Chapter 22: Extreme Violence
A kidnapped blonde.
An angry rescuer.
A secluded base surrounded by vegetation.
Sounded like a recipe for an ass kicking.
Over the last half hour, Betsy chased Emma’s bond to a fast, apparently automated, one-person jet. Could barely keep up with it in the Blackbird, and shooting the plane down mid-air would hurt, if not kill, a still unconscious Emma. Out of options, Betsy followed it here, to a large patch of wilderness outside of Chicago. While rappelling from the Blackbird and maiming any surrounding hostiles would’ve been fun, Betsy still needed her borrowed ride to get her and Emma home.
Make no mistakes about it: there were enemies here, lots of them. What self-respecting X-Men hater wouldn’t have a posse? After noting where Emma’s jet landed, Betsy circled the Blackbird around and set down a mile away, far enough to be undetected but close enough to use the Bird’s technologies.
Infrared scans showed teams of people--four groups of four with one team accompanied by a dog.
Satellite images painted uneven, tree-filled terrain camouflaging a hillside outcropping. Emma’s tiny jet disappeared into that area.
An analysis of the electrical flow warned of security cameras and all sorts of other no trespassing goodies.
Her telepathic powers would easily disable the armed guards. A quick slip of the knife to the right places would cut power to the joint. In ten minutes she could have this base defenseless and at its knees.
But what fun would that be? She’d already bypassed a chance for extreme violence, but to also ignore a perfect opportunity at covert espionage? Wasn’t happening. Ninjas were stealth personified, and Betsy liked to think of herself as amongst the very best. Been too long since she used the whole of her abilities, and now sounded like as good of a time to move into the base unnoticed.
After all, she had no idea what lay inside that base. Could be anyone from HYDRA to Stryfe. As it stood, Emma had plenty of enemies to choose from.
“Hang on, Emma,” Betsy whispered to herself and over their bond, “I’m coming for you.”
Dark purple Nike track pants and a matching windbreaker--not the average sneaking apparel, but good enough. The canopy and pitch darkness provided ample cover. Thank heaven for the moonless night. Betsy slipped from the Blackbird and melted into the shadows like a ghost.
She took to the trees, silently jumping and diving between them. Her new claws helped, strengthening her grip and allowing her to latch to places she otherwise would’ve had no way to hold onto. No use for breath and no way to tire, she made her way to the base in what had to be record time.
She also ran into her first obstacle: a band of guards, the one with the dog.
They worked well together, moving as one, covering each other’s backs and canvassing their surroundings like true professionals. Each man cradled a submachine gun, the staple MP-5 if Betsy wasn’t mistaken. Their dog sniff away, but Betsy’s demon body provided it with no scent. They had infrared goggles, but she had no heat for them to pick up. Anticipation pumped through the group, their greedy minds straying by the second as this “easy money” job winded down.
Mercenaries. Betsy frowned at the word. She hated these honorless, soulless soldiers of fortune. Anything to get the job done, they did. Anything to line their pockets, they did. They held no allegiances and had no morals.
Fucking Mercenaries. Made killing them so much easier.
Dropping down from her hiding place, she wrapped her thighs around the rear guard’s neck and turned. As she dismounted, her hand grabbed another by the collar and rammed his face into a tree trunk, jarring loose teeth and splintering wood. The dog went next, a swift, merciful kick knocking it out cold. One of the men tried to radio in, but she pulled his combat knife from his vest and slit his throat in one smooth motion.
Pivot. Cock. Release.
The bloody knife found a new home in the last mercenary’s right eye socket.
The battle happened so quick the dog didn’t even get a chance to bark. Betsy ripped one of the radios off a corpse and shoved it in her pocket. Four down, twelve to go. She stayed on the ground this time.
Her next target didn’t take long to find. The mercenaries stayed in shouting distance of each other, sweeping the perimeter in a staggered, clockwise direction. This group proved to be smarter, staying in the security cameras’ lines of sight as much as they could. Wasn’t long before they’d stumble upon their comrades’ remains and sound the alarm.
Betsy had no intention of letting things get out of hand. She closed her eyes and used her psychic powers.
The group’s anxiousness rose, leading to higher heart rates. Hands grew damp from perspiration, and, fearing slippage, they held their guns a little tighter. The fear brewed, clustering into paranoia, curiosity tinted paranoia. What was that in the forest just beyond their vision? What was that sound? Where the shadows moving?
Their group tactics broke down; they strayed from the camera’s range.
“Mike, you hear something?”
“Shush. Ain’t hear nothing if you’re talkin’!”
“Quiet, both of you. Robert, take point. Mike, call HQ and advise them we might’ve found something. Advise Alpha and Gamma teams to converge.”
Show time.
A psi-blast rendered the person radioing in catatonic. Betsy glided from the shadows and raked her talons across the leader’s neck. Her foot smashed into another’s jaw, propelling his unconscious self into the bushes. The survivor tried to bring his gun up and fire, but his sweaty palms made him fumble a split second, enough time for Betsy to snare his weapon, drag him to the ground, and pin him down using the MP-5’s strap as leverage.
