Point of Documentation: Marshall, Phoenix 11

  The man raised his gun towards Marshall and he had this horrible feeling wash over him. It kind of felt like the feeling he’d get when his ‘bird’ lurched after the shields were hit hard. A dropping feeling, but not aligned with gravity and instead in every direction at once. That was a more physical representation of what he purely felt mentally right now as his neck was not being whipped to the side from an impact. He tried to step back and away from the gun the man had drawn, but instead felt as if the aim of the gun drew him into its path. It barked and a hole opened up in his left upper arm.

  Marshall gripped at his arm as that feeling faded away. Blood leaked from the hole in his arm, covering his right hand. Marshall quickly moved to the side of the fountain and attempted to get around it when that feeling came over him again. However, this time his little VI suctioned to his eye started rolling out dozens of windows ahead of him. Measurements that he didn’t understand and scrolling text that flew past so fast that it nearly made him sick were on those windows. He took another step as time seemed to slow down as adrenaline kicked in. At this point, his body would be slipping into adrenaline burnout and his mind would start losing proper thinking ability. He needed to get out of dodge before that happened, and long before the explosive finish downstairs also kicked off.

  Damn this man and his… whatever it was at this point! Marshall felt like people down here were either apathetic towards residents of the Castle, or hated their guts so much that they’d have a gunfight a couple stories above a block-flattening bomb. Take a guess which camp Marshall thought this man would fall into, and the first two guesses don’t count.

  Barnaby gave out an audible curse as Marshall slipped behind the fountain’s main body and out of view of the gun’s aim. Marshall was surprised to see someone huddling behind the fountain as well: a man with armor like the guards they had seen back in town. However, he noted that the man had a large hole in the side of his helmet and was nursing a quickly bandaged wound on the side of his head. The man looked over to Marshall, a submachine gun drawn and aimed. When he saw that it was Marshall, he lowered the gun.

  “Cheers, nice of you to join my grave.” mumbled the man as he lowered the gun down to rest on his lap. “Not so nice of you to bring that man’s attention this way though. I was pretending to be dead.”

  Marshall slid in next to the man and took cover behind the fountain. “Ok, who are you guys and who are you with? You look like a town guard, yeah?” He gestured to the man’s outfit and the man nodded. If he could see his face under the completely covering helmet, or even past the eyes crafted into the helmet, then he’d be able to get a gauge on this man. Even Archie was drawing a blank as it felt his desire and started running something called ‘interpretive gesturing’.

  The man sighed and held the side of his head. “I’m Baltanove. Part of the Blue-Collar squad under… well, under no one now. From Bogushevsk. I’m the last one left. Trap specialist. I’m guessing you’re that Outworlder from your… outfit.”

  Yet again, noticeable at a glance by people around here. He nodded and answered quickly. “Right on the mark. Say; do you perhaps know of a way to get the hell away from Barnaby out there? Specifically in one piece?”

  Baltanove leveled a flat look at Marshall before producing a mirror from his pocket and holding it just high enough to see over the lip of the fountain. He frowned and lowered the mirror down. “Well, it seems like the butcher is just sitting on your dead friend and reloading his revolver. You could run now if you stuck low enough. Probably.”

  A feeling of dread passed over Marshall’s face as a realization hit him. He was using his squadmate’s body to lure him back out. Barnaby knew he wouldn’t just abandon Delton and would come back for him, so all he had to realistically do was wait for him there. Regardless of how crude the thought was, he was right. Marshall would not leave Delton here.

  Curses passed Marshall’s lips as he thought. This caused the man before him to look back and seem to study him. Then he sighed again and dug in his pack. “I overheard Barnaby talking with Madam Vertruse about his power. Predictive combat is hard to deal with, and he’s full of it. In more ways than one. She kept faking out his shot before he made it, and he would often miss. It wasn’t until she ran out of steam from her previous fight that she took a shot and got even slower. So as long as you’re able to outrun his shots, you should be fine.” The man raised up an item he procured from his bag. It was a respirator. “We were also told you might need new hazmat supplies. Jennie’s in more pieces than I care to look for, so all I have on me is this.”

