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Sybiote

Flesh and Steel

Curtains rise and we are presented with the picture of a city convulsing with sickness. Disease has ravaged the metropolitan skyline. Cancerous smoke rises in pillars, supporting a blackened sky. The ever-present gaze of satellites and recon aircraft watches the malignant growth feast on its own citizens.

Media coverage for the event has been nonstop, but offers only the rarest glimpse past the military cordons. The image the public has in its mind was one of field artillery. Soldiers in gas masks. Checkpoints with escapees being stripped and sprayed down. Weeping parents begging for their children. Weeping children begging for their parents. Humvees loaded with medical supplies. And the darkened city ever present in the background. The nation was frozen, watching the spectacle with silent awe.

Politicians and spin doctors rally. Newscasters exaggerate and speak with affected sorrow while secretly feeling more excited than any war could ever make them. Fingers were pointed. Global accusations made. Aid offered and aid denied. The nation is strong. And the nation would handle its own problems. Public support was stirred and citizens whipped into a frenzy. Bonds were reaffirmed, witch hunts, angry mobs, silent protest, and more as fear and anger rooted out the petty differences that had divided.

Powerful buzzwords were thrown around. The kind that made reporters famous and brought countries to their knees. Words like bio-terrorism. Death toll. Quarantine. Federal agencies. Blackshield. Emergency response. Crisis. Epidemic. Viral outbreak.

And the old sent the young off to die.

To understand this story, we must first look at where it leads before seeing where it begins. And it leads down a derelict street with three soldiers trying to live in the dead city...

*****

Four-thousand pounds of steel and fusion powered artificial muscle was all that stood between Specialist Parsons and the infected walls of the burning city. On digitigrade legs, Parsons, and his ad-hoc partners Sybil, and Jones, drove their exos down the empty city streets. They were wary, and moved with the urgency and purpose of survivors. The city on a whole was much like a tomb. With the darkened sky acting like a lid. Only the dead held dominion over death. And the living were all grave robbers. It had once been a thriving metropolis. A pinnacle of capitalistic grandeur. Now just steel finger bones scraped against the sarcophagus.

Specialist Virgil Parsons slowed the stride of his exo to a cautious stop along the near-lifeless city street. He had the distinct feeling of weighted gazes pressing down all around him. Fear and dread twisted in his gut like anxious snakes. Terror had been his constant companion over the last few weeks. Its constant whispering in his ear made him mostly numb to its voice. Virgil only listened to it when it helped him survive. Exhaustion tugged at his alertness, bickering with his trepidation. He shifted his stance uncomfortably to keep his blood flowing. His exo mimicked his fidgeting precisely. Virgil rolled his shoulders and artificial muscles as well as articulated armor plates rolled with him. The motion made evident the claustrophobic closeness of the powered armor hugging his body. Even though the specialist had largely gotten used to treating the exo like a second skin, there were still times the proximity chafed like a body bag.

An overturned car was burning nearby. Acrid fumes powerful enough to penetrate Virgil's helmet singed his nose. Melting rubber, gasoline fumes, and hot metal mixed together into a caustic aroma. And although he did not want to contemplate it, there was a delicate undertone of searing flesh as well. The gentle crackling of the pyre added another note to the discord that was the melody of the city. He wondered how the vehicle had come to rest as it did. Whether accidental, or perhaps purposeful. Was it meant to delay the infected? Although more likely it had been in ill-fated escape attempt.

"Virgil, you see something?" The squad-band frequency crackled inside his helmet.

The other two thirds of the armored triumvirate slowed their own exoskeletons to a stop, covering Virgil's flanks. The suits were all cutting edge pieces of technological triumph. As a whole, they functioned well as biomimetic enhancements. Micro fusion engines were mounted on the back of each, supplying the hundreds of artificial muscles and other systems with electricity. Except for the rustle of their armor, the groan of steel under tension, and a faint rattle of ammunition, the machines were silent. Even the footsteps were padded as each toe of the large digitigrade tripod legs was capped with vulcanized rubber treads.

"Army convoy. Armored cavalry. Up that way. Looks fresh. Scavengers haven't gotten to it yet. I think the walkers've finished picking it over, so we should be safe to take a look." Virgil glanced back at his partners of circumstance. At one point there had been two others. But the city had claimed them. Numerous packs were strapped and jury-rigged onto the exos. Bags, jugs, and metal canisters clung to their armor like barnacles. Scavenged food, water, ammo, and other essentials filled the containers. Each nuclear-fueled frame weighed in at over two metric tons and at maximum output were capable of lifting well beyond that. So the few hundred pounds of gear was a trifle.

"The sun's going down, we should hurry before it gets dark." Virgil added.

"It's always dark. How can you tell?" Jones asked. A perpetual gloom had settled over the city during the first weeks of infection. Fueled by debris, a pall of smoke had accumulated above the city. Virgil had not actually seen the sun since his first day there. Snow, tainted grey had fallen a few times with the coming of winter. In a way, it was beautiful. The flakes reflected the city. Grey, deformed, and fat with corruption. Ordered water crystals protruded from flakes of ash, the two fused together.

"It is always dark. Sundown just means it gets darker. C'mon." Virgil agreed before resuming his trek down the road. Without hesitation, the other two followed. Adapting to the loping gait of the exo was the biggest barrier in properly operating the powered suit. Re-learning how to walk mostly just required un-learning the regular way.

Even though Virgil did not know the ranks of the other two precisely, he was certain they outstripped his status as a mechanic with the United States national guard. Even so, both had learned to follow his lead. More than stripes and medals and commendations, he had the instincts necessary for survival.

Virgil had found Sybil wandering alone, like a ghost. With her exo coated in blood up to its thighs and her gun empty, he had tried to ask her what had happened. Sybil had only wheezed and sobbed while she sat on the ground and rocked herself, exo and all. She had in fact lost her voice from screaming and had yet to regain it. After a good deal of coaxing, she had whispered her name and said no more. When she would not get up from the ground Virgil made to leave her there. But when he started away she had followed. Like a blood and concrete dust stained phantom, Sybil had hovered by his shoulder for the next week. Virgil taught the mute girl how to avoid the roving hordes of infected, watch for the telltale signs of a hive, and other necessary skills for the uniquely hostile environment they found themselves in. In their time together, Virgil had yet to see the Blackshield agent in the flesh. She ate and rested in her exo. She also usually took first watch when they camped and only exited her armor when he was not looking. Never having seen her use the bathroom, he figured she just used the removable crotch plate built into the suits for such purpose. Parsons gave it up to her trauma. She followed any instruction given. Indeed, the armored woman seemed content to function at only the most basic level. Over time the ice inside her had thawed enough to make her seem less like a piece of machinery. But only just.

They had found Jones and two others on their way back from finishing a clandestine mission for Blackshield. The agents had been inserted under the assumption they would extract themselves. While the agents had been skeptical of the operative in the company of a national guardsman in a commandeered exo, they had not forbidden Virgil and Sybil from following. Even though Virgil tried to tell them they had found out the hard way that once inside the city, it was impossible to leave. In spite of this knowledge, Virgil had played his part in trying to breach the outer reaches. Sybil as well. Only after watching his partners fall, despite the supposed invincibility of their armor, did Jones retreat back into the dead zones in new and strange company.

Together they survived.

Trudging down the street, Virgil felt it identical to almost every other he had skulked down. Hemmed in by dull building faces, littered with broken concrete, glass, and empty civilian vehicles, the names of the roads ceased to matter. Road, street, avenue, thoroughfare, no matter what it was titled, it was a part of the city. Flesh and steel, it made the trio foreign entities to be expunged. There were some building faces with gaping holes resembling for all the world infected themselves. Seemingly poised to lean down and consume the soldiers, the feeling of being watched was constant.

The three came upon the stalled convoy. There were no bodies. Dragged off to the nearest hive no doubt. Only empty urban camouflage Humvees and spent shell casings remained. They had run afoul of a horde as they entered the four-way intersection. Occasional bloodstains marked where the soldiers had met their fates. Virgil felt no sympathy for the dead. He was alive. They were not. Though he did feel a faint pang of the familiar. The specialist had entered the city the same way and it made him glad there were no corpses in sight. Rummaging through the gear left behind by the dead was easier when you did not know their faces.

"Jones, help me look. Sybil, keep watch." Virgil instructed. Of the three, the mute exo driver had the sharpest eyes. And the best aim for that matter. She played lookout while Jones and Virgil searched the derelicts. Even though he was encumbered with the bulk of the powered armor he wore, it was easy for the specialist to perform fine motor actions like opening buckles and latches. He slung his rifle over a shoulder and leaned his armored shell over the top of the Humvee. Reaching with bulky fingers, he deftly opened the breach on the turret mounted fifty-cal and took the box of ammunition. Feedback sensors in the gauntlets copied the tactile feel for the operator. Virgil considered taking the gun too but the paw, severed at the wrist, still clenched to one of the butterfly triggers dissuaded him.

Meanwhile Jones was rapidly stuffing as many MRE packages and other useful bits into his open packs as he could. Most of the convenience stores and gas stations had been thoroughly picked over before Virgil had actually entered the city himself. Not to say the city had been stripped bare. Far from it in fact. Most stores that still held stock though were deep in infected zones. Better for the trio to take what they could where it was safer.

Sybil rapped her knuckles against a thigh in signal and two sharp metallic beats rang out. Both Virgil and Jones snapped their heads up. The female exo driver had her prodigious cannon up and at the ready, facing down the street the way they had come. Virgil unlimbered his own rifle. His eyes darted to and fro, scanning for the smallest sign of movement. He had no doubt there was something. Trusting Sybil's eyes had saved his hide more than once. Even though their helmets muffled voices, both Jones and Virgil still whispered.

"What do you see?" Jones questioned, unsure.

"Where is it?" Virgil knowingly asserted, raising his weapon with a faint rattle of bullets and links.

In answer to both questions, Sybil took aim with her cannon, but held fire. Her companions followed the sight line made by the barrel. Jones was confused while Virgil felt ice pour into his veins. He activated the magnification function in his helmet to get a better look and only confirmed his worst fears. Peaking just around the corner of an alleyway a few streets down was a Stalker. Sniffing the air with its bony snout, the dread thing crawled further into view. And where there was one, there were more.

Terrors of the city, the Stalkers were one of the most dangerous ground force of the infected hordes. Talons that could crush plate steel tipped grotesquely overdeveloped forelimbs. Virgil had seen their claws rip through armored vehicles and cleave full-grown soldiers in two with a casual swipe. They were primarily quadrupedal, preferring to traverse the city in leaps and bounds, yet were able to rear back to engage targets with their claws. They had no armor to speak of but were hideously resilient to small arms fire. A few hundred rounds from a US soldier's rifle was hardly enough. Virgil felt his mouth go dry and he clenched his own weapon tighter.

There were only a very few things more formidable. And those did not bear contemplation.

Their skins were a mottled blend of purples, reds, pinks, and incredibly thin. Barely a translucent membrane stretched across the Stalker's deadly musculature. Virgil had no idea how the infection created such monsters. Nearly nine feet tall when they stood and over six hundred pounds, a group of Stalkers was more than capable of defeating battalions of soldiers. Even in his exo, Virgil felt the serpentine terror in his gut knot tightly around the base of his spine. They had earned their name because of how late in the stages of infection they had appeared. Several soldiers had decided that the Stalkers had simply been lying in wait the whole time, ergo, stalking them. Luckily for every un-infected thing still living in the city, their senses were not any sharper than average. The only credence to them that held true with their names was the unstoppable relentlessness in which they pursued prey.

More than their strength or speed, it was their animal cunning that gave Virgil the gravest cause for alarm and granted the creatures an edge in deadliness. Any Stalker could instantly identify the greatest threat to itself and attack. Be it a soldier with heavier ordinance, or a turret atop a vehicle. Not only that, they were opportunistic, often skulking along the heels of a horde and assaulting while troops were occupied with the baser infected. Like a pack of wolves, they could coordinate among themselves as well. It was this cunning that made them the most dangerous. They seemed tailor made to counter any efforts made by the US troops to liberate the city.

Virgil had been given a security briefing before he had been sent into the city about two targets deadlier than all the rest. Blackshield priority interests. If encountered, their location was to be called in immediately. Yet it felt like so long ago. He could no longer remember the designations. Besides, in all his time in the city, he had never encountered anything like what had been described. A part of him believed they did not exist.

Besides, he had more pressing concerns at the moment.

"I've got hostiles at twelve. We gotta go. Now, now, now." Virgil stated. He turned and set off at a loping gait, feeling the jaws of the Stalker at the heels of his exo. Turning tail and running gave him no shame. Not if it meant living a few more days. If they did fight, it would not even be a drop in the bucket for the infected masses that numbered in the millions. The city and everything in it, belonged to them. Virgil could care less about the big picture. It was no longer a piece of sanctified American soil to which he had sworn his life to defend but an alien planet, devoid of mercy immune to sovereign claim.

"What was that thing?" Jones asked as he and Sybil ran to catch up. Specialist Parsons felt a little jealous pang that Jones was innocent of the city enough to ask that question.

"You're Blackshield, right? You don't know? I thought they told you guys everything." Virgil increased his pace, bounding forward with powerful strides. A Bowman fusion engine fueling every step.

"Just because I'm with Blackshield doesn't mean they tell me everything. I got the dossier on some of the mutations the virus makes, but hell if I remember what all they are." Jones' voice in his ear was a strange comfort to Virgil. It felt like they were having a casual conversation side by side in a bar, rather than running for their lives.

