From: Rob Dalton Subject: [Fanfic] The Cleaners - Chapter 1 - Intro Newsgroups: alt.startrek.vs.starwars Date: Mon, 28 Feb 2000 19:48:31 -0800 |-[1]-| [A moderately-sized yellow house on Long Island, New York] *Booop....booop....booop* With disgust, Rob Dalton listened to the annoying sounds of a busy signal, cursing yet again the evil that was America Online. He hit the cancel button and tried again. *Beep..beep..beep..beep..fwoooooosh* _Ah, finally_, he thought, watching as the status indicators lit up. The sign on screen disappeared, and Rob clicked on the little yellow "Read" icon to check his mail. The familiar hourglass shape came up... And stayed. For a minute or so, the icon turned itself over and over again. Finally, with two iterations of the "Goodbye" wave, he was booted. Yet again. Rob growled in disgust and displeasure. Furiously, he retyped his password and hit Enter. *Booop....booop....booop* Violently, he hit "cancel", closed America Online version 5.4434 Alpha Super Special Gold Second Edition, slammed the keyboard slideout back into his desk, and flicked off the monitor. Rob then went over and sat on his bed, rubbing his temples tiredly, then came to a decision. Opening his closet, he palmed the small panel in the left wall, revealing a small compartment with a compact, high-powered comlink transceiver. Rob picked up the mic and flicked it on. "Cleaner Three to Cleaner Force. Mobilize." *** [Engage Flashback] [A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away....] The Cleaners. The Elite. They were among the most highly trained, highly specialized stormtrooper division in the entirety of the Galactic Empire, second only to the Imperial Royal Guard and the Royal Sovereign Protectors. Led by the vicious and highly unstable Commander Mark Sheppard, they were not a force to be trifled with. Second-in-command was the fearless and legendary LT.Hit-Man, one of the most feared men in the galaxy, with hundreds of deaths on his hands and unimaginable torture on his soul. Among the troops were such notables as Rob Dalton, demolitions and vehicular operations; Webber McGravin, demolitions and sniper extraordinaire; Kyle Knopf, demolitions, tactics and ownership of a body certified as a lethal weapon; Jonathan Boyd, demolitions and marksmanship; Nathan Yates, demolitions and an expert in improvised weapons and unarmed combat; Phong Nguyen, demolitions, slicing, strategy, and the best pilot in the Empire. So highly trained were they that they could take out a small Rebel base simply by lighting a fart. So highly trained were they that regular army troops lost all sense of waste management functions when their name was uttered. But even such men as the Cleaners had their limits. There was one need that even the indoctrination of the Empire could not completely override. A need that stemmed from the very roots of human ancestry. The need for pussy. "Are you ready for some action, boys?!" Sheppard asked the rowdy troops. A chorus of "Hell yeahs" greeted his ears. Grinning, he handed them some fine carababba tabac cigarras as they piled into LT.Hit-Man's personal TIE Defender, "The Fearmeister." The liftoff sequence went smoothly and the sleek ship rose into space, shooting off towards the resort world of Campecha, ready to celebrate their victory over the pacifist Federation. Things went well for the most part. The group swapped old war stories, played sabacc, recounted experiences with the opposite sex and told many, many dirty jokes. The air was light, the mood rowdy, and the Cleaners were ready for some much-needed R&R before the unexpected happened. An emergency alert klaxon blared to life behind Rob, who jumped a meter into the air at the sudden noise. The always-ready LT.Hit-Man went fore to check the sensor displays as the ship began to shake. "What's going on?!" angrily demanded Sheppard, irate at the thought of having yet another vacation spoiled by unforseen circumstances. "Scanners are pickin' up a...a...a something, man!" said Hit-Man. "I don't know what the fuck it is!" The rest of the Cleaners looked out the forward viewport at the fluctuating anomaly rippling the dimensional walls of Hyperspace rapidly approaching. Without warning, "The Fearmeister" was drawn into the anomaly, a tunnel of angry swirling reds and blues, the turbulence throwing the Cleaners around like ragdolls. Time seemed to slow down as they flashed through, flying bodies and flailing limbs making a grotesquely slow path through the air, regardless of gravity and the normal flow of time. Just as soon as they entered, though, it was over, and they all fell to the ground in a heap. "The Fearmeister" exited Hyperspace with a jerk and a thump, depositing them not far from a greenish-blue planet orbiting a typical G-class star. A clanging sound began to emanate from the engine room. "Get the hell offa me!" Kyle yelled from under the weight of McGravin and Yates. The Cleaners picked themselves up and dusted off, and LT.Hit-Man made his way back to the nav computer. There was a grimace on his face as he read the display. "Says here we're at Earth," the LT said quietly. "But where's the rest of the Empire?" [Years Later] [The Present] "The Fearmeister" lay battered and bruised, berthed inside of a cavern not far from Thunder Bay, Canada. LT.Hit-Man climbed inside, flipping switches and hoping that the makeshift repairs he cobbled together over the years would hold up. With a low hum, the fusion generator came online, and several lights winked green. Glancing over the diagnostics panel, he saw that the hyperdrive, weapons systems, and shields were all inoperational, but that the cloaking device worked, as well as comms, life support, engines and structural integrity. Suddenly, a call came in over the comm channel, which hadn't been used since the Cleaners had dispersed over the planet, melding themselves quietly into local families with the help of memory rebuilds. Hit-Man flicked the 'on' switch and spoke. "Who is this?" "Cleaner Three to Cleaner Force. Mobilize." That was Rob's voice. LT.Hit-Man replied back to the comm. "What's up, Dalton? What's so dangerous that we need to mobilize more than one of us?" "We're busting Commander Sheppard out of the can, LT." "Yeah? Why?" "Take 'The Fearmeister' and pick up the boys. It's time to exact our vengeance on those who oppress." [Louisiana] The call came right in the middle of Yates's afternoon nap, and he awoke with a start, swearing. Grumbling, he acknowledged the call and went out to his bunker to gather his equipment, then settled in to wait. [Ohio] McGravin fired another shot from his high-powered rifle, nicking a deer right before it leaped away from him. He searched around for the low beeping noise now filling the air, discovering to his shock that there was a message waiting for him on his hidden comm transciever. He ran back home to gather his gear and await the arrival of LT.Hit-Man. [Southern United States] Kyle was busy in the sack with a lady friend when Dalton's call came in. He ignored it and continued. [Florida] Phong had just finished installing yet another piece of hardware onto the boxy, primitive computer systems of Earth, using his Imperial knowledge to up the speed of his machine to a respectable range. He didn't even notice the call until "The Fearmeister" landed right in his back yard, depositing an agitated- looking Dalton and a calmer, yet deadlier, Hit-Man. Quickly, he gathered up his gear in both arms and trotted up the ramp, depositing it in a heap near the deactivated med droid known as 'Rusty'. He slumped down into the navigator's station, and "The Fearmeister" took off. [An Hour Later] Once again, they were assembled, though Kyle was rather