  That’s right! Marshall had forgotten to get anything in the way of hazmat gear after they stripped both layers of gear and punched his mask off! If he approached Cadence after this she would have a mountain of questions he just couldn’t answer. He needed to look like he did before to assuage Cadence and anyone who saw him from before. However…

  “No, keep that for now.” Marshall said with a shake of his head. “If that breaks, then I’m gonna be in trouble. Stay back here with it, and I’ll see if I can at least drive him off. Do you have help coming?” The man grew grave and shook his head. Marshall grit his teeth and looked at the lip of the fountain. “Fine. I’ll just need to finish this in…” he focused on the edge of his vision and the timer grew a little in size. “... three minutes.”

  Baltanove’s head cocked to the side, his helmet showing very little in the way of emotions to read from. “Three minutes? I’m guessing that something bad will happen when that hits zero?”

  It was less of a question and more of a statement, but Marshall humored it. “Yeah. Big explosion. A nest tried to form and something down there can close it. Will probably take out this entire compound though. Probably.”

  As if on cue, Archie displayed the details of its previous home at rapid paces across his eyes. It was close to nauseating when the scrolling stopped and a red line formed on the ground. A virtual reality laid over his eye and showed the explosion’s expected radius. It went easily to the entrance of the compound.

  Marshall cursed under his breath and gazed back at the lip of the fountain. “You said you’re a trap layer? Can you back me up?” Marshall did a quick check over his equipment as he asked this, his crouched position making it a little complicated to complete this.

  “Yeah, I have some tricks up my sleeve. But mostly defensive things. So don’t expect me to be too helpful in this. Else I’d probably be dead along with my leader, you know?” He gave a gesture towards where the body of his leader lay on the lawn some meters away.

  “Understood. Then try to get my friend’s body out and run. I’m going to try to buy time, then run before the time’s up… clock’s ticking.” Marshall slowly stood after this, his vision cresting the fountain to see what the man had said before.

  Barnaby was sat on his dead companion; the gun in his hand and now fully reloaded. A brow raised up when Marshall came around the side of the fountain, a smile playing on Barnaby’s lips. “Well well, looks like you didn’t run and hide like that other man. Having a 1st-Grade core user here was like knowing a wounded dog was around. Yet, a 2nd-Grade thinks they’ll do any better? Where is that bravado coming from, I wonder? Or is that stupidity?”

  Marshall had completed his trek around the edge of the fountain to now stand in front of it, facing Barnaby with only ten meters between them. “I’d say desperation, but that would be a terrible thing to put on a tombstone. Maybe ‘Here lies Marshall, the man who beat Barnaby’s ass’.” A cocky grin spread across Marshall’s face as he said this. He had to exude confidence if he was going to throw off a more talented and equipped foe. If they underestimate a foe who’s confident, then they could fall to any shortcomings in their execution. It puts them on edge.

  And that’s right where Marshall wanted him.

  Yet, as Marshall watched Barnaby, no smile from before crept onto his face. It was simple disdain, nothing more. “Brave. I want to see something akin to that when this is over. Keep the look on your face as I kill you.” Barnaby stood, stepping off Delton’s body and towards Marshall.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Marshall went for his own firearm and felt that tug on his mind again. However, as this happened, something new occurred. Archie overlaid his vision on his eye again and this time it drew up some kind of display. Thousands of lines were going from Barnaby’s gun towards him. Each of these lines looked like they were bullet tracers that, upon closer inspection, showed angles of attack. Ten meters wasn’t a far distance, and it didn’t give him all that much room to move.

  When Marshall was trained to be a pilot in the Castle he was drilled on what would happen if he was involved in anti-boarding action. Close corridors and long halls were a staple of inner-ship combat, and that could be graduated to close combat in nearly any situation. Pilots had to be fliers first and marines second, and Marshall was one of the more marine-y pilots in his Wing C. Gregory was a hard second, but that was mainly due to the man being a mountain pretending to be human.

