Guardian
a Worm/Destiny Crossover
Chapter 48: The Pledge
In the course of the next thirty seconds, Taylor learned the following things about the Pittsburgh Containment Wall. First, that it did, in fact, encircle the whole city. Second, that it had been built over a forty eight hour period by the combined efforts of Dragon – the premier Tinker of North America and founder of the Guild – and the Army Corps of Engineers. Thirdly, that since its contstruction it had repelled fifty six efforts to break through by Nilbog's creatures.
Fourth, and finally, that it had just failed.
Plaster and debris rained down around her, coating the immediate world in a cloud of shapeless gray. Her head spun. A bone-deep flame burned its way down her leg. Bruises by the dozen formed and faded along her body. There was a pop as her eardrums rebuilt themselves, and then she heard nothing but a high, wavering whine. She struggled to her feet, knee grinding and crunching as what was once a terribly broken leg set and fixed itself. Her breathing, harsh and fast, replaced the whine in her ears.
Her hearing came back. The thunderous, chattering howl of high-caliber firearms. Booming roars of explosive ordinance. A thousand different sounds that meant parahumans were bringing their metaphysical might to bear. The endless, skittering scream of the enemy horde. A dozen voices raised in unison, crying out "BREACH!".
As the dust began to settle she could see them. Through the fifteen foot gap in the wall stepped – or rather, floated – a new type of enemy. Long, spindly limbs. Expressive, triple-jointed fingers. Fluttering, tattered robes that were fused with its smooth, gray skin. Spines protruding from its shoulders. An inverted, misshapen pyramid for a head, eldritch script burning green across the length of its face. Those runes hurt to look at. Its mouth, a slash of needle-like, lamprey teeth, opened. A sound pierced the air, pierced the souls of everyone around. Despair , this creature sang.
Her rifle hung by its frayed strap, tangled with her dusty cloak. She scrambled to free it, Light roaring up from her soul and wreathing her arms, then her body, in golden, solar flame. The floating thing's gaze snapped to her and raised a skeletal arm. Pointed a spider-limb finger at her.
The rifle came free. Rose. Came to Light. Eager, anxious to be used.
Her teeth bared, Taylor pointed back.
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Blood wept from a pair of long, parallel tears ran from her shoulder down to her elbow, courtesy of the floating creature. She pressed a hand over her wounds, wincing at how they stitched themselves closed. Her panted breaths rang hollow in the confines of her helmet. She stood in the gap of the Containment Wall, watching the enemy corpses dissolve into ash and ichor while their living counterparts flowed back into the underground from whence they came.
The coated plastiglass of her visor had been cracked, a spiderweb of flaws from having been subjected to a force like nothing she'd ever experienced. Whatever it was that floating creature conjured in its hands and threw, it was unlike anything they'd brought to bear before. Armored vehicles, tanks and Tinkered creations, rumbled forward to push debris away from the breach and crush it beneath heavy treads and wheels. They moved on through to form a protective arc on the far side of the wall. Behind them came an army of men and women, equipment in hand to begin repairs.
As they did, a woman in fatigues jogged up to Taylor. She had a medical kit in hand and a red cross patch on her shoulder. "Ma'am." She said. Her voice was clear and strong. Commanding, even. "I need you to come with me so we can get that injury looked at."
Taylor looked back to the breach, where men were using huge circular saws to cut jagged chunks of concrete away while others were rapidly constructing a scaffolding with lengths of piping and wood. "Will they be safe?"
The medic nodded. "Safe as can be, ma'am. Please. I need you to come with me." She put a leading hand on Taylor's good arm, exerting gentle but consistent pressure. After a moment's hestitation, Taylor allowed herself to be led away.
The medical tent was a horrid place. Long and brightly lit and clean. More red-cross patched men and women in fatigues, hands covered by plastic gloves and faces hidden behind masks, moved with experience-won efficiency from person to person. The three parahumans on the East Coast capable of healing made for a contrast in colors by comparison. They kept their voices calm and reassuring as they broke physics to make the broken whole.
Taylor hated being there. She could smell too much. Blood and sweat and fear and burnt flesh, mixed terribly with bleach and antiseptic and latex. Shit, from where someone's large intestine had been exposed. She could hear too much. Whispered conversations between doctors, tired sighs from nurses. Weeping men pleading for their families, to see one last time before they died. A woman two beds down breathing out for the last time. A chaplain, sad and tired, praying with those the healers couldn't reach in time. She stuck around long enough to let someone bandage her arm in a superfluous gesture before vanishing into the controlled chaos outside.
