Ouroboros, Part II


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Scene Title Ouroboros, Part II
Synopsis A strike team ventures into the nerve-center of the Institute's operation in Alaska, and faces heavy resistance.
Date November 8, 2011

Mount Natazhat Complex

A thunderous explosion sends snow and metal flying in every direction. Just outside of the Mount Natazhat complex, a pillar of black smoke and fire rises up from the demolished chassis of a truck-sized war machine. Distant gunfire still pops and cracks as base security in their winterized gear returns fire against a group of gun-wielding replicants. While Brian holds down suppressing fire, it clears the way for the remainder to make a run across an open, snow-dusted helicopter pad toward the open blast doors of the Mount Natazhat complex.

Booted feet thunder across crunching ice and snow, hurry over the frozen surface of the helipad, past the idle Chinook. Up ahead, the concrete-walled facility with its narrow windows and angular design looks like a bunker more than a research station. The mechanical whirr and clank of a massive satellite dish aligning atop the facility belies its true nature, though. Plates of metal swing and pivot, interlocking to form a telescoping dish. Antenna extend outward from the middle with snapping clanks as lights come on outside.

The facility’s only visible entrance is a massive, forty-foot wide steel blast door that opens from top to bottom like a yawning mouth. The machines that spilled out of it earlier now mostly lay in ruin, and orange lights flashing on the outside of the facility indicate that they’re shutting the doors. “Come on, come on!” Howard Phillips hurries along with the others, bare-chested and jacket flapping behind him as waves of steam emit from his unseasonably warm skin. He comes skidding to a halt by the door, slapping a hand to the ice cold metal before discharging a massive electrical blast from his arm.

Bolts of lightning snap and arc from his entire body, coupled with an agonized scream from the young blonde man. As Howard overloads the circuits in the wall and door, hydraulic hoses rupture, exterior lights explode in a shower of sparks, and the door grinds to a halt. “Get in! Get in!” Members of the Natazhat team flow past Howard, hopping through the open doorway, some crawling over the partly closed bottom door.

As Nicole approaches, Howard takes her hand and helps her inside, then joins the others within the yawning cavern of a massive vehicle maintenance bay. “Alright, follow the plan,” Ryans indicates, motioning for everyone to get close. “Team Alpha, get to the machine at the facility center and shut it down. Team Beta, get to the command center and disable facility security and be our eyes. Team Delta, you’re with me.” Ryans levels his rifle up to his shoulder. “We hold the line.”

Howard grabs Nicole’s hand, and the two of them join up with Warren, Edgar, Jaiden, and Lucille before breaking away. “It’s this way,” Howard indicates with eminent familiarity. As Team Alpha heads off toward an open doorway on the right side of the massive hangar, Ryans and his team begin to spread out, taking defensive positions behind heavy construction equipment, large snow vehicles, and metal supply crates covered by blue tarps.

Team Beta lingers for a moment, and Ryans exchanges a brief look with Cardinal. Liz, standing right behind him, offers a nod back to Magnes, Monica, and Adel and they begin to head toward another doorway in the hangar. Cardinal backs away from Ryans, then turns and hustles to catch up with the others.

A freezing cold wind whips through the open hangar bay door, bringing with it glittering blasts of snow and ice. As Team Delta gets into position, a voice suddenly chimes over loudspeakers. It echoes off of the walls, cuts through the howl of the arctic wind.

«Security breach. All security personnel, report to maintenance bay.»

That it is Peyton Whitney’s voice over the intercom is a stinging reminder of where allegiances now lie.

«I repeat, security breach. All security personnel, report to maintenance bay.»

Silent and stony, Ryans watches the final team disappear through the door. Only when Richard is out of sight, does he let out a heavy sigh through his nose; releasing the breath he was holding. A sense of dread and stress sat in a knot in his stomach — it does not fade, nor will it. Not until the mission is complete. It comes from leading people into a situation like that, something he is familiar with; but, every step of the plan they make it through is a small triumph for the old man.

The fact that Nicole and Lucille are there, outside his protection, makes that knot particularly stifling.

He tries to distract himself with routine things required of a leader. His voice is calm, even after the chaos of the killing fields, yet is commanding in tone.

«Extraction team, status report.»

Leaning against the boxes he has claimed for his position, Benjamin finally finds the time to drop the empty magazine from his assault rifle, catching it so that it does not clatter on the ground — beside, it is hard for the Ferry to replace things like that — and replace it with a soft metallic snap. A few more are shifted in his tactical vest, for easier access. Only then does he hazard a look to find where the rest of his team is.

Lashirah meanwhile is moving, even with the cold weather gear she has on, with a practiced grace. Maybe she’s not quite up to par of being FBI HRT, but she was a team member of FBI at one point. Swapping magazines, racking the slide, she simply nods to Ryans as she takes up a spot near him, her back to a covered crate. Cover is cover after all, as long as it isn’t likely to explode if shot. One of Warren’s liquid metal vests under the jacket still in place, of course… and perhaps her real pride and joy she brought with? Two actual frag grenades she still had from fleeing Fort Hero, along with a few home made explosives. Over the radio she has an impish tone, despite the cold
«Party Favors ready, our guests here yet?»

The armor is a second skin after the rush of battle outside. Huruma trails into the hangar with the others, taking up a position and watching— and feeling— the teams begin to branch out. The voice over the intercoms leaves a salty taste on her tongue, eyes a darting set under her helm as she surveys the space, tendrils of her field reaching out to graze as far as she can reach. The touches to the different minds around her linger like wind caught behind sails, a reassuring pressure that flickers away a moment later. They did good out there, there is no skipping past that.

Her cover is the thick hide of one of the vehicles, dark, armored frame visible only to those she breached the hangar with. Her rifle sits in the cradle of arms, the butt remaining against her shoulder as she skims the space ahead, gaze finding the entrances first, waiting.

Gunfire continues to crack and pop in the distance, a battle of attrition being waged outside the hangar.

Five. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty.

All screens in Brian’s mind, different bodies, different perspectives. His conscious whirls over the different screens. Some wielding sniper rifles, some automatic rifles. Some in the bitter cold of Alaska, some at the chaos of the Ark.


The angry whine of engines become louder as two snow-mobiles pop out of fresh powder and begin to grind against the hard floor of the giant hangar bay. Two black clad men decrease the throttle as the two machines previously ridden by Naztahat security forces have now been commandeered by Brian.


