Baterilla Under Attack! [Mission]

[Emma T. Baskerville]

A dark and dust shrouded marine base was not the ideal location for a fight.

But Agent Baskerville knew her 'duty'.

"Cover your mouth," she ordered the Petty Officer behind her crisply. "And try not to breathe. Keep your wits about you, soldier: I don't want to have to play nursemaid."

That said, Agent Baskerville plunged into the billowing, choking dust, one hand wrapped around her mouth, the other trailing the wall. Despite her precautions it got in her nose, in her eyes, in her ears - all but rendering her highly sensitive senses useless. Squinting, the cipher pol agent growled at the suffocating dark and moved on, relying on her memory to get her to the command center where they'd presumably have someone competent enough to know what the hell was going on.

For a moment she contemplated knocking down a wall or two: they weren't that far from the outside. She might be able to do more good elsewhere, even. Soru in a confined location while blind in a environment that might have been rendered unfamiliar by damage was not optimal.

She suddenly stopped, senses on high alert, holding up a fist to tell the marine to slow down.

If she concentrated she could hear the muffled retort of gunfire, and the pounding of many feet. She frowned, due to the dust, the acoustics were all messed up, but she would have sworn-

The wall next to them exploded.

Not expecting the sudden attack, Baskerville had no time for soru, muttering instead a brief "tekkai," muscles locking together as she crossed her arms over her face, hoping that the marine would actually be able to take care of herself.

Stone, steel and cement pelted her, ripping long furrows into her suit, cutting a thin scratch just above the ridge of one eye as steel travelling at high speed hit a body with the toughness of iron. Licking at the blood the traveled its way down her face, she slowly took her sword out of its scabbard.

In the gloom of low-burning fires, in the hole in the wall, a small army of gas mask wearing terrorists stood, their expressions shrouded by the equipment they wore, but body language reading 'surprised'. They held softly glowing batons in one hand, rifles in the other. Emma took in their appearance, lack of identifying insignia, relatively unfamiliar technology in one glance. She was unfamiliar with the glow-sticks but gas masks? She knew what those were.

"Take them," she ordered decisively, voice sounding just ever so slightly feral.

A moment later, she was but a blur, landing in the midst of the insurgents, sword cutting inexpert, but deadly wounds through the rank-and-file of the apparent mooks.

[/justify]

[Victoria Locke]

Victoria tried her best to keep up with her superior and follow the advice. The filthy dust was slowly sinking into her lungs and nervous twitches were making her trigger finger tremble, but she kept her breathing steady and mind clear. She absolutely refused to be a burden to her superior. Deep down, however, she could only wonder how bad the situation was for the whole base. So far, they hadn’t seen anyone else. Who was behind this attack? What was really going on? The sudden sign made her stop immediately and focus on the situation at hand. She had a bad feeling about this...

Then something exploded. With trained reflexes and some luck, Victoria managed to dive away away from the immediate danger area and avoid the worst of the rubble. She slid back a bit before standing up to see what had happened. For a moment, she was worried about her superior, but once again the blonde woman demonstrated she was beyond humans. Seeing her just brush the explosion aside and face the attackers without a hint of fear was truly inspiring. Those masked terrorists wouldn’t stand a chance. When the Agent gave her order, Victoria already had her weapon trained at the enemies and an answer ready. She had been eagerly waiting for this.

"Roger."

First shot echoed through the dust. It caught the terrorists off-guard and first of them collapsed with a chest full of lead. With a flip of the lever, Victoria loaded another shot in the chamber and took aim again. This time, her targets were distracted by the Agent a cutting them down one by one. The Marine didn’t even hesitate to shoot them in the back while they were occupied. Two more shots rang out, each followed by a rhythmic click. Her aim remained true and another two terrorists went down for good. Despite the dust and chaos, she wasn’t going to miss, not from this range.

Suddenly, few of the attackers separated from the group being torn apart by the Agent and focused on the lone Marine. Victoria dived into cover behind some rubble when rifle barrels were pointed her way. Luckily, the thick dust hid her movements enough to cause the following shots miss. With her dark uniform, she blended into the darkness quite nicely. When a pause in firing presented itself, she popped out for a brief moment, took a quick shot at them and dropping into hiding again. The blast of pellets eliminated a fourth terrorist. However, she couldn’t afford to get moving just yet. There were still some of them after her.

Victoria reached into her messenger bag for ammo and started quickly reloading her weapon. With her dexterity and natural skill, it only took a short moment before she was ready again. For now, she had the advantage of wielding a shotgun in a confined space, but she didn’t know how long it would last. She had to act fast so they wouldn’t be able to pin her down. Taking a risk, she rolled out of the cover to surprise them and stopped into a kneeling position before taking aim. She had counted three of them when she had last peeked out. True enough, she spotted and dropped three just barely before they could fully react.

Unfortunately, just then a fourth one popped up from behind the cover and pulled the trigger...

[Emma T. Baskerville]

Agent Baskerville knew her limitations as a fighter.

She was not graceful, nor was she efficient. Her skill with the sword could be at best considered second-rate, her training scattered across several schools and mostly informed by practical battle experience, instinct and ingrained habits, some good, some bad.

