TAGS! Such pretty little tags! And that garish thing at the top is no longer there! Yay! No 'taylor pokey the thing' to go with 'what could possibly go wrong'. But yay!
Anyhow, I'm done and after the last couple revision cycles I'm beginning to think this came out better than I thought it would. Probably not 100%, and mileage may vary, but it was getting time to let it go. Also the whole revision process made it so overly long that I had to partition it into two parts, so there's that.
C'est La Vie (Worm/MtG) #03.3
A/N: ┬─┬ノ( º _ ºノ) PseudoSim rights table and brings new servings!
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Foliage whipped by as I fled into the jungle, running full tilt to get away from the mercenaries. Not a second into my flight, though, an argument erupted between the old hunter and the gaunt commander, a rapid back in forth exchange that quickly escalated until the hunter's arm snapped up and pointed into the jungle.
A moment later the big-guy of the bunch stepped forward and the crawlers investigating his rucksack hit the ground. Then the marksman shrugged his pack off and stepped up beside him.
Shit.
With my unanswered questions lingering at the fore, I cut down on the active scouting in the immediate vicinity. A moment later the big-guy crashed into the underbrush, closely followed by the marksman, and any budding hope of simply being let go was crushed. Immediately, I set out watching them, observing, and assessing what I was up against.The larger man took on the role of pace-setter and used his size to bully a path through the underbrush while the smaller one kept apace a few yards behind, head constantly turning to scan their surroundings.
Both men held their weapons close to their chests, at the low ready position and no doubt able to be brought up at a moment's notice if they had a clear shot.
With that in mind, I immediately shifted to an irregular, circuitous route through the trees and thick undergrowth in order to minimize the chance of that happening. Beyond that... I grimaced and cast my senses wide, trying to decide what to do and looking for options. They'd proven themselves willing to use their weapons— if with some hesitancy on the marksman's part. But, just because they were willing to use lethal force didn't mean I needed to go to the same lengths... as things stood, there was enough blood on my hands without adding theirs unnecessarily.
Besides, silk and armor aside, a single ant hidden behind the front sights of their weapons was enough to avoid being shot. After all, bullets moved in a flat trajectory and a single step was all it would take to negate any worth they had.
But the uncertainty of direction aside, it wouldn't do to just leave their weapons active without doing something. Also, just what that shotgun was loaded with was still up in the air and I'd prefer not having to find out first hand.
As discreetly as possible I began sending my bugs their way, be it through the air or from foliage the men connected with while pursuing me.
However, the question of what the shotgun was loaded with lingered.
Was it loaded with slugs? Buckshot? Or perhaps with something else? If so I'd need to be conscious of potential shot spread. I could take buckshot so long as it wasn't point blank, I knew that— In making my new suits I'd tested for it and had made damn sure they could handle it. With the added thickness of my poncho it would be little issue, but anything more exotic like flechettes would be a problem. I'd had enough experience getting shot already to last a lifetime, I didn't need anymore... although, the yellow-grey coloration of the orb-weavers' raw silk certainly wouldn't be of any help in getting away.
Then again, the white armor paneling beneath would be little better in that regard… when this was over I needed to take a more critical look at my costume situation. I'd been banking on being alone in this place, thinking I could take my time, but clearly, that wasn't the case. And it wasn't just my costume or operating in the environment, but my body. I'd been lax in adapting to the absence of my arm and whatever the deal was with the phantom limb syndrome and the Green wasn't helping me one bit. Not being able to catch myself as I had… that was a problem. Maybe an armored sleeve for the foreseeable future? Some sort of sock or wrap? It was something to work on while figuring out some dyes. I may not have needed camouflage when fighting Scion, but it wasn't something I could afford to neglect any longer.
It was a plan, but not one that was of much help at the moment as I tracked my pursuers and narrowed down my options to a workable Plan B beyond 'flee into the jungle'. Though really, what kind of idiots go chasing after someone in a place like this? The fact that they had, however... and seemingly with little reservation... That didn't bode well, especially with how they didn't appear to be having any problems keeping up in their, well… hunt, wasn't that far off the mark.
And they were hunting me; they were tracking the trail I left in the underbrush and on the ground, following it. My power gave me the best means of moving through any terrain, but this environment… it was causing just many problems for me as it was solving for them. Where the bugs of the jungle gave me easy paths to follow, I, in turn, gave my pursuers a pre-blazed trail to track. I was accustomed to an urban environment, not a tropical rainforest. Not yet at least, and looking back on the big-guy and marksman duo… that was something I needed to figure out. And now, rather than later.
