War Stories: Reunion

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## Summary

Post-Corpus takeover. Talon reunites with the Paw Patrol after 5 years, and learns just how much war can change people...

## Story

The Corpus empire was absolutely colossal. So huge, in fact, that, even at light speed, it took hours to traverse. Add to that the time spent dodging Corpus patrols and circumventing larger Corpus installations, and it was a boring trip one would likely want to sleep through.

But Talon couldn't, something the bloodhound realized with a sigh as he opened his eye. For one thing, there was that bloody loose panel that wouldn't stop clattering. For another, his mind was abuzz with excitement. Why? Because he was meeting the Paw Patrol, old friends- almost family- that he hadn't seen in five years.

Or told that he was even alive. After the helicopter exploded, he decided he'd go back to the military. And he did, for awhile. Then, he was assigned to work with a group of agents from an organization called T.I.C., short for Trussian Intelligence Commission. Talon had shrugged it off at the time. "*Just another paramilitary organization that needs to be watched,*" he'd thought. He chuckled as he tried to piece together what his face must've looked like when the T.I.C. agents pulled out lightsabers. It was literally right out of a Paw Wars movie.

Of course, that was nothing compared to finding out T.I.C. operating off an entirely different **planet**, one even larger than Earth, and that the organization had a full fleet of **spaceships**. Talon laughed. What had been shockingly futuristic back then was now commonplace. Eventually, he was appointed designated liaison between the US Military and Trussia, and became a full T.I.C. agent. While there, he met a pup called Smoky, who, as luck would have it, was the younger brother of Rocky. Talon had decided to keep his true identity a secret from the trainee. He hadn't been quite ready to get back together with the Patrol.

The bloodhound frowned as he remembered what happened next. As it turned out, Ranger and Slash weren't so dead after all, and were now working with a rogue military unit called Reaper's Brigade. Even here life still held shocking surprises for him: the Brigade was headed by his own long-thought-dead brother, Ghost. The very same brother who was now conquering all of reality.

Before he was able to destroy Ghost's organization, Talon was called back to Trussia to deal with another "ghost": The best friend of Trussia's emperor, betrayed and back for revenge. The war against this Rutherford was long and hard, and, from the few news reports Talon could pick up, things weren't much better on Earth either: In addition to Reaper's Brigade, and all manner of other nefarious factions, cities around the globe were being besieged by super villains.

That had been two years ago. Much to Talon's joy, the Paw Patrol had rose to the occasion, incarcerating every villain they caught... just in time for Reaper's Brigade, now reborn as Corpus, to sweep across the world, conquering everything in it's path. Trussia tried to assist, but they were still reeling from the losses inflicted by Rutherford, and against a foe as powerful as Corpus, they could only stand for so long.

And so, here it was, Corpus rapidly expanding throughout the known and unknown universe, with only small pockets of resistance hiding in the shadows.

Talon was a member of one of these cells, collectively known as Stronghold, and had been sent to meet up with members of another cell. Members who just so happened to be old, old friends...

\_\_\_

Talon suddenly awoke as the transport jolted to a stop. He'd somehow managed to fall asleep after all.

The doors to the cabin slid open, and a canine in a black jumpsuit, mask, and goggles entered.

Talon recognized the uniform as belonging to an agent of R.O.P.E., an intelligence organization from Earth before the Rise.

"*Good to know they're still kickin*'," thought the bloodhound. Not that it mattered. Even **if** Stronghold somehow overthrew Corpus- and that was a gigantic "if"- Earth had been depleted of all resources. Even the planet's oceans were either barren wastelands, or so full of industrial by-product that there probably wasn't even any real water left. The only reason anyone still fought against them was on the classic grounds of "Good vs Evil". Unfortunately, having the moral high-ground didn't supply ammo, or troops, or vehicles. It mainly only gave hope, but even that was starting to run out these days.

But, if anyone could find hope in this situation, Talon knew it would be the Patrol.

"Sir?"

Talon shook his head and blinked, breaking his reverie.

"Yeah. Sorry, mate. Still a little tired," he explained to the agent. The agent/pilot nodded, then motioned Talon to follow him.

The agent led Talon through a door, down a ladder, and into a cargo hold, one of the wall's of which was a loading ramp, and the only exit out of the transport other than an airlock.

The masked canine pulled a lever, above which was a piece of duct-tape that had the words "Ramp Control" scribbled on it.

Nothing happened.

The agent tried the lever again.