"Stalkers. Fuck if I know what the official designation is. Never let one get too close. If you can avoid 'em. Do it." Virgil's breathing was hardly labored as he ran. With mechanical assistance, the guardsman was able to comfortably reach twenty miles an hour. At speed, it felt like he was gliding. Piloting the exo was more about easing back normal force than pushing. Every motion was amplified and while instincts might have told him to go all out, the exo was too powerful for anything but exaggerated slowness. With the same push he would have used to go up a step, the power amplified through the artificial muscles was enough for him to leap a stalled car.

"Close range specialized combat forms? Shit. The infection really has advanced that far." Jones replied and struggled to keep pace. Sybil bounded effortlessly beside him, sticking close to Virgil's side. The important thing right then was to put a good distance behind them and find a camp for the coming night. Already the ruddy glow suffusing the city was their primary light source. Gloom encroached on the city like a funeral veil.

"Is that what you call them? I've always heard it as Stalkers over the radio." Just speaking the word made Virgil shudder. He had only encountered Stalkers twice before. Fought them only once. Only because of Sybil, her sharp eyes, and her sharper aim allowed him to live through that one.

"Whatever you call 'em, I don't mind not finding out why they're designated extreme hazards."

Twilight had descended, and Virgil felt the urge to take shelter overcome his terror of the beasts now multiple blocks safely behind. He turned to the nearest building and made his way inside. Broad marble steps and a pair of tasteful stone arches fronted the offices. The construct of glass and metal girders towered thirty stories above them and seemed to offer the best odds for protection. The trio had camped out in similar accommodations before and it had served them well. Inside, there was no sign of life whatsoever. A good omen. Both infected and scavengers always left very clear proof of their passage.

True darkness waited inside. Guns up, night vision on, the exo drivers covered the approach lanes in textbook fashion. A pair of long welcome desks lined the way to several open staircases. Although they could not tell with everything lit in a lime hue, the office was a tasteful display of art deco styling. The older theme was simply a facade. The brass colored etchings and granite flooring obviously an aesthetic choice rather than leftovers of a bygone era. Everything seemed in rather good condition. It was a strange feeling, guiding military hardware into the preserved space. For all appearances, everyone had simply packed up and gone home for the day. The building slept like the city was not choking on its own guts outside.

Virgil kept his ears tuned to the smallest noise. Behind them the distant gunfire and crackling fires of the city faded into the silence of the open space. The ceiling stretched high into the darkness overhead. He felt an odd reverence for the space, like he was walking into a cathedral of sorts. Forgotten old world worship of digital coin, stocks, and white collar jobs stretched before him. Lost in the wake of infection. He led his companions past the reception desks, past the little shrubs in a roped off plot of dirt, past the line of dead elevators, and up to the stairs that flanked either side of the massive space. The whole first ten stories lay open in the middle. And the pair of stone steps spiraled their way up.

Carefully, Virgil planted a mechanized foot up the first step and looked back. Nothing had followed them thus far, and he was glad of it.

"Let's go up to the fifth floor. Not too high. I want us off the ground but not so high we can't jump for it. Sound good?" Sybil and Jones nodded in agreement. Virgil lacked their formal training with the machines, but had more practical time testing the actual limitations of the armor. If he said it was able to leap from five stories up, the machines could.

Stairs. Virgil hated stairs. Hell, he had hated stairs before the exo. Because of the way the trio of toes were spaced, he had to carefully balance on just the front two all the way up. It required finite balance and delicate motor control. He took a deep breath and began the trek up. The thought of perhaps camping on the ground floor never entered his mind. Listening to his baser urges had served him well and his deep mind demanded he climb to higher ground. Step by arduous step, he guided his exo up the path, cursing quietly every moment. Made more precarious by the open nature of the steps, Virgil felt vertigo tug several times. The guard rail barely came up to his knee and seemed just the perfect height to trip and tumble over. Once, he had nearly overbalanced, feeling the bottom of his gut drop out as his center of gravity shifted backwards.

Jones had him covered though and put a steadying hand to the small of his back, just below his Bowman engine. One heart-stopping correction later he was on track again. After what felt like a trip through Escher inspired hell the trio conquered the summit of the fifth floor, trudging up to their destination. A wide walkway surrounded the circumference of the floor that was open to the lobby. Double doors were located at each relative corner and Virgil marched to the nearest. Paintings sparsely populated the whitewashed walls with simple designs meant to ease the mind. A few sitting areas were set in recessed sections. Cushioned couches and chairs sat in neat ergonomic circles around tables replete with newspapers stained with coffee rings and half-finished crossword puzzles.

Through the doorway they had to duck under they came into the work space of that floor. Rows of empty cubicles stretched wall to wall. All the fluorescent lights checkered across the low ceiling were dim. All the monitors, normally glimmering with accounts and various bits of middle-management chaff. Number crunching and spread sheet organizing, so important before infection was now so ephemeral. Whole lives had revolved around the transient digital information and its dissemination.

Computers and office chairs crashed as the trio arranged the available furniture into barricades. They tried to be quiet as they worked, but a little collateral was unavoidable. With their exos, it was like playing with toys. That also meant it was easy to over compensate and knock something around with absent-minded movement. Every time something banged or clattered, all three froze for a moment to see if it would be answered by the cries of the infected.

Two other open doors led to the neighboring quarters of the level. Piles of felted post board and electronic junk soon blocked all three ways in and out. Yet not before they had hauled three couches from outlying break rooms to serve as beds. It was not often they had anything other than bare concrete to sleep on. There were plenty of leftovers, and Virgil created a wide inner ring around their arrangements. As a finishing touch, he plopped a simple table and three chairs near the couches. Feeling a little like a kid making a fort, he could not deny the sensation of security the extra walls gave him. Confident that they were as safe as could be asked for in the city, Virgil exited his exo. Advanced user interface meant it was a pretty easy process.

Virgil got into a squatting stance, bending his knees to sit in an invisible chair. He then locked the legs in place. Located on the inside of the left vambrace was a digital interface. With a few taps, the latches of the armor holding the pilot in place disengaged. First the specialist pushed his helmet off to rest atop the fusion pack. The gear stayed attached via the plated neck connection that housed electrical and sensor connections as the whole exoskeletal system functioned as a single unit. Virgil inhaled and felt the cool air fill his lungs, freed from the air filters. Next he pulled the thick chest plate open, swinging the articulated piece out of the way.

With a few flicks, the fasteners around his wrists and elbows loosened while the shoulders opened, letting him pull his arms free of the protective sleeves and fingers from the thick gauntlets. Upper body released, Virgil leaned over and pulled the thigh plates open similar to how the torso section did. Lastly, he reached down to liberate his thighs and ankles. With the exo's artificial muscles locked into a seating position he had no risk of sliding out. Overall the operation took little more than a minute.

The specialist hopped down and stood in nothing but his interface suit. Next to the Bowman Micro-Fusion Engine, it was the most advanced piece of technology that composed the powered armor. Tens of thousands of microscopic sensors were laced in a hexagonal pattern through the suit. They fed information through plugs set along the spine that synchronized the movement of the exo with that of the pilot's. In addition, a feedback function gave a rough tactile sensation for the pilot. If something touched the metal skin the fabric would depress with an electrical charge. From top of the neck, to first knuckle, to the arch of the foot, the black fabric stretched. Each exo and sensor suit was designed to fit just about any pilot within a two foot height range. Finger tips were left uncovered for fine manipulation. Toes were left free because of the foot design of the exos. The heavy duty tripod design seemed almost fragile at first glance. Combined with a few gyroscopic stabilizers however, the whole platform was a good deal more balanced than any pilot could be on their own. Which was crucial given the mass of the machine.

Four round holes were grouped in a line pattern across the abdomen of Virgil's suit. Leftovers from the previous owner. Cosmetic damage really.

Parsons was a wolf. His broad frame was well filled and toned. He was young and in his prime at the age of twenty-two. Like a shadow, his fur was a dusty coal coloring. A shock of bright blue hair sat atop his head. The same blue tipped his ears, tinged the underside of his eyes, and ran down his back in a long stripe. That was the surface. For the national guardsman, he felt more himself in his salvaged exo than his own fur.

With the others still settling in, Virgil decided to grab a pair of night vision enhanced binoculars and walk over to the large windows on the far side of the office. First he tried to just peak through a slat in the wide vinyl blinds, but the darkness outside was nearly absolute. No light of star or moon fell upon the cursed city. Only the guttural glow of a few distant fires and the far off searchlight glare of the quarantine line. He raised the light enhancing gear up to his eyes and looked out. Shifting his weight onto one leg he settled in and panned slowly across what could be seen.

About a quarter mile down the boulevard according to his optics, one of the old concrete walls stood. Many such walls had been constructed during the early days of the outbreak in an attempt to section off the city. Contain the infection. Now they were as derelict as the rest. What caught Virgil's attention was the small horde of infected milling around just past the barrier. Hundreds of grotesquely mutated bodies moaned and shambled. Somewhere far beyond lay a hive. The cattle-like mass of basic infected acting as perimeter guards.

For most infected, once the virus had fully run its course it was almost impossible to distinguish race, species, or gender. Their clothes hung in tatters while pink and red puckered flesh stood out in lumps. Discolored growths often protruded from the ravaged bodies. Some became little more than organic vehicles for the virus, their bodies bloated huge with muscle while chunks of splintered bone protruded from tortured frames. The purpose of the rank and file was to spread the virus. Pass the infection on and drag the dead back to the hives. Some godless transformation occurred there as dead cells were revived and the erratic mutations manifested. Anything the foot soldiers could not handle, the Stalkers did. Virgil had heard spotty reports through the unreliable radio reception that other, more terrible things haunted the streets. Yet if they did exist, he had the luck not to have seen them.

Everything revolved around the hives. Their control zones dictated where life ended and death began. They were the reason the virus was so dangerous, acting like bastions of vectored viral outbreak. A byproduct of the hives was a strange growth, hard as tempered steel, it spread like creeping vines. Concrete, glass, steel. There was nothing it could not warp or engulf. Titanic walls of the stuff formed a perimeter around the city making entrance difficult without high explosives and exit impossible. Except for a few hot spots, the edges of the city were the most heavily patrolled. Once someone entered the city, there was no escape.

What Virgil looked upon was the most minor of groups. In his time, he had seen heaving mobs of infected so dense it seemed like they comprised a single huge organism. Their normal shamble belied their ability to put on fearsome bursts of speed with prey in sight. Even with his exo's tonnage, if the specialist were to become bogged down in the midst of a horde they would peel his armor apart like a crab for the tender morsel inside. Above the crowd flew an American flag. Except the old stars and stripes was upside down. The irony did not escape the soldier.

While Sybil went over their barricades and Virgil scanned their surroundings, Jones was busy rummaging up some food.

"Hey, check it out, sweet vending machine." Jones said to himself, regarding the snack filled rectangle. Cut off from power, it sat as dark and dormant as all the rest. With ease he hoisted the dispenser up onto his armored shoulder and walked it slowly into their makeshift camp, the electrical cord trailing like a tail. Carefully, he set it down to not make a ruckus and popped the door open like the shell of a mollusk with his exo's gauntlets. A small cascade of coins fell from the broken money box. The legal tender had more value melted down into bullets than it did as coinage.

Jones exited his exo, going through the same motions that Virgil had.

With a clop of hooves, the goat jumped down. He was a sometimes manic, grizzled old soldier who had seen and done things that Virgil could only have nightmares over. Grey furred with a shamrock green mane, the lean male had more years under his belt than even he would care to admit. He was good. One of the best. Despite the seniority, he acceded greater practical knowledge of the city and the things that infested it to Virgil. Gleefully, the Blackshield operative took several armfuls of candy and chips to scatter over the table and drool over.

Meanwhile Sybil made her way over to where Virgil stood. The wolf stepped lively out of the way so she could work. As a final precaution, Sybil unpacked a wide tarp and tacked it up above the blinds to insure no light gave away their position. It served well to contain the glow from the electric lamp Jones set on the desk to see his collection. Thanking Sybil for her forethought, Virgil moved away from the windows. Joining Jones in their camp, he gave the goat a questioning look while the operative rubbed his hands together, clearly indecisive about what to pick first. Thinking him silly, Virgil helped himself to a Butterfinger.

"You gonna eat the wrapper too?" He asked after watching the goat nearly inhale a pair of Reese's Cups. Taking a little more time he enjoyed his own hunk of processed sugar. The feeling of the crispy center sticking like glue to his teeth was satisfyingly nostalgic.

"Shove it, Virgil." Jones replied around a mouthful of peanut butter and chocolate.

Sybil came over and joined them. She parked her exo alongside the other two. To Jones and Virgil's shock, she got out of her suit. Sybil never got out of her exo. Only to sleep. And even then, only sometimes. Sure enough though, she did. It was the first time either of the men had seen her in real light. To Virgil's delight, she was a wolf too. With a brown coat, black highlights, and a dark mane that was cropped short, she had a warm appearance. All three had matted and tangled hair from weeks without proper bathing, yet Sybil somehow made it look good. Her buxom curves were modest yet lovely all the same. Being a Blackshield operative meant there were minimum standards of physical fitness. And in her sensor suit, her assets were plain to see.

The wolfess spared no glance to her companions. Instead, her only focus was the half-dozen packages of Twinkies that had spilled from the vending machine. Reverently she opened the plastic wrap, took one of the spongy crème cakes from its vacuum confines, and bit into its golden shell with a moan of rapture. Sybil closed her eyes to best enjoy the flavor. Feeling the soft cake practically melt in her mouth she took her time with the first. But once that one was eaten, she wasted no time simply devouring the other. She bit so quickly into the Twinkie, a spurt of the pasty cream dribbled down her chin and between her sensor suit clad breasts. Only after wiping up the stray confectionary drippings with a finger and popping it in her mouth did she look and see both Virgil and Jones staring at her.

