Shades of Grey by Pundit | Part Eight : Bolshevik Winter
<clostridia@bigfoot.com>

I acknowledge that there are characters in this story which are the property of either Sega or Archie Comics. The story itself, however, is copyrighted to me, and while it may be distributed in any form, must not be altered under any circumstances. You may not derive any profit from this story. Should you wish to contact me, the above email address will suffice. I accept, and welcome comment, criticism, or flames, should you see the need. Thank you.
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They kept together, clustered in a tight formation, moving with stealth. The leader brought the group to a silent halt with a gesture, pausing for a moment. He pulled out a small metallic device from a pocket, consulting it, signalling silently with his hands. And with that, the group whipped around the corner, into the open, with their weapons poised for action.

It was all the matter of a few seconds, along with the swift discharges of quite a lot of blaster beams, and then the three guards were horizontal. The leader frowned slightly. He hadn't expected any guards at all around this rarely travelled maintenance passageway, and very nearly acted as though there weren't any. With a sigh, he told himself to concentrate - being careful was what kept the smart ones alive.

He examined one of the bodies, picking up a communicator. It crackled, and there was a hissing voice.

"Emergency protection detachment sigma, come in please."

They know!

***

He leaned back, trying to affect a nonchalant air, as the debate smoothly turned from professional to acrimonious. It was the opposition's turn now, and the speaker was a longwinded airbag who had a penchant for sweeping statements colored either black or white. Popular with the people, of course, but with absolutely no substance to him at all, and therefore a bore to watch, once you got used to the thundering and the gestures. Sighing, he turned his thoughts to the other matter at hand, which refused to let his mind rest.

Letting his eyes sidle to the side of the great chamber, he took in the rather discomfitting sight of the two hefty guards posted by the double doors. They, he noticed with great consternation, were both armed with heavy duty phasers. More troubling was the fact that not one of the party members had been told the reason for the sudden increase in security. Rumor had it that a member of the Brotherhood had been sighted in the area, which further complicated matters. Why?

He racked his brain, trying to come up with an explanation, which was why he barely noticed the small chunk of plaster that landed on his head, bouncing into his lap, leaving a powdery trail. With slight irritation, he glanced upwards. What was the maintenance crew up to?

***

The team huddled around a grate, securing themselves to the ceiling above it. With a nod from the leader, one member pressed a button on the detonator. As the grate gave way with a series of low pops, the team hurled themselves through it.

***

The roof exploded.

He looked up, mouth hanging open with shock at the sight. Six black clad apparitions were currently rapelling down from the ceiling, weapons firing, looking for all the world like little black spiders descending on silk threads towards their helpless prey. Everyone's attention was focused on the six now, even the normally unflappable speaker, who was hyperventilating. The guards at the door reacted, firing with abandon.

They were cut down by precisely aimed beams, fired with deadly accuracy, taking the shots in the head. Blood splattered on the heavy oak doors, forming a crimson splatter, followed by two hollow thuds. Several of the more squeamish politicians were violently sick behind the benches.

And then they were landing softly on their feet, cutting themselves away from those black cords, heading towards the speaker, who was rooted to the spot. Someone handed the leader a black box with a wire attached. The leader methodically wrapped the wire around the neck of the terrified speaker, passing the other end back into the box, which beeped in agreement. Around them, the others were doing the same.

***

Seven of them, running full tilt down the warren of passageways that made up the Haven complex. They didn't care how many alarms they triggered - their objective was thirty meters away. Slam bang in and out. Along with the other six teams.

Kragok tensed, as they approached the heavy doors, the doors he'd seen just yesterday, walking down the passage with Knuckles. He crossed his fingers and hoped he knew what he was doing. Knuckles too.

You'd better remember the plan.

The seven halted in front of the doors. One of them fiddled with a keypad mounted on the door frame, the tinny beeps resonating down the long corridor. The door slid open noiselessly, revealing a metal walled chamber filled with electronic equipment.

***

Moritori gripped the concealed weapon tightly in his palm. The moment was coming - the instant they crossed the threshold he would ram this into his grandson's back. So simple. So quick and quiet and fitting. He moved a little closer, preparing. With a wry grimace, he remembered the last time he tried to stick a needle into Kragok's counterpart, which ended up in an ignominous flight from the medical bays. He didn't need that kind of mistake now.

Then the group moved forward, rushing into the room.

Now!

***

Knuckles could hear the sounds of seven pairs of feet outside the door. They were here. He pressed himself deeper into the little alcove to the side of the door. It wouldn't be long now.

The group burst into the room, Kragok at the front. Nobody bothered to look at his hiding place, not even Kragok, who knew he was there. Well, at least he was smart enough not to do that.

And then he saw something else. It was Moritori, charging towards Kragok's exposed back, a deadly weapon poised to strike. Instinctively, he leaped, exploding forward and upwards, headed directly for Moritori, an angry red streak.

His fist drove into the weapon, which fell from its owners grip, clattering into the wall on the far side of the room and falling onto the ground with a tinkle. He could see Kragok turning around with surprise, see his eyes widen with shock. Moritori shot Knuckles a frustrated look.

And then he was spinning in the air, braking and turning around, facing the group. He glanced at Kragok, who looked grim.

The two of them charged, wading into the other six members of the group, to angry cries of "Traitor!" and "Turncoat!", all directed at Kragok. He concentrated, trying to take them down as quickly as possible, but that, he could tell, was not going to be easy. This was not the usual garden-variety legionnaire - they were tough, trained members of an elite. They would put up a fight.

