(M) SCAR: The Beginning The End(IC) (H)

[DB.]

Aaron stared into his rifle's scope as both Claire and Vee walked ahead, aiming in the direction they were walking in until they were out of sight. He sighed, there was nothing there, the place was like a ghost town. Well, except the ghost part, but more or less the same. No movement, nothing at all.

Then an explosion sounded out; coming from the direction Claire and Vee went in. Tightening his grip on his rifle Aaron looked in every direction, not seeing anything, but soon both of the operatives were rounding the corner and heading straight for the Deathstrike.

When they reached there and turned on the radio broadcast the only thing Aaron yelled was, "Fuck!" He wasn't even sad, he was pissed. He still stayed on the roof of the helicopter, looking through the scope just in case., they could've sent someone to take them out or something.

Aaron glanced over at Shane. "Shit, why does she have to be in this too," he thought. None of the operatives did anything wrong there, but it seemed that even super secret super powered killing machines were expendable. Something they could use up and throw away; but they were going to make them pay, sweet sweet revenge.

[The Gypsy Queen]

Vee's ears were still ringing from the explosion and the familiar surge of adrenaline in her veins was no comfort. She waved away the healing hands of one of the newcomers and forced herself to stay standing, in spite of the throbbing in her head. She'd forgotten what real pain felt like, pain that hadn't been dulled by adrenaline and drugs.

But more than the pain was the sickening feeling of nausea creeping up her legs, that deep, sinking realization that this was real and she was not dreaming. She stumbled away from the group.

How many men and women were stationed at Three Mile Island? She'd been there only hours ago. It was the only home she had left, the last place where she felt safe... where she felt normal. Friends, comrades, coworkers... the last family she had. Gone. In the blink of an eye.

Her stomach lurched and she topple to her knees, head swimming in a sea of lead. She heard someone retching, and only realized it was her when she tasted the bile in her mouth. She felt hands on her back and knew they were Chase's, a small comfort in a world that had just become cold and dark.

Claire slowly rose to her feet, thanking Baket and kissing Malcolm on the cheek. Turning toward Vee, she could hear Lyrico’s voice coming from behind her.

“Heheheheheheheehe. What you gonna do Claire? You can’t tell me what to do anymore!” his voice had an evil sneer to it and Claire turned sharply and glared at him.

“Not now Lyrico,” Claire tried to keep her voice steady, not wanting to lash out at him. Turning away, she walked towards Vee. The moment she did, it felt as though two hands boxed her ears. She doubled over and felt Lyrico’s spectral hands around her throat. Claire was pulled sharply form the ground and she began to gasp for air.

“YES NOW!!!” Lyrico screamed at Claire and squeezed her throat harder.

Chase was the first to react, tossing one of his knives at Lyrico with lightning reflexes. What Chase couldn’t see was the invisible hand reaching for the knife. It grabbed it and threw it back at Chase, hitting him in the eye. The knife went deep and Chase fell backwards.

Before his body even hit the ground, Vee had pulled her gun and squeezed the trigger. And as he lay and began to twitch, she squeezed again, not even registering the Glock's bark as she stormed over to Lyrico, ignoring the gaping holes in his chest, steaming in the cool fall air. She grabbed him by the collar before he could fall and pressed the muzzle of her Glock to the side of his head, the hot metal sizzling against his skin. She pulled the trigger again, releasing his collar and letting him fall in a spray of blood, brain, and bone.

She turned and tore back to Chase, still twitching on the ground. The reaction had been immediate, trained, precise. She'd done it because it was what she was trained to do - eliminate the threat. It wasn't until she was back at Chase's side that the reality of what had just happened sank in, down through her neck and chest and stomach, down her legs and feet, pulling at her bones and tearing at her heart.

" No." she whispered, grasping at Chase's armor desperately, pulling at it. " No." she repeated, tears welling in her eyes as she reached for the knife in his head before recoiling in horror. " No. No no no. No..." she whined, shaking him. He didn't respond. Her hands curled into fists and she pressed them against his chest, pounding. " No don't do this please I don't want this this isn't what I wanted no please no..." she rambled desperately, thumping her fists against his chest, a low moan escaping her lips when nothing happened. " No, please, please! No! This is a dream!" She sat back, away from Chase, hands moving to slap her face, eyes squeezed shut. She stopped after a few slaps, opening her eyes again. She stayed like that for what felt like forever, staring at the stark and bloody reality laid before her.

It was only then that she screamed, a long, dry, horrified scream, and let herself fall, draping her own body over his and clinging to his armor, like a woman drowning.

(co-op with Naz)

[StormWolf]

That piece of trash Lyrico wasted no time in hounding the wounded group with his childishly cruel remarks. Malcolm was still in something of a daze, letting the reality of it all sink in. Sammael's screaming was not helping with the buzzing already going on in the world around them. The Chaplain was too slow. By the time he had realized what was going on, before he could instill some kind of order with his fists and his harsh voice, two operatives died.

Malcolm just stood there, face blank and emotionless, but his eyes were a visage of bottled madness, rage, and confusion. He just stared blankly at the body of Lyrico. Only one thought going through his head; Why didn't I pull that trigger?

The Chaplain barely even remembered the kiss on the cheek. The world was falling apart around them. There was no time to mourn, no time for pity. Not even time for love. Was there even time for Faith? Malcolm doubted it, and that made a ball of ice settle in the pit of his stomach.