She could not sheathe and unsheathe a sword so quickly that the eye could not perceive it, nor cut through a wall from ten meters away, nor delve into the complex psychological aspects of meeting a fellow sword master. Her appreciation of strategy revolved around the central tenets of 'pointy end goes into the opponent' and 'avoid pointy end yourself'. While serviceable, it was akin to a chess player understanding that knights moved in L-shaped: too basic to be considered particularly useful.

Yes, a proper sword master would look at the quality of her sword, and the quality of swordsmanship, and consider the Fortinbras family heirloom to be wasted on her.

And it was true. She was certainly no sword master.

Instead, she was a fighter of such monstrous, overwhelming power that skill did not matter. Strength, speed, reflexes, instincts, willingness to kill - those parameters dwarfed any of her enemies that she could hope to meet outside of the Grand Line save for some very rare exceptions, most of them high-ranked marines on shore leave. She was the Cipher Pol's Pet Bloodhound, their very own 'Mad Dog'. A fighter of last resort, relegated to desk work unless a particularly intractable assignment came up that required a more brutal hand than usual.

And this emergency could well be considered 'intractable.'

When she paused, soru taking her right into the middle of the largest concentration of marauding terrorists, just to let them get a good look at the face that would kill them, it was as much showboating as it was psychological warfare. Hers was an expression lit by a dark, demonic joy by the prospect of their imminent deaths.

But when their shaking hands brought their weapons to bear on her she was already gone.

And then they fell. Singly or in droves, wherever the brown-blond blur went, people died.

It could not be considered a battle: it was simply a slaughter. These were not seasoned veterans, capable of organizing themselves in the blink of an eye to muster their forces against a single opponent of overwhelming speed and power. They fumbled, they shouted, they screamed, they retreated - and fatally, they were too slow.

Much too slow.

It was enough to hold her sword out and move, blood followed. Bullets whizzed, but gas mask or no, the dust limited visibility - if they were going to hit her at all it would be purely a thing of a luck.

And she did not intend for them to get lucky.

Heads parted from necks, guts from insides, legs from torsos, arms from shoulders.

The scent of gunpowder, always overwhelming on a field of battle, began to give way to coppery tang of blood as she dashed through their ranks. It seeped into her hair, her clothes, her skin, showering across the once pristine Marine Base in long, agonizing jets of hot, delicious lifeblood. The hellhound within growled with joy, wanting to break free, to kill not just them but everyone.

But these were not opponents which required its power, so she kept it locked up, merely licking her lips every now and then, satisfaction warring with rationality. A bored, sardonic part of her mind kept careful count of the combatants, number slowly scrolling upwards as the mooks died.

When there were but a dozen left, they had organized themselves into an effective platoon. They tried to hit her with their glowing sticks.

They failed.

They tried to shoot her.

This too, failed.

Finally, they tried to run.

When the last of them had fallen (she had downed thirty-three in total, in the chaos of the battlefield it had seemed like more) she turned: it seemed that Petty Officer Locke had acquitted herself well, even as she looked, the officer gunned down three mooks, their bodies falling to the ground as she watched.

But the fourth was already pulling the trigger-

She was not skillful enough to cut the bullet out of the air. Nor was she fast enough to take it with a tekkai after a soru.

But if she paid a slight, nearly meaningless price, she was fast enough to shove her sword through the shooter's hand, weapon jerking to the left, firing harmlessly at the wall.

"She is mine," she growled, voice several octaves lower, eyes glowing like embers, words no longer entirely her own. Her free hand flexed spasmodically, rationally, she knew better than to kill the last living witness of the attack group, but the hellhound within demanded a price for its services, and it was one she was entirely willing to pay. Up her hand went through the terrorist's chest, finding the heart and going on through.

The body slid off her forearm, falling to the ground with a wet, meaty splat.

Trying to get control over herself - give the beast an inch and it would take a mile - she held up a hand for another pause. The sudden silence, other than the flickering fire that the explosion had started, the marine based seemed to be entirely empty except for the two of them.

Her voice came out thin and raspy.

"Grab a mask... huuh... Petty Officer... they seem... useful."

OOC: I did not mean for this post to get this long. OTL

[Victoria Locke]

Right there and then, Victoria silently cursed her luck. Of course there had to be one more than she had expected. It was far too late to shoot or dodge now. All she could do was grit her teeth and hope the terrorist didn’t hit anything vital. However, just before the rifle went off, a miracle happened. It felt like the world had gone into slow motion. Victoria watched as her superior appeared out of nowhere and stabbed the man on the hand. His aimed veered off at a critical moment and the stunned Marine only felt the bullet whizz by her ear. Without the Agent, that would’ve been lethal.

For a moment, Victoria could’ve sworn she was watching an angel of death in action. The words of the blonde woman remained a mystery, but the Marine hadn’t been trained to question her superiors. She was too captivated to even move. Those unrelenting eyes and that judging voice were absolutely terrifying, but also magnificent. The poor husk of a man didn’t even stand a chance against the Agent of Justice. His execution was swift and fitting, a single stab through the heart that had slipped onto the wrong side. So this was the power a Government Agent wielded... With the last enemy eliminated, silence returned to the dark hallway. The short and violent encounter was over.