Marching in between them is the arkham armored Brian Winters, walking between his others like a commander of his forces.. He was pushing himself to the extreme to give their side what felt like an army, and if there was any ‘lead’ Brian today, it certainly felt like the one wearing the multimillion dollar exoskeleton.

Focus. Focus on all the screens. Today, we need an army.

The snowmobile Brians turn their vehicles sideways, going deeper into the hangar and then popping off behind them to make their own cover deeper in enemy territory. “«We’re doing just fine out here. We have a favorable position on them. We could hold them here till the ice melts.»” A pause and crackle over the radio. “«Let’s not do that though.»” The Brian inside the hangar in the armor gives a firm nod to Ryans.

For more than a minute, not much happens. There’s the pop and clatter of gunfire outside, but its lessening by the moment. Brian wasn’t overstating the advantageous position they have. But soon there’s a pop and crack of gunfire inside the facility, not in the maintenance bay, but elsewhere, further inside. A second later, there’s booted feet coming from the left-most doorway.

Nine men come running out of the door in pairs, in matching black winterized gear with snow goggles and balaclava masks. They aren’t prepared for the ambush, and Team Delta is in a prime position to spring the trap. The kill-box the security force enters into is complete, and within a matter of moments all nine of the first responders are riddled with bullets. But something is wrong.

As each body hits the ground, they begin to dissolve. As though they were made of nothing more than wasp nests, the men crumble into flakes of ash and float upwards into the sky, leaving a charcoal black stain on the ground where their bodies were. Even their clothing, their weapons, everything crumbles into ash and dust. It’s a jarring visual, accompanied by the plink, clink, tink of a four flash-bangs thrown out of the doorway into the maintenance bay.

A deafening roar of light and sound explodes four times in arrhythmic beat. Thankfully, the helmets of Horizon Armor deaden the impact of both light and sound, allowing for Team Delta to notice seven more of those security guards filing in under the flashbang’s cover. Except this time they’re not falling into the kill box, they’re aiming directly at where each Delta member was positioned in their initial cover. The rattling fire of M4 Carbines and jingling shell casings fill the air and reverberate through the maintenance bay.

Brian realizes what’s happening immediately.

They’re just like him.

A stillness takes over the former Company Director as the fighting gets closer, listening to the sound of approaching gunfire. Though he does not have any abilities himself, his focus sharpens paying attention to what goes on. Calculating what is needed. Blue eyes narrow behind the black wall of the visors as the figures flow in the door in front of him. Crap. He thinks.

The familiarity tickles at the back of his mind. Then the second wave of bodies comes through the door, the world slows. He sees the barrel point his way. «Shit.» Snaps over the com. «Move, Everyone!»

He brings up his own rifle, firing off bursts; not letting loose in a hail of fire. There is a precision to what he is doing. «Don’t waste bullets.» He barks out as he is backing up to find better cover.

«Any injury will take them out.»

There is confidence in his words, an absolute certainty. «He won’t last forever.» Ryans growls out between his teeth as a few more shots, sending more dust cascading across the floor.

Lashirah dives from one crate to another. Being still in a firefight is how one dies. It’s between these moves that she takes aim, and flicks the setting on her rifle to single shot. Waste not want not, as she starts giving the oncoming clones a taste of the kind of terror she has proven to be with a long rifle. Lash’s voice has lost the playful tone though, as she says over the radios.

«Shame they are armed with guns or I’d gladly knife them.»

Huruma can't feel the minds of those drones that they pelt down, and even as she does she is calculating some possibility in her head; Ryans' words seem to just cement this as he growls into the radio at the second wave. The empath darts out from behind her cover of the truck, sliding across to another barrier.

"« There is nothing there. Not like Winters. »" Huruma's voice on the radio is a steady sound. She peers over the edge of her new cover of moving crates to level her rifle and take potshots on the mimics, that turn to flakes of themselves once they find a bullet. It seems so familiar, and yet—

Huruma braces her hip on the ground before giving one of the metal crates a powerful kick, sending it sailing headlong into some of the armed drones thanks to the suit's power.

The Brians not wearing the horizon armor fall prey to the flashbang, reeling from the light and the noise. Though the Brian in the armor remains completely still, watching the replicants fall in.

It’s not his fault his power is this way. The desire to judge and discredit the other man’s ability is one he has to suppress. He didn’t design this ability and Brian didn’t design his. Neither of them chose to be born this way.

But one of them will be chosen to die this way.

“«He can make more than me.»” Winters admits, but can he do this?

As the replicants fall to dust, the Brian in the horizon armor leaves his cover, walking out in the open with a predatory stalk. The other Brians may have fallen prey to the flashbangs, but he only needs one set of eyes. Blindfire comes from six different Brian’s, two inside the hangar bay and four at the blast doors.

Bullets blast away at the replicants, without any aiming from the wielder of the weapon. Wherever an enemy replicant takes aim of the Brian stalking forward, six more guns take aim and decimate that target from cover.

As Ryans states that he couldn’t last forever, “«I could. And we don’t have unlimited bullets. Need to find the prime.»”

As Huruma’s crate topples into the mindless copies, Horizon Brian takes a few steps forward before leaping powerfully at the leftmost door. With his enhanced strength he goes barrelling through the air, bullets glancing off his armor while midair. He comes crashing into another gathering group, slamming powerful armor enhanced fists into them, once the group is cleared out with support from his team and copies his back goes to the wall. Peering down the hallway.

“«I’ll go find him.»”

Brian slips into the hall, the hydraulic whine of his Horizon armor bringing him out of sight of the remainder of Team Delta. The remaining Brians, once the dust of that wave have cleared, look around within the maintenance bay as alarm klaxons continue to blare. Somewhere in the direction that Howard and Team Alpha left in, there’s a high-pitched whine of multiple automatic weapons firing and a heavy thud of an explosion that rocks the structure.

Over the comms, other Brians chime in. «We’ve got the security keys in place. Opening the door to the Mallet Device. Team Alpha, the way is open!»

A moment later, Ryans is struck in the shoulder by an unexpected gunshot. The Horizon armor deadens the impact almost entirely, but the force is enough to spin the former agent around. Coming through the forward doorway — the one Cardinal’s team left through — are twelve more copies of the security team, generated by the replicator.

