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The beach is a slaughter.
It’s clear the mimics knew they were coming. Despite the satellite intelligence declaring this area empty, there are thousands upon thousands of mimics on the beach—meaning this isn’t the first time she’s been here, this isn’t the first time they’ve fought this battle. She has to hope it won’t be the last.
She’s already exhausted but she can’t stop. There’s no one else who understands what’s really at stake.
She needs an Alpha. There’s gotta be at least one Alpha in the mix here, if she can just find it. All she needs is one. Just one Alpha. She’s repeating this over and over to herself, like a mantra, the first time she sees him.
He’s so clearly terrified, looking up at her as though expecting her to deliver him—to deliver all of them—from this raging clusterfuck. Gods, she fucking hates those bloody billboards.
He’s going to be disappointed but it won’t last long. There isn’t much she—or anyone—can do about this. She just needs—
***
The first time she sees him, her eyes roll so hard she can practically see the battle raging on behind them. She is so tired of men getting in her way, trying to save her. As though any of them can be saved when it’s clear the mimics knew they were coming.
There’s gotta be at least one Alpha fighting in the mix here—if she can just find it. All she needs is one Alpha.
At first, she ignores his babbling about being hit. She shoves him off of her and climbs to her feet as he whinges about getting the bloody wind knocked out of him, heedless of the people being slaughtered all around them. It does give her an idea, though.
She feels zero guilt about taking his battery. He’s unlikely to need it for much longer, whereas she—
***
The first time she sees him, the idiot isn’t even watching where he’s—
***
The first time she sees him, she’s so annoyed by his shove that it takes her a moment to pay attention to what he’s saying.
She doesn’t believe him at first, doesn’t want to believe him. She’s been so focused on her quest to find an Alpha; part of her doesn’t want to accept that she’s missed her chance. It’s not about her, though.
She watches the way he moves, wanting to be sure it’s real. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up if he’s just extremely lucky but, no. It’s clear he knows—remembers—where the mimics are going to be.
She doesn’t bother trying to follow him. She’s already exhausted from the fighting and, if he can reset, there’s no point in continuing to slog their way through this slaughter.
It’s such a relief to stop, to know that—at last—there’s someone else. He just needs to find her, once he resets, so she can make him understand what’s at stake.
***
This particular ritual is her favourite. Surrounded by spinning MiMech sentinels, in what feels like her own private RECR bay, holding herself in a modified Mayurasana. Her sacred bubble of peace amidst the chaos, where everything is within her control.
She ignores the commotion in the hall, ignores the repeated shouting of her name and rank. Anyone with the authority to command her attention wouldn’t be wringing his hands, begging from the sidelines, and she has no desire to deal with yet another fanboy.
Gods, she fucking hates those bloody billboards.
When the alarm goes off, she slides into Bhujangasana, then hops to her feet. The first time she sees him, he has literally and figuratively crossed the line and she intends to send him packing, tout suite.
Her squad is gathered around the entrance to her RECR, watching, but they’ve missed their window to intervene on her behalf. They, at least, know better than to come into her RECR uninvited.
The anxious little fanboy works his way towards her, still wringing his hands, making a bloody spectacle of himself, barely managing to dodge the MiMechs as they whiz along their route. The way he’s staring at her, his eyes lit with hope, is exhausting. She’s so tired of being the infamous Full Metal Bitch™. She’s got nothing left to give the cringing little shit in front of her, who's no doubt desperate for bragging rights, an autograph, or whatever other petty bullshit brought him here and made him her problem.
Except, then he starts talking and it isn’t remotely what she’s expecting.
He’s still looking at her like she’s his personal saviour but she ignores that, focusing instead on what he’s telling her. She can feel her own hope surging as he fumbles his way through his explanation that they’ve met before, that they’ve met tomorrow.
He may not know it yet—there’s no way for her to know how many times they’ve had this conversation—but he’s the one who’s about to take on the mantle of saviour. It’s an honour she wouldn’t wish on her worst enemy but it’s also exactly what they need to win the war. She feels a flush of—it’s not pleasure, not exactly—relief, maybe, that this time the burden isn’t hers. That maybe, just maybe, they have another chance.
He doesn’t look like much but, then, neither had she. The top brass love to brag about her great success as an ‘untrained’ soldier on her ‘first day’ but, of course, the only success she had on her actual first day was killing that Alpha. By the time the Omega had decided to let them win, she’d had to live that ‘first’ day hundreds, and hundreds, of times.
Even so, she doesn’t think she was ever this green.
There have been others, of course there have. Others who’ve managed to kill an Alpha and capture the power of the Omega. She’s met at least three. Well, three that she remembers. She doesn’t know—doesn’t want to know—how many resets they might have lived through together before they, too, lost the power. She can’t bear to think about what might have happened to them. All she knows is that it wasn’t enough to end this, to destroy the Omega.