Caught like a pup with her hand in the cookie jar, she froze.

Barely skipping a beat, Jones and Virgil exchanged a knowing look and carried on. Jones spread their physical map of the city out across the table and spoke around mouthfuls of Peanut M&Ms. His words interspaced with chocolaty crunches.

"Far as I can tell... We're here. I think... We've been this way before. Just from... The opposite direction." Jones tapped a spot with a fingernail. The map was covered in scrawls and notes. Marked with hive borders and barricades. Small demarcations provided a concise history of the trio's trek through the city. Bouncing from point to point they had slunk their way through the dead, navigating the vast carcass of the metropolis.

"A little more south. Here, we're going along the edges of these two hives. There's only the outer hives between us and the wall. We were just at Epsilon, over here. So yeah, I think we've been near here before." Virgil replied. Tracing their point with an experienced eye, using various marks to provide reference.

They trio had been hopping from base to base through the southern reaches of the city for the last few weeks in the hopes of linking up with friendly forces. Blackshield, army, marines. It did not matter. Every time they found one the base was gutted and long abandoned or with the blood of its defenders still fresh on the walls. Epsilon had been no exception. For all their vaunted prowess, Blackshield often fared no better than the marines or army did. Standard templates for forward operating bases in quarantine zones involved steel gates, mortars, and concrete walls topped with machine gun nests.

For the poor bastards of Epsilon, it had made no difference. Virgil felt little remorse for the lives lost. Too far past that point. In the mindset of survival the only thought that aggrieved him was one of lost opportunity. Dread and hopelessness might have taken hold, had he let them.

"With Epsilon base toast, there's hardly anything left on the map where we're at. Jesus. I swear we either have the worst luck, or this thing is getting bigger. I mean, the infected harassed the bases, sure, but never took them down like this. It's gotta be those deviant... things. Fuck all if I remember what their dumb fuck designations are. One of them is... Athena if I remember. Fucking Greek gods an' shit." Jones flippantly proclaimed. The Blackshield operative knew very well what the designations were. Out of fear of the name, lest the creature in question be summoned, he dared not speak it. Masking fear with dismissal.

"Ares." Sybil whispered hoarsely. The wolfess had come to stand at the table as well. Although she looked at the map while she spoke, her voice was tinged with a strange sort of forcefulness. To her comrades, she was quite the enigma as she studied the map with unblinking intensity. It was the first word she had spoken since Virgil had found her. Both of her companions saw it as an important step and did not want call attention to it and stifle her progress. With the way it was said, Virgil could not help but wonder...

"Yeah. Him. That's it. Thanks, Sybil. One of those two are knocking out our bases." Jones pointed out the numerous red X's that marked the bases they had confirmed themselves.

"Not all of them. Yeah the infected mostly just harass. But if a pack of Stalkers get past the walls, it's like puppies in a blender. God help anyone nearby if there are refugees and the hordes swell by a few thousand. No, we're starting to see the virus doing something really strange. I've listened in enough on your Blackshield channels to know that basic infection and mutation is not the end. Not nearly. The Stalkers alone are proof of that." Virgil spoke with the voice of hard won experience.

Something did not quite sit well in Specialist Parson's gut.

"So what's with these two? Are they terrorists... or what? All we were told was to call you guys if we saw 'em." He was unsure if Jones would answer him. But he had to try.

"Technically, the specifics are classified for anyone not cleared by Blackshield." Jones looked to the guardsmen, then to his exo. "Under the circumstances, I think an exception can be made." He looked to Sybil. She nodded in agreement. "Target Ares. Real name: None. Developed as a commander unit for the late-stage viral bioforms. Target Athena. Real name: Redacted. Thought to be a co-conspirator with Ares. We, and by we, I mean Blackshield, believe the virus was developed and released by a branch of United States military's own science division. They developed the virus in secret as a way to combat foreign threats. Somehow Athena and Ares got loose and brought the virus with them. We don't know why they did what they did. Some think they're just doing what they've been programmed to do. All that's left is containment. But yes, it was terrorists. Just not the ones we're used to."

"Hold up. You're saying this isn't the act of a foreign agent?" Virgil said with growing concern. It did make a horrible kind of sense. "And are you saying that the U.S. is developing viral weaponry? Where does Blackshield come it?" Virgil demanded.

Jones folded his arms and seemed to come to a decision.

"I do know that we have the largest and most cutting edge biological weapon research team on the planet. And before you ask, no, I don't know what they're developing. It's only what I've heard down the line. There is a reason Blackshield was formed as its own entity. You have to realize the scope of what we're facing on a global threat level. What if a terrorist organization decides to deploy something like a super-flu? America has to have the best. And make no mistake. We are the best." Jones seemed to swell with fury and patriotism.

"[i]No one can escape our fury. No one is above our wrath. We stand clad in midnight to hold back the dark. We are Blackshield. We are the last line and we will never fall.[/i]" There was a spark that kindled in the goat's eye as he spoke the words. Sybil perked up too and had mouthed the words with him.

Conviction. Dedication. Truth. For both Blackshield soldiers, the words encompassed their dogma. To them the creed was sacred. Holy almost. With zealous ardor they pursued any and all targets mandated by the creed. They truly believed themselves to be that last line. That final line.

It was a dangerous bit of propaganda. Virgil had witnessed some of the atrocities orchestrated by Blackshield command and carried out by Blackshield soldiers. Had seen it scrawled in aerosol can lines on alleys. Had seen it painted in old blood from firing squads. Seen it in the mural left after a thousand bare hands had scratched at concrete walls. Down to the depths of their souls they held themselves to a different standard. Virgil looked into Jones' eye and listened to the inflection of his oration. The guardsman came to the conclusion that the goat would gladly burn his own to hold the line he espoused.

Such a simple concept. Millions to save billions.

It was hard math. Cold reasoning for unyielding times. But that was the point. You cannot argue with a virus. You cannot plead or bargain or beg. A sailor would have better luck hoping the ocean would not drown him were he lost to it. In so many ways like death, it was unbiased. Young, old, rich, poor. If it could find a path, be it air or blood or Stalker claw, the infection would spread.

That was why Blackshield existed. That was their purpose and the message in their oath. And damn him for being selfish, Virgil did not feel the same fire in the veteran's words. He just wanted to live. Let others bear the burden of choosing who should live and who should die. The thought of gathering intelligence to send back to his superiors was strong but soon quashed beneath the simple necessity of survival. Morality held little sway over him at that point.

A short but awkward silence followed.

"And anyway, foreign or domestic, I doubt they'd ever tell grunts like us the full story." Jones dismissed with another mouthful of candy. Watching him do so gave Virgil an inexplicable craving for something fresh. An apple or perhaps some strawberries. Hell, a salad even. It seemed like an eternity since he had seen produce that was not rotting in a pile in front of a grocery store. "At this point, I could care less about what you do or think you know, Virgil. We're all stuck in the shit. What with an ear in our frequencies through your exo. Speaking of which, how did you get yours, and figure out how to work it?"

It was not a line of conversation Virgil wanted to pursue just at that moment. He had to give Jones credit for his tenacity. Only a few nights had they settled down without collapsing from exhaustion straight away. Each time Jones tried to pry. Virgil unconsciously felt the slits in his suit.

"Blackshield base. All dead. Pilot had his guts ripped open. Wasn't doing him any good any more so I took it." It was the same thing he had said each time Jones had asked. Yet the goat was persistent. He had found the exo with the former driver half torn out of the armor like a piece of meat forced from a can too small. Virgil of course never mentioned that the pilot had still been alive or that they had their entrails spill everywhere when the wolf pulled them out of the exo, still screaming. No, those details were irrelevant. So not worth mentioning. It had taken more than a little bleach to get the scent of blood and shit out of the suit.

In an effort to direct the conversation somewhere not drenched in gore, Virgil changed the topic to something more tame.

"Hey, Jones, what's your favorite?" Virgil asked with a gesture towards the piles of sweets bordering their map.

"Favorite? Favorite what?" The goat sat down in a cushioned chair and kicked up his cloven hooves. Virgil sat down as well with a contented sigh.

"Favorite candy, dumbass." Virgil peeled open another Butterfinger. His fingertips were still a little sticky from his last one. The sugar rush and simple flavors brought a youthful warmth to him. While Jones pondered the question with a thoughtful rocking on the swivel chair, Sybil picked through the vending machine and gathered the remaining Twinkies.

"Skittles. Definitely." The goat ripped open a pack of the brand in question and proceeded to pour every flavor together in his mouth at once. Chewing it all together into a gooey mass, the goat worked his jaw through the candy. "Taste the rainbow, mother fucker. You know what I mean?" Sybil rolled her eyes.

"No, I have no idea." Virgil said with a laugh.

"Well?" Jones asked, still gnawing through the Skittles. "What's your favorite?"

"Mm, Torn between Snickers and Peanut M&Ms. I love chocolate, but the nuts really do it for me." Replied Virgil, reaching for the treats in question.

"That's because you [i]are[/i] nuts." Jones teased.

"No denying that." Virgil responded with a crazed grin. Embracing the manic accusation with despondent acceptance.

"Meh. I'm honestly not big on chocolate." The goat continued.

"Not big on chocolate? What's wrong with you?" Virgil scolded. Though he did smile as he thought of something. Anything to remember life outside the city. "Heh. That reminds me. So I worked at a pizza joint when I was sixteen. This lady calls and asks for a large with peperoni, banana peppers, and chocolate syrup. My buddy took the order and asked her how much chocolate syrup. She says to bring a whole bottle. Now normally, we use the syrup on our dessert things, but our manager says 'Fuck it, give the lady what she wants'. I'm a delivery guy, so I volunteer to take it."

"Holy shit. An entire bottle?" The goat leaned forward with interest and even Sybil slowed in her eating.

"Kind of a gamble on my part. Probably a psycho or a hardcore stoner who ordered it. But damn if I didn't want to know. Really it should have been obvious. I take it to the address and this lady answers the door. This giraffe chick was so pregnant it looked she had swallowed a beach ball. I'm talking triplets that were ready to pop out right then. She shoves forty bucks at me, takes the pizza, the chocolate syrup, and just pours it all over the pie. I just stand there and stare while this giraffe eats half of it without even taking it inside."

"That's some serious craving crunching going on right there. Banana peppers? Shit. Oh! I've got one. I always tell this story to my friends." The goat smiled to the other two soldiers. Virgil felt a small kindling of warmth that had nothing to do with the candy. "I remember when I was stuck on this aircraft carrier between drops, right? And... and our fucking CO falls asleep in this armchair. Let me tell you, this guy could sleep through a fucking hurricane. So... So he's asleep. Me and three others pick up the chair he's sleeping on and get all the way up on deck without waking him up."

Jones struggled to keep from laughing so he could finish the story. Pausing for a breath as his grin kept getting wider as he reminisced. Sybil cracked open two generic cola cans and passed one to Virgil.

"What, did you dump him over the side?" Virgil offered.

"Pfft. Too easy. No. We hooked his chair up to the catapult." Said Jones with a casual wave.

Sybil sprayed cola over the top of her can and Virgil nearly choked on an M&M. Both of them had the image of an officer asleep in a chair in the aircraft catapult on a carrier. Of course they each had the face of individuals in mind [i]they[/i] would have liked to see in such a position.

"So, Ron and I have air horns so that he's not still asleep when he hits the water. And on three both of us let loose on either side. So we blare and he wakes up, Chris hands him a life ring, and right at that moment Jeff gives the signal and yells 'Pull!' at the top of his lungs. Fucker goes flying. Chair stays upright all the way to the end of the deck and everything. Fuckin' sturdy ass chair. It was beautiful. I tell you. our CO stayed glued to that chair all the way to the water."

Jones slapped his hands together and arrowed one away to indicate the trajectory of the ill-fated chair and its occupant. He even whistled for added effect.

"So, how pissed was he?" Sybil spoke again. Still in her rasp. But it was something. Virgil was happy to see her smiling while she wiped soda from her muzzle.

"So fuckin' pissed. We had to scrub something. I honestly don't even remember." Jones concluded.

"I got one. Has to do with vending machines." Sybil surprised her companions yet again with how vocal she was being. She had to clear her throat twice and take a swig of her drink to open her airway properly before beginning. Even so her words were a mangled mess.

"So my unit and I are stationed in South Korea and in our mess hall are all these vending machines. A lot like what we've got actually. But there was one. It was a bottled milk machine. So, there's the standard fair. Skim, two-percent, chocolate. But also strawberry and vanilla even. But at the very bottom was this blue bottle. All it said was 'blue'. Now for the longest time, everyone wondered what it was. One day, one of my friends gets up and buys a bottle. Comes back. Sits down. Takes a drink. Passes it." She glanced between Virgil and Jones to make sure the two were listening before delivering the punchline.

"It gets to Sheila. She takes a sip and says, 'It tastes like sadness'."

"Pfft, what? Blue milk... Y'know, that [i]is[/i] pretty sad." Jones chuckled. All three shared a smile.

For a while, the national guardsmen and the two Blackshield soldiers continued to trade stories and candy as well. Virgil knew he should eat something more substantial. His desire for rest outweighed his desire for food. He knew the sugar was an empty substitute. Even so. A yawn involuntarily stretched his jaw.