But then, there’s a high-pitched whining sound in the air followed by a massive static energy discharge as a sphere of electricity blasts into view, accompanied by heaping piles of snow and earth that free-fall to the ground. In the sphere appear three soldiers in Horizon armor of a design leaps and bounds better than even Warren’s most current schematics. 00-01, 00-03, and 00-04. Based on the information gleaned from Veronica’s role as a mole within the Institute, that is none other than Desmond Harper, Olivia Roland, and Lucas Eldridge, the three surviving members of FRONTLINE-00. The trio appear by the bay doors at the entrance of the facility, behind the defensive line Ryans’ had put together.

«Locked on, fire!» Harper screams over his comms, followed by 00-03 — Olivia Roland — conjuring a roiling wave of heat and flames down her arms. Roland lifts both of her arms up and turns the flames into a pair of twenty foot long swirling cyclones of fire attached to her hands. Then, swinging them down, they condense into white-hot whips of fire that carve of rippling arc through the air. Both whips strike one of the Brians, cutting him clear in half with a cauterized, blackened edge. As he collapses to the ground, Roland swings the whips back again, readying them to strike a second time.

Harper opens cover fire, popping back and forth between Ryans and Lashira’s positions while staying behind Roland. «Lucas, get the emotion manipulator.» At Harper’s orders, 00-04 begins charging directly toward Huruma, rifle still stowed over his shoulder.

Team Delta now stands surrounded, by the replicants, and flanked by FRONTLINE-00. This was the battle they were expecting, this is everything the Institute has left to throw at them.

«Win— » is only started, but whatever the Delta Team leader was going to stay is interrupted by the bullets impact. Almost taken off his feet, Ryan's finds himself turned, facing figures clad just like much of his team.

There is a little thrill of fear in his stomach, before his battle worn instincts take over. It is an acceptance that what will happen, will happen. Embracing the the possibility of dead. «Careful, Winters. Just make sure the rest, keep those clones off of us.» He’d rather they mow them down and stick together, but this new threat would need their full attention.

«Heads Up!» He recognizes at least one of them, a rage that has been smoldering since the fall of the Company, starts to threaten the old man’s calm. In fact, Harper will find himself, specifically, dodging a solid burst of rounds sent his way specifically.

«FRONTLINE incoming behind us!» Ryans dives, tumbling behind a snow vehicles, putting it between him and the three figures. His armored body thuds heavily against the metal body of his cover, while fishing out a grenade. It may not stop them, but… maybe just maybe it can distract.

«Time for your party favors, Lee.»

With that, he pulls the pin. He doesn't toss it however, he leans past the tread and - with the assistance of the suit - chucks it towards the feet of the FRONTLINE team.

Lashirah is quick to turn directions to deal with the new threat. The Brians seemingly have most of the other clones contained… so she eyes up the problem at hand. She doubts anything short of point blank with either grenades or her homemade explosive surprises is gonna do much good against that armor… so instead she goes for the most -obvious- choice for ‘party favor’. She pushes her hood back then jumps out from behind cover and sights down the barrel.

“Hey, Eldrige, long time no see!” Three shots at the helmet, then she ducks back into cover before tossing another flash bang at the load of clones. It’ll keep them busy at least!

Huruma scowls behind her helmet as the copies seem to just stop existing. It is enough to frustrate her as it is. She doesn't have much time to mull over it, however, as a shot turns Ryans around and his reaction in her senses has her following, pivoting to duck against something else, rifle muzzle narrowing in when that sphere comes into play, dumping its payload and evaporating.

One, Three, Four. Huruma's attention is already honing in on number four, thanks to their intel. Seems that Harper has a plan too, as Roland fires up and Eldridge starts his way forward.

"« Watch the teleporter. »" Is Huruma's only advice over the comms to Ryans, a growl in the vibrato of her voice. He's a hazard. Her rifle tips towards him like the nose of a snake, though the plunge of long, sickle fangs comes in the form of her ability; despair, pinning against his every fibre with an ironclad heat. Then she fires, the sound rising above the tink-tink of the grenade.

Still reeling from the flashbang, the remaining Brian inside the hangar blinks as he tries to reposition himself on the other side of the snow mobile as his counterpart is cut in half by a flaming whip. Slamming his back into the snowmobile he goes through the muscle memory of reloading his rifle.

“«Diverting forces to the hangar Ryans.»” There’s a pause on the radio and then in a good humored tone. “«Hang in there.»” The sound of a chuckle is cut off as the radio no longer picks up Brian’s voice.

From just outside the hangar, four Brians continue to destroy the enemy replicants as they enter the hangar trying to keep a clear zone for his allies to fight the newcomers in. The angry whine of snow mobiles can be heard overlayed over the crack of gunfire both distant and near.

It’s chaos. Gunfire is popping from every direction, friendly and otherwise. Lashirah’s flashbangs send shuddering waves of concussive force and light across one side of the maintenance bay, light that has no effect on the helmeted Horizon armors, but is sufficient force enough to disperse some of the replicated security guards. Even the shockwave of a flashbang is enough to tear through those paper tigers.

One round from Lashirah’s gun ricochets off of Eldridge’s helmet, leaving a bare steel scuff mark on the side. Hydraulic actuators at the neck and shoulders keep him from getting either whiplash and blacking out from the sudden impact. He turns, considering her, and with her hood down recognizes, «Agent Lee.» Suddenly, Eldridge is gone in an explosion of electricity that leaves a divot in the ground where he stood. But as he reappears next to Lashirah, there’s a wave of dread and despair that no amount of armor can protect against. It delays him just enough for Lashirah to react to his arrival, to pivot away and —

— she’s flying backwards, struck center mass in the vest by one of Eldridge’s exoskeleton-backed punches. But the new armor Warren designed saves her ribs, her lungs, her organs from collapse. The clamshell of a vest hardens in an instant, and all Lashirah receives is the wind knocked out of her. Vision spots, and Eldridge shakes off the momentary sensation of dread and stalks down toward the former Company agent.

«I’ve been waiting for this for a while,» Eldridge sneers over his speaker, storming over to Lashirah. As she struggles to get up from the force of the punch, Eldridge raises one booted foot up to stomp down on her.

But no one was following Harper. Using extended senses, Harper had tracked Ryans from behind cover in the chaos. After Ryans throws his grenade, Harper fires six shots directly into the older man’s side. The rifle rounds flatten on impact with the Horizon armor, rattle to the floor like they were from a pellet gun. But the kinetic force of the hit nearly knocks Ryans over. Stabilizers move his legs for him, steady his balance, the suit takes away so much thought.