reluctant to oblige until LT.Hit-Man 'convinced' him. Almost assembled. "Okay, here's the floor plan of the pen," said Phong, unrolling a hardcopy of the diagram. "I hacked it directly out of their security system, so it should be accurate." He marked a spot on the map. "This is where Sheppard is holed up. Maximum security, ringed by several checkpoints and various internal defenses. The area is less heavily patrolled during the evening, but even so it's going to be crawling with bacon." He marked another point near the outside of the structure. "This'll be our insertion point. We'll have to blast our way through a couple of guard stations, but it should be a piece of cake." The men voiced their assent, and "The Fearmeister" took off to rescue Sheppard. And to kick ass. |-[2]-| [Maryland State Penitentary] Private Timothy Jones shivered a bit and rubbed his hands, trying to warm up in the chill night air. He hefted up his assault rifle, pacing around the guard platform near a secondary gate of the prison. A sudden strong gust of wind nearly blew him off his feet, and he staggered, almost falling into the guardrail. As he picked himself up, a door in the side of the two-story guardhouse opened, and out came another officer carrying a small tray laden with coffee. "Mighty cold up here at times," he said, offering Jones a cup, who gladly accepted. "I don't get why you accepted this job in the first place." He looked around at the bright spotlights currently focused on the courtyard behind the gate. Jones blew on the coffee before taking a sip, wincing slightly as the hot liquid made it's way down. He shrugged. "Someone's got to do it," he said. "Besides, it's safer than having to deal with psychos and murderers all day long." The other laughed. "That's true. I guess the rest of us have a death wish. Well, good luck and--" He was cut off suddenly by a loud crack. The floodlights around the courtyard all burst loudly, the shattered glass tinkling to the ground, and a hypersonic squeal filled the air, making their ears bleed. The loud whine soon resolved itself into a voice. "In 1992, a crack stormtrooper commando unit was dumped on 20th century Earth by a wormhole for reasons unknown. These men promptly underwent disguise and blended in to the general populace of the suburban world. Today, still trying to get home, they survive as soldiers of fortune. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire...the Cleaners." Jones and the other officer looked at each other in surprise, then composed themselves and threw down an emergency rollup ladder. Jones clambered down as the theme from "The A-Team" blared over unseen loudspeakers. Suddenly, the gate burst open, and the frame of a very large man was silhouetted by a bright light behind him. Jones could tell he held some sort of weapon, but wasn't sure what. Unfortunately, he never got a chance to find out before he watched his legs fall off, then his arms as the man rushed past. The other officer, still up on the platform, immediately hit the alert button, though he died suddenly, a gaping, smoking hole in his chest. Within thirty seconds, troops came pouring into the courtyard from side doors, opening fire immediately on the figure. The man fled to a remote corner, and the troops began to concentrate fire there before a low rumble distracted their attention. Suddenly, through the gate came the shape of some sort of odd hovering vehicle, a structure of support poles trailing from it's back end and a nasty- looking weapon on it's front. Ninety percent of the troopers were cut down within ten seconds as bright red bolts of destructive energy filled the air, charring brick and stone and blowing holes through chests and driving the vehicle back under the recoil, which the supports behind it stemmed for the most part. The scent of charred flesh and ozone permeated the air, the rest of the Cleaners piling through the hole. LT.Hit-Man joined them from his cover as they sprinted towards the main complex. "Piece o' cake!" Kyle said as he pulled up beside them, his gunspeeder humming as it hovered. He followed along as they ran, picking off any stray troopers with the smaller E-Web on the back of the speeder. They reached the wall nearest the junction that led to Sheppard's cell. Kyle tuned up the repeating blaster cannon mounted on the speeder, juicing it to full power and aiming it point-blank at the wall before activating the built-in deflector shield. "Get ready, boys!" he shouted, then pulled the trigger, blowing the wall out with a rain of debris as chunks of concrete fell around them. Without hesitation, Phong jumped out of the speeder and the Cleaners rushed into the complex, ready for action. They were soon met by about thirty riot cops in full combat gear, carrying high powered rifles and several canisters of tear gas. These they used to no avail, as the automatic filters of the stormtroopers' armor rendered it useless. As the gas cleared, instead of finding a pile of unconscious bodies, they found instead an empty hallway. They went forward cautiously, then ceased to exist as one of the troops tripped a proxy mine, blowing them up in a small, spectacular explosion. The other Cleaners ran off down a side corridor, picking off the occasional guard, LT.Hit- Man's lightsaber cutting through various gates and bars as they progressed. The Cleaners soon arrived at the door to Sheppard's cell. With an evil grin, LT.Hit-Man flicked on his lightsaber, cutting the door down in under three seconds and lifting it with the Force out of the frame. Staring back at them from the gloomy cell was the haggard face of Commander Mark Sheppard. His open-mouthed frown quickly turned into a broad smile as he recognized the gleaming white stormtrooper armor. He got up weakly, then spoke with a dry, cracked voice. "I love you guys," he said, laughing. "Now give me an E-11 and haul ass out of here." Dalton chuckled and quickly obliged, then they turned tail and prepared to blast their way out. Suddenly, McGravin stumbled forward as a bullet spanged off his armor, wedging itself into a wall. The rest of the Cleaners turned around suddenly, unexpectedly facing two squads of troops, one on each side of them. Unencumbered by locked barriers, they had speedily set up an ambush. The leader lifted up a megaphone. "Okay, girls, the costume party is over! Hands above your head, or we shoot!" The Cleaners had no choice but to oblige; they simply could not risk the life of their commanding officer. They put their hands up, even LT.Hit-Man, who, unbeknownst to everyone else, was smiling under his helmet. Several officers came forward with handcuffs, others with batons and tasers, and they snapped the restraints on everyone, none too gently, either. As they began to lead the Cleaners away, the escorting troops fell to the floor, clutching their throats in agony. Soon, the rest of them were choking too, and with a chorus of snaps and crunches, all died from both asphyxiation and extreme tracheal hemorrhaging. With a silent, deep breath, LT.Hit-Man eased off his touch on the Force, the dark pleasure still rippling through him. He then used his dark power to force the cuffs off of him and everyone else, and after a brief exam of McGravin's armor they started off again. As they sprinted down the halls, the lights suddenly went out again, and they were caught under the downpour of the facility's emergency sprinkler system. The cold water beat down on them as they trotted ahead, again almost into a whole nest of troopers awaiting in an ambush, but the LT had already sensed their motive with the Force. Pulling away from the rest of the pack, he sliced a large chunk of wall away and levitated it over to