"Be quiet Vee." Malcolm said in a voice that was deep and cold as he walked over to her. "Howling won't bring him back, no matter how much we wish it would." He put a hand on her shoulder, slowly pushing her aside so the Chaplain could remove the knife from Chase's eye socket. Malcolm closed his comrade's good eye and crossed Chase's hands over his cadaverous chest before yanking off Chase's dog tags and and stuffed them in a pocket.

Staying crouched at a knee, Malcolm muttered a prayer for Chase's soul, putting in a good word for him. Tracing a cross on his chest, Malcolm stood and went over to Lyrico, removing the psychopath's dog tags and stared at the plates of metal in his hands for a long while. With a small sneer, the Chaplain cast the tags into the mud, taking Lyrico by a handful of hair, whispering into the corpse's ear.

"You hear me, you son of a bitch. Burn. I hope Lucifer flays the very skin from your bones and lets all of his hounds rape your soul for all eternity. I condemn you to the deepest Ring of Hell. There will be no retribution for you, Lyrico. My greatest regret was that I could not Smite you myself. I'll see you in Hell." With that, Malcolm smashed what was left of Lyrico's head into the mud.

The Chaplain started to pace, his stomach filling with acid and his blood with liquid fire. Sammael's howling of betrayal was maddening. Vee's weeping was to Malcolm like rain over a boulder. Claire's stare even glanced off of Malcolm's steely hide.

"We need to get out of here...." Malcolm said in a deep croak of a voice. "There is nothing left for us to do here...." Malcolm looked Claire in the eyes, that softness he had when looking at her but hours ago was gone. Only that eerie hardness, that ironclad leadership and that merciless determination and will. "Claire, we need to get to the safe house."

[Ryudo]

Marc watched as his projection moved ahead unhindered, everyone was hard at work, and as much as he regretted admitting it that Shane girl was right, something definitely was out of place. There was a complete lack of unnatural monstrosities, which for any sane person would be a good thing, but not for S.C.A.R. agents, no a lack of things that can kill you in the blink of an eye is a bad thing.

Looking down the street again with even less interest then before Marc proceed to let out a belabored sigh, what I wouldn’t give for a little bit of action. He let his mind continue to wander as he kicked a rock that was near his foot, not so long ago he had been more popular then he could have imagined, the One Man Ar-

Marc froze in his tracks, his projection had just been hit with a massive force, suddenly Marc heard an enormous crack and he braced himself for impact. The advanced warning from his astral copy allowed Marc to remain on his feet, but the impact of the wave left Marc a bit disoriented. After a few seconds Marc was heading back to the Deathstrike, primarily out of instinct, when he saw that everyone was gathered listening to what he presumed was the radio. Drawing closer Marc listened to the entire report intently. When it finished he looked around at the group and saw there reactions; it looked like Claire was about ready to die on the spot, while others showed a variety of emotions ranging form rage to sadness.

Marc was perhaps the least affected of the group, and while he put on a show of being hurt, in reality his mind was merely mulling over the facts. To Marc his life had already come to a screeching halt when he had been abducted by S.C.A.R. and forced out of the lime light. In actuality, infamy wasn’t that different then being famous, would it have been so hard for them to mention the ‘other agents’ by name? Or even mention that one of the suspected perpetrators was the handsome One Man Army?

“Fucking journalists.” Marc muttered, a few nodded in agreement, though for much different reasons then Marc. He knew that everyone else was attached to Three Mile Island in some special way, for Marc, the only memory that Marc had of that damn place were of a few one night stands, and even those were fuzzy at best.

Marc waited a few more moments for everyone to mope, just as he was about to take charge himself he heard the little soldier speak. Marc didn’t listen very closely to what Lyrico was saying, he was a glorified child, and Marc didn’t like children. Marc was brought back to reality quite harshly when he heard the gunshots, the scene unfolded before Marc at lighting speed, when all was said and done Marc surveyed the scene; Chase appeared to be dead, Vee was shrieking, Lyrico’s limp corpse had been cast into the mud, and Claire appeared to be on the verge of shouting at Malcom, the world had just broken and Chaos had come forth.

Since Marc seemed to be the only person with his wits about him he walked over to Claire,

“Look, Malcom’s right, we need to get the fuck out of here now!” He paused, Claire continued to stare daggers at Malcom, “Look, there will be plenty of time for couples therapy later, right now we need to get out of here!”

"I would really suggest," Claire forced a smile, still glaring at Malcolm, her tone angered. "That you keep your comments to yourself Marc."

Marc nodded, “Duly noted,” Marc hid his own anger very carefully, as far as he was concerned Claire was still his leader, and he would follow her orders, even if they weren’t necessarily the best choices,

“So what’s the plan then?”

[John]

Claire was horrified. The events of the past few minutes were upsetting to say the least. Given that she had lost two of her team members she had reason to be upset. But her true revulsion came from Malcolm’s treatment of the situation. He had wanted her to find religion when they were in Rome. Claire regained her faith, but this wasn’t what it was supposed to be like. But the thing that bothered her most, was the way he treated Vee. Claire glared at Malcom as he spoke to her about the safe house. And now that Marc had finished, Claire had a friend to help.

“Fuck you,” Claire sneered at Malcolm and turned towards Vee, walking over to her cautiously.

