Categories > Games > Halo > Fate Twister Redux

Act I Chapter III: Of Wolf and Man

by sgtlegendkiller 0 reviews

Enjoy.

Category: Halo - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Angst,Horror,Sci-fi - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2016-09-15 - Updated: 2017-01-11 - 6466 words

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SGTLEGENDKILLEЯ
Fate Twister (Redux Edition)

Act 1

Chapter 3
“Of Wolf & Man”

It was unknown to Don on how long he had been asleep. He felt physically plagued with pain and he didn't know whether it came from the crash, or something worse. He feared it may be the latter as he had some difficulty in breathing and opening his own eyes. With this, his mind quickly turned to panic as he now realized he could not move any of his limbs. His eyes flew open and he was rendered terrified by the fact that even with them wide open, only a blurred plane of white was visible. His ears rang painfully, overwhelmed by whatever acoustics were around him. It was almost as if they had never been used. Instinctively, he tried to wipe his eyes free of the dark and heavy haze that was inching into his view. However, he found himself unable to do even that. The feeling that his body had been bound down at not only the wrists and ankles, but at his thigh, midsection, and neck as well. A surprisingly deep toned grunt left his startled throat. To add even more fuel to the strange feeling in his face, he felt his jaw part strangely in unison to the sound he found himself making.

Surprised greatly by this, he spouted? a confused questioning expletive. Unfortunately, his attempt at vocalizing against his situation went drastically south; his split jaws moved spastically with the words, and though he could barely hear what came out of his mouth, what he said like a deep tone version of his voice just stuttering off a random warbling line of noises. After throwing out whatever he had just said, he felt his gut twist. He could feel his jaw pull back together fearfully as they reflected his quickly diminishing mental stability.

"Sir! He is coming too." A voice off to his right spoke up suddenly.

"I know. I have been watching him." Another voice spoke next to his left side.

Don jerked against whatever it was that was holding him to the surface beneath him. He was delighted to hear and see the very faint outline of the people, as it was proof enough that he was far from dead, albeit it was hard to even in his condition.

"Jesus... I still can’t believe how big he is." The voice to the right spoke with a chuckle. "Is it too cliché to say I am kind of scared?"

"That is enough, Wates" the voice to the left seemed to snap at the other. "Donald..." he spoke a bit forcefully towards Don.

Upon hearing his name, Don did his best to turn his head as much as he could to look at the blurred figure. Due to the restraints, that was hardly any movement at all.

The voice to the left cursed under his breath. "C’mon you big bastard. Wake up."

The man hardly gave Don a moment to try to form even a nervous reply before a bright light was shining into his still eyes. He felt his pupils construct harshly and his vision became clear within an instant. Such a sudden sharpening was accompanied with a now clear sense of hearing.

"Interesting..." the left man noted with a gruff exhale. "They seem quite responsive to direct light”

To Don's surprise, his eyes suddenly could see in perfect clarity. Unfortunately what he found himself viewing was something that would do nothing to comfort him. Before him was a fairly bland small room. All of the surfaces clad in a dark grey metal finish. For the time being he could only see directly forward; he was still disoriented despite having clairvoyant vision. On either side were two men, which the two voices belonged too. Other than the fact that they seemed quite small in relation to Don, Mr. Right really had nothing too much to deceive as he was in a medical scrub with a set of face and head coverings.

Mr. Left was greatly more of an interesting individual. Dressed fully in a black leather clad uniform, the man stood with a certain stance of authority as if he was something of importance. Everything about him screamed order and precision. The well cared for and, carefully cut black hair on his head was combed back evenly, with just the right amount of bristle spacing and gel to keep the hair laying flat and smooth. The only thing that was not symmetrical with his wall shaven face, was a small vertical scar over the right side of his upper lip. Don did happen to notice that on the man's leather jacket there were two patches on either shoulder. One, that he couldn’t seem to make out, and the other that simply had the elegance of multiple letters that spelt "Weaver."

"Ahh... it is good to see your awake, Donald" This Weaver man spoke with a grim smile.

Don, still quite terrified, stammered slightly. His nervousness was at the care for the man's words and for his own sake. His mouth spread with each hawking failure at words. His mouth had become quite alien to him, yet he could feel some similarity in how the muscles worked.