block the corridor in front of the awaiting officers, who immediately began firing in vain. The Cleaners didn't hesitate as they ran past, their potential assailants still blasting uselessly at the makeshift blockade. Soon they came upon Kyle's door and the speeder. Kyle jumped in and revved the vehicle up, then began to drive forward to the gate, the rest of the Cleaners hitching a ride on the supports behind it. As they reached the middle of the courtyard, though, a large metal door slammed shut over the gate and high-powered spotlights played over them. From all around them in the darkness came the sounds of hundreds of weapons being cocked and readied. A man spoke to them from somewhere off to the east. "Well, well, well. Look what we have here. Looks like a rescue attempt by some of Mr. Sheppard's cronies!" He laughed heartily. "Sorry, ladies, but it's just not gonna happen. Boys! Go get 'em!" With a yell, forty SWAT team troopers came out at the Cleaners from all sides, stopping bare meters before them, brandishing their weapons threateningly. "There's the bell, little girls!" said one. "Recess is over. Throw down your toys and we won't give you a spanking!" McGravin growled out in response. "Little girls? Toys? I'll show you what you're messing with, motherfucker- -" LT.Hit-Man snapped at him over the private stormtrooper comm. "Stow that shit, Mac. I got a better plan. Kyle?" "'Sup?" "Modify the shield generator I installed on that puppy for an effective radius of..." he measured the radius between the center of the speeder and the innermost of the SWATters with his helmet's sensors. "Make it fifteen meters. Engage on my mark." "No prob, El Tee." Hit-Man grinned evilly behind his helmet, then addressed the leader of the SWATters. "Tell ya what," he said. "Why don't you shove those puny pop-guns up your ass and run home to mommy?" The whole SWAT team raised their weapons..."Kyle, activate that sombitch!" With a loud hum, a small theater shield spread out over the speeder, cutting through several unfortunate SWATters and blocking out the rest with a bubble of energy. Everyone else began to fire, the bullets spanging uselessly off the shields of the speeder. "Kyle, gun it!" yelled Hit-Man. "No can do, sir. This thing's drawing too much energy off the engines for us to move at a decent clip!" "Fuck!" said Hit-Man, considering. "Okay, this is how we'll go! Everybody into the speeder" "Won't fit us all," called out Yates. "What the hell are you up to??" "Can it, and if you don't fit, just grab on and hold tight!" With that, all the Cleaners piled on, clamping onto the speeder with their grappling hooks and hanging off for dear life. They didn't know what to expect, but they did know that whatever it was it wouldn't be good. LT.Hit-Man jumped into the pilot seat, removing Kyle to the passenger area behind. He looked over the control panel installed on it, locating the activators for the inertial dampers, shields and the engine power reroutes. He flicked the former on, then fed engine power to the fore port reverse thrusters and the main aft starboard engine. Getting up, he grabbed the controls for the blaster cannon, then LT.Hit-Man used the Force to drop shields and at the same time gun the speeder to full. With a mighty roar, the vehicle immediately began a fast spin, and LT.Hit-Man relentlessly fired the blaster cannon. The recoil from firing in a 360 degree circle kept them in nearly the same place, and the blaster cannon's built- in deflector acted in a similar way to the theater shield. After a minute, he cut engines and stopped firing. All was silent; the other Cleaners were still gripping the supports. Sheppard was white-knuckled, and his face was a sickly green. "Well, that was fun," he said, trying not to hurl. "Can we leave before the roller coaster ride?" LT.Hit-Man laughed. "Are you kidding? The fun is just beginning!" And with that, he normalized the board and flew the miniaturized speeder to his waiting ship. As the speeder and other stuff were stowed into a specialized cargo bay extension LT.Hit-Man had added, Sheppard took a couple of minutes to poke around the ship, noting the presence of Rusty. "What's he doing here?" Sheppard asked. "Eh? Who?" Hit-Man asked as he came up, wiping his hands on a dirty rag. "Oh, Rusty? I swung by my Niagara Falls base and picked him up on my way to Dalton's. I left Spaz to take care of things." "Good," Sheppard replied. "Activate him. I got one hell of a stomachache." ["The Fearmeister"] Silent, grim, poignant. Three words. Which absolutely did not fit with the current band of rowdy soldiers currently screaming through the air on a barely- controlled TIE Defender. Beer bottles and cans were strewn about, cigarette butts extinguished in them as the men swapped stories of Close Encounters of the Female Kind. An air of camaraderie surrounded the cheerful men, happy that they finally had a chance to kill some more. Sheppard was quick to fall back into the swing of things, and he laughed merrily along with them. One of the Cleaners began to regale the rest with a story about life in the past, in the Galaxy they knew and loved so well... about how LT.Hit-Man had to go and rescue Boyd from the clutches of an evil nymphomaniacal Gamo- Suddenly, Sheppard shouted out. "Boyd! Where the hell is he?!" The others looked around confused, suddenly realizing that, indeed, Boyd was missing from the group. "I was wondering why he wasn't with ya when you busted me loose, but it had to wait due to the amusement park ride." He called over to LT.Hit- Man. "Where is Boyd?" "Dunno. Guess we missed him?" "Couldn't have. I contacted everyone," said Dalton. He looked over the receiver log for his latest hypercomm transmission, duly noting that indeed there was no response to be heard from Boyd's receiver. "Turn this bitch around, el tee! We forgot Boyd!" With a stomach-churning jerk, the TIE turned East and shot off across the Atlantic. [Northern Ireland] "SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT!" Boyd screamed in rage as Outlook Express again chewed up his archives and spat them out. He gave his Mac a mighty thwack on the side before going over to the nearest wall and giving it a nice dent with his skull. He groaned in agony at the lost collection of posts, emails and fanfics, then began to involuntarily whine. Suddenly, he realized that it wasn't him who was whining. Boyd ran over to the window, ducking as a TIE Defender almost flew through his window before stopping suddenly. Slowly, he peered over the ledge only to see a grinning LT.Hit-Man giving him the middle finger. Hit-Man put down, and Boyd quickly ran outside. "What the hell is going on?" demanded Boyd. "Why didn't you call me first so I could make preparations???" Dalton stepped out of the hatch, regarding Boyd with a curious frown. "You never answered your hypercomm receiver," said Rob. "I sent a message to everyone requesting them to haul ass." Boyd chewed the inside of his cheek, considering how in the Empire he could have missed it. "Go get your stuff," said Dalton. "I'll take a look at the bloody thing. Where is it?" "Behind the Mac," Boyd answered. Dalton groaned. "That's what did it, buddyboy. Those unstable Macs...we told you not to use them! Their EM output fucks up the receivers pretty bad; I thought we told you?" "Yeah, yeah, I know..." said Boyd. "But I figured the newer Macs might not..." "Never mind. Get your stuff. We've already busted loose our great leader, but now we have an evil overlord to kill!" Boyd looked at him, a frown on his face. "Our leader?" he asked cautiously. As if on cue, Sheppard came down the ramp, belched, scratched his ass, and regarded Boyd with a keen eye. He