Atlantis: chapter 4
Again, part four! Yay!
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Chapter IV: The Escape
Tom blinked and rubbed his eyes, then checked again. It looked like someone had taken his base features, and made them more savage. He looked more like a pre-historic animal than he used to.
His regulation-short crew cut had tangled itself into a knotted heap that was definitely over regs, and his sunny sky blue eyes had become a dark, stormy blue that emanated power.
Also, he had been tan as a result from all his physical work outdoors, but now he was bronze, as if he had been cooked well done. He was more muscular.
But the biggest surprise was that he now had teeth and claws, each as sharp as knives and viciously long and serrated. He blinked stupidly. Claws? He shook his head and looked again.
To his surprise, his claws were no longer on his hands. It hit him a few moments later that they were retractable, and sure enough, when he pushed,they slid out with a snick. All in all, Tom had a far more aggressive, angry and determined look about him that was eerily not him. All he could say was, "Wow..."
He continued his momentary stupor for another second, then jumped into action.
“Alright, West, you stay here. Dr. Stephens and I are going to search for more survivors. Are the security systems still running?”
“No, they've been shut down, but the cameras are still operational.”
"Ookay. That's rreeall helpful. Now, do you know how to use the computer?”
“Yes sir,” West acknowledged.
“Great. We're going to need you to be lookout for us using the cameras, tell us which areas are infested, which are not, which you see possible survivors in, and stuff like that. Dr. Stephens, get suited up. We're going hunting.” They both grinned.
Tom took a SCAR H assault rifle from the rack, as he preferred its power to the lighter SCAR L's more rapid fire and larger clip size, especially in this instance. Tom also took an M9 compact SMG, and an M21 sniper's rifle.
“Why do you need a sniper rifle?” West asked.
“Our mission starts on the roof. Dr. Stephens should bring one as well.” Tom also hooked on an ornamental, yet still extremely lethal saber, and stuffed a combat backpack full of ammo. He had learned to use the saber and its close cousin, the cutlass, in fencing. It proved to be useful now.
Dr. Stephens was less heavily packed, but he had on a good combat backpack stuffed with ammo of all types, and had a sniper hanging loosely around his shoulder. He preferred his Webley Mk over other handguns.
A knock at the door startled them all, and Tom heard a rough voice command “Open up!”.
Open up so we can shoot the living daylights out of you is more like it, Tom thought. He hurriedly screwed a silencer onto an SMG.
“Open this door or I'll blast it open!” a shout came. Tom gave Dr. Stephens a nod, and he pressed the unlock button.
An Atlantian burst in, all six feet of him, and Dr. Stephens quickly closed and locked the door. The Atlantian spun, realizing he had stumbled into a trap. Tom moved forward swiftly with his saber, but the Atlantian was expecting it. He was armed with a spear, and the spear was decorated with feathers. Obviously, the man was an officer of some significance, as all the other spears were not decorated at all.
Moving far quicker than Tom would previously have thought possible, he planted the weapon so that Tom's sword stuck into the wood, and then yanked it from Tom's grip. Then he twirled it, grabbing the blade, and once it was out, hurled the spear at Tom. Tom slid his claws out, and chopped the stick out of the air. The Atlantian, however, was now brandishing Tom's saber expertly. Tom just laughed. The man charged forward, acting as if he meant a simple thrust to the middle, but at the last second, changed direction and forced Tom back with a vicious uppercut that sliced his cheek. The man let a smirk slide onto his face, but it quickly vanished as he returned his gaze to Tom.
Tom wasn't angry, shocked, or even slowed. He calmly brought out his other blade and squared off against the Atlantian. He nodded off to the side at West, who took the meaning and raised his gun. The Atlantian only realized his danger at the last second and threw himself to the floor. The bullets flew harmlessly over his head, but now West's firing angle was blocked by a desk.