"So let me get this straight..." The Weaver man turned slightly to take a file from a desk nearby. "Donald H. Caster. Born April 15th, 1990. Six foot two, brown eyes, and brown hair." The man hummed as if intrigued.

Don stopped moving his strange mouth parts as the man began to rattle information about him. He looked down as far as he could just so much that he could just get a better look at the patches residing on the shoulder of the man. The emblem looked familiar to Don, though he could not quite place it.

"You live in Winnemucca Nevada and own a... " He paused as he flopped to another page. "You own a... modified 2013 Shelby GT500. I would also assume that Morgan Chase is your significant other and that you were a Lance Corporal of the United States Marine Corps... with a… Michael Brook... am I missing anything basic about you, Donald?" He asked as he looked back towards Don.

Don stammered again for but a moment as he tried to triangulate his muscles to answer. "No..."

"Huh... I didn't think so." He paused as he straightened himself once again. "Now... what i am trying to figure out is why you do not like the man in his picture." He grew a slight snarl on his lips as he pointed down towards the paper.

"Huh??" Don choked out slightly. He knew something about him was very different then he should be, but his response was of pure disbelief.

"Listen, Donald. My peers and I have leading theories of 'Trans-universal' placement throughout the planes of reality and such. This might explain what happened to you and your friend..." Mr. Weaver shook his head as if he was challenged. "However... those same theories do not involve aliens."

Don stammered yet again slightly. The words of this man were nearly too much for him to mentally handle. This situation was far too excessive. It had to be a dream of some kind "I... don't understand..." His voice seemed even more deep as he struggled with his words. He now definitively knew he was quite far from being ‘human.’

Mr. Weaver grimaced heavily as he turned towards the table once again. This time he brought a mirror with him that he quickly held up before Don. What the mirror would show caused his guts to knot tightly.

In the mirror, the reflection that Don found himself looking at was, as he expected, far from human. Instead of the face he had grown several decades to know had an alien look to it. The first thing that he noticed directly was that his eyes had become bright green in color and that his pupils had formed into vertical slits. His nose had become flat and broad, leaving a blunt shaped contour mid face. The last notable thing was that his mouth was no longer the basic two lips, but rather two pairs of mandibles lined with pointed teeth that left his maw widely open. This was not the face of who he had once been; this was the face of a Sangheili, known better in game as an Elite.

"Who are you really, Donald?" Mr. Weaver challenged. "You are not the man on this license."

Don sat for a brief moment of gaping silence, hardly able to speak from shock. "You... who are you and what have you done to me?!"

"We have done nothing to you..." Mr. Weaver said as he crossed his arms. "What have you done to yourself?" He snarled slightly. "How did you two get here?"

Don cleared his throat slightly. "I don't know."

Mr. Weaver hummed as if he was displeased. "What were you doing before you crashed?" It seemed as if he preferred to jump straight into the questions.

"We were..." Don paused as he slightly flexed the muscles of his new mandibles. They were making speaking quite difficult. "We were driving."

"At what time of day was it? Where was your destination and how fast were you heading there?"

Don blinked with a slightly stutter "It was..." Don paused as he tried to replace the details. "It was late evening. We...were heading home and... uh"

"How fast?" Mr. Weaver was on point as he cut Don off as if to make sure he didn't stray from the question.

Don looked down in frustrated thought. "I don't know."

"I need to know how fast." Mr. Weaver stated tautly.

"Listen!" Don felt a growl gurgle from his throat. He did not do it intentionally, but it seemed to come with his growing senses of anxiety, fear, and frustration. "I have no idea on the hows or whys of how we got here!" He stopped abruptly in surprise at how loud his voice was projecting. It wasn't like him to really yell, but it had been loud enough to make Mr. Weaver's assistant to jump slightly.

Mr. Weaver's arms tightened in front of him as he grimaced. "Wates?"

"Yes sir?" Wates asked nervously.

"Leave the room please."

"Sir?"

"You heard me. Just leave."

"Yes sir." The masked assistant quickly complied as he scurried out of the room.