Still nothing.

The agent quickly pushed aside a small rusted panel next to the lever, revealing a multitude of different colored wires, and some wires that had no cover at all.

"Gimme a second," stated the agent, as he began to fiddle with the machinery.

Talon nodded, a slight feeling of despair creeping upon him. How was Stronghold supposed to win a war against an armada of almost planet-sized war ships if they didn't even have to supplies to create a properly opening door?

"So, I hear you're meeting the Paw Patrol," said the agent, still unplugging and plugging various wires.

"That's true."

The agent sighed slightly, but did not stop his task.

"I should warn you: R.O.P.E. had a great deal of contact with them during the super-villian attacks. I never met any of them personally, but from some old reports I've read..."

Talon looked distraught. "*Had one of them died?"*

"They may not be same people you once knew... There!"

He slid the panel back into place, and pulled the lever. With a loud creak and clank, the ramp began to move, revealing a Corpus warehouse, abandoned since the work for the accompanying factory had been assigned elsewhere.

Talon stepped out from the transport and looked around.

They were inside a massive, transparent, force-field dome, which protected the city inside of it from both the harsh elements of the alien world outside, and any attacks made by Stronghold forces. Had the factory still been operational, security to get past the dome would've necessitated the meeting be held elsewhere, but the Nexus council apparently didn't see any point in diverting extra security to a city that no longer produced.

Talon took a deep breath, smiled, and walked into the warehouse.

\_\_\_

The bloodhound walked through the corridors and down stairways of the multilevel storage facility, finally reaching an observation room. Talon paused, took another deep breath, and put a paw on the plasma pistol holstered on his left leg. One could never be too careful these days.

He pressed the button to open the door, and walked through.

"The soldier lives," a familiar voice said almost instantly.

A german shepherd stepped out of the shadows of the room's back wall. Talon barely recognized the uniform; a blue jumpsuit, with a layer of white and red armor over it, and a helmet similar to Ryder's.

But Talon knew the face. Chase, the Paw Patrol's police pup- a former position, if the uniform was any indication- and perhaps the pup Talon was closest to.

The shepherd and bloodhound embraced each other like long-lost brothers- which they almost were.

"Got yourself a promotion I see," Talon said, gesturing to Chases new suit.

Before the former police pup could answer, a second figure stepped from the shadows.

"A hard earned promotion to leader of the Paw Patrol? Yeah, let's go with that..." finished Ryder, bitterly.

He and Chase scowled at each other for a few seconds, allow Talon to look at Zachary Ryder's new uniform. The boy, now fifteen years old, sported almost exactly the same apparel as his twin brother, Chase "Ranger" Ryder, much to Talon's concern. But where Ranger's uniform was jet-black, Zach's was blinding white.

"Where's all my other mates?" asked Talon, breaking the staring contest between his two friends. He'd expected the room to be full of them, all eagerly awaiting his arrival as they had at the Adventure Bay train station in years past.

"We were sent ahead to scout for Corpus guards," Chase explained, "The others should be along any minute now."

As if on cue, the doors, opposite to the ones Talon had come through, opened up.

"It really is you..." said a gray mix-breed with orange eyes and cowboy-like attire.

"Talon! Gweat to see you again, dude!" shouted a chocolate labrador in orange armor.

"No one ever just... **stays dead** anymore," grumbled a dalmatian in red armor, who was crawling on all fours.

Talon frowned. Marshall had been one of his other close friends, someone he could crack a joke with, and heaven knows the value of humor in situations like this. Now, the Dalmatian sounded... raspy, and worn. That greeting was **especially** out of character, as was scuttling on the ground.

"You okay, Marshall?" he asked.

"DON'T," shouted the spotted dog, stiffening suddenly, "Call. Me. **That**."

Talon felt uneasy as Marshall rose to his feet with jerky movements reminiscent of a horror movie. He spared a glance around the room; Zuma had a look of profound pity, Rocky was sad but clearly resigned, Chase seemed utterly disgusted, and Ryder was coldly indifferent.

"*They may not be the same people you once knew,*" the words came to his head unprompted.

"**Marshall**," the Dalmatian spat the word out, "was a **fool**, good for nothing but falling over this own feet and being the butt of a **joke**," his helmet fully retracted revealing a rictus grin, a missing ear surrounded by scars, and twitching eyes that spoke of madness.

"You can call me Stunt."

"Short for 'stunted growth'," growled Chase.