Hearing her superior speak again snapped Victoria out of her daze. Finally she remembered to breathe again, only to cough from the lingering dust. She quickly got up and nodded to prove that she was completely fine. "Yes, ma’am." Part of her wanted to ask if the Agent was alright, but that part was quickly silenced and pushed away. Of course her superior was fine. She was an invincible superhuman after all. Moving to the cleanest-looking corpse, Victoria knelt down and set her shotgun aside. She removed the mask carefully, revealing a rugged face with closed eyes. The mask was intact and relatively clean. It even looked like it would fit well enough. Perfect.

Unfortunately, there was a reason this corpse looked so clean. Suddenly, the man opened his eyes and lifted a glowing baton towards the Marine. By the looks of it, he had only been playing dead and was now avenging his fallen comrades. The baton got quickly closer... before suddenly stopping in the middle of the thrust and falling back down. Out of sheer reflex, Victoria had drawn her revolver within a heartbeat and put a round between the man’s beady eyes. There was no thought or emotion behind it, only a frigid stare. "Don’t take it personally..." It was difficult to say if the quiet mutter was meant for the dead man or for the Marine herself.

Even Victoria wasn’t sure.

Slipping the revolver back to its holster, the cold Marine shifted her attention to getting the mask on. It was sticky and had the unmistakable stench of sweat, but luckily Victoria was too focused on the mission to care. As soon as she had gotten the mask secured, she grabbed her shotgun and reloaded it with swift, well-practiced movements. With the preparations done, Victoria turned towards the Agent and clicked her heels together. "I am ready to move out, ma’am." The mask muffled her voice quite a bit, but the unflinching tone remained all the same. She was ready to follow that Agent even to the gates of hell.

[Emma T. Baskerville]

Following her own advice, Emma bent down to retrieve a gas mask of her own. Not exactly an easy task: whether the respirator was caked with blood or the mask itself cracked into uselessness or simply cut in half, few seemed still be serviceable. Still, removing them was a useful fact-find exercise: they were all bona fide humans under the depersonalizing gear, a little pale, perhaps, but that might have been a trick of the light. Some had facial tattoos, others earrings, some were men, others women. A collection of people you could find anywhere. In fact, some of their builds were distinctly civilian.

She paused, the observation triggering a memory, something about-

A shot rang out.

The agent's head whirled, eyes tracking for aggressors, feet ready for a soru. The retort of the pistol had been startling loud in the silence, but she forced away the adrenaline a moment later: it seemed that the Petty Officer had had to put one of the attackers down.

Baskerville frowned. Leaving an enemy alive... there was only one way to rate an assassin who let that happen: sloppy. The dust was confusing her senses, muffling the exquisite precision of her instincts. She would have to be more careful next time, such a failing was inexcusable of an Agent of her caliber.

Wiping her hands on the coat sleeves of one of the attackers, she located an intact gas mask, unbuckling it from its former user (a bald man with an ugly, jagged star snaking over one eye) snapping the unwieldy contraption over her head. Immediately, she began to breathe more easily. Everything tasted smooth and metallic, but that was a net positive compared to the choking dust.

"I am ready to move out, ma'am," the Petty Officer informed her.

The agent nodded. Rising to her feet, she slowly removed her blood-stained gloves, dropping them to the ground. From her pant pockets, she removed two more, snapping them onto her hands in easy, well-practiced motions.

Long ingrained habit made her reach for her cigarillos in her breast pocket. Unfortunately, they had not survived the initial explosion, having been crushed into shapeless wafers within her pocket. Besides, how would she smoke them through the gas mask? Stick them inside the respirator?

"Let's move then," she ordered, voice coming out slightly tinny due to the mask over her face. She picked up one of the sticks, its top had stopped glowing but no doubt R&D would like an exemplary, sliding it into the belt along her back. "The command center isn't too far."

_____________________________

And indeed, it was an unremarkable ten minute walk. In that time, however, they met neither a marine, nor an agent, nor any of the gas mask wearing terrorists.

There had been clear signs of struggle through the corridors, what little light there was was provided by fire that was licking at the compound; blood coated the walls, here and there she could see the clawed scratch marks where people had clearly resisted being dragged away. Not every stairwell was intact, in several areas the ceiling had simply fallen down, blocking any easy exit.

Fortunately, the Command Center itself was staffed as well as barricaded. A few shots rang out before the defenders realized that the the blood-matted, gas mask wearing strangers were themselves marines.

"Honorary Lieutenant Janissary Jane reporting for duty," Agent Baskerville reported, muscling through the guards, stepping through the door and into to a scene of utter pandemonium. Low-glowing lamps had been hung around the room, everywhere seemed to be bleeding, moaning marines. This was not a command center, it was a bloody hospital ward. "Who's in charge?" she barked, grabbing a private by the collar of his shirt before he could escape.

"Captain Ehrlich's... missing... we-" Private Virchow babbled. He'd received some sort of head wound, it had received a bit of gauze and a bandage, but was still bleeding freely.

Baskerville did not much care.

"Lieutenant Rowling?" she asked.

