Futuristic Rage against the dying of the light (fru x arcsteel)

[arcsteel]

Ripley froze a bit at the mention of Jim. She'd already worked out that it would be impossible to bring his body back, which they bloody well should. The tight timer didn't allow for it though, and if she and Silas were to make it they had to leave him behind. Still, it gnawed at her in an unsettling way. Along with everything else, her breathing started to pick up. Rip was usually good at keeping her cool, but this was getting too damn intense. A hint of panic crept into her flickering gaze as she checked around for any immediate threats, before clasping herself to a wire and going down after Silas.

"It's not like I'm stalling, is it?" she mumbled, evident enough to be heard through the comms. The energy was draining from her, and with that her mood would drop. She had to keep it together for a while longer. No way in hell would she go through all of this just to stumble on the finish line. With each jump down the shaft, she swallowed a pained grunt—feeling her legs shake when she pressed her feet against the wall.

"I'm sorry about Jim," she said to no one in particular, trying to keep it together when they passed the floor where he laid dead. "We'll have a ceremony later, guys."

There was silence for what felt like a minute, but probably barely lasted a second before Rex spoke.

"That sounds good, Rip. You get out for his sake, you hear that?" His voice carried badly over the comms, suggesting he was on the move already. He and Jim had been close. Not like her and Doc, but well enough to share some kind of brotherly bond. Being in a Ghost team would do that to you. Others didn't understand the life they were living, and it was impossible not to become close when going through hardships together. Rip herself would miss every single one on her team if she lost them. Well... almost everyone.

As they descended down the shaft, making it past the midsection, a sound she knew all too well echoed as it bounced off the walls—all the way down, making the sound even more threatening. Sweepers. Shit. SHIT!

They were basically trapped in an upright tunnel—one drone filing in from above, and one from underneath. They must've had to calculate how to get in, because they looked huge in the restricted space. Still, there was barely a moment to react before they turned their barrels to them. Rip looked down at Silas, grabbed the wire as she unclasped herself from it, and started climbing past him.

"Take the top one," she said hastily before grabbing his waist to manage her leap. This was nuts, but she didn't have much choice but to draw her blade, load it up and... jump.

The drone from beneath came flying up at a high speed, starting to fire. Rip angled her arclight and screamed as she fell. If it was due to raw exertion, or the fact that she was hit in the upper arm, she didn't even know herself. A moment later, Rip buried her blade into the drone on impact—her whole body aching with the force of being slammed into it. The Sweeper short-circuited immediately, and her blade still sparked as she and it fell to the ground. If she didn't get off, she would most probably die from the fall. And if she made it by some miraculous chance, her death would come when the other one came crashing down—making her a flat pancake between them. So with the very last of her strength, she jumped off, and grabbed whatever she could—in this case some old cables that almost burned through her gloved hands. Only when she heard the drone crash to the bottom, not but three stories down, did she allow herself to look up.

 

[Fru]

The whine of approaching Sweepers filled the tight space too soon, making Silas look up at Ripley. She had noticed it too, and was now climbing past him.

“What the fuck are you—” He didn’t even finish the sentence. For once, what he processed and what he showed was perfectly aligned—exasperation and disbelief. But their chances were slim, and there was no time to get her into other thoughts where she already had grabbed onto his waist. So instead, Silas’ gaze locked onto the Sweeper coming from above.

But he didn’t fire immediately. Instead, he slung the rifle back over his shoulder, pulling the handgun from his thigh holster. Acid rounds of the rifle might just rain down on them. And that was not a risk he could take.

Gunfire erupted in the shaft, deafening in the compressed space. The Sweeper below was firing too, its bullets ricocheting wildly off the steel walls. Some of them hitting the Sweeper above, just like each shot from his handgun.

Click. A hollow sound, and the trigger resistance gave way. He was out of bullets. And the Sweeper was still coming at them. No. Lights flickered, its movement jerky. It was crashing. Tumbling down the shaft, metal screeching against steel walls, it was a miracle it didn’t slam into either of them. Wasting no time, Silas continued the descent, his gaze finding Ripley where she clung to old wires.

“You. Unhinged. Woman.” Each syllable stressed, his voice loud enough to carry both over the comms and through the shaft. Whatever she had planned to do, it shouldn’t have worked. But it did. Illogical.