“Vee, I’m so sorry,” Claire’s tone had a sadness to it. She truly did feel sorry for Vee’s loss. Vee had saved Claire’s life and was truly grateful, but perhaps, she thought, the cost had been too high. Claire didn’t hate Chase. She didn’t blame him anymore for what had happened to their mutual friend. It was just hard for Claire to be around him. And now she felt truly saddened.

Vee snapped away, her face twisted into something between revulsion and hate.

" Don't fucking touch me." she snarled, eyes wide and wild.

Claire put her hands up in a defensive stance, her eyes turning black. She didn’t try to calm Vee down. She was only wanting it in case Vee attacked. And given that Vee had been so abhorrently treated by Malcolm, there was every possibility she would.

“Vee, I’m sorry,” a tear rolled down Claire’s cheek. “Please calm down. I need you. Please don’t let this consume you.”

He'd taken the knife out. You weren't supposed to take the knife out. Had Malcolm killed Chase? And the dog tags. Chase needed those. Every soldier needed his dog tags. Who was he without his dog tags?

Vee’s muscles coiled as she prepared to attack, but a small part of her resisted, some tiny part that was still sane and rapidly losing ground.

Claire could sense Vee was preparing to attack. She could tell that Vee’s rage was directed at Maloclm, and rightfully so. He was lucky that Claire hadn’t broke his nose. Something that was only prevented by Marc’s sticking his nose in. But still, Claire knew that Malcolm wouldn’t stand a chance against Vee.

“Vee listen to me,” Claire pleaded with Vee. “Mal’s an insensitive prick who deserves every ounce of the ass kicking that you want to give him, but we can’t turn on each other now. So if you have to attack someone, attack me. Really everything that happened here is my fault anyway. So hit me Vee.” Claire stood perfectly still, waiting for the attack. She had no intention of letting Vee hit her. But maybe she could wear Vee out. Still, she was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

Vee turned her gaze back on Claire and her rage suddenly boiled down to something cold and hard inside her, a small pinprick, sharper and more precise and more ferocious than anything she'd ever felt before. It was base, primal, purified rage.

" Give me his dog tags." she said, voice blank and eyes dead.

Claire walked over to Malcolm and reached into his pocket. Removing the dog tags, she slapped Malcolm in the face and then walked back over to Vee. Claire stood in front of Vee and handed the tags towards her.

“Anything you want Vee,” Claire’s voice was quiet.

Vee took the dog tags and walked back over to Chase's body. Once there, she sat next to him, silent and still. Finally she removed the five dog tags from her own neck, undid the chain's clasp, and added Chase's. She replaced the chain, Chase's name glistening prominently over her heart. Then, she stood, working her hands gently under Chase's shoulders. He was too big for her to carry, so she began to gently pull him back to the Deathstrike, moving slowly and methodically.

Claire moved quickly to Vee and placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Vee,” Claire kept her voice hushed and her eyes retuned to normal. “We can’t take the Deathstrike. It had a tracking device in it. As soon as we fire it up we’ll be easy to find. Let me help you bury him.”

" I am burying him." Vee said coldly.

Claire nodded her head and picked up Chase’s legs to help put his body on the Deathstrike. She knew what Vee must be thinking then. It was a logical conclusion after all. Claire was going to have to blow it up.

" Don't touch him." Vee's voice was cold and quiet, but the slight snarl that raised her lip was evidence to what she was feeling.

Without a word, Claire placed Chase’s legs gently on the ground. She understood how Vee was feeling right now. And Claire wanted to let Vee do things her own way regarding Chase. Claire moved away form the Chopper and closer ot the group. Reaching into her boot, she removed her cell phone, sighing with relief that it hadn’t been broken during the explosion. The padded case, along with Claire’s boot had protected it. Normally using a cell right now would be a bad idea. But this wasn’t the SCAR issue phone. This was Claire’s personal phone, and SCAR didn’t know about it. Turning it on, she scrolled through the menu, stopping at the name Charlie. She pressed the call button and held the phone to her ear.

“Hi this is Charlie,” it was a woman’s voice on the message. “I can’t take your call right now so leave a message.” The phone beeped and Claire started to talk.

“I don’t know if you have seen the news,” Claire’s tone was cold. “But I’m coming to Detroit. I really need your help.” Claire hung up the phone and then turned her attention to the group.

“Okay,” Claire tried to sound professional, but the sadness was evident in her voice. “As Malcolm said, there is a safe house in Detroit. Unfortunately, we can’t take the Deathstrike, so it means we are going to have to hike for a bit. The nearest town is thirty miles away.” Claire glanced around, noticing that it was nearing dusk. The sun would be setting in a couple of hours.

“None of you have to come with me,” Claire looked down at the ground. “But I really think this is our only option. I have a friend named Charlie, she can help us get out of the country. I need to radio England and see if The Campus is still standing. I’m hoping because they pulled out of the treaty, they won’t have been affected by this.” Claire paused for a moment to take a breath. She was about to start speaking when her phone rang. It made her jump, because she really wasn’t expecting Charlie to phone back, but more importantly, everyone who had this number other than Charlie and her brother, were dead. Claire looked at the name which read Karen and she clicked the button. Could it be possible that they weren’t the only operatives who survived? Claire held the phone up to her ear and spoke.

“Hello?”

(co op with Gypsy)

[Yoruyonaka]

Blood, blood, blood. Lots of it. A bomb. A man stood over a dead body. A gun shot, boom, down went another. Why was it them? Why did it have to be them? Again? Charlie's eyes shuddered awake. Her face was on the counter in the bar. This only happened when there was activity with demons. In this case, Charlie knew the worst. Her brown eyes glanced up to see a group of spectators murmuring. They appeared worried.

