SNAFU: Hunters

Juliet and Charlie obeyed without question, angling off to find their missing sister. Sierra, Tango, and Vicky maintained a fix on the rogue, whose movements suggested severe mental degradation. He changed direction seemingly at random, weaving in and out of buildings and makeshift residences without any obvious tactical purpose. Horus drifted along in the target’s wake, reestablishing line-of-sight whenever the rogue broke from concealment until the three commandos were able to corner him in a two story pre-fab.

Sierra surveyed the building from her vantage point across the way. The cheaply built structure had weathered the rioting unscathed, much to her surprise, but it explained why the rogue mod had chosen it to settle in. Thermal scans peered through the roof, showing the pre-fab to be devoid of all life save a single pacing blur of warmth: their target. Sierra let out a slow, quiet snarl beneath her breath at seeing the mod’s signature light up. They had him at last.

“Charlie, what’s Foxy’s status?” Sierra asked over the comms, desperate for good news. She crouched behind her firing position, eyes never wavering from her sights.

“KIA, Staff Sergeant. He… he butchered her.”

Sierra had been prepared for the worst but the confirmation still hit like a howitzer. She swallowed against the nausea that welled up inside her, tamping it down with controlled fury.

“Staff Sergeant, she’s missing… parts,” Juliet added, the Specialist having a hard time getting the words out. “It looks like the rogue’s scavenging mods.”

Sierra stared at the pre-fab, upper lip peeled back and teeth bared. Most targets were executed with clinical detachment, their death nothing more than the job she was assigned to do, but this one was different. Sierra decided to make an exception for this senile old fuck who’d killed her sister.

“We’ve got him surrounded,” she told the pride. “If you double-time it there might be a piece of him left for you when you arrive.”

“We’ve got a problem, Staff Sergeant!” Juliet screamed in her ear. “Foxy’s comms implants are gone.”

“How observant of you,” a gravelly voice said over the line. “But don’t worry, I left something in exchange for your sister’s ears.”

“Get out of there!” Sierra roared.

Simultaneously she felt the whump of explosives detonating nearby, then another, and saw the pre-fab wall disintegrate before her eyes. A hulking form emerged from the whirling smoke and debris. There was no time to identify the rogue, though she knew him by his grotesque musculature and unkempt hair, mission details standing out in her mind. He moved with a speed that belied his size and he fell upon Vicky before either she or Sierra could deflect him. The Staff Sergeant pivoted away from the door, searching for a clear shot as the rogue engaged Vicky, the two in tight.

The specialist was unable to bring her rifle to bear, so she went for her sidearm as she struggled for space. Sierra felt a flash of feral joy as the woman pulled it loose of the holster but Vicky never got the chance to put it to use. The rogue backhanded it from her grasp and sank his pronounced canines into her neck. Vicky fought on, peeling skin from his torso with her retractable claws but it was clear she was losing. Sierra stumbled as the rogue wrenched free of Vicky, the twisting motion of his jaw tearing a section of the woman’s vertebrae out through her neck. Sierra howled at the volcano of blood erupting from her sister, the specialist’s eyes already glossing over as she went limp.

The rogue cast Vicky’s body aside only to be met by a hail of gunfire, Sierra’s finger heavy on the trigger. He shielded his head with an oversized forearm and charged forward, enduring the punishment to close the distance between them. Sierra altered her aim, shooting at his knees in hopes his joints would be less reinforced and she could bring him down. The rogue persevered despite the barrage of lead tearing through his legs. He barreled into her and ripped the carbine from her hands. She stumbled back in surprise at how easily he’d disarmed her but he gave her no opportunity to recover, clubbing her across the face with the rifle. She raised her arms in instinct to guard against a follow-up attack but he thrust the stock of the gun into her stomach, dropping her to her knees with a whuff of escaping air.

For all Sierra’s training, conditioned to withstand such violence, the force of the attack had caught her off guard. He bashed her with the rifle again and sent her crashing onto her back. The rogue stood over her, frothing at the mouth, claws poised to deliver the killing blow, when a long, curved blade bit into his neck from behind. He reared up with a roar like erupting thunder.