spoke. "Ditch that Mac, soldier, and get your ass in gear. The Cleaners are back, and ready to rock!" |-[3]-| LT.Hit-Man cracked open a square jewel case, removing a CD marked "Steppenwolf." Sliding it into the player built into the dash of "The Fearmeister," he tapped some keys, powered up repulsorlifts, cloaked the ship and took off. In all the time he had worked on his baby, he had finally figured out a way to see past the cloak without having to rely on the Force. "Down periscope!" he ordered as sweet music filled the cabin. A screen flickered on, projecting itself onto the forward viewport. "Get your motor runnin'...head out on the highway!" LT.Hit-Man smiled. "Strap in, ladies!" "Lookin' for adventure...and whatever comes our way!" The rest of the Cleaners barely got themselves seated on the cramped benches behind the cockpit before LT.Hit-Man screamed off at an acceleration not quite compensated, flying low over the now-vast expanse of water. "Yeah Darlin' go make it happen! Take the world in a love embrace! Fire all of your guns at once...and explode into space!" Those who could manage it grinned at the irony. "I like smoke and lightning...heavy metal thunder! Racin' with the wind...and the feelin' that I'm under!" By this time everyone was singing along, banging stocks against armor. Hit-Man throttled up, grinning madly. "Yeah Darlin' go make it happen! Take the world in a love embrace! Fire all of your guns at once...and explode into space!" "The Fearmeister" bucked as LT.Hit-Man pulled a few moves no Academy graduate short of Han Solo would have a hope of imitating. The ship went left and Dalton's stomach went right. "Like a true nature's child...we were born, born to be wild!" "AAAHAHAHAHAAHAHAH!" cackled LT.Hit-Man like a true maniac. Everyone else suddenly feared for their lives. "We can climb so high..I never wanna die!" LT.Hit-Man twisted the flight stick, sending the modified TIE Defender in a sickening, diving barrel roll. "Born to be wiiiiiillllld!" The ship's port wing skimmed the water, sending up a spray of ocean as Hit-Man rolled his ship. The inertial compensators didn't. "Born to be wiiiiiillllld!" Everyone turned green as "The Fearmeister" stood on its tail, rocketing almost vertically, LT.Hit-Man laughing the whole time, headbanging to the now- wordless music. As they reached the eastern coast of North America, he leveled out and completed the flight, landing without further lunacy to evade detection, and the music trailed off into silence. The Cleaners breathed a collective sigh of relief LT.Hit-Man shut down the ship's systems and shrugged off his straps, dizzily climbing out of the cockpit. He finally noticed the cadre of irate Cleaners staring at him. He frowned. "What?" |-o-| "Four AK-47's with twelve clips each?" "Check." "One USAR-1 full auto shotgun with 90-round drum mag?" "Check." "1 BMG-Barett .50 Sniper rifle with four six round mags with a full multi-optics scope?" "Uh...check." "3 Mac-10s, full auto, .45 or 9mm rounds, 30 rounds per mag, 15 mags?" "Check." "One M-79 40mm grenade launcher?" "Check!" "Get that look off your face. That one's mine." "Aw, fuck." "Thirty 41/2 pound pipe bombs?" "Check." "What're the fuse counts?" "Six proxies, six timers, six 21/2 foot triplines, six radio detonation fuses, six laser tip switches." "Yeah." "Check." "Alright, good. Forty proxy rigged claymore mines?" "Uh...check? Looks like we're missing a few." LT.Hit-Man glanced over at Dalton as he examined the weapons, noting with some distaste the missing mines. "What...oh, now I remember. I mined Los Angeles on April Fool's Day," he explained. "We also used a couple when we busted out our Fearless Leader." He rubbed his real eye and went back to the list. "30,000 7.62 full metal jacketed rounds for the AK-47s?" "Check." "2000 HI-EX tipped .50 cal rounds?" "Check." "400,000 nitro tipped .45 rounds?" "Yow. Check." "400,000 teflon 9mm rounds?" "Damn. Check again." "12 specialty 40mm grenade rounds for my M-79?" "Holy shit! Do you plan on taking out the surrounding countryside as well?" "Why not? Hehehehe. My lightsaber?" "Uh, check, I suppose." LT.Hit-Man wasn't so careless as to let untrained non-Jedi handle his weapon of choice. "4 E-11s with 12 clips each?" "Uh...check. What happened to the other four?" "Fused. Had to replace them with the AK-47s back when we cleaned out the Delta Quadrant. These are backups anyway; you guys still have your regular sidearms. 'Sides, those AK-47s sure came in handy with the Borg, didn't they?" Dalton mulled. "I suppose. Let's continue, shall we?" "My pleasure." He grinned wickedly. "Twelve proton grenades?" "Christ on a tricycle!" Hit-Man smiled again. "Six pairs of Czerka vibroknucklers? No, don't pick them up. Gotta be careful with them." Dalton hesitated just as he touched one, springing back in surprise as vicious vibroblade lanced out, almost slicing him. "Uh...check," he stammered. "We'll have to lotto those suckers." He grinned, baring his teeth. "Four vibroblades?" "Check." Dalton rubbed his eyes, not quite believing the stash of mayhem currently residing in "The Fearmeister." How Hit-Man fit all that in at all he did not want to know. "Six mono-filament garrotes?" "Wow. Check." "One cat?" Dalton looked over in surprise at the final item, a silent, solid black cat sitting quietly on its haunches. It glared at Dalton, flicking its gray- tipped tail. "Um...check, el tee. What's that mangy alley-cat doing here?" he asked. LT.Hit-Man snarled. "Watch yer mouth. Me and Smoke here have kind of a symbiotic relationship. I feed him, he wreaks havoc. We're mindlinked through the Force. Useful, no?" Dalton admitted it was. "Now, this is just the stuff I managed to load. If we need to, we can go back and get the other big-boom weapons." He gestured outside at the hidden base. Dalton gaped for a second. "Dude, we have enough boom here to incinerate fifteen city blocks!" Hit-Man laughed madly. "I have enough shit stowed away to take out the entire eastern seaboard if need be!" he railed. "Let me tell you, man...we got crossbows loaded with live chickens stuffed with TNT, a mag laucher, spider mines, we got nukes, we got knives, sharp sticks..." He laughed, rubbing his hands. Dalton's eyes went wide. "Mag launcher? Spider mines? Are you fucking nuts?!" "Yes," Hit-Man replied. "Let me tell you about this mag launcher, man. This baby can do some *damage!* It fires two treated magnesium slugs wrapped in an airless titanium shell. When the shell hits something, it breaks open and the mag ignites when exposed to the air, igniting the titanium. This shit makes a hell of a boom!" Dalton's mouth dropped. "Shit! Don't even tell me how you got all this. What about them spider mines?" "Spider mines," Hit-Man started, "are small robots filled with VX nerve gas. They work by proximity detection. Once they have a target they go after it, exploding and releasing the VX. Dormant until they have a target. Even installed tracking devices so we don't accidentally set one off." Dalton considered. "Those might be useful. Think we can fit 'em?" "No problem," Hit-Man assured. "We can fit them all into a cigar box. I'll go get them." "See if you can pry the cheese nips away from Phong," Dalton called after him as Hit-Man trotted off. He was feeling inherently uncomfortable surrounded as he was by weapons of mass destruction. The cat glaring at him didn't help either. He sighed and hoped he was doing the right thing. The cat glared at him some more, snapped its head around suddenly, and trotted off, leaving Dalton surrounded by crates of things that go boom in the night. [War Room] "Okay, boys, here it is," said Phong, spreading out a hardcopy of building blueprints. "We can't rely on