"Ah shit, Charlie!" A man yelled getting through the crowd in the bar. "You have a faint spell again?"

Charlie brought her gaze on one of her waiter. Her only waiter, Dean. His short spiky brown hair, gray blue eyes, and casually clothes. Plus is abnormal senses for when she blacked out. Although, it had only been lately that they have been more frequent. Dean knew about some things supernatural. Like vampires, werewolves, ghosts, and psychics, but, Charlie could never tell him about the more horrible things that made a bump in the night. Heck, if he knew that those comics he read were true, he'd probably piss himself. She also didn't want to put in danger the only friend she has. It would kill her.

"I'm fine, Dean," Charlie said rubbing her forehead. "I just took a shot of my own goods, you know, the good stuff from Scotland."

He understood well enough that is was a lie to get everyone to calm down and return to their drinks. "Jeez, calm down on the drinks," Dean laughed. "These guys might get pissed off if you have all your inventory of Scottish rum."

Some of the older guys playing pool laughed loudly. "Hey I promise I am only slightly buzzed," Charlie replied. "I don't want any of you to lose respect for me and not come back to buy more booze. The Avalon Pub would go out of business."

The whole bar shook with laughter then went to the normal routine. Loud conversation and a whole lot of liquor. The name of the bar. Oh how that name stung Charlie. Why she punished herself with the name? Well, it was to remind her that nothing will ever be safe. Ever. Even the bar she made, with help of Dean. Her new horrific vision was evidence of it.

"Claire," Charlie muttered quietly. "What the fuck did you get yourself into?"

So the night went as usual. Mint schnapps here, giant jugs of beer here. What more was there to a bar? Oh yeah, the only two things on the food menu. Charlie's famous bacon-mac n cheese and chocolate souffle. Everyone around Detroit loved it. Who cares if it was the only two things Charlie could cook well, they were absolutely to die for. Well, hopefully not to die for. So, from going to the bar, checking on the pot of pasta, and baking souffle, the night was calm. Of course, the only thing that could possibly disrupt the entire night would be the vision being utterly true and that this whole life of running and hiding would end. As closing time finally came, Dean locked the door and stood in front of Charlie at the bar counter.

"What was it Charlie?" Dean's eager stare made her sigh.

"Not tonight, I'd prefer we talk about this after I slept," Charlie said.

"But-"

"No!" Charlie yelled, but managed to lower her voice only to a command tone. "Just go to your apartment. Stay safe. You have the gun and silver bullets right?"

Dean nodded patting his jacket pocket. "Like always," Dean's face was filled with worry. "All right, I guess I will see you tomorrow. You be safe too. Though it might be easy seeing how we built the place."

With that, Dean left the bar. With that, night time lock down began. Running to the door she locked it and flipped the open sign to closed. The poster of of a man holding a jug of beer flipped over to show a Devil's Trap. Carved throughout the bar were sigils that prevented a demon's entry. Under the giant carpet circle Charlie had at the front door was a Devil's Trap carved in the wood floor. Not only that, but Charlie managed to make most things that were metal in the bar be actual silver. A little help with her ability did the trick. Not only that, but she had silver implanted around the entire bar like a circle. Basically ghost free. The windows were even made with holy water. Nothing could get in. And if it did, Charlie would have guns at the ready.

Giving a huge yawn, Charlie went to the door to her basement. The area that was the most difficult to break in for any supernatural thing. Down there were her weapons, first aid, armor against your typical werewolves or demons, and bunks for those who needed a place to stay. She checked the lock, then made her way to the door to the upstairs. Walking tiredly to the apartment above her bar, Charlie tried to block the thoughts of her vision. The stress of staying hidden alone was eating away at her each day. Flipping on the TV, some good movies might make the days horrors go away. Luckily for her, the news was the first bad news.

After the broadcast told of a Secret Government Facility being destroyed, Charlie's panic only began. Jumping from her couch, she ran to her bedroom. Going through one of her drawers, she pulled out three cell phones. One specifically as Dean's hot line, the second for those in need of safety, and three.....Claire's. She had given Charlie the cell phone the last time they saw each other. Charlie never forgot. The thing had Claire's special number and that alone. Turning it on, Charlie prayed and prayed she was wrong. That this was not involving what she knew it was......

One new voice message.

“I don’t know if you have seen the news,” Claire’s tone was cold. “But I’m coming to Detroit. I really need your help.”

Charlie could barely breath. The lack of oxygen was the least of her worries now. Claire and who group were in a shit load of hell. It was her sanctuary they needed. Clicking the send button on Claire's number, Charlie's heart beat at a humming bird's pace. The call immediately went to voice message though. Charlie sighed. Claire must have turned it off or was on the other line, so, Charlie would have to relay everything perfectly.

"Hey, Claire, its me...Charlie," She began. "I know what's going on. I will help, because I made that promise to you. I owe you. However, don't expect that I will keep you all safe if you don't listen to these instructions exactly. When you get to the nearest town, which is a long hike from where you are, I want you to go to a Grey Hound Bus station. Luckily there is one there. At a motel near the station, I will have a room for you, room 0421. I need you, Claire, to go with one male and pretend your me and my boyfriend Sam. It's code and they know it, but don't say anything else other than you need the room. In there will be citizen clothes. There will be a giant pile so don't worry about sizes. You can thank the nearest homeless shelter. Put on normal clothes and put all the armor and weapons in the suitcases available.