"Alright, who wants first watch?" The goat asked. The pair of wolves gave him a look that told him for speaking first, he had just volunteered. "Alright, alright. I've got it covered. I'll wake you up when it's your turn, Virgil." The wolf's answer was interrupted by another yawn. Being in the city meant pretty much constant exhaustion, and the momentary respite meant that a good deal of Virgil's sleep debt was catching up to him.

He rose with a stretch from his seat and noticed Sybil regarding him in a way he could not quite define. Something between worship and obsession. It made him feel a little uncomfortable. Sybil had latched onto Virgil and not let go since their first meeting in the city. Before he walked out though, he looked at his exo and pondered something.

"Hey, I've been wondering. What's this?" Virgil pointed to a nozzle and large pack under the left arm of his exo.

"Oh, that's the built in torch. Y'know. Emergency repairs and cutting through anything that needs cut through. Third trigger down in your left arm." Jones answered. That gave Virgil an idea.

"So, these things are like zombies, right?" He asked the goat.

"Why are you asking me? Never got into the Romero films, personally. They just got too full of themselves after the fifth or sixth iteration, y'know? Like, they expected the audience to love it because they were Romero zombies. Not because they were good."

"What? No, no, listen. What I mean is big crowds and stuff, right?"

"Sure, why not." Jones agreed for the sake of the argument.

"Okay, so wouldn't a flamethrower work really well? I mean, spray down a horde or something with a few gallons of napalm. Fwoosh. Gone." With his engineering background, Virgil spoke quite a bit with his hands, and pantomimed a group of infected bursting into flame.

"We haven't used flamethrowers since World War Two. They're so long decommissioned I think there are only, maybe a hundred working models left in the world. And you couldn't drop napalm in here, there's too much shit in the way. Spaces are too tight." Jones spoke with evident disappointment.

"But that's my point. You can't drop bombs in here, so what about arming a couple squads with flamethrowers. Just get them in formation and start burning. Do you guys remember that one kid a few months ago who used an early prototype of the Bowman Engine as a weaponized thermal beam?" He beseeched the stubborn goat and muted she-wolf.

"What? Fuck no. Aren't we getting a little off-topic?"

"Well, friend of a friend told me about it. They were saying he started the fires that levelled Endsville. You remember that, right?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I remember that one. But I thought they blamed... Uh... What was it? Something about natural gas lines having some kind of fault."

For a moment, the guardsmen was rather taken aback. He would have thought the Blackshield operatives of all people would have known a little more about it.

"Anyway, these torches are miniaturized thermal beams. In theory, if you broke off this safety nozzle here, you'd have anywhere between ten and twenty feet of flame for as long as your fuel lasted." Virgil regarded the apparatus for a thoughtful moment, dissecting the mechanism with his eyes, figuring that he was not looking at the fabled thermal lance. Even with a limit, it was possible for a one-shot burst. Either that or he would blow off his arm. Still, it was a challenge any gearhead would enjoy.

He spent a few more moments lingering but decided he would be better off resting. Virgil made his way out of the tent formed by their covered exos to the outskirts of their tiny camp so he could have a little privacy. Everything within the building had that particular darkness where shapes were clearly defined, yet no detail could be discerned. Virgil's only complaint was perhaps that the air was a little stifling. Even as the thought crossed his mind, a draft from somewhere, either vent or open window blew chill air through the space. There was a couch with soft cushions calling his name. The wolf unclasped the flexible interface sockets along the spine of his suit and peeled the clothing off his fur. It felt like he had been living for months inside the thing, noting the way his hair stuck to the inside. Matted in spots, it felt good to try free himself from the cloying and encrusted filth. Feeling the bite of the cold was refreshing. But in moments he yearned for the cradling warmth of a fusion engine at his back. Instead he made do with a soft blanket as he got comfortable on the couch.

Without having to look, he knew that Sybil was coming near.

Out of a cracked eye, he knew it was her. Her presence was ingrained in him. She did not need to speak. Virgil took a few guesses as to what she would do. In his exhaustion, he feigned steady breathing while keeping watch on the wolfess. Perhaps she only meant to curl up and sleep near him. It would not have been surprising. Even without words, her actions had made it clear her devotion to him. It was survival. Or that was what Virgil thought anyway. He was not too far off because she stopped ten paces short and kneeled. Wringing her paws together, she slowly worked up her courage to inch forward bit by bit until she was almost within arm's reach.

In a gesture akin to supplication, Sybil pawed at the air towards Virgil and croaked something unintelligible. With a choked cough, she cleared her throat a little and tried again.

"Virgil?" Came her broken whisper. "Are you awake?"

The guardsmen shifted a little. "You okay, Sybil?" The wolfess was clearly distressed.

"I'm... Cold. I didn't think I'd be this cold." Sybil rubbed her arms to generate a little friction.

"You're used to the exo. I know how you feel." It was one of those things you did not realize until it was gone. The guardsmen propped himself up on an elbow to better look at his companion. Or at least her outline.

"Also I'm tired and Jones was being a dick. I just wanted some company, and wondered if maybe... you wanted some too." Even though in the darkness her features were invisible, her words bespoke her yearning.

"Uhh... Yeah. Yeah, sure." Virgil awkwardly agreed.

The wolf did not raise his blanket so the wolfess took the liberty of climbing underneath it to press herself directly on top of him. The contact made him aware that Sybil was in fact, naked. She must have stripped somewhere between the camp and the couch. Their fur rubbed together. Her scent smote him somewhat because of its potency. It was not necessarily bad, just distinctive. Then he was contemplating her arms around his torso, her breasts pressed against his chest. He felt a little hint of the softness between her legs while she found a comfortable spot.

Frozen in surprise at this sudden physical intimacy, Virgil was unsure of how to react. In spite of any intention however, spoken or implied, he could not keep his manhood from emerging from his furry sheathe. It was a stirring of desires he had not felt in what seemed like forever. With life reduced to survival in the city, there was not even space to have some alone time with his paw. It was nice though. Distracting. Being a rather thick-headed man when it came to relationships and subtle signals, it was not until that moment that the nude Sybil had physically expressed attraction that he was even aware of her infatuation. In that moment when things clicked it required no further thought.

She had not been lying about feeling cold and shivered until the shared body heat warmed her. Her very cold nose she buried in his chest. Overall, she was roughly a head shorter, and tucked her feet under his as well. Then he felt a wetness in the fur where her head lay. Sybil was crying. Virgil did not understand why the she-wolf wept, cuddled up to him in the dark. Why? The thought and question intruded in his mind. Why was she crying? Was it hopelessness? Tears for the lost, perhaps? Maybe it was just emotional release. For Virgil, the why mattered very little.

Slowly coming to full-mast, he wrapped his arms around her and offered what comfort he could. They stayed together like that for a time. Virgil did not know what comfort to give other than letting the she-wolf purge her tears against him. Her wracking sobs were never very audible. Virgil wondered if the reason she wept had anything to do with the reason she had lost her voice in the first place. Introspection made him realize that he did have feelings for her. It was a very confusing relationship. In his early days of survival he had been rather selfish. When he had found her lost and wandering covered in blood with an empty gun, he had tried to leave her behind. But when she followed... he guessed he had chosen that moment to take responsibility for her. Their mutual survival had come to rely on that growing relationship.

The feelings they shared grew, at least on his part, because of automatic triggered responses. After all, they could react better together if they cared. It could mean their deaths. But reward outweighed risk for having an extra pair of eyes. So he held her until her sorrow was spent.

"You're a real gentleman, y'know that?" Sybil whispered.

"Pretty girl crying? Real men don't ask why." Virgil had the boldness to run a hand through her mane despite the thick tangles. Sybil sighed heavily. Not a sigh of sorrow though, one of relief. The wolf she lay upon felt her chest expand against his own. A small movement of her legs brushed her fur against his member. With the light touch, it was his turn to shiver.

"Does crying get you off, Virgil?" Even though he could not see her lips, he could hear the mischief in her voice, however quiet.

"Just as any man would comfort a lady in distress, it comes as no surprise that he'd get aroused by a naked one climbing into bed with him."

"This is a couch." She was quick to point out.

"You're under the blankets, aren't you?"

With her misery spent, boldness and desire took its place. With her dexterous paws she touched his throbbing cock. First she gave it a few trailing strokes just to measure its length. Then she grasped it fully to gauge its thickness. She gave him a squeeze and his eyes almost rolled right out of his head. With only her paw as a measuring device, he seemed massive. At her little gasp he could not quite quash a satisfied smirk. She then took his member in both paws and stroked up and down. When she reached the base of his shaft, she moved down further to gently cup his jewels.

Gently, she lifted his heavy balls, feeling the pent-up seed after months of living without release.

Properly stimulated, Virgil breathed a full, throaty moan. He closed his eyes and let pleasure become the center of his world. When he pulled Sybil tighter to him, he felt something stir in his chest as well as his loins. It felt good, not just in the way she was touching his cock, but in the way she was close to him. The warmth of the fusion engine was replaced with the warmth of another living body. And it was good. So good he had not realized how much he had missed it until he had gotten a taste again.

The she-wolf had about half her body nuzzled up to his with the other half wedged between him and the back of the couch. It did not leave her much room to play with her paws, but she did not need it. She had no intention of wasting so much as a drop of his cum. No, if he was going to cum, it was going to be inside her. Just stroking him, feeling the way he responded to her lightest touches was enough to send shivers down spine. Why, just the thought of him knotting her... Oh, yes, that was a gush of arousal thick enough to drip down her leg. A small part of her not occupied with Virgil's wolfhood hoped he did not notice.

At first he did not. But he did notice the very feminine musk that accompanied it.

"This... This is nice." Virgil spoke. Sybil nodded, then remembered he could not see her and shifted her damaged voice into her whisper.

"I'm glad you think so." She said with a little laugh. She very carefully massaged his balls in her palm. "You feel a little pent up. Does my big bad wolf need some relief?"

"If you keep doing that... I just might." He groaned. Starting right at the head of his cock, she started gently down, keeping her grip soft so her paw glided down his hot flesh. At the same time she rolled his heavy jewels in her fingers. Virgil's body did not need to be told what to do. He bucked gratefully into those pleasurable palms. She held her hand and let him pump himself into her while she entertained a little grin.

Feeling a little exploring was owed to him while Sybil had her fun, Virgil buried his face in her neck and took a deep inhalation of her scent. The she-wolf felt the air move around the sensitive hair there and gave in to a shudder that had nothing to do with the cold. Nipping playfully at her neck, Virgil licked once under her jaw line and moved up her cheek, then to her pointed lupine ear. Nibbling his way all the way up to the tip of her pointed ear left her fur a little wet and made her feel the cold air in stark contrast to his warm muzzle.

While his mouth was busy molesting the she-wolf's ear, his own paws were busy feeling her up. With his left, he followed the bumpy curvature of her spine down to her rump. Giving the sensitive base of her tail one good caress before he grabbed a handful of her butt. He had large, strong hands, and kneaded first one cheek, then the other. He enjoyed getting more intimately acquainted with this lovely creature. Everything about her was toned and hard. Yet her physique was more of a gymnast's, or perhaps a dancer. Slender, smooth, and supple.

His other paw went down her front between her arms to get a good hold of something he knew would be quite a bit softer. Although modest, the she-wolf boasted enough of a chest for Virgil to get a good paw full of sweet female anatomy. Sybil had not known how sore the hard chest plate of the exo made her breasts until Virgil started massaging them. Although incapable of a full vocal range of pleasure, she made it well known with what she could that he was doing something right. Taking one of the soft globes fully into his paw, his strong, mechanic's hands felt the tense knots just beneath the surface. With the skill of paws experienced with troubleshooting kinks in exo muscle bundles he hunted down all the aberrant sore spots.

When he was done with one breast, he moved on to the next. Only when Virgil was done did Sybil realize that she had stopped stroking his member and was drooling onto his chest. She had slowly rotated to allow him easier access to her aching mammeries. After his ministration, they tingled. She remembered herself enough to resume stroking the wolf's granite manhood. Sybil felt a little embarrassed that just Virgil playing with her tits was enough to make her drool.

Then he reached down, touched her mound and Sybil saw stars. His paw moved between her legs and she lifted one without even thinking. He stroked his whole hand across her girly bits, literally geting a feel for her. Tracing her anatomy in the dark. Her fur down there was very soft to the touch and the flesh even softer. When two of his fingers brushed perfectly across her outer labia, she shuddered. Then with those fingers he gently spread her vulva to touch her sex more intimately. The tip of his digit collected moisture immediately as he gauged just how wet she really was. He was surprised, but pleased as well.

She bit her lip and moaned at his touch. Wanted more of it. Yearned for it more badly than she knew it was possible. Yet she did not want this to be about her. She wanted to pleasure him. Thank him in a way she knew a man would appreciate. That was the selfless reason.

The selfish reasons were that she too wanted comfort. Something physical. She craved his touch. As much as the exo provided a surrogate for contact, there was nothing like her fur against his. The she-wolf also had to know that their bond was strong. She had latched onto the guardsmen as the one mental constant in her life. It had let her survive in the city where all of her unit had been cut down. They were both lone survivors. The horror of the city before he had found her was a red-smeared blur. And life before the city was a gilded dream that only existed in her fantasies. So long as he was with her, she would survive. She just had to make sure he stayed there.

So she redoubled her efforts to please him. Squeezing a little bit more, she moved both hands onto his shaft to better stroke the wolf dick in her paws. She was rusty though, having never had a long term lover. Even though he was positively enraptured, she only had his unfamiliar body responses to go by. Worried that she might be losing his interest, she moved on to her next desire. Although the thought of him eating her out made her heart flutter, she did not want to risk rejection. So instead of going through all that, she un-wedged herself and straddled her battle partner.