these too much; they had a dummy file in there and I'm not sure if the dummy is the real one or not. Got to be careful, you know, especially since I found a copy of the Evil Overlord's list in another directory." He checked off a point on the map. "This is the least heavily defended entry, since it's the garbage dock. Once we neutralize whatever blocks and guards are over there, we'll infiltrate the building." Hit-Man nodded, then spoke. "Now, our insert time is going to be at 23:07 hours, right after the normal check-in procedure, just in case we need to...silence...any defenders, but that probably won't be needed. We're riding in on foot, me in the lead. I'll throw off the guards." Dalton chimed in with a query. "How come you can't just put a Force choke on him from here?" "Too many people around him. I can't separate his identity from all the others around him, and I want to avoid killing too many folks," Hit-Man replied. "Besides, where's the fun in that? You do want to blow shit up, right?" Dalton admitted that he did. "So it's settled then. We'll go in, nuke their servers, cut the head off of the entire operation, and slip out like we weren't even there. Okay, we ready to go yet?" "Yes, sir!" the entire squad shouted in unison. "We kill, We die, We conquer. Nothing more, nothing less. So it is said, so let it be done." "We are the Cleaners! Prepare to Die!" "Let's go, go, go!" With a massive war cry, The Cleaners ran out of the room and boarded "The Fearmeister." LT.Hit-Man leaped into the cockpit and the engine roared to life, making the whole ship reverberate. With a shimmer, the modified TIE Defender cloaked, streaking out of the hidden Niagara Falls base towards Dulles, Virginia. They didn't know exactly what to expect. But they were ready for anything. Even Death. |-[4]-| A soft rush of wind was the only clue that something had just landed. The landing struts dug into the ground slightly, making faint impressions, and from seemingly thin air, a slice of dim light appeared, widening into a dark rectangle. LT.Hit-Man scanned the area again with both the Force and his helmet's built-in sensors, then dropped to the ground silently, his muscled legs taking the impact easily. Sheppard followed soon after and confirmed. He called up to the others. "Coast is clear. Ready?" "Ready!" "Fall out, men!" The Cleaners did so, literally, landing silently on the grass below. Each of them was dressed in the typical armor for a stormtrooper, modified with increased comms efficiency, better range of motion and more advanced HUDs. The armor itself was painted a flat black, reminiscent of a dull TIE fighter pilot suit, instead of the typical glossy white, to help evade detection by stray light glinting off the armor. Strapped on each of their backs was a share of the carnage from "The Fearmeister's" extra-large and definitely non-standard cargo hold. However, LT.Hit-Man and Sheppard kept all the good toys until the shit hit the fan, which of course nobody appreciated. "You know I'm getting a crack at that mag launcher, el tee," said Dalton. "You ain't gonna hog all the cool shit again this time!" "Can it, Dalton," snarled LT.Hit-Man. "We got more important things to worry about besides you nuking the immediate area by accident." With that, LT.Hit-Man waved a remote at his ship, and the hatch closed, activating the horribly complicated door alarm. The Cleaners trotted silently out of the small park, slaloming swiftly between the trees. Their ship was almost guaranteed to be in privacy for the duration of the mission. However, just in case, Rusty had been plugged into "The Fearmeister's" computer to provide not only the support of the TIE Defender in case things got hairy, but also to defend the ship against evil midnight joggers as an augmentation to the alarm system. Given the fact that it was cloaked, that support was limited to the "periscope" and Rusty quickly displayed his proficiency at imitating Popeye. They approached their target from the south: a wide dock, covered in bags of garbage, with three armed guards in various states of readiness dotted around it. Crime had been on the up and up lately, so rent-a-cops were hired to patrol outside the building itself, the first line of defense for the sensitive equipment inside. One of them jumped at a noise, discovering only a mangy black alleycat clambering out of a trash can, it's gray-tipped tail twitching as it studied them intently with its piercing yellow eyes. The Cleaners watched from the cover of a small knot of trees as one of the 'guards' nodded off, then the other two. "Okay, boys, it's dreamland for them. Move out," Sheppard ordered. A chorus of soft clicks confirmed their readiness. They moved slowly, alert for any signs of trouble from the building or the trees surrounding it. Their padded boots crunched softly on the matted ground, barely making a perceptible noise, which was itself outside of the decibel range of normal human hearing but amplified by their helmet's sensors. The three guards around the dock snored peacefully, which of course sounded like a trio of chainsaws from a kilometer away. Assured of their complete unconsciousness, the Cleaners picked up the pace, covering the distance to the loading dock in a mere seven seconds, LT.Hit-Man peeling off from the rest of the group to tie up the guards. He injected a surgical-strength anaesthetic into each of them as he wrapped bindings around their arms and legs, then swiftly dragged them to a dark corner. LT.Hit-Man frisked the men for firearms, satisfied at finding only standard-issue pistols, batons and pepper spray. The alleycat, Smoke, jumped on his shoulder and curled its tail around his neck as he turned back to join the others. The rest of the eight-man squad had hopped up onto the dock one at a time, organizing themselves professionally around the door as they came. They were arranged in a three-to-four back-to-back semicircle that allowed three of them to cover the door and roof and the other four to cover the coverers. Kyle prepared to dissolve the door lock with an industrial-strength acid when, without warning, it began to open. "Deep shit!" came the cry from Dalton, the code name for the direst of emergencies. LT.Hit-Man snapped around, having just leaped onto the dock, and halted the door with the Force. The man behind it swore, and the door rattled as he hit it. A couple of more thuds signified further futile attempts to extricate the jammed portal cover. "No problem, mon!" LT.Hit-Man said in an incredibly fake Jamaican accent. He stood silent for a moment, and the man behind the door also dropped off into the Land of Nod, joining his friends in the peaceful release of deep slumber. He was quickly tied up and drugged. With the locked door now conveniently open, The Cleaners piled through silently, immediately moving towards the cover of a few garbage cans and large recycling bins. They halted at a command from Sheppard before they could reach their objectives. The hall was deserted, but there were cameras above the door pointing to the east and west. LT.Hit-Man opened a compartment on his belt, taking out two feedback loop inciters. Positioning them under each camera lens, he activated them, and the devices calibrated themselves, replacing the image being beamed to the central video monitoring station with a continual five-second display of an empty hallway. They each blinked green once, indicating the successful signal override and confirming a match on the video frequency and quality. On their HUDs was displayed an overhead layout of the building's floor plan in a dim green, marking their position with a small red skull mark: a utility corridor, trailing off to the east and