As the timid of the two left the room, Mr. Weaver became quite rigid as he began to approach Don's side once again. "These almost supernatural reality rift things have been happening for several hundred years and yet we absolutely know nothing about them." He paused for a moment to watch Don's reaction to this. "These things will ripple throughout multiple star systems with such force that every radio, television, chatter, and microwaves will spaz out for over a minute until stopping. We don’t know what it is. All we get is the weird signal and then we will find an old helicopter or something from hundreds, or thousands, of years in the past." Mr. Weaver paused to pass a few breaths

Don just sat there in a state of confusion. Though he had his doubts, he hoped that maybe something would dawn on his sense of understanding. Of course Mr. Weaver's excitement was a bit unsettling as he couldn’t tell if it was that he was upset or not.

"We have the brightest people in the history of man trying to figure this out." Mr. Weaver continued. "Yet, like I have said... not one in the Office of Naval Intelligence has any idea on what the fuck these rifts are."

Don swallowed slightly at the mention of ONI. First he clearly recognized his newly gained strong resemblance to Halo Elite, and now he was finding that the man who was talking to him was from the real life equivalent to the KGB or CIA of the same lore.

"Let's think... you are from the 21st century... so you would know of the "Wow Signal' from 1977” He paused. “It is a very specific signal, yet it is quite widely heard.”

"Sort of..." Don answered nervously.

"That was the first ever recorded instance of the rift frequency..." Mr. Weaver sighed heavily. "Do you like conspiracy theories, Donald?"

"Not really..."

"That is a shame... your kind of part of one now."

"What? Why?" Don jerked slightly at his restraints.

"Because you and your companion are the only living creatures to come through and live."

"Huh..." Don didn't know what to even say to something like that.

"So... that being said. I urge you to answer my questions as well as you can." He suggested firmly. "Now tell me... what were you doing before you got here?"

Don sighed heavily with a sense of annoyance "I’ve already told you."

A scowl grew across Mr. Weaver’s face. “I know you know something about how you are here, Donald, and I intend to find out whether or not I have to rip it out of your throat.”

“You can’t rip anything from me that I have not already told you!”

Mr. Weaver hummed with a smile. “Nothing you say? What is your favorite color?”

A lowly growl escaped Don’s throat. “Red.” You snarky bastard. “Why?”

“Oh… No reason.” He gloated slightly. “That was not too difficult… Though I wonder if it will be that easy to remove more information from you…” He turned from Don for a moment. “What color do you bleed, creature? Do you think it is red like your favorite color? Or something else?”

Oh fuck no. Don stiffened, not caring to really answer as he saw this going downhill quite quickly.

“I think we should find out.” Mr. Weaver gave a crooked smile and leaned forward over Don’s chest to firmly grip his lower right mandible. He could see Mr. Weaver now possessed some sort of instrument.

Don could do little more than straining against his restraints wiggle hopelessly as he tried to stop the man. However, the ONI bastard came wielding a vice grip, and with it he took ahold of the furthest back molar on the mandible. With the greatest fight the Human could, he quickly wrestled the tooth from its root. It was an excruciating experience. It felt as if a part of his face was being removed. Once the bastard had removed Don’s tooth, he was left without hardly any feeling in half of his face. He could feel the warmth of his blood dripping heavily from his mouth, leaving the hardly noticeable putrid taste of gore in his mouth. Despite the taste and the blinding pain, he gave only a few screams from this. His mind itself had been tortured enough with the transfer over to this world. Though he would hate to admit it, it helped him through this endeavor.

“Intriguing! Your tooth structure is simply amazing!” Mr. Weaver chuckled with a smug face.

“You fuck!” Don screamed out in anger, despair, and agonizing pain.

“Oh, you have seen nothing yet Don. I am going to get what you know at any cost. Now if you want this to end now just tell me how you are here.”

“I told you!” Don yelled. “I don’t fucking know!” The pain and the blood rendered it a bit more difficult for him to speak.

“Do you know what the worse part of being someone as methodical as myself?” Mr. Weaver skirted around Don’s answer as if uninterested. “Most of the people like me suffer from Obsessive Compulsion Disorder. And today…” He smiled widely. “I am finding that I am quite tick-full today. Your teeth are now not symmetrical and it is bothering me immensely.” He chuckled darkly. “Let me fix that.” With this, he leaned in and proceeded to pull the other three rear molars from Don’s other mandibles.