Virgil did not need to see to know that Sybil's soft pussy was pressed to his cock. His first clue was the warmth. A welcome, wholesome heat that bespoke of closeness. A burning desire that matched the strength of the sun. They were in fact, about to make their own, special brand of fusion. She was using his shoulders as support and even though it was dark, the faintest spark of light glistened in Sybil's eyes. The shaft of his cock lay within the crease of her womanhood's folds. So close to the source of her inner fire, it felt like he might melt. He had no objections to their arrangement. While making love on a couch, one had to accept position limitations.

Moaning with how close she was to her goal, Sybil shifted her hips back and forth, stroking Virgil's cock with her pussy rather than her hands. He felt even larger than before, rubbing against her entrance as he was. When the head of his cock grazed along her hidden clit, she shuddered, and came. The tease had been significant, and the intense eroticism wrapping her mind in a cloud of hormones made her cum easier than a bitch in heat. She had secretly imagined this moment since feelings of infatuation for the guardsmen had rooted in her dreaming mind.

Lost in her orgasmic throws she gripped Virgil's shoulders tightly as she shook. Frantically she kept pressing her clit to his member. The climax came upon her by surprise because of how foreign the sensations of flesh were. Steel and flowing muscle bundles had replaced skin and bone. Sensor suit had replaced nerves. She felt through the suit. Lived through the exo. It had been so long since direct stimulation had coursed through her. But her senses had not been dulled by time existing through a proxy. They had been tuned to detect the more subtle feedback of the powered armor.

Like wildfire, the pleasure thundered through hyper-sensitive pathways. Not entirely aware of what she was doing, Sybil shamelessly humped against Virgil. She gushed, and soundlessly screamed. She spent herself, and slowly came down from her high. Mouth open and panting, Sybil eased her grip on Virgil's shoulders and rested against his chest, breathing heavily into his fur. The guardsmen did not mind in the least as her breasts pressed against him. He was quite flattered that a pretty she-wolf like Sybil would choose him to bump and grind. A small voice made the last man on earth argument but there was hot pussy to be had.

Virgil let her breathe for a bit. When he could wait no longer, he started doing a little grinding of his own. Shifting his pelvis beneath her, Virgil lined up his cock to enter Sybil's sweet love tunnel. Grabbing her rump, he leveraged himself into a better position to control penetration. She jumped a little when she felt his tip find her entrance, but did not object in the least. Taking her moans and the roll of her hips as consent, he brought her butt down and glided his manhood up. Effortlessly, he sank past her petals and into her pink, silken folds. She was so wet, so horny, so ready to take him that her insides flowed like water. Inner muscles parted as her passage stretched smoothly to welcome the maleness within.

She let out a soft moan all the way down.

Because of their position her weight bore her down his ever thickening shaft until her soft, downy pubic fur was flush with his. His tool was slathered in her honey and made both of them so slick there was hardly any drag. The only ache Sybil felt was near the very back of her passage, where his length pushed somewhat sorely against the protected passage to her womb. Yet it was a welcome ache, so deeply buried. It meant he was in her. Filling her. Being one with her. She encircled his chest with her arms to better hang on lest she fall off the edge of the world from ecstasy. When the head of his cock pushed against her cervix again as he shifted into a more comfortable lay, her pussy clenched hard. The she-wolf shuddered as she felt his nails dig hard into her rump. She could not see him, but she heard his sharp breath through clenched teeth and knew that he was trying not to cum.

If Sybil was over-sensitive from interpreting the subtle signals of the exo, the same could be said of Virgil. It took every ounce of will he had not to blow his load. He felt like a virgin pup, ramming his first hole and cumming after the first two strokes. Born again through steel and blood, perhaps he was a virgin again. Either way, he had to grin and bear it. He had enough dignity to not behave like a virgin. Despite how his length throbbed and his balls ached for release, he managed to contain himself. His base throbbed with blood, knot just waiting to tie the lovers together.

Although contained, he still pressed hard against the girl, mashing against her hidden depths. Sybil's whole lower half rose a little as the invading manhood torqued her most sensitive parts. It was tempting to turn the motion into a thrust. Virgil grabbed Sybil's haunches all the harder to keep her still. Steadily he reigned in control.

Sybil could hardly hold herself.

"Virgil... Virgil... I'm so full. My pussy... You feel so good. You're so big." She still could not raise her voice above a whisper, but their proximity meant nothing else was needed. Sybil gyrated her hips in a circle, feeling the lips of her pussy measure the dimensions of the spear within her. "Do I feel good? I don't think I've ever been this wet."

The wolf cradled his deadly Valkyrie close. Her words made his cock twitch. In their private darkness the dirty talk was shockingly erotic.

"I didn't know you had such a naughty mouth. And a naughty pussy." With a devious grin, Virgil thrust himself up for the first time. The she-wolf was straddling her partner, legs splayed wide on either side. Despite her more dominant position, he was still in control of the depth and angle of the thrusting. Every time he hit her furthest depths, her moans would rise in pitch until they became a squeak. She lowered her front and raised her ass a little, welcoming his maleness into her as deep as he wanted to go. Sybil had so long been his silent shadow that to now hear her voice so demure and receptive was something beyond Virgil's wildest dreams. He slowed his thrusting and gave her cheek a nudge with his nose.

"Hey, Sybil, you wanna kiss me?"

She propped herself up a little.

"What? Why..." She asked. The embarrassment was clear even in her hushed tone.

"I'm already balls deep, you know. What's a little kiss gonna hurt?" He gave a good strong thrust to emphasize his point. Hesitantly, Sybil leaned down, as if she would find no reciprocation to her feelings in such a touch. Her fears were unfounded though as their lips met. They breathed in the scent of each other and Sybil tasted the carnal cravings awakening in her partner. He took hold of her ass once again and resumed his thrusting. Slowly picking up the pace as their kiss deepened. When their muzzles were locked he was at full tilt.

Once again Virgil pushed a little extra to not just hear, but feel the she-wolf moan. They drank deeply of each other's lust. Sometimes they broke the kiss and basked in the privacy of intimate touch in the dark. It was quiet and the mood solemnly pleasurable and rare. The only sound that intruded was that of their words and bodies.

Wet flesh slapping together was muffled by the blanket atop the two. Her soaking wetness taking his whole length in long thrusts. Sybil lost herself in the steady rhythm and began to meet his thrusts, bringing her hips up and down to feel more of him across more of her walls. She was so tight, it felt like the petals of her flower were stretched with each of his outward pulls. For a while, it was nice. Moving together, exploring each other in the dark. They were not soldiers or survivors or agents. They were just two people. Two furs who sought comfort in each other's arms. Virgil kept to a pace just below what he knew would make him cum, so as to enjoy the coupling as long as he could. His plan was almost undone when Sybil had another orgasm overtake her.

Feminine fluids flowed freely from the she-wolf as she used the cock wedged between her legs to fuck herself into climax. The rapid increase almost got to Virgil, but through a monumental force of will, he staved off. What almost did it was not just feeling Sybil's fur quivering against his own, but the way her tongue wrapped up with his and how her breath came in short gasps through her nose. Two more good thrusts and the she-wolf went just about limp. The lover's muzzles slowly parted to allow her a few heaving breaths. For what felt like the hundredth time, Virgil teetered on the edge but did not fall.

When they had both calmed a bit, the wolf spoke again.

"Sybil... is it okay if I cum inside? I mean... I might get you pregnant. Is that okay with you?" His cock throbbed in emphasis.

"Of course. I want you to." Sybil again hoisted her rump and spread her legs as wide as she could short of falling off the couch to allow him the best leverage. She left it up to Virgil to decide which part of the question she had said yes to. He needed no further encouragement and started yet again. He steadily picked up speed, lavishing in the sweet pussy he was fucking. She was so tight... they both knew he would not last long. The thought of his seed bearing fruit inside her caused a tiny shock to rock her body. To say nothing of the immediate pleasure gained from his knot and liquid love. When they might die tomorrow, the question of contraceptive was a pointless one.

As the wolf built towards his finish, his thrusts became faster and harder than any before. Sybil's petals were pounded raw as his tool was crammed hard and rapid into her clenched hole. And she knew exactly what to say to send him careening over that edge.

"Fuck me, Virgil. Knot me. Please." Just that tiny plea was enough for him to dig his claws hard into her rear and bite into her shoulder to keep from howling in conquest. Three times he slammed himself as hard as he could, claiming her. Each time his knot swelled until the third tied them together. And he came. Hard. He was young, virile, and had not had release in who knew how long. Weeks pent up came gushing out all at once. With his knot inflated his cocktip was wedged against that painfully pleasurable spot of her cervix. And when he came, he painted her womb with thick wolf spunk.

She felt him cum and nip her shoulder. The jolt made her give an involuntary squeeze right below his knot and milked him with enough force that she could feel the jet of his ropey cum shoot up inside her. All she could do was gasp and hold on for the ride. His canine member locked past her pelvis and insured not a drop of cum escaped. And there was quite a lot. She lost count of the pulses. The size of his knot was enough to make an impression on her abdomen. It hurt her delicates, never having had a partner as endowed as Virgil. Within a few throbs of that member though she felt a different kind of pressure as his heavy balls emptied themselves. It actually frightened her for a moment. His maleness, his ferocity. Enough that instinct for a moment made her try and pull away.

This only served to draw more cum out of the cock she was tied to and pull the seed that was already inside her deeper. The momentary fright passed quickly though and she lost herself in bliss. Even though she was not in heat, she was still receptive. Thick cum pooled in her womb and soon filled it to the brim. Virgil's sperm found every fertile egg it could. Insides sloshing with potential, Sybil felt contentedness wrap around her like a second blanket.

Part of the reason she was okay with Virgil knotting her was the warrior blood that ran deeply within her. The lineage that called out for strong blood and strong breed. Desire for the guardsmen first began when she saw the grace and inborn talent with which he fought. Then when she saw him outside his exo for the first time, discovering he was a young, handsome wolf, a vague shape coalesced in her mind about the beauty and strength of their offspring. She had not meant for the feelings to develop like they had, but such is the strange fruit of love.

Easing up, Virgil felt the satisfaction that only knotting a sexy female could bring. His knot was not going down for a while so they were not going anywhere anytime soon. Not that he was complaining. Sybil's thoroughly pounded pussy wrapped around his tool was not something he had any intention on giving up. He wrapped his arms around his she-wolf and entertained a contentedly blank mind. For Sybil, belly full of cum with warm covers and warm company, life could not be better. They basked in their private dark and rapturous afterglow. For a long while they lay silent, for no words could prove greater than that magnificent post-sex consummation. Then for a time they talked about their dreams. Because for the first time, they felt like they had a future.

"Virgil... I want to tell you something without you... Pulling away."

The wolf cocked his head quizzically, taking the opportunity to take another heady breath of her personal scent.

"Of course, Sybil." He said with a nuzzle.

"You know what I want more than anything?" Her tone betrayed her dare to hope.

"What's that?" Virgil asked, genuinely curious.

"I want a little house. Not out in the country, but somewhere nice. Somewhere peaceful. Away from the city. No more big buildings. I want a tree in the front yard with a swing. And I want pups. Lots of strong, beautiful pups. A family. And maybe... Someone to share it with." Sybil hinted heavily at the last who her first choice for that someone would be.

Virgil gulped a little, forestalling the lump in his throat.

"Hey, Sybil. I think... I'd like-" He started.

"Yo! You two done fuckin'? Or what? C'mere. I think I found something we'll all be interested in hearing." Jones shouted loud and clear.

Both Virgil and Sybil blushed hard enough that it was a surprise they did not glow cherry red in the night. Jones was a clever old goat and had known what the two had been doing the moment Sybil had slunk off. He had the courtesy to not interrupt the younger couple. He would have plenty of time to make fun of them later. It took them a few minutes for Virgil's knot to deflate enough to pop free. Then a few more for Sybil to clean up the torrent of cum that gushed from her unplugged hole with the blanket. When they were both clothed they rejoined Jones in their inner camp.

The goat was half inside his exo, legs entrenched in the armor with a relaxed posture and his helmet on. When the two lovers came near enough, Jones removed the head gear.

"Here, listen to this. It might be our ticket out of here." He reached inside his helmet and turned the radio to project.

"[i]Repeat: All Blackshield operatives in sectors three through seven are to converge on Hills park at oh-eight-hundred for VIP extraction. Three Blackbirds will be dispatched for pickup. All agents are to evacuate with the VIP. Repeat: All Blackshield operatives to Hills park for VIP extraction.[/i]"

Jones twisted a switch and the voice cut out. Virgil and Sybil both digested the news for a moment. They usually had a policy of staying off the main radio channels. The airwaves were usually either too clogged with garbage signals or screams. Jones had used the time while his younger friends had sex to scan across the airwaves.

"Holy shit." Virgil summarized succinctly.

"They mean serious business with this one. Blackbirds are the best Blackshield has. They're VTOLs with enough speed and agility to make an Apache look like a bull in a china shop." Jones explained for Virgil's sake. The wolf, for his part, nodded.

"I've seen a few. Usually in pieces though." He walked over to the map still spread over the table. Sybil followed and pointed to Hills park. It was a rather insignificant dot of green a little deeper towards the heart of the city. From their current position, it seemed like a pretty straight shot there barring the two hive territories they would have to cross. The park was in a fairly sanitized area as far as infection went. At least according to their records. The trio had probably passed by the park at least once.

"The question is though, do you think it's worth it?" Virgil spoke aloud. They had chased several possible leads for escape from the city. None of which had panned out. Obvious given their current position. Most of the time, the promised evac never showed up for whatever reason. Virgil secretly believed that Blackshield talked about extraction half the time to keep up the illusion they were still trying. Weighing out the risks, it seemed a solid chance.