She flexed her claws in his face. “How do I get inside?”
The captive considered yelling for help, but his captor’s feral grin and gory claws stifled his reaction. He decided to stay silent.
“I’m only asking you to be nice, luv. As you can see, I’m a mutant, and my devastating good looks aren’t my only ability.”
Brave till the bitter end. “Go to hell, you freak.”
Betsy’s eyes clouded. “After I pull all the info I want from you, I can turn your mind into a four year old’s. Make it easy on yourself. How do I get inside?”
He spat at her. “You’re bluffing.”
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
Her fingers closed around his temples and he struggled for breath. Choking sounds died in his throat as his body shivered. Blood trickled down his nose. After a gasp, he stilled and Betsy removed her hands.
Someone named Attrior hired these mercenaries to protect this military research installation from mutant attack. They’d been here for three weeks and no one saw signs of the military, much less a researcher. Two ways in: through the landing zone in which small planes would occasionally touch down or through a reinforced steel door leading directly to the security room responsible for the outer perimeter. They knew more things lay inside the sprawling complex, but mercenaries were never allowed to venture into it. A curious merc tried exploring once, but no one heard from him ever again.
The radio she stole squawked.
“Bravo team, come in Bravo team.”
So they checked up on their squads--smart, professional people these mercenaries. Of the many talents the Hand graced her with, Betsy’s least practiced one was voice mimicry. Life as a frontline X-Man combatant didn’t call for the ability, and she found herself using it more as a novelty than every day tool. To Scott’s never ending embarrassment, he could attest to that. However, right now, mimicry came in handy.
The bastard Matsu’o was onto something when he said assassins should exploit modern weaknesses with ancient methods.
Betsy cleared her throat and held the radio close to her mouth to distort the sound. “Bravo team here,” she said in her best gruff male imitation, “All clear.”
“Copy that, Bravo team. Checking back in fifteen. HQ out.”
Fifteen minutes, huh? She dumped her current radio and picked up one from the newly dead unit. Had to move to cut off the next group. Eight down, eight to go. She kept working in a counter-clockwise direction relative to the base, and soon enough, she met her next victims.
Had to be fast. Fifteen minutes. Fourteen now, and counting. No time to be stealthy or subtle with this bunch. She came at them from the side.
“Catch.”
The mercs turned at the word and Betsy’s radio rocketed from the bushes, thrown with so much force the antenna embedded itself into a skull. Next charged Betsy, tackling the only woman of the group to the ground. Psylocke grabbed her opponent’s MP-5 and pulled the trigger without looking, shooting both of the men behind her in their chests. A second later, the butt of the gun screamed into the last mercenary’s face, producing a menacing crack.
A radio, the one she lifted off the previous squad and used as a weapon, squawked.
“Delta team, this is HQ, come in Delta team.”
Betsy ripped the offending device from a man’s forehead. “Delta team reporting. Possible disturbance sighted. Investigating. Advise other teams.”
“All other teams reporting to Delta team’s position. HQ out.”
She swapped radios again, this time taking the one belonging to the woman. Despite not liking guns, Betsy looped a fresh MP-5 onto her shoulder.
Wasted precious on that fight and foraging, but it was necessary. Twelve and half minutes now, and the last team was still a ways off. Betsy took to the trees and skipped over underbrush which would’ve slowed her. Eleven minutes, and right on top of the final group. They happened to be close to the entrance by the time Betsy encountered them.
A lone camera, perched atop the steel door entrance, stared at the remaining team as they waded through bushes. Strange for a door to be built into the side of a hill--not to mention costly--but it sure was secretive and easily tenable.
Ten minutes, forty three seconds. Luck was on her side--ahead of schedule and still undiscovered.
Steady. Aim. Fire.
The three-round burst disabled the camera. The squad looked up in surprise, in time to be riddled with bullets.
“Alpha team! Do you copy?! Shots fired in your vicinity!”
Betsy dropped down and snatched a radio from a body. Once more pretending to be a man, she said, “Alpha team here. Spotted the enemy.” Grinning, she pulled the other radio from her pocket and returned to her feminine voice. “Delta team responding. Moving out.”
“Stay alert out there. HQ going into radio silence.”
Perfect. She waited two minutes, fired randomly into the forest, slinked her way to the metal door, and hid behind a tree about ten feet to the side of the door. Seven minutes left.
“HQ, this is Alpha team. Intruder captured and returning to base. Open up.”
Open up it did. Two men walked out and looked about, confused at not seeing their returning comrades. Confusion turned into terror when a cold chill seized their throats. They fell onto the wet ground, and as much as they wanted to yell for help, no sound escaped their lips. Last thing they saw were slender feet slipping into the base and the door closing.
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- To be continued...
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