Mr. Weaver eventually left Don to deal with his pained and bleeding face after removing the other molars. The silence did little to help his situation. It forced him to listen to his own soft whimpers as the pain in his mouth very slowly dimmed on his swollen face. He had always thought he had a high pain tolerance, but this all was something else. In reality he just wanted to go home to Morgan and his family while forgetting this. What stung the most was that this was real. All of it was terrifyingly real. This was no nightmare. Now here he sat, in the body of a Sangheili, on an ONI interrogation table. He knew his chances of survival were essentially zero. It was all too clear that Weaver was either never going to be satisfied with the answers Don would give him, or that he was crazy. Don failed to figure which was more life threatening. Of course this whole situation was obviously frightening to him, but the situation was overbearing in mental urgency. His time alone was minimal as Weaver soon would return for more. By this time Don had been plagued by the injuries in his mouth. His mouth and cheeks, if he even had such a thing anymore, were still mildly swollen. It would have seemed that somehow he was healing fine despite the slight stinging taste of blood that still formed slowly in his maw.

With the sly smile of a fox, Weaver returned with a few items that Don could not quite make out. “Well, hello there, friend. I see you’re doing well from our earlier encounter.”
A low, rumbling growl escaped Don’s pained throat.

“Oh stop that.” Weaver playfully mocked. “You’re doing fine. Though I think you would do much better if you actually told me the truth.” He crossed his arms as he said this.

“I can’t tell you what I don’t know!” Don protested, his mouth still stinging as it moved.

“What was the color of the rift?” Weaver challenged loudly as he ignored Don’s plea.

“I don’t remember! Whitish yellow? What the fuck does it matter?!”

“I will ask the questions around here!” Weaver sternly spoke as he prodded his extended index finger harshly against Don’s chest. “Were there arks of electricity? Flames? Smoke?”

“I. Don’t. Know.”

“Damn it! Your kind made this anomaly, and you’re going to tell me how this shit works!” Weaver yelled.

“How about this...” Don growled lowly. “You go ahead and take your questions and shove them up your fucking ass!” Don shouted, knowing full well that Weaver was going to most likely be the death of him.

At this strong vocalization, Weaver’s faces twitched very slightly. “Very well.”

With the tautest face that he had shown yet, Weaver moved around behind Don with the unseen items that he had entered the room with. Before he knew it, the surface he was strapped to began to tilt backwards until his head was lower than the rest of him. As the surface stopped Weaver came into view. In his hands were what Don would assume was a garden hose and a large cloth.

So this is how it is going to be Don thought, knowing exactly what Weaver was going to do.

Without a word, Weaver turned the hose onto a calm stream before he draped the cloth over Don’s head. Don breathed in part way and held his breath just moments before Weaver began to let the water flow over the cloth. The fabric became soaked instantly, it’s sheet clung damply to Don’s face as the water quickly filled his nose. Luckily Don had trained for such a thing earlier in his life. The main obstacle with waterboarding was the mental aspect. Close the airways to your nose in the back of your throat and just let your sinuses fill with water. Once it is, then it’s no worse than swimming. Hold your breath and close your eyes and wait it out. Weaver seemed to be a bit rough with it to begin with. Judging by how tightly he had been holding the cloth around Don’s face and the length of time he was going with each duration of spraying water showed that he had it clearly set out for Don. It was quite the displeasing situation, but he managed to handle it well. He even tried his best to strain a bit against the restraints to play along.

Eventually, after several long minutes in fact, Weaver removed the cloth as he quickly tilted the surface forward. Once Don was once again upright, Weaver moved around to face him. As the ONI came around to view, he couldn’t help but smile just ever so slightly in defiance.

“That… did not bother you?” Weaver asked with a slight frog in his throat. He sounded quite surprised.

Don responded by ejecting the water in his nasal cavity with a exhale through his nose. “No. It didn’t”

Weaver cursed softly. “You know this just means that I have to escalate things now, right?”

“My answers won’t change…” He spoke and breathed calmly. “I have told you what I know and I will not give you false information.”

Weaver paused for the slightest moment. “I admire your modesty, but I don’t really believe you.”

“Of course.” Don rolled his eyes. “Though I suggest you try more legitimate methods of interrogation.”

“Excuse me?” Weaver twitched again.

“You heard me, Weaver.” Don knew his chances were already zero, so if he was going to meet his means out of this life, he would be as much of a prick as he could be.

