Chapter 1: I’d Rather Kiss a Cobra

“Get on loser”, Max said playfully “were doing “hero stuff” today, no time to explain!”, he called out excitedly, as he rode smoothly to a halt in front of the safe houses doorstep, the “Bike” hung hovering in mid-air a couple of feet off the ground, as magnetic levitation propelled it on both circular “wheels” encased in equally armoured and constantly altering magnetic field generators they could hear humming lightly like a mechanical purr, produced by altered electromagnets, using a constantly monitored feedback system, running through the onboard computer installed in between the handlebars. Sarah already donning her full wargear minus her helmet, which she held in the crook at her arm, screamed in excitement as her husband Roy held onto her son Max and daughter Phoebe, as she quickly kissed them goodbye, promising to be back as quickly as she could and definitely by the time they went to bed, before taking two powerful strides and leaping, landing squarely in the magnetized back seat as they shot off down the roadway, well above the highway, waving to them all as the trio on the ground did the same.

The entire bike’s body had been turned into large magnet capable of stabilizing its levitation effect to an untested degree, as he manipulated the pull and push of the fields via direct commands, built into the motorcycles handles, connected to the wheels conventionally placed on opposite ends of the bike as well as well as through the onboard guidance system, calculating and altering the current sent to electromagnets to change the strength of the magnetic field, in proportion to how he dictated his flight path through a series of additional blink-clicks on his helmets HUD system and manual cues from his hands on the handles, that was what allowed the actual, stable levitation sustaining them through the air, as its extended magnetic fields grasped at every large and solid concentration of iron within the vicinity of the vehicle, allowing them to “float” stealthily if necessary and even “wall crawl” up the faces buildings if need be at high speeds if that’s what he would need to demand from it.

“How in the hell have you kept this secret from me for so long?”, she asked jubilantly, as she sat back enjoying the ride as it “thrummed” through her whole body pleasantly, the magnetized seating keeping her armour and her by extension firmly in place. She was more than half convinced she could surf on this thing before Max said “because the first thing you’d have wanted to do was surf on it and probably break your neck amongst other things trying to prove that you could and that would have involved a lot of pain and “Contingent” to bring you back in one piece. And personally I do not envy the idea of having to hold you down as you swallowed that bitter berserker pill again”, he said simply, before he added “plus, it was more of a working theory at the time than anything. It took forty robotic mannequins to prove that it wasn’t when all was said and done, but the “Butcher Boys” helped me figure out the copper-based wire superconductor framework we needed to apply”, he said. The Butcher Boys being the working software, hardware, armour and weapons manufacturing team he’d set up in his workshop, bent on reverse engineering and creating new working technologies independently, based on both Sarah and Max’s present working knowledge of technologies stored in their minds, applied in future wars, waiting to be reproduced, after some much needed applied learning. The team along with new working agents were located in a re-purposed set of warehouses they were using as functioning base plus barracks for rapid team deployment, a dedicated infirmary, mess hall and vehicle depot, set to guard the Manhattan isle, along with similar ones set up in neighbouring boroughs to provide an effective net of working security.

Three months had passed of on-the-job hunting and catching and more than occasionally killing organized groups of hostile sleeper agents after their initial securing and re-fortifying of the FBI field office. “They” had actively tried to occupy and encroach all areas surrounding and connected to major capitals around the world, such as Buenos Aires in Argentina, Canberra in Australia, Brasilia in Brazil, Ottawa in Canada, Beijing in China, Cairo in Egypt, Paris in France, Berlin in Germany, New Delhi in India, Wellington in New Zealand, Moscow in Russia, London in the United Kingdom and Washington DC in the United States amongst others. After a preliminary weakening of all law enforcement agencies on a global scale and the disarmament of the majority of global nuclear arsenals, the true scale of incursion developed into an all-out protracted siege which forced several countries along with the US to declare a state of martial law. As a result, the EXO government agency was formed within the states to slowly absorb all current, existing agencies that had suffered crippling losses in both manpower and expertise to counter the incoming storm that was slowly taking root in every corner of the nation in response to the rapidly developing crisis.