west. A blue bull's-eye marked the location of the main servers and processing center, which was down a few floors, and an orange bull's-eye painted the corporate offices of Steve Case and his crony Bob Pittman, consisting mostly of the top three levels of the building. Red dots marked the positions of cameras and motion sensors, and blue dots any guards or security kiosks. An open circle of blue marked the video surveillance center, which appeared just east of the blue bull's-eye. They made way for the nearest stairwell, off to the east and out of the way of cameras, and trotted down swiftly in single file, timing their steps carefully to avoid tripping over each other. The building was rather quiet, with most of the daytime staff already in bed at that time, but rumor had it that Case and Pittman were involved in some clandestine scheming. Then, of course, there was the nighttime staff responsible for the maintenance of the server room. As they reached each landing, the floor plan on their HUDs updated to display the latest available information, including floor number, distance below or above ground, temperature, ambient light and any detectable life signs within the area. Directly above the door was another pair of cameras, which LT.Hit-Man expertly slapped another pair of inciters on. In a large room somewhere off to the west was the main cluster of activity, with the small dots representing individual signatures moving about in a somewhat relaxed pace. Further north of them was a smaller area indicated as a break room, with several more life signs therein, and to the east and north, four more dots in a smallish closet-like area with an inordinate number of power leads and ventilation shafts connecting with it. Olfactory sensors built into the helmets detected the faint smell of fresh coffee, donuts, cologne and sweat all around, but none were especially strong in the immediate area. Enhanced auditory sensors caught low moaning coming from one of the supply closets, and their HUDs indicated the presence of two beings therein. None of the Cleaners wished to investigate further, not sure what they would find, for only the programmers came out at night, and for the most part exposure to said programmers was often lethal. Especially if they were naked. Having just eaten, they passed up on the anthropological intricacy and made their way silently to the east, towards a short service corridor running north, which led to one of the surveillance center's two doors. Silently, Sheppard motioned for his men to crouch down as they snuck closer to the room. Smoke leaped silently off of LT.Hit-Man and he delicately placed four of the spider mines on the cat's backside. It slinked off to a ventilation shaft set near the ceiling, which swung open silently at a gesture from LT.Hit-Man. He levitated Smoke into the narrow corridor, relaying what he saw through the cat's superb night vision to the rest of the Cleaners via comlink. Using the map on his HUD, LT.Hit-Man provided directions to the cat via subtle Force taps on either shoulder. It soon reached a vantage point directly above the four guards and the various monitors. LT.Hit-Man ordered the cat to lie flat on its stomach and keep still, flicking on the remote unit that activated the mines. They headed for the nearest source of light on a command from the device. Detecting the human presence with their proximity sensors, they zoned in on the four targets. The mines were calibrated in such a way so that they didn't accidentally lock on to the same victim, and they skittered between the slits in the shaft cover, along the ceiling and down the walls. The guards seemed oblivious, but were far too alert for the same Force trick the guards outside fell victim to. With deadly intent the secret killers silently crawled up the legs of the guards, who didn't seem to notice their presence at all, moving up towards the heads of the victims, settling on their shoulders for maximum effectiveness. Their dark bodies blended nicely with the cheap black fabric that the guards were wearing. The fourth spider mine had almost reached objective when one of the victims finally noticed. "Hey, Bob, there's a spider on your back!" Bob flailed about for a second, trying to bend both arms in an unnatural fashion to try and reach the evil insect. "Shit, man, get it off me! I hate spiders!" "Aww, you big sissy," said one of the others. "Let me kill it and make it all better, mmmkay?" He moved towards Bob, carrying a rolled-up newspaper. Of course, LT.Hit-Man saw and heard all this thanks to Smoke, and hit the remote detonator. The man with the newspaper staggered back in surprise, four plumes of smoke wisping into the air and into their nostrils. Smoke, being unshielded as he was from the gas, immediately scrambled for the safety of LT.Hit-Man, climbing into a custom-built feline EVA suit. Bob sniffed, his nose suddenly runny, then began to cough a little. His chest felt tight, and he undid the buttons on his shirt, struggling to see in the suddenly dimming light. The spider mine had been lower on his body when activated and thus had a delayed response on him; he had no idea he was in for what his friends were already going through. "Hey, man, I can't see," he said weakly, before noticing the other three guards curled up on the floor, screaming as their muscles cramped and gurgling through the vomit choking their mouths. Bob wiped some drool from his mouth, his skin suddenly clammy. He had a very, *very* bad feeling about this and moved towards the alarm, a large red button on the console on the far side of his three companions. Suddenly, his leg cramped and he slipped in a pool of various bodily waste, slamming into the ground. He began to twitch involuntarily, his muscles suddenly going haywire. The snaps of the other three's bones were clearly audible over his own heaving. He tried to scream in pain as his ulna broke, unable to cope with the stress, but Bob had no more control over his body, his lungs working overtime with no consideration for any other organs. His entire body was twitching, with occasional spasms, his head pounding as his blood loudly protested the constriction of their vessels. He wondered what was going on, becoming more confused as the gas worked its mojo on his systems. He felt his spine fracture as his body arched, losing all feeling from the waist down. Bob began feeling very sleepy and decided that a nice nap would shake off this strange malady quite handily... "Targets...neutralized," said LT.Hit-Man. "Let's clean up," ordered Sheppard, readying a small canister of VX neutralizer. The Cleaners moved swiftly up the hall, pushing open the door. The sight that they beheld would render any average human physically and mentally ill, but their training, not to mention their experience, numbed it's effectiveness. At most, they felt a pang of regret for killing people who were just doing their job, but that quickly passed as they glanced over the video monitors and internet feeds. Monitors that showed some very questionable actions indeed. Monitors that completely justified their presence and duty here. Kiddie porn. "These fuckers," said LT.Hit-Man, "Must die." With disgust, he used his mastery of the Dark Side to crack each and every single monitor there with just a thought. "Phong, your mallet," said Dalton. Wordlessly, Phong handed over his own personal addition to their combined arsenal, an item dubbed the Mallet of Doom. "ROB SMASH!" screamed Dalton, startling everyone. With that, he went on a rampage, completely obliterating any sign of video or computer equipment in sight, shattering the glass windows of the booth as well. One of the programmers came by to see