by Logan Jacobs
There was a connection between the megaverse’s most famous tabloid journalist, Trillium Vou, and an AI program called Tyche. It, or he, was essentially in charge of the Crucible of Carnage, and it seemed like he and Trillium, and who knows who else, were altering the games for their own gain. Oh, yeah, and Tyche was essentially Artemis’ dad who the last time we met had threatened to kill her if I didn’t stop poking my nose where it didn’t belong. So, yeah, that had been my last few days before getting my apartment blown up, meeting my father for the first time, and then returning to Earth to mount a rescue mission to save the President’s daughter. Pretty crazy, even by Marc Havak standards.
“Yeah, sugar, we were all gathered around the holo-vid wondering what the hell was going on,” Aurora drawled. “We were starting to get worried when the good Captain here showed up and started to arrest Grizz. So, we had no idea what happened after the fight in the cafeteria.”
“You were indeed Castor Troy,” PoLarr smiled and gave me a little high five.
“Ahem,” Thomas cleared his throat. “As interesting as all this is, and it is indeed very interesting--”
“You can sure say that again, sir,” Sergeant O'Donnell agreed as her eyes bored into me.
“We need to get geared up,” Thomas continued as he cut the Sergeant a disapproving glance. She immediately buttoned up and stood a little taller and more rigid. “Chaz, come with me back to the briefing room, and I’ll get you the maps and schematics of the eighteenth district in Paris where the safehouse has been discovered. Sergeant O’Donnell will take care of the rest of you. Meet back in the briefing room ASAP.”
With that Thomas turned and walked out of the room. Chaz smiled brightly and followed dutifully.
“Okay, so, some of you clearly need… some BDUs,” Sergeant O’Donnell said as she stared at Aurora.
After we set up the bio-droids at CDPD, we stopped back at home to grab a few things that we would need. Aurora had put on, what for her would be considered somewhat modest, but by Earth standards probably looked like she stepped off the runway at a Victoria's Secret fashion show. Her sixties Playboy Playmate figure was cinched in a tight, black, hourglass corset that made her already ridiculously voluptuous breasts seem even bigger while at the same time accentuating the soft, round curve of her hips. Her naughty bits were covered by a matching pair of black boy shorts that let the very bottom of her amazing ass cheeks peek out. Thigh high black leather boots covered most of her shapely legs and the ensemble was completed, as always, by a long, black cloak with a blood red satin interior that fluttered around her body even though there was no breeze, like it had a mind of its own.
“What? Do ya’ll mean me, sugar?” Aurora drawled innocently. “Is this not acceptable battle garb?”
“You might draw a little unwanted attention, babe,” I said and kissed her on the cheek. “Remember, we’re trying to blend in as much as we can.”
“Ugh, am I going to have to wear stuff like that D-Day match we had a while ago?” Aurora pouted.
“Not quite, Ms. Starfall,” Sergeant O’Donnell replied with a little grin. “Great match by the way. That frontal assault was textbook, Mr. Havak.”
“Thanks,” I said again and felt my cheeks flush. You would think that I’d be used to hot women hitting on me, but deep down I was still a shy thirteen-year-old who couldn’t get anyone to dance with him at the eighth grade social.
“I think you’ll find that our latest Battle Dress Uniforms aren’t nearly as bulky as the stuff from World War Two,” O’Donnell said as she slid a rack of uniforms out from the wall like we were in some kind of high-end retail shop. “Here you go, I think this should fit your… um… proportions nicely. In fact, here are some for all of you to try on. There are fitting rooms right over there.”
O’Donnell pointed toward a row of narrow doors. She handed each of the ladies of Team Havak a small stack of clothing and boots for them to try on.
“What, none for me?” I asked when she didn’t give me a stack.
“You look like you’re already dressed for action, Mr. Havak,” O’Donnell said as she looked me up and down.
I had changed into a fresh jumpsuit while at the apartment, only this one was matte black instead of my normal blue-gray one. I’d had to leave most of my armor at home due to technology restrictions but the outfit was still made from a high grade polymer fabric that would be able to stop most edged weapons, was water resistant, highly breathable, lightweight, and flexible.
