The Worthy Enemy

"Everyone wants to be the hero in their own romantic adventure tale," the satyr continued. "Why do you think Ionfist is doing this? He thinks he'll be the dark savior of all ork-kind. That he'll return us to our savage and respectable roots, restore our legacy from the fourth world."

"I'd think you as a member of the Bloody Tusks would sympathize with an ambition like that," Dawson said.

"I think the tale of the orks in the sixth world can be overcoming evil roots. Of being cultured. Eloquent, and still handy with an axe."

"You could have worked for the Ork Rights Commission instead."

Calista waved her hand dismissively. "Policlubs aren't nearly as spirited as go-gangs are."

"A lot of people have died for the spirit you're trying to bring about," Dawson said severely.

At this, Calista became sterner. "What, you think people wouldn't have died regardless? You think this kind of fight hasn't been brewing for decades? Nobody out there fighting for a gang is an innocent bystander. Tusks, Ancients, Cutters, even Lone Star--they're all volunteers, aren't they? You know what's not a fantasy? Personal responsibility. Anybody who picks up a harpoon or a gun and points it at another person has no right to complain when someone else points one at them."

Dawson could see this was a less than productive line of discussion. "Tell me where we can apprehend Ionfist and I'll try to keep your face from taking his spot on the Most Wanted list."

"Oh no," Calista said, shaking her head. "You're going to do better than that. You get him and all his closest cronies and then you scrap the rap sheet on the Bloody Tusks in San Francisco. Me and everyone else in the colors, we get a clean slate."

"Padre Mendoza deals in second chances," Dawson said evenly, "I'm a little harder to sway."

"Are you?" Calista asked, directing a sidelong glance at her. "Because he told me you're an angel of mercy."

"Do you see wings on my back?" Dawson said with slight menace. Calista laugh-bleated again.

"I can imagine a halo above your head, though a dark one. You have my terms, do you want Ivan or would you rather let him raze San Francisco to the ground while you try to find him yourself?"

She emitted a sigh. This wouldn't be the first time she'd brokered a deal with a devil.

= = =

As she was leaving the church, Dawson got a message on her commpad. Brandt, asking to meet with her as soon as possible. Before she could reply, she got another message.

UnknownUser: There is a robbery happening tonight in west portal. 18th avenue and northminster street. 10 pm.

UnknownUser: Bring your big guns Imp.

Det.Dawson: Pickers?

= = =

The moon was high in the sky. Dawson opened up the cylinder of the Taurus Omni-6 and began feeding in the hollow-point.32s, followed by the dragon's breath.44s. Rather than exploding outward like the magnums they'd release a spray of magnesium shards a split-second after penetration that would burn through anything they touched. She'd traded the three-wheeler for twelve rounds and a speed-loader. If she improvised that might be enough to kill all of these things.

She hoped to have one left over at the end, for the last of these monsters.

Her head was pounding. The call was incessant to this place in West Portal, some kind of chemical storehouse. The sign read something but she didn't feel inclined to commit it to memory. It didn't matter anyway, she couldn't call for backup. No one would trust her. Probably they shouldn't.

Gun in hand she approached the front gate. It had been broken open so there was no need to bite through the links this time. She slipped around the guard house and found herself at the top of a long asphalt decline leading to a rear lot where two box trucks had been parked. Imposters--like her--were ferrying barrels of what looked to be liquid metal reagents out of the small facility. What were they for? Impossible to guess, and irrelevant. They'd be dead soon.

A few tall pole lamps illuminated the yard and she took care to avoid them. Whatever force or presence unified the imposters and kept them working in tandem also made them less aware of their surroundings. And to her relief, Dawson felt no urge to join them. Whatever she was missing, whatever she was lacking, it must have grown more severe since the encounter earlier in the day. She was grateful for that. Grateful for the defect that separated her from these things.

She counted eighteen, recognizing the three whose legs she'd shot out earlier. They seemed to be no worse for the wear, but of the Executive there was no sign. Did a shot to the face take him out? That would have been a boon.

There were no stragglers, none that were isolated and easy to dispatch without drawing attention. And though the.32s were no good for dispatching her targets, they were good for one thing.