  Marshall immediately went into crisis-assessment mode as he noted all of the lines that would impact his body… and there were a lot of them. If he dived in any and all directions he would be hit in a vital spot. Because of Archie’s help he was able to see a lot of this at a glance. A glance being all he was afforded. He needed to act, and his increased speed and strength from this Void-bullshit would help him in that. He was a trained man, and sitting on his ass was not what he was built for.

  Marshall drew his gun instead of dodging, Archie had laid out all of the pathings for each shot, and there was barely any wiggle room that the man had made. Each line crossed over a possible escape path, and dozens of lines marked where Marshall would be if he just stood there. He had to do something, and something he did.

  In that moment of horrid motion, Marshall drew his gun and fired at Barnaby. Instead of aiming for the man, he aimed for his gun. It had such a small margin to hit, yet Marshall knew the cocky man wouldn’t lower his gun or dodge out of the way. He wanted this, just as much as Marshall didn’t want it. As such, he enacted every ounce of his will into hitting this target. A prayer to the fates and anything that was listening went out as quickly as he could manage.

  Whether through sheer luck, or the fates actually responding, Marshall’s shot rang true. Barnaby’s gun fired at the moment that Marshall’s shot hit the gun. It caused the shot to go wide, Barny’s eyes to join in it, and caused the shot to fly off course. It flew past Marshall’s head, striking something behind him with a ‘ping!’ noise that caused his ears to ring. And it must have been something awful, as the ringing in his ears–

  Marshall lost his footing and fell to one knee, gasping and holding his head. The pain was unbearable, his entire head pulsing like someone was drilling into it. Something wet ran down his nose, a hot liquid that tasted of iron as it hit his lips. His vision became grey around the fringes, and Marshall had to close his eyes to avoid becoming sick.

  His hearing was damaged by some mark, but it was just enough that he barely heard the clapping of Barnaby. Marshall opened his eyes again and looked up to see the man smiling with his hands striking each other in a mock applaud. “Well done, Outworlder! Well done!” He took a few steps closer and leaned a little towards Marshall. “You aren’t used to Terra yet, and so didn’t account for something we all have to: Blowback. Use your power too much? Blowback. Use something your power hasn’t fully awoken? Blowback. Tried to wrestle control from a more powerful Void-Core?” The smile that plastered the man was wolfish. “Blow. Back.”

  Barnaby fished around his legwear for something, the look of victory on his face. “You’re newly awakened, I know that much. Sinclair noted you had a lot of Void-Scourge in you, but no core yet. So all I had to do was push you hard. Stress it enough and the Blowback multiplies. Shame really, I had hoped you had more in you.”

  The display on the side of Marshall’s vision showed two minutes. Two minutes left before everything went to hell around here. And here he was, now unable to properly move or think, and a megalomaniac ranting to him about how he was going to kill him. Truly, there was only one response to all of this.

  With a force of will that Marshall would pay for later, he forced his new body quickly turning to his old to raise his arm. A single arm that leveled towards a surprised looking Barnaby. The lone digit that stuck up from it brazen and resistant to the turn of fate. A fine salute of a middle finger. “Die frustrated, you bottom-bin cowboy.”

  Barnaby, for all his worth, seemed to be caught off guard by the display. If only for a moment. Then his expression fell into a neutral one as he pulled from his pocket another gun. This one was not a revolver, but just a simple, small handgun. He leveled it to Marshall’s head and aimed. Seven meters. That was all that lay between the men. And yet, it felt like miles to Marshall. This was a man who was in his element, and Marshall was a fish out of water. A man trying to be something that he was forced into. Something so foreign to himself, and yet known. He knew of the Void, what it could do, what it had done, and what it will do. Everyone in the Castle knew of the horrors that the Void was capable of. And yet, when given power from it, it rejected him even now. A merciless killer with no true accuracy on what it takes.

  Barnaby pulled the trigger, and nothing happened. No shot fired, and no explosive release of Marshall’s brain occurred. Marshall had thought that the whole ‘life flashing before your eyes’ thing had happened in real time to him. That was until Barnaby turned the gun in his hand and inspected it. He looked confused, then his eyes traveled past Marshall and looked outwards. Towards the tree line.