She wonders, briefly, if she’s met this one before—and how many times—but it doesn’t really matter. All that matters is that they’re here, now, both of them aware. She has to believe that as long as she and Carter—and, now, Cage—are alive, there’s a chance they can stop the invasion.
Except, Cage doesn’t seem to understand—doesn’t want to understand—the broader implications of his situation. She can’t believe that she has to remind him why they’re here. How is it possible that he’s lost focus whilst surrounded by the chaos of the Forward Operating Base? What, exactly, does he think all of the people around them are scrambling to prepare for?
The power in his blood means they have the chance to create a new plan, one that might actually work, and she hates that she has to spell all of this out for him. She needs him to understand that it isn’t just his reality that’s shifted.
At least she’s got Carter.
She appreciates how quickly Carter catches on, how willing he always is to believe her. She doesn’t like to think about where she’d be right now, if she didn’t have him. She does have him, though. Even losing his fancy job wasn’t enough to slow him down and, together, they’ve been learning everything they can about the mimics.
It feels like a sign that the transponder is already there, on the table. The key to the Omega, just waiting for its lock, a lock with the blood of an Alpha. The time has finally come to put all their work, all their preparations, to the test.
Cage, on the other hand, takes forever to believe what they’re telling him. She knows it’s a lot to take in. She understands his frustration—remembers how hard it was to experience everything over, and over, and then over again—but they don’t have time for this. She needs him to let go of the idea he can talk his way out of this. At the very least, she needs him to get out of his own way long enough to give her something they can use.
She has to forcibly remind herself that as long as Cage has the power, as long as he’s using it to learn, as long as he’s making progress, there’s still a chance.
Even if it feels like an infinitesimally small one.
Even if, the more he talks, the more she feels like it should’ve been her and not this self-centred coward. Does he think she’s going to let him just, what, opt-out? For fuck’s sake, has he even been listening?
He isn’t combat trained? He bloody well will be when she’s done with him. Does he really think his pathetic little protests are going to stop her? That they’ll even slow her down?
Watching him flail about in the RECR is painful. However many times he’s respawned at his own personal save point, he doesn’t seem to have learned even the most basic combat manoeuvres. He’s too slow, too uncertain, reacting to the MiMechs as though he’s never seen them before.
She doesn’t know why she bothered to suit up. He clearly hadn’t been kidding when he’d said he wasn’t trained. He doesn’t even know how to reload his weapon.
Encouraging speeches don’t come naturally to her but maybe she can inspire him with a demonstration.
She almost feels bad when her strike knocks the MiMech into him and he breaks his back. Almost.
She enjoys the surprise on his face when she pulls out her gun, his utter shock. She knows it’s petty and she doesn’t care. She’s not sure what else he’s expecting. If he can’t feel his limbs, there’s no point in continuing. They may as well reset.
She can feel the corners of her lips quirk up. Besides, after watching that travesty, it’s a relief to shoot him.
***
The first time she sees him, it’s obvious they’ve met before, though—of course—she doesn’t remember. There’s just something about the way he rushes to tell her who he is and why she should care. She appreciates how quickly he cuts to the chase.
She doesn’t appreciate how green he obviously is. Watching him flail about in the RECR is painful. As she resets the MiMechs, again, she can’t help wondering how little training he’d had when he’d started this cycle.
There’s no way this is the iteration where they’ll succeed. He’s too slow, too uncertain, reacting to the MiMechs as though he’s never seen them before. She has to bite back a scream every time she repeats an instruction, or gives the same tips. She’s exhausted at the thought of having to do this again, multiple times, even if she won’t remember.
She needs him to let go of the idea he can talk his way out of this, that his protests will stop her. It’s almost funny when he grudgingly gives in to the inevitability of his death. Mostly, though, it’s just a relief to shoot him.
***
Watching him flail about in the RECR is painful. She's almost grateful when he requests a pause, despite the fact they don’t have time for whatever bullshit he’s working himself up to say.
As he fumbles his way through propositioning her, she’s struck by the contrast between the man who’d approached her an hour ago, confident in his reception, and the man standing before her now, unable to utter the word 'sex.'
Does he think she would be wasting her time trying to train him if there were any other way? She doesn’t have any desire to fuck him but she’d do it in a heartbeat if there was any chance it would give her the power. Does he really think something as basic as fucking wouldn’t have occurred to her? Or to any of the others that have come before?
He stands there, expectant, his eyes lit with hope, as though waiting for her to swoon. It’s so satisfying to press the button and let the MiMechs—
***
Watching him flail about in the RECR is painful. She’s almost forgotten why she’s bothering to help him, shouting instructions at him when he clearly isn’t listening.