The Atlantian rolled onto his back and jumped up to his feet. Tom was standing in a corner, a bored expression on his face. The Atlantian advanced, careful to stay low and keep out of West's line of sight even after Tom called him off.
As the Atlantian neared Tom, he suddenly sprang to his feet without warning and uttered a guttural shout, trying to throw Tom off guard, but only faked a chop at Tom's torso. He continued through with his move and twirled the blade above his head, but Tom wasn't fazed and jabbed out. However, Tom's move didn't have the desired effect. His blade only bruised the Atlantian through his powerful Orichalcum armor, but it was enough to slow him down. Tom fired through a rapid series of slashes and jabs, ending in one final lunge facade and twisting in a backhanded slash. The Atlantian dropped to his knees, his neck cut across the front. With his last seconds of life, he suddenly threw a hunting dagger at West from out of nowhere. West ducked, but he need not have worried. Tom only blinked and caught the dagger with Telekinesis.
“Let's go.” He said, and Dr. Stephens followed, leaving the dying man to die.
West looked at the monitor, and told them that there were 2 mounted Raptors in the hallway.
“Thanks for the warning.” Tom opened the door, gun extended. He sprayed half a clip into one pair, and they fell, hitting the floor like a sack of vegetables. Before the other one could figure out what happened, Dr. Stephens opened fire. The Atlantian yelled as he was thrown off by the force of the bullets, and hit the ground. He didn't rise. The Raptor squawked and fled through the opposite door.
“Where's he going?!?” Tom yelled to West.
“Uhh, umm, okay, okay, he went into the elevator landings.”
“Come on!” Tom said, and Dr. Stephens hurriedly followed him. Tom hastily opened the door, and yelled in surprise when he saw an outstretched AK-74 pointing at his head. The Atlantian opened fire. He was scarcely 3 yards away, so every bullet should have found its mark. Not a single one penetrated either Tom's or Dr. Stephens's skin. An entire modified clip of 40 bullets hung menacingly in the air, an arms length away from Tom.
A loud bang echoed through the room as Dr. Stephens fired his Webley Mk. He must have guessed what had happened, but Tom didn't figure it out for another few seconds.
Obviously, his powers had once again saved his life.
The man with the AK had been hit between the eyes. He fell to the ground, his face stone cold.
“Thanks” Tom managed after he inspected the body. “We should keep moving.”
They got into the elevator and pressed the button for the top floor. It took a while, because the building was designed like a fortress, and was built up and out, but they finally got to the top. This was mainly a storage area, and it was eerily silent. The room wasn't lit well, with a single naked bulb hanging on a thin cord that looked like it could snap at any moment. They found the stairs after a moment, and Tom bashed open the door. Unfortunately, the blast doors were locked and on override, so Tom couldn't open them.
“West, you down there? We need you to open the blast doors.” Tom whispered into his microphone.
“OK, which ones? Read me a number.”
“Uhh, number... 13A”
“Got it.” Tom heard West typing rapidly on the keyboard for a moment, then the blast doors opened. Tom and Dr. Stephens hurried through. The hard plastic doors closed after them, but the blast doors remained open.
The blast doors were actually made up of an extremely durable plastic under-door, and then the heavy solid titanium sliding door after that. At the moment, they were still open, so that Tom and Dr. Stephens could get back through fast.
Tom stealthily crept up to the edge of the roof. The concrete had narrow slits, like battlements, used to stick weapons through. This gave the place a castle-like appearance. Tom layed down on his stomach with his arms holding his sniper, or prone position. He proceeded to take aim at the party of Atlantians who had gathered by the main gate, acting guards. Dr. Stephens followed his example.
Tom passed a silencer to him, and screwed on his own to the barrel of his sniper. They were about to open fire when an old, outdated Iraqi Huey flew over the gate. It set down in the courtyard just beyond the gate, and more Atlantians piled out of it. They were all armed with guns. The Atlantians sprinted up the wide path suitable for driving tanks on that led to the motor pool. What are they doing in their? Tom thought. He signaled to Dr. Stephens to hold fire, and gazed curiously down at the huddled men. A moment later he was answered as an APC burst out the doors. A couple tanks soon followed, then some motorcycles, armored Humvees, all manner of vehicles.