The Dalmatian that had once been his friend shrieked and swirled, his helmet clasping back together instantly. With two deft and graceful flips, the red-armored hound lunged at the German Shepherd. White energy burst from Chase's armor, and before Talon could blink, the former police-dog had pinned the ex-fire-dog to the floor, the latter grinning in triumph while the former snapped and growled in rage.

"Knock it off, both of you," a familiar, if harsher, feminine voice commanded from the doorway. Talon saw Chase soften and let go immediately, while... **Stunt** bounded up a nearby stack of crates in an instant, and clung there making hissing noises.

Talon turned both his eyes back to the new arrivals. He'd gotten a cybernetic replacement for his missing eye, and didn't need an eyepatch anymore.

A female Cocker-spaniel poodle-mix clad in a pink jumpsuit strolled into the room, flanked by a husky in a more purple uniform, and a massive bulldog in a dull yellow exo-suit; Skye, Tundra, and Rubble.

The massive mutt stomped over to him- foot pads fortunately dampening the loud clanking they were assuredly making- and wrapping up Talon in a loving, if crushing, hug.

"Haha, I missed you too, Rubble," Talon breathed. He was used to lung-crushing hugs from whichever jolly giant happened to be in the room. Rubble let him down and Talon peered past him.

Skye smiled at him, stress line visible across her face. Tundra and Rocky, after a quick hug, had wrapped their arms around each other and were staring back at him. He realized **everyone** was staring back at him.

There was calming silence for a few seconds.

"So..." Zuma casually broke atmosphere, "Let's heaw **youw** stowy fiwst. You bein' dead, and all."

"To sum up... rejoined the military, joined Trussia, fought the Reaper's, Trussia got attacked- which is why I couldn't come help any of you- and after **that**..."

They all slowly nodded their heads.

"...What... happened to you?" Talon asked slowly. He watched their gazes shuffle around the room, Rocky's face hardening, Chase looking down at the floor.

"The whole world went **wonderfully** MAD!" cackled Stunt from above, "First came all these guys with crazy powers, so we fought them for a bit, then Ryder decided he didn't want his strays anymore and he left, **they** decided they didn't want **me** anymore so I left, and somewhere along the line Chase decided to start killing people. It was a beautiful train wreck."

"You just couldn't take the stress," Chase barked, pointing an accusatory finger, before sweeping his arms at the rest of them, "NONE of you could! The Paw Patrol needed to go in a different direction, to keep people safe-"

"Safe?! You put Adventure Bay under martial law!" shouted Rocky.

"You know I hate that word!" came the shout from above. Rocky brushed it off and continued.

"Mandatory checkpoints, curfews, an army of indoctrinated soldiers- oops, I mean Crisis Response Teams- You were no better than White Fence!"

"I'm nothing like them! I did it to keep people safe, not to control them!"

"And you even failed at that too..."

"Maybe if you had **been there**-"

"Says the man who declared us **national fugitives**-"

"ENOUGH!" shouted Talon. He felt wet in his eyes, but he blinked back the tears.

"What happened to you? You used to be... you **all** used to be... so full of hope," he hung his head, "Full of joy..."

"War doesn't allow for those things," said Ryder, breaking his long bout of silence, "You, out of everyone here, should know that."

"...Doesn't mean I want it to be true."

"Fair enough."

More silence.

"Well, not that this hasn't been a **lovely** family reunion," said Stunt, hanging upside down from the ceiling rafters, "But I'm getting terribly **bored**. So, if you don't have anything for us to do..."

Talon sighed.

"Right, mates. Sector Command has an op for us," he held up a small holodisc in his paw, and clicked a button. It flickered on, projecting a blue map of the Corpus space sector they were currently in with a small green dot representing their current location, and a white line between two other Corpus colonies. The map suddenly zoomed in on the line, eventually showing it to be in fact two lines that met at a solar system with a brown dwarf star, and two cold, lifeless planets that were barely held in it's gravity well.

"This is the hyperspace route for a Corpus *Bullion*-Class Mega Freighter, containing, according to Sector Intelligence, several thousand tons of Capital-Ship grade weaponry, construction materials, and a few hundred main battle tanks, to say nothing of the freighter itself. The solar system currently displayed is the only stop the ship will be making to rest its hyperdrive before continuing to a Corpus shipyard, where it's resources will, of course, be unobtainable," Talon turned back to the rest of the intently watching party, "You are the closest cell that can be contacted without too much difficulty."