She sighs when one of the MiMechs catches him by surprise, lifting him off his feet and slamming him into the wall. As he screams, she can’t resist one last quip, reminding him to keep his eyes open. She knows it’s petty and she doesn’t care.
***
Watching him flail about in the RECR is painful. It’s a relief when the MiMechs—
***
As she resets the MiMechs, again, she can’t hold back a sigh. They’ve been at this for hours and it doesn’t feel like he’s making any progress.
She ignores his protests and pulls her gun; the prospect of shooting him is such a relief.
***
It doesn’t feel like he’s making any progress. It’s such a relief to shoot him.
***
It’s such a relief to shoot him.
***
As he attempts to flee from her—crawling awkwardly along the floor of the RECR, assuring her he’s fine when his leg is clearly broken—she almost feels bad for him. They don’t have time to waste on sentiment, though, and, even if they did, she’s not sure she’d be capable of any.
She needs him to let go of the idea he can talk his way out of this, that his protests will stop her.
Plus, it’s such a relief to shoot him.
***
It’s hard to keep her temper in check as Cage lashes out at Carter. She understands his frustration—remembers how hard it was to experience everything over, and over, and then over again—but he needs to remember that they haven’t lived this before. Carter won’t be able to help until he has something to go on.
Carter, at least, catches on as quickly as ever. She appreciates how willing he always is to believe her, to believe them, now, she supposes.
She lets go of some of her annoyance when Cage reveals he's had a vision. He’s seen the Omega and that means they’re one step closer to ending the war. Anticipation is thrumming through her and, suddenly, standing here listening to Cage and Carter go back and forth is too much. She needs to move faster, go forward, push harder, do something. Besides, they don’t need her for this part.
She heads for her favourite RECR, and her ritual. She can’t wait to see how far they get tomorrow.
***
As he stomps towards her, defeat written in every line of his posture, she wants to shake him, or shoot him. It would be such a relief to just shoot him and reset, even though she knows this isn’t the time for that. It might teach him a lesson though, teach him to fucking focus on their objective.
She hates that he can’t seem to get out of his own way long enough to give her something she can use, something that will get them off this fucking beach, away from the slaughter. She hates that she needs him at all, that she can’t do this without him.
She hates that she’s so intent on him that she does the exact thing she’s upset with him about—she loses focus and the mimic is on them before she can even—
***
On his mark, she dashes forward, only to be sideswiped. As she crashes to the sand, she hears Cage—
***
She understands his frustration but his impatience with her is wearing thin. They don’t have time to squabble over how poorly she followed his instructions in some previous iteration(s). It’s infuriating that he’s talking to her as though they’ve both been there for all of it.
She doesn’t care if they’ve had countless versions of this conversation. He’s the only one who’s lived it and there’s only so much she can do to prevent them having to repeat it. It doesn’t help that he insists on berating her for whatever she did, or didn’t do, on that beach.
He should be using this time—while they’re safely hidden in Carter’s makeshift office—to give her better, more precise, detailed information.
It all feels like such an enormous waste of time—even if she doesn’t remember doing it before, even knowing they have the power to reset—because who knows how long they’ll have before they lose the power. They need to keep pushing, to stay focused on making progress each time, on getting off that beach and taking out the Omega.
She hates that she needs him at all, that he’s the only one who can get them to the next point.
***
Across the trench, 12:00, look to the right. Across the trench, 12:00, look to the right. She repeats his instructions over and over, like a mantra.
She gets to the top of the trench, shoots the mimics at 12:00, and turns—
***
She doesn’t care if they’ve had countless versions of this conversation. She doesn’t think it’s unreasonable to ask him to be more specific and his impatience with her is wearing thin. She’s doing the best she can with what he’s giving her. She’s sure she’s been doing her best each time.
There’s no way she misused the power this badly when she had it.
***
She gets to the top of the trench, shoots the mimics at 12:00, and is halfway across when she looks up and sees another swarm of mimics headed straight for them. There’s no time but, maybe, if she—
***
She gets to the top of the trench, shoots the mimics at 12:00, takes out the swarm, and races—
***
She gets to the top of the trench, shoots the mimics at 12:00, takes out the swarm, and races up the other side. She can hear Cage behind her as she—
***
He keeps looking at her, his eyes swimming with frustration and sorrow. It’s a look she knows well, for all that she’s sure she’s never seen it on him before.
It’s one thing to know that he’s lived this before—she doesn’t want to think about how many times—but in moments like these she swears she can feel the weight of all those resets. It’s uncomfortable, an itch, deep under her skin.
Training in the RECR is the best way she knows to deal with it and, for a couple hours at least, that’s what they do. Still, she can’t help but feel relieved when he finally leaves to head back to the barracks.
***
She gets to the top of the trench, shoots the mimics at 12:00, takes out the swarm, and races up the other side. She can hear Cage behind her as she takes out the next three in quick succession.
