As soon as the Aberrant stands up, Urso will fire off another shot before following Therese. Beneath his breath, he repeatedly recites the 23rd Psalm. His eyes have a distant look, as if he is using every ounce of energy to stay one step ahead.
Frederick and Spyros bolt away to the north, towards the motorcade where many of the other survivors seem to be headed. They keep their heads low and follow the cracked remains of what was once a taxi lane for small aircraft, passing a fire barrel every fifty meters or so.
Therese, in her selfless display of bravado, circles around the southern end of the building the team had been using for shelter, rushing quickly behind the living inferno who rises to her feet even as Therese gets within weapon range. The creature cracks it's neck and turns to face the Clairsentient, a sadistic grin evident through the waves of heat.
"Poor creature, only tasting the fruits of divinity but never knowing what it must be like to be God," she pouts, stepping closer to Therese as the flames dance about her slender frame. As it does so, Therese hears another report from the shelter she recently vacated. An instant later, the Aberrant's face is shattered across the jawline, her beautiful visage marred by an explosion of gore and teeth. The monster moans, trying to scream to no avail as it clutches desperately at the tattered remnants of it's face. It looks at Therese differently now, wide-eyed with fear as the flames intensify in rage.
Hearing the shot from behind, Spyros stops and levels his assault rifle at the Aberrant. "Keep running Falen!"
Spyros fires off a single shot to keep her attention divided and then continues to run after Frederick.
"You are not God," says Therese flatly. She pumps the shotgun with an almost impassive air. "Neither am I. But whoever He is, you're about to meet Him." With that, she fires a blast directly into the woman's ruined face, pumps the gun again, and fires once more, stepping slowly closer with each shot.
As the Aberrant clutches it's shattered jaw, Spyros turns and fires from across the field, landing a hit in the small of the monster's back and sends it to the ground. With grim determination, Therese steps forward and obliterates what remains of the creature's head, sending it reeling backwards in spasms, the flames sputtering erratically as it enters it's death throes. The clairsentient chambers another round and fires into it's chest, sending a spray of hot blood and bone shards scattering out. The flames flicker and die, leaving only a destroyed, naked corpse and the scent of burnt grass behind.
The panic takes a moment to pass as many of the congregation seem disinclined to look back behind them. Inevitably, though, they witness the creature's body and an eerie calm settles over the silent airfield. A few vehicles from the motorcade roll out to the location of the monster's body. A few of the congregation members begin weeping. Others attend to the bodies near the pyre.
The fiery youth from earlier, rebar still in hand, approaches Therese with a grim look on his face. As the other members of the party approach, he looks to each of them in turn, scowling.
"I know not who you are or why you are here," he begins, "but you have slain the leader of this congregation and many of our most distinguished members in cold blood." A few assenting nods rise up from the congregation nearby. A few cries of 'heretic' and 'devils' are heard amongst the rabble.
"This woman," he gestures to the obliterated corpse of the Aberrant, "was to be put to death in accordance with our faith. Your meddling caused this problem to start with! Had she embraced the flames before the Devil could worm his way inside, none of this would have happened! Therefore... do not think that we will see you as heroes or saviors. You've caused more harm than good. It is my belief, in fact, that the only atonement for the sins you've committed is to take her place on the pyre!"
The crowd cheers and cries out for vengeance, several of them throw stones at Therese, who is in the unfortunate position of being front-and-center. She deftly avoids one but another strikes her in the leg, causing only mild discomfort .
The youth casts his gaze over the team once more, his features darkened with rage. "What have you to say for yourselves?"
Spyros snorts "Are you kidding me? You thought you were going to kill a flame spewing Aberrant with... FIRE?! We are lucky to be alive- all of us, so don't give me that horseshit! If we hadn't been here you would have just activated her flaming doom a little faster!"
Between Therese' monologue and the finality of that last shotgun blast, Frederick puts together that the fight is over and, stunned more than anything else, he turns back to find that everyone is still alive. Blood smears with sweat as he wipes his face and pushes his hair back out of his eyes but he doesn't quite seem to notice at the moment.