“Remind me to thank them for your little combined contribution to air travel, if it doesn’t result in getting us killed by the time we turn in at the end of the day”, she said with a broad devil-may-care smile as she looked down some twenty stories below her. A gentle, electronic whine like that of flexing hydraulics rang out around them, as a side effect of the invisible tunnel-like magnetic field concentrated around the air around them, just enough to notice it, but not enough to drown out their environment. It worked all around them, but mostly noticeably from below them, almost like a working transparent, cylindrical tunnel Max was guiding the facsimile of what looked like a repurposed Harley Davidson’s frame through, armoured in thick tank plating and a front-mounted flat, riveted shield peaking over the handles that looked like it could act as a blunt battering ram if called upon.

“Everything you need should be mag-locked to my back”, Max said. “I have a duplicate of each weapon in the bags attached to the bike, take a gander you might like what you see”, he said with a notable smirk on his voice as she almost screeched “Is that a P90!” She noted the custom reflex sight and its glowing, orange, circular reticule with a dot in the centre, as she aimed down it intently through her mask, noting how the locus point linked up and moved along with her visors dynamic display whether she aimed down the gun sights or not, linking it to her electronic HUD display, a feature that had come as standard with all working EXO armour series for awhile now. “As you can probably tell it tethers to your helmet’s vision and allows you to see through reflex sight and toggle the option to zoom in like a digital scope without having to do it manually. It’s also equipped with custom 5.7x28mm high-velocity Penetrator rounds, I recommend you pick up a few extra clips from the left side of my utility belt beforehand”, he said as they cut silently over the city, flashing past rooftops now well below the twenty storey range. He turned smoothly as he navigated around the larger ones exceeding thirty or more because they were cut for time, and although the bike was an ingenious piece of revolutionary machinery it still had untested limitations he didn’t want to push too far, too fast, outside of a safe testing environment.

“Once you’re done, take a look at the rifle on my left shoulder”, she did, noting the army green bodywork paint stripped with yellow chevrons along the back end of the main stock that half down curved upwards into part of the upper receiver, that looked like a convenient, handlebar parallel to the main body, ending just before the barrel, making it look almost like it belonged to a compact submachine gun. The main trigger guard was set ahead of what she could only suppose was the vertical fuel cell injector on the underside below the stock, just a hand space away from the main grip that read “Danger” in faded white over a dull grey, and what she supposed was a detachable battery shaped like a cylinder ending in a circular end. The injector above it stood out in a brighter yellow than even the chevrons painted over and behind it, showing its lack of usage and burnout. The lower receiver along the main body of the frame where the “handle” started from above it had several exposed, insulated circuits running the length of its surface, ending just before the opening of the barrel ahead, although instead of the typical bored barrel for bullets, it was more akin to what you’d find on something like a diode-pumped solid-state laser. The diode flashed red to her scrutiny, telling her it was primed to “pulse” and continuously pump energy through it as a medium, to an optimal Q-Switch, powered by a stable 250 megawatts at the very least, allowing them to essentially drill through armour with an untested, handheld, surgical diamond laser, turned anti-armour weapon of mass destruction. “Lucky duck”, she murmured to herself unbelievingly as she held it almost reverently in her hands. “I doubt whoever you’ll have to use it on will think that”, Max said grinning behind his mask. “But you have thirty-one continuous “pulses” you’ll only be able to accurately plot and see through your helmets HUD, because even our enhanced vision won’t be able to visibly see the potent laser with the naked eye, making it a very effective, invisible and silent, sniper weapon, with no recoil, no sound or flash to muffle or suppress. You’ll also get one long continuous and uninterrupted beam that will probably last for a few seconds depending on the distance between yourself and the target. Ergo the closer you are the longer it’ll last until we can find a way to provide it with a stronger gain amplifier or...”, but was cut off by her arms circling over his neck and chest as she hugged him from behind. “You always know what to get a girl on a mission”, she said happily her tone filled with gentle affection before he replied “Don’t worry, this is the “good news”, the bad stuff is on its way”, he said as she settled back into her seat, as she slung the rifle on to her backs magnetic camp alongside the P90.