In unison, they move on the next trench, and then the next.
Their progress is slow—there are thousands upon thousands of mimics on the beach—but they keep up their momentum in trench after trench.
They cut a wide swath through the mimics and then—
***
Watching him storm around the RECR is painful. She understands his frustration. As long as he doesn’t wear himself out before tomorrow, she supposes it can’t hurt for him to work his angst out on the MiMechs. It’s definitely her preferred method for working through things.
She wishes he would stop looking at her, though, his eyes swimming with despair.
It’s a relief when he finally leaves to head back to the barracks.
***
She understands his frustration—remembers how hard it was to experience everything over, and over, and then over again—but she could really do without his bullshit sarcasm, his fatalism.
For fuck’s sake, if he’s so damn tired of having this conversation, why didn’t he say something sooner? It isn’t Carter’s fault they’ve done this before!
***
Watching him storm around the RECR is painful. There’s a heaviness to his movements that she doesn’t like. He’s doing well, anticipating the MIMechs as though he’s done this hundreds of times already. Then again, he probably has. Still, there’s some underlying stiffness, something clearly eating away at him.
Encouraging speeches don’t come naturally to her but needs must.
When he turns to face her, she’s taken aback by the sheer despair flooding his gaze. She doesn’t have the first idea how to help him. It’s a relief when he finally leaves to head back to the barracks.
***
She gets to the top of the trench, shoots the mimics at 12:00, takes out the swarm, and races up the other side. She can hear Cage behind her as she takes out the next three in quick succession.
In unison, they move on the next trench, and then the next.
Their progress is slow—there are thousands upon thousands of mimics on the beach, after all—but they keep up their momentum in trench after trench.
They cut a wide swath through the mimics and then, somehow, they’re on the other side, looking down at an abandoned carnival and caravan park. They pause for a moment, catching their breath near a weathered patio, as Cage explains the next steps.
She understands his desire for caution, his obvious frustration with her impatience, but she wishes he would just give her the information she needs and let her get on with it. He’s wasting time lecturing her on leaving him behind. If the mimics kill him when he goes for the SUV, the day will reset and they’ll have to start from scratch. If he doesn’t die, they’ll reconnect and move forward together.
His claim that they haven’t tried the minivan and SUV before rings false as he insists over, and over, and then over again that she needs to disconnect the caravan. She doesn’t know why he’d lie to her about something so small, so seemingly insignificant. It doesn’t really matter, though. This could be the fifth—or fifteenth—time they’ve done this and they’ll have to keep doing it until they succeed.
She’s in luck, though. It takes a few tries but she gets the minivan going. She’s heading towards where the SUV had been when she sees him making his way to her. She skids to a halt, knocking out the passenger door so he can jump in, and they’re off. As they race through the park, sliding and smashing their way through the corners, his earlier harping on about the caravan makes more sense. Still, it’s not as though disconnecting it would have improved the minivan’s handling by much.
It might have prevented that final mimic attack but Cage takes it out readily enough.
The first half hour of the drive is blissfully quiet. This world always seems so loud and she relishes every moment of peace she has. She’s not surprised when Cage eventually disrupts the silence—she’s a little impressed he’s managed it this long.
She’s never much enjoyed talking for the sake of talking and his quest to get to know her makes her a bit uncomfortable, especially as he keeps forgetting that he’s the only one who remembers what's gone before. He talks to her like he’s picking up shared conversational threads and expects her to understand the context.
Still, his chatter is pleasant enough and she enjoys bantering back and forth with him. At least it’s something to do on the long drive.
Hendricks’s name in his mouth hits her like a physical blow. She isn’t ready. She can’t believe she’s ever been ready, though clearly she was in some other iteration. She hates that he’s pushing her, even though he must know how painful that name is to her. She can’t understand why he’s doing this, why he’s insisting on having this conversation.
When he asks if she’s in love with Hendricks, it’s all she can do to keep driving. She doesn’t want to talk about Hendricks—she doesn’t want to think about Hendricks—and she hates that she has to spell all of this out.
She tells him about all the times she watched Hendricks die. It hurt—it still hurts—that she couldn’t ever save him. She can’t help but think that, however many times they’ve been here before, Cage still doesn’t understand what that feels like. She hopes, for his sake, he never will.
This time the silence lasts for over an hour.
***
She doesn’t hold out much hope for the house. It’s clearly been picked over but Cage is insistent and she's too tired to argue. She figures they can poke around a bit until he’s satisfied there’s nothing here, and then they can get on with it.
There’s nothing useful in the kitchen, almost nothing in the garage. She’s opening the door to the garden, ready to call it, when she turns and there it is. A beautiful, seemingly intact, helicopter.