The filthy nuggets were stealing their vehicles!
Tom opened fire on any target that came into view, but three Iraqis fell before the rest scattered.
Tom was mainly concerned with causing the men to panic, confusing and separating them with his well placed shots. In the distance, Tom spied three Ospreys and two Cobra escorts flying at top speed towards them. But they wouldn't get here soon enough, and Tom was tired of playing the sniper.
"Here, take my ammo. Stay here and take out any hostiles. I need to get lower." With that, he unslung his sniper, took off his backpack and threw it over the edge. His body followed a moment later. He was still testing the limits of his new abilities, but this was a stretch. I must be crazy, Tom thought as a giddy joy rose in him, strangely out of place in this situation. Tom felt his heart speed up as his body dumped adrenaline into his system.
He spread his arms and legs out wide, and went into a rapid free fall. The building was 25 stories high, and he experienced 19 of those at such a rapid clip that his eyes watered, and the moisture was whipped away behind him, strangely elongated from the speed of his travel. The ground rushed up to meet him, and Tom had a sudden image of himself going splat! against the ground like a flat pancake.
No, Tom thought. No time for those thoughts now. At the 6th story, he started to slow himself down with Telekenesis. It was only semi effective, but he slowed down to about 60 miles an hour. Great! He had reduced his speed by more slightly more than half, but 60 mph was still gonna sting.
Tom had only a second to panic, then he hit the roof of some lower building, which was still 3 stories up. He bounced straight off, at least another three feet back up in the air, then fell the remaining distance to the ground, where he landed on his back.
What is the meaning of agony? Tom would think later. Right now he couldn't think through his pain. Jumping off a building and living.
His whole body felt it when he hit the ground. His breath was driven completely away until Tom was dying from oxygen deprivation alone. His diaphragm wouldn't tighten, and therefore his lungs couldn't expand. He remembered Matt had once fallen ten feet onto his back on a pile of rocks when a zipline had snapped in 6th Grade. He had been in pain, but it was nothing like this, and Matt hadn't been able to speak for a minute because the air had been knocked out of him. This was only about thirty billion times worse.
Tom's face screwed up with the sheer agony, but all he could do was wait...
...and wait...
Finally the pain receeded, and he was gradually aware he could move. It had taken him about a minute to fall, and another five minutes to recover. But finally he stood, still wheezing, and saw the response team just now rappelling down from Ospreys and clearing the courtyard.
He managed to yell into his headset, "Tangos in stolen armor! Repeat, hostiles have hijacked vehicles!" and watched as the American insertion group pulled ZEUS-MPGRs off their backs and target the vehicles. Numerous explosions lit up the courtyard like the 4th of July.
Sitting back and waiting for the pain to fade from his body while a war was raging just under his nose was not exactly Tom's style.
Instead, Tom ran and jacked an Iraqi out of a Assault Recon Motorbike, or ARM. These weren't the sissy street mopeds you saw all around town, nor was it a cool, black and white gangster motorcycle. It was a dangerous military vehicle, armed with rockets and machine guns, with 'Experimental' stamped on both sides. He launched a couple of missiles at a Stryker APC/Main battle tank, and it went up in flames. He made a doughnut turn, and fired the machine guns on a group of Atlantians. The ones who didn't die scattered, and Tom did a front wheelie, coming around 90 degrees and smacking another Atlantian in the head with the back wheel. He stopped, facing a Humvee. The driver revved the engine. The man behind the wheel obviously wanted to play a little chicken.
