Otherworld Squad

Alter had experienced the soul-shattering vibration of standing under a thin bridge as a freight train passed overhead. That sensation was being thoroughly outclassed by his own heart. His eyes were stretched as wide as sails as he scanned the blood-spattered tents in desperate sweeps. His finger drummed the side of the trigger guard in nervous anticipation for the next confused face to poke out from the canvas sea. The horses were panicking in their rough stalls and the sound mixed with his heartbeat like a dirty cocktail at a student pre-drinks. Eighteen bodies lay before them in varying states of shock, half of that number had come stumbling into the line of fire without realising they were under attack. They’d wisened up now though, at least enough to not walk into the meat grinder. Reports of hushed voices came down the line along with peering eyes that vanished before any weapons could be brought to bear. Alter was tempted to give a ten second indiscriminate fire order to clear some space but he considered that a waste of ammunition. Plus they knew there was at least one hostage in here, in hindsight the fact he had fired near blindly as he moved in was a poor move.

A rasping sound to his immediate right shifted his attention but it was only Oliver slowly sheathing his sword with a look of dejection and wonder in equal measure. Alter found himself smiling despite the circumstances, the poor lad probably felt quite inadequate next to his squad. Admittedly he hadn’t wanted to see so much action this early and Wolross’ warning about getting carried away still rang in the back of his mind. Nevertheless he appreciated the multiple chances they had been given to cement their status as a potent fighting force. Past Oliver on the far side of their line Riptide suddenly adjusted his aim and fired off two shots into a gap between the rows of tents.

“Target down.” He reported a moment later.

Nineteen bodies now. Alter estimated a total of sixteen tents minus the much larger pavilion in the centre. Knock a couple of those off for storage and he was looking at roughly fourteen sleeping areas, maybe housing four adults at a push. That put the possible maximum population between fifty and sixty but there was no way this group would be able to secure enough food and fresh water to sustain that number. Their body count was already well into the thirties at this point. Ten left, tops. Time to move up.

“Alright. We’ve used up the element of surprise, we need to tie this up before the remainder can make a proper plan. Here’s –” Alter’s voice cut off as a strange guttural roar of challenge was emitted from the pavilion.

Over the tops of the closest tents he could see the canvas shift as one of the entry flaps was flung wide open. Even from Alter’s angle he could just make out the top of a bald scalp bobbing its way steadily toward them. The ground thudded with deliberately heavy footfalls, it would’ve been intimidating were it not for the invention of the gun. It would seem that Murgo’s minions hadn’t properly conveyed the dangers of moving in the open as the ‘Unlimited’ paced into view like a furious bull. Alter had to agree with the gravity of the title, the man was immense. Standing easily over ten feet tall on tree trunk sized legs, arms bulging with raw muscle held a pair of iron cleavers with blades the size of car windshields. He was topless, revealing a chest with more contours than the surrounding hills. His face was oddly child-like, scrunched together in the centre as if it hadn’t got the memo for how far it was supposed to grow. That was enough forehead space for an entire advertising campaign, the man could stand in Times Square and make a few million an hour just by existing. His eyes seemed trapped in a permanent gunslinger’s frown as he regarded the arrayed men before him. Behind the man Alter could see three more men of a much more manageable size, was that all the forces they had left? They had been doing better than he’d initially thought.

Murgo stopped once he had cleared the tents and raised one of the cleavers to point at the squad. His chest swelled, his shoulders rocked backward and his mouth opened in preparation for another bellow but he didn’t get the chance. Whim, who had taken position in the centre of their formation and therefore had the best shot, took full advantage of Murgo’s misunderstanding and planted a bullet into the man’s forehead. The giant figure reeled backward but did not fall. The pointing hand dropped its cleaver and flew up to his face as a pained shout stuttered its way from his lips. Another shot, Vangroover this time, lanced out and hit Murgo in the chest, an impact that would pierce the heart of a lesser man. The bullet seemed to make little impact, while he twisted in response there was no real sign of serious damage.

“Resilient bastard.” Alter remarked to Oliver.

“I will deal with him. Keep him occupied until I’m ready.” Oliver ordered as he re-drew his sword and stared at the blade intently.

Alter shrugged, it looked like he was going to see another one of his ‘tricks’.

“Keep the beast on the backfoot but don’t spend too much of your ammunition, call your shots. What happened to the last of the minions?” He called.

“They broke the moment this slab took the first hit. My shots.” Boozehound answered and fired another pair of bullets into the unlimited.

Alter frowned, it looked like they would have to hunt the remaining bandits down in close quarters. A shimmering blue light again drew his attention as Oliver’s sword blade began to burn with a flickering ethereal flame that matched the hue of his glowing eyes. Satisfied, the man began stalking forward with vision locked on his target. The squad still fired an odd round but soon enough the men were too close together. Murgo slowly recovered from the wounds that dotted his body but it was too late for him to mount an attack. Oliver’s blade slid into a gap between his ribs and icy fire raced across his body in spider web patterns. Murgo’s mouth opened but the only sound that emerged was a strange whistling akin to a boiling kettle. Alter noted with unease the same blue glow highlighting the back of his throat. With another smooth motion Oliver withdrew the blade and quickly stepped to the side, allowing Murgo’s body to plummet forward and send dust clouds spiralling in all directions as he hit the floor.