“Do you need help, or can you get down on your own?” His voice softened, stopping just above her, gaze shifting to the wreckage below, then back to her. Noting yet another wound in her arm, he descended down to her side, offering his arm to help her. Ignoring the fact that his own shoulder was hit—a bullet clean through, blood now darkening the thick jacket.

 

[arcsteel]

From above, the other Sweeper plummeted to its doom, and Ripley clenched her eyes shut as she tried to press herself against the cold wall. Her hands began to slip when her grip threatened to falter along the involuntary shivers running down her arms, further through her trembling fingers. Her breathing came out ragged as she miraculously avoided being hit by the massive drone, and just as the wind of it's fall caressed her side, her eyes flew open. Instead of looking down to see the crash, her wide gaze found Silas instantly, and all she did was hear the deafening boom as the drone hit the other on the ground level. The relief in her breathless little laugh was unmistakable.

Her eyes never left him, this remarkable man who now came to her side. She didn't care if he was angry with her, or that her actions had been so reckless their probability of success had been incredibly low. It worked. It worked! Rip might have outdone herself, spending the last remaining energy left in her, but there was pride glinting in her eyes—slightly squinted from the broad grin underneath the mask as an answer to Silas' comment.

When he asked if she needed help, Rip tried to climb down. She almost lost her grip, wiping that grin right off her face.

"I hate to admit it, but... I guess a helping hand wouldn't hurt." Those words were hard to speak, and it was not without damaged pride that she carefully laid her bleeding arm around his neck, casting a concerned look at his own wound. She took great care to avoid touching it.

"Speaking of hurt," she began, but didn't finish her sentence. Instead, her gaze travelled from his bloodied shoulder up to his face. Silas was a remarkable man, that's for sure. Hanging on to him, slowly helping in whatever way she could with her good arm, she noticed his blue eyes for the first time. Studied them, as if lost in a moment despite the threat still hanging in the air—literally. When their feet met with the ground, reality came back and she remembered herself.
As they got outside, Eric started asking for updates through the comms.
"We're alive, but in need of a medic—heading out. Two Sweepers down. We deserve a fucking medal for this. Or at least a beer," Rip panted, still clinging to Silas as her legs tried to give out.

"Get yourselves back to Rendezvous-3, and we'll see about that beer," answered Eric, with equal amounts of relief and bitterness. Always so cheery. Well, now all they had to do was avoid the other Sweepers, or at least face them where they had a fighting chance, or where Rex could help them out. Easy peasy...

 

[Fru]

“Let’s worry about it later.” His voice was tight. “Or maybe there are more Sweepers waiting for us at the bottom. Then we won’t have to worry about it at all.” With an arm firm around her waist, he took them down the shaft, saying nothing more.

His arm trembled slightly as he detached from the wires, releasing Ripley when they reached the bottom. The wound weakened him, and he didn’t have the same strength or range of motion in his arm. But letting it heal too fast, alongside his previous cut, would raise suspicion. Mildly put.

Emerging from the shaft, he raised the rifle once more, his free arm still supporting Ripley who was still clinging to him. Eric’s response had just crackled through the comms when the first explosive went off. A thunderous crack split the air. Followed by another. And another. The chain reaction of explosions sent shockwaves rattling through the building, shaking the concrete beneath their feet.

A thick cloud of dust and debris erupted from the open elevator doors, swallowing them as they hurried into the old garage. If there were Sweepers nearby, they were hidden in the dust. But they could still see them.

Even through the roar of collapsing floors above, he heard it. That familiar hum. The Sweepers were closing in. Without warning, Silas grabbed Ripley and shoved her behind a concrete pillar. They had barely dived down behind it before the heavy rounds erupted from the obscured Sweeper. Bullets shredded through the dust and into concrete and steel with brutal force. Silas pressed himself against the pillar, still holding Ripley back, as if he was afraid she’d run out from their cover.

“Shit,” he sighed, barely audible over the gunfire. “Anyone got eyes on the garage? I’ll trade my beer for a little help.” He spoke into the comms when the gunfire died down.“If someone can lure the Sweepers out. We can’t see shit in here.” The comms were silent. Silas exhaled, releasing Ripley. He steadied the rifle, as if getting ready to shoot.