Next step is to go to the Grey Hound Station, there you will give me a call. I will buy you tickets to Detroit and then more directions to my safe house. The most important thing you need to know, if the police are after you and find you, things will get more difficult. Watch your back. If your caught, you may be out of luck. If you get this message you can call or text me that you understand. It's good to hear from you again, Claire. Stay safe."

Ending the message, Charlie took a deep breath. There would be no sleep for her tonight. Only the pressure that now formed on her chest. Her brown eyes glanced up at the ceiling, and she wondered...What the hell have I got myself thrown into?

[Cookies Ahoy]

Kristy was sitting against the Deathstrike's landing gear listening to the news. She'd been silently listening, others had something to say, but she didn't feel the need to speak. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and flipped through a few pages trying to find the television program. Once she found it she changed to the news channel where a picture displayed the ruins of Three Mile Island. A reporter began restating what she had already said earlier, obviously not much info was known about the incident so they could only reiterate their known information. A mug shot of Claire appeared in the corner of the screen. Some yelling was starting to build up away from the Deathstrike. Kristy figured there would be fighting after what had just happened, but when screams and shots were heard she immediately jumped to her feet, tucking the phone away.

Arguments were starting up, and things were falling apart it seemed like. Two operatives were dead. Claire was having words with Malcolm, and also trying to comfort Vee. Kristy watched the events unfold, a sick feeling in her stomach started to form. She looked up the ramp of the Deathstrike, Claire was going to destroy it, but there were somethings they could take from it. Kristy stepped inside finding the survival kit that was underneath one of the passenger seats, then she opened a small door labeled 'maintenance'. She pulled a small tank of priming fluid from the hatch.

With the tank of flammable liquid in hand she approached Lyrico's body. She started to pour the fluid on what remained of him. Kristy didn't care what the others thought. She felt that he still needed a burial. Kristy did the deed silently, not looking back to see if anybody cared to see what she was doing. With the tank empty, Kristy pulled a lighter from the survival bag, and lit the carcass. She didn't know what to say, or if she should say anything at all, after all, he had been the one that killed Chase. Kristy remembered reading from a book that Claire had given to her during her training. It was about people that possessed psychic abilities, there was a passage on people's minds actually driving them to madness. Kristy felt she had to give Lyrico the benefit of the doubt, it wasn't her job to pass judgment. She left without saying a word, only pausing to pick up the survival bag in case they ended needing anything from it, such as the first-aid kit.

[Mysteria]

Shit was falling apart and it was happening too damn fast. Even the operatives were losing control but Shane couldn't blame them. Shane herself was feeling a bit numb and even when Claire slapped Malcolm it hadn't phased her. Shane had felt that or at least something similar would have happened to Malcolm sooner or later, she just hadn't been certain that it would happen by Claires own hand.

“Look, Malcom’s right, we need to get the fuck out of here now! Look, there will be plenty of time for couples therapy later, right now we need to get out of here!” Marc had yet to impress Shane. He just didn't get it. And the fact was he had better learn to face and do it damn fast that he was one of them now, he was in Claires group and all of their asses were on the line, even if they hadn't asked for it. Shane walked by Marc as though he didn't exist the only indication that she even knew that he was there was the stoic look on her face as she passed by him, staring him directly into the eyes. If looks could kill he would have dropped on the spot.

Lyrico had deserved everything that he had gotten as far as Shane was concerned but Chase, that was a totally different matter. Chase had been her friend and now he was gone. Vee was her friend but at this moment in time Shane knew that there was nothing that she could say or do to help. All that she could do would be to wait for another time to talk to Vee. Instead Shane moved to the deathstrike to say her goodbyes to Chase in her own way.

Not wanting to upset Vee she simply laid her hand on her shoulder and said "When you need me I will be here, until then I need to say goodbye to Chase before you do what needs to be done." Shane offered a smile to Vee hoping that Vee would understand she simply wanted to say goodbye to Chase and that Vees own inner turmoil would allow her to not prevent Shane from saying goodbye.

Vee leaned her shoulder down, letting Shane's hand slide off, then stepped away, crossing her arms over her chest and staring at the Deathstrike. Her expression was blank, but she didn't try to stop Shane.

A moment of quiet understanding passed between the two women and Shane stepped up to Chase, and although she had never been able to touch Chase while he was alive Shane now rested her hand over his heart as a tear rolled down her cheek. Chase had been a special type of person albeit a bit different and he'd had Shane's respect and friendship in the short time that they had known each other.

Shane leaned down kissing him on his forehead and whispered "Vaya con Dios, mi Amigo. Some day we shall meet again." Shane turned and nodded to Vee then walked away passing Kristy and the burning body of Lyrico. Shane felt nothing for Lyrico's death. What he had done had been wrong and there was no arguing that point but Shane had always felt him to be mad to begin with. Why he was the way that he was wasn't for Shane to judge. It wasn't her job to judge him or anyone else. She remembered what her mother had taught her to never judge unless you yourself wished to be judged.

Shane moved over to where Aaron was standing her eyes catching his briefly. In that moment everything that she was thinking and feeling passed between them. Shane stood beside him saying nothing for the moment because she knew if she were to speak to him, if she even tried to utter one word to him she would end up in tears with her head on his shoulder. No matter how badly she needed him now, it wasn't the time or place for it. Instead she stared at the ground biting her lip loosing the battle against the tears that were trying to push themselves out of the corners of her eyes.