Weaver stammered slightly as he tried to figure what to say. After a moment of saying nothing, he simply straightened his jacket and hair before leaving the room silently. After he had left the room, and the door closed tightly behind him, the room grew silent. Don sighed at this lightly in relief. He knew his time was to come, but at least he now had more time to try to figure out what the hell was happening. This thought was in vain of course, as he still had no inkling on what had happened to him. He was stuck alone and unsure on the surface as he wondered what Weaver would try next, and what he might be doing to Mike.

Don had fallen asleep for a good portion of what he could imagine as a good length of the day. While it was far from the desired time to sleep, it felt nice to feel something else besides pain and fear. Even though the rest was dreamless, it did a lot to ease his current situation. He was woken up abruptly by the opening of the door. His eyes opened quickly to see Weaver entering the door briskly with a revolver clutched in his hands.

“Alright, Donald It has been 40 hours since I gave you time to think.” Weaver spoke loudly and quite aggressively. “I want you to tell me everything you know… Who you are, where you are from, and how the the rifts work.”

Don tensed up slightly at his demeanor. “We have already been over this all before…”

“That sucks for you.” With that he placed a round in the cylinder and flicked it closed.

“Listen. I can’t give you any more information than I have!” Don pleaded, growing very nervous against his attempts to not be. He was tired and weak from the lack of food. “Is this your way to look for inconsistencies?!”

Without a moment's notice, Weaver leaned forward quickly at Don and forcefully shoved the barrel of the revolver into his mouth. The metal of the weapon stamping against the back of his throat caused him to yelp out in a tearful scream of pain. His stomach wrenched harshly as he desperately fought with his gag reflex as Weaver fiddled with the specific position of the gun.

“I don’t care if you say you know it or not. You are going to tell me what I want to know. Do you understand?” Weaver questioned angrily at Don. “This is your first strike.” With that he pulled the trigger. Click

Don jerked heavily as Weaver pulled the gun from his mouth; his throat heaved heavily as it was now freed from obstruction.

“Get talking!” Weaver barked as he held the weapon limply in his hand.

Don inhaled painful as he tried to choke an answer. “Wh- what do you want to know?!”

“You already know what I want, Donald!” Weaver aimed the revolver towards Don’s chest and pulled the trigger. Click “You got four more tries left to tell me about the rifts!”

“I don’t know anything about them!”

Click

“Fuck!” Don, now legitimately fearing, yelped. “It was whitish in color!”

“And?!” Weaver yelled as he held the gun against Don’s chest.

“And what?!” Don spat back at the deranged man.

Click “Do not fuck with me, Don! What else!?”

Don’s mind raced in a panic for details. “Our car went crazy and accelerated through it!”

Weaver stopped instantly, his body losing all rigidness. “What was that?”

“Our car…” Don swallowed. “Something hit the car and caused it to accelerate out of control. We passed through the rift thing that came out of nowhere and we… we fell through a void.”

“...And?”

“And we ended up here! That is it!” This was the best explanation Don had been able to give thus far. He hoped it was enough.

“That is interesting…”

“That is what happened and that is all I know. I can’t say anything else!”

Weaver seemed to consider this. “Well… you passed.”

“P.... Passed?”

“You passed positive for the inconsistency.”

“What?!”

Before Don could say anything else, Weaver spun the revolver around his finger so he could catch it by the barrel. Using the handle as a club, he repeatedly struck Don upside the head with it. Each strike caused his ears to ring and his vision blacken. He could taste blood and his vision was growing a dark purplish in the many times that Weaver dealt blows. It was so many infact, that Don had lost count. They abruptly stopped and the sound of a click sounded out. His vision quickly was returning to him just in time to see Weaver shove the barrel against his forehead.

“Last chance, Don.” Weaver demanded chillingly. “How do the rifts work?!”

Don spat out a soft tearing sob. “Just kill me.” He cried out softly as he closed his eyes tightly.

Weaver shrugged slightly. “Alright.” He smirked as he pulled the trigger.

To much of Don’s surprise, the sharp pain of the round entering his head and the feeling of death did not come to meet him. What came instead was the sound of the click of the hammer against the strike plate, followed by Weaver’s maniacal laughter building swiftly in his ears. Don opened his eyes confused.

“You thought there was a real bullet in there?!” He yelled out before breaking into another session of hysterical laughter.