He's rejoined the trio before the remainder of the congregation has assembled against them and while his expression is far from anything that could be said to resemble mirth it's not nearly as murderous as those leveled against them now. He folds his arms and lowers his eyes while the youth speaks, taking a silent, somber moment to steel his expression and hide some of the guilt he feels from his eyes. He stands flanked by his associates and lifts his gaze before the boy is done talking.
When the stones are cast he lifts a hand to point at the first offending party, his frown twisting into a scowl as he growls, "You will stop that."
"No one else is dying." Frederick continues, leaving little room in his tone for argument. "We made a mistake-- we were tricked just as Eve was tricked in the Garden of Eden. The beast put on a mask of innocence and lured us into sin. Our crimes are not ones that we take lightly but our mission is of an import that means we will have to wait before we face our final judgment."
"Any action against us to hinder our attaining of that goal will only bring about more violence-- which will only serve to sully the monumental victory we won this day against a force of great evil." He squints at the boy, wondering for a moment if the rabble-rouser can be moved by anything more than some further show of force, but then turns his gaze out to consider the masses. "We don't seek your congratulations or your thanks. We don't ask that you embrace us as brothers. Just clear a path and let us be off for we have great works to do and not much time to do them in."
Frederick's words clearly give pause to much of the gathered rabble. The fiery youth simply scowls, apparently unmoved by the psion's sentiments. He levels the rebar at Fred's throat and is about to open his mouth when the sound of the Duskwing's fusion engine becomes evident in the silence of the moment. All heads turn to watch the jet-black aircraft roll up alongside the taxi lane and idle, waiting for further instructions from Spyro's remote uplink.
The congregation's jaws drop almost in unison. Many of them begin backing away from the group and the youth lowers his bar, still scowling. "Be gone from this place, then, and do whatever works you've come to do."
The youth turns away and walks back towards the "barracks" hangar, several others stepping in line behind him. Many simply continue the grim work of gathering the dead, one even gathers up the remains of the Aberrant woman, still sobbing, and carries her back to the pyre with the others.
Spectre's droning voice comes through Spyro's commlink: "Standing by."
Spyros fumes silently. His body is still racing with adrenaline while Frederick tries to calm the crowd. When the Spectre agent asks for further direction, he steps back and scans the airfield then quietly directs the Duskwing to an unoccupied hangar. Glad to have a focus he jogs over to the hangar to clear any debris and open it up if need be.
Therese quietly watches the crowd disperse. As the figures fade, she glances at Urso and Frederick, her face grim. "We need to talk about what went wrong here, for all of us."
Urso accompanies Spyros to help him clear the hangar and hide the Duskwing. His manner is quiet and focused, but he doesn't seem phased by recent events. He dodges Therese's attempts at conversation as long as possible, but once the work's done and there are no legitimate distractions, he gives in.
Urso sits down on a handy piece of debris and calmly regards Therese. "I do not believe this is the time for navel-gazing and finger pointing. We all had a hand in what went down, but we should focus on the mission first and take tally of faults once we have returned to civilization."
For a moment, Therese looks as though she is about to snap back angrily, but she cuts herself off. Instead, she takes a long breath. After several moments, she replies in a level, even friendly tone, "I agree, as it happens. We don't have time for... navel-gazing... while we remain in the field. We must continue with our mission. But while we travel - and I believe we have several miles of walking ahead of us - we should discuss how we can avoid similar mistakes in the future."
She glances over her shoulder toward the hangar to which the cultists retreated. "We must begin by gaining more intelligence," she frowns.
The hangar itself is far from pristine. Various holes and tears in the corrugated metal mar it's integrity but the framework of the building, rusted as it may be, appears solid enough. The Duskwing fits into the space, once properly cleared by the team, with relative ease though the main doors to the hangar have long been lost. Aside from the multi-billion dollar aircraft, the team members, and scattered bits of debris and battered crates, it is empty inside.
The sounds of the congregation's droning prayers are distant, but nonetheless strike an eerie chord with the team. The surviving cultists give the team's hangar a wide berth, though several scowl at them through the open doorway as they walk past, collecting their dead.