She could only hope that he wouldn't realize how close she was to loosing it.

{with input from mah beautiful queen}

[Auki]

She had heard the first broadcast just fifteen minutes ago. Now they were just repeating the same information for any that bothered to tune in.

“…For those of you just joining us, approximately one hour ago, a secret government facility at Three Mile Island was the target of a terrorist attack. A nuclear device was set off, levelling the facility. It is doubtful that there were any survivors though we can only hope. The president had this to say.”

Karen sat in the corner of the café, propped on one of its many plastic chairs, her legs crossed on the seat. Her arms were folded on the table before her. Hearing the news report, she allowed her head to land upon them, the smack of the impact resounding throughout the empty room. The staff had retreated to the kitchen behind the counter and having already served her, paid her no notice. They seemed almost excited by the news. She turned her face towards the wall, expressionless eyes following the cracks in the plaster, and attempted to block out their chatter.

She wasn’t necessarily upset – In truth, she wasn’t sure how to react. SCAR tended to keep her busy and she had never stopped to get close to anyone. A couple friends, here and there, but their deaths had yet to sink in. She hadn’t been particularly fond of the organisation but it had given her a home at the least, somewhere she didn’t have to hide from herself or her powers. It was difficult to process the reality of its destruction.

“This just in, it has just been announced that a Homeland Security operative by the name of Claire Hannon was responsible for the attack."

That was enough to make her head jerk up. She jumped into a crouching position on the chair, her hands slammed on the table. Her eyes darted around the room, coming to focus on the radio. She stared at the device intently without really seeing it. “Could she? No. No? Maybe? No.” Her mutterings remained low, unheard by those in the next room, “…Possibly? Fuck it, if this is her doing, I will be pissed off.” She leapt from the chair until the tiled floor before spinning round to study her half-eaten lunch, “Not hungry. Not now.” Exiting the building at a brisk pace, the café staff didn’t even notice her leave.

Karen wasn’t sure where she was heading, somewhere away from people preferably. Her eyes flickered between the strangers that lined the streets. Signs, animals, vehicles, even the dust in the air - All were subject to her gaze for a second before her attention was diverted. She had recovered from the shock of Three Mile Island already, acting more like her usual self, spurn into action by her urgent desire to phone Claire and find out the truth. She was not one to focus on things that had already happened, things outside her control. She just wanted to ensure such events didn’t continue to occur.

She ducked into an alley and pressed herself against the wall, falling into a crouch. She glanced both left and right and checked the sky for potential danger before she removed her personal phone from her pocket. She slid the screen up, causing it to come to life, before tapping on the keys, “Menu. Contacts. Claire. Call.” The beating of her heart grew more rapid as she listened to the buzzing, waiting for the SCAR Operative to pick up.

Click.

“Hello?” It had been a while since Karen had heard that voice.

“Claire… Claire? Claire! You heard? I’m sure you have. The radio. The news. Three Mile Island. Explosions – Nuclear. You have friends there. I know. I think? But you- Did you?… I mean… Why would you blow it up? Not saying you did. If you did. Not that you would. Fuck it. Shutting up.”

“Karen, thank God you’re alive.” Claire’s voice sounded relieved. “I didn’t know you weren’t at HQ. I thought for sure you were dead. Where are you?”

Karen blinked in surprise, “That’s not what’s important. At all. The news. Saying you blew up HQ. That’s important. That’s important. Fuck it, Claire. I mean. Glad you’re alive and all. If you’re innocent. If you’re innocent. Catch my drift? Sure you do. Mind you, if you’re trying to kill all us off - Us meaning SCAR operatives – There’s not much point me running. I mean I could. But I shouldn’t. It’s not like me. Kansas. Prairie Village. Kansas. Here I am. Hunting a necromancer. Or I’m supposed to be. No luck so far. Was being careful. All those failed missions. Me on my own. Getting nowhere I was. Don’t know if there’s even a fucking necromancer here. Hate fighting the guys anyway. Fuck knows why I was put on this job. SCAR knew I hated ‘em. They knew it. Still, here I am. Fuck it. If you’re not out murdering people, what are you doing?”

“Karen you need to calm down,” Claire’s voice had a soothing tone. “No, I didn’t do it. And you’re in Kansas? I think we need to meet up somewhere. I’m in Cold Oaks, South Dakota. My team and I were sent to investigate a disturbance. It was a trap. Karen, do you understand? We’ve been set up.”

“What? Calm? I am calm. I’m always calm. It’s been a little while since we’ve spoken, right? Right. Explains a lot. I am calm. Calm as ever. Talking fast is good though. Keeps things moving, sweetie. Gets more done. More is good. Dakota! You’re in Dakota. Disturbance. Trap. Trap? Trap by who? Can’t be good. Never good. Need to think about that. Think. Think. Not now. Later. Now? Now… Now what? Are you safe? Are you hurt? Who’s with you? I hear voices. What you going to do? People want you dead, sweetie. Lots of people. Lots and lots of people. I don’t. Not really. No reason to. So now what?” She paused for a moment before adding, “And stop with that tone. It’s patronising. Don’t patronise me. Asking if I understand. In that tone. Fucking hell. I’m not a kid, Claire.”