"I'm afraid his position has been, err, vacated." He leaned in close, eyes shining with a fever madness: "Lieutenant Jane... we're under attack."

Baskerville raised an eyebrow. Shock, or blood loss was affecting his judgement.

"Yes, I see-"

"No, it's, I saw!" He said excitedly, only semi-coherent. "Those people, they came out of the basement. They didn't come from the outside. They were here in our base all along!"

Baskerville tried to digest this new information, frowning.

Regardless...

"As the highest ranked marine, I am taking charge of operations." She ordered, in her best parade-ground voice. "The wounded are to be evacuated, every able-bodied marine is to accompany them to the outside. We are falling back from this position."

She turned to Petty Officer Locke. "Can I trust you to gather a few men and lead them back to collect the gas masks? We'll need as many as can be scrounged."

[Victoria Locke]

The walk to the command center was eerily calm and quiet. Victoria had to seriously fight the urge to fire a shot into every suspicious shadow. Luckily, they arrived to the command center soon enough and she got something else to think about. While her superior handled the talking, Victoria had time to let her gaze wander around. It was truly a sad sight. So many good men injured and suffering... Victoria shook her head and closed her eyes. She couldn’t let this become personal. Those terrorists would be stopped, not because they had hurt her comrades, but because that was her duty as a Marine. It was that simple.

The Agent's new command was met with the usual reaction. Victoria clicked her heels together and saluted. "Yes, ma'am!" Secretly, she was incredibly proud that her superior was placing so much trust in her. She wouldn't let these people down, even if it cost her life. That was her silent promise.

Without wasting any time, Victoria turned to the most healthy-looking Marines -which wasn’t saying much actually- and cleared her throat. "Alright, Marines, naptime is over! Anyone who can still hold a gun, take one and follow me!" Half a dozen men got up, grabbed their rifles and formed a neat row before her. By now, she was feeling like a real commander and it could be noticed in her voice. She tried to gather all the authority she had. "Our primary objective is to collect as many functional gas masks as possible. Keep your eyes open and assume any encounters as hostile." The Marines only saluted in understanding. She turned around and they got into a small formation behind her.

Before they could head out, however, Victoria stopped at the door. Her voice suddenly dipped into far darker tone. "And whatever you do..." She glanced over her shoulder, only to give the men the most freezing glare she could muster. "Don’t get in my way." With that, she marched out of the door, leaving the men hesitating for a moment. They weren’t certain if they wanted to work with such an uptight woman. The situation was already bad enough without her getting all threatening. However, Victoria knew exactly where here loyalties were. The warning had been necessary for the men’s safety. She couldn’t guarantee that they wouldn’t get shot in the back if they rushed ahead of her.

The group headed back to where Victoria had first encountered the odd terrorists. It was the best place to start their task. Another uneventful ten minutes passed by as they marched steadily towards their target. However, at the location of the previous skirmish, a quite different sight awaited them. Victoria signaled the men to stop and back away quietly. They quickly hid behind a corner and gauged the situation. Another group of terrorists, around twenty people, had found the corpses and seemed to be observing them. The female Marine sneaked out and lifted her shotgun, quietly commanding her small squad to do the same. "Weapons ready..." They got around fifteen feet of their targets before they were spotted.

But it was far too late now. Victoria shouted a new command- "Open fire!" -and a punishing hail of lead assaulted the criminals. The noises of the unavoidable firefight echoed through the empty hallways.

[Emma T. Baskerville]

The Petty Officer was turning out to be quite the asset. If she managed to get her doriki up to a minimum standard, a real command position would definitely not be out of the question for someone of her temperament and skill. Nodding swiftly to the marine, Agent Baskerville returned the salute and focused her attention on the madhouse that the command center had become.

"I need a status update - where is the rest of the garrison?" she barked, even as Locke rounded up her men. "And why are communications down?"

Papers flew and people parted as a semblance of coherence and order returned to the marines, whom, deprived of a visible leader, had become akin to a snake without a head, still wriggling, but only in its death throes. The wounded were shunted aside as a triage center focused its efforts on getting them ready to move, while others threw around den den mushi.

"Our communications are being blocked," someone reported unhelpfully. The Agent growled and ordered them to find out how.

"And our surveillance den den mushis-" she spoke, snapping her fingers as if she had just remembered them.

"I'm afraid they were being serviced," a private coughed beside her. Agent Baskerville contemplated taking off her mask, best case scenario it would help her seem more 'human.' As her cover story involved her being a noble, that had never been an option before. But would it be in character...

Then she remembered she was pretty much covered to blood from head to toe, and, barring that, visibility was bad enough it didn't matter to begin with. On the helmet stayed.

Still, this was starting to sound more and more like an inside job. If that were the case, someone should have known. Namely, her. Dammit, they desperately needed more information. Wishing, not for the first, or the last time, that she'd informed the Petty Officer to bring back a survivor to question, Agent Baskerville tried bulldozing through her thoughts in an effort to figure out how the puzzle all fit together.

Advanced technology, enemies emerging from the basement, this strange dust...

Nope. At least not to her mind.

