Locust's Creepy Closet
Carina's legs had wobbled a little as she let forth a ragged breath. Despite the vacuum of the bay, her ears had rung. Somehow that sensation just seemed to have happened all on its own. The pain was what was keeping her conscious. And the adrenaline rush of surviving a near-death experience. Her lips had begun to form a word, vocal cords, and breath about to engage in a verbal response when an exquisite pain erupted in her side once more. The medic hadn't so much as been able to scream due to blacking out. Her mind shutting part of itself down as a defense mechanism. There hadn't even been the chance or inkling of a moment to register what had hit her before going out like a light.
And then, sweet darkness and oblivion gave way to that very same grogginess she associated with a severe hangover. Or rather, the few she had treated amongst the Marines under her care just after leaving the training at SAW. Her head felt like a split melon once her eyes had fluttered open to slits, a rhythmic throb of white-hot agony bouncing along as she felt a tough as steel arm around her waist. Carrying her. Her first thought as her vision returned and the unfamiliar corridors of Kuvexian design seemed to curve and twist, and turn with its gaudy shades of colors only the truly evil greedy corporate assholes on Nepleslia could appreciate. Of course, she kept watching, taking it all in as she couldn't find words. The light of her suit's visor had afforded her a glimpse of what was going on, she just couldn't manage a word as her mind, sluggish as the insanely toxic mud of Nepleslia's Green Sea seemed to be coursing in her brain. Pain and confusion eroding whatever sense of coherency she managed to pull together.
From her side carry position, Carina couldn't feel the reassuring weight of her rifle, nor the iron she packed on her hip. The Matsobuki family knife she just plain couldn't feel if it was gone or not. Her body was slightly numb from the overload of sensation it had been under. But once the sludge in her brain slowly began to crawl back to true awareness, her hazel eyes adjusted to a more fully focused form of their old selves. Those reassuring sensations. Weapons, the very things any green-blooded Nepleslian would feel naked without were gone. And here she was behind enemy lines. On an enemy vessel full of gold plated cocksuckers and their reindeer humanoid companions. The slow and shakey check of herself, of the missing weaponry, had yielded nothing and even now she could feel a trickle of apprehension that slowly gave way to wariness and finally just a dash of fear.
Yet when she was released, that free-floating sensation, the release of pressure on her battered form. Of weightlessness seemed to ease the electric sensations shooting up and down her side. Yet once her body seemed to slowly turn in an orbit, her head turning just so. Carina caught a glimpse of a blacker than black suit of armor. It took a second for her mind to register who or what it was. When recognition finally hit her, it wasn't just comfort and good cheer of the possibility of getting out of this clusterfuck alive but something else... those digitigrade metallic legs caused her battered adrenal glads to squeeze a bit more of that substance her race so loved and craved into her bloodstream. It was like getting a good jolt of amphetamines in the system.
Locust. The creepy as fuck IPG spook. Amongst the creepy as fuck IPG spooks, this thing was king of the hill and Papa Vanderhuge would have argued that point. But at that moment she was it. As if on reflex, her hand slowly drifted to her hip, to the big iron that would have been there... and she never got close. One minute she'd been freely floating, the next pinned against a wall with not one ounce of give. And a big'ol fucking foot claw pressed on her Lulu-defiled and battered chest.
Just as the wind had once again been beaten out of her that sensational crunch and snap of something deep within her torso shot an indescribable amount of pain that threatened to black her out once more. But that surge of pure alertness and energy warred against the behemoth threatening to overwhelm. And it was a losing battle as the pressure just seemed to build, and build, and build as the armored giant leaned in. The faceless plate of a helmet leaning in close as things just seemed to ramp up. Of course, Locust could see her face, twisted as it was in such agony and the free-floating gobbet of spit and blood drifting around without a care. That damnable tapping on the clear composite visor hadn't helped, and the worst thing was she could hear it inside the pressurized helmet of her suit. 'Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.' And then she felt the sharp yank of too strong hands upon the protective helmet. Her neck complied and she came face to face with anonymity.