The tangled web of paths woven throughout spread out before me as I kept track of the distance between me and my pursuers. That practice had come more from habit than any significant concern I'd initially had for them catching up. Since the beginning of the chase their pace— and to a lesser extent their distance —had remained consistent, remarkably so, with them only allowing the distance to shrink. As it happened twice before when the footing was good. They were trying to run me down, tire me out to make it easier on themselves no doubt, but for what reason I couldn't guess. I wasn't an animal, though, I was a person, I could think, and them setting a steady pace let me set my own while working out what to do.
Turning onto a more difficult path had helped a bit but not enough; they simply sped up and returned the distance to 'normal'. Always keeping me in sight. It was as good as a confirmation.
It complicated things though. It meant they were unlikely to let me gain enough of a lead on them that I could slip away and hide in the foliage. But I needed to break contact. How, though?
A bait and switch with a swarm-clone might work. Slip into the bush where it's particularly thick and dark, have it take my place… they'd be none the wiser.
I'd still need to be sufficiently far away, and on that point, I was right back to where I started… or perhaps if I had a sufficient enough distraction, be close, and switch out seamlessly enough so as to give them a target to keep pursuing while passing me by?
I mulled that over for a moment before adding it to the 'maybe' list. It would require precise timing, and no matter what would carry a certain degree of risk that might not be necessary to get out of this.
Nor might using my swarm be necessary for that matter. Or rather, using my swarm would be a risk.
Thus far I'd held back due to not knowing, but the dismissive way the hunter had sent them after me… that made me think they didn't know who I was, or what I was. But even if they didn't know that didn't preclude there being notices out concerning my abilities if this world was connected to the others.
With everything, I'd done as Khepri in the battle against Scion… I couldn't even hazard a guess at how many people might want to see my head on a pike. Although, however many I'd taken control of and survived would probably be a good number to start with.
If that was indeed the case then it wouldn't do to paint a target on my back by using my swarm to drive them off. Seeing insects moving in coordination... they might not have recognized me, but the effects were less mistakable. And if there were notifications out about my abilities, then that was the sort of thing that would send up red flags.
My lips curled and water splashed against my boots as I ran through a puddle. 'If', though. If. I still had no idea whether this world had been passed over or not. But if they hadn't been… Whatever I did do with my swarm, I needed to be discrete with it and I had to make what I did count.
For now, I had other options.
My thoughts turned to the visitors center.
I'd neglected to fully plumb its depths during the two days I'd stayed there, instead relying on my swarm to round out my image of the place while clearing out the pests as I didn't need more stuff to try bringing back, but I definitely knew the building better than this bunch. I could lose them in there, it was just a matter of getting there. The lobby by itself ought to work. My insects within the building rose to confirm what I knew: in the lobby alone, I could slip out one exit while letting them see a swarm-clone duck through another. Then coupled with the dim lighting conditions it would be impossible to look too closely at a fleeing figure… It could work and would keep them from suspecting anything.
I would still need to create a distraction to get inside, but there were enough butterflies under my control that they would work well enough.
Working from there I began fleshing things out and parsed through several complications and potential issues that came to mind. And quickly enough, I cobbled together a semi-cohesive Plan B from what I knew of the area and bits of plans that had worked in the past. Nothing comprehensive, but… workable.
There was still the matter of getting there, though, and what to do if these two stopped sandbagging and made a more determined effort into catching up.
But what else was there?
Searching through the paths leading toward the visitors center, I didn't have to look long before settling on a tree that was big enough for me to hide in without being seen from ground level. Not perfect, but good enough. Just have to wait and see how things went.
It was my luck though, that of all places to encounter a prick with a chip on his shoulder, it would be on an island in the middle of nowhere. And of course that they would take such an offense to my intruding on his little hunting trip that he would send his mercenaries after me. His mercenaries that— for the most part —seemed only too happy to get rid of me for him.
Then again, it was their job, and in spite of the circumstances, I couldn't quite begrudge them for following through on that. Money, though... the financial aspect, it was how Lisa had ultimately won, and if push came to shove it was how I could win here.
To what lengths would they go for their payday? Would they put their lives on the line? Would they risk life and limb in chasing— no, that was a stupid question, they were chasing me through an island filled with dinosaurs. But if risking their lives was part of the job, then how about the job itself being put at risk? How interested would they be if their paycheck, presumably the hunter himself, was put at risk? If he suddenly needed medical attention, what lengths would they go to then?