She understands his desire for caution, his obvious frustration with her impatience, but she can’t understand why he’s so set on leaving the helicopter behind. She doesn’t want to transfer the fuel into containers and then trek it back to the minivan. It makes absolutely zero sense when there is a helicopter right there! If he doesn’t want to fly the bloody thing, she’s happy to play pilot.
She wishes he would stop dithering about with the bandages, even if she should probably be grateful that he insists on tending her wound. It feels like they’re wasting daylight—time they could be using to find the keys and get going in the helicopter.
His claim that he’s tried to find the keys is starting to ring false, a classic case of protesting too much. She’s only known him for a few hours but, up to this point, it’s felt like they were working together towards a common goal. They’ve been making steady progress all day and now, suddenly, he wants to wax philosophical in a country idyll?
At this point, they may as well reset, start fresh.
The coffee is the only thing that saves him. She can give him ten minutes to navel gaze while she sips her coffee; that feels like a viable compromise.
At first, she’s charmed by his insistence on adding sugar to her mug. When he reminds himself that she likes three packets, however, all she feels is betrayal. It’s clear he’s realised his mistake when he tells her about the shirt. He gets up to rifle through the drawers, no doubt hoping she’ll ignore what’s just happened.
She can’t, though, not without understanding what the bloody hell is going on. She doesn’t know why he’d lie to her about something like this. How fucking dare he, honestly.
She’s been giving him the benefit of the doubt up to this point, keenly aware that his methods are what’s gotten them this far, but no more. How could he possibly think the threat of death would convince her to sit this one out? This could be the fifth—or fifteenth, or five hundredth—time they’ve done this and they’ll just have to keep doing it until they succeed.
It’s so frustrating to feel, after everything they’ve been through, like he still doesn’t trust her, like he’s missing the fucking point. The point of this is not for him to save her—or himself, or any one person. The point of all this is to destroy the Omega, to end the war, and to do it before they run out of time. Hopefully, in one of these iterations, he’ll remember that.
For now, though, she’s going to that fucking dam and she’s going in that gods-damned helicopter.
It all plays out exactly as he told her it would, because he’s lived this all before, and more than once. She knows this. She knew it before she got in that blasted death trap, knew even as she was storming away from him that she shouldn’t have given in to her temper.
This one’s on her.
He takes her hand, his eyes brimming with anguish, and she thinks about all the times she watched Hendricks die, about how much it hurt—how much it still hurts—that she couldn’t ever save him. She thinks about how alone she’s been and how good working with Cage has been up to this point. She wants to tell him something, to show him she understands, to help make things easier on both of them the next time.
She squeezes his hand as she tells him her middle name. The real one this time.
***
The first time she sees him, she’s annoyed at the thought of dealing with yet another fanboy. There’s something different about this one, though, and she’s surprised when he apologises and leaves her be. She appreciates the apology, even if she’d have preferred he not interrupt her in the first place.
She stares after him for a moment, perplexed, but it doesn’t matter. Tomorrow is all that matters. Tomorrow, she’s going to find herself an Alpha.
Ignoring the MiMechs whirling around her, she heads back to her favourite spot in the RECR and brings herself back into Mayurasana.
***
Discovering that the visions were bogus undermines everything they thought they knew about the mimics. She appreciates how quickly Carter catches on, how willing he always is to believe her, even when it shatters his worldview.
She’s just as shocked, just as devastated, when Cage makes the connection to what happened at Verdun, to her visions. Her breath catches and she grips the table as her reality shifts and the bottom drops out.
Pulling herself together takes only a moment. She’s always been excellent at compartmentalising and right now they don’t have time for her—or Carter, or anyone—to get bogged down in sentiment. As long as they’re alive, as long as they’re making progress—as long as Cage has the power—there’s still a chance they can destroy the Omega and stop the invasion. They have to keep going.
It feels like a sign that the transponder is already there, on the table. The key to the Omega, just waiting for its lock, a lock with the blood of an Alpha.
She understands Carter’s desire for caution but she doesn’t see the harm in trying. Worst case scenario, it messes with Cage’s body and/or brain, at which point they reset and try something else.
When Cage suggests going after the prototype, she can feel hope stirring once more in her chest. They share a look as Carter lists potential risks, and she feels a flush of—it’s not pleasure, not exactly—relief, maybe, that this time the burden is shared.
She isn’t alone anymore.
***
Cage keeps up a running commentary as they go, giving her brief and precise instructions about each step, telling her exactly what she needs to know and no more. They infiltrate Whitehall smoothly and efficiently.
It’s like they’re playing a game no one else is aware of, dancing to a tune only he can hear, as he counts off seconds, then steps. She doesn’t usually like partner dancing—it’s always a struggle to let go and follow—but it’s fun to let Cage lead, to spin her around first one way, then another.