She stopped at the corner of the loading dock on the south side and dropped to one knee, closed her left eye and fired five shots in rapid succession. Two hit home in a truck's front passenger side tire, the following three striking the rear on the same side. The reports were followed by the sound of air escaping from punctured rubber and the truck immediately began to lean heavily on the side facing them.

Seven figures looked in her direction. Oh, that had gotten their attention alright. They dropped what they were carrying and began to sprint in her direction, silent save for their heavy footfalls and the jangling of parts of their outfits.

Dawson fled back the way she had come with the pursuers close behind. She twisted around and fired the last.32 in the cylinder, striking a heavy-set ork imposter in the shoulder and not even breaking his stride. Running further she made a show of fiddling with the gun as if trying to reload, then switched the active cylinder and spun around on her heel.

The ork was just six feet from her when she pointed the revolver at him and pulled the trigger. The barrel of the Taurus breathed fire and a red-hot bullet flew forth, striking him right between his beady eyes and turning his head into a bonfire. Flesh burned away and exposed melting bone beneath; no scream came forth as the body collapsed like it was made of wax.

The next four figures coming after her were so broad and stocky that they were little more than target practice to her. Four times she pulled the trigger and four bodies were reduced to flaming tatters. The last two in line were an elf and a troll. She fired her sixth shot at the elf but it was agile enough to duck beneath the bullet and allow it to land square in the chest of its larger cohort which exploded with hot red splinters.

A long, thin blade of red bone erupted from the elf's right arm and swung wide at Dawson's head. She ducked below it with only a few inches to spare, using her free hand to strike the creature in the head once, twice, a third time and succeeding in knocking it off balance.

Fury peaked inside of her and she dropped the gun to grab the elf body by the shoulders. Then Dawson lunged close with her mouth open wide, biting around the monster's neck and tearing it out. A satisfying snap signaled her chewing through the spine in one clean motion. Something thin and oily erupted from the stump left behind as the head tumbled to the ground and the body went limp in her grip.

She spat, using her tongue to brush fragments of bone out of her teeth. Without thinking she retrieved her gun and emptied the shells, stuck the speed loader in and twisted it to restock the chambers.

The sounds of shoes on gravel alerted her to someone's approach. She looked up and saw the Executive flying towards with frightening speed, mouth opened wide. There was no trying to talk her down this time. She'd shown her true colors, such as she had of them.

She pointed the gun at him and pulled the trigger but he twisted to one side suddenly, avoiding the bullet which flew off into the night and ended in a fiery conflagration when it struck the asphalt at the other end of the lot. A spike of bone erupted from the creature's palm and stabbed into Dawson's shoulder; she suppressed the pain and pointed the Taurus at the Executive's offending elbow, pulling the trigger.

Heat and light exploded in front of her, momentarily blinding and deafening her. She found herself on the ground, shaking off hot magnesium shards from her shirt and pants before they could burn all the way through to her flesh below. The Executive had gotten the raw end of their exchange, now missing his arm which ended in a ragged and melted stump. His previously immaculate suit was now covered in hot embers and specks of whatever passed for their blood.

His combat effectiveness severely reduced, the Executive fled back around the building. Just as Dawson was regaining her feet two more imposters replaced him; one she put down with a quick shot to the face but the second, a dwarf, managed to bull-rush her and force her to the ground.

It raised its hands and bent its fingers backwards until they snapped, exposing the sharpened bones below. Then it began clawing at her neck and face; after only a few lacerations she used her knees to throw him off while reaching for the Taurus. It used one of its broken fists to push the gun a few feet away and they continued to wrestle.

Before the contest could reach a conclusion, music began to flood across the lot. The jovial sound of a piano, broadcasted from a pair of speakers.

"I'm gettin' bored... Bein' part of mankind, there's not a lot to do no more... This race is a waste of time..."

Bright light blazed across the asphalt, turning the dim scene of some gruesome robbery into an easily surveilled shooting gallery.

"People rushin' everywhere, swarmin' 'round like flies... Think I'll buy a.44, give 'em all a surprise!"

No! No!! What is she doing here? The silhouette of the armored suit rapidly neared, propelled by its air jets all the way to where the flat-tired truck was listing visibly. A swipe from the dwarf-monster brought Dawson's attention back to the moment and she used one hand to pin its head to the ground, then viciously bit through its neck.