Not very far if the archetype held true. They'd want to tend to their meal ticket.
Though going after the hunter directly… there was still a chance I could end this without resorting to bloodshed, I just needed to give these guys the slip… but still, if the situation somehow degenerated to that point it was a perfectly viable option, and amid the plethora of insects available for me to choose from there was a species of spider that would work quite well. I hadn't gotten a first-hand look at them to be sure, I hadn't needed to at the time, but based on their venom glands I was reasonably certain they were of the Phoneutria genus; the Brazilian wandering spider.
To actually use it though… that could be Plan D? No… F? Yes, Plan F, for F.U.B.A.R: Fucked up beyond repair, because there was really no other way of putting it. Using it was an escalation that couldn't be walked back. It would be effective, but the effects of the venom it produced wouldn't be pretty. Even if they had an antivenin on hand and even if I simply had the spider dry bite… well, that was an option, but would it be severe enough without it?
The neurotoxin that spider produced was no joke. Paralysis and Asphyxiation? It wasn't regarded as being one of the world's most dangerous spiders for nothing.
Qualms aside, I diverted a few squadrons of dragonflies to pick up one of the deadly spiders and changed tack toward the visitors center, beginning Plan B. Now it was just up to me to keep ahead and I'd be free and clear.
Although… directing a few local dragonflies into position over my shoulder and among ground cover, I watched the indistinct shapes of the mercenaries flit between blurs representing trees, hanging vines, and other vegetation to visually confirm the jungle was obscuring their line of sight. It was beginning to look like the getting there part of the plan was in danger.
Nearing a leafy palm with wide green pads in the middle of the path I forced my way through the obstruction, forsaking stealth in favor of speed. Previously I had been afforded the luxury of filling the air with my swarm, now that option was no longer available due to keeping my aerial presence minimized. The jungle was still laid bare to me, but refraining from using flying bugs en-masse as I'd grown to do in the short time I'd been here meant the picture of my immediate surroundings lacked... definition.
In a way, it was almost an inverse of how I things had worked back home, or in an urban environment rather; I was more closely observing the positive space rather than filling the negative. It clashed with my better picture of the jungle at large. However, refraining from filling the negative meant an issue quickly became apparent: If I wanted Plan B to work, I needed to separate them and take the marksman out of the chase.
Just a few minutes in and I had enough of my bugs on the big-guy and the marksman that I could track them with ease. And slow going as it was, I was almost done in neutralizing their guns. But the key word there was almost. I wasn't working fast enough, at least with the marksman.
Dealing with their sidearms had been a simple matter; a bit of silk stuffed into the safeties integrated into the triggers was as all it took to take them out of commission, with a couple lengths of silk put between the slide and frame for extra measure. The other weapons— the cut-down and elongated Kalashnikovs, and the shotgun —they required a little extra effort to gum up their internal workings.
It was the suppressed rifle that was the problem. In limiting myself it had proven itself troublesome.
The weapon was simply too tightly sealed, with fewer areas for the larger members of my swarm to infiltrate through. It was still fully operational and if something happened I didn't need him taking potshots with it. He had to go.
But how to separate them? Or maybe… maybe it would be better to simply slow them down? Either would give me more time to work on the gun and with enough of a lead, I might be able to switch out with a clone if the jungle was thick enough and go on my way... I could go back to the mountain with the scavenged supplies I'd gathered while they had their little hunt.
Fortunately, after taking the duo over a tangle of exposed, hair-like roots an opening appeared. After both stumbled through the tail end of that mess the marksman began flagging. The big-guys' pace remained steady, chugging along and further defining my trail with little issue. But the marksman's footsteps... in a short order, they became increasingly uneven, to the point the man was almost skipping every couple of steps to avoid putting too much weight on one of his legs. His left leg. A weak link.
An old injury acting up? A recent injury not yet healed? Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe it was nothing more than a muscle cramp. Whatever the case, it was an opening. More than that though, depending on how strong their sense of comradery was, it gave me an opportunity to end this chase.
In the jungle ahead I began preparing as the hunter and commander vanished beyond the edge of my range. That was one option down, but another had taken its place. Silk was spun, hastily braided together, and pulled into position as my swarm gathered. The giant chicken may have outmassed the tensile strength of the orb-weavers silk, but for an injured man who couldn't've weighed more than a few hundred pounds? It would do just fine.
