Chapter 17: Mountain of Proof

The DI let one team in every few minutes. John’s fireteam waited for the signal. Out of twenty, his was seventh, the ideal time to go in. If they went in first, they would get overwhelmed. Should they go in last, there might not be enough enemies to pass the exercise.

The DI pressed the open button. “In.”

Sad little pinpricks of light dotted the walls, just enough for the fireteam to see where their feet fell. Dust clogged the air, kicked up by the clumsy footsteps of the previous teams. The trapped, uncirculated air stank. It had enough oxygen to breathe and nothing else.

A long hallway led from the intake room to the only bright light in the place. Kuhnhausen and his team cast shadows along its length while they lumbered along. They checked every single door, every corner.

“Let’s get up there.” John marched double-time.

Sylvester matched his speed. His helmet slipped over his brow. He lifted it. “Shouldn’t we be checking corners?”

“Nope.” John kept his head up and on a swivel. “These assholes already did it for us.”

No light came from any of the rooms they passed. They might have led to more rooms, but John didn’t care. It didn’t take long to catch up to the Kuhnhausen and his team where the hallway formed a room before continuing. Better they run into malicious robots in those shadows.

“I think I heard some clunking down there.” John pointed his rifle through the closest doorway. “Bet you there're some bots dying to get shot.”

“Oh, yeah?” Kuhnhausen said loud enough to get heard. “Why don’t you guys go down there?”

“Let me put it this way, you guys are far too jumpy.” John projected his voice. If Kuhnhausen tried to keep quiet, John would step on his toes. “I’m afraid you’ll put a bullet in one of us before the bots get you. So get the fuck out of our way.”

“Whatever. Have fun getting ambushed out here.” Kuhnhausen folded with zero resistance rather than attract attention. They disappeared into the darkness. John hit the close door button.

“Good thinking.” Justice wiped a bead of sweat from his brow. “We’ve got cover here.”

“They might be bots but not the stupid kind. I’m thinking Kuhnhausen’s crew will flush them out. That sound like a plan?”

Elroy shrugged. “Sure, whatever.”

“Hold up,” Justice said. “I’m worried we’ll get blinded by that light at the end of the hall.”

John smirked. “Great idea. You secure that end.” He checked out the WarFace. The combat mode painted his peripheral vision red around the grey horizontal lines of the walls. His focus flipped through the carousel. The command option still had that bloody lock on it. “Before you do that, everyone use their invader try. It’ll keep the sound of our footsteps—“

“What if we don’t want to?” Justice rested the butt of his rifle on his boot. “Who put you in charge?”

Sylvester put his rifle on his boot, same as Justice, the same side even. “Just because you were our gutterball captain, doesn’t mean you’re team leader.”

“Someone has to be.” John stared down Sylvester. “That gonna be you?”

Sylvester dropped his eyes to the ground and took his gun off of his boot. He shook his head.

John looked down his nose at Elroy. “You?”

“Nope.” Elroy put up a hand in surrender. “Things go wrong when I’m in charge.”

“You?” John lifted his chin at Justice.

“Yeah. Why not me?”

John scrunched his face. “And who are you? We’ve been in this game for a week and I don’t know the first thing about you.”

A chirp echoed down the hallway. It didn’t sound like it came from a living bird. It sounded cold, almost recorded, off. John couldn’t put his finger on it. More than that, no birds got inside the combat arena. All four of them held their breath.

John leveled his rifle and took cover behind the corner. The others followed suit, Sylvester behind John, the others behind the far corner.

Justice glared at John and jabbed his rifle down the hall. John understood the unsaid meaning: go down there. Time to take control. With one hand, John pressed his rifle into his shoulder and kept his rifle directed at the supposed enemy. He pointed at Justice, his hand taut, and pointed down the hall: you go down there.

“Fucking hell.” Justice seethed the words under his breath. He left his cover and slid down the hallway, placing each foot down in near silence.

The longer John stared into the light, the more ghosted artifacts it burned into his retina. He closed his eyes. Justice’s green silhouette still crawled down the hall. John focused on the carousel and flipped through the boxes. That lock still blocked the command try, but there was one more thing that he could do to unlock it.

“Did he use his invader try?” John whispered.

Elroy shrugged.

“Maybe not.” Sylvester shifted his weight.

“I want you to use your tries before we forget.”

They both closed their eyes. John did as well and kept his head up so the war face displayed the length of the hall. He found the invader try box.

Muffle Footsteps (I)

◆ Type: passive

◆ When walking quarter-time (& not faster), your footsteps will be 50% quieter.

◆ Passive tries last for 24 hours after activation.

Justice’s green silhouette waved and pointed to his ear. The guy must have heard something. An imperial red silhouette sidestepped from behind the corner at the far end of the hall and disappeared behind the far side.

“Did Justice see that?” John asked Elroy. The adrenaline turned his voice into a stage whisper.

“I think he was looking our way.”

John opened his eyes. “Psst.” He let out the sound as loud as he dared.

Justice continued down the corridor, focused on his destination. Whether he heard, John couldn’t tell.

“You two go down there and get him. Back him up if he needs it.”

Elroy and Sylvester left cover at forward-march speed, too fast for the Muffle Footsteps to take effect. Compared to Justice, they made a flurry of steps, of fabric brushing together, of dangling equipment.

The urge to check the command try hit, but John resisted. With three teammates in the hall, it was best to avoid shooting one of the back of the head. He kept his eyes open and concentrated on the darkest corner below the light.

Justice turned toward the wall and peeked around the corner. He stepped out, raised his gun, pointed down the unseen hall, and fired. The snap of the gunshot slammed John’s eardrums. All four of the fireteams jumped. Gunshots during rifle practice in the open air shook John up. In the confined space of the combat arena, they made him almost fill his shorts.

Sine-wave tones came back.

“Shit!” Justice put his back to the corner. His left arm dangled.

Sylvester and Elroy paused for a beat and kept going.

“Did they get you?” John called. No point in hiding anymore.

“Yeah. My arm won’t move”

“Did you get one?”

“It acted injured, but no, I didn’t.” Justice bashed the back of his head into the wall. “Bastards are fast.”

Gunshots popped off from the open doorway to John’s side. Maybe Kuhnhausen’s crew got their pass.

Sylvester and Elroy made it to the corner.

Elroy stepped out and fired. He put his back to the wall again. “Damn bastards are fast.”

“Keep them busy.” John couldn’t take it any longer. He closed his eyes and checked the command try on the carousel. When he focused on the lock icon, the top of it animated. The top slid up. It opened with the click.

Yes!

It seemed like his chest swelled. He bloody well did it. All those commands convinced the game to give him command. An infobox popped up.

Reset Ability (I)

◆ Reset one of your teammate’s active abilities.

◆ Can only use on abilities still affected by cool-down times or expired abilities.

◆ Cool-down: 24 hours (TRY IS ONCE ONLY)

Metal fingers wrapped around the back of John’s head and pushed his face into the wall.