Harper lunges in, slamming the butt of his rifle against Ryans’ helmet, shattering the visor with the force of the blow. «For fuck’s sake, Ryans. You stubborn, stupid old man.» The rifle is leveled back at Ryans again, four more rounds at the chest, and ferromagnetic fluid is seeping out of bullet holes. They didn’t manage to get all the way through, but the armor is pushed to its limit and leaking its defensive materials.

«We’re trying to save you all.» Harper’s voice is a growl over his speakers. «Is this really the world you wanted, Ben? How many more people do you have to lose to realise this world isn’t worth saving!>»

As Harper becomes target-focused in his rage, Olivia Roland gathers her power again. The black-armored woman channels fire and heat in a swirling cyclone around her body, drawing it up and around her arms, a crackling inferno that condenses down to two white-hot whips of fire, the same that just cut two Brians in half. This time, she turns her visored stare to Huruma.

There is a grunt as those last bullets hit, Ryans feeling a little bit more of that last round. He knows what that means. He gives his head a shake, trying to see past the blood created by all the shards of glass from Harper shattering his visor. He wipes a hand against his cheek, the sting of glass in his skin, sharp.

“I’ve seen it,” Ryans growls out, his hand gripping the tread to stead him. “This future you are making.” He gives a bark of mock laughter. “You are going to destroy us all.” Knees bend, one hand going to his side; just before — Benjamin launches himself at Harper with all the energy that the armor provides. One gauntleted hand grasps at the barrel of rifling in an attempt to push it aside. The momentum is meant to bring Ryans in close, hand hopefully slapping aside the barrel as his momentum sends him crashing into Harper. He grunts at the impact, arm moving to loop behind the younger man’s neck like one would a lover.

“Harper… you son of a bitch, ” There is a predatory growl to his voice, as their helmets bump together, Ryan’s arm tightening behind the other man’s neck. Fingers grasping at the armor to keep him there as he lets the momentum carry them. They are close enough that Ryans can see his own reflection in that black visor. He can’t see Harper, but the man behind the visor can see that emptiness that comes from someone who has taken too many lives. A man who is not afraid to face his own mortality for the right cause. “I’ll hope I get to see you in hell.” There might only be a split second for Harper to feel the barrel of the gun — in that area, right around where his head is attached to his neck — before Ryans is pulling the trigger.

Lash has taken worse hits in her life. In fact, she’s been shot in the gut. … Thus she’s not trying to get up just yet. No, she’s faking it. Luring Eldridge in to try to do … yup, he went exactly for what she thought he would. The exoskeletons might give a lot of power, but they come at a price: Agility and reaction time. Lash rolls sideways to her knees as the foot comes down so she’s between them, her hand pulling something out of her jacket, then her hand slaps the back of Eldridge's leg as she pushes off and runs behind him.

Those who can see the back of his leg, would note, perhaps, a new piece of angle iron attached to the exoskeleton. Those who knew what Lash had prepared for ‘party favors’ would know what is coming next. «Party Favor 1 Armed!» She calls over the radio as she dives sideways, rolling to cover her head as roughly 4 pounds of homemade C4 is about to detonate as a homemade shaped charge.

With Eldridge focusing instead on revenge, the taste of it coppery in his mind, and the scatter of fire between Harper and Ryans, it leaves Huruma facing down the female officer. The fire lights her armor in a blaze of orange, the helmet shining like an eye in the night. Rifle hefted against shoulder, Huruma takes two steps forward, eyes seemingly boring right through Roland's armor. She can see the naked mind, and it stands like a beacon. A short barrage of shots fires on Roland as Huruma punches her armor to the left, movements like lightning.

A field of empathy caves in on the fire-wielder like a thousand hornets to deliver a finely tinted mixture of fear and despair. A swarm to make her falter while Huruma makes to grab one of the fat red fire extinguishers on the wall and heft it into her off hand like a shield.

"Come on, girl." Huruma's voice is a low growl, the sound bringing with it a fresh wave of induced fear.

“«He’s trying to draw me out.»” The crackle comes over the radio. “«Sending back the armored me.»”

That distant whine of the snowmobile becomes louder. As the Brians continue to focus fire on the clones invading the hangar bay. “«Huruma. Get ready to move in.»”

The roar of the engine becomes louder.


As Roland squares off with Huruma there’s a pause as that whine of the snowmobile becomes a little less abrasive. It doesn’t take long for this to be clear why, a snowmobile has been launched off the snow into the air through the hangar bay. Flurries of snow flying off the tread of the vehicle as it separates the air. The Brian riding the snowmobile turns the vehicle sideways, as the large piece of machinery crashes into the Horizon armored woman, Winters dropping from it on contact.

That should give her enough time to pick up that fire extinguisher.

Falling to the ground, Winters quickly rolls to his hands and knees as the snow mobile continues forward onto the flaming woman. The winterized Brian looks up at Huruma and then at the woman he just crashed a skidoo into. He gestures hurriedly with one hand at Roland to Huruma, pushing himself quickly to his feet.

It feels like everything that could happen at once, does. At one angle, Eldridge is angling down on Lashirah. She expertly avoids the slow, powerful stomp of his boot to the concrete floor. The charge placed to his leg elicits a gasp of shock and confusion. He sees it, recognizes it, understands what is about to happen. «Leg hydraulics, detach!» The verbal command comes with both of Eldridge’s armored leg platings exploding off of his body with a burst of an electromagnetic lock and the added push of a CO2 charge. Pins are unleashed, metal clatters to the ground. But the shaped charge is still right there. This is when he panics. This is when it all goes tits up.

A snowmobile comes crashing through the maintenance bay, skids across concrete. Elrdridge is screaming, her flames coming unwound from her arms. «Mom! Mom no! Mom!» Her voice cracks as it emits over her helmet’s speaker. The fear, the fire, it brings something back in her. She’s blindsided by the snowmobile, hitting her in the hip with such force that she’s thrown twenty six feet into a concrete wall.

A handgun goes off. Harper is able to twist just enough to move the muzzle of Ryans’ gun away from his neck, but instead of down it moves up and the blast hits point-blank against Harper’s faceplate. Ochre-tinted bullet-resistant material shatters, Harper lets out a strangled scream and reaches up one armor-clas hand and grabs Ryans by the throat. Hydraulics whine, armor strains against exoskeleton-enhanced strength. Ryans fires three more times indiscriminately. Two rounds ricochet off of Harper’s shoulder armor, another shot hits him somewhere in the midsection.