But fuck... those legs were a dead giveaway. And that creepy sensation Carina always seemed to feel. The feeling of being looked at, when the hairs on the back of one's neck stood on end did so now. And the simple fact she had put two and two together would have had them in a permanent state of rigor mortis if it was possible for hair follicles.
And even so. Face twisted as it was and staring at possibly the worst creeper since those two NPCS agents that had dragged her across Fortuna to a young, dashing and back then in her mind lovingly awesome father caused her to let forth a wet gurgle, not unlike the beginnings of a chuckle which was cut off as the pressure built, seeming to climb at an almost exponential rate even as her SAW trained mind screamed at her at what was going to happen next. That rib of hers, broken as it was, was just about one of the most dangerous things in the room and that was saying something when you had a dead fish-eyed monster woman trying to squeeze the life out of you. Carina swore she could almost feel the bone inching its way toward one of her pretty, pretty lungs.
The woman at that moment had reminded her of a dog back on Kennewes. Back when she spent a year with her mother's side of the family. The Matsobuki clan. Nexim City wasn't the greatest place in the world to live near. But she had felt relatively safe considering she had a small army of uncles who'd likely slaughter anyone in their path to get the precocious and cute as a button niece that they were now saddled with back. Or face Suku's and their mother, Nancy's wrath.
It had been a Rok'Veruian Rottweiler. Built like a truck, almost as tall as she was even now. With a bite strength comparable to what was on her chest even as she thought of the memory. They'd been used to great effect during the initial engagements when the First Assault Fleet had parked its ass in orbit and started dropping Marines to the ground from orbit. Stories of the attack dogs ripping armored, NMX Nekos in two had circulated and became a legend. And had caused a brief surge in their breeding. Her parents had adamantly refused to get her one. For she had Mug the Pug, the Matsobuki Nexim pug at her side at all times. The floating shit machine of a companion with which she used as a WMD on the Matsobuki's neighbor's lawn whenever the Elysian Patrician woman got bitchy with her or was mean to her friend, Gerard the woman's son.
But enough about that.
The dog she'd come across, the rotty had been rabid. Crazed. And an incredible danger to anyone who crossed its path. Being the product of some mad bastard on a mind-altering drug bender's way of a 'Fuck You' to all the dog shows he'd failed in or so the story went. Genetic engineering was a bitch. It had snarled, foaming at the mouth with an utterly crazed look in its eyes as it ripped apart one of the local townies within seconds. The screams and horde of bodies surging to get away from it had roused two of the planet's local Marine garrison after it had ripped a Crooked Demon's arms off with its teeth and the rest soon after, not before it had crushed a good portion of the cockpit as well. The tenacious dog monster had taken an HPAR shot to the body and had kept on coming at the two Hostile suits before finally being cut down in full-on Nepleslian fashion. Complete and utter overkill.
This woman made her think of that dog. What it could have done to those suits. A bite that could crush Durandium plate was dangerous, and put it in the body of what was essentially a dog version of an ID-SOL made a potent mix of fuckery. And now here she was. A clawed metallic foot on her chest, a broken rib slowly on its way of puncturing a lung for which she felt the bone wriggling its way towards and all she could think of was Locust being like that animal. No Hostiles or HPARs to save her. None at all. The suit's systems tried desperately to compensate for her more labored breathing by trickling just a bit more pure oxygen into the normal mix.
An almost fatalistic humor came over her then. She'd been five when Star Base Golding had been partly nuked. A pirate trying to engage their ship with an old Yui scout. And the Marines having boarded the station with all the badass glory you could muster from the crew of the NSS Alliance draped over them like a well-worn and fashionable cloak. It had been her first 'action' in the 'military' as the 'littlest marine' of the group back when it hadn't been the Democratic Imperium. But the Star Empire of Nepleslia. Where manly men dealt death with a grenade in one hand and an old ESG in the other intent on fucking up someone's day then chainsmoking their way into a panty raid to a doctor's room for bragging rights.