“Last but not least you have the new pistol on my left hip. We took the advice of Hartwell and decided to create a more non-lethal weapon to heart; as a result, we have what the “Boys” call the “Bluemoon Special”. Although when I asked them how they came up with the name they said it was from a homebrewed lager they’d quickly given up on before the whole incursion event three months ago, which had left everyone who had ever tasted it with shall we say a “laxative” effect to say the least. When they fully perfected the pistols effects they couldn’t help but christen it with the same name at least unofficially... “Oh my god did you just make an instant diarrhoea gun!”, she exclaimed before he could finish, partly frightened but also impressed before Max broke out in unsuppressed, infectious laughter over the bike handles, which she couldn’t help but join in.

“It fires charged magnetic tips, not unlike a taser gun but the familiarity ends there. They don’t have to pierce anything and are remotely more useful with those wearing armour over those who don’t because of how easily they cling to conductors like copper, iron, gold, aluminium, and silver, or in our case highly armoured polymer blends also used by us as much as the sleeper agents. It connects by clinging magnetically and armed with an electrical payload it discharges like an electrical current through your system, not unlike when you get shot by a normal bullet and the hydrostatic shock more so than the actual size of the bullet does more conceivable damage. In this case, one shot, in theory, incapacitates an average target, two pushes it into unkind limits and three will probably have your worst enemy begging you for death, which you’ll probably grant them...”, he said before she carefully handled the pistol that looked more like a plastic 3D printed gun made out of materials like polylactic acid and Acrylonitrile Butadiene Styrene rather than steel, aluminium and yes even plastic although to a lesser degree, she knew, like a conventional hand pistol. The main body or casing of the gun was tinted black, with no hammer to cock back or visible safety switch. The barrel, front sight, rear sight and underside of the frame, were black, along with the back portion of the handgrip and the bottom of the magazine well. The front half of the handgrip along with the magazine itself looked completely transparent down to the loaded clip where fresh rounds could be seen glowing with a faint orange, electrical glow she supposed, was ready to prime the core upon impact. The trigger, guard, slide and chamber were made from a transparent polymer glass, showing off the inner workings of the gun she suspected she would need to keep an eye on in case something delicate overheated or simply cracked under usage, causing the equivalent of jamming. It looked almost like a futuristic, concept gun waiting to be tried out on some unsuspecting victim.

“So somewhere between bullets one and three they...” she let the implication hang in the air. “We sorta had to find out ourselves in a “private” testing session for science. We soon found out that anything over a modest two-hundred and fifty pounds with a good fat-to-muscle ratio probably won’t be able to resist the effects of one, maybe two rounds, anything else and...”, he kept silent as if not wanting to explain further for personal reasons. “Come on”, she said in an immature, motherly tone “Tell mommy what those bad boys did to you, so she can “spank” them later”, she said with a wicked smile and a light-hearted giggle she could barely contain before he reluctantly conceded. “Don’t worry it’s nothing I won’t recover from and I gave as good as I got, but I also have some new “toys” I almost forgot about in the bandolier wrapped across my chest”, he said. “Unhook it and strap it on”, he said. They’d navigated steadily over the main thoroughfares heading towards the centre of town carefully but speedily traversing buildings popping up on the onboard computer screen, as blue and black sonar-based 3D model constructs along with thermal highlights and GPS-based navigation combined, silently co-ordinating their path on its screen as it projected an optimal route. She didn’t doubt it probably had an autopilot or assisted flight mode in case they were ever without their helmets to issue commands in case of an emergency.

She unclipped the bandolier and slipped it onto her person. “Don’t take one out, in case the bike unintentionally “attracts” them and triggers their effects, but it’s basically five magnetic grenades. In their current state inside the pouches they are inert and kept that way by a protective inner lining that also doubles as physical protection against small arms fire, as well as other strong magnetic fields that might affect them”, he said as she nodded. Her mind was already racing with the potential tactical applications of her small, versatile arsenal, on top of her original automatic pistol, which she still held on to. They’d eventually clarified to Hartwell, Clara and Walter that they were modified MAC-11’S with additional firing modes, extended magazines and suppressors, made to handle larger calibre ammunition beyond their typical .380 ACP rounds they used with. They’d been outfitted with sturdier bodies for wear, which they’d probably noticed from Max’s own beaten-up one to Sarah’s well-maintained one, along with greater recoil control behind the weightier frames for steadier hip fire.