"I think I'm gonna kill myself! 'Cause a little suicide! Stick around for a couple of days, what a scandal if I died!"

Standing and once more retrieving the Taurus, she staggered around the building to see the suit pinning an imposter to the wall. The thumper came up and hit it three times in rapid succession, but in the stomach. Ribs might have broken but the creature continued flailing.

Idiot! You don't know what you're dealing with!

Another one leapt up onto the suit's back and produced a long blade from its left arm. Dawson lifted the revolver and fired a shot; flaming shards split the creature from hip to shoulder.

The helmeted visor twisted to the side to peer at her. Dawson peered back.

Then the horror she was pinning to the wall twisted its body to escape, cracking bone and shedding flesh to get out of the hydraulic grip. It produced a sickle of scarlet and swung at the suit; quickly the riot shield was deployed and a deep groove was left across the surface. Only now did the operator seem to comprehend the situation.

The right fist came up and the railgun fired. A red-hot rod of steel passed through the creature's head, lodging into the asphalt behind where it fell limp.

"A rift in my family, I can't use the car... I gotta be in by ten o'clock, who do they think they are?"

The other truck, the one with all its tires, suddenly took off from the loading dock, the remaining creatures inside of it. As it sped by Dawson she took a knee and aimed for one of its tires, but it was moving too quickly for her to get a bead on it, and she only had one round left. From the back of the box, the Executive stared at her as the vehicle proceeded up the incline and out of the property.

The music continued behind her, getting louder as the source became closer. "I'd make an exception... If you want to save my life! Brigitte Bardot gotta come, and see me every ni-ight!"

Dawson stood up and let the gun fall to her side. She turned around to find the lights of the suit shining on her from just several feet away, deafening music erupting from the speakers.

"I think I'm gonna kill myself! Cause a little suicide! Stick around for a--"

The track was cut suddenly and the only noise was the whirring of its servos, the dull crackle of the most recently fired magnesium round and Dawson's heavy breathing.

She spoke first. "I'm the only one who should be able to pilot that suit."

The modulated voice spoke through the speakers mounted on the shoulders. "And yet someone else is inside of it. Think about what that implies."

"I don't have time to think," she said bitterly. "I was trying to kill all of those things. Now I have to... have to track them down again."

"You aren't going anywhere. Some questions need to be answered."

She bared her teeth, which she was sure gleamed brightly in the light from the diodes. "Says who?"

The suit's helmet retracted into the front and back plates, revealing a head of black hair and sharp gray eyes identical to her own.

"Says you," the woman stated.

She'd suspected... Maybe on some level she'd even known, but to see it was something else. Dawson took a few steps back.

"Don't run," the woman said. "Please. I need to know what's going on. I need to know who you are."

"I'm.." How to even begin? What explanation would suffice? There was nothing, no good answer. Or if there was, she hadn't found it yet.

"I'm nobody," she settled on. "I won't be around much longer. Just need to take the rest of these things with me before I go."

The concern on the woman's face was frightening. The show of empathy was terrifying, for fear it wasn't something she couldn't herself express. "What are you talking about? Don't do anything crazy. Hey, holster that Taurus."

Dawson looked at the weapon in her hand. Her way out of this. She looked back at the woman in the suit. "I don't think magnesium will penetrate the main plates, just give it some artful scarring."

"It's not me I'm worried about," the woman claimed. "Come on, put it down. Talk to me. You look like me, and you move like me. Do you think like me? Then you know what I'm thinking. I want to help you."

Something about the woman's sincerity frustrated her. "Fuck you," she growled. "Fuck you and your damned essence. You did this to me. You... made me you."

"How? How did I do that? What did I do?"

That was a fair question. "I remember... The canal. Blood, on a pylon. Still warm."

"The shrapnel graze on my neck," she conjectured. "That's what made you into... me? I didn't get hit on purpose!"

Dawson had to concede that was probably true. So it had been her own fault, then. Really she'd done this to herself.

"Guess all the blame is mine, then." She brought the revolver up and checked the barrel. Just one.44 round left.