  To say the man saw a ghost would be to lessen the white that completely colored his face. The man looked frightened, ready to bolt at the smallest chance. But why? Marshall tried to turn his head, but instead the ground came up to meet him. He needed to leave, he needed to run. He needed to get Delton’s body. All of this flooded him as he lost consciousness again.

  Point of Documentation: Collective

  The lawn was silent as Marshall’s body hit the grass. The gunfire had stopped a little while ago, the fire the only noise in a noiseless tenseness. Barnaby had locked eyes with a man who had exited the woods via the road. He wore a cloak around his shoulders that was dirty and brown. The hood was up, only really showing parts of his face from the shadow that fell over it. The eyes of deep, abyssal blue and the whitest of smiles were two of the notable features visible. Those two alone scared the hell out of Barnaby.

  The cloaked man stopped at the entrance to the lawn and simply looked around like a lost man observing a new property he had stumbled into. Barnaby’s lip curled into a snarl that did not fit his face at all as he watched. The cloaked man matched this by looking back and giving the man a genuine, loving smile that seemed to brighten up such a careless and dark place such as this world.

  Barnaby was the first to speak, a small splutter to his words at first. “Y-You! What does a beast like you want with this place? Don’t you have some kind of collection of children to kidnap somewhere?” Barnaby kept note of the gun of his on the ground less than a meter away, the one shot by the surprising Outlander.

  The cloaked man stared, unblinking, with his toothy smile for a heartbeat before answering. “I find that generalization heart-wrenching, Sir. Barnaby of House Vertusk, third of his line and the only Hedge-Knight of his house. Shall I call you an ostracized child to atone?” The man cocked his head to the side a few degrees. “No, I find that distasteful. Somewhat like this fight.”

  The cloaked man removed his hood and shared with this world what is under it. A beaming countenance of beauty was under it. You could often find paintings of this man under the dictionary’s own entry for ‘stunning’ and ‘otherworldly’, his features finely cut from the purest of stock. Mr. C stood in place, his eyes boring pleasant holes into Barns.

  Barnaby, for his part, flinched back physically at the man uncovering his head. “I see that you are not here for small talk then? No pleasantries like we shared last time?”

  Mr. C shook his head, then pointed to the ground. “You have a Nest opening below you, and a device collecting the points to collapse it on itself. Your time is short, and so is the man you were facing. I request you leave, lest I make your time shorter than was already allowed. Call this… returning your favor to you.” Mr. C’s hands twitched, the entire area instantly becoming covered in what could be called webbing. The thin, nearly imperceptible threads shining in an unnatural light. Some of those threads held onto the gun that Barns had, the thing that dismantled it from the inside.

  Barnaby looked at the gun in his hands, then dropped it. It fell halfway to the ground before stopping and hanging in the air; suspended by the wires. “Looks like I don’t have a choice, do I?” He let the question hang before looking back at the building behind him. He gave a shake of his head, then looked to the man in control. “You monsters are mountains to ants, you know that? You’d do us all a favor if you shoved off and never returned. Kind of like I’m going to do now that Petrov’s been found out. I’ll leave, but this ain’t over. Outworlders aren’t meant to be on Terra.”

  Without another word, Barnaby turned and used his speed and strength to propel himself out of the clearing with force. Mr. C watched him go for a moment before turning to the downed man and the wounded one behind the fountain. “Gather your remaining men and leave. I’ll handle the Outworlder.” The wounded trap-master nodded and quickly ran from the clearing. A clearing that was starting to get hotter and hotter by the passing second. Was time up already? Interesting.

  Mr. C stepped over to Marshall, his footsteps never truly touching the ground as he moved. He kneeled down and heaved Marshall up onto his shoulder. The body of Delton lay only meters away, yet the man only glanced at it. He exited the clearing in haste as the ground around the building started to bubble and heave. An explosion that tossed hundreds of tons of dirt and debris into the air followed those that ran.

  Mr. A stood at the same spot he had prior to this, watching the scene play out. He would drop his binocular-like device to his pack and sighed. “This is gonna be a mess, I know it.”