Her “tooth” hung down from her right shoulder blade facing up, as she hung the bandolier from her left diagonally. She had the P90 clamped behind her right shoulder, the “Blue Moon” pistol on her left hip that surprisingly didn’t resist the magnetic holster there, despite its almost toy-like appearance and mostly non-metallic materials. “What do you call the laser rifle”, she asked idly as she made sure it was clamped on her left shoulder with a test shake. “Nothing yet, we only had a working serial number from the series of prototypes that never made it far beyond the test stage, so anything you can come up that we can all live with would be nice”, he said good-naturedly. “Just but no videogame references or anything like that, I promised Hartwell we wouldn’t get anyone sued over copyright name infringement”, he said as Sarah replied “Well poo”, sulking behind her mask as her shoulders visibly sagged. “But maybe you could call it after the first person or thing you kill with it, that’s sorta why you got a new arsenal, we’re hunting a heavily armoured “Millipede” agent whose chasing a ... and you won’t believe this a Spider of all things, except it gets worse, she’s a “Widowmaker,” subclass,” he said hearing her audibly gasp. “And as fast as anything I’ve seen including you, what’s worse when I asked anyone along the security checkpoints who could keep up with them through conventional means, what kind of weapons they were wielding, I kid you not one of the agents said “it looked like he had a twin-bladed axe before they spotted one of them was a blunt hammers head instead. The “Maker” was wielding a sword they had to look up the pronunciation of before they settled on the rough translation of “horse slayer” which likely means an “Ōdachi” Japanese style sword”, he said slightly unnerved. “Oh my dear, sweet, fluffy lord...”, she said her mouth more than slightly agape at the sheer audacity of the weaponry “I love this chick already”, she said impressed despite herself. “But oh wait it gets worse”, Max said as they finally came into view of their targets. The largest of the two looked like a roving mountain of reinforced and highly modified, scrap-coloured, metal power armour, of which they could already hear the servo-assisted false musculature whine from over-extended usage, as the bike sped after them. The second smaller, milky white figure of the Widowmaker who looked like some sort of animated, female superhero, sporting a non-threatening bright white battle uniform that looked like a mixture between a leotard and a high-speed bike, racing costume, which reminded them of the Recluse agents they’d fought in the past. It was lightly armoured in vital areas like the chest, gut, vital arteries and spine, along with a full facial silver coloured helm that looked dull from usage, cutting off at the upper jaw, exposing her mouth and the wicked smile that sat on it, along with a horizontal, glowing red cyclopean slit that pulsed across it readily. Her pale, albino-white hair flowing around her like a mystical mane, lent her a degree of aesthetic purity, working in her favour even now as she was chased by the giant. In her loose, two-handed grip rested what looked like a masterfully crafted Japanese sword that was easily twice her body’s length, and looked like it posed no more of a burden for her to heft and handle than a hollow toothpick. They observed as she danced and leapt backwards in steady leaps outside of the Millipede’s reach, which didn’t seem to drain her at all. She remained easily out of weapons reach of the engaging Millipede, which they both knew during the Cultura wars to have been the fundamental backbone of its engineering efforts that went into the production of its terrific marvels, rather than for slaughtering or being used to carry out some kind of aggressive field roles like the Fury’s or Chiroptera. They were non-aggressive combatants, capable of inflicting great damage, but never particularly known for doing so unless specifically being called upon in a dedicated field role that also required a distinct level of technical savvy, such as disarming and then reprogramming secreted, nuclear missile silos to fire their payloads into the sun.