"Hey! Hey! Listen to me!" The woman took a step forward in the suit and Dawson took a step back. "Whatever you're thinking, don't. Just talk to me. Come on! I want to help you!"

"Help me into a lab?" Dawson wondered out loud. "Into an Ares facility where I can be studied?"

"No! You know I won't do that. Fucking hell, if there's anything of me in you then you know that's not what I'll do."

The suit began to whine as the foam padding inside softened and was retracted into the canisters. Dawson took another step back as the arm and leg compartments opened and let the woman step out of the powered armor, revealing her to be wearing a sleeveless shirt and pants. She had no armaments; the suit came with plenty of those.

"Look," she said, "I'm unarmed. You've got the advantage here. You're in control."

Dawson bared her teeth. She could shoot her, take her life. Be Impulse Dawson. Get rid of anyone who asked questions. It was possible. It was what she was made for...

But she didn't want that. The idea of hurting people who she thought of as her friends... As her lovers... It caused her pain. A different kind of pain than resisting the call. If she was different enough to do a thing like that, she didn't deserve to live that life.

"Give me the gun," she whispered. "I want you to live."

Fuck you. Fuck you for making me confused.

Her hand was trembling. There was one shot left inside. Every choice seemed like the easy way out.

Before she could make one, the sounds of sirens filled the night-time air.

"Fuck!" The woman stepped backwards into the open suit which closed around her.

"They can't find me like this!" The helmet slid up into place. "Please! Come with me!"

Dawson switched the safety catch on the Taurus and stowed it in her pocket. "Better get out of here."

"Promise me we'll meet again."

She bared her teeth. "If we're lucky, we won't."

The woman hesitated, but the increased volume of the sirens prompted her to engage the air-jets on the suit and bound away towards the lot's gate.

Dawson started jogging in the other direction towards the rear of the property, where she made a door through the fence with her teeth and escaped into the deepening night.

= = =

Only eight of them returned from the outing. The Executive was now missing an arm, but they carried in their stolen reagents without noise or report. Havelock had to demand an explanation of him.

"What's going on? This isn't nearly enough to produce a wave that will cover the country. We'd be lucky to cover the city, barely bigger than last time. The power cells in here are almost dead, I can't--"

The Executive's stare cut him off. Something hateful was looking at him through those eyes, something of pure scorn and chthonic madness. Good. You look me in the eyes when you're dealing with me, you bastard.

"There have been some setbacks," he stated, quickly adopting his too-wide smile. "A few unforeseen complications. Rest assured, Mister Havelock, we will proceed as planned. Make use of what materials we have acquired. When our... reinforcements arrive, we will resume our expansion efforts."

"How much longer before your identities are compromised?" he wondered.

Even as he was finishing his question, a new arm was sliding out of the stump he'd walked in with, oily red and flexing with small pops.

"If our identities cease to be of use," he said, "We will acquire new ones. Now, Mister Havelock... Be about your work."

= = =

Dawson had explicitly asked to be left alone while she sat in her arm chair looking out of the window at the street, but she only got six minutes of solitude before Alenia appeared and placed her head in Dawson's lap. Rather than push her away, she stroked the elf's head while music played on the stereo behind her.

"You're as cold as ice! You're willing to sacrifice our love! You never take advice... Someday you'll pay the price, I know!"

That face, identical to her own... almost. Those teeth, as pointed as any knife.

"I've seen it before, it happens all the time... You're closing the door, you leave the world behind! You're digging for gold, yet throwing away..."

And her eyes. Like her own. Just like her own.

"A fortune in feelings, but someday you'll pay!"

Where could she run to? How could she word warnings to her friends to watch out for... her?

"You're as cold as ice! Cold as ice to me! You're as cold as ice..."

Avalanche dropped to her knees on Dawson's other side and tried to muscle her head in beside Alenia's, much to the elf's minor annoyance. And where there were two, more would follow...

"Did you ask her?" the troll whispered.

"I didn't have time," Dawson answered.

The door chimed. While the girls took cover at the corner, Dawson turned on the front camera. Brandt was standing in the hallway.

She opened the door and pulled it shut behind her. He looked left and right and, satisfied that there were no surveillance drones nearby, leaned close to her and spoke beneath his breath.