“That’s my father’s name--” I started to say before I caught myself. It was a joke I’d used anytime anyone called me formally by my last name. It was usually a pretty good joke, but for the first time ever it was actually fucking true. I had no idea if everyone knew that Colonel Thomas Havoc was indeed my dad.
“Cute,” she giggled and fixed me with a sexy glare. She pulled a battle harness vest looking thing from another rack and handed it to me. “Try this though. The Colonel told me that you all couldn’t bring any advanced tech that Earth doesn’t already have so I started to put together a few things that our eggheads have been working on with the tech we do have. Amazing how much time and energy research departments now have that they’re not trying to come up with food that doesn’t make you fat or, you know, ways to cure cancer. Thanks for that, by the way. My mom had a tumor in her breast, but now she’s healed.”
“That’s great,” I said. “Glad she is okay.”
“Everyone on Earth owes you,” she continued. “You’ve given us so much.”
“Oh, yeah, you know, you’re welcome,” I said as I felt my inner scoundrel start to emerge. Even in the face of danger there was this cocky part of me that just couldn’t help flirting. “I’m a giver. I give.”
“I bet you do,” O’Donnell replied with a wicked grin. She handed over the harness-vest combo for me to try on. It was similar in design to a CRYE Precision Jumpable Plate Carrier, or JPC but made from a webbed fabric that was light yet seemed strong and flexible. It was all black, and had several pouches for spare magazines, glow-sticks, a first aid kit, a radio, and a small compact fannypack sized rucksack on the back. I shrugged into it, adjusted the straps and clicked it into place. It was a long way from my full-torso covering body armor back home… Or back in Valiance city.
“Nice, fits good, what about the metal plate?” I asked. Most plate carriers were at least ten to fifteen pounds with the protective metal inserts put in that could usually withstand multiple hits from up to 7.62mm rounds.
“Already in,” O’Donnell smiled at me. “Thanks to some of the new advances in polymers, and ballistic plastic, the plates are nothing more than a thin plastic-like layer already sewn into the fabric.”
“Nice,” I said, impressed.
“Looks good on you,” she said with an appraising eye.
“How do we look, sugars?” Aurora said. I turned my attention to the dressing rooms and had to keep my mouth from falling open. All my alliance mates, and Captain Har’Gitay, stood in front of the open dressing room doors like some kind of super kick ass all female version of The Expendables.
They were all in basically the same style of BDU but each of them had added their own personality and flair to the outfit.
PoLarr kept hers the closest to what I imagine would be military regs. Her blouse was tucked in but unbuttoned just enough to show the small swell of the tops of her pert breasts. She’d tucked her pant legs into the top of her combat boots like a classic paratrooper. Her blonde, shark fin hairdo seemed to glow in the overhead fluorescent light, and she donned a pair of mirrored aviator shades.
Next to her was Captain Har’Gitay, who had also kept her uniform close to standard regulations. She’d rolled the sleeves of her shirt up to the elbows but wore her trousers lower on her hips. Her shirt was completely buttoned but said buttons strained mightily against the pressure of her fabulous tits that clearly struggled to be set free. Her hair was pulled up into a no-nonsense bun and was covered by an already broken in bla
ck baseball cap.
On the other side of PoLarr was Nova, Tempest and Aurora, and that’s where standard regulations kind of went out the window.
Nova wore her trousers up closer to her waist and cinched them tight with an old school, brass buckle web belt. She’d torn the sleeves off her shirt so that her athletic biceps were on full display. The shirt was worn loose over a dark olive sports bra that she hadn’t even tried to button above the first two. Her long auburn hair was in her traditional warrior braid but she’d added a medium width black headband. She looked tough and ready to kick much ass like Vasquez from Aliens.
Tempest had somehow managed to get her pants tight and form fitting and forwent the blouse top completely for a tight, black tank. Her orange hair was in a loose ponytail at the back of her head, and she wore a black beret at a jaunty angle. She wore fingerless, combat gloves that added to her badass bitch attitude.