Soon enough, I was nearing a small, irregularly shaped clearing where the underbrush had grown tall and gnarled under the open sky. Fog shrouded the area, hanging in the air as a thin, hazy mist created by the morning dew evaporating under the harsh morning sunlight. It made the area look almost like a fairy tale, and in any other circumstance, I'd have stopped to appreciate it.
The mist also made it stupidly humid, and the added moisture in the air hit me like a wall the moment I Ieft the shaded depths of the jungle. I ignored the effect it was having on my sweating as I wove through the mess of green foliage and shaded, moss covered bark, making extra effort to leave an obvious trail through the clearing that peaked upon stomping through a particular pair of thin shrubs with thick trunks and deep-reaching roots.
Keeping true to form the mercenaries doggedly followed my trail, pursuing me into the depths of the clearing without question, their focus no doubt more on their surroundings and tracking me than looking for more mundane dangers. The big-guy charged between the pair of shrubs a few moments later, partially denuding them in the process but leaving enough behind that my insects could pull tight a loose line of silk without being seen.
The marksmen hit it at mid-ankle and went down. Hard.
One moment he was running at a good clip and the second his feet were ripped out from under him.
Remarkably, he was quick enough to try and catch himself, but there was only so much you could do when going from running almost full out to zero in less than a second.
A few of my bugs disposed of the evidence at the same time the big-guy ground to a stop and turned back to his fallen comrade. I transitioned to a faster path, gaining ground and disregarding discretion by pushing through the greenery between me and the quickest route I'd found. It ran a bit closer to the drive than I'd've liked, but it was the quickest and—
The big-guy abruptly pivoted and brought his shotgun up, the muzzle tracking me for a moment before snapping just ahead of me. His finger tightened on the trigger and the mechanisms shifted, moving against the webbing some of my bugs were stuck on—
I hit the ground a heartbeat before the striker sluggishly slammed forward and just ahead of me the trunk of a moderately thick palm tree exploded at roughly head height. My eyes fixed on the green wound in the tree as the report of his shot echoed through the jungle.
"Blyat!"
The cry— an expletive, Russian if I remembered right —echoed into the jungle. But I didn't really hear it as pieces of fibrous wood rained down in front of me. My lips twisted into a snarl and I clawed at the ground to haul myself up as the shotgun lowered, the big-guy pulled back on the charging handle and tried to get the bolt to cycle.
Getting a good look at the ragged crater the shotgun had put into the tree as I ran past also put a little more urgency into things. The fact that the dull grey slug at the center of the mess had penetrated a good five inches into the fibrous green wood was… disconcerting. It also had a way of rearranging my priorities a bit.
I directed an extra contingent of insects to ensure the weapon was taken out of commission while redirecting the closest wandering spider toward the two as the large man spun and took a knee beside his squadmate.
Let's see if I could rearrange their priorities a bit.
The big-guy all but hovered over the smaller man as he helped him sit up, firing off a rapid exchange that strained the limits of my bugging before shaking his head. Touching at his vest he spoke into his shoulder, the man's voice a deep drawl that fit his size. "Komandir. Tsel' otorvalas' ot presledovaniya, i Yur'yevich ne mozhet prodolzhat' pogonyu."
The big-guy all but hovered over the smaller man as he helped him sit up, firing off a rapid exchange that strained the limits of my bugging before shaking his head. Touching at his vest he spoke into his shoulder, the man's voice a deep drawl that fit his size. "Commander. Target has evaded pursuit and Yurievich is unable to continue."
As I ran, the hunter and commander came back into range, now further up the drive and laden down with the gear the other two had left behind. I heard the big-guys' voice coming from the commanders' vest: Radios. Obvious in retrospect, especially with how the commander must've been using his to signal it was clear to deploy while hanging beneath the helicopter.
The marksman snapped at the big-guy for whatever he'd said but a raised hand silenced the other man as he continued. "Zaprashivayem razresheniye na otmenu presledovaniya i vozvrashcheniye. Priyom."
The marksman snapped at the big-guy for whatever he'd said but a raised hand silenced the other man as he continued. "Requesting permission to terminate pursuit of target and return. Over."
"V chem problema? Priyom."
"What's the issue? Over."
"S yego nogoy, komandir. Priyom," the big-guy said and glanced to the marksman's leg. The exchanges were fast, but concise, like one of the PRT's troopers reporting to the commander of their unit and it only reinforced my assumption that he was their superior.