He looked to Jones, then to Sybil. He saw the way their faith leaned on his shoulders. He also saw their hope. They trusted his instincts, his survival reflex.

"Let's go for it."

*****

Once again Virgil and his companions were clad in powered exo armor. Once again they trudged down the darkened streets of a dead city. And they walked primed for war. If not for his romp with Sybil, Virgil probably would not have gotten any kind of quality sleep. The promise of escape meant something now that he had something more to live for. Thoughts of life outside brought the living hell that was the city into sharp contrast. The kind he tried to avoid because it was distracting.

All three were tense because they dared to hope.

The crossing from their last camp in the office building had been extraordinarily uneventful. The city was far too quiet. There should have been two hive territories between them and Hills park. There should have been roving bands. Picket groups. Yet there were no infected. Not a single shambler, corpse-walker, Stalker, or any other strange creature. The avenues were barren of all life. Every step convinced Virgil to turn the other way. The tiny voice seated between reason and fear told him to run and abandon such a foolish venture. Yet pressed on he did. Because he did, so too did Sybil and Jones.

Because he had to. Because they had to. Because they followed him. And they followed him to doom. There was no way to know for sure... But that was just a lie Virgil convinced himself of.

As they approached the park, the trio saw signs that they were not the first ones there. A half-hour out from the VIP's arrival, the armored soldiers came upon forty others that were already there. Two squads were Blackshield. Clad in bite-proof and ballistic body armor that was tissue paper compared to the exos, they nonetheless possessed the training and equipment to hold their own against the infection. Equipped with specialized weapons that were designed to rip through infected. The standard battle rifle the Blackshield operatives was chambered in twelve point seven wide by sixty millimeter long cartridges. They did not have the punch that a full-throated fifty caliber machine gun round had, but a single shot from a Blackshield rifle could bring down even a Stalker with concentrated fire.

That was not even scratching the surface of the arsenal Blackshield boasted. Several operatives toted double drum fed assault shotguns. Even though the automatics spent the grossly common twelve gauge, Blackshield loaded their shells with flechettes. Turning the already potent classic into a flesh liquefying death dealer. The other Blackshield group was a mishmash of heavy weapons troopers. Normally distributed, the merry band toted forty-millimeter rotary grenade launchers, portable missile launchers, and squad support machine guns.

The last, and largest group were marines. Only the fittest, smartest, and quickest had survived the crucible of the city. Many sported scavenged Blackshield weapons. They were the most ragged and weighted down. The Blackshield soldiers maintained an air of aloof arrogance. Derision for those who stooped to a certain level. Jones and Sybil had slowly abandoned such qualms because of their time with Virgil. Two seal team operators stood apart from the rest, somehow giving off an air of deadliness that even the Blackshield footsloggers in all their finery could not muster.

Even though the marines and the Blackshield troops regarded each other warily, everyone stopped and stared as several metric tons of metal walked towards them. Many of the disparate crew were reconstructing old sandbag fortifications and paused with cloth in hand. One Blackshield, and one marine broke off. The crocodile with the assault shotgun and armadillo wielding a US military carbine exchanged glances.

"Captain, what's your status?" The croc was clearly addressing Virgil. It had happened before and served him well. It was the reason he had never bothered to etch the insignia off his armor. He probably should have, but never pretended to be what he was not. Jones had no problem with Virgil speaking for the group, even to fellow Blackshield. And Sybil just did not speak. At first, the specialist was a little surprised to see the crocodile's face. Normally the ground forces of the military organization wore concealing gas-masks integrated with their helmets. With the airborne transmission threat posed by the infection passed however, the operative was willing to risk the chance of contagion for a better field of vision.

"Specialist Virgil Parsons with the United States National Guard, mobile response unit." Virgil spoke through external speakers in his helmet. The crocodile smacked his face in exasperation and the marine chuckled. "Don't worry, we'll play our part."

"Alright, Specialist. Your squad has the exos so you're quick response to put pressure where we need it."

"So long as me and mine have a spot on the Blackbirds, we've got your backs. Any sign of the VIP yet?"

"We got confirmation a few minutes ago. He and his escort are on their way from a fortified bunker. They should be coming up there." The soldier raised his arm and pointed to a building right across from the park.

"What about infected?"

Once again, the Blackshield operative and the marine looked to one another.

"You've noticed too?" The armadillo spoke for the first time.

"Hard not to. We haven't seen a single shambler since this morning."

"Same here. I don't know about this Blackshield... fellow. But I don't like it." The armadillo looked around with suspicion.

"Neither do I. I have a feeling this is gonna hit the fan fast. Do either of you have any mines?" Virgil rolled his armored shoulders tensely.

The crocodile answered. "Some of my troopers do. Claymores mostly. You think we'll need them?"

"Soon as the VIP is behind our kill boxes, set all you have." The operative hesitated. "Think of it this way; if we don't need them, then we'll be out of the city, and you won't have to worry about having wasted 'em." The crocodile nodded, and with one more glance, the two footsloggers marched away to make their preparations. A small part of Virgil's mind could not help but notice that from behind, the two did not appear so different. They wore packs and the grime of the city had dulled both of them to a dingy grey.

Being surrounded by so much friendly firepower did go a long way to setting Virgil's mind at ease. His squad, for he could not think of the two Blackshield exo drivers as anything other than his, prowled around the barricades. They gave assistance moving heavy obstacles out of the way to create larger fields of fire. Because the park was tucked up against a huge set of apartments, there were only three directions of approach. Hills park was a fair sized chunk of earth among the steel and concrete of the city. A few sparse trees, two rolling rises that made the hills, and decorative fence to further segregate it from the metropolis. A place where a city bound mind could pretend it was out in nature. It was more than large and open enough for good pilots to land three Blackbirds. The trees were bare, and the grass dead in the cold winter months.

The surviving soldiers seemed to take heart in the presence of the powered exoskeletal armor among them. Virgil had sometimes wondered how many of them had actually been made for he had not seen any other functioning units since Jones and his ill-fated companions. He had seen plenty of wrecked exos. For a fearful moment he saw Sybil's face on the disemboweled pilot he had pulled out of his own salvaged armor. Through force of will he pushed the image away.

Any lingering dread was banished when someone called out friendlies approaching. Everyone turned and looked to the skyscraper across the street. A dozen Blackshield guards with rifles ready emerged first, taking up covering positions out in the road. Then the VIP came, furtively glancing around before making his way briskly through the lane opened by the soldiers. Once he was safely behind the barricades of Hills park, his escort followed suit and stayed close to their charge. The crocodile greeted the scientist. Virgil was curious and moved up with the Blackshield survivor.

"The Blackbirds should be coming in now that they've received word you're in position, sir."

"Good. Excellent. We'll all get out of here soon. Yes." The VIP was a hound named Nickelson who wrung his hands and shivered beneath his thick jacket.

Almost as waiting for that very proclamation, the howling started.

Every gun in the park snapped up to cover the open areas around the park. Soldiers took position behind sandbags or fence lines. Virgil rejoined Jones and Sybil near the center of the fortifications to better react and oversee the situation. The VIP cowered behind his personal guards and began to mutter to himself. Slowly the howling grew in volume. It seemed to rise from the city itself. The infernal wailing filled Virgil with dread and regret. He had dragged his friends into this mess. He could only hope that they would survive his mistake for they were committed to it now.

"Contact!" Came the inevitable shout. The infected came, shambling and jogging towards the soldiers en masse. They came in their hundreds as the diseased city vomited forth a tide of rotting flesh.

First the battle rifles opened up at range. The soldiers were all survivors. Disciplined and hardened. They did not fire wildly into the mass of encroaching bodies. On single shot they picked their targets and pulled their triggers steadily. It combined into a steady yet relentless fusillade as heads and torsos were pulped by the powerful twelve-point-seven rifles. Whole ranks fell and were trampled. Yet still the hordes came on.

A few of the heavy troopers fired grenades into the thickest pockets. Explosives ripped through unprotected meat, blasting limbs free from bodies and knocking down swathes with concussive force. The marines with their carbines joined in, cutting down even more. Yet still the hordes came on. Orders were shouted and targets called out. Snippets of commands filtered through the gunshots and the roars. It all added to the anarchy.

When the rampaging mob came within fifty yards, the assault shotgunners added their weight of fire to the onslaught. The mob which had steadily been grinding its way forward through the rain of bullets was stopped by walls of flechettes. Any infected which got into the effective range of the shotguns was blown into chunks by high velocity metal. The howls and the thunder of the volleying guns fought for volume. For several gory minutes the infected threw themselves mindlessly into the teeth of the soldier's fire. Bodies began to pile up, drifting mounds that the ones behind had to scramble over.

The corpse walkers began throwing themselves against the center. Even with disciplined firepower, the line began to buckle. Step by bloody step, the infected came closer.

"Jones! Center!" Virgil and his coterie had held back until then. And Sybil still did, for her weapon was wasted on the hordes. But at his word, he and the goat marched forward. Their exos gave them stature enough to easily have open lanes of fire into the attacking bodies. They raised their own guns.

Virgil's was a wicked tool. A thing of hard lines and deadly angles. From stock to tip, it was a nearly uninterrupted path. Only the integrated red dot reflex sight and the forward sights broke the straight path. A heavy bolt chambered a round from the huge drum magazine. Really though, for its toughened and condensed package, the rifle was still simply a streamlined version of the tried and tested true fifty caliber machine gun. Because of that power, the gun could blast through even the toughened bodies of the infected with ease. A whole platoon of exos equipped with such heavy mobile firepower could cut a swathe through even the most heavily infested zones of the city.

Its design lent a certain sturdiness to it. The gun had little in the way of recoil reduction, making the whole package much more compact. Not that it was necessary. For an unmodified soldier, the fifty caliber gun would have been impossible to fire. Or even lift for that matter. With the hugely augmented strength of an exo, the rifle had an incredibly stable firing platform. Virgil could keep his aim rock steady even through sustained automatic fire. Surely the compact nature of the design meant sacrifices in terms of accuracy, but Virgil had yet to detect anything noticeable. Then again, with such a solid mount and muzzle velocity of the round itself, the drop in long range performance was pointless in such a close in urban combat zone.

Jones though, carried the minigun. A mark four Avenger to be precise. It spat seven-six-two millimeter Nato rounds at close to five-thousand rounds a minute. It took a few seconds for the eight rotary barrels to get up to speed but that was all. And again, the power of the armor allowed it to be hefted without difficulty. Even though an exo driver wielded the massive firearm, he still had to fire it from the hip. This was no real issue though because the gun had linked targeting information with his helmet. A huge belt connected it to a special ammo pack mounted on his lower back.

The two soldiers stepped up to the firing line and with the infected twenty yards out, opened up. First the rumbling chatter of Virgil's rifle, then the whining purr of Jones' Avenger. An unending stream of bullets peeled flesh and shattered bone. The horde came on and was beaten back. Bodies melted like leaves in a strong breeze. They both panned their weapons back and forth as they fired. Virgil's gun was a raging beast contained in his armored hands. He felt the feedback through his arms and shoulder. Walkers before him formed a single mass which reached with pustule infested appendages. When the Avenger was up to speed and Jones joined him, they were able to clear away hundreds of bodies in literal seconds.

Together they marched forward and to either side. With their might, they were able to ease the pressure from their brothers-in-arms. The scent of gunpowder and the stink of entrails was almost overwhelming. Were it not for the noise dampeners built into his helmet, Virgil would have been deaf from the cacophony. The muzzle flash from the guns illuminated faces, contorted from infection. In a frighteningly short amount of time, Virgil's bolt closed on an empty chamber. Heart surging, he triggered the magazine release. Before the empty drum had hit the pavement, he had slapped a new one home. He pulled the bolt and began his red harvest again. Smoking brass fell in a metal rain from the two exos. Spent casings collected in drifts around mechanized feet.

Time dragged on in a wretched blur. Soldiers operated purely on instinct. They relied on what had kept them alive in the city to see them through the battle. Minute by gore soaked minute piled on.

All at once, the pressure eased. Just as quickly as the hordes had fallen on them the masses seemed to evaporate away. Huge piles of smoking, bullet hole ridden corpses littered the streets around the park. A few had managed to reach their lines, but had been repulsed. Infected had fallen in their thousands. Only twelve minutes had gone by. Both Virgil and Jones were shaking. But they knew they could not rest. It did not matter how tired they were. The exo would move as quickly as they could react. Steel did not tire. Their guns did not rest. Fusion did not slumber.

Many shamblers still moaned. But there was a noise below that. A hint of stranger bodies among the slower walkers.

"Stalkers! Stalker contact!" Virgil warned. From his exo he had a better field of view. He and Jones spotted the danger before the marines or Blackshield operatives could. They both looked back and saw Sybil raise her weapon for the first time.

Sybil's rifle was a good deal more elegant and sophisticated than anything else on the battlefield. With a barrel length that made it much more cumbersome than either Jones' or Virgil's gun, it nevertheless had a more streamlined body. To call it a cannon though would be an insult. In the right hands, namely Sybil's, it was an artist's brush. With power more appropriate to gunships, the gun fired twenty-five millimeter high explosive shells. Short of a tank or stinger missile, it was the only thing that could reliably drop a Stalker. Like the Avenger, her rifle had a protected ammo belt to her hip.

