by Jason Luthor
“Dark Angel, your suit is heading into an emergency shutdown. That rail gun’s producing enough energy to power a couple of buildings and your suit’s not—”
“I know!” I scream as I start lifting, my suit straining underneath me as I feel a searing pain rising from my feet into my eyeballs. The energy circulating through the rail gun’s pulsing inside of me, my body heating up as I try to stay on my feet, every muscle in my body straining as I lift. I can feel my back ripping apart and rebuilding as I strain against a weight heavier than anything else I’ve tried to lift in my life.
“That gun’s the size of a building. You can’t lift a building. Your vitals . . . You’re either going to die of electrocution or from your organs rupturing all at once.”
I don’t answer back as I scream, the metal casing in my hands groaning as I lift upward, smoke sizzling off my body as I keep pushing with my legs. John’s right. I can’t lift a building. I don’t need to though. I just need to apply enough force, in one specific spot, to break the Tank’s toys. The lenses in my helmet shut down as it overloads, and my vision turns white, leaving me blind as I struggle there. The heat I feel burning out of my body keeps getting more intense, until I start feeling my skin burning away underneath my armor, disintegrating as the temperatures in the suit reach levels that leave me cooking alive. It’s so much pain that I’m screaming as I hold onto that section of the railgun, my body searing away as my muscles rip apart, until with one final lift of my legs, the mid-section of the railgun bends upward. It all happens in one second, and it doesn’t bend by much, but when it does, the entire length of the Panzer’s arm erupts in one massive explosion.
The force of it sends me rocketing away from the Panzer, and for the second time in just a few minutes, I find myself out of control, catapulting through the sky with no control. I punch into the side of a building and go flopping off, my body careening back toward the ground and with all my systems offline. I can see the ground zooming at me, and all I can think is, there’s no way I stay conscious if I take two falls from this distance. “Thrusters,” I say with my teeth clenched together. “John!”
“They’re up in five seconds.”
My eyes go wide at the number as I question whether I even have five seconds, the pavement underneath me coming at me faster and faster. I start counting down in my head as the earth’s flying at me, angling my body upward so I’m ready the second my jetpack’s online. And that’s when I hear John say, “Go, go, go!” The second he does, the rockets in my back ignite to life, and I go from falling groundward at terminal speed to rushing upward at hundreds of miles per hour. It’s the sort of change in direction and speed that would kill any other person. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel it, that pressure in my eyeballs and the veins in my body bursting under the pressure. The pains is deliriously overwhelming, like it’s the only thing that exists in all the world, surrounding me and soaking into every part of my existence. But above me, far above me, there’s a steel giant, and I still have a mission. I still have people to save. And that thought? That’s all I need to skyrocket upward even as my body is still desperately trying to heal itself. Still, no matter how determined I am, I see more guns and rocket launchers turning my way and I wonder, for the first time, if I really can make it through all this firepower and to the Tank.
The guns are locking onto me, and I’m about to start evasive maneuvers, when my vision fills up with explosions that erupt across the body of the Panzer. I let out a gasp as I see the guns along its body shuddering, explosions just blooming across its collar and chest. Some of the guns stop, at least for a few seconds, and I get enough daytime to roar back up above the skyline. The second I’m in the air again, I hear a voice across my comms.
“Dark Angel, this is Strike Three, Reddington.” All I can think in that second is thank the Builders that Yousef brought Talons for the fight. “We’re inbound from your ten. Fall in and we’ll clear the way in for you.” The message finishes and my eyes flick to my left. My targeting reticule spots out the whole squadron inbound, and I realize what they’re about to do.
“Strike Three, this is Dark Angel, there’s no way you guys make it out coming in at point blank range across the top.”
“We knew what we signed up for. Air’s too jammed up to get you in clean. This is the only way. Acknowledge.”
I’m rocketing their way and watching as their Talons get closer and closer. I don’t have time to debate it. “Shit. Alright. I’ll come in behind you. Just don’t put yourself right on the doorstep. Give yourself a fighting chance.”
“Understood.”
The channel goes quiet, leaving me flying straight at the incoming squadron. Must be close to 20 of them at different altitudes. I pull up and angle myself above them before the repulsors on my back flip me around. The Talons go roaring by so fast, they’re already putting distance between me and them by the time my thrusters kick in. I’m rocketing to catch up and find myself trailing behind them, their engines glowing with blue fire as we all start to angle toward the Panzer. “I’m in position!”
“Strike Three, starting attack run.” It’s the last thing I hear from him before comms codes start going out from literally every person in the squadron, and I watch as the air starts to fill up with missiles. Underneath the Talons, streaks of smoke start to fill the air as explosives go firing toward the Panzer. The flak field eats up most of it, creating a wave of blossoming red and orange explosions ahead of us, the heat and fire blinding me for just a second as we pass through it. One fighter ahead of us tears apart as the Panzer’s guns cut across it, metal and fire detonating into the skies, and I can’t help but think that they’d never be following this formation if it wasn’t for me. That’s when another of the fighters goes erupting into flame, pieces of its wing ripping away before it erupts with enough force to throw me off course.