From not so far away she heard the dull roar of a salvo of shots. It seemed that the Petty Officer had encountered a new set of enemies. Hopefully their gas masks were intact, Baskerville could not remember if there were more than four or five of the ones they had seen that were still serviceable.

"-sir! You wanted to know about the rest of the garrison-"

"Yes! Where are they?"

"Division two through six are scheduled for training exercises on water, seven through ten have been called away for various pirate-related activities near Torino Kingdom and Marvel Island. Non-marine personnel are all present and accounted for."

Leaving the entire base staffed with but one division. A skeleton crew, in other words. The people here could have well been the entire surviving staff of the Baterilla Marine Base.

Damn, it really was looking like an inside job.

"Try to hail divisions two through seven, they shouldn't be that far out on the water," Baskerville ordered, not particularly hoping for success, "in the meantime, get me some maps. We will be leaving the moment Petty Officer Locke returns with those masks."

"And the other marines-"

She held up a hand.

"We will be back for them soldier, what we must prioritize at the moment, however, is getting word out."

And if a mad dog had to be let loose... well, better that there weren't too many bystanders in the way.

[/justify]

[Victoria Locke]

What was only a short firefight felt like a small eternity for Victoria. She had been forced to take cover and reload her shotgun for the fourth time. Peeking out, she took two quick shots, killing two more terrorists before having to pull her head down again. Deafening echo of gunshots constantly bounced off the cold stone walls. They weren’t advancing at all and time was running out. How had it gotten this bad so quickly? At first they had been clearly winning. The enemies had fallen quickly thanks to the surprise attack. Aside from few stragglers who took cover, the squad had wiped out most of them with concentrated fire. Everything had been going smoothly.

...Until enemy reinforcements arrived.

Within few moments, the amount of enemies doubled from the original and the Marines were forced to fall back. Aside from Victoria herself, the squad had been caught with empty guns. She couldn’t hold off the enemies alone, so taking cover had been the only option. Now they were very much pinned down. There were still around dozen terrorists left. They were slowly drawing closer while keeping up steady suppressive fire. At this rate, the whole squad would be wiped out. Victoria squeezed her shotgun and bit her lip. No, she wouldn’t allow that to happen. She had made a promise. The command center was going to get those gas masks, even if it killed her.

Taking a deep breath, Victoria turned towards her comrades. "Men..." She didn’t have to whisper. The enemies wouldn’t hear them over their rifles anyway. "I’ll flush them out. Take them down while they are distracted." Her comrades tried to protest, but Victoria refused to listen now. Swallowing her fear, she dashed out of the cover and towards her enemies, catching large majority of them off-guard. They all turned their focus and aim at her. With relentless blasts from her shotgun, she managed to force most of them to take cover and kill those who didn’t. Her comrades popped out as well, giving her support fire. The reckless plan worked beautifully. One by one, the terrorists lost their lives.

Echoes ended and the chilling silence returned once again.

Sometime after the gunshots had finally ended, steady marching of footsteps approached the command center. Victoria was the first to walk in, but the sight was very different from when she had started the mission. Her uniform had been torn from several spots by grazing bullets. There was a hole near her hip and a red stain around it. She was bleeding and unsteady, but still alive enough to stand. A light cough escaped her throat when she spoke up. "They tried to overwhelm us, ma’am." Stepping aside, she revealed two Marines carrying gas masks, at least thirty of them. "But we got the gas masks." Having said that, she finally collapsed down to one knee and gasped for air.

The world was getting blurry and it was hard to breathe...

[Emma T. Baskerville]

The Agent had finalized a probable escape route when Locke stumbled back into the command center.

To know death was to know life.

Baskerville took in the Petty Officer's appearance in one glance: blood loss, shock, general pallor, injury to hip (fracture? possible, Locke seemed to have an unusually strong will, the pain would have been excruciating but not totally intolerable), the added layer of blood and dust, the new tears in her uniform. Either she had overestimated the Petty Officer's abilities, or underestimated the opposition.

Her gut said the latter, but either way, it was the Commander's responsibility to ensure that an operation went smoothly. Victoria Locke's condition, and the condition of any of her men, was on her head.

She was glad she could not truly smell the blood through this mask. It helped keep her cold, helped keep her priorities in order.

"Excellent work, Petty Officer," Agent Baskerville murmured, her thoughts firmly ensconced behind solid metal plating that had been welded shut. The Petty Officer was not in danger of dying, that much she was certain. "Take five, I'll be back to deal with our interlopers personally after the base is evacuated." Calling out, she added loudly: "Someone get me a medic!"

Someone got her a medic. He was an old, balding fellow, dust in his thin layer of hair making him look like he was wearing a particularly ill-crafted toupee.

"See to it that Petty Officer Locke is returned to full combat duty," she told him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I'll be counting on you."

"What - when?"

"Her combat ready state as of ten minutes ago would be a good start," Agent Baskerville said. Leaving him sputtering in her wake, she walked away, feeling obscurely pleased.

Ah, the benefits of command.

Leaving the medical officer to his ministrations, she turned to the men carrying the gasmasks she started divvying up the spoils, handing them to those that seemed to require them the most. The priority, of course, were the combat effectives, but the medical personnel that requested one received one. All told, maybe three out of five persons present had a mask. Probably as good as it was going to get.