 

[arcsteel]

The air became thick with the booming sound of the explosion. Even Rip, who had been expecting it, flinched. The reverberations travelled down the massive building, rumbling into the ground that shook beneath their feet. The wind rattled her jacket, gripping it before bringing the cloud of dust and debris with it to hunt and swallow them. Ripley smiled at first, loving the effect of her art, but then remembered Jim who was left behind in the collapsing devastation. The faint glimpse of happiness drained from her face as she followed Silas, trying to swallow how much pain she was in. She blessed the masks they wore, but could feel the dust creeping into the crevices of her clothing.

She was so tired that the only reaction that came from her when she too heard the sweepers was a furrowed brow. Not that she had much time to do anything anyway, as Silas shoved her away behind a pillar. Huffing, she at least made the effort to press herself against the cold concrete, trying to nudge his arm away. Did he think she was nuts? No chance in hell that she would take a peek around the corner or make a run for it. Honestly, she didn’t even know if she could get up again. Her legs still shook like shy leaves even as she sat down, yet she still grabbed her handgun, and glanced at the two grenades she carried—zoning the others out for a bit.

“We have to move…” she whispered, more to herself than anyone else. The comms were still silent, connection obviously broken for some reason. “The building might collapse into the garage.”

Rip lifted her gaze, looking at the gunfire blasting past on either side of them. At any moment, the Sweepers would circle the pillar. Ripley usually wasn’t one to fear or even think about death, but in this moment it felt so close. Like it was within reach of her, trying to grab her and drag her down. Without thinking, she grabbed one of Silas’ hands, using her other hand to hold the back of the gun to what would have been her forehead if not for the mask. Eyes closed, she took two deep breaths. Only one way out.

“Ripley!” Doc shouted over the comms. Her eyes snapped open. Then the gunfire intensified with a welcome sound. The others had come. They had come for them. Rip almost shed a tear to what could only be described as a symphony. Soon enough, a small part of the team came running, right after the deafening gunfire stopped.

Eric skidded to a stop beside them, hunching down to grab hold of Rip before she could protest. “Let’s go,” he ordered. “Ren, guide us through the underground systems from here. Now!”

Rip didn’t have time to protest, but her gaze lingered on Silas. She didn’t notice Eric’s dark glare at who might very well be the hero of this whole operation. Unable to walk, she jumped up on Eric’s back, still looking at Silas even as they fell into a run. And then, when she saw Doc coming to help Silas, she finally let out a breath that had been trapped in her throat. She wanted to be mad at Eric for ignoring Silas. Wanted to throw herself off him and go back to the one who was the reason she even made it this far. But instead her body gave out.

And all she could think was; Some good damn tech-guy.

 

[Fru]

Readying the rifle, Silas was about to move when Ripley suddenly grabbed his hand. The motion stilled him. His gaze dropped, shifting from their clasped hands to Ripley—gun pressed against her mask, eyes shut tight. Strange. Did she think she was about to die? Yet, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before lifting his gaze again, focusing on the sounds of the Sweepers. Analyzing the patterns, calculating.

A pattern that broke when more gunshots erupted through the building. Doc shouting over the comms. The team arrived, Eric in the lead. His dark glare didn’t go unnoticed. That could become a problem. Silas’ gaze met Ripley’s for the briefest moment as she got onto Eric’s back. For now, they were out of immediate danger. Relief flickered in his eyes. A look that was still visible when Doc’s massive frame appeared at his side.

“On it.” Ren’s voice crackled over the comms. “Take the second left after the stairs. More Sweepers inbound.”

They moved as fast as they could. Five minutes later, the team regrouped at Rendezvous-3. Wounds were quickly bound, stopping the worst of the bleeding. They couldn’t linger, and getting back to base was their top priority. Comms updates rolled in constantly–more Sweeper and MSV-units coming into the area. A clear sign the mission was a success. Yet, their spirits were low. They had lost one of their own.

No more Sweepers found them, and after being led through the underground tunnels by Ren, they were back inside the base. Silas secured Ripley’s rifle before pulling off his mask. Dust had found its way beneath it, streaking across his face, mingling with sweat. Hair was damp and disheveled, breathing heavy. But somehow, he didn’t seem exhausted, his eyes still clear. And those eyes turned to Eric, who wasted no time in having a go at them.

“That was an absolute shitshow. What the hell happened?!” The words were out of Eric’s mouth before he even ripped off his mask. His gaze snapped from Ripley to Silas, as if expecting them both to explain. Then it settled on Ripley demanding answers.