Ryans struggles with the younger man. Assisted by hydraulic strength, they’re equals. They roll around on the ground, struggling to with gun. Blood is slathering on the ground beneath them, it’s hard to tell how many times which one of them was shot. Harper pushes Ryans back, throws him to the side, then charges at him with a scream. Ryans braces, snatches Harper’s wrist, throws him down to the ground. Harper rolls, throws Ryans off of him —

Eldridge teleports, away, from the C4.

But he also doesn’t.

Eldridge’s ability is a spherical matter relocation. Ryans is familiar with it, Brian is familiar with it, everyone in this room is familiar with it. Eldridge is, nominally, but in a moment of panic he flees without checking his surroundings, without considering his spatial placement. A static-electric sphere crackle-snaps to life around him. The C4 goes with him. Half a crate goes with him. A hemisphere of the floor goes with him. Two-thirds of Brian goes with him. One of Harper’s feet goes with Eldridge. One of Ryans’ hands goes with Eldridge.

Eldridge reappears, first with a crackle-snap of electricity and the wet, slapping sounds of dismembered body parts landing everywhere. Then, he — and everything in twenty or so feet of him — explodes.

Four pounds of C4 is enough to demolish a bus. The shockwave from the blast rips Lucas Eldridge apart as though his Horizon Armor was made from tissue paper and leaves. The blast upends one of the snow cats, sends shrapnel of the treaded wheels flying with the force of a bomb. The ceiling blows straight up in a hemisphere of dust and debris.
When the shockwave hits Huruma, her Horizon armor solidifies to resist the blast instantly. She’s thrown to the ground, then blown into a series of crates and tossed like a ragdoll. When it hits Ryans, he’s blown clear off of his feet, over a pile of crates, and straight out the open blast doors into the snow, leaving a gruesome trail of red behind him.

When the shockwave hits Lashirah, there’s no full suit of Horizon armor to protect her. The vest does its best, senses the incoming shockwave and hardens. It saves her life. She’s blown backwards straight through the door of another snowcat. The metal explodes at her back, glass shatters, and she flies straight through the vehicle and blows out through the other door, tumbling head over heels in the process. All of the wind is knocked from her lungs, her right arm breaks in three places, ankle sprained — if not broken. She lands in a smoldering pile of burning debris and dust.

At the distance the shockwave hits one-third of Brian and all of Olivia Roland, the strength of the blast is still enough to send her careening out the blast door, flipping end over end like some kind of Nascar accident. Hydraulics, armor plating, cables, and linkages fly from her like parts of a stock car’s chassis in a fiery wreck. The snow sizzles around her, steam erupts from every direction. She’s still engulfed in flames from her ability.

One third of Brian lands in a conical spray across a hundred feet of concrete.

Everyone’s ears are ringing, even Huruma and Ryans with their helmets. Lashirah is fully deafened, likely will be for weeks to come, if not longer. Smoke billows out of the blast doors, fire pops and crackles.

Roland struggles to move. One hydraulic-enhanced arm whines and groans. Harper is buried under a pile of debris somewhere, a dust-caked trail of blood leads in his general direction.

There is nothing left to find of Lucas Eldridge.

He never paid attention to how blue the sky was up in Alaska.

The smoldering body of Benjamin Ryans has a great view of that sky right now. On his back, he is vastly thankful that Harrison convinced him to wear the armor. He’d owe her a drink for that.

The ache in his hand — clutched to his chest with his other hand — is a sharp reminder that he didn’t get out intact. He does not need to look at it to remember what happened. “Lee… We are going to need to have a discussion about your idea of party favors,” the words groan out between pain clenched teeth. First one leg is bent at the knee, then the other; placing his feet flat on the ground – snow crunching as each foot sinks.

Finally, he is able to twist himself enough to sit up. “Son of a bitch.” He can’t help but say it when he sees his —- ah – hand? That might not be the right word. Only thing left of his hand was a cauterized stump. Funny thing about a missing limb like that… It feels like his whole hand is in pain, even though it is not there. Only thing he can think is that the girls would be upset he let that happen.

The other part of him, is searching the snow for his handgun. He wasn’t done, yet. There was something he need to finish. He finds it, but he has a bit of a problem. He is able to drop the magazine, but then it takes some work… with knees holding the gun upside down for him to reload it.

“We are not done, yet, Harper,” he groans out in pain, as he struggles to get up to his feet again and make his way back into the hanger, the handgun in his good hand.
His girls clearly got their stubbornness from him.

Lashirah, for her part, groans. Then keys her radio «Ow. Can’t hear anyone, by the way. And thaaaat was a little too more boom than I was expecting.» Yup. She’s not totally making sense with words. A compound fracture and a sprained ankle will do that. Add in the fact she’s basically yelling into her mike as her ears are ringing deafened for the moment. «Gonna… just stay still for the moment I think… Not life threatening, but I think I’m done fighting for the day.» And with that, she lets her hand lower form the radio key, and just lays back in the mess. The glorious, glorious mess.

Eldridge makes everything go haywire.

The threat Huruma faced is no longer there, her hands still clasped like claws around rifle and the extinguisher. The hangar is ringing and the world is a little upside down. Pangs in her sides prelude the momentary force of wind trying to come back to her lungs. An elbow knocks a crate away, and surely enough, she rises to her feet, the suit's heat a listing steam around her frame that cradles the sharp amber of her visor as it rises with her.

Lashirah's voice is there, but Huruma can only make out the emotions of the ex-agent from across the room. She is going to assume that it was an apology.

The ringing lingers, even as she practically runs into Ryans as he makes his way back inside. "What of Roland?" She can see the lifting steam and smoke behind him, still. It's not until Huruma says this that her attention flickers to his off… not hand. "Ben— "

There is silence in the hangar bay. The deafening blast has the distant sounds of gunshots seem muted and mitigated. The only thing that remains of the Brian in the hangar is a fine paste across the floor.

When Ryans rights himself and tries to reload he finds one heavy hand clapping down on the sidearm, stopping him from reloading.

A winterized Brian Winters stands over Ryans, taking away the unloaded gun and instead handing him a loaded one, Ryans can tell from the weight. Going to help the older man up, he looks over at Harper then back to Ryans giving a stern nod. I have your back. The gun Ryans was trying to reload is taken and reloaded, kept for himself.

Another Brian is behind him, holding an assault rifle as well. Ready to move in and give Ben Ryans a hand.

At Huruma’s question, the pounding of steel and rhythmic hum of Horizon armor can be heard from the left most door. “«She’s still alive. Huruma. I would appreciate your support. On me. Coming through…»” There’s a flash of black in the hangar bay. The armored Winters reappearing and instantly on the move. One hand carrying a rifle, the other a fire extinguisher.