Don gawked slightly, not knowing what to feel or think.

“It was a dud!” Weaver proclaimed as he pulled the cartridge from the cylinder to reveal it had no primer. “My lord! You’re gullible aren’t you?”

Don felt his face twitch violently as a feral growl escaped his throat quickly.

“I just wanted to toy with you one last time before we parted!” Weaver smiled proudly. “Oh? Yeah we are going to put you two in cryo sleep and send you both to Reach so we can pull you apart and see what we can find out.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I would if I could. So long, Donald.” Weaver took himself, and his gun, out of the room.

The quiet left by Weaver’s exit was short lived as several individuals in scrubs entered the room. They gathered around Don as they tilted the surface back so that he was horizontal. Before he knew it, the entire rig he was strapped to was being shoved out of the room. The staff then began to push his rig down hallway. After a few moments of getting pushed down the corridor, the squeaking wheels of another rig and the sound of a disgruntled voice crying out in protest could be heard. Though at a passing listen the voice may have not been recognized by Don, with a careful listen it was the deeper tone version of none other than Mike.

“Let me fucking go you sick sons of bitches!” Mike demanded at the top of his terrified bellowing voice.

“Mike!” Don shouted out quickly.

“Don!? Where the fuck are we?!” Mike, recognizing who the voice belonged to, demanded. “What the fuck is happening?!”

“I don’t know!”

“Be quiet!” One of the men pushing Mike’s rig shouted.

“Why don’t you make me you fucking gook!” Mike shouted

“I swear to god-” The man shouted back.

“What are you gunna do that you already haven’t done to me?!” Mike retorted loudly. “Let me out of here!” Before he could say more, the sound of something electrical buzzing loudly could be heard before he let out a panicked scream.

With Mike left in quite audible tears, the rigs were pushed even farther until they came to a turn into a place that Don could only assume was a shower room. One of the men called all but two of the staff off to the hallway to guard the door as the rigs were slowed to stop. Their rigs were tilted up quickly before most of the staff left. Once upright, several clicks were heard from the rigs. The restraints suddenly unclamped from around the two, leaving them to fall limply to the floor. It was only by reflex of Don putting down before him to catch himself from busting his face on the floor. Standing freely now that they were off was impossible for the both of them. Their legs, as hard as they might, did not want to not work properly from the lack of tenseness in the unused muscles. Before they could hardly get their bearings, the ONI staff began their hose assault on them.

The water the ONI staff sprayed onto them was unpleasantly hot. It was of the temperature that was not quite hot enough to scald the skin, yet it caused discomfort. Whether it was intentional by the staff was unknown as Don and Mike knew nothing about the new skin now possessed. The washing went on for a good few minutes and the two went nowhere. Every time they attempted to get up the staff would blast the stream of water at them until they were knocked over.

While Mike had spent most of his time shouting profanity and slipping around frantically, Don was thinking critically about their situation. It would be quite a stretch, but he thought that they could possible push back and escape this facility. The staff had stupidly let Don and Mike free of their harness.

After several minutes of wearing the two down with the hose, the staff duo stopped the waterflow. Don and Mike both laid still as they breathed heavily as they tried to clear their mouths of liquid. The two ONI staff muttered amongst themselves briefly before the one without the hose approached Mike. As the man drew close, Mike barked out a demand to be left alone. His loud booming voice and sudden jerk caused the two ONI men to flinch.

Taking advantage of the pause, Don pushed himself off the floor and took hold of hose still clasped in the one staff member’s hands. Somehow the movement was not awkward and cumbersome for him, as if driven by some sort of instinctful will. As he took a tight hold of the hose, the ONI staff let go and stumbled away with a loud curse. The orderly quickly tried to pull, what Don would assume to be a side arm, out of his right pocket. Before he could, Don shifted slightly in his stance as he swung the end of the hose like a medieval flail. To much of the effect, the weighted head of the hose violently struck the side of the ONI staff’s head. The force of the collision was enough to instantly dispatch the man as his skull was caved in, leaving his body to fall heavily to the floor; the glint of his sidearm scattered onto the floor. Don scrambled slightly to pick up the gun before finding Mike slamming the other medical staffman’s head against the floor.

“Mike!” Don called out to him as he stood, pistol in hand.

“What?!” Mike huffed as he looked up from the man he had just killed.