The she-wolf started firing rapidly and did not stop. Virgil knew from experience that every time she fired, it was a kill-shot. He turned and picked out the sneaking advance of the Stalkers. He watched one of the massive beasts emerge from over a mound of infected only to have its head blown to gory chunks by Sybil's precision shooting. The shell exploded in the depths of the Stalker's hardened skull, decapitating the creature with extreme prejudice. Limp, the body slumped over the corpse mound. Several troopers with missile launchers lighted off their arms. Guided projectiles shrieked into the attackers. Stalkers were not like infected though. A feral intelligence glittered in their baleful eyes. And they were very difficult to kill. A marine could empty mag after mag from their carbine and still the creatures not slow.

Virgil and Jones gunned down their fair share of lingering infected and the Stalkers trying to creep through the mess. Yet the pressure was on, and he began to hear calls of low ammo. Claymore mines went off in quick succession as the noose tightened. The surviving soldiers had expended too much of their munitions against the zombies. Then, the guardsmen heard a sound that bolstered his very soul up from despair. He looked up and saw three Blackbird vertical take-off crafts. Smooth, sleek, and designed for extreme speed and precision in close quarters, their engines were loud and strong. However, piercing through the ringing melody of salvation of VTOL blades were the screams of three of the Blackshield bodyguards as a Stalker cleaved through them.

The aberration had leaped up and over the sandbag lines. Marines and hardened Blackshield leapt out of the path of the half-ton of muscle. Clearly the soldiers who had accompanied the VIP did not react quickly enough. Their expensive armor served them for naught when it came to the claws and fangs of a Stalker. It only had enough time to swipe twice and bite once before two assault shotguns turned it into pulp. Still, it was enough time to turn the trio of guards into chunks of meat loosely held together by broken armor. And there were more Stalkers coming than could be brought down.

Glancing up at the coming evac, then to his friends, Virgil came to a decision. They needed something to buy them time.

"Jones! I need cover. Gonna light this shit up." Virgil holstered his rifle and took off at a run towards the far right flank where the troops anchoring the line had started to fall back from Stalker assault.

"Aw shit. Hold on!" Cried Jones as he disengaged and turned to follow the brash young wolf. While he ran, the lupine encased in powered armor carefully broke off the safety nozzle and ignited the emergency torch slung under his left arm. He remembered saying that he would either get a few seconds of flame, or it would explode. Leaping over the final barricade, he lifted his arm and triggered the torch. A stream of Avenger fire arced over his shoulder and took out a Stalker climbing up a building within pouncing distance. Sending a silent thanks back, Virgil's eyes widened as a twenty foot tongue of flame leapt out from under his arm.

Roaring fire vibrated with enough strength for Virgil to feel it all the way through his sensor suit. He aimed the torrent at the massive mound of Infected. Soon flesh was blackened with the extreme heat. Tattered clothes and bloated flesh caught fire as fat and disease accelerated the flame. Virgil kept moving, sidestepping into a stride that brought him in a steady circuit around the park. He kept the belching flames aimed into the thickest concentration of corpses. He had to duck once as a Stalker leapt to take his head off but he could not slow and only hoped that his friends or comrades would deal with it. They needed the cover afforded by the flame if they expected to make it out alive. Like a streaking demon, he left a massive pyre wall in his wake.

Every step he took he feared his flames would sputter out. Yet whatever substance they put as fuel in the cutting torch, it lasted for his whole trip. Large piles of the ash-ridden snow became part of a large grey slurry. Jones trotted to a halt near the center, staring in awe at the destruction. Over the whoosh of crackling flame could be heard the cheers of the surviving soldiers. He saw the Stalkers shrinking away from the heat. But the goat saw something else through the flame. A figure made blurry from the distorted haze of burning bodies. He called out, but Virgil could not hear.

As the wolf reached the end of his path, he tried to release the trigger on the torch, but the flames kept sheeting out. Thinking quickly he wedged an armored finger under the canister, carefully loosened it and flicked the burning capsule as far as his artificial muscles could. Which was actually quite a ways. He made a few fearful steps back as it turned, the thing nearly turning its breath on him. Beyond the wall of bodies the torch's flame reached back into the fuel reserve without the safety nozzle. A massive fireball was visible even past the burning barrier. The fingertips of his left gauntlet glowed cherry red. Yet he felt not the burn. With the makeshift flamethrower's vibrations no longer distorting his hearing, Jones' voice broke through.

"-res! It's Ares!" Jones shouted, pointing desperately at the approaching terror. "Command! Do you read? I have confirmed sighting of target Ares! He's here. He's after Doctor Nickelson. We are at evac point delta with Ares in sight. Repeat, evac point delta. Target Ares in sight." Virgil listened to his comrade make the call. Jones was the only one that actually had the presence of mind to call it in. The others soldiers were all pointing and shouting about something else. Something above. The guardsmen felt a sudden terror pierce through his steel and on reflex glanced up as the Blackbirds made their final approach.

Like a fundamental force at work, Virgil's gaze was drawn upwards past the hovering birds where the encrusted viral growth had taken hold of a skyscraper. Twisting lines of calcified tendrils and a throbbing red like raw meat encrusted two-thirds of the building from foundation to roof. Like a scaffold for a climbing vine, The construct of steel served as a vector for the creeping infection just as well as flesh. Malignant as it was, the growth should have been mostly an inert thing. Yet when Virgil looked, it appeared as though the whole thing was roiling. With direct attention, his perception narrowed and he realized that only a chunk of the mass was moving. Indeed the suddenly locomotive mass was peeling itself away from the skyscraper. As more separated, the greater shape of the thing emerging became clearer.

"Holy shit." Virgil heard muttered. Briefly he wondered who had uttered the curse until he realized it had been himself.

Like an avalanche given free rein to get up and walk around, a dragon unfolded its wings and turned its head towards the Blackbirds. It was the same coloration as the dull calcified bon-like growth and had a wingspan easily over a hundred feet. Its chest was broad and left a gap where it had been entrenched in the building. It was more a wyvern than anything, lacking front legs. Its wings had been wrapped around the structure, secured by the thick trio hooks at the finger joint. With a push from its back legs, the wyvern launched itself at the Blackbirds with its wings half-furled.

A more literal avalanche of cement and steel girders fell upon the street below. A few infected were caught in the debris and pulped for their trouble. Trailing chunks of masonry, the drake flapped twice for altitude then rocketed downwards. The Blackbird pilots never knew what hit them. Virgil watched as the dragon opened its wings and its jaws. From deep within its gullet, a glow like a furnace rose and hell itself emerged from between arm-length teeth. One hundred feet of fiery napalm breath. The fury of the attack made Virgil's torch run look like a matchstick against a wildfire. One Blackbird was entirely engulfed by the fire. It emerged from the torrent with its engines choked and fuselage torched. The whole craft dropped like a stone into a corner of the park.

Like a hawk in a dive, the monstrous biomorph did not slow after its sweeping breath attack. The wyvern struck out with one claw, ripping off the second Blackbird's tail. Going helplessly into a spin, the craft tipped sideways and impacted a building. Even its sturdy armor could not withstand the impact and it exploded ferociously, sending down a deadly rain of shattered glass as the shockwave broke hundreds of windows. Soldiers ran for cover as torso sized chunks of razor sharp glass impacted all around. Part of the craft sagged treacherously out of the hole ripped into the skyscraper.

Finally, the dragon crashed its full weight into the final bird. The VTOL was almost above the landing position, making its way down when the wyvern slammed into it. Had the Blackbird been a real creature, its back would have been broken. As it was, the main line of the craft was buckled at nearly a thirty degree angle. The engines cut out instantly.

Virgil saw the danger. Saw where it was going to crash just inside the ring of fire along the center street. Right where Jones was standing.

"Jones! Jones, lo-" Was all he was able to say before his friend was crushed instantly beneath their broken salvation and the wyvern dredged from the deepest pits of the abyss. One moment he was there, the next, gone. And just as quickly, so was the wyvern. It mantled its wings over the conquered prey and roared with enough volume to shake the firmament before taking off. Almost as quickly as it had come, the dragon disappeared down a street on leathery wings.

Virgil was close enough to the impact that even with his armor, he was knocked off his digigrade feet with the roar ringing in his ears. Many were not so lucky. Collateral damage from the dragon's assault had claimed nearly a third of the surviving defenders. Those that were still alive were shell-shocked. The beast had struck like a force of nature. A few had enough presence of mind to scavenge ammo from the dead. Slammed against the pavement though he was, Virgil arose bruised but otherwise intact. Looking again at the wreckage, he could not deny the truth. Jones was gone, and so was the hope of this enterprise ending in success. The city had won again, eroding away more of the living from its streets.

Concern shot through the guardsmen and he turned to look at Sybil. The exo clad Blackshield operative said nothing. Just as she usually did. She still held the center. Still held the line as her code demanded. He noticed her staring at the broken Blackbird. Though she did not speak, her stance spoke volumes. She held her gun low and her shoulders were slumped. It looked as though she was ready to topple over with the crushing burden of despair and Virgil could not blame her. There was nothing left for them. Only to cut their losses and live to fight another day. The wolf looked behind Sybil to where doctor Nickelson still gawped at where the wyvern had brought down his promised evac. His few remaining guards were clearly beginning to have second thoughts about their assignment.

However, everything was just a prelude. An opening fanfare to ready the stage. All so that the soldiers would be weakened, their munitions spent against the chaff, and their means of escape brought to ruin. All because the good doctor decided to risk fleeing the city. With destruction as his cue, Ares took his place front and center.

Clad in chitinous armor the color of blackened rust, or ancient dried blood, he walked along the mangled body of the Blackbird until he stood just behind the shattered cockpit. A Corinthian style helmet hid his features as his head slowly turned to survey the battlefield. Fitting, given the Greek name. A crimson plume stood proud and tall, ostentatious perhaps. When that fearsome crested gaze passed over him, Virgil felt naked as a babe. Without any sign of being encumbered, he carried a long-handled, single-bladed battle axe. The contoured handle accommodated one or both hands. In the other, the figure had a round shield. Even though in stature, he could not measure up to a Stalker, or even an exo, authority that spoke deep into the animal side of Virgil's mind exuded from the figure like a mantle.

"Oh god. Ares." He whispered, eyes going wide. Virgil spoke in reverence and had the inexplicable urge to bend a knee and pray so this god-like thing would deign to spare him. The figure commanded a fear that threatened to cease the very beating of his heart. Talons seemed to wrap around his life-giving muscle and squeezed, constricting his soul along with it. The wyvern had evoked awe, like that of a deep ocean creature. This thing though, invoked the terror prey felt in the presence of the apex predator. No one even thought to shoot at the terrible godling, so freezing was that aura. Bullets and fire likely posed as much a threat to such a creature as kitchen knives did to a battle tank. Hardened marines and Blackshield, all could simply wait and see what Ares would do.

At an unspoken signal, creatures passed through the flame. At first glance they seemed like Stalkers. If Stalkers had found a way to mate with minotaurs. The creatures had dark hide, stood upright. Elongated muzzles filled with teeth and tall horns gave their silhouettes against the flame that much more demonic a presence. Each stood easily twelve feet tall and looked like they could challenge charging rhinos. Puffs of crystalized water exuded from their mouths as hot breath hit cold. Musculature rippled with their panting. Claws just as long and deadly as a Stalker's hung from arms that were as thick as Virgil's torso. The guardsmen backed away slowly from the pyre line, trying to make his way towards Sybil. Maybe the two of them could still escape.

The leader of the host, for clearly the creatures paid deference to Ares, raised his axe and pointed with it. The invisible line of indication went above Sybil into the knot of bodyguards. Their front ranks tightened around the cowering Nickelson. Ares seemed almost seemed to expect them to hand over the scientist in exchange for their lives. Perhaps if it had furthered Blackshield's aim, they might have. But the elite were made of sterner stuff than that. Surprising the survivors, the godling simply shrugged and slammed the flat of his axe against his shield. It was an imperious gesture and the walking bioweapons obeyed with slavering intensity.

Every viral born beast converged on the last survivors.

All who could still fire a weapon met the charge. Yet the beasts weathered the storm of lead. Although ponderous at first, they gained speed as they lumbered forward. The very earth shook with their steps. Even among such a sight, Ares stood out. He leapt from the top of the Blackbird and took off at a run the instant his greaves hit ground. When he moved it was with the speed of red lightning. And he was aimed straight towards Sybil. Virgil shouted yet another warning to companion in mortal peril. The guardsmen saw the oncoming beasts and willed his exo into motion, pushing hydraulic muscles to their maximum.

As he ran, Virgil had to gun down two of the beasts who came after him. Even his heavy machine gun had some difficulty chewing the biomorphs apart. Up close they were even more hideous. Although more uniform than regular infected, they still bore strange mutation. Many of the muscle groups had clearly grown out of control, leading to strangely disproportionate pieces. Off center pectorals, hideously elongated arms, bulging eye sockets, and other imperfections. Even so, a few dozen fifty caliber rounds cut even them down. Other survivors were not so lucky. The beasts leapt easily over obstacles and massacred the hardened soldiers. Claws pulverized skulls and ribcages. Jaws bit down on limbs and heads.

Sybil showed her skill, and the steel in her nerve when she met the attacker with the business end of her rifle. She took aim the instant he had landed and got off three shots. Even though her target was small, her aim was true. The shells had enough punch and precision that Virgil dared hope that his Valkyrie was a match for this war god. This hope was dashed in an instant when the dreadful lord took the shells on his shield. The explosive impacts left fresh scorch marks on the bony plate but did nothing to turn aside his charge.

Then he was inside Sybil's guard.

