#puts them on his wrist and punches u to space like team rocket

[skelekins]

:0

[asidian]

Mind whispers

January 15, 2038

“You got it, captain,” says Jacob. “All over it.”

He’s moving before all the words have even left his mouth, wheeling away from the pulsing invader high above him in the air, its massive form blotting out half the sky. He sets into the harbingers instead, as ordered – comes at the creatures like a force of nature, movement without thought, an endless blur of slashing blades and glinting metal.

They go down in pairs, in trios, in a whole half-dozen when they think to take him out in a wave and he spins, drawing a wide arc with his blades that sends them twitching to the pavement far below.

He’s hard at work on his orders, jetting up higher to cut off a thick knot of roiling monstrosity moving to intercept the rest of the team, when the thought strikes him.

It should have been you.

It’s out of nowhere, really. Like someone else’s thought – only it’s not. It’s his, one of the ones that come in the night sometimes, when there’s nothing to distract him but the ceiling tiles and his own traitor mind won’t shut up.

The thought’s so sudden he pauses mid-stroke, a stutter in the middle of constant motion. And he would have recovered in time – really, he would have – except the world bursts red and hot and immediate right beside him just then.

It’s Eidolon, finally, sniping from cover. And he should have been expecting it, should have known he wouldn’t see it coming, but that runaway thought snuck in, and between the two, he’s almost not fast enough.

Jacob twists at just the right moment, so the harbinger’s claw catches him on the shoulder instead of across the chest.

The blow’s enough to knock him flying anyway. Hurricane’s a lot of things, but his suit just doesn’t have Nemesis’ bulk or shields. His upgrades are all about speed and agility and precision, and some good that does him right now.

He hits a wall, careens off a stop sign, and goes down hard on the pavement of what was probably an outdoor café before the sky started leaking things out of a Lovecraft novel.

Third time’s the charm, Jakey. But I guess we’re on four now, right?

Christ, he thinks, and shoves himself back up. Are we really doing this now? Right now? Like, in the middle of a pitched battle, in the middle of an alien invasion, and here’s Jacob, dragging out can’t-get-to-sleep nightmare fuel?

His lip’s bleeding. He thinks he bit straight through it, when he hit his head on the landing. But he’s on his feet again, and then he’s off the ground, and that’s – better. That’s better.

Is it really? You could just stay down.

“I’m up, guys,” he says into the comms. “No big.”

Then he bites into the split lip, hard, and takes off again to jump back onto the interference train.

Like hell he’s staying down. Like hell he’s scrapping this suit, and all the hours of training they poured into this, and his ma’s long nights at the kitchen table staring at schematics trying to get Tennō back up off the ground. His HUD’s showing Hurricane’s got a scrape down one shoulder and a dent in the back, minor aesthetic damage, but that’s nothing. That’s nothing.

He’s all over the harbingers now, like some kind of avenging god. Like the plagues of Egypt, raining down locusts or something.

Jacob twists, and slips sideways, and buries a blade right between one of the creature’s eyes, and he thinks: locusts aren’t the right plague for this. Since when do aliens care about bugs?

What the hell are the other plagues, again? Flies? That’s more bugs. Maybe he’d better stick with the river of blood one.

Nothing’s been better for a long time, has it?

River of blood, he thinks, determinedly, and slices down one, two, three, four, all before he takes the time to blink. Blood, and maybe that storm. What was it, hail and fire?

He’s definitely not thinking about alien monstrosities that play games with people’s minds. He’s just not. He’s thinking about flame and ice, and the way Hurricane cuts through claws and wings and rotting flesh like they were thin-spun silk. He’s thinking about that bunker down there, the one he’s not going to let the harbingers touch, and his teammates, halfway to the invader in the sky.

He’s supposed to be a distraction right now.

Well. Jacob can do distractions.

He’s good at them.

He’s not the only one, it sounds like. “Blondie, you’re on baby duty,” says Xia’s voice over the comms, and Jacob smiles, the shape of it pulling at the tear in his lip. That sounds like the intro to one of Xia’s showier moves, if he’s ever heard one.

“Baby duty, huh?” He drives one of his blades into an alien stomach, then shakes the thing off when it gets lodged for a second, still flailing. “Don't worry, dude, I won't let the kids eat candy after midnight.”

He half-turns in midair, elbows a creature that’s mostly eyes in the face with solid titanium, and angles himself so that he can watch the show while he plays exterminator. The harbingers are down to the dregs, and he wants a look at whatever Xia’s planning on pulling out of her hat.

What he’s not expecting is to see Nemesis go barreling fists first into a pulsing mass of space monstrosity that's bigger than some skyscrapers.

“Holy shit,” he manages, eloquently, and barely remembers to get his blade up in time to cut the wings off the next harbinger in line.

He waits for the grand re-exit. Any second now, a grenade’s going to punch a wet, black hole in that thing’s side.

Any second now.

Should have stayed down when you had the chance. Now you’ve got to watch this play out.

A second stretches into two, then into ten. “Nemesis?” Jacob says into the comm. “Hey – Xia?”

But still there’s nothing, and Jacob taps at the controls on his wrist. He zeroes in on the invader up above, watches as his HUD calculates the distance. It’s far, but he can make it. Hurricane’s all about speed. Screw watching it play out. If he really guns it, he can be there in –

His thoughts are split neatly in two by the thin line of light that breaks across the sky, toward their medic.

Jacob’s eyes narrow; he whips back around in time to catch one final glimpse of a suit in grey and black, just before it shimmers out of view and disappears.

Well hell. There's what's left of Chroma.

And now she’s gunning for you. Way to go, Jakey.

Over the comms, Ari’s sounding borderline hysterical. "I know it’s a lot to ask," he says. "but please. Please. It's not her. Just don’t kill her!"

It's a big ask. Half of Chroma's dead, at the end of Black Whisper's sniper rifle. HQ's been briefing them over the comms since they deployed: she's armed and extremely dangerous, and if the last half hour's any indication, she won't hesitate to end everyone on the field.

Jacob's talked to her a couple times before. She's a sweet girl.

“Hey,” Jacob calls into the comms, switching to team-only. “Don’t worry. I got Whisper. Can someone go fishing and pull Nemesis out?”

It’s not what he wants to say. Not what he wants to do.

He oughta be rocketing across the sky, on his way to cut Xia free. But Aisha’s right next to her; she’ll have it covered. And if he takes off now, Will’s stuck on ground level, alone with Chroma's rogue sniper. Probably not the best call – Xia left him on baby duty, after all.

So Jacob taps his wrist again, toggling targets, then pulls a U-turn to jet back toward earth. He needs to get a read on Mami before she does something they’ll all regret.

There’s one really easy way to slow her down.

Jacob shoves that thought away so hard it almost gives him whiplash, wrenching his mind back on-task. His HUD’s flashing at him – target: none – and he wonders why the engineers who worked on Whisper’s cloaking tech made it effective against other Tennō suits. That’s about to make his job a lot harder.

The last thing he wants is a long-distance fight. Mami’s a crack shot, and there’s a reason Jacob likes to get up close and personal. He came up last in target practice during training every time, but put him in hand-to-hand range and he can wipe the floor with just about anything.

So. He’s got to find her, then lock on before she gets her cloaking back up, then get in close enough to pin her on his own terms. Ideally before she puts a laser through anyone on Team Phoenix.

He’s just thinking that he’s got his work cut out for him when the second shot zips up through the space between buildings like a dud firework, a straight line of brightness without any of the showy payoff. Hurricane’s off like rocket, low to the ground, darting through the streets between buildings with breakneck speed.