The sound of hammering woke General Brent from his sleep and with a grimace; he rose swiftly to his feet as he aide rushed into the room, flicking the lights on as he came.
“Sir, we may have a situation in progress,” he stated, his voice edgy as he practically threw the Generals uniform at him.
With a grimace, he caught the clothes, swiftly beginning to dress, “what kind of situation?”
“NSA reports an abrupt increase in transmission numbers and strengths inside the town. Satellites confirm all the lights have come on at the same time, we’re seeing heat sources in every building and personnel billeted off-base have been arriving and they have not been obeying the speed limits. Analysis suggests it’s a full scale alert of some sort.”
Brent paused a mere moment to send the aide a ‘you think?’ look and then, with a scowl he reached down , swiftly opening his desk, pulling a headpiece from within which he swiftly clipped over his ear and tapped on.
“Fuck,” he sighed after a few moments, “inform the NSA that Xander may be asking for sat time shortly, they need to try tracing all movements of armoured elements within Sunnydale tonight.”
“Worse,” the General pulled a pistol from under his pillo0w, giving a quick visual inspection before sliding it into his holster, “his number 3 in MIA.”
Willy glanced puzzled at the door of the Alibi Room, his hand wiping a greasy cloth around the inside of a glass in a futile attempt to dry it, his ears catching a loud clomping noise that appeared to be approaching the doors. A shadow appeared in the window for a moment then the doors shattered, sending shrapnel flying around the room.
He found his heart beating faster and with a grimace he glanced down as glass rained around his feet, his fist having clenched inside the glass as the doors disappeared making the glass shatter.
He glanced back upwards and swallowed.
The armour might have been apart of a few of his naughtier fantasies, the individual certainly was and he had found himself wondering on more then a few occasions, usually after a beating, what it would be like to be ‘disciplined’ by the Slayer.
The expression on her face wasn’t anything remotely like those that appeared in his fantasies however. Those always promised a good sort of pain, her current expression however just revealed her to be a living embodiment of fury.
She stalked towards him, her armoured boots making the floor creak under the weight, “Willow has gone missing and there are signs she had been in a massive fight. What do you know?”
The words with bitten off, loaded with threats and painful promises and despite his fear, Willy found himself becoming aroused. Nevertheless, he still found himself agreeing with the muttered and heartfelt ‘oh shit’ he heard coming from a polgaran in the corner.
Hell of it was, for once he didn’t know anything.
This, he mused, could be painful.
“I think the shit just hit the fan,”
“You think,” Peck replied sarcastically, glancing from the complex a moment towards Hannibal, “you know, I don’t think now is a good time to go over and say hi.”
“And never will be a good time,” B.A. scowled, “they’re working with the army. We reveal ourselves to them and we may find ourselves handed over to Decker or his replacement.”
“Not likely,” Hannibal frowned, “besides, our contract is Kendra. Kendra works with them and they are definitely protective sorts. They won’t allow us to just return her to her parents without verifying our bona-fides.”
“I still say we should have talked to the armoured babe we saw earlier,”
“No,” he shook his head at Faceman, “there are advantages to getting one of them on their own of course but not when they can casually just reach out and snap you in two.”
“Got a point,” Faceman replied, “but still, I’m not entirely happy with this whole mess.”
“We took a contract, we made a deal,” Hannibal sent a look at Faceman that stated quite clearly that his mind was made up, “and we have never been the first to sour a deal and I don’t think we should start.”
“Ruin our reputation,” Murdoch pointed out, waving the cactus in hands at Peck.
“Our reputation?” Faceman snorted, “Our reps good where it needs to be, just starting to be overwhelmed by the awkward questions.”
“Quite,” Hannibal replied a little edgily, glancing around warily as a tingling feeling settled between his shoulders.
“Something wrong?” B.A. asked, rising to his feet.
“Just…” Hannibal grimaced, “maybe I’m just getting old, but the old soldiers friend really seems to be kicking in right now.”
“Then we need to bug out,” Murdoch replied, “before they come and take Mr Cactus away.”
“Right,” Faceman replied as he began to pack the equipment away, assisted by B.A., “I know better then to ignore that itch…”
The window shattered and small round object appeared on the floor, swiftly pushing out gas.
“…between your shoulder blades. You couldn’t have had it a little sooner could you?”
Hannibal grimaced, holding his top over his mouth and nose with one hand as he carefully edged the door open and glanced out, finding himself looking straight down the barrel of a M4-Carbine.
Giving the glaring figure behind it a weak smile he pushed the door all the way open, “apparently not.”
She came to with a groan and a gasp of pain as she tried to raise herself to her knees once more. She felt more then heard a grinding a bone rubbed against bone in her right shoulder and whimpering, she shook her head.
Slowly, carefully, she rose to her feet, using the workman’s desk for support. Then, keeping her left hand against the wall for support, she moved slowly and painfully deeper into the complex, leaving behind blood and the shattered left arm armour piece to mark where she had fallen.