"Any help these broken men and women might have been is lost to us now-- I don't think that I could even begin talking us out of the hole we're in." Frederick comments from where he sits against a wall, his pants leg pulled up and his emergency medical kit opened so that he can field-treat his wounds before the pain medication starts to fade. "But the primary goal here was to find storage for our transportation... so it's not a total loss."
"As for fault-- I'll take primary responsibility. I've built a life on being able to read people and subsequently say what they want to hear. The minute I stepped off the Duskwing I forgot that and started relying solely on abilities I've been cultivating to use since I came out of the Prometheus Capsule." He doesn't bother to hide the disappointment in himself from his voice nor does he look at the others as he speaks, concentrating instead on administering first aid. "I don't know if it was the Aberrant, the Blight, or just my powers playing tricks on me, but I completely f~!%ed us when I misread the dynamic."
He finishes his work and rolls forward to kneel, then stand, and takes his first good, long look at the others to identify who else might need attention. "So I'm sorry. It will be in my final report and I'll face whatever repercussions my superiors deem appropriate. Until then there's no use crying over spilled milk-- we have the rest of our mission ahead of us."
Therese stares uncomprehendingly at Frederick. It takes several long moments before she finds her voice. "Are you mad?" she finally demands. "You prevented our mistake from turning into a complete slaughter! And as for misreading... surely you did no more so than I, or even Urso." She shakes her head, her expression still a little surprised. "You carry no blame that the rest of us do not share, and did more than your part to get us through it."
After a few final adjustments to her equipment and the careful activation of the Duskwing's self-defense capabilities, Therese adjust her pack on her shoulders and faces the doorway. "No, m'sieu Falen, your mistake - our mistake - was in acting without knowing first what we were dealing with. We cannot make the same mistake again. We need to learn everything we can about the occupants of the compound before we reach it, so that we have not only a good plan, but the right plan when we get there," she says. "We had a good plan for dealing with these cultists, but it was the wrong plan nonetheless. We cannot afford tht kind of mistake again."
Having finished clearing the hangar and guiding the Duskwing in, Spyridon looks around and decides that he is satisfied. Catching Falen's eye he says, "Maybe we should warn the locals that our ride is loaded with security measures to avoid any more deaths here."
"I'm going to take a look at their rigs. I don't think we are going to be buying any goodwill with our barter items, but maybe Frederick can work out some kind of payment in exchange for borrowing a ride. If he can convince one of them work as a guide for us- so much the better. Therese, you want to take a look at these armored rides with me, and Urso can keep Fred out of trouble?"
Therese nods. "We should definitely warn them not to risk the Duskwing's security measures, though I don't know that they will be willing to make any further deals with us. I will go with you, however, in case I am wrong."
Therese and Spyros head just outside the hangar and inform a few of the locals of the security systems on the plane. Their warning is met with grudging nods and a fair mix of resentment and resignation.
Spyros is content to let Falen work out the details- or not. It shouldn't really be any problem breaking in and getting one of these rigs running if he has to so the tek walks over begins appraising the quality and defensive options of their modified convoy.
Spyros insinuates himself into the motorpool crew, though no one in particular seems to welcome his company. One of them, a young woman of Latin decent, finally approaches him as he casually inspects a modified jeep.
"You need something?" she asks coolly. "This is my chariot. You wan' something from it, you ask me, kay?"
Without even waiting for a response from the tek, she shoulders her way in front of him and begins cleaning fuel intakes and replaces the air filter. It's somewhat surprising to Spyro that they've managed to keep this century-old technology in working order for so long... and that many of them seem to have more knowledge of internal combustion engines than even himself.
The jeep itself was clearly modifed off of an old military chassis. The back deck sported a heavy machinegun which was mounted on a swivel post. There were several boxes of belt ammunition situated at the back as well, though the gun was currently unloaded. A roll cage had been welded on to the rear as well and had armor plating up to what would be waist-height on someone standing in the rear. The barrel of the machinegun was short enough to rotate 360-degrees without hitting the cage bars and, presumably, the armor would protect at least the gunman's legs from counterattack. Along the sides, the doors had been replaced with solid steel plates, each about 2 inches thick, with a 4-inch wide viewing slot that ran along near eyelevel for the driver and passenger. The metal was scored and pitted, riddled with dings from bullets and other miscellaneous projectiles, but appeared to be functionally intact. It appeared that the only way into the driver's seat would be to enter from the rear.