What little air that was left in her lungs, and the creeping death that slowly made its way forward caused her to emit a gurgling laugh that Locust couldn't hear in the vacuum between them. But it was clearly visible to the unhinged creeper. So this was the bullet her instructor had mentioned. Everyone had one with their name on it. You never knew how, or when it'd take you out. But it would. Eventually.
An almost fearless, yet full of pain smile quivered on her rosy lips. She'd faced down worse than this woman. Had LIVED with worse than this. So she reached up, the zero-g environment making the movement slow but discernable. The polymerized hand curled until a single finger was left. If this crazy bitch was going to fuck with her, kill her, or just for kicks inflict horrible pain for their sick enjoyment, which her SAW training had also included a bit of psychology in it when dealing with patients she'd fuck right back. But in a fashion of confusion and mimickry.
'Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.' the same number of times Locust had done to her helmet, Carina did to the woman's faceless variant. In the exact same spot. The smile turned into a grimace and then a grin again. The woman expected fear of pain, of the creeping death. Carina was going to give her the opposite. But in just a bit of a different way. Better to die with a big fuck you in trolling the enemy than going out in a whimper. Just like she'd been taught on the Dust Devil, the Acadia, Francia where giant, fur-covered reptilian mammoths that breathed fire lived, and when she'd walked the broken streets of Funky City after the Battle of Nepleslia and met the old man, himself, Robert Davis or down the local borough at night in Los Apagos. She had her own ace in the hole. And if she could get it working. It'd be pissed. Or she would if her Hypolathe was there.
Through the pain, through the fear that curled around her heart with which she held close and tight. Oh fuck she wished she had something to fire into Locust's face right now. Or go out with an explosive bang. Instead, she waited for her little friend to stir from her slumber. Elsae wouldn't be happy. That girly man, Fian Vel Steyr had never asked for her back when he'd given Elsae to her on the Dust Devil while the girly bastard and the Marine crew went to knock skulls on Golding, or just plain forgot. And the then pipsqueak Carina had, had no intention of doing so.
Carina mouthed the word: 'Sup?' not even knowing if her general comms was still active. That mouthed word could have even just been her actually saying it. Even as she felt the pain build in her chest, and the ever-increasing sense of her doom looming.
'I am awake, Ms. Sanroma.' a warm, feminine voice filled the darkening corners of the Private's pain-wracked mind. Fian Vel Steyr's personal JANE. Well, HER personal JANE now that the girly bastard had forgotten her again for the last eleven years and was in the Sanroma's mind legitimate salvage and therefore hers by the rite of 'Finder Keepers'. With that familiar voice in her head, Carina just leaned her head forward a bit. Staring into the opaque faceplate of Locust's Britva suit. She was still in a world of pain no amount of Industrial Cleaning Alcohol couldn't cure... if she had any. But her eyes seemed to sharpen. Focus. The pain was there. But there. That sparkle. The amused, fatalistic humor stood out still just that something seemed to simmer with a quiet, cold rage behind the eyes.
'Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap' again against Locust's helmet. It was all in her head. 'Intrusion software and viral packages engaged, counter intrusion systems engaged. Initiating attack and subversion protocols.'
Since the crazed IPG murdermachine hadn't seemed to kill her comm unit, or they were just too damn far, or deep in the enemy ship. She instead opened a channel to Locust. While her mind couldn't fully comprehend Elsae as a swirling mass of code so intricate and complex programming, instead it just gave off the impression and sensations of a predator ready to spring. All she needed was an outlet.
It was as if her father was being channeled through her. " 'ey, baby, " that Los Apagos swagger and drawl crawling through the little grunts of pain hitching her voice a little with the faint crackle over the channel. Sweet fucking god did she just sound like her dad? If Carina wasn't on the verge of death, she probably would have been kicking herself in the shins. It was time one monster met another.