"It's his leg, Commander. Over," the big-guy said and glanced to the marksman's leg. The exchanges were short, concise, like one of the PRT's troopers reporting to the commander of their unit and it only reinforced my assumption that he was their superior.
The commander remained silent for half a moment, his hand tightening around the grip of his suppressed rifle before relaxing. "Ponyal. Ty v sostoyanii prodolzhat' presledovaniye? Priyom."
The commander remained silent for a moment, his hand tightening around the grip of his suppressed rifle before relaxing. "Understood. Are you still able to continue your pursuit of the target? Over."
The big-guy glanced to the marksman and something unspoken passed between the two. After a second the injured man nodded. "Tak tochno, komandir. Ona peredvigayetsya bystro, uchityvaya mestnost', no ostavlyayet chotkiy sled. Priyom."
The big-guy glanced to the marksman and something unspoken passed between the two. After a second the injured man nodded. "Yes commander, she moves well for the terrain but leaves a clear trail. Over."
The gaunt man snapped to look at the old hunter. "Kak schitayesh'?"
The gaunt man snapped to look at to the old hunter. "Well?"
"On smozhet dognat'?"
"Will he be able to catch up?"
A blink then a sharp nod. "Sam po sebe? Ne somnevayus'. Trudnost' v zveryakh—"
A blink then a sharp nod. "On his own? Easily, of that, I have little doubt. However, there are the animals to consider—"
The old hunter cut him off by slashing his hand through the air, his face twisting into an ugly grimace as his head tilted back and he all but looked down his nose at the other man."Zveri - ne problema, komandir. Na teplovykh snimkakh ot Masrani vidno, chto oni redko poyavlyayutsya v etom rayone ostrova i nikogda ne zaderzhivayutsya nadolgo, potomu my i vybrali eto mesto dlya lagerya. Vse budet v poryadke s tvoimi parnyami."
The old hunter cut him off by slashing his hand through the air, his face twisting into an ugly grimace as his head tilted back and he all but looked down his nose at the other man. "The animals aren't a problem, Commander. Masranis' thermal scans show the animals rarely linger in this region of the island for long, and when they do it's never for prolonged periods of time. Your men will be fine."
Briefly staring at each other the commander leaned into the radio. "Prikaz prodolzhat' presledovaniye. Mladshemu leytenantu Yur'yevichu derzhat' pozitsiyu do tekh por, poka tsel' ne likvidirovana, i tvoyego vozvrashcheniya, libo do vosstanovleniya podvizhnosti. Konets svyazi."
Briefly staring at each other the commander leaned into the radio. "Orders are to continue the pursuit. Junior lieutenant Yurievich is to hold position until the target is eliminated and you may return or he is able to regain mobility. Out."
Emerging from the bushes behind them the wandering spider crept forward, its body hidden behind the marksmans'.
Sharing a look the marksman shook his head. "Etogo ne bylo v kontrakte, Semyon. My dolzhny byli tol'ko okhotit'sya na zverey."
Sharing a look the marksman shook his head. "This wasn't covered in the contract, Semyon. We were just here to hunt animals."
The larger man's head dipped once in a drawn-out nod before clapping a hand on the marksmans' shoulder. "Ya znayu, druzhishche, ya znayu. Otdykhay i derzhi ukho vostro, ya skoro vernus'."
The larger man's head dipped once in a drawn-out nod before clapping a hand on the marksmans' shoulder. "I know my friend, I know. Rest and keep your wits, I will be back soon."
I could only guess what had been said in the exchange, though certain parts of the conversations did stand out curiously enough. But the big-guy suddenly standing and slinging the shotgun over his shoulder beside the cut-down Kalashnikov then taking off down the trail I'd left at a near sprint was context enough: The hunt was still on.
Leaving his partner out here, alone... I could still have the spider bite the marksman, but without him there the impact would be lessened and— I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry and I watched my now sole pursuer move faster than they the two of them had been moving at any point prior… almost as if he'd been moderating his pace beyond keeping their stamina up… or unless my assumption had been off, and they'd only been going slow on account of the marksman… the marksman who was now no longer there to slow him down.
Fuck.
I jumped a small log and hurtled myself down an even faster path, one with fewer obstructions while taking less care to move around the bits of foliage that got in my way and— The big-guy stopped and cocked his head, listening, then with little warning he turned off the trail I'd taken and my breath caught as he tore through a tangled swath of jungle I'd had to go around to get past.