It feels better than she’s expecting to train her gun on General Brigham and she has to remind herself, more than once, not to shoot him. It would be such a relief to just shoot him, even though she knows this isn’t the time for that. She doesn’t have the active role in this play.
She relaxes back into a chair to enjoy the show.
Cage does not disappoint. He hits his cues perfectly, with just the right amount of dramatic flair. While she appreciates the work Cage has obviously put in to hone his craft, she’s starting to worry about how much time this is all taking. She’s never been good at sitting still when there’s work to be done.
As the secretary leaves, she pushes Cage to get on with it, to get to the point. He implores her not to shoot the General again, making her wonder if her earlier desire was some sort of echo of the previous iterations of this cycle. Then again, maybe she shot him in those other attempts because of her earlier desire—she definitely has plenty of reasons to want to pull that trigger.
Cage starts talking again but, this time, he tries a different tactic and she can see it’s starting to work. The General is impressed; his mask of obstinate stoicism is slipping.
When he opens the safe, she feels her breath catch. She almost can’t believe that Cage telling him he isn’t mentally equipped is the thing that works, and she’s not the only one. Both men seem surprised when the General concedes and hands the transponder over.
Cage walks towards her, looking as stunned as she feels. This isn’t the moment to celebrate, though. They’ve still got to get out of here, to get somewhere they can use the transponder, and they’ll be making the rest of it up as they go.
She’s surprised at how easily they move through the halls, how quickly they're back at the front doors. She shares a glances with Cage and knows he, too, was expecting it to be harder. They’re out the doors, heading down the steps, when they’re suddenly surrounded with no obvious means of escape. They may as well reset.
He doesn’t even flinch when she shoots him.
***
The car handles like a dream as they speed through the parking garage and—bonus—it seems to be bullet-proof. That’s going to come in handy as they make their escape.
She keeps her focus on the road, on getting them up to the next level, and then the next. They don’t have time for doubts right now, they need to use the transponder and figure out the Omega’s location. She doesn’t know why Cage is hesitating and she doesn’t care. She glances forward to ensure the next bit of road is straight, then grabs his hand and forces him to stab the transponder deep into his leg.
He shouts in pain, or surprise, and then goes eerily quiet next to her.
She rounds a corner, heads up to the next level, and Cage—who hasn’t stopped talking since they met—still hasn’t said anything. She has to shout at him a few times, swerving through the garage all the while, before she gets a response. Even then, his whispers are almost unintelligible.
He mumbles something about a garage and she has to hope he’s actually connected to the Omega and not just babbling about their current surroundings. Then he’s pulling the transponder out and—result—he’s telling her it’s in Paris. They’ve done it, he’s done it. Now all they have to do is get through this gauntlet of soldiers and get there.
She speeds through the garage, and out into London, and they’re off. Except, they’ve barely made it a full city block when a soldier in an exosuit slams his fist through Cage’s window. She manages to wrest back control of the car, leaving the soldier behind, but the damage is done; they’ve lost their bullet proofing.
As bullets ricochet around them, she hears Cage grunt in pain and looks over, her eyes falling instantly to where his hand is pressing against his thigh. Fuck. If the bullet’s hit his femoral artery, he’ll bleed out fast enough to die, and reset. They can’t risk the other alternatives. She needs to take him out now.
He shouts her name and she realises she’s been so focused on his wound that she isn’t watching where she’s driving. She looks up just in time to see a soldier in an exosuit slamming his hands down on the bonnet of the car before—
...
She’s surprised, and more than a little disappointed, when she wakes up. The restraints lashing her to the cot, however, are unsurprising and all too familiar. She remembers the crash, which means Cage is alive and he hasn’t reset.
She ignores the medical staff bustling around her and waits for her moment. As soon as she’s alone, she makes quick work of her restraints and sneaks into the corridor. She doesn’t recognise this building, doesn’t know the layout, but medical facilities tend to follow a certain pattern.
Sure enough, it doesn’t take her long to figure out where they’ve put Cage. She’s not sure how long she’ll have before they realise she’s gone, and raise the alarm, but there are too many people milling about for her to go directly to him.
She waits for him—ducking behind things, staying out of sight—watching staff come and go from his room, until there’s only one left. When that person leaves, she counts to ten, and then ten again, but there’s no sign of him. She double checks that she’s alone in the corridor, then heads in to collect him.
He’s managed to flip himself upside down, still tied to the cot. She can’t help laughing at him as she gets the cot—and him with it—facing right way up. She pulls her knife, not bothering to make her apology sincere. She’s ready for a reset, whether he is or not.
She doesn’t even realise she’s hesitating, giving him the chance to tell her he’s lost the power, until he does. The sight of the blood bags is crushing but she can’t allow herself to be upset about it. Even if they can’t reset, they still know where the Omega is. All they need to do is get there.