Launching himself off of his feet, Winters flies through the air towards the downed Roland. His rifle firing off bursts of fire as he soars through the open air, feet curling back, intending to land on his knees.

Winters comes hurtling down at the pyrokinetic, dropping his rifle as a stream of carbon dioxide in foam clouds his arrival on top of her. Landing with a heavy jolt, Winters is throwing out one arm to stabilize himself. And then quickly going to grip the fire extinguisher in both hands and pummeling it into the visor of Roland’s helmet.

The ground shudders as Brian lands atop Roland. At first he feels it as the impact of landing on his knees from his hydraulic-assisted leap. But then, he sees the snow unsettling, feels the quaking not stop. Huruma, several paces behind him, is torn beneath Brian’s attack on Roland and Ryans being led by other replicants. There’s a visible tension in her posture, an uncertainty, and then —

— then the roof comes off the Mount Natazhat complex.

A hellacious sound of twisting metal, splitting stone, and shattering glass accompanies a wailing scream in the distance. A twenty foot wide section of the Natazhat facility’s second floor splits open, metal girders peeling back like the peel of a banana, shimmering waves of deep violet light banding outward from something that has pushed its way through concrete and metal as though it were styrofoam.

Brian’s fire extinguisher crashes again into Roland’s visor, cracking the glass. The flame-suppressant foam covers her body, smolders and puffs with smoke as she tries to ignite her power. The two struggle, as the facility begins to tear itself apart behind them.

Snow begins to fall, not from the sky but from the ground. Whirling snow is pulled from the ground, swirling up into the air. Small, unattended pieces of debris from the explosion begin jittering across the maintenance bay, and then float free of their own accord upward and into the sky as a humanoid silhouette floats out from the opening on the facility’s roof. It’s a writhing, squirming and screaming body orbiting with debris as though it were a tiny planet all its own.

Shimmering light expands out from the body, a coronal disturbance in the air, like the curtains of the aurora borealis. From inside the facility, a crackling and steady bolt of red lightning acts like a tether to the balloon-drifting body. From her distance, Huruma can feel pain, fear, and anger. She knows the flavor, even if she can’t make out the form.

It’s Magnes.

Roland seizes Brian by the wrist, a static pop and howl is all that comes from her damaged helmet, a muffled version of the scream inside it. She throws Brian back, pushes herself to her feet and lands atop him. Brian swings up with the extinguisher, colliding with her face and shattering her visor revealing one of the woman’s blue eyes. Flames begin to roll up off of her back, where the suppressing foam doesn’t cover her. “I’m going to kill you!” she screams in blind rage.

Back inside the maintenance bay, Ryans — joined by Brians — close in on the rubble where Harper is pinned. It shifts, slides off of Harper’s back, and standing on one leg, with blood spattered around the bullet hole in his visor he emerges somehow alive. Gunfire pops off immediately, Brian firing at Harper. Rounds punch into his armor, send him staggering back, then falling down to the ground without a second foot to balance him.

The group flanking Ryans move in, and Harper is scrambling back. He raises his gun, firing blindly ahead of him. A crack forms in the ceiling, followed by a straining sound, as concrete and metal damaged by whatever is happening in the sky comes raining down. One of the Brians with Ryans is crushed instantly by several hundred pounds of concrete and steel, the other is injured but pinned by his leg. Ryans is thrown over, debris smashing on his right shoulder and dislocating it, smashing armor from his Horizon suit off and onto the floor with a clattering of metal components.

Huruma is no longer divided.

Behind Huruma, Roland grabs the fire extinguisher and tears it out of Brian’s hand, hurling it to the side. For her efforts, she’s struck square in the face by a hydraulic-assisted fist. It shatters more of her visor, sends shards of it into her skin. She reaches down, grabbing Brian by the arm and chest, and flames circle around from her back and begin to boil over them both. She can’t fight the power of his armor, not with hers so badly damaged. Instead, she tries to cook Brian inside of it as she pins him down to the ground with her weight.

Huruma isn’t there to help, she’s broken into a sprint, rushing into the collapsing maintenance bay. She can see Ryans struggling to his feet ahead of her, sees Harper hobbling over to him on one cauterized stump of an ankle. Huruma ducks her head down, feet slamming in the snow, running as fast as she possibly can.

Ben,” Harper raggedly cries out. “Ben fucking Ryans!” Harper raises his handgun, angling it down at Ryan’s head. Brian struggles nearby, grabs for his gun that was knocked out of his hand. Fingers grasp at the bottom of the grip, almost. Almost.

Two loud gunshots ring out in the maintenance bay at the same time.

Harper jerks back, the shot fired from Ryans’ pistol punching a hole straight through the opening in Harper’s visor, and out the back. Harper and his gun clatter to the floor and Ryans —

— is fine?

A hydraulic whine comes with Huruma dropping to her knees on the floor in front of Ryans. Harper’s high-caliber round never made it to its intended target. Huruma threw herself in front of the old man, allowing Ryans to get his shot off. Now, she lands with a wet, wheezing breath on the floor. Blood pools out beneath her, stains the concrete. Hydraulics spasm and sputter.

Pieces of stone fall from the ceiling, chunks of concrete that never quite hit the floor, and instead begin floating upward toward the event horizon in the sky.

He had been ready. Ready, to sacrifice his very life, to make sure that someone like Harper did not roam this world. Too keep his girls safe. What Ryans didn’t realize, was he wasn’t ready for this…


Blind panic laces through the colors of Ryans’ emotions as he drops to his knees with a whine from his suit. It was not suppose to happen this way, in his mind. Everything around him seems less important than the woman laying on the ground. The fingers of his hand fumble with the clap of his helmet before he is able to painfully pull it off his head, half throwing it aside; leaving it to clatter a little away from him.

“Damnable woman,” he growls out, his emotions switching to anger - at himself and her - as he attempts to get her own helmet off. “What were you thinking?” His whole body shivers as the shock, slowly seeps in, it makes it hard for him to get his fingers on the clasp. When it proves difficult, he looks around for help…. Only to find a lot of dead bodies and a badly injured Lashirah.

The whine of bending steel, the sharp crack of concrete, brings him back to the reality of the situation. His breath catches and his eyes widen at the sight of what is above them. “We need to get out of here.” But how?