In a scant few seconds a full third of my lead disappeared in a fraction of the time it'd taken to gain it. Just in case it wasn't a fluke I switched paths again, moving to one that was slightly slower but had rougher terrain.
It wasn't a fluke. Twice more he cut through the jungle, each time shaving off another chunk of my lead and after the second time I kept close track of his movements; measuring his stride distance, the time between strides, and other factors to monitor just how much ground I was losing. The answer was too much too quickly. Far too quickly.
And checking how much further I had to go to the visitors center… nope, Plan B wasn't happening. The tree, however... yes, but I couldn't let him see me deploying my flight pack. If this place hadn't been touched by Scions' rampage, or if they didn't have parahumans, then that would make people sit up and pay attention. But I needed to do something or else he would catch up and be able to force a confrontation.
I began ranging out ahead, looking for a leg up. Even as I did so, though, I checked on other contingencies as my lead began disappearing and through the various dragonflies keeping apace I glimpsed a flicker of his shape moving through the foliage. Gaining. Getting closer and closer… Fuck me this was really happening. I'd separated them, but where had that gotten me?
Maybe just biting the hunter would work, but— no, of course, it wouldn't be that simple, of course, the wandering spider had… wandered off, either that or it had been noticed and removed. Whatever the case it would still take at least a minute or two to get a new one into position. Though even then I'd likely need it to actually bite and inject, I'd need a strong reaction otherwise what reason would the commander have little reason to recall the big-guy and the marksman? However with his age… fuck.
Meanwhile, the marksman had just gotten back on his feet. With the aid of his rifle as a crutch, yes, but to his feet nonetheless. Far quicker than I'd have liked.
Yet another complication in a growing line of complications.
His head swiveled to keep an eye on his surroundings as he stabilized and touched at various points on his person: the elongated Kalashnikov on his back, thigh holster, and several areas of his vest indicated he was checking over his kit. And just as quickly as he'd risen he was standing without the aid of his rifle with only the absent, deep kneading of his upper left thigh and a sharp shift in his breathing whenever he pressed to indicate that anything was wrong.
That… wasn't good. If he rejoined the chase, well... checking the narrowing gap between me and the big-guy, with a plan of action still up in the air… that really wouldn't be good. And doubly so if he had some sort of painkiller or adrenaline nasal spray as a number of PRT troopers had been caught using during my time under Tecton… no, I couldn't let him continue.
There was still the wandering spider, but I needed something more immediate… Well, he had been awfully jumpy back at the drive, hadn't he? And alone in the jungle, by himself with no one else to corroborate what he saw… Yes, I could keep him plenty occupied. I could give him as many targets as he wanted.
Quickly dispersing my swarm into several masses scattered throughout the clearing, I formed a swarm-clone opposite the marksman and stuck its head out above the plants. It wasn't perfect, but unlike the commanders' rifle, the marksman didn't have a scope on his gun and with any luck, he would assume 'I' was checking to see if the coast was clear.
If only the reality of the situation were as promising as that bit of fiction.
The marksman abruptly froze in his ministrations and ducked into the bushes, taking a knee while resting his elbow on the other, he brought the rifle to his shoulder put the crosshairs on my simulacrum.
He inhaled and his chest swelled with held breath, the muzzle tracking my simulacrum as I moved it to another 'hiding' spot— He exhaled and his finger tightened on the trigger. The rifle coughed, the bolt clacked as the shell casing ejected and a new round was loaded without issue, and between heartbeats, a line of insects making up the clones head died. Headshot.
I collapsed the swarm-clone as if it were a skyscraper and when it dropped out of sight I dispersed its constituent insects into several other concentrations.
Now, to see if he would take the bait... "Will you walk into my parlour?" said the Spider to the Fly.
Keeping the rifle pulled tight against his shoulder, he pressed a hand to his radio while keeping an eye on the position the swarm-clone had gone down. "Yur'yevich na svyazi. Tsel' porazhena. Priyom."
Keeping the rifle pulled tight against his shoulder, he pressed a hand to his radio while keeping an eye on the position the swarm-clone had gone down. "Yur'yevich here, target down. Over."
The big-guys radio squawked, the sound garbled due to the background noise of his gear moving about from his running and he slowed to answer. It was an opening, and taking it for what it was and put on as much speed as I could as a tentative plan started coming together. It still involved using a clone to lead him off on a wild goose chase, and I'd have to hide while he passed me by, but it was something.