Tom kicked back the kickstand, twisted the throttle, and they were off, down a 100 ft stretch of asphalt. Tom gritted his teeth, getting ready for his move. He wasn't going to turn, nor was the other guy. Why would he, after all? The man was in a Humvee, Tom on a motorbike. And yet Tom wouldn't be run over. He hadn't practiced this. In fact he had only just come up with it. Hopefully it would work. 90 ft to go, and Tom could already smell the other vehicle's fumes. Its engine had been damaged, and it was leaking gasoline. That was good. 80 ft to go. The windshield was slightly cracked in a spider web pattern, where someone had shot at him. 70 ft to go. He heard the revving of his engine, roaring down the pathway. 60 ft. 50. 40. 30. He could see the man, his gritted teeth, and unkempt, greasy black hair. His mind focused on one thing, the thing that he had to do to survive. 20 feet. 10. 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, with 4 feet to go, he kicked the motorcycle so that it was down on its side, but still moving, meanwhile he jumped up in the air, above the Humvee, a C4 stick in his hand. His motorcycle sped underneath the Humvee, and Tom landed on the roof, rolled off, and landed back on his motorcycle. He had shoved the C4 stick in through the cracked windshield, and that, coupled with the leaking gasoline, would end up with the driver's death. He drove a ways off, then skidded to a stop. The Humvee was still going. What had happened? Why hadn't the explosive gone off? Was it a dud?
BOOM!!! It did go off after all, and the Humvee was enveloped in an ever expanding wave of orangish-yellow flames. They licked off the metal of the Humvee with an almost caressing behavior. The man behind the wheel uttered a silent scream, then was no more. Tom panted for breath.
The rest of the Atlantians were being mopped up. Only about another 15 were holding out bravely, peaking out behind the burning tanks and opening up a round or two, then ducking back behind cover. They were giving the Americans a fair deal of opposition. Tom ran, and picked up his backpack. He snuck up behind them, and stabbed one with a katana. The English soldiers had taken out another three, and another met his end from Dr. Stephens's sniper. Tom slashed at another, but as he fell another Atlantian stabbed over him. The blade didn't pierce his Kevlar, but he had already called over a few of his buddies to help. Tom evaded them with a back hand spring, bringing out two P22s in the process. He emptied both clips, and most of the men fell down to the ground with sickening thuds. Only about three were still alive, and Dr. Stephens picked off another, for a grand total of two left.
They fought to the bitter end, but these weren't ordinary foot soldiers. These were two officers, armed with spears and daggers. Tom laughed in their faces, bringing out his two Desert Eagles. To his surprise, the men moved with incredible speed, and knocked the guns out of Tom's hands, slicing them in the process. Tom gave a yelp of pain, and involuntarily stepped back. The Atlantians advanced menacingly, and Tom knew he was in trouble. No one could save him. The Americans were busy taking care of a few of the Iraqis who had come in with the Atlantians, the English soldiers were on the other side of the tanks, and so couldn't see him, or hear him. Even Dr. Stephens couldn't help, because a group of Atlantians had somehow managed to scale the 40 story building, even though it had virtually no handholds. Just him...
Yet he knew he could do it. Their was no other option. He hurled both his katanas at one man. The first one was deflected, the second drove into his torso. He was pinned to the wall, but he was still alive. The second one looked over at his partner with shock and grief written clearly all over his face. He was distracted, and in the momentary lapse of defense, Tom brought out his Glock 20s and emptied the two clips on the one man. The result was predictable. He fell to the ground, a spreading rosette of dark, scarlet blood issuing from his chest. His eyes rolled back in his head, and falling forward, hit the ground with a sickening thud. The other man was still pinned to the wall, and Tom, taking pity on him, granted a quick death: a three finger strike to his throat, crushing his windpipe. The man would have felt no pain at all.
Dr. Stephens had taken care of the small group of Atlantians, and the Americans had driven out the remaining Iraqis. They had managed to steal some vehicles, but most were destroyed. With the gate still closed, the rest would be rounded up and eliminated. Tom was feeling good. He had lived. He jumped on top of the tank to get a better view, but froze when he saw Captain Matthew Kenderson.