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It didn't take her long to find Lisa. She was ensconced in the command tent, a darkened corner all to her self. A desk, covered in loose papers and pens. Curved computer monitors, four of them side-by-side, in front of her. A pair of tablets balanced precariously on the monitor stands. As Taylor walked up her glaze flickered from display to display, a pen between her lips bobbing up and down as she murmured to herself. She took that pen and scribbled something on one of the papers before she noticed that Taylor was there. "Ta – Guardian! You okay? There was a medic looking for you."
Taylor nodded. The emotion that had raged inside her had, on the walk over, calmed to the point that she could put a name to it. "I'm fine." Lisa made a face that said how big a lie that was. "Okay. I'm not. It just hit me, you know."
Green eyes, sharp and bright, gazed at her. "What did?"
She looked right back. "I hate him. Nilbog. Rinke. Whatever the fuck his name is. I think I used to pity him, just a little bit. But now..." she shrugged, a gesture of forced nonchalance. "If no one beats me to it, I'll kill him with my bare hands."
Lisa reached out, touched one of her hands. A hand that had clenched into a fist, clenched so tightly it shook. She looked down in surprise, only now feeling the tension of her grip. She loosened it to let Lisa twine their fingers together. "You'll find a lot of people with the same feeling. This?" she gestured at the leftmost screen. "This is the most recent census for the city. They only do these every few years, so it's probably out of date, but even so..." she sighed shakily. "Every one of these people is either dead, missing, or one of those creatures. That's on him. Rinke killed all of these people. He killed everyone in Vegas, and Brockton, and in every other city." She shook her head. "You're surprised at how much you can hate one man? We all are, I think."
It shouldn't have been a surprise, really. Lisa knew her as well as, if not better, than her own father. Further, she was right. Taylor hated Rinke. Hated him more than she'd hated anything in her life. Worse than Emma, who'd thrown a lifelong relationship away like an empty gum wrapper. Worse than the driver who'd taken her mother from her. More than death, for trying to claim her too soon. She hated him so much it scared her. The emotion left her breathless to consider, so great was its scope.
One of the tablets chimed. Lisa looked at it, then showed her teeth. It wasn't a smile. "Just in time."
"Oh?"
Lisa nodded. "General McKnight called a meeting. He wants you there."
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General Daniel "Danny, please, I'm too fucking tired to be Daniel right now" McKnight was a short, stock man in his late fifties. His uniform, hosting an impressive array of medals, was rumpled and creased. There was a coffee stain Taylor could smell on one of his cuffs. He had presence, the kind of person who could command a room's attention by entering it, which is what he did. The tent the meeting was taking place in was erected for that express purpose, and had enough standing room for the fifteen people in it. Each and every one of them, talking quietly among themselves, went silent when the general entered the room. He scanned the room, meeting everyone's eyes, before nodding. "Good. You're all here."
"We finally hitting these assholes back, sir?" One of the soldiers asked. He was black and lean and had big ears. His words were light, almost joking. His tone was flat. The tag on his shirt said Neville. First or last name, Taylor didn't know.
The general paced to the front of the tent before answering. It was a brief response. "Yes."
The tent erupted.
It took a bit to come back down. Once it had, the general continued. "Now that we've been reinforced, and the other cities have been declared either clear or no considerable threat, the focus of Operation Vanguard has shifted here. The time has come for us to take back the city." He removed a small remote from a pocket and clicked it. On the tent wall behind him a satellite map of Pittsburgh appeared. Parts of it were filled in with different colors. The stadium, Taylor noted, bore a pale blue color and the label 'trap'. "Pay attention, people. I'm only saying this once."
The plan was as follows: first, parahumans would do a flyover of the city, blasting every concentration of the enemy they could find. They were to focus on the new, anti-air creatures. After that, the Air Force would carpet the city and areas of operation with bombs. Then, helicopters piloted remotely by Dragon would airlift vehicles and munition to staging areas. Deployment would begin after the trap had been sprung.
The trap was a collection of barricades, automated guns, and people in heavily fortified power armor. Explosive caches, buried beneath the field as a last surprise. And more of Dragon's remotely piloted vehicles. The idea was to draw as many of the enemy to one place while the rest of the city was reclaimed. It would be a bloody, hours-long fight, and to keep the eye of the enemy fixed there, superlative bait was needed. But what to bait a trap like that with?
General McKnight cast his eye around the silent tent before he spotted Taylor. "Guardian, there you are. Nilbog has shown a fixation with you and defeating you. With your consent, you'll be our bait."
She didn't hesitate. "I'll do it, sir."
He looked, just for a second, old and sad. Then he nodded. "Right. You've got your orders on your tablets. Go word is 'Irene'. We start in two hours. Be ready. Dismissed!"
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