Starting, he glanced over his shoulder, back the way he'd come before staring ahead for a long moment. "Yur'yevich, povtori tsel' porazhena. Nakhozhus' v presledovanii tseli s podtverzhdennym vizual'nym kontaktom. Dvizhetsya po napravleniyu yug/yugo-vostok v storonu zdaniya upravleniya parkom. Podtverdi status tseli i bud' ostorozhney, tsel' mozhet byt' ne odna. Priyom."
Starting, he glanced over his shoulder, back the way he'd come before staring ahead for a long moment. "Repeat. Am in pursuit of the target with confirmed visual contact. Heading is south/south-east toward park control building. Confirm the target is down and be on guard, the target may not be alone. Over."
The marksman stiffened and stared at the area my swarm-clone had fallen before nodding once. "Yur'yevich prinyal. Podtverzhu status tseli. Konets svyazi."
The marksman stiffened and stared at the area 'I' had fallen before nodding once. "Acknowledged. Will confirm the status of the target. Yurievich out."
And with that the big-guy picked up his pace once more, communication evidently concluding between the two and when he pushed through a patch of ferns laced with leaf cutter ants I was able to transfer a fair number onto his person. Scattering them across his uniform I ordered a few to bite through the material. However, indistinct cursing and a few retaliatory slaps aside, the bites from the warriors did little to stop or even slow the man all that much. But it did slow him.
Additionally, the situation with the marksman seemed to be proceeding nicely. He made his way through the clearing, his progress slowed in order to keep an eye his surroundings. Unnecessary, as save for a number of the little chicken-sized dinos, there was nothing of any significant size moving about within range of my swarm. But I wasn't going to complain.
Before long he stood over where my swarm clone had been and his rifle came up in an instant, panning over the surrounding jungle, across the clearing, and alighting on even the smallest bit of foliage that might be large enough for someone to hide within. Quickly though, he became almost frantic looking for what should have been there, and through a small jumping spider on his neck, I felt his carotid artery throb. Off-balanced, panicked… that was good. Just need to keep him distracted until it was too late for him to help.
He looked at the ground while trying to keep an eye on his surroundings, no doubt looking for tracks in the dirt. I let him continue like that for a few moments more before setting my swarm to a low whisper. Little more than white noise, yes, but to a soldier in the depths of the jungle, with the body of a person, they'd just shot nowhere in sight? It was the kind of thing that could make one's hair stand on end. And then there were the Cicadas and their scream. They sang as one with the rest of the chorus I had at my fingertips, creating the death kneel of dozens within the surrounding foliage.
In a flash, his back was against a tree and as he scanned over his surroundings and his heart beat even faster.
A few of the massed insects pulled at lines of silk strung out among to ferns and other lightweight foliage throughout the clearing, making them rustle and shake; faint, and just enough for it to be at the edge of hearing under the screaming. He didn't notice or didn't hear it.
On a whim I formed a swarm-clone from one of the clusters and ended the scream, replacing it with a slightly louder whispering to disguise the buzz from the clone and within moments he detached from the tree and put his sights on the clone. But he didn't shoot. Good trigger discipline? Let's see how long that lasted.
"Vykhodi. Yesli vyydesh' samostoyatel'no, my mozhem vse reshit' mirno." The words came with a tone of authority (likely an order of some kind) but his body language was less certain. He took a step to the right as if it would give him a better line of sight to the obscured figure.
"Come out now, if you come out we can settle this peacefully." The words came with a tone of authority (likely an order of some kind) but his body language was less certain. He took a step to the right as if it would give him a better line of sight to the obscured figure.
"Yesli vyydesh'—" He cut himself off and was quiet for a moment before clearing his throat, "Ef you come ot, I promise vill not shoot." The words came slowly, the broken syntax of someone unfamiliar with the language, but clear enough in spite of an Eastern-European accent that also drew out his pronunciation. "I geeve vord, da? On scout honor."
"If you come out—" He cut himself off and was quiet for a moment before clearing his throat, "Ef you come ot, I promise vill not shoot." The words came slowly, the broken syntax of someone unfamiliar with the language, but clear enough in spite of an Eastern-European accent that also drew out his pronunciation. "I geeve vord, da? On scout honor."
Oh? He decided he speaks English now? And he gives his word that he won't shoot? Scout's honor? Sure...