“Check his side for a gun!”

At this point, the sound of the door opening could be heard. Don quickly turned himself to the towards the noise with the weapon raised, just in time for him to pull off a shot towards the rest of the medical staff that were entering. The off handed shot was surprisingly well placed, clearly well translated from his muscle memory, leading one of the men to fall to the floor from a bullet to the head. The others tried to scatter for cover as they struggled with their own weapons. Don and Mike too moved to the protection of two pillars in the center of the shower room.

Don quickly peered out from behind his pillar to see three frantically placed medical staff that were trying to get themselves out of sight. Don raised the weapon to take two quick shots at one of them. One of the rounds clipped the man in the leg and the other struck the center of his chest, effectively killing him. Don snuck back into cover just as a small volley of rounds ricocheted off the edge of the pillar next to his head, causing him to jump and tighten his stance. Mike took a quick chance to help out by yelling and quickly waving his hands around the pillar with a swift glance. Of course the frightened men took several shots at Mike even after ducked back into cover. Using this as a distraction, Don turned around the other side of pillar and hastily fired another two shots that would hit the head and neck regions of the two remaining men.

“Fuck!” Mike exclaimed as he looked around to see no one else shooting at them. “Nice shot.”

“Mike, go get a gun and quit fucking around.” Don barked softly as he glanced at the doorway to see if anyone else was coming through.

Luckily for the two, no other ONI personnel were currently entering the room. With a brief pause in action, Don inspected the weapon that he had been using. The bronze colored firearm was tiny in his hand; it felt like he was holding a sub compact handgun. On the side of the weapon read ‘Mirasha Armories’ and it stated that it was a 12.7 model ‘M6C.’ Despite its simplicity, much like a Colt M1911, there was some grace to be seen in it’s design.

With a fresh magazine of 8, Don pulled the slide back to chamber a round. With a definitive weapon, the two of them could make a better stand against the ONI personnel. While he stayed conscious of the now closed door, he began to go around the shower house as he turned all of the faucets with the hot knobs on full.

"Oh look at you!" Mike admired slightly. "I'll get the rest. Watch the door."

Don gave a quick nod before returning to his pillar. The air soon became heavy with the mist from the showers. The steam would give an improvised screen to make it difficult for anyone coming in. Even if the attackers would have infrared sights or visors, the steam would hopefully throw that off. It was a bit unnerving at how long it had been since someone had entered the room, however the sounds of men rushing to the ship section could be heard racing down the hallway. Don's grip tightened around the awkwardly small grip of the pistol.

Two men in what could be assumed as armored combat uniforms entered the large room cautiously. They were armed with two handed weapons that Don recognized from the games as Assault Rifles. They were of bullpup designs and were quite comparable to the FN F2000.With their ARs raised, they crept into the room as they scanned around for either Don or Mike.

Don and Mike waited for several silent moments as the soldiers slowly made their way through the room. As soon as they got within a few paces from the two pillars, Don popped himself slightly out just to fire a round directly into the face of one of them. He quickly ducked back into cover as an volley of automatic fire graced the corner of his pillar. None of the rounds compromised the corner as it was seemingly made from metal. Mike, taking the distraction that Don had started, turned and fired twice into the shooting man. With a scream and the clattering of his armor and weapon to the floor. Mike fired several more shots towards the door and ended up emptying his pistol.

"I'm out!" Mike growled in annoyance.

"Grab one of those guns on the ground! The one closest to you!" Don nodded his head to show he was ready.

Mike checked quickly for a clear window before swiftly going for the AR. However, as he moved out of cover, a fast flying object flew through the air and struck Mike in the center of the chest. The object, which could be easily seen as a weapon loaded bean bag bounced harshly off him as he toppled over with a yelp. With Mike on the floor clutching his chest, Don lost his concern for cover and speedily attempted to pull his friend from the line of fire. This decision would show to be their downfall as the attackers were at the ready. Don felt something heavily prick into his neck just behind his jaws. Immediately he felt his nerves becoming numb, his vision harshly blurred as his limbs felt weak. Within seconds he lost sense of where he was and was soon met by the cold wetness of the floor.

"Well, look at you..." the somewhat faint sound of Weaver's voice. "I can promise you one thing, Donald. I will be sure that you are awake when they tear you open."
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