“I’m not patronising you,” Claire’s tone remained unchanged. “It’s just…it’s bad Karen. I’m losing my mind here. I’ve lost two team members. I’m trying to keep things together, but it’s hard.” Claire sighed.

“Listen,” Claire choked a little on her words. “We need to get to Detroit. If we can get to the safe house, we can call England and maybe get out of the country. They’ll be after you too Karen, and I need all the help I can get.”

“I see. I see.” Karen ran a hand through her hair and sighed, making an effort to slow her pace of talking, “You’re a great leader, sweetie. Everything – everywhere - is going wrong at the moment though. It’s all likely to go wrong again considering what’s happening – You’ve just got to keep it together to try and minimise the damage.” Speaking at a ‘normal’ pace was making her feel stupid – If they were going to plan something, there was no point talking so slowly, “Right! More important things, yeah? Yeah! Detroit? England? You’ve got it all planned out. Better than I have anyway. More than happy to follow you, sweetie. Just give me the orders.”

“Karen,” Claire sobbed. “SCAR is gone. I can only ask you to come. Not order you. But we need to meet somewhere. Do you have a vehicle?”

“Fuck that – I choose who I follow. I’m following you. No tears. No arguments. I’ve been trained to take orders from those who deserve to give them. My whole life. Since I was eighteen at least. I mean, sure. I’m coming as a friend. Of course. But if shit happens, don’t be afraid to take charge. A group still needs a fucking leader.” She glanced down the alley, onto the main street, “Vehicle? I came out here in my Ford Fiesta. Never was as fancy as the rest of you. With your sports cars. You and that fucking truck as well. At the least, the car isn’t from SCAR. And it’s a gorgeous pink. Just gorgeous. Still, not important now. Where am I driving to?”

“Get to Blunt, South Dakota,” Claire’s tone was calm. “It‘s thirty miles from our current location, and we have to hike it. The chopper has survival gear so, if we have to, we can camp for the night in the woods. When you get to Blunt, find a motel and get a room. I don’t know what else to do. Just so many things are going wrong right now. But I’m glad that you’re coming.” Claire paused for a moment. “And Karen? Thank you.”
“I’m on it, Claire. I’ll get there as quickly as I can,” She smiled warmly as she spoke, “Keep safe, sweetie.”

Saying her farewells, she hung up the phone, glancing around once more before exiting onto the street. South Dakota? How long would that take? Damn it. Still, she had promised Claire she would come. It wasn’t like she had much choice in the end. If someone had attacked Three Mile Island, there was a strong chance of them coming after the remaining SCAR Operatives.

She jogged back to her car, ignoring the looks she received from those around her. Her Ford Fiesta was parked just outside the café and she hopped inside eagerly, happy to be leaving the town. The citizens there excelled at making her feel isolated. She was desperate to meet with someone she knew.

Inserting the key, she twisted it, turning the car to life. S Club 7’s ‘Bring it all Back’ blasted from her radio, drawing more stares but she didn’t mind. Although admittedly tone deaf, Karen sang along to the song, attempting to enjoy the last few hours of peace she might have. She drove off without a backward glance, promising herself to never return.

[Co-Op between Me & Naz]

[StormWolf]

"Up against the wall soldier! Take your lashes like a man!" the Drill Sergeant barked at the younger, shaven-head Malcolm Maverick. Malcolm had beaten a fellow candidate half to death in the barracks. What started out a friendly banter ended up in Malcolm putting several fractures in the opposing candidates skull. It was a wrong place wrong time kind of thing. Malcolm had just learned of a death in the family and it was effecting him very badly. Family was everything to Malcolm...

He took his lashes across the back, each belting leaving welts that made a thousand promises of pain to come.

The Chaplain stood there like a stone wall, cold eyes watching the other operatives with that icy cold gaze of his. He could see the hate in Vee's eyes, the disgust in Claire's, and similar gazes all about. The side of his face tingled from the slap Claire planted on him, but it was just a shadow compared to the agony his dignaty was in.

Vee's mad stare hit Malcolm in the eyes, his hand resting casually on the grip of his DEagle, clicking off the safety and easing back the hammer. His face was flat as a hammer. The smell of Lyrico's burning flesh tingled his nostrils as he stared Vee down, only relaxing once Claire had averted Vee's gaze.

Malcolm stared into nothing after that, memories flashing through his head. His tours in the Middle East, the first time he died and his ressurection. His training in the SCAR Program and his first mission. The first time he saw Claire's face and the euphoria that he felt, the time they spent in Rome together, in and out of bed... it all ended with that "fuck you" and that slap over the face.

With a small sneer, Malcolm disassembled his AA12 and placed the weapon back in his duffle bag while Claire was on the phone with this Charlie individual. Whether it was actually someones name or a callsign, Malcolm didn't know, and he honestly didn't give a flying fuck.

He waited for Claire to get off the phone before walking up to her, back straight and his eyes boring into hers, "Are you good now, or is there anything else you need to get out of your system?" Malcolm made a passive gesticulation to the small red mark on his cheek from Claire's slap.

"I'm just a little confused... being repormanded for doing my job." The Chaplain's voice was steady and solid as a rock, deep as rolling thunder. "And you know we don't have time for a burial. You said it yourself; the Deathstrike has a tracking beacon in it. You know that a sweep team in on it's way to this becon as we speak. We need to burn Chase's body, blow the Deathstrike, and move."