He aimed a punch at someone's jaw, reacting with visible surprise as his arm was smoothly lifted and tugged at, sending him flying straight at the consoles in the center of the room, which he avoided more due to luck than to skill. On the other side of the room, he could see Kragok engaged in a fight with two others, Moritori among them. Kragok was not doing well at all. Even as an unconscious legionnaire lay at his feet, the other two were systemartically taking him apart, viciously beating him up.

With a snarl, Knuckles leapt again, gliding directly towards a legionnaire, who prepared to dodge. At the last moment, he switched direction with an effortless flick, slamming into his real target with the force of a train. He could hear the soft whoosh of air as his target had the air knocked out of him, and they landed with a bone jarring impact. Knuckles quickly seized his opponent's head and jacknifed it into the floor, slamming it with all the power he could muster - which was considerable.

He stood and sprinted, trying to come to the aid of Kragok, who was currently being repeatedly bashed against the wall by his angry grandfather. Mistake. He was seized from behind, and then he was pinned, lying facefirst on the ground with his arms twisted. Pinned by an enemy he'd turned his back on.

There was an electronic chorus, formed of the voices of four blasters charging.

Two were unconscious on the floor, four were holding weapons.

Not good.

Then there were four blaster discharges, as Kragok and Knuckles winced. Knuckles felt the pressure on his back lighten, and got up in puzzlement, watching the four moaning legionnaires crumple to the floor, just as Xenin and Rykor strode in through the open doors.

'Looks like the cavalry came just in time. We figured you could use some help.'

Kragok and Knuckles eyed each other. There was a mutual respect between them now, replacing the open animosity and hostility. They'd fought on the same side. There was the faintest beginning of trust.

Kragok grinned, exposing his teeth.

'Let's just get these people into the cells, shall we?'

***

The double doors were slammed open, and a trio of angry Guardians entered.

'Vermin!'

That was Sojourner, who was currently leading the group.

'You should have stayed trapped in the zone!'

The three menacingly stalked towards the sunken pit, where a huddled group of terrified politicians were gathered, along with the smirking Dark Legionnaire and his companions. The legionnaire raised a finger.

'Not one step closer, please,' he said, in an absolutely unruffled voice.

He raised one hand, displaying a metal box. The box had an antenna, and several buttons on the surface. One of his fingers was currently clamped onto a button.

'Do you see this? It's called a "Dead Man's Switch" for a very good reason.'

With his other hand, he cruelly lifted a hostage by the box attached to her neck, smiling at her pained statement.

'The instant I let go of this button, the half pound of explosive stored in each and every one of these boxes will go "pop". Not much in the way of fireworks of course, but with rather messy, or should I say misty, results, I should imagine.'

He let the hostage go, sneering as she dropped to the floor, wheezing.

'So I strongly suggest the three of you walk out of this building very slowly, before my finger starts to get itchy.'

***

Remington cradled his head in his hands, moaning, as the room around him filled with chaos. There were frantic status updates, people running out to respond to calls, and people running in in various stages of panic. Most of their communications were inoperable, due to jamming from the Dark Legion, which only exacerbated the confusion. Somehow, knowing of the attack beforehand wasn't enough. The sheer ferocity of it, the size and the scale, was enough to quickly overwhelm their limited, hasty defences. What to do, then?

'Sir?'

His secretary.

'We've just lost the government building. The Dark Legion's taken about twenty politicians hostage, including the Chancellor and several prominant senators. And...'

She trailed off.

'Yes?'

'Well... you'd better come and look for yourself.'

He stood, stretching his aching back, and followed her to the to the wide observation window which stretched from floor to ceiling across the upper floor. He didn't believe his eyes. There were masses of hovercraft, and swarms of ground troops all converging on the EST headquarters. More than he'd ever seen in his life.

Inwardly, he kicked himself. It was a grave tactical error to have paid so much attention to the defenses of the EST. He'd allowed the enemy to take over key positions, secure power, and then converge on the heavily defended parts of the city. There was going to be a titanic, bloody battle - something his inferior numbers wouldn't help.

'Everybody! Initiate withdrawal plan Beta-Kappa now!' He shouted over the ambient noise, which died for the moment as everyone looked at him. Then the noise restarted, taking on an increasingly urgent tone. People started draining out.

***

There was the sound of clapping, metallic, somehow sinister, but undoubtedly clapping.

'Very good performance, seargent. I don't think I could have done better myself.'

And Dimitri strode in, flanked by his personal bodyguards, and trailing a stream of Dark Legionnaires. All the Dark Legionnaires in the room snapped to attention, deferring to him, as the politicians gaped.

'Dimitri? But... you're dead!'

Dimitri swivelled his head, pinning the speaker to the wall with his gaze.

'The miracles of technology are manifest, are they not? Take them to the cells!'

***

Dimitri stood on top of the building, with an aide, looking over the city.

'Report.'

'Yes sir,' said the aide with a subservient, almost grovelling tone. 'So far, 37 out of the possible 41 objective have been taken, with the notable exception of the broadcasting center, along with the Haven complex. The assault on Haven is assumed to be a failure, as leader Moritori Rex is four hours overdue for a report.'

'Well. Perhaps Moritori was not the right choice for the execution of the plan. But, no matter. Perhaps I can make each and every one of the Guardians, and the EST too, absolutely irrelevant. With the support of the politicians... yes. That would work. Bring them to me immediately. Unharmed. And tell the technicians to prepare.'

'Affirmative, sir.'

Then he was gone, gone to carry out his master's bidding. For once, Dimitri gave a satisfied smile, as his gaze roved over every sun drenched building, every towering edifice. Soon, his to control.

Power is the ultimate aphrodisiac. I should know.