Their one spot of luck is that the hospital is on base. Once they’re outside, the plan comes together quickly. She has no way to know what Cage was like in previous iterations but she knows she likes the person he is in this one, likes how quickly his brain works, likes that he’s still in this with her. She watches him jog away, heading through the rain to find his squad, then focuses on her own objective.
It’s surprisingly simple to get into the hangar and find a willing drop ship crew. Air crews always seem to have a more relaxed attitude towards rules and orders. They jump at the chance to head to Paris with the Full Metal Bitch™, already excited to brag to their mates about the adventure. It’s nice that her infamous alter ego can serve a useful purpose, for once, and she hopes they’ll get the chance to tell this story in the pub someday.
She leaves the pilot and navigator running through their pre-flight checks and heads towards the barracks, hoping Cage has been as successful in convincing his squad.
Fortune seems to be favouring them, as she arrives just in time for her cue. Unlike the rowdy air crews—who cared about her status only in relation to convincing their mates to buy their drinks—this squad stands, jaws dropping, as she enters. They don’t look like much but, then, neither had she before all this started. As long as they’re willing to go, to fight, that’s all they need.
She ignores the conversation on the drop ship. The babbling and bickering are typical for a squad about to deploy and she doesn’t know these soldiers well enough to join in. She runs through yet another equipment check, verifying that her weapons are loaded, that her exosuit is primed and ready.
When Cage pauses in front of her, she’s expecting him to run through the plan one more time. Instead, apparently, he’s hoping that she’ll stay behind. Does he really think after all this, after everything they’ve been through to get to this point, that she’d be willing to sit idly by?
She knows he wants to protect her. She’s learned in the short time she’s known him that he isn’t comfortable with any of them dying—that he would spare all of them if he could—but he can’t be serious. There’s no way she’s going to miss what comes next.
They’re as ready as they’re going to be. They can do this.
That, of course, is when the first attack hits. They should’ve expected it, honestly. There’s no way the Omega is unguarded.
Cage isn’t hooked in and goes flying, skidding along the floor of the drop ship. He seems ok as he gets up, ignoring the chaos around them and telling her to drop. The others are freaking out around them but most follow his shouted orders to drop. She doesn’t, though.
For all her insistence earlier that she’s going in, she doesn’t want to go without him. They’ve come so far together and that’s how she wants to finish this. She’d thought they were on the same page. Has he decided to stay behind, since she refused? She can’t decipher the look he gives her but when he slams his hand against her release lever, his command is clear enough.
She lands hard in the water, thankful it’s not too deep. She takes a few steps and barely manages to avoid falling into a deeper patch. The weight of her suit is dragging her down and she doesn’t even hesitate before she takes it off, glad she's never allowed herself to become overly dependent on the exosuits. For combat armour, they’re shockingly fragile. She leaves hers behind, already on the lookout for other survivors.
She follows up on each movement she hears, every splash, and slowly gathers the remnants of J Squad together. Of the nine they started with, so far she’s found three who’ve survived the attack. There’s something else moving in the water, headed towards them. It’s too slow to be a mimic—she hopes—but she’s still overwhelmed by relief when she sees it’s Cage.
She knows it’s unlikely they’ll make it out of this but she isn’t ready to lose him yet.
She’s less sure about the rest of J Squad, though. They’re struggling to cope with the loss of their friends and lashing out at her for trying to keep things moving. She wishes she could give them time to grieve but she can’t and she needs them to set their feelings aside for now.
All of this squabbling is getting them nowhere. They could be halfway to the pyramid if they’d just started walking. Maybe they don’t have enough ammo, maybe there are too many mimics, but—for fuck’s sake—they can’t give up.
When Cage suggests they use the drop ship, the idea is just outlandish enough to work. He gets it, at least. Hells, even if this doesn’t work, she appreciates that he’s still scheming, still putting that wily brain of his to good use, creating opportunities out of disaster. Like her, he isn’t willing to stop until he’s dead.
Somehow, between the two of them, they’ll finish this, whatever it takes.
The excitement of getting the drop ship powered on is tempered by the knowledge that Skinner and Griff are staying behind, that they’re losing two more of their very small crew.
Any and all feelings are swept aside, however, as the mimics surge towards them and her world narrows once more to the task at hand. They have to keep moving.
She looks back for a moment, when the mine detonates, but that’s all the attention she can spare their lost comrades. She can hear Ford in the suit behind her, can feel Cage standing next to her, but her focus is on the gun in her hand, on taking out as many mimics as she can, on clearing their path.
She’s not sure when Cage turns away from the controls. She just knows they’re starting to drift off track and they can’t afford to. When he tells her to take over, she knows they’re the only ones left. The drop ship is coming apart around them.