"Carry your comrades, leave all non-essentials in the base. Please follow protocol when exiting."

"And watch your step."

Kicking forward, she downed the wall next to her. There were many strategic reasons which she had chosen to take the most direct route to the outside, her suspicions about this being an inside job being paramount among them. Any double agent would know the choke-points, exits and layout of the base.

Although it was akin to using a hammer to cut fish, this was still a counter to that danger.

[/justify]

[Victoria Locke]

Victoria found herself desperately balancing on the thin line between light and darkness. Leaning too much towards the light brought the piercing pain fresh into mind and made the world spin, while backing too much towards the darkness turned the voices around her mere noise and made her eyelids heavy. She could only nod weakly when her superior gave her permission to rest and mutter her gratitude. "Thank you, ma...am..." Finally, the Marine fell with a light thud. Faint footsteps surrounded her, but she didn’t care about that anymore. There was only one thing left in her mind. Rest... It was such a wonderful word right now. Perhaps she could allow herself that. Just five minutes of peace.

Sharp pain tore the female Marine violently away from her blissful daze. Victoria gasped and cried out as her eyes shot open. Her hip felt like it was burning. A voice spoke, but she couldn’t find the source. "I got it out." Got what out? She tried to desperately focus her trembling vision. Finally, her gaze found and stopped onto a hand holding something. Bloody fingers were pinching a small piece of metal. "You were lucky that the wound was so shallow." Now Victoria noticed the speaker as well. He was an old man with thinning hairline and wise features. Setting the bullet aside, the medic took a thin needle with thread and returned to work.

The worst pain was slowly subsiding, allowing the Marine to glance around. She didn’t know how much time had passed since her return, but she could remember why she was here. When she noticed one of the fellow Marines was holding her hand and she was actually squeezing back, the bewildered look had to make way for her usual, cold stare. Deep down, she appreciated the gesture, but... Luckily, the medic broke the awkward moment. "We don’t have any painkillers left, so I suggest you-" Victoria lifted her hand, cutting the man off right there. She knew what he was going to say, what being a medic required him to say, but she didn’t want to hear it.

"Just patch me up, doctor."

With a tired sigh, the medic shook his head and continued wrapping the remaining bandage around her hip and leg. After a minute or so, he taped the end and nodded at the stubborn patient. "The bullet has been removed, the wound is clean and bleeding has been stopped. This is all I can do here." Yanking her hand free, Victoria grabbed her cargo pants that had been pulled down from the way of the operation. She quickly hid her bandages and blood-stained underwear again before pushing herself up, grinding her teeth together at each motion. This wound was no doubt going to slow her down, but it wouldn’t stop her. Pain, she could handle, but not failure.

After taking few deep breaths, Victoria picked up her shotgun and calmly walked up to her superior. Her breathing had returned to normal and cold façade covered the pain that was burning in the back of her mind. She straightened her back to a salute, ignoring the sudden sting from her hip. "I am ready to continue, ma’am." Part of her deeply regretted that she had blacked out like that. She didn’t know what was going on. There was a new exit on the wall and people were moving the wounded through it, but her knowledge of the plan stopped right there. However, she believed that if she was supposed to know, her superior would tell.

As the Marine gathered her focus, the wound on her hip calmed down.

Yes, she could definitely do this.

[Emma T. Baskerville]

"If you believe you are up to the task, Petty Officer," the Cipher Pol agent replied evenly, walking through the crevice her exit had left, hands sweeping aside the broken rebar and kicking aside chunks of fallen concrete in order to widen the exit. Marines in gas masks began picking up their injured comrades, whether on stretchers, or shoulders, "The situation has gotten rather complicated, we may be facing a-"

Baskerville hesitated, just for a fraction of a second.

"-possible case of sabotage from within. That or an excellent spy, in either case, assume that we do not hold the home ground advantage. We will be exiting near the north-east wall by breaking through corridors D4 and E6,  then regroup at the den den mushi tower."

It had likely been taken out, but being one of the better defended parts of the marine base, might still standing. And armed with a more advanced selection of Den Den Mushis,  a distress call would no longer be out of the question. And even if it was occupied by the antagonists, it was the logical point at which to introduce a blackout den den mushi, removing it would greatly facilitate communicational logistics.

"Regardless of the case, we will need to take a prisoner for interrogation and questioning. Pass the word along, they don't need to be undamaged, just intact enough to speak. Ah, wait, you there-" she snagged a private that had been dawdling, "support the Petty Officer, if I am otherwise detained, she is to be in charge."

Having said that, she continued on.

_________________________

Although their progress was agonizingly slow for someone of her calibre, they didn't immediately run into any further patrols; it seemed that there were only so many enemy combatants that could be fielded at a time, it was likely, in fact, that she and Locke had already taken out the majority.

Breaking through the D-block wall, she had just the time to raise her arm before a glowing stick, one she'd seen on the mooks before, smashed into her arm.

She grunted as electricity tore through her system, causing her jaw to clamp spasmodically and her arm to lose any semblance of fine motor control. A kick outward was dodged, her follow-up attack similarly so. 