My repulsors send me into a roll, tumbling sideways and out of the way of the debris even as I’m rocketing forward. It’s only been seconds but, at this speed, we’re already coming down on the target. The waves of missiles spilling forward and toward the Panzer’s deck are erupting into another wall of flame, smoke and fire, creating cover even as another Talon’s wings are stripped from it, the fighter streaking toward the ground. I wish I could tell if they survived, but my eyes are locked on the woman that’s seconds away from us. She’s holding a hand out toward the squadron, and my eyes zoom in on her palm. It takes a second to tell what’s happening, but I realize her hand’s starting to burn with golden light. “Does she have an Advanced Reaction system?” I whisper as we’re closing in on her, my eyes watching as the glowing energy in her hand starts to reach the peak of its intensity. “Strike Three, break off. I’ve got this!”
The squadron tears away from me to the left and right, guns still tracking them and the air still crisscrossed with rounds. The second the Talons are turning away, the Tank’s palm erupts in a solid beam of energy that cuts through the air, the brightness of it overwhelming my helmet’s sensors as I roll away from it at the last second. I watch the beam turn and chase one of the fighters before slicing right through its wing and detonating it into a ball of flames. Then my eyes are back on the target. My heart pumps and my fists clench as I see, for one second, every gun and missile launcher turned away from me, all of them chasing my squadron. And my thrusters erupt.
“This is it!” I scream as I blast through the sky, every gun turning to chase me when I burst through the cover of the smoke wall, their barrels tracking my trajectory and bullets filling up the sky behind me. It’s too late. I’m through. The Tank, oblivious to me until that last instant, barely has the time to turn and see me as I’m coming down on the deck. “This is the end!”
That beam in her palm starts to charge again, gathering energy to fire at me before I’m on her. She doesn’t make it. I hit the deck with the speed of a Talon, my feet slamming the ground with enough force that I send the floor shaking. When I do, my black metal fist comes crossing along
the Tank’s jaw. At that speed, at that angle, there isn’t any chance for her to retaliate or defend herself. The second I connect, I feel the bone in her jaw crack apart as she goes flying backward and tumbling in circles along the ground, every massive inch of her crumbling onto the floor. Then I’m standing there, staring at her as she’s struggling to pick herself up off the ground, my vision turning red as I’m looking down on her.
“This stops now.”
Tommy’s Recording 30
There’s an audible gasp in the room as we watch Jackie connect with the Tank. Some of the Advisory Council looks away as blood pours across the deck, spilling from the Tank’s mouth in a stream. One of Yousef’s men announces, “The Angel is on the deck. Repeat, the Dark Angel is on the deck.” As if we needed to be told. She’s standing there, seven feet of black armor, her fists clenched and her eyes dripping red energy trails through the air.
President Branagh looks over at me. “Told you she’d make it.”
That gets Yousef’s attention. “Indeed. But the battle isn’t won quite yet. I didn’t expect the Tank to be so . . . heavily armed.”
I nod. “You’re right. That cannon. Where the hell did she get that thing? How the hell did a bunch of raiders get access to this kind of tech? That’s a version of your arm she’s equipped with.” Yousef doesn’t answer. He doesn’t even look at me. I shake my head as I look back at the screen, watching the Tank as she pulls herself off the ground. “How is she even standing after a hit like that?”
Doc Watson doesn’t look at me when he responds. His eyes are locked onto the screen like a starving man finding food. “Because,” he says. “She has a heightened resistance factor to physical blows.”
“Heightened resistance factor? Do you mean she’s stronger? Like, maybe because of the Creep?”
He shakes his head. “No. Well, perhaps. I cannot rule out a Creep transfusion entirely. However, the Tank may be using some version of old Apeiron technology designed to blunt traumatic impact by redirecting kinetic force into a Pocket Space field. Apeiron didn’t only experiment with organic enhancements to the human condition. It also did extensive work in the fields of robotic implants and microcellular technologies. Of course, there may also be nanite technology operating as a restorative healing factor as well. Look,” he points out, “At her jaw.”
I follow his eyes back to the screen and watch as the huge gash across the Tank’s jawline starts to close, right in front of my eyes. For anyone normal, that sort of thing would take weeks. “Can Jackie put her down?”
That actually gets a smile out of him. “There is a reason Apeiron settled on using the Creep for its enhancements rather than nanites.”
I don’t say anything else. I realize Yousef is looking away, his hand on his earpiece. He’s mumbling into his private comms, but even from here, I can make out him saying, “Angel is on the deck. Is our blue asset in place?” It’s a term I’ve never heard before, but I don’t have time to pay attention. My eyes are dragged back to the screens when I see the Tank starting to charge at Jackie.
Jackie’s Recording 24
I spot the other girl, the ‘sister,’ as I’m standing there. She’s seated toward the back of the deck, in the shadows, her body crumpled over in her wheelchair and her head barely lifted up. “Primary, I’ve got a bystander on the deck. Going to settle this and bring her home.”