"I'm game," said the crazed Dalmatian.

"My team is in," replied Rocky, glancing at Chase and Ryder.

"Sure, why not?" the human said at last, throwing his hands in the air.

"No," Chase declared flatly, his eyes meeting Rocky's.

"Are you serious?!" yelled Skye as she crossed her arms, "What, your ego can't even take working with Rocky for **one mission**?"

"...There are seven of you. One more won't make a difference."

"Oh, now you're just being petty," the cockapoo rolled her eyes, "You know full well how much of a force multiplier your speed-suit is."

"You've got plenty of force with Zuma and Tundra already, and that's without factoring Talon back into the mix."

"Sorry, **buddy**," Ryder placed a hand on the German Shepherd's shoulder, causing him to visibly bristle, "But if me and the daredevil knockoff can make it, you can too."

Talon stepped forward, outstretching a paw.

"For old time's sake, mate?"

Chase scowled, then sighed.

"**Fine**."

### \_\_\_

Captain Edwards of the Corpus Federation Industrial Vessel *Backbar* nervously leaned back in his chair. There were a hundred better, safer places on the way to the Benedict Shipyards where he could have stopped to let his hyperspace engines safely cool, but command had **ordered** him to stop here, in this dead, mined out system with nothing but a brown dwarf and two strip-mined worlds.

It was all highly irregular. Quicker, yes, but cutting safety for the sake of efficiency was, in his humble opinion, always a bad idea.

"Still worried sir?" asked his first mate, a Vixen with auburn fur and a crimson coat over her standard issue Corpus gear.

"You know me, Red," he took the cup of coffee she offered him, missing the consternation on her face as he didn't remember her name **yet again**, "I like my routines and schedules. This..." he gestured to a holographic map of the system, "just doesn't sit well-"

"Captain! Sensors are receiving a distress call from a ship just over the second planet! Ship identifies as... CFCV *Turkish Delight*. They were supposed to be making a supply delivery to a colony a few systems over," said the sensor tech.

"Put them through," replied the captain, setting down his coffee and readjusting himself in his chair.

The system map faded away to reveal... a glitchy hologram of a brown retriever.

"Ah, hello? Our scanners are still -kzzt- who is this?"

"Sensors, what the problem?" asked Edwards.

"Their sensors are damaged... most of their ship is actually... looks like they came out of hyperspace too close to the planet, and experienced emergence backlash."

"Sounds -kzzt- right. I Thought we could save some -kzzt- by coming out a Lagrange point. It uh... didn't -kzzt- well. We're out of spare parts as well, and my engineer -kzzt- our food will spoil before he comes up with a workaround."

"Right," replied Edwards, "This is Captain Edwards of the CFIV *Backbar*, responding to your distress call. We'll send over a repair crew in a shuttle."

"Sir, I should remind you all shuttles were offloaded to make room for additional tanks," stated his First Mate.

Edwards folded his hands together, glared at the glitchy hologram, and thought. On the one hand, this whole situation reeked of a trap; as soon as the two ships docked, boarders would pour through, and either they were stupid enough to **think** they could handle the onboard security, or competent enough to **know** they could. Or crazy enough to detonate their own ship once they were within range.

On the other hand, his nerves could be getting the better of him, preventing him from providing aid to a friendly ship with rather important cargo.

"*Better not to risk it*," he thought, "I'm sorry captain... eh?"

"Brandwyn, sir."

"Right. Sorry captain Brandwyn, but our shipment is too valuable to spend time helping you."

"What?!"

"I will personally file a report on this incident upon my delivery, and will return to assist you if I am so able and if you still require it."

"You -kzzt- do this!"

"Terminate transmission."

The retriever disappeared.

"Sir," his first mate seemed quite frustrated, "Are you absolutely sure this is the best idea?"

"...Best? No. Safest? Yes. Now," he spun his chair around and rose to his feet, picking up his coffee in the process, "I will be in my quarters, writing up an incident report. Do not contact that ship further, and fire a warning shot it if it moves closer. As a matter of fact, plot a course away from it."

"So much for routine then," sighed the vixen. Edwards simply nodded and walked towards the door. It opened automatically with a click and a whirr... revealing a visitor Edwards did not ever expect to see.

"You're- you're!" he gasped, as his coffee shattered on the floor.

"Yes, I am. And you, captain, are a credit to Corpus. In any other situation, you would have made the right call. As it is, you're going to need to hail that ship again..."