He'd spoken English though. His words reverberated and the hope for answers reared its head. My teeth ground and my focus narrowed onto him while conflicting plans clashed. Common sense warred with the need to know... Hope, it really was worse than despair.
The blase way in which I'd accepted my arrival and internment on this island crumbled in the face of getting actual, substantive answers as to what might be out in the wider world. Or worlds, as it may be. The hope of learning what had happened… And with little more than that vague concept, my other plans crumbled as a new one formed. If he spoke English, he could answer questions. And if he didn't know anything, then he could translate for the others.
Fortunately, common sense and my own self-preservation instincts trumped doing anything... rash. Or too rash. I still couldn't risk using my swarm, but I'd need some way of coercing cooperation from them. I had my knife, and my baton, but they held little in the way of being an implicit threat unless I used them.
Through thousands of eyes, I looked to the pistols holstered on their thighs.
A gun in the hand, though… that held a far more direct and implicit impression, and theirs were held in place with just a snap strap. Could I pull that with just my swarm? Probably. But could I do it without being noticed? Doubtful. If wanted one, I'd need to get it for myself... which would mean getting close and taking it.
There was an opening in the jungle— though too small to be a clearing —not too far ahead, where beneath a loose layer of topsoil the ground was firm and compact, with the lower foliage of the few trees within it denuded and a ring of fairly dense vegetation at the perimeter.
Some dinosaurs had probably settled there or something.
I turned onto a different path while directing my swarm to prepare things in order to keep this from being an entirely terrible idea.
Also, now that I was on a new timetable I needed to keep the marksman busy. So with that in mind, I let my silence end.
My response was an inarticulate babble of harsh tones before I multiplied the volume of the white noise to the level of a dull roar. The sound was incoherent gibberish, but the loudness of it would've been like being hit with a physical force and forming another clone at the periphery of his field of vision I cut off the sound and had it step into view.
The muzzle snapped onto it and coughed twice. Two shots to the chest... and so much for trigger discipline. I left the clone standing in the shadow though, as if it was staring and created a conversation of whispers in the surrounding trees.
The marksman just stared at the clone and swallowed.
Entering the final stretch to open area I quickly gauged the distance from me to the clearing and the big-guy to me, and near a tall tree root, I feigned a cry of pain. Then jumping off the root, I stomped down upon landing to give the impression I'd stumbled and slowed my pace with a limp. One foot forward, skip, one foot forward, skip.
With my arm as it was I'd take every advantage I could, and like a shark smelling blood in the water, my pursuer closed the distance even further.
Slowing might not have been entirely necessary, but it gave me time to catch my breath and keep things proceeding apace back at the clearing.
My heartbeat quickened, becoming a steady rhythm in my ears as my breathing leveled out somewhat and I ran things over in my head. What to do when, checking that everything was in place, making sure contingencies were ready, and overall making sure I didn't mess up. Though the planning was haphazard, my preparations rushed.
I absently loosened my control of the insects making up clone, just enough to let its consistency waver before re-solidifying it into a human form. The marksman finally moved again, his head jerking in a single, little shake. "Pomereshchilos..."
I absently loosened my control the bugs making up clone, just enough to let its consistency waver before re-solidifying it into a human form. The marksman finally moved again, his head jerking in a single, little shake. "Just imagining it."
Distantly, while checking that silk lines were being put in place and that I had enough bugs for my plan to work, I recognized the unfamiliar word as a denial, a rejection of the reality I was creating. The swarm-chorus babbled back in response, yelled, with the noise closer to a dozen voices speaking at once rather than nonsense before sounding off one by one.
The big-guy came around a stand of small, vine-entangled trees and for a few seconds, he was within line of sight before the path bent. In that moment I exaggerated my limp even further and he began closing even faster.
Twenty feet to the bushes, forty feet to him. One foot forward, skip, one foot forward, skip. Fifteen feet to the bushes, thirty feet to him.
Ten feet to the bushes, twenty feet to him. One foot forward, skip, one foot forward, skip. Five feet to the pushes, Ten feet to him.
My heart was a drumbeat in my ears, my muscles taut in anticipation and my body humming like a live wire as he dogged my footsteps and came to loom over me.
His arm shot out in a hasty grab as I barreled toward the bushes ringing the clearing, right hand skimming over my head as I ducked down and brought my arm up to protect my face. I just barely made out a frustrated grunt a moment before I crashed into the bush.