“Unlimited’s have ribs that flare out like arrowheads in order to deflect blows away from their organs, you need to hit them at the right upward angle. Also their skulls are too thick to be pierced by ordinary means.” Oliver called out to the stunned onlookers.

“Noted. Are you alright?” Alter responded as he moved up to the body.

“It takes a bit of a toll in terms of fatigue but that won’t hit me until later, worry not.”

Even standing a metre away from Murgo’s shoulder he could smell the heavy musk of alcohol in the air. The man stank of enough cheap beer to fill a swimming pool, no wonder he’d stumbled into the fray late. It likely explained his inability to speak too, he’d had hangovers like that.

“What a monster.” He commented as the rest of the squad moved up alongside him.

“Oh I've seen much bigger.”

“Well isn’t that just terrifying.”

“Movement.” Reported Pavejack and the rustle of shifting canvas called their attention over to the side.

One of the bandits slowly emerged from a tent pushing a small teenage girl with short brown hair in front of him with a dagger at her throat and a blindfold across her eyes.

“Nobody moves! Or I’ll slit her!” He snarled at them as he edged further out.

“Give him a path and wait for an angle.” Alter ordered as he made a show of lowering his rifle and moving out of the way, laying one hand on his radio.

One by one the squad fanned out, giving the bandit a clear line towards the gate. With a savage grin he ushered the girl forward and began steering her around Murgo’s body.

“That’s right. Nice and easy.” He chuckled as he made steady progress.

His mistake was inevitable, in a moment of frustration at Oliver being too close he moved the dagger away from Chloe’s throat in order to shoo him away. Once his arm had extended far enough Alter sent a blip and Vangroover, who had positioned himself out of the bandit’s line of sight, fired a single shot through his cranium. The bandit collapsed sideways and the dagger clattered across the floor.

“Dumbass.” Riptide smirked.

“Stay sharp. I want three-sixty degree security, there’s still at least two more in here somewhere.” Alter snapped.

Taunting was a prelude to gloating. Gloating was a gateway to complacency. Complacency had no home in his plans and he wasn’t about to let his boys sink to that level. He spun on his heel and pointed his rifle at the nearest tent flap as Oliver gingerly stepped towards the girl.

“Chloe? It’s me, Oliver.” He spoke softly.

“Lord Masserlind? What are you doing here?” Chloe responded between bouts of hyperventilation.

“You know your mistress would never forgive me if I left you out here. Did they hurt you anywhere?”

“No. They were a little rough but they didn’t do anything.”

“I’m relieved to hear it. I’m going to undo the blindfold okay? You’re going to see some nastiness but you don’t have to worry.”

Chloe nodded mutely as Oliver began fiddling with the knot. Alter spoke up as he worked.

“How do you want to proceed? We could pull out now but there’s still more bandits hiding in here. There could also be some useful supplies stashed in some of these tents.”

“Oh we’re not letting any of them get away with this.” Oliver’s voice was still quiet but had taken a much darker tone. “For now I’m going to get Chloe out of here, can I leave you to finish up?”

“Understood.”

The pair slowly made their way back through the gate and out of view. Once that happened Alter spoke.

“Here’s how this is going to work. Three, you stay here with me and examine the body, verify Oliver’s physiology lesson. If we ever run into another one of these thugs then I want to know exactly where to hit them. Everyone else, pair off and start searching the tents, be bloody careful. We know there aren’t any other friendlies inside so you’re good to blindfire if you feel the need. Move now.”

The others nodded and split into a pair and a trio as they began their hunt. Boozehound knelt down beside Murgo’s corpse and began rummaging through his medical bag as Alter stood protectively over him. Surgical knife located the medic began digging into the side of the unlimited’s ribcage.

“Oliver wasn’t lying, the ribs are different from regular humans. They're much wider, as close as they can be to becoming one solid plate without sacrificing the necessary movement for breathing.” He reported in a matter of fact tone.

“That’s one fact proven. Did the first round penetrate the skull?”

Boozehound shifted his focus and rocked the head over to get a better look and unleashed a vicious string of what Alter could only assume were french swear words. The language of love was not always an accurate descriptor.

“Pardon me. I just caught a glimpse of the inside of his mouth and now I want to throw up. Safe to say dentistry isn’t a priority in this place. Ermm, the skull is cracked but the bullet didn’t make it through. I’d need to do a proper autopsy to learn more and, well, that’s not happening anytime soon.”

His speech was halted as a flurry of gunfire came from the far side of one of the rows of tents. A moment later Walross started shouting into the radio in a panic.

“We were ambushed! Simon is down! I repeat Simon is down! Marcus, get the hell over here now!”

The two men stared at each other in dumb horror. Then they started sprinting.