With his shield, Ares bashed, then swung. knocking aside her rifle. The bash slammed the lip of the shield against her helmet. The glancing blow was enough to crush the left side inward, visor shattered. The swing knocked aside her rifle, tearing the weapon out of her powered gauntlets. Off-balance, her left side was vulnerable. Virgil saw it all played out in adrenaline fueled fight or flight slow motion. Ares brought his axe high and down. The blade of the weapons sheared through exo armor like it was nothing. Steel, artificial muscle, then through real flesh, real bone, then through armor again. Yet he did not stop. With the same swing he kept going, again cutting into fusion-reinforced plate. This time it was even thicker leg armor. It did no good.

Once he had disabled his adversary, Ares halted the axe before it could hit earth and darted around the falling exo. In only a single swing he had cut through Sybil's left arm at the bicep and her left leg at the thigh. Thousands of pounds of exo toppled over, its pilot knocked out. Without a glance, Ares kept on towards Nickelson and the bodyguards. Sybil had not even been a threat, just an obstacle to be casually swept aside.

When Virgil reached his fallen comrade's side, he knew he only had a few moments while everyone and everything were busy trying to kill each other. He slung his weapon over a shoulder and bent down. Spilled cans of food and other supplies lay scattered where packs had been cut open or crushed. Sybil's blood flowed steadily to mingle with all the rest, staining the park's already dead grass further. With quick movements, Virgil crushed the ends of Sybil's armor in around her severed limbs. Hopefully it would be enough to act as an emergency tourniquet. He heaved the massive weight up and over his shoulder, bearing the brunt of her exo on his own fusion housing.

Although his powered armor groaned under the load, he took off at a sprint that could not be matched. Without looking back, Virgil ran. He cared not that he was abandoning the rest to die. In his mind, the moment the last Blackbird had crashed, they were already dead. Remorse did not figure into survival. Sybil though, had one last, fleeting glimpse of light before shock dragged her back down. Through one eye, she watched Ares claim victory.

She saw Ares standing among the massacred remains of Nickelson's Blackshield entourage. His axe was buried head first into the ground and the walking war engine had the hound by the neck, lifted off the ground with one hand. The doctor beat against the strangling limb and kicked out vainly. Ares toyed with his prey for a few moments. His helmet bobbed slightly, as though he was imparting one last secret in the doctor's dying moments. Sybil could only hear the rushing of her own blood. All around his beasts did their butchery, making the scene somehow peaceful amid the slaughter. Seemingly satisfied, Ares squeezed, fingers ripping through the hound's throat with ease. Twitching, the doctor fell to the blood-soaked earth and Sybil's remaining sight faded.

Urged on by terror and rage, Virgil vaulted the line of burning corpses and took off at full tilt down the nearest street.

Then something hit him from behind with enough strength to knock him over. His vision blurred and shadows loomed above. They converged on him, and Virgil knew no more.

*****

An unknown time later, Virgil awoke in a field hospital. He stared at the canvas ceiling in shock.

The bed was soft, the sheets warm, and the lights turned low.

More than that though, was the silence. There was the distant sound of activity, but it was faint.

No roaring beasts, no burning bodies or dying screams. Tearing metal or flesh hitting flesh.

Just quiet.

Until the steady beep of a heart monitor intruded. He looked to his left. There was another bed next to his. This occupant was known to him. With her entire left side covered in bandages, his lover lay crippled. Her sensor suit had been mostly cut away to tend her injuries. Numerous tubes were stuck in her veins, intravenously fed her fluid, blood, and various drugs to help keep her alive. Her heart beat was so low, Virgil could almost count the time between beeps from the monitor.

"No... God, Sybil." Virgil whispered. Rising unsteadily, he stumbled over to her side. With only his sensor suit, he felt weak. He reached out a paw to touch her right cheek. Even asleep, she seemed distressed. The whole left side of her face was bandaged, and he feared what damage would be there. Even so, he still found her beautiful. Tears began to well up within him and he could not stop them. He did not know how they were still alive, but he did not want to believe it was a dream.

A nurse came in through the flaps in the tent and cleared her throat to get his attention.

"Good, you're awake." She said. "You're friend's going to need to be kept under for a while, I'm afraid. She'll live, but it's going to be a long road to recovery. Her body took a rather nasty shock and I'm sorry I wasn't able to save her left eye but there was no damage to the brain. Come with me, Specialist Parsons, we need to talk about some things."

Curious about the nurse's strange words he turned to look at her, but only caught the moving flap of the tent and the sounds of heavy activity outside before near-silence closed it again. Reluctantly, he left Sybil's side and exited the tent. And into a new nightmare. Biomorphs of a truly stunning variety hustled around a huge subterranean cavern. The whole space was bustling with a veritable menagerie of alien creatures. Some huge, some large, some medium, some small. But all moved with purpose, with a driving will. So shocked, Virgil did not know how to react and simply stood frozen, waiting for them all to turn and devour him.

Yet they did not. He watched one pass not ten feet from him and spare him not a glance. Following it, his vision found a table set up on the hard cement floor with two chairs. One of which was occupied. He openly stared at the female figure nonchalantly sitting among the chaos.

It was Athena. Target Athena. Priority interest number two. Drinking steaming tea from a tin mug. She was the very image of a warrior at rest. She did not wear a helmet and she reclined in her seat as she drank. Similar armor adorned her every inch much the same as it had Ares. And although they shared a red color, hers was stripes. The primary coloration was white. A thing her various biomorphs shared, Virgil noticed. She was a lizard by the looks of her face and long tail, though he could not determine species. Regal was putting it mildly.

"You... You did this! You unleashed the virus on city. You caused all this death!" Virgil shouted with accusation. He was dead anyway, and might as well speak his mind. A large creature holding what appeared to be a cannon made of flesh and sinew stood nearby and raised its gun at Virgil's shout. Athena held up and hand to forestall her protector and set down her tin mug.

"Please, sit down." She offered, but he remained standing. The woman sighed heavily. "Think for a moment, Specialist Parsons. Do I you really think I would do this to myself voluntarily? Unlike Ares, I was not born to this role. I was just a citizen at the wrong place at the wrong time. No, Blackshield made the virus. Blackshield released the virus. Due to a certain individual's... tampering. This," She patted her chest to indicate the armor. "Became attached to me, they sent Ares to track me down. After they experimented on me, Ares and I had a heart to heart and decided our interests were best served elsewhere.

"They released the virus on the city to test it, and cover up their attempts to recapture he and I. They wanted to make sure it worked as advertised before they sold it to the real terrorists. Not that they could afford it. No, probably Russia, China, or maybe a few other areas of the world where small groups control enough wealth and are stupid enough to believe that biological devastation is the proper route to power."

"No. No. They told me that it was developed by the United States. That because you two got loose you brought the virus with you!"

"Did a member of Blackshield tell you that?" Virgil was silent, so she took that as a yes. "They probably believed that to be the truth themselves. Only those in the highest echelons of power knew what Blackshield was working on. They just had to throw out a red herring or two, point some fingers, and no one is the wiser."

"Why? Why would they? And why should I believe you?"

"You really need to hear it said, don't you? Because of money. Because of power. Greed. Simple as that. There is no liberation army seeking to rid the world of the sins of capitalist America. Please, if ideals like that were powerful enough to push through all the funding necessary for research into this virus, the world would be a much different place. Often the greatest undertakings are fueled by the basest desires.

"And finally, and I think this is the important part, if I really were all they said, we would not be having this conversation. I did save you and your friend, after all. I've kept tabs on Ares. I watched what you two did. At first I was going to interrogate you. But when I found out you weren't Blackshield, I decided to give you a chance."

Even though he tried, he could not refute the last bit. Virgil plopped down into his seat with a profound sense of defeat. He put a paw to his head, trying to grasp the whole situation. There was no way he could believe her. And yet everything she said made a sickening kind of sense.

"Would you like some tea, Mister Parsons?" She offered casually.

"Uhh... sure... Miss Athena." The absurdity of the situation made him use the code name in lieu of anything else. It was simply the first thing that came to mind. She poured the remaining liquid from the simple metal pot into a second cup and handed it to him. He nearly dropped it when one of her creatures came up with a fresh pot and set the lightly steaming vessel on the table between them. For some reason he pictured the biomorph wearing an apron. Perhaps wielding a wooden spoon.

"I hope the irony of our designations are not lost." Athena said as she topped off her own. She took a deep breath of the steam with a contented sigh before continuing. "I always enjoyed the Greek pantheon, and I suppose the sibling rivalry between Athena and Ares is somehow a fitting simile to the relationship between he and I. We are not actually related by blood, I'll have you know. The resemblance I admit is striking. But we could not be more different in attitude and method. Much to my remorse."

Another mid-sized biomorph walked respectfully up to the table and spoke to Athena in an indecipherably sibilant tone.

"Yes. We should have plenty of pallets. They should hold up under weight. Get teams of two per pallet. Don't worry about the furniture if it doesn't fold. There should be a few more stacks down one of the junctions if they haven't been used already. Just be sure you keep an eye on the Rippers. Between moves they still tend to wander." The warrior nodded and hustled off, spitting orders to a coterie that was waiting for Athena's word. Virgil wondered how much of the instructions the creature really understood.

The guardsmen took a tentative drink and found the liquid not to be acid, but a mild green tea with some fruity accent. He nearly choked though when a stocky snake-like creature with armored plates and too many teeth slithered up onto the table and wrapped itself around the teapot. It too had white coloration but had those red, iridescent stripes running down its back and sides. Athena, for her part, took a contemplative sip of her tea and absently stroked the head of the creature that had curled around the kettle.

"I apologize for the mess. We're in the middle of moving to more defensible accommodations." She gestured to the hustle of activity going on all around. Virgil almost laughed at someone with such power at their beck and call apologizing for a little untidiness. "I hope you know, Specialist Parsons, I have standing orders to leave army soldiers alone and divert infected if at all possible. I can't say the same about Blackshield for personal reasons. Not that there's much Blackshield left in the city. Ares has come a long way in exterminating them. I will admit, I did lend him a hand in taking out their command structure. Back when we worked together."

"I don't mean to be rude." He said cautiously. The last thing he wanted was to upset someone who could probably snap him in half. "But, where's my exo?" Virgil had learned just how fragile mortal flesh was. Steel was so much stronger. Yet that notion for the first time felt hollow to him, after watching Ares cut Sybil down. "And..." He struggled to muster the words. "Thank you. For saving Sybil."

Athena studied him for a few seconds.

"She means something to you. I watched you save her before you ran. That other exo driver as well. You all fought bravely. The dragons do not know restraint. I'm sure Ares knew there was one resting where the Blackbirds were going to pick up Nickelson. All he had to do was wait."

"How do you know all that?"

"Blackshield never realized just how vulnerable their communication lines are." She chuckled at some hidden humor. "And your exo is over there." She pointed behind him. Virgil turned and saw his exo parked and open past the medical tent. "I knew another exo pilot. He was one of Blackshield's aces. Your piloting reminds me of him." Athena toyed with her empty tin, falling silent for a moment to reminisce.

"How long have you been in the city?" Virgil found himself relaxing. Against all odds. He did not know whether it was the tea, or if Athena's kind voice put him at ease in the abnormal circumstances he found himself in. The soldier had lived day to day, meal to meal since he had entered the city. Nothing had changed.

"Since the before the beginning." She again said, her tone distant. But then she looked up and pierced him with stunning red eyes. "I have an offer for you, Mister Parsons. You are free to accept it. I will not force you. You can leave now with food and supplies and I will care for your friend. Or, you can wait until she has recovered and do as you see fit. But there is another way."

"What is it?"

"There is a base, not too far from here. It's the last marine outpost in the city. They've gathered a lot of surviving families. A general asked for my help in extracting them. I'd like your help. I've cleared the out the hives along the route, but I need to go there in disguise. I need someone to back up my legitimacy."

"A general?" Virgil asked in disbelief. Athena waved her hand as if it were no more than a casual thing.

"He already owed me, but I'm going to need a few of my own aces."

Virgil thought it prudent not to ask what such a being would need aces for.

"Can you guarantee Sybil's safety." He had to have her word before he would consider the offer.

"The civilians and critically wounded will be in the center of the evacuation. My warriors will be running interference the whole way. The only trouble will be the wall. Like I said though, at my word, I can have a hole punched through it big enough to drive an airliner through. I understand your hesitation after what happened earlier. But I promise you, every one of my soldiers are worth two Blackshield exos, and ten of Ares' beasts."

From anyone else, it would have been a most egregious boast. Yet looking into her fierce eyes, Virgil was reminded of his school teachings. Ares was not only deity who commanded armies and met his foe with sword, spear, and shield. Simply being at rest, she made Virgil remember something very important.

Athena was a war god too.

"I'll do it. I'll help." The guardsmen agreed. He held little regard for the lives he might help save. His desires were selfish, yet would serve a selfless end.

"Good. The rendezvous isn't for another eight hours. You should get some rest and make sure you have everything you need. I'll come get you when it's time." Athena made to get up, but Virgil held out a hand to forestall her departure.

"Wait, I'm not that tired and... you said you were here before the beginning. Who were you? What really happened? If you don't mind, I'd like to know."

For the first time in meeting her, Athena smiled. It was a wry twist that reminded Parsons rather painfully of Jones. He resolved to mourn his friend once he and Sybil were out of the city with a witty gravestone somewhere peaceful and a package of Skittles. The godling poured herself another cup of tea, happy to share her story.

"My real name, is Rain. Rain Galatas. I was walking home from college the night it started. I had walked that way a hundred times..."

Author's notes: Porn with Plot? Plot with Porn? I'll let you guys be the judge of that. That's all from me for now, thank you as always, gentle readers. Comments welcome and encouraged!