what all the commotion was about, dying instantly as the large hammer crushed his skull. "Somebody get the Sledge-O-Matic away from him," sighed Sheppard. [Later on...] Dalton sat against the wall, a bit dejected. The other Cleaners were discussing plans and strategies, while LT.Hit-Man kept a lookout for any other incursions by the overly curious. The past fifteen minutes remained eerily quiet, the silence broken only by the low shuffling of settling bodies and the soft whoosh of the ventilation systems. The experience in the surveillance room had been rather cathartic for both LT.Hit-Man and Dalton, but their anger was slowly festering again, ready to be released with great vengeance and furious anger. "Okay, Abbot and Costello," said Sheppard, regarding Dalton and Hit-Man. "We got a plan. A daring, complex and potentially deadly one at that, if I might add." "And what plan would that be?" asked LT.Hit-Man. "Why, nothing short of outright slaughter." Sheppard grinned. "We bust in there and waste 'em all. Simple as that. How many do you think are equipped, eh? What, one with a plastic knife?" "Hey, I cut myself with one of those once!" interjected Kyle. "Hurt like a bitch, too." Sheppard glared at him, then smacked Kyle upside the helmet with an armored gauntlet. "Shall we?" The Cleaners made off to the west, their progress unimpeded by the possibility of video surveillance. However, unbeknownst to them, their actions were being followed by more sinister devices. The person monitoring said devices smiled, a tight, thin-lipped gesture of contempt. _So they have found out,_ he thought. _But they will not last long enough to tell anyone else._ With that, he jabbed a button on his console. [At the same time] Increased audio activity confirmed the heightened population of the area they were entering, and they could hear laughing, joking, slurping, and God knows how many other stimuli, whether they be grunts, groans or other unpleasant bodily functions. A loud ripping sound followed by some laughter incited them to block off the olfactory sensors for at least the next ten minutes. The Cleaners skulked ever closer towards the wide door, the room holding the highest concentration on targets. Without warning, a shout came from the break room further north. One of the programmers had noticed their advance and was now shouting for the others to come out and see. "Hey, you got some fancy duds for mere rent-a-cops!" remarked one of them. "Where'd you get those cute l'il waterguns?" "They look like something out of a science fiction movie!" "I bet they can pee in those ridiculous outfits!" Hit-Man cocked his head, then with a shrug crushed three of their necks. Yates casually tossed a smoke grenade in, knocking the rest of them out. Boyd set up a few of the proxy mines near the entrance, activating the miniature holoshrouds on each of them. They all gathered round the entrance to the slowly quieting room. Suddenly, McGravin slammed open the door, diving in and rolling to his left, spraying the area with a barrage of shots from his E-11. The surprised programmers were frozen with fear, most of them ducking too late to avoid the concentrated fire of seven other E-11s. They were quickly cut down where they stood. The others looked out from behind router cabinets and servers, now quite frightened. A pungent smell filled the room. "We are the Cleaners!" said Sheppard in a loud, clear voice. "Prepare to die!" To punctuate his remark, LT.Hit-Man fired off a round of his grenade launcher. The others scrambled out of the room, hugging the walls on either side of the door as the grenade blew. A spray of red coated the wall in front of them, and behind them the server room was a smoking wreck of destroyed bodies and decimated computer equipment. A few of the programmers stirred here and there, unaffected by the initial blast, so Phong grabbed three of the radio detonation pipe bombs, tossing them into the room. They slowly settled to optimal positions as LT.Hit-Man guided them with the Force. Ducking back again, Phong hit the detonator, blowing the rest of the employees straight to hell. When they entered again, an odd sight greeted their viewplates. A few of the machines appeared to have survived direct blasts, only scorch marks betraying their exposure to the inferno. Suddenly, LT.Hit-Man stiffened. With a loud clang, the door behind them was sealed off by what appeared to be a pressure bulkhead. "I have a bad feeling about this," muttered LT.Hit-Man. Igniting his lightsaber, he cut into the door. It sputtered immediately and went out. LT.Hit-Man was quite surprised, which was a rarity. He tried again with the same results. "Cortosis ore," he said aloud. "What the fuck is going on here?!" As if on cue, the undamaged machinery came to life, unfolding into the menacing forms of humongous battle droids. The eight men turned, their faces grim. "Kriff." |-[5]-| *Engage primary protocols *Engage transformation *Transformation complete *Engage visual matrix *Engage audio matrix *Visual matrix engaged *Audio matrix engaged *WARNING: THREAT LEVEL 50% *Diagnostics complete *Eight targets identified *Engage audio communication "Cease and desist immediately or you will be destroyed." *Targets are firing *Direct hit, lower torso *WARNING: THREAT LEVEL 70% *Engage repair protocols *Engage defense protocols *Target four is airborne *WARNING: THREAT LEVEL 90% *Target four has activated energy blade device *Lower left arm not responding *Lower left arm has been removed *WARNING: THREAT LEVEL 95% *Lower right arm has been removed *WARNING: THREAT LEVEL 100% *Engage mobility protocols *Mobility protocols engaged *Engage evasive movement *Evasive movement failed *WARNING: THREAT LEVEL 110% *Left leg not responding *WARNING: THREAT LEVEL 120% *Engage fluid release The war droid fell to the ground, rotating on the floor with its good leg and trying to draw a bead on the otherwise-engaged Cleaners. That little plan ultimately failed due to the fact that it had nothing to shoot at them. It processed the situation, and decided that the best course of action was to self- destruct. Before it had a chance to do so, LT.Hit-Man lazily sliced through its neural net with his lightsaber, forever ending that particular threat. "One more down...how many to go?" asked LT.Hit-Man. As if on cue, the back wall of the room imploded to reveal about a dozen more war droids unfolding into attack position. The Cleaners ducked behind any sort of cover they could find, firing their weapons until dry. The E-11s were having little effect, so it was time to break out the big toys. LT.Hit-Man grinned evilly, unslinging his grenade launcher and firing three rounds into the mass of droids. The explosion was spectacular, and seven of them smoked and sparked as their fused joints refused to cooperate and their microprocessors melted from the overload. Dalton reached into his own bag of tricks and pulled out a few low-yield thermal detonators, modified with magnetic locks and contact fuses. He activated the timer, lobbing it at the nearest foe. The magnetic field inducer flipped on as it sensed itself propelled, sticking to the droid and exploding as it settled on the droid's upper torso. Right behind him was another droid, but that was dispatched thanks to a quick shot of Sheppard's mag launcher. The sheer KE of the round knocked the droid back about forty feet, causing it to slam into the wall and slide down in a heap as the fiery metals ignited its entire body. It was soon a chunk of semi-fluid goo. [Meanwhile, back at _The Fearmeister_...] A lone figure crept silently through the trees, stealing between trunks as it made its way to its unseen objective. Unseen, but not unknown. The