"You need something?" she asks coolly. "This is my chariot. You wan' something from it, you ask me, kay?"
"We do." Frederick replies, his hands resting casually in the pockets of his worn coat. He stands back while Spyros inspects the vehicle, taking a moment himself to size up the Latina.
"We need a ride and we need someone who knows the area to act as a guide; someone willing to tell us anything they might know about a settlement not too far from here. We have goods to offer in exchange for your services; medical supplies, foodstuffs, some clothes-- that sort of thing." He glances back at Therese and looks past the woman once more to make sure that his other companion finds the transportation satisfactory. "We would be willing to deal with you, personally, or you can involve other members of your community if you wish to have help establishing a mutually amicable agreement."
"Either way we'll make sure this is well worth your time and effort."
The young woman steps back from the vehicle, placing one hand on her hip and jutting it out defiantly. Frederick watches her smirk and sees her tongue roll around on the inside of her lips while she formulates a response. She glances around to see if any of her congregation was near. Seeing that they are all tending to their own duties, she leans closer to the Neptune agent.
Frederick just takes a moment to look at the woman after she's finished speaking. He seems to be mulling over several different options for more than a few heartbeats before finally giving a single, shallow nod of his head.
Spyros nods slowly, brows furrowed and reaches out to shake the woman's hand while speaking briefly.
The tek animatedly waves Urso and Therese over.
Therese approaches, curious about the exchange. Most of her attention is on the surrounding cultists, however, watching for signs of trouble or renewed violence.
To Therese's relief, the other members of the collective grease pit seem to offer no more than an occassional frown. She approaches the group and notices the young Latina leading Spyro and Frederick another car length away from the bulk of the mechanics.
A soft, droning prayer can be heard beginning from the hangar to the far northern end. Within a few moments, the mechanics begin laying down their equipment and heading towards the congregation. The Latina woman nods quickly to the group and follows the other mechanics towards the call to prayer.
"We should get any last supplies we'll need out of the transport." Frederick comments after the woman has left. "Make any last-minute equipment checks and verify that the Duskwing is secure. This looks like the last opportunity we'll have until it's time to head back to base."
He glances at Spyros one last time, then past the Tek to the car, and then makes his way back towards the hangar.
Therese follows after the telepath, chewing her lip. "Will this arrangement provoke the others into some sort of rash and potentially dangerous action? I do not wish to start another fight over someone's soul."
Urso nods and gathers up the equipment for the journey ahead. His demeanor is troubled and he seems lost in thought as the group heads toward the meeting point.
"Not planning on advertising our intentions here and I don't think she is either. If it turns out to be a problem when we leave, we can just taxi the Duskwing down the highway a bit to pick us all up."
"I was thinking more that they will decide we've kidnapped her when we all disappear together, and come after us."
"After all the chaos and damage we've caused here, it's unlikely that they will come after us. They'll likely assume that she's of weak will and fallen in with us because of that."
The group moves to the far end of the airstrip as instructed and waits patiently for the woman's return. This far from the congregation building, the night is eerily quiet with not even so much as a cricket to be heard in the vast expanse of blackness. It is some small comfort that the skies are free of clouds, providing a view of the night sky in extraordinary clarity.
Several minutes pass in relative silence. Then, towards the motorcade, the sound of an engine being started breaks the serenity of the moment and it becomes evident that a vehicle, the same jeep that Spyros had inspected earlier, is heading in the party's direction. The vehicle's headlamps are off, making the vehicle someone hard to spot save for the sound of it's growling gas engine. It rumbles up alongside the group, the woman inside barely visible through the slit in the metal plating.
"Get in," she says without ceremony. There is room, albeit uncomfortably, for three passengers inside the "cabin" of the vehicle and a spot for another manning the machinegun at the rear.