It doesn’t take long before she falls into the same trap he did, turning away from the controls and reaching for her gun. There are so many bloody mimics.
The drop ship hits something, knocking her off her feet. She’s going to have to leave the shooting to Cage if they’re going to have any hope of making it all the way to the pyramid. Fighting against the momentum, clawing her way back to the cockpit as the drop ship bounces and judders along, is excruciating.
She’s only just wrapped her hands around the controls when Cage screams at her and she looks up to see the Arc de Triomphe du Carrousel approaching fast. The levers are stiff and resistant but she manages to force them forward, accelerating into the oncoming crash.
Thankfully, though the impact slams her against the console, she doesn’t black out like she did in London. She has just enough time to wrap her arm through a couple of safety straps before the drop ship smashes through the pyramid and comes to a screeching halt.
She pauses only long enough to grab a shotgun, and a bandolier of grenades, and she’s out, landing hard next to Cage, who is already moving. She tosses him the gun and pulls a pin, careful to keep a hold on the spoon.
It’s incredible that they’re still alive, still moving—well, she will be, once she’s caught her breath. Cage seems to read her mind, looking her dead in the eye and assuring her they’ve been through worse, before cocking the shotgun and rolling to his feet.
She grins as they run towards a huge hole in the floor, lodging the grenade in a convenient crevice as she follows him down.
It’s a long drop.
The garage—and the Omega—they’re headed towards is at least three stories underneath their entry point. She feels every single one as she falls, the combined forces of gravity and the explosion overcoming the obstacles she bumps into along the way.
She lands, hard, on top of the same car that’s caught Cage, dust and debris raining down around them. Almost immediately, Cage rolls them off the car—and just in time. They land awkwardly, with Cage bearing the brunt of the impact. She’s splayed out on top of him, taking a moment to get her breath back. He looks her over with concern and she reassures him she’s alright, she can keep going.
His attention shifts, dragging hers along with it, as he points out the water where the Omega is hiding. She pushes off him and crawls forward but Cage isn’t beside her. She can see him trying to get up but there’s something wrong with his leg. She half wrestles, half drags him around a pillar and props him into a seated position. They’re both winded from the effort and she can see him trying to push back the pain. Her grenade has bought them a small window of recovery time, trapping the mimic drones in the levels above, but it won’t last long.
There’s a noise behind them and she shifts cautiously to look around their pillar. She catches sight of an Alpha on patrol. It doesn’t seem to know where to look for them but it clearly knows they’re here and has come to defend the Omega.
When she tells Cage, she’s already figured out how this has to go. She’s not exactly sure how bad Cage’s injury is but a minute ago he couldn’t even stand. The water isn’t far, though, and she’s sure that—with enough time—he can get to it. She has to draw off the Alpha and give him that time. They’re going to have to split up.
It’s unsurprising that he’s reached the same conclusion. He’s deluding himself if he thinks this will work with their roles reversed, however. She understands his frustration—how hard it is to be forced to take a less active role—but it isn’t as though either of them is going to make it out of here and they don’t have time to fight about it.
She knows that this is just how his brain works—he’s an ideas guy and he’s always got at least fifteen different scenarios running simultaneously—and she’s admired that about him all day. It’s the main reason they’ve come this far.
Right now, though, she needs him to let go of all his big ideas and accept their circumstances. She needs him to trust her, just as she’s trusted him, and—when he reaches for the grenades—she knows he does.
She feels a rush of affection for him. This has been a wild ride and she’s glad she got to be here for it, that he chose her. She’s not in love with him, not in the romantic sense of the word, but she loves him. She wants to make sure he knows, before the end. Whether or not this works, this is the end of her road. She wishes, only for a moment, that there was another way to end this, a way that didn’t depend on mutually assured destruction.
She kisses him. She puts all of her hope and fear and love into it. She can feel him trying to deepen the kiss and she pulls back. And then, she runs.
She can feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through her as she careens around the piles of rubble and abandoned cars, running faster—and farther—than she expected. She can hear the Alpha crashing along in her wake, closing in, and hopes that she can give Cage the time he needs to get to the Omega.
She slides behind a car to catch her breath and get her bearings. It sounds like the Alpha is right behind her but then it goes quiet. Moving slowly and carefully, quietly, she raises her head and looks over the bonnet. There’s no sign of it. Where is that fucker?
She hears a noise behind her and realises she’s been flanked. This is it then. It lashes some of its tentacles and knocks a car out of its way, roaring at her. Does the Omega looking through it remember her? Is that why it hasn’t just killed her outright?
It doesn’t matter. The longer it’s focused on her, the better their odds, the further Cage will get.
She pushes back from the car, standing as it comes for her. She doesn’t have a weapon but she doubts it would matter if she did. As it leaps at her, she runs to meet it, ready—
***
The first time she sees him...