All he could do was kneel there while his friend was bleeding out; his body half shielding her own from the flying debris. “You die on me now, I will find you and I will kill you myself in hell for making me have to explain to the girls.” A little deflection, but also colored with truth.

Lashirah may be injured, but she's neither dead, nor had she managed to pass out just quite yet. Which is to say she's aware of how tits up things have just gone. It is a struggle to get up. One arm is completely useless. But, oddly, forensics was one of the groups at the Company that played some of the more ugly what if scenarios. Gravity manipulators aren't new to them. The best two solutions, negation gas or Rene, are both not options at the moment. She takes a moment to judge just how much pull this forming black hole has already, and tries, despite pain and ringing, deafened ears, to judge distance… as her good arm digs out not one, but two of the angle iron surprises she had stashed in her under the parka tactical vest. And she starts stumbling closer. After all, they will need to get pulled in to work….

Division. Fisson. Scission.

Somewhere between Brian pounding the fight out of Olivia, the facility splitting open around Magnes Varlane, and Desmond Harper rising from the dead, it starts. A tear, a rip, a clean break. A decision she makes, somewhere in the fore, where instinct always drives her.

There isn't time to second guess it, before the power of the suit and the muscle in powerful legs takes her careening back into the hangar. The boots leave deep grooves behind when the rest of her stops cold.

The sound of her knees hitting ground is distant, the feeling of the faint impact echoing painlessly through the armor. The power behind it has been burst, even if the rest hasn't. It envelops her in a stifling, brief darkness when she lands visor-down. For a few scant seconds, there is no riot in the sky, no blue to blind her, no white to chill—

Just the inside of her head and those minds that swim inside of the vast field of her senses. An open eye staring back at her from an abyss, red and gold and fire—

Hands jostle her, the sky coming back into view behind amber shield. The hangar too. Lastly, the haze of Ryans hawking overhead.

Huruma's thoughts drift to a sudden empathy with carrion, stark despite everything.

Huruma's limbs tense up, hands a scrabble on the concrete and the pool under her. As she moves, viscera disentangles from her frame, and the spill of her own blood smells like a copper mine inside the helmet. Rather than try to push up, pain and a growing anger drive fingers to helmet, struggling with the same clasps. Concentrate.

Provided she gets help, the helm pops open, revealing a white and red grimace of teeth, red blood smeared from nose to neck. She spits something out, between the hiss of pain and teeth that flash in a manic, mocking sort of smile.

"I am getting too old for this."

Struggling against the stone pinning him to the ground, Brian Winters writhes and reaches desperately for the gun. Almost. Almost. “Come on.” Is growled out, his gaze going feverishly from Ryans and Harper. Two men, each bent on destroying the other. He reaches, one finger dancing over the grip.

Olivia slams his back into the ground. His hydraulic assisted arms flinging up to grab at her shoulders. Her armor is better, but also damaged. He goes to try to force her off but with the extra weight she’s pushing down on him it’s a task. And then she starts to flow the heat through.

A panicked yelp is let out as Brian Winters starts the journey of being cooked alive inside a suit of armor. His focused push against her shoulders becomes a bit more wild, arms flailing and slapping against hers in vain struggle.

Out in the snow, Brian’s on the move. A body is a body. But this suit. He had plans to keep it. To protect the kids with it. It’s a tool. One useful to the protection of his family. And Olivia is melting away his tool. A thought flashes across the minds of several bodies.

Move the snipers.

Out in the field of snow where the battle had been dying off between Naztahat security and Brian, a final snow mobile is racing through the white plains, flakes of frost flying in his wake.

No angle for the shot. Move.

The snowmobile flies by the rock outcropping where the Brians had been roosting, taking their careful shots. One arm raises, a sniper rifle being tossed from the rocks with perfect timing and caught by the Brian riding by on the snowmobile.

Coming in hot. Need her three feet to the left.

Olivia continues to push her fire into him and Brian now fully screams. Pushing his arm against the ground he tries to gain leverage to push her off to the side. His mind reels back Peter Petrelli grabbing his naked body and hurtling through the air, throwing him to die. Arthur Petrelli breaking the necks of his naked bodies trying to stop him from destroying the Lighthouse.

The snowmobile rounds a corner of the building, Brian’s goggled eyes taking in the floating roof, Magnes and all. His other body pinned under the cement watching Lashirah shamble forward.

“Lee! No! STOP!!!” She’s deafened. He growls, trying to exert himself.

Brian convulses, his arms dropping from Oliva’s side and instead reaching out. The memory of being burned alive by thermite reverberating through his mind. All his deaths. All his failures. He lets out a feral scream, his fingers outstretching and pointing to nothing in particular as his guttural scream rings out.

And ten hands grab onto the side of Olivia Roland’s armor.

On the snowmobile Brian lets out a shout to mirror this holding the rifle aloft. A fully clothed Brian appears at his fingertips, hands interlocking, his free hand going to catch the sniper rifle before he falls and rolls in the snow with the momentum. Quickly stabilizing himself, setting the sniper rifle down, and eye going down the scope. Finger on the trigger.

Five Brian’s have appeared from the Arkham suited body. Not naked. Fully covered in padding from the inside of the metallic suit. Their skin a little warped from burning, but their resolve plain, their determination shining onto Olivia Roland. She may be in a suit but five grown men are giving her a hardy grapple and shove off of the Horizon Brian, and a few feet into the snow.

And into Brian’s crosshairs. Where the visor is broken. Right eye. Target acquired. The trigger is pulled.

In the wreckage near Ryans, he watches Huruma go down with horror before letting out a scream himself. A clothed Brian slides from his hand and into range of the handgun. He picks up his own gun, aims carefully, and fires twice.

At Lashirah Lee.

The shot is aimed at her good leg, aiming to disable, not to kill. His gaze then turns to Huruma and Ryans. “Huruma, can you— Lashirah— Don’t let her..”

The padded Brians are helping the Horizon Brian shakily to his feet, all six of them starting to run back into the hangar to procure all of his allies.


Lashirah Lee crumples into the snow.


The back of Olivia Roland’s helmet explodes, a shower of metal, insulating fabric, wires, hair, brain, and bone. The fire gutter out like a candle blown out, and the former soldier crumples backwards into the snow, even as gusts swirl upward and wind into the air, moving towards the screaming event horizon of Magnes Varlane’s out of control ability.