\_\_\_

"Well," the Paw Patrol looked up from their equipment checks as Agent Brandwyn entered the room, "That could have gone better..."

"I told you it wouldn't work!" complained Stunt, who was lounging on a crate full of what could only generously be called spare parts, "The whole 'pretend to be a damaged enemy ship to lure another enemy ship in with a distress call' is cliched as-"

There was a loud ping from the bridge, and Brandwyn raised an eyebrow before heading back in.

"Captain Brandwyn," said the holographic human, who looked tellingly more jumpy than the last time, "My... first mate has given me a stern reminder of what exactly my duty is as a citizen of Corpus. I... apologize for my earlier actions, and welcome you and your crew aboard my ship until repairs can be completed."

Brandwyn blinked, before hastily replying, "Thank you, captain Edwards! One body, one mind," he finished, rattling off a Corpus mantra.

Edwards nodded, "Together as one," before the transmission cut off.

The brown retriever sighed, before setting his ship on course to the **much** larger Freighter. This part of the plan had, by far, been the trickiest... now all they needed to do was kill the few hundred crew aboard their prize.

"Get ready," he shouted back into the crew compartment, "We're back in the game."

\_\_\_

Aboard every Corpus ship large enough to hold more than 150 people, there was always an extra room labeled "Backup Janitorial Storage". It was always nice, small, and out of the way of any main thoroughfares in the ship. On the rare occasion anyone **did** try to use it, they would always find it locked with a twelve digit passkey no one on the ship seemed to know.

Today, however, there were two canines, a male and female, aboard the CFIV *Backbar* who knew how to get into that room. Presently, they were both staring at the largest screen on a wall full of monitors. The others displayed nothing but the emblem of the NOVA Initiative.

"You know," said the female canine who was sitting at the back of the room, her collection of knives taking up the rest of the bench, "You can't keep sneaking off like this. People will start asking questions."

"I have authority. Let Ghost run his empire. I'm a fighter, not a filing clerk."

"If you have authority to shut them up, why the need for all this secrecy?"

"...I have... a reputation to uphold. It depends on respect... it depends on **fear**. Being seen with you would..."

"Lessen it. I understand. But if my brother's reputation is built on respect and **love**, then surely yours could be as well."

"...Trojan is far more a father to his men than I could ever hope to be..."

"Why?"

"...I was abandoned, tortured until I broke, and then rebuilt to be a merciless destroyer. That doesn't leave room for weaknesses."

"And love is a weakness?"

"...More often than it is a strength..."

"I believe love is sharing in another's strengths and weaknesses."

"..."

A ping sounded on the console, informing them both that the *Turkish Delight* had docked.

"Time to see what we have caught," smiled the male canine.

\_\_\_

Deck Officer Scotch walked down to the second starboard airlock of the *Backbar*, flanked by five troopers on each side.

He didn't understand the need for them. What possible threat could a tiny civilian transport vessel pose to a fully crewed Mega Freighter like this? The captain was just being paranoid.

"*I really need to request a transfer... or maybe get the first mate to make it up to me...*"

He smirked at that thought, before turning his attention to the opening airlock in front of him. Be brought up his data pad, and prepared to issue the standard greeting when the ship's lights suddenly went dark.

"What the-"

Whatever else he might have said was drowned out in gunfire. Four of his supporting troops perished immediately, neither their shields, nor their kinetic deflectors active out of complacency. Scotch himself remained miraculously unscathed.

The other six withered the fire, one of them grabbing the gaping Deck Officer and pushing him behind the makeshift phalanx of energy shields. Another soldier fell to some sort of icy blue blast that overwhelmed his forcefield almost instantly.

"Frag out!" shouted one of the five remaining, hurling a grenade towards the inky abyss of the treacherous ship. However, no sooner had it left his hand than it was struck by a precisely fired bullet, turning it's destructive power against its wielders.

Another soldier's shields flickered and failed, just before the body itself collapsed to a plasma bolt, but Scotch had pulled on his helmet, and readied his weapon to join the fight... just as a micro-missile screamed over their heads, and down the hall behind them. Scotch watched as its engines cut, then as it flipped around with secondary thrusters before accelerating back towards them. No, back towards **him**.

\_\_\_

*THOOM!*

Talon shielded his eyes as the darkened corridor was suddenly illuminated. His cybernetic eye would've adjusted automatically of course, but he figured he would look pretty dumb just covering a single eye.