“Doing your job?” Claire leered. “And just who do you work for? Hmmm? SCAR?” Claire’s tone became condescending. “Oh that’s right, SCAR’s gone. So then God? Is that who you work for? Well if your God would be happy with your display back there, then I want no part of him.”

Malcolm's face twisted in a restrained sneer as he closed the space between the two of them. "Lyrico got what was coming to him." Malcolm snarled, his eyes wild for a moment. "He... he was going to kill you... and I am only human. My forgiveness is finite. For trying to hurt you... I hope Lyrico rots. 'By the measure in which I judge others, so I will be judged'." Malcolm quoted from the Gospel of Matthew.

"I'm all right with that. I don't shoot children. As for Vee, this is a fucking mission, and we are being hunted. Now is not the time or place to demand a funeral. We need to keep our heads if we are going to survive, and seeing the looks in everyone's eyes, we will be lucky to survive the night unless you take charge.... Captain." Malcolm put his hands over Claire's, looking at their clasped hands,

"You already know I can't live without you, but neither can they. We need our leader."

“You insensitive prick!” The way you treated Vee was appalling. Vee suffered a huge loss. I think she is entitled to have feelings about it. Jesus fucking Christ Mal, show some respect.”

With a exhasperated growl, Malcom threw up his hands before the rested at his hips. "She has my deepest fucking condolinces, but in all honesty, I envy Chase. I have died twice, and never have I been allowed to enter Heaven. I burned in Hell for thirteen years in their plane. Forgive me if I am a little desensatised about death, Claire." Malcolm's movements became a but more uneasy, he looked like he was unsure what to do with his hands, his feet shuffling, carrying him in a shallow circut in front of Claire.

"What do you want me to do? Stop for a moment of silence and spend a day mouring his death? If we could, I would insist it, but we don't have that luxury. The entire fucking country is agaisnt us, Claire. The entire United States Armed Forces has a shoot-to-kill order on us and we stand here bickering like an old married couple..."

"Mal," Claire’s voice sounded strained, like she was holding back a scream. "Don't you find it funny that we are standing here right now having this conversation. It’s not like the government doesn’t know where we are. So either they want us to run, or they think the explosion did it’s job. Either way we have some time. So do you think you could show some fucking sympathy to Vee for just one moment?” Claire paused and shook her head.

“I don’t get it Mal,” Claire stared at him, her eyes reflecting sadness. “You were so wonderful. You actually had feelings. What if it had of been me that died Mal? And if it wasn’t for Vee, it would have been. How would you have felt?” Claire tilted her head to the side, but before Malcolm could respond, she placed a hand on his cheek.

“I’m sorry Mal.” Claire whispered the words and her eyes went black. She was able to sense the sadness emanating from Vee. What she had been showing, did not truly reflect the sorrow within. But Claire had felt it, and now Malcolm was feeling it too.

The emotions flooded into Malcolm, his iron-clad will crumbling under the wave of sadness and anger. He saw the scene unfold in his head, but it wasn't chase that got slain, it was Claire. The Chaplain balled his hands into fists, the knuckles popping under the pressure.

"Stop it, Claire..." he said in a croak, his voice shaky. The emotions kept flowing, making Malcolm's heart race and making his stomach lurch. "Stop it, Claire." he said, his voice struggling to remain firm. Inside Malcolm, that sorrow morphed into anger, into a flame of passionate rage. Tears fell down his cheeks, but he had had enough.

"I said stop!" he yelled, breaking away, raising a fist, ready to bring it down, and he did. Malcolm's fist smashing into one of the windows of the Deathstrike, cobwebbing the glass and splitting Malcolm's knuckles.

"Why do I bother.... you have made up something in your mind that I can't fix. I might as well try stopping a freight train with a fucking matchbox car. If you really believe that I am the emotionless piece of shit you say I am..." Malcolm drew his DEagle and slowly approached Claire, spinning the weapon in his hand, presenting her the grip,

"Two in the chest and one in the head. Either you do it now or someone else here will later... Or it'll be me..." Silent tears fell down Malcolm's face, his face very close to that of a cold-blooded killer on the job.

"If you think I'm such a God aweful monster, then follow the protocol and do it."

Claire’s eyes returned to normal and she stared at Malcolm, her face expressionless and her eyes cold. She looked at the gun for a moment before looking directly into his eyes.

“I was hoping,” Claire spoke softly. “That maybe if you could feel her pain, you would understand. Vee is not an abject Malcolm. She is a human being And the mission is over Mal. There is no more protocol or rank or anything anymore. I don’t need soldiers anymore. I never did.” Claire paused and a tear came to her eye. “If you can’t leave the soldier behind Mal, I don’t know if it’s going to work anymore.”

Malcolm's hand shook, the metal creaking it's protests over his grip on it. He holstered his gun with a sniff. Reaching into his shirt, Malcolm, pulled his Holy Charm necklace off of his neck and looked at it, the metal plates of his dog tags catching the sunlight faintly. He had been a soldier almost his entire life. How was he supposed to leave that all behind? What was worth more; his life or Claire's happiness. With another sniff, Malcolm cast his most prized possession into the mud. His Holy Charms and his dog tags becoming soiled in wet earth. Holstering his pistol, Malcolm turned from Claire and started walking. He chose her over his own livlihood. Hopefully she could see that, and hopefully, God willing, it would mean something to her.

No more rank. No more protocol... No more code of conduct... Malcolm said to himself in his head, images of Claire flashing across his mind, her smiles and her tears.

(co-op with naz)