“You get ‘em, Dark Angel,” I hear the president call back. I’d smile if the situation weren’t more serious. The woman directly in front of me, the Tank, is staring me down. Her jaw’s already repaired herself. I’m sensing Creep in the area, maybe even a little in her, but not at levels that should be helping her heal up. That just leaves me wondering if she’s got some good tech in her bloodstream.
“You’re the Dark Angel,” she finally mouths as I see her jawbone snap back into place. “Pretty dramatic.”
“Ironic, considering that you’re the one marching through the city in a three-hundred-foot-tall robot.”
“Witty girl, too,” she says with this big, stretched out grin. “You must be a smart one.”
“Parents kind of raised me to be.”
“Yet you’re working for murderers.”
“Again, says the woman marching through a city in a giant robot that’s packing more weapons than a military base.”
“And I guess you just have that flying ship out there for a joyride?”
I shake my head. “It’s to protect against people like you. People who’d hurt the innocent.”
“Innocent? Your people?” She looks away for a second, still smiling. “I’m not as smart as you, girlie. I can barely keep things running sometimes. But I know a little about the past. You ever heard of Just War theory?”
“Yeah. Surprise, I read.”
“Then you know that sometimes you need to make war to save lives. Innocent lives. That’s why we’re here, you and me.”
“You’re going to have to explain that one.”
“You’re a dog of war. I am too, but I didn’t start this fight. I will end it, though. If that means taking out Central Freedom and Fort Silence, then that’s what it’s going to be.”
“I’m not going to let that happen.”
“And I’m not going to let you stop me. So, what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?”
I don’t have time to say anything before that cannon in her palm erupts to life. A beam of burning golden light cuts through the air, and I go diving away as it burns up the sky behind me. I’m barely coming off the ground when I feel my stomach collapse inward, the Tank’s knee driving into me with enough force that it sends a shockwave right through my armor and rumbling through my body. My guts already feel like they’re being held together with thread, and I go stumbling backward, clutching at my waist as I suck wind. “How?”
“I know what you are,” she says as she comes toward me. Her fist flies downward at the top of my skull, and I barely turn away so that it swipes through the air. I can’t dodge the second one though, and it crashes into my chin, sending me flying backward and sliding along the ground. “Every day since you came to Central. Killing my men and women.” She braces, her legs propelling her at me and her body flying into the air. I roll to the side as she comes crashing down, her knee hitting the space where my face was just a second before. Her eyes shoot over at me, her mouth locked tightly together. “You think I don’t think about them every night? Everyone you killed? You don’t think I didn’t see you blow them out of the air with your suit?”
“I didn’t—” I’m gasping. I don’t even know how much of my lungs are intact. “I saved everyone that I could.”
“Saved them? Saved them?!”
“Yes.” I pushed myself off the ground and back onto my feet. “As many as I could. They’re . . . they’re somewhere I keep everyone I capture. They’re fed. They’re safe.”
“And I should believe you when you work with a country of murderers?” She flies at me and takes a swing. I duck underneath the first and the second, letting my instincts take over, even if it feels like my insides are ripping apart every time I twist or turn. I dodge one, two, three punches, and then the fourth sends me flying backward. She’s fast. She’s almost as fast as Yousef, but . . . something’s off. It’s like the tech she’s using just isn’t quite as good or something. “You think you’re the only one out here who’s strong?” The Tank holds up her clenched fist, and I see her hand trembling as she cocks her arm back. “There’s an arms race going on to see who’s going to survive and, up until we got this Panzer running? We were losing. Not anymore. We’re not going to let you chase us like dogs anymore.”
I shake my head at her. “Lady, I’ve got no idea what you’re talking about.”
Tommy’s Recording 31
The president looks over at me with a confused look on his face. “What the hell is she talking about?”
“Uh, I don’t know, sir.” I look over at Martin across the table, but he just shrugs. �
��Maybe they just hold grudges, or . . .”
“We tried to make a damned peace accord with them!” he almost shouts. “And she wants to call us the murderers?”
That’s when we hear the Tank start talking again. “We give it a shot. Give you a chance. So no more of my men or women will die, we say. Sure. Let’s try peace. What do we get for it? You double cross us. Not with a knife to the back. With guns and tanks. You kill . . . you didn’t even bother trying to take out our troops. You went for civilians. Women and children. That? That’s a terrorist.”
Branagh looks around the room, his eyes moving from one general to another on the War Council. “Ladies and gentlemen, can anybody shed some light on what she’s talking about?”
General McCullum looks over from his position at the table. “Branagh, you and I both know I don’t like you. But to be clear, if there’d been any military movement, you’d know about it. Don’t you think? There aren’t a lot of ways off of this island, and for better or worse, the militia likes you. Something would’ve made its way up to you somehow. Someone would have said something.”
Martin nods. “Yes, sir. I have to agree with the general. I can also give you my personal assurance that after we tried to broker the peace, there were no attempts to break it. Not on our side.”
“Then what is she talking about?” He stops for a second before looking over at Yousef. “General. Did you know anything about this?”
Yousef breaks his attention away from the screen in front of him to look at the president. “Just how long have we been working together now, Mr. President? Am I always going to live in my father’s shadow? How many amends do I have to make, how much effort to change must I make, before you give me the benefit of the doubt?”