Once he recovered, he gripping his plasma carbine tightly, preparing to deal with any survivors. His missile had taken out three of their five opponents. Rubble had just crushed another soldier's head underneath an armored boot, while Tundra finished off the last one, her cold cannon reducing his body temperature to absolute zero.

"That was some shot," remarked Ryder, holstering his plasma repeaters.

Talon tapped his cybernetic eye as his back-mounted rocket launcher retracted, "Visually-controlled micro-missiles with up to two minutes of self-propelled flight. Less, if I decide to do some fancy maneuvering."

"Well!" shouted Stunt, emerging from back of the transport and dusting off his paws, "That was easy!"

"You didn't do anything, mate."

"Com-**pletely** irrelevant!"

"Alright, ears up," called Brandwyn, "I'm in their systems, but they'll be rebooting any minute now. There are about 230 remaining crew on this ship, most of them security. We'll need to keep them distracted and off balance if we want to secure this freighter... and our evac."

"Which is where **you'll** be staying?" asked the ex-firedog disdainfully.

"Unless you're volunteering for computer duty."

"Nono, I'm good."

"Okay then. Chase, Marshall, Skye- You're on chaos duty. Cut the power lines, distract patrols- anything to keep them off balance, we can't have them consolidating on us. Rubble, Rocky, Zuma- Get to the main reactor and prep it to blow, if necessary. Ryder, Talon, Tundra- I trust the three of you are capable enough to take the Bridge. Questions? ...Good."

"Paw Patrol is on a roll!" Rubble burbled from inside his armored suit. He was met with general silence.

Skye broke it, gasping is surprise as Chase suddenly scooped her up.

"Care for a lift?"

With a blinding white flash that left a trail down the corridor, they were gone.

\_\_\_

"Put. Me. Down. **Now**," Skye growled.

Chase reluctantly slid to a halt, before gently letting here out of his arms.

"I was just trying to help-"

"**NO**... No, you're trying to rekindle whatever we might have had. **Again**. You need to stop. We're **done**. I believed I made that quite clear all those times I shot at you."

Before Chase could say anything, she engaged her active camouflage, and faded out of existence.

He felt old anger rise up inside him again.

"*Why?! I made all the right choices, did the best I could to save the world, and I still lose **everything**..."*

He clenched his fist, and powered up his suit again. At least he could take out his anger on some goons.

\_\_\_

*THOOM!*

Another Corpus squad was sent sprawling across floor in a blinding explosion.

Well, it **should** have been blinding, but Ryder's sunglasses clearly afforded him some protection, allowing him to gun down a few of the troopers before they fully recovered.

"So Ryder, about your costume change," Talon rolled behind a corner, dodging a few haphazard laser shots, before vaporizing the offender's head with a plasma round.

"...After the Paw Patrol determined to go get themselves killed fighting super villains-" Talon saw the Husky shoot the human a dirty look, "-I decided to go find Ranger."

"By dressing in an all-white copy of his suit?"

"It seemed like a good idea at the time! Besides, it's a custom job. Reflective fabrics and micro-sensor jammers make me look like a hazy cloud to any electronic surveillance. A few laminated plates to ward off lasers if need be... I've sunk too much into it to replace."

The last Corpus trooper of the group fell as Tundra shot him in the chest.

"What did Ranger think?"

"Well," replied Ryder, "I got in **one** good punch while he was laughing."

Talon chuckled, before leading the charge down the corridor.

"How about you, Tundra? How are you still holding up under all of this?"

"...I... I want to say it's a change of pace. That... killing people is new, and revolting, and that I don't sleep well- because I **shouldn't** sleep well, not after all of this... But battling super villains prepared me too well. It's still point and click... I'm just killing them instead of freezing them... It just... feels so horribly natural now..."

"I get it. It was the same for me when I went back to the military after a few years in private security. So long as you don't turn that frost cannon on us, yeah?"

Now it was Tundra's turn to chuckle... just as something wrapped around their legs, pulling all of them to the ground. Talon immediately unsheathed a fusion dagger, and cut at the dark tentacles roiling around his legs, but they just seemed to regrow.

"Contact! Behind us!" shouted Tundra, rolling onto her back and firing off a blue blast from her gun. It sailed down the hall, straight towards a single, distant figure... before suddenly slamming into a barrier of the same shadowy substance entangling their feet.