Aurora, well, Aurora had to be Aurora. She’d cut her BDU pants into short shorts ala Lara Croft, but somehow kept her thigh length black boots. She’d torn the sleeves from her blouse as well and managed to tie it up in such a way that it looked like a bra. Her cloak, which must have had some kind of size altering molecular fiber, was now a Shemaug which hung loosely around her neck and shoulders and could easily be pulled up to cover her mouth and silvery locks. It was the oddest combo I’d ever seen… and it somehow fucking worked. She looked as sexy as she did deadly.
“Well, that isn’t quite what I’d been going for, ladies, but it works,” O’Donnell said with a smirk and tossed each of them a JPC. “Slide into those and get over here so I can give you guns.”
“That’s the hottest thing I think I’ve ever heard,” I blurted out. O’Donnell shot me a look and then promptly ignored me, which was probably for the best.
“I did some research on your preferred armaments in the Crucible and I think I’ve worked up some good options for you all,” O’Donnell continued with a huge smile.
“The Gun Sommelier,” I whispered to PoLarr.
“Excellent choice, Mr. Wick,” PoLarr whispered back.
“Alright, Ms. Qwark, I think we shall start with you,” Sergeant O’Donnell said as she pulled a rack of guns along a slider track. “You seem to be the team’s resident Tank--”
“If you tell me you are a gamer, I swear to god…” I blurted out again.
“Level 3000 on Overwatch, and I play Zarya,” O’Donnell said without missing a beat. “So, where was I? Okay, right, you are the heavy artillery. If I could I’d modify a light howitzer for you, but, alas, I can’t, and you still need to be somewhat mobile. So try this out.”
O’Donnell handed Nova a medium-sized machine gun with lots of bells and whistles. It was big and heavy and had a huge belt fed box magazine off the side.
“Oh, this feels thick and girthy in my hands,” Nova said when she picked it up. “Havak, shut up.”
“What, I was as quiet as a field mouse?” I replied sheepishly even though I was thinking all kinds of dirty thoughts.
“Like I was saying,” O’Donnell continued. “This is the newly minted, M275, Squad Automatic Weapon, or SAW for short. It has incorporated the latest in lightweight metal design and polymer casing shells. It chambers a 6.5mm telescoping caseless round with enough firepower to blow through three engine blocks with practically zero weight. It has belt fed box magazines that have a hundred and fifty rounds. Normally this is a two person operation, but you are rather stout, so I think you can handle it all by yourself.”
“I like this very much,” Nova said as she attached the sling to several points on her JPC. It allowed her to hold the rifle at the high ready, as if it weighed about as much as a BB gun, and fall to her side just as easily.
“Knew you would,” O’Donnell smiled then handed over a fucking hand cannon in a Safariland Drop-leg tactical holster. “For your sidearm I went with an oldie but a goodie. The Desert Eagle chambered in .50 cal for when you need to stop a bad guy, or a mac truck. It has a modified muzzle brake to help with recoil, but, as I’ve said, you look like you can handle it.”
“It feels good in my hands, like a monster wanting to be unleashed,” Nova said as she pulled the gun from the holster to admire it. “Again, shut it, Havak.”
“Why are my rights being read?” I said in mock innocence. I had been half a second away from making a very inappropriate remark.
“Tempest,” Sergeant O’Donnell said as she pulled another rack of guns over. “From what I hear you are quite the deadeye sharpshooter.”
“Yeah, I’m not bad,” Tempest said with mock humility.
“This here is a MK 12 Mod 1 fitted with a M-4 style collapsible stock, an AEM5 suppressor, a NXS 2.5-10x32 scope, and forty round magazines,” O’Donnell said as if it were her star pupil as she handed the rifle to Tempest.
“I have no idea what any of that meant,” Tempest smirked as she brought it up and sighted down the long room. “But I like it.”
“Again, the advances in ballistics mean that forty round mag is the same size as the old thirty round,” O’Donnell explained. “It’s a good medium to long-range weapon, and if shit hits the fan, you can unscrew the suppressor, and you’ve got a pretty damn good semi-automatic rifle. For your sidearm I think you’ll like the new Gen Six Glock 19 with MOS red dot sights. The new 9mm rounds now have the punch of a .45 and standard mags carry twenty four of the little angry flesh tearing bastards.”