“He’s Marcus Hand, former all-pro football star, married to loving wife Jenna Hand, maiden name Akari, aka the Maker. They were reported as having relationship difficulties by popular gossip tabloids before the incursion event...” before she cut him. “So scary lady with a big scary sword and nice big scary boyfriend I’m presuming that doesn’t want to hurt anyone?” she said hopefully to summarize. As they steadily got as close as they could. “One can hope, he doesn’t seem interested in doing anything other chasing and stopping her, reporting several times on our encrypted comms, who he is to confirm our information, as well as her motives and why he has to stop her before she finishes this game of cat and mouse, with more blood-soaked bodies on her hands than she has already on them. Other than that he seemed genuinely worried that he wouldn’t be able to stop her by himself without it coming to a head”, Max said “Yeah, probably his though” Sarah muttered darkly before he handed her a medium-sized tear-shaped black, metallic box with a single circular, orange, pulsing diode ring set in the middle of it. “Set it on your back, it’s a gravity chute, I’ll drop you in from above and then speed ahead overhead whilst you distract her, so we can form a pincer movement behind her and hopefully cut off any escape. Try and let him know we’re here to help him if you can before we find a way to deal with her, following your frontal assault. You should be able to match her speed, let alone her agility, and she shouldn’t expect any kind of effective interruption to her fun to last long, which will take her unawares, especially not in the form of an elite class willingly interfering on her targets behalf, let alone both of us”, he said.

She reached over her back and snapped it into place feeling it magnetize to her instantly in the space between her rifles. “So, you think “he’s” friendly?”, Sarah asked over his shoulder as Max called back, “only one way to find out”, he said as he veered off to the right wildly in his direction as Sarah propped herself for an easy leap, bounding off the magnetized seat weakening in her wake, as she propelled herself through the air before it could adjust to rein her back in. The air dragged at her body as she dove head first pointed at the ground, her arms pinned to her sides, palms flat, legs closely shut together and pointed vertically upwards, as she cut through the air like a missile homing in on her target. Her bandolier’s contents tinkled like metal wind chimes as she felt gravity re-assert itself before proximity sensors on the grav-chute kicked in and dragged her slowly away from the natural pull of the earth. She projected her likely route through her HUD, relying more on her airborne instincts to guide her feet before she landed almost silently on the Millipede’s shoulders that only barely seemed to register the new addition of her weight, spread evenly on his frame via her braced leg. She crouched over his faceplate, knocking physically on his helmet with the flat butt of her dagger’s handle already casually held in her grip, his entire bulky design denoting a functional over aesthetic form as he powered along, seemingly undisturbed.

Within moments she got a slightly raised head in response to her presence as she asked in an immature yet effective way of communicating she was neither an enemy nor obstacle in his path almost like a curious and unfazed bystander as she casually asked “Whatcha doin?” To which he responded in a deep monotone robotic tone, which she suspected was part of the suit’s built-in voice emitter saying “chasing my ex-wife who been trying to kill me for the past three months now, so she doesn’t do so effectively to anyone else”, he said equally unfazed by her seemingly crazy behaviour as if he’d both seen and endured worse, even as she rested on his shoulders with no more strain on his strength or speed than a perched crow. “Would you appreciate some help? Maybe we could sever a limb or two? She’s is a “Widowmaker” after all, that’s always a special class of crazy all by itself”, she uttered matter-of-factly in the same tone as before. His head shifted slightly as he considered this carefully before he said “Watch her sword, nothing I can make can seem to stop it from slicing through long enough, as a result, she got tired of chasing after me and trying to slice parts off, so she made sure I chased her to make sure I didn’t let her kill anyone else”, he uttered, clearly desperate to end the chase permanently. “I’m Marcus Hand, pleased to meet you ... considering the circumstances”, he said introducing himself officially, as he reached up with a tentative hand in an offer to shake hers out of what was probably more surprise at a potential reprieve more than anything else, which she took with her armoured glove. “Sarah Reed, I’m here to help you save your own life, unless you’re lying”, she said with a grin behind her helmet, as she looked down at him “Then I’ll gut you with your girlfriends Ōdachi, which I hear is great for slicing through horses, probably something to do with cavalrymen ... anywho, my partners on the other end of the pincer movement he’s got forming”, she said out loud before she added with a devil-may-care grin she knew he could hear on her voice alone as she said, “you ever heard of the Fastball Special?”.