Talon felt fear as the barrier faded away, revealing a familiar face. He reached for the comm piece on the side of his head, "Talon to all points. Corpus Overlord Vulture engaged. Requesting **immediate** backup."

Writhing tendrils of shadow coalesced around the three of them, lifting them into the air and carrying them towards the akita at a breakneck pace, as he readied his plasma-enhanced katana to strike.

With his paws and gun restrained, Talon activated another feature of his cybernetic eye... and gritted his teeth as he felt pain equivalent to having a hot coal shoved into his empty eye-socket.

A crimson laser beam cut directly towards Vulture's head, forcing him to raise a shadow-shield in front of his face. With Vulture's vision temporarily blocked, Talon sent a command through his neural interface to launch an unguided rocket. Had Vulture been able to see, he could have easily redirected it. Since he couldn't...

Talon, Ryder, and Tundra felt themselves drop as Vulture drew on all his energy to shield himself.

*THOOM!*

Ryder wasted no time, opening fire before he had even hit the ground.

"**Overlord** Vulture?!" Tundra asked through panicked breaths, "As in one of the second in command's of all Corpus?!"

"Yeah," grunted Talon, trying to find his target as his cybernetic implant recovered.

His rocket had brought down Vulture's shield, forcing the Overlord to rely on **merely** intercepting the plasma bolts with his sword.

It was a flurry of motion and green starbursts in the air, only made possible by Vulture's own implants, but enhanced with his formidable skills.

Tundra opened fire with her cold cannon, hurling a blue-white ball of chilled wrath down the hall. Vulture side stepped it with contempt, continuing his march towards them.

"We need to go, **now**!" shouted Talon. It was only a matter of time until the overlord's power was restored, and then-

There was a white flare, and Talon found himself in an empty hallway. He blinked, and Tundra appeared next to him, equally confused. He blinked again... nothing. He reached for his earpiece... and a disgruntled Ryder popped into existence, dumped unceremoniously onto the floor by Chase.

"Cutting it a bit close, ya think?" grumbled the... man, Talon realized.

"*Great, now I feel old*..."

"All this time, and you'd still rather run than fight," Chase smirked, "Alright, you three keep heading to the bridge, I'll take this chump."

"Chase, no!- *Aaand, he's gone...*"

\_\_\_

Vulture growled. A **speedster**. That would be... **annoying**.

He'd been hoping for a regular detachment of Stronghold Operatives... a nice, leisurely slaughter. Maybe even a few "rogue" Trussian soldiers that he could bring back, and wrangle a few more concessions out of Takota.

On the other hand, he was happy to accept the challenge presented.

He keyed his comm.

"Sparta, heads up, we have a speedster on deck."

"Noted. I'm trailing a second team headed for the main reactor," replied his partner, "They are quite efficient. Far more-so than the average Stronghold strike team. I take it your fight went awry?"

"It did. I recognized two of them; a former T.I.C. agent, and Ranger's twin. The third was a husky with some kind of ice cannon, and then of course the speedster."

"I believe I'm trailing three as well- one with enhanced strength, going by the ripped out wall-panels, another with some kind of hydro-kinesis going by these burst pipes, and possibly one more armed with shield breaker rounds. I'm also reading radio chatter about a maniac with flamethrowers in a red suit jumping around the cargo bay."

"Eight intruders... we need to coral them," he felt his powers return, and lifted himself into the air, gliding forward quickly and effortlessly, "Get them away from the reactor. I'll protect the bridge."

"I'll call you when I do. Be safe."

"...You as-well. Vulture out."

He had to admit: It was nice to have someone he could be a little informal with. The NOVA Operatives would never let him live it down, neither Ghost nor his fellow Overlord Killing Spree were much for talking outside of business, and Trojan was usually **too** informal, jabbering on and on about his children, and how Vulture should settle down himself.

Sparta was different. She was... **interested** in him, a feeling that was not reciprocated, but she understood that, and respected him and his boundaries. He couldn't and wouldn't ask for a better partner.

\_\_\_

Rubble stood, blocking almost the entire hallway with the massive frame of his exo-suit, hammering away with his twin-linked pulse and plasma cannons: If the Corpus troopers left their shields on to protect from the plasma, they would find themselves thrown back by a kinetic pulse. And if they dropped their shields to let their kinetic deflectors absorb the pulse, they would be cut down by plasma. Unfortunately, the only way to carry large enough pulse cannons to do that was in a giant suit of armor, and that made **him** a slow, lumbering target.

*More soon...*