Thérèse swings up into the gunner's position without hesitation. She slides her HUDset eyepiece down over her right eye, then grips the gun's handles firmly and give it a few experimental swings. Noticing the stacked ammo belts, she feeds one into the weapon and settles herself in for the ride.
Thérèse frowns for a moment as she feeds ammunition into the gun, but shakes her head and finishes the job. She does touch the laser on her hip for reassurance, however.
The Latin woman waits for the team to cram themselves into the inhospitably cramped quarters of the armored jeep and begins rolling away from the airfield, to the northeast. The ride is far from smooth (especially for Therese), the shocks and struts of the vehicle having clearly been all but destroyed in the past, and the uneven off-road terrain certainly does not help the situation. The rumbling of the engine and occassional rattlings of various components of the vehicle make casual conversation nearly impossible, and so the woman remains silent, her eyes sternly focused on the path ahead. She flips a switch behind the steering wheel once they are well out of sight of the airfield, activating a pair of rather bright headlights that illuminate the urban rubble before them. The woman engages the parking brake and the engine thrums along idly while she turns towards the back seat.
"My name is Estrella," she says flatly. "Where is it you wanna go?"
Spyros leans forward from the back seat and pulls up the topographical aerial display of the facility and surrounding area. "You know this place?"
The woman visibly pales when she looks upon the map that Spyro provides. "Yea, I know this place. It's an evil place, where the monsters came from. Many of them still dwell within. No one goes there, though. No one sane, that is," she looks to everyone in the jeep, raising a curious eyebrow. "Why in God's name would you want to go to this place? It is suicide and if you wish to go there then I will take you no further than the old civic center, which is several blocks away."
"Well- we are not suicidal despite that whole thing before," Spyros looks sidelong at Therese, "and the civics center sounds perfect." He taps the screen with one finger and the map vanishes. "You never see anyone half way normal heading to or from this place? Supplies? Equipment?"
Thérèse leans down, her attention such that she seems to have missed Spyros' look. "Define 'monsters.'"
The woman thinks a moment at Spyro's question, then shakes her head. "I do not know. I have not seen anything near that place personally which could possibly be mistaken for human. Still, on some nights there are... sounds... which come from that unholy place. Our pastor told us it was a gateway to Hell and that it was our job to ensure the legions of Satan never spread to the rest of the world. It is for this reason that we have many watchposts and traps set up in a perimeter around the installation... but the demons are smart. They learn and adapt to our techniques. I feel it is only a matter of time before they kill us all..."
She then looks to Therese in response. "They may indeed be demons. They may have once been men now twisted by Lucifer's power. Whatever they are, they only resemble people in the worst light. They are fast, strong, and clever. Many of them can perform feats of strength that no mortal man could. A few have seduced members of our congregation into their lair with some devilish magics. You will know them when you see them. Just pray that they do not see you first."
"More Aberrants?" Thérèse asks, doubtfully. "So many in one place?"
"Well that could be one explanation for all the taint fluctuations, but we still have the mysterious transmission to Ganymede. Whoever is experimenting out here, I don't think it was like likes of old firestarter back there."
The woman glances to each of the team members in turn, then nods and turns to face forward again. She throttles the vehicle up, it's antiquated engine rumbling and banging loudly as she maneuvers the vehicle into the shattered remains of the city. The team can see evidence of conflict in this zone, even in the dim lighting, with the occassional body left lying in the street, stone barriers riddled with bullet holes, and other less comforting things.
It isn't long before the jeep thunders it's way into a surprisingly cleared-up cul-de-sac which was perhaps once a public square. The obliterated remains of a now-defunct fountain adorn the circular patch of dirt situated at the center. There are numerous roads that branch off from this point, but all of them are blocked with rubble and overturned vehicle husks. The woman flashes the headlights after bringing the vehicle to a stop. Through a hole on the second story of a nearby stone building, a response comes via flashlight, flashing three times quickly.
"We are here. I'll let them know not to shoot you when you come back. Everybody out."
Thérèse hops down, checking her gear, then looking around. "It looks different from the ground," she says, pointing, "but we should be heading that way, I believe."
She looks at the driver. "Thank you," she says slowly. "I would ask one thing more from you, beyond what you have already done: pray for us."