trees thinned out, and he snuck out from under the leafy canopy and stole across the field, silent as a mouse. He began to slow down as he reached the center of the clearing, sticking his hands out as to prevent himself from slamming full-tilt into an unseen obstacle. Which was exactly what he was trying to do. Soon enough the figure's hands went flat against what appeared to be thin air, and he knew that he had reached his target. He slid his hands across until he felt the telltale crack of the hatch set flush into the hull of the starship. Master thief Chris O'Farrell slid a lock inciter into the center of the right-hand slit. He attached the connector to a jack on his slicer padd and inserted a datacard. Columns of numbers slid down the screen as it tried to decrypt the clearance passwords. Chris looked around apprehensively as the padd made some low beeping noises. He looked down at the display and gasped sharply... COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK COMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCKCOMSTOCK Below that were the words "Here's a picture of your grave, foolish one." The hatch suddenly opened, and Chris's last conscious thought consisted of words including "Phong," "slicer," and "fucking stupid" before a large, blunt and quite heavy object swung down and smacked him full in the forehead, knocking him flying backwards a few yards. Master thief Chris O'Farrell landed in a heap and moved no more. [AOL's Server Room Full Of Big Mean Robot Killers] "Kyle, get down!" shouted Sheppard as one of the droids shot laser beams out of it's eyes, singing a patch of innocent floor just past Kyle's now-prone body. With practiced ease, Kyle rolled over onto his back and fired a shot from his E-11 straight into the droid's eyes, flash-vaporizing portions of the head and optical receptors. The droid began to flail about wildly, and Kyle scrambled out of the way as Sheppard brought up his mag launcher again. A round screamed from the barrel and slammed into its torso, knocking it back against the wall to join it's friend in fiery death. "Thanks, boss," Kyle shouted, before being cut off by few bolts burrowing into the wall behind him. Time seemed to freeze as he turned around, slowly taking in the sight of a droid's massive torso. Strangely, he felt no fear, only grim determination as he looked up, up at the menacing optical receptors, the red glow permeating his soul...and he thought about how damn corny that sounded and pulled out one of the twelve proton grenades. "If I go, I'm taking you with me!" he shouted. "Belay that, Knopf!" shouted Hit-Man over the comm, an instant before Yates leapt up onto the droid's neck, punching with all his might, the vibroknucklers he was wearing penetrating through the relatively thin head armor. His body began to flail wildly at the waist as the droid made a vain attempt at shaking him off, but Yates somehow managed to hang on, shredding the metal, cutting deep gouges in the outer shell, slicing through non-essential components and digging deeper until the droid's neural net was revealed. Yates deactivated the knucklers, discarding them in the general direction of Kyle, and finished the droid off with a few blaster shots into the brain cavity, leaping off as the droid came crashing down. He managed to collect himself as Kyle ran up, and both watched with interest as three of the droids suddenly came smashing together in a shower of sparks and shrapnel, the whole solid block now forming a makeshift barrier in the hopes of slowing down the advance of other droids. McGravin joined them, having spent his allotment of weaponry taking out four of the massive droids, and they all huddled around the door. "One thing's for fuckin' sure," Yates drawled. "We have to get the hell out of here." With that, he slapped two of the radio-detonator pipe bombs on the door, then ran for the minimal shelter provided by a disabled droid. The others followed, Boyd crawling up behind them. "How we doing folks?" Sheppard asked over the comm, glancing back at the carnage. Several droids in the direct area were still moving, but none were on their feet. Farther along, about a dozen more came plodding down, weapons already ranging. "We're gone," LT.Hit-Man said as Yates blew the door out. "And so is the whole kriffin' building." With that, he took a few items out of his bulging pack and began assembling an ominous-looking device that looked disturbingly similar to a certain male organ. The other Cleaners piled out of the room as fast as they could, running for the nearest stairwell. They had no idea what LT.Hit-Man was doing, nor did they want to know. Within minutes he had caught up. "What did you do?" Sheppard asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. "I like to call it the Atomic Dildo," LT.Hit-Man said. "It fucks anything and everything around it." Beneath his helmet he was grinning madly, and everyone felt a sudden impulse to run like hell. Which they did, rather quickly, up the stairs and out to the loading dock. Straight out into the middle of what appeared to be a mob of ferociously pissed-off and heavily armed men, SWAT and otherwise. "Here we go again," Sheppard sighed. They prepared for yet another melee, slowly reaching for sidearms as some authority figure ordered them to put their hands up. Behind them the door closed with a clang as others stormed the building. The scene was silent for a few brief moments as they faced off, a silence rudely broken by the blaring of really loud horns and squealing tires. Powerful headlights danced down the road as the horn grew louder. Several of the SWATs turned, raising their weapons with apparent horror. Suddenly, a heavily- armored truck burst out into the scene, running down quite a few men, an autoblaster on the top sending the rest running for cover. A voice came over the comm, one that sounded oddly familiar to Sheppard and Hit-Man..."You don't think?" asked Sheppard. "It's possible," came the reply. "Get in!" the voice yelled. "Let's go! We don't have much time!" The Cleaners all leapt into the truck and sped off just as LT.Hit-Man's bomb exploded. The fireball created a rather frightening scene in the rear-view mirror, debris showering the area for blocks and glass shattering from the shockwave. On the back of the truck, several of the SWATs were hanging on for dear life, falling off as the Cleaners stomped hands or blasted them point-blank to be consumed in the rapidly-expanding fire. The truck somehow managed to outrun the fire, though the back of it was singed and Boyd's armor began to blister. A little way away, the truck turned into the park where _The Fearmeister_ was stashed. Though the trees and grass around it were a flaming inferno, the area immediately around the location of the ship was relatively undamaged. They stopped just short of the body lying alongside it, or rather not alongside it. Phong quickly ran up and examined the unconscious man, noting with restrained glee the word "Frag Bait" now imprinted on his forehead. He rubbed his hands and began digging through the man's pockets. Sheppard looked on for a moment, then at a cough from LT.Hit-Man turned to the driver to thank him, catching his breath as he recognized the face. A face from a very long time ago. A face that he once called 'friend.' "January," he said, almost whispering the name. [High above the former headquarters of America Online] "My lord," reported Pittman, "The takeoff went flawlessly and all systems are now operational, though our enemies have escaped with January." "That is most unfortunate," replied Lord Case. "But they shall be taken care of soon enough." "My lord?" "Emperor Gates even now awaits them."