She flew through the air, her body tucked into a ball during the initial throw on his large, open palm, now stretched out to reduce aerodynamic drag. The toes on her booted feet reached as far back as they could as she held out her dagger in front of her in a two-handed grip, bracing for the impact as metal flashed then shattered in front of her as the tip of the Maker’s blade was sliced cleanly off in her attempt to fend her off in this sudden and insane attack. The spinning end lodged itself into the opposite building on her right, as she tucked into a rolling ball through the air to reduce her exposure before she came to a crunching halt on the road below on both booted feet. They were spread widely apart below her as she landed cleanly in a three-point landing, making contact with the ground steadily with her both feet and her braced feet wide apart and supporting her weight with one hand on the floor. Her gloved hand stretched out behind her, turning into the Maker’s first strike, as she cleaved down at her in a diagonal strike aimed at her throat, intent on cutting Sarah open from grin to groin but failing, as she only managed to shave off another piece of her longsword off in the process, made considerably shorter this time, as Sarah’s knife came up deceptively quickly.

The Widowmaker tried to recover the momentum of her attack, lunging at her belly only for Sarah to sidestep gracefully, reaching for her Bluemoon pistol as she rushed past her guard, firing two rounds point blank into her back, faster than she could pan around to defend. The ping of metal on metal as the rounds clung to the flexible, metal panelling of her spine’s armour plating rung through the air, as orange-gold sparks of charged energy sang through her momentarily before dying down, as Sarah smiled wickedly and stepped away. Holstering the pistol, she watched the Maker smoothly recover and assume a Koncho-no-Kamae stance, as both hands crossed each other, with the right one holding the sword below the circular hilt whilst the left was at the pommel, as she held the blade above her eye line in a straight position while facing her enemy. Her legs bent at forty-five-degree angles, allowing the stance to be flexible enough to deal with multiple enemies, in a tight, yet loose two-handed stance, which would allow her to be stable while being flexible enough to strike in any direction. It was defensive and intimidating all at the same time and made counterattack perfectly possible. It made her look like a show-off in Sarah’s humble utilitarian opinion, as she flipped and deftly caught her knife several times in her hand as she said “You ready to find out how far I can shove that sword up your butt?”, she said playfully, mocking her despite the obvious danger she posed, as Sarah more than just looked the part of a killer.

Her black, functional EXO body armour, including the sloped design of her ballistic face mask, which all combined alone made her look like a dedicated killer for hire and unfortunately, a more than obvious “villain” archetype to say the least, especially when she brandished and handled her dagger in the same convincing manner a vicious and overconfident thug or gangster might like she was doing right now, even as she became a blur of movement, headed straight for the Maker.

The two warriors clashed their movements a dance of steel and grace that seemed almost too beautiful to be violent, their blades flashing and sparking against each other in a flurry of motion that was as mesmerizing as it was deadly. Sarah’s knife, though smaller, was surprisingly effective against the Widowmaker’s ōdachi, her speed and precision allowing her to keep the larger blade at bay. The sound of metal on metal filled the air, a cacophony of danger and skill that made Sarah’s heart race. Each slice even as a blocking parry shortened its length, even as the Maker limbs began to stiffen and Sarah said “That feeling your getting, creeping in the belly of your gut, that isn’t fear, it’s the most embarrassing defeat you could hand yourself if you stay here and keep fighting me, because soon enough you won’t be able to stand and you know why”, she said leeringly. “But don’t listen to me, listen to your body, let it tell you how you’re gonna lose this fight, how every stomach acid in your gut along with whoever’s baby you probably ate today for fun is probably having its overdue payback”, Sarah said raising a free hand with both middle and index fingers sticking out before moving them in kicking motions back and forth, as she said “both ways”, with a merciless grin being conveyed on her voice alone as she said it, seemingly freezing the Widowmaker on the spot before she heard the heavy tread of Marcus’ booted feet coming to a halt behind Sarah. “Jenna, it’s time you stopped this and got help, I know you’re in there and I know I can get you out”, he said his robotic voice emitter carrying over more than just a small hint of affection he still held for her along with worry.