“I like you,” Tempest said as she took the pistol and holster from O’Donnell and began to clip it to her JPC and load up the pouches with extra mags.
“Feeling is mutual,” O’Donnell replied and turned her attention to PoLarr. “I did some research on the Val’Keeyre, and if you ever decide to recruit from Earth, count me in.”
“You’ll be first on the list,” PoLarr said proudly.
“You were a harder nut to crack,” O’Donnell admitted. “I imagine that even our most recent advances in firearms is going to seem antiquated to someone used to wielding one of the most accurate handguns in the universe. Those Equalizers are a thing of sheer ballistic beauty.”
“That they are,” PoLarr grinned.
“So,” O’Donnell continued, “I did the best I could with a pair of Nighthawk Custom Chairman modified 1911 .45cal pistols with six inch barrels with lightning cuts and Titanium Gold Nitride barrels. Fifteen round magazines and special fast break holsters. Your JPC is equipped with two additional holsters for your back up pieces which are subcompact Glock 30s and fire the same rounds as your 1911s.”
“Well done,” PoLarr said as she took the guns and felt their weight in her very capable hands. “This will do very nicely.”
“Thank you,” O’Donnell said with a huge smile. “Now on to you, Captain Har’Gitay. I figured you would be more comfortable with weapons that more closely resemble those used in law enforcement as opposed to direct military action.”
“Yes and no,” Har’Gitay replied. “We have something similar to Earth SWAT teams. I’ve trained extensively in hostage rescue which folds a lot of military tactics into law enforcement.”
“Alright then, hmm, let me improvise a bit then,” O’Donnell said as she scrunched up her brow ever so slightly. She slid the one gun rack back into place, turned around, walked down a few rows and then slid another rack out. She removed a compact submachine gun from the rack and handed it Har’Gitay. “Let’s go with a Heckler & Koch MP7A1 with a forty round mag, and Zeiss Z-Point red dot sight. It can put out up to eleven hundred armor-piercing rounds on target a minute. Oh, this is fun.”
“Hmm, yes, I like this gun very much,” Har’Gitay said and snapped it into the sling points on her harness. She grabbed several of the forty round magazines and stuffed them into the mag pouches on her JPC.
“Since that is lightweight I’m going to double you up,” O’Donnell said as she pulled a short-barreled AK looking black gun from the rack. “This a VEPR 12, semi-automatic shotgun with an Aimpoint Micro T-2 sight which has already bee
n zeroed in. The color coded eight round mags are blue stripe for double ought buckshot, fire engine red for flechettes, and bad boy black for devastating bolo rounds. And the finishing touch, kicking it sort of retro, but in a new retro kind of way,” O’Donnell said and handed her a snub-nosed, matte black revolver. “Kimber K6 chambered in good ole’ .357 magnum.”
Har’Gitay took the shotgun and slung it opposite the MP7, then slid the revolver into the holster on her hip, and nodded approvingly.
“Now for the hardest of the bunch,” O’Donnell said as she turned toward Aurora who was still trying to arrange her JPC around her massive breasts. Everyone looked at me to say something. I just smiled and waved. “There is not much I have here that can outdo your dark matter blasts, but, we can’t have you running into battle with nothing but your boobs… although they do look like they could do some damage.”
“And then some, sugar,” Aurora drawled somewhat seductively. “Looks like you might know a thing or two about that.”
“Amen, sister,” O’Donnell joked. She pulled a drawer out from under another rack of guns and handed over something that would have looked right at home in the Crucible of Carnage on some far-off planet. It was all rounded edges and made from some kind of matte black plastic. “This is one of my personal favorites. The FN P90. Sexy. Sleek. And very deadly. Just like you, Aurora. This one is equipped with an EOTech red dot sight and fifty round box mags. Put that red dot on what you want to shoot and squeeze the trigger. No more bad guy.”
“I like that it has curves just like mine,” Aurora said seductively as she palmed the compact submachine gun. It filled her hands like it was custom made for her.
“And to throw one more playmate into the party,” O’Donnell added. “Because who doesn’t like a good threesome? This space age little beauty is the Taurus Curve. Holds six rounds of brand spanking new armor piercing .380 ACP ammo. It’s small, but it packs a punch.”