Alarms are blaring inside the facility, the roof of Natazhat is swirling in a spiral around Magnes Varlane, the satellite dish on the roof is bending, twisting, warping under impossible forces. Metal snaps and breaks, frame bars come whirling end over end, joining the orbital debris around his body. Sparks of purple light blast outward from him, and Magnes is little more than an infinitely black silhouette now.

Inside the maintenance bay, as Ryans and Huruma limp out, drizzling blood behind themselves, they hear a grinding sound of metal. Harper’s body floats up into the air, chunks of Brian’s corpses, concrete debris, they’re all getting pulled up into the event horizon surrounding Magnes.

Then, all of the comms cut out. Static crackles, snaps and fizzles in their ears. Something — possibly the gravity well — is interfering with radio broadcasts. Nothing escapes a black hole. Not even light.

Huruma and Ryans can feel themselves being pulled backwards, ever so subtly, as if walking against a strong wind. Behind them, one of the two ton snow cats lifts up off the ground and begins free-floating. There’s no sign of Cardinal, no sign of Liz, no sign of anyone.

Except the replicator.

Gunfire comes popping from out of the facility, and seven copies of the security team replicator come out at the back of Ryans and Huruma. Four of them are sucked up into the air, screaming and limbs windmilling before their bodies are crushed into ashes by the gravitic force. The remaining three are still blind-firing, puffs from the snow popping up.

Black holes hanging in the sky are not something you see every day, even when he worked for the company. Determination has him fighting at that tug; but, it might be instilling a little fear in the old guy, not that it shows. His teeth are gritted against the pain, as nerve endings are starting to realize something is wrong, especially in the case of his long-lost hand.

When snow around them puffs up around them, he almost loses his footing, sliding back a little and leaving a line in the snow. He hazards a squinting glance over his shoulder at the guards behind him. “Huruma.” He turns back around and – with a hiss of pain from using muscles in his dislocated arm — he starts searching his pouches for – There! He holds up a flash bang grenade in his good hand, though it takes work to hold it. “I can’t do it.” Literally, he can’t.

The shot makes Lash sink to her knees… and a scream of frustration and pain as she feels the and sees the event horizon basically go critical. The improvised explosives get tossed aside. Too late for -that- plan. Lash just stares up at that black hole forming. “… So, this is how the world ends.” She thinks she mutters, it’s more at speaking volume. “With a bloody black hole in Alaska. Fuck.” Despite the defeated sounding words… she tries to get back up. Isn’t having much luck since she can’t use one arm to help and both legs are injured in various ways. The possible concussion isn’t helping any. “This. Is gonna suck.”

That eye in the dark seems to form from the blackest center of the sky when Huruma looks up, an echo of her pained vision sparking above where she knows that Magnes should be. Trudging beside Ryans, pain crawling like needles from her wound, blood trailing and filling her mouth, she mutters something to herself, faint and in a tongue all to herself. Reverence, in a moment. Shots pepper the snow, and for a moment she tries to reach out, only to feel nothing. Eli.

A dribble runs down her chin when she hears her name , and her body carries by itself, a stumble that takes her in closer to Ben, a brief huddle of tall bodies against wind and gravity. The faltering hand holding out that flashbang is regarded only for a second before she latches a hand over it. "If you have more get them out…" Her words come at a clip, a growl between teeth as she turns, pops the latch, and pitches it in an arc back at those that follow.

Landing in a crunch, hydraulics plated armor crash into the snow around Lashirah Lee. Armored Brian lands next to her, throwing out his arm to stop his momentum as he arrives. “World’s not over yet. This must be your first time at the end of the world.” The tone sounds remarkably cheery given the circumstances and being that he had just shot her.

One armored hand goes to loop around her waist quickly scooping her up onto his shoulder. With the aid of the hydraulics armor, Winters begins sprinting forward to catch up with Huruma and Ryans. Lashirah hauled over his shoulder.

In the snow, the snowmobile Brian continues his path, disrupting his path of snow as he makes his way blasting through the snow to the pair. Standing up as he arrives, his assault rifle braced in the crook of his arm gives a burst of shots over the heads of Ryans and Huruma at the replicants following them. Arriving, Winters quickly jumps off the snowmobile, motioning for Huruma to take the driver's seat, and trying to help Ryans onto the back.

“I’ve got the chinook ready to go.” Brian reports to Huruma, pointing off to the side of the building. “Meet me there.”

In the snow, Winters with the sniper rifle slowly raises his scope to take in Magnes Varlane at the center of all of it. He moves the scope around quickly trying to find anyone else in the sky, anyone, anywhere.

At the chinook, two Brians have managed to power up the beast, one sliding out of the pilots seat. Standing there on the helicopter, running bent over to wave his allies to the helipad.

Everything is falling apart, the Natazhat facility is bring torn into the sky towards a spiraling ring of debris, the center of which is the writhing and contorting blot of Magnes Varlane. Snow whips and siphons towards that world-ending darkness, creating a spiral of flurries in the air. Wind, too, is being drawn into the vortex in howling suction. As Ryans and Huruma limp and stagger away from the disassembling facility, Brians offer covering fire, bullets popping off over their shoulder, dispersing Eli replicants.

But then, Huruma feels something nearby. Among the wedge of replicants running and firing at their backs — fear. Like a predator smelling blood, she reaches out, feels a mind in among the replicants, feels emotions raw and panicked. Eli is a zebra running with the herd, hiding among the blur of stripes.

Huruma, as always, the lion.

It only takes her a moment to stop, pivot, and lash out with a wave of terror more vivid and real than Eli has ever experienced. One of the replicants staggers back and lets out a horrified scream, and Brian Winters knows exactly what that signifies. “Found you,” one of Brian’s clones murmurs from behind the scope of his sniper rifle.

There’s a puff of red at the back of Eli’s disassembled head, and all of his replicants disappear in a shimmer of gray and smoke. The gunfire has stopped, and now there is but a crackling snap and scream of a vortex building high in the sky above. The satellite dish has been devoured by Magnes’ ability, joined the whirling ring of debris. As the chinook’s propellers begin spinning up, Brian is reminded of the escape from Antarctica in the same model of helicopter, another end of the world, another day. This time will be the same, right?

As Ryans, Huruma, other Brians and Lashirah make it to the helipad, something ejects from the top of the crumbling facility. They see it clearly, a figure in black armor — Horizon armor — leaping up and getting caught in the gravitational pull of the event horizon. Blonde hair whips about in the wind, she’s screaming, and the shockwave of sound emitted from her blows snow backwards in cascading waves.

It’s Elisabeth Harrison.

And she’s leaping at the abyss.

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