Landing softly ten feet the corridor, her opponent began to twirl the baton lazily.

"Agent Baskerville, I presume?" came the tinny, surprisingly sophisticated baritone. "You were making such a racket, I just had to complain."

"Petty Officer," Emma snarled, shaking the lingering tingle out of her arm, "you are now in charge. Get those men to safety!"

[/justify]

[Victoria Locke]

A trace of smile visited Victoria’s features when her superior allowed her to continue the mission. It was an honor to have such faith placed on her despite the injury. She wouldn’t let the Agent down. However, the smile was replaced by visible shock the second her superior suddenly hesitated. So far the Agent hadn’t hesitated even once. It made the impact from suspicion of inside job far worse. The Marine could feel cold sweat running down her neck. It was like she had stepped from the safety of the base straight into enemy territory. Luckily, she managed to hold her tongue and pay attention despite the shock. Panic would’ve been unacceptable.

Desperately trying to focus again, Victoria nodded firmly to prove she had been listening. The plan was clear in her mind. Regaining communications and getting the injured to safety were their top priorities, in that order. However, large part of her wanted to accomplish the side objective, catching one of the perpetrators alive, as well. Turning to the same squad that had accompanied her during the gas mask retrieval, Victoria cleared her throat to get her voice heard. "Men, disable and disarm any hostiles until otherwise ordered. We are taking the next enemies alive." There were no questions or protests. They accepted her orders as if she had been a real commander.

The mission could continue.

Steady marching of the soldiers covered most of the groans from the injured. Unlike them, Victoria remained absolutely quiet during the walk. Her emotionless mask hid the lingering doubt and fear. The words of her superior rang through her mind again and again. Sabotage from within. It was making her stomach turn. There was a traitor among them, or even worse several traitors. For a loyal soldier, the thought of comrades turning against her was like a nightmare. Right now, she was very thankful for the slow pace. It helped her keep her nerves and trigger finger under control, not to mention she didn’t have to risk accidentally opening the wound.

While the Agent displayed her amazing strength again and shattered another wall, Victoria made sure they were not being followed. However, a new voice that followed the crumbling stones made her spin around. It was too dark and dusty to see anything but a figure with one of those glowing sticks. That was all Victoria needed to mark him as an enemy and take aim at him. Others on her small squad did the same. Just before anyone could pull the trigger, the Agent stopped them with a new order. The Marine did her best to calm her twitching hand and turned the shotgun away. "Yes, ma’am!" This was not her fight.

Motioning the Marines to lower their guns, Victoria took up her new role without hesitation. She hadn’t been trained to question her superiors, only to obey them. If the Agent intended to face this enemy alone, there must’ve been a good reason for it. "Marines! We need to keep moving! Follow me!" Ignoring the pain that stabbed through her hip, Victoria gritted her teeth and broke into a sprint. Other Marines followed her lead the best they could. She placed her faith on the Agent to keep the enemy busy and aimed to make use of the freshly created route. Searching for an alternate way would’ve been too risky in their current condition. They had to stick to the plan.

[Emma T. Baskerville]

"Well, well, well," the masked figure said, baton sparking as he clapped it carefully against his hand, apparently experiencing no ill-effect from the electricity. An off-switch? Was the glove made out of some special material? Perhaps it was a technique of some sort? Maybe even a Devil Fruit ability? "I didn't expect the acting leader of the Cipher Pol's most infamous organization to be in such a nameless backwater. No wonder my plans were so off."

Keeping a careful eye on the opponent, Emma clenched both hands into fists and brought them up into a proper boxing stance. Behind her, marines streamed through the hole in the wall: if her opponent wanted to let them through while he played chit-chat, that was fine by her.

Still, she disliked being known. Her promotion had been a splendidly quiet thing, as befitted an organization of assassins and secret government operatives. That someone might recognize her through a gas mask... that was worrisome.

"Bullshit," the agent snarled, the longer she dragged this out the more time the others would have to escape. And better yet, the sooner she would start getting more feeling into her arm. "Who was the leak? Who lead you here? Who betrayed the World Government?"

She had struck some sort of nerve. "The World Government betrayed us," the masked man roared, rushing forward with sudden, devastating speed. The stun baton swung through the air, whistling above her head: she'd already ducked backwards, letting it slide above her, leg kicking upwards to strike directly at her aggressor's wrist. He (and despite the possibility of the mask or training giving 'her' a much lower voice, Baskerville was somehow sure it was man) bent his arm, taking the blow against his elbow.

The pressure wave caused by them meeting sent her cratering into the ground, nearly causing the floor to give out, while he smashed into the ceiling. The marines still streaming behind her were bowled over, some barely managing to get to their feet and hurry along. They two superhuman combatants were up again within moments, one wiping away a cut from his brow, the other pointlessly trying to smooth the dust out of her clothes.

"You're weak," he told her bluntly. The stick was broken, sparkling uselessly in his hand. He tossed it away. "I thought you'd at least let me to blow off some steam but - no, I've decided. Just die."

