricci,” the man stated, his voice muffled by the floor. “Coldstroke”

Ricci? That seemed vaguely familiar. As did the upgrade. It was the street name of the Crew’s most common upgrade pattern.

“And why did you decide to surrender, Roman?” Cornelius asked as he frisked the man. He felt several solid objects, but nothing that seemed like a weapon. He pulled the first one free. It was a pez dispenser. The cheap plastic kind that produced candy for children. Cornelius frowned and tossed it aside.

“Seemed the thing to do,” Roman replied. He shifted, slightly, and Cornelius tensed. The moment passed, though. It seemed the man was simply trying to get comfortable. Cornelius resumed his search.

“You should’ve told your friends, up above. Most of them are dead, now,” he informed the man.

“Yeah. I’ll probably get an earful for that. Really wasn’t expecting city cops to be this on the ball,” Roman admitted.

Cornelius leaned down and hissed, “Happy to surprise you.”

“That’s alright,” Roman replied. Cornelius’ hand found something in the man’s jacket pocket. He pulled it free and looked at it. It was a slender black stick, with a blinking red light on top. A few flicks on his HUD showed it transmitting some kind of wireless signal. Was he streaming this conversation somewhere?

“What is this?” he demanded, shoving the thing beside Roman’s face.

“That’s alright,” the prisoner repeated. “You’ll be feeling much worse than me, I promise you.”

There was a flash of purple, a crack of sound, and the smell of ozone cut the air. Cornelius rolled off his prisoner, diving to the side and bringing his weapon to bear on whatever this new threat was. He caught sight of two men, a flowing cape, black spandex, and a pair of cold blue eyes.

Then the world turned to ice.

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