Agent Baskerville's eyes widened as the man shot forward - that was soru - matching him as he shot forward towards her, they met again. This time though there was something different about him, his fist, it had turned a sort of metallic grey. Fist against fist they clashed: this time there was a clear winner - feeling like she had broken every bone in her right arm she flew down the corridor, slamming straight into the far wall, leaving behind a massive crater. Dust and broken concrete fell around her.

Her head drooped, gas mask falling off.

She felt someone grab her by the throat and viciously tug her out of the wall.

"Any last words?"

[Victoria Locke]

Much to Victoria’s relief, the risky maneuver paid off. She got through the opening and the troops followed right behind her. By the time the real combat started, most of the injured were out of the way. She was admittedly startled by the sudden noises, but forced herself to keep running.

Yet another crash echoed through the halls. Victoria glanced behind them worriedly. At quick glance, it seemed like everyone was accounted for. Everyone except... She dearly hoped that terrifying sound was caused by the Agent tossing her enemy around and not by something else. If her superior couldn’t defeat the opponent, what could she and her small squad do? Shaking her head to clear such thoughts, she faced their destination again and picked up the pace. This was no time to be pondering such stupid questions. Of course her superior would win. While the Agent took down that terrorist, the Marine squad would locate and retake the den den mushi tower. It shouldn’t be far now.

Soon enough, after plenty of painfully running, Victoria reached the tower. She was greeted by an expected, but still unpleasant sight. The enemies had hooked a huge, strange-looking den den mushi onto the tower. However, there were only three people guarding it. With any luck, these were the last enemies left and this wouldn’t turn into another bloodbath. They and sprang up with clear sense of panic when they noticed the approaching squad. For once, the Marines were actually outnumbering their enemies. The enemies realized this as well and decided that it was time to scram. Dropping their weapons, the rushed away faster than any of the exhausted Marines could chase.

However, Victoria was far too stubborn to just let them go and switched to her trusty revolver.

Taking a deep breath, she focused on the weapon on her hand. Within seconds, exhaustion was washed away and the pain left her mind. The only sound she could hear was her heart beating faster and faster. When she opened her eyes, the world seemed so much clearer. Her hands felt steady and confidence limitless. She aimed her revolver without a moment of hesitation. "You can’t run from me..." Three quick shots pierced the air. Suddenly, the running terrorists hit the dirt as each of them felt hot lead sinking into their leg. Now the Marines didn’t even need to run to catch and arrest them. The chase ended just as quickly as it had started.

While the cowards were detained, Victoria turned her focus on the odd den den mushi. She wasn’t good with advanced technology and having never seen this type of devi- er... creature didn’t help. Figuring that the Agent most likely wanted all evidence intact, she sighed in frustration and holstered her gun. Shooting it was the only solution she could come up with, but that was out of the question. She turned to her comrades, trying to look for anyone who seemed particularly smart. The command was directed at all of them though. "Someone disable that jammer and contact reinforcements!" Luckily, some of them got to work right away. She didn’t know how long it would take, but at least they were progressing.

Now, they could only wait and watch their backs.

[Emma T. Baskerville]

"Just... one.." her eyes were starting to glow crimson, her breathing coming out punishingly labored. "Have you ever heard... of hopscotch?"

The enemy, despite his mask, wrinkled his brow. "What-"

But the Agent had disappeared, vanishing through some arcane devilry. Hand suddenly empty, the masked attacker couldn't seem to believe his luck, casting about everywhere for the blonde agent, no doubt suspecting some sort of insect devil fruit. Finally, realizing that she had truly made her escape, he roared his anger, smashing his fist through the concrete wall, before turning, huffing towards the exit.

So she would flee, would she? Well, well, well... he'd just have to kill the pups that the Bloodhound had left behind. Walking with sure, powerful strides, Doom slowly, inexorably began his march towards the clustered marines.

______________

Baskerville found herself maybe a mile from where she had wanted to be. Pain wracking the arm that the enemy had shattered, she hissed in pain as she struggled to her feet. Well, at least it wasn't as bad as the last occasion where she had managed to erase 'distance' - then she had ended up in a strange, airless place, the world beneath her glowing like a blue jewel. It was a beautiful, terrifying experience.

That, more than anything else, had convinced her to never attempt to use her devil fruit again, no matter how advantageous its abilities.

But during the emergency, with her life on the line - well. It was do nothing or die, or do something and she had chosen to fight for her life. But now, with the enemy undefeated, her own body on the verge of collapse, she needed to be able to think this through. There was a way out of this mess... if only she could see it.

Dragging herself towards the marines, a quick burst of soru covering the distance between them in a matter of seconds, she didn't quite stumble into the camp, managing instead to walk into the marine base under her own power, struggling to look dignified despite the mass of blood and bone her right arm had become.

"The enemy can use haki," she reported. No doubt some marines had no idea what she was talking about, it was a rare enough thing even within the Grand Line, but she had no time to educate them. "Our options are limited and extremely unfavorable. But we stand united for the cause of Justice, not only when the going is easy."

Slowly, awkwardly, she unsheathed her sword. She hadn't used it during the fight, intuitively understanding that the electrical baton could use it as a medium.

"Men," she nodded, almost imperceptibly towards the Petty Officer, "you may lose your lives. But I need you to fight with me. Right now, he is not a foe I can take on my own."