Covert Ops

It was a strange and yet paradoxically familiar world that the spartan found himself temporarily residing upon. Noble Six was altogether unsure what to make of this place. Nothing he learned in the program had ever prepared himself for this particular situation. His previous comparison to a UNSC colony was startlingly apt from what he had come to learn of this world and its inhabitants. Yet he had never before in his experience encountered something so acquainted and yet radically divergent.

Three days had passed since he retrieved the proverbial keys to the alien online net, and he had spent forty-eight of those seventy-two hours attempting to discern any form of advantage, or oftentimes even logic, in the inexplicable absurdity of this foreign network. The deserted and rather spacious warehouse he had provisionally requisitioned for himself proved to be a suitable, albeit impermanent living arrangement while he attempted to strategize for his next operation. It would not have been his first choice for a safehouse, but it was by a fair margin, the most viable for his current needs.

He had observed the location for an entire day before he was confident enough to believe it was abandoned, or at least would remain so in the temporary interim he planned to use it. There were a few unusual characters that wandered about the alleys at night, but as long as he was careful, they wouldn’t be a problem. The interior of the waterfront building was barren, a yawning stretch of naked concrete with a framework of catwalks for the second story. But the manager’s office had boarded windows and a sturdy iron door. It was not perfect, but preferable to the other locations he had scouted.

It provided shelter and if he was to be discovered he could easily outmaneuver any pursers in the maze of warehouses lining the docks. And as he lacked both reliable transportation and a means to move through the area unimpeded, it was the best he could do with such limitations.

Suspect living arrangement aside, having a somewhat secure site had at least allowed him to focus on discerning the information he had been gathering for the past few days. The act of perusing countless hours of online material, and the general lack of physical activity had a negative impact on both his patience and his sanity. He had not been designed for prolonged reconnaissance and Intel gathering. Even in his operations against the insurrection he could count on the fact he would need to fight eventually. This, however, was different. He could not afford to treat these inhabitants like the rebels, could not submit to a combative mentality. They were not an opposing force, but simply an obstacle impeding his efforts, obstacles he could not crush for concerns of the long term implications. Frustrated as he was, he could not fight them, not openly and not in the way he had been taught. The spartan had trained extensively for a more aggressive theatre of war, and did not respond entirely well to such protracted lengths of inaction.

Even in that moment he could feel his restlessness manifesting in the unconscious twitching of his muscles as they flexed and relaxed, his body desperate to do anything other than what he had been doing for the past several days. The nervous twitch was made worse since he could not even travel all that far from his hideout for fear of discovery. As impermanent as his current position may have been, he desired even less to have to relocate. Unsurprisingly there were not all that many places in a highly active city for someone like him to lay low.

Nevertheless, such issues were personal and posed no real detriment to his operation. And on a lighter note, for his efforts he had learned a great deal about this world and its unusual inhabitants.

The civilization of cats… or rather kats, as they apparently called themselves for whatever inane reason, was composed of a society that greatly reflected a unified humanity during the early 22^nd century. Though they used fossil fuels and relied on strange combination of comparatively archaic and in some cases highly advanced technology, they were well on their way to following in mankind’s footsteps. He learned, much to his disappointment, that while they actually did possess a space program, it would be years before they could do more than visit their orbiting satellite.

He would need to find his own way off this rock.

The settlement he had chanced upon went by the name of Megakat City, supposedly the most densely populated and advanced municipality in the United Clans, the nation within which boundary he made temporary residency. And that was just the tip of the iceberg of knowledge he needed to gain. He memorized the overflow of unimportant facts pertaining to national borders and geopolitical environments, more to form a comprehensive understanding of the difficulties he would face then of any personal interest. Should he ever escape this world and rejoin the UNSC, he was confident his findings would excite the scientific community for years to come.

There was, unsurprisingly, a near incalculable amount of data to metabolize, and even forty-eight hours of uninterrupted examination only provided him with a limited grasp of this world.

He had not even touched upon their culture yet.

While of no particular interest to himself, anything he could glean about the inhabitants of this world was information he could use to keep himself alive. It would only take a second of incomprehension, a brief moment ignorance in the face of opposition, to get himself killed. The entire world was against him. He could not garner support from the populace nor establish contacts within their society.

He was, ironically enough, completely and utterly alien.

Noble Six sighed quietly, the exhalation more instinctive than bearing any intent as he set his helmet down on the rusted desk ornamenting the warehouse office. The spartan reached into a pouch on his breastplate and retrieved an emergency protein bar, eyeing the plastic wrapped block of dense calories with mild disdain. Although UNSC field rations were not exactly delicacies unto themselves, an MRE was preferable in taste to that of supplies reserved for Special Forces units out in the field.

It would sate his hunger, and ensure that he suffered no nutritional deficiencies, but that did not mean it didn’t possess the flavor and perception of a brick of chalk that uncertainly tasted of meat and bread. At least that’s what he hoped he tasted. It had been years since he last had anything that could be considered edible to a civilian.

Stomaching his distaste, the spartan choked down his first meal since his disastrous awakening as he drew up plans for his next operation, the TACPAD on his bracer filling the room with a muted blue glow as he studied the research complex housing his objective.

Megakat R&D, or Puma-Dyne as it was known to those with high enough clearance, was a facility and organization that was currently in possession of human tech. He had researched the firm carefully, hacking its servers to retrieve information not accessible to the public, genetic manipulation, ablative and reactive armors, infantry portable energy weaponry, it was a black ops military facility in all but name. The Sabre could not be allowed to remain in the hands of the scientists of this world. They were not his adversaries in the way of the Covenant and he had no governmental directive to consider them hostile, but he could not allow UNSC technology to be compromised.

They were not his enemy as of this moment, but it was a potentiality.

The spartan, brushing flakes of protein bar off the warehouse desk, considered all possibilities for success. He would need a viable insertion point and a means of swift exfiltration. This was a high profile organization, even as it was a cover-up for more clandestine research its front was a well-known institute for science. He could not afford to draw unnecessary attention to his presence here in the city, nor could he allow the local constabulary and military factions to mobilize against him.

He looked to his rifle.

Skimming the release button, he caught the magazine as it fell from the stock of the MA37. In the same motion, Noble Six flicked his thumb over the first brass cartridge loaded into the mag and the bullet dropped into his waiting gauntlet.

He studied the 7.62x51mm round skeptically.

By his calculations he had 480 rounds, fifteen magazines before he was out of ammunition for the MA37, and 48 shells, or six full tubes for his shotgun. It was a standard combat load, given to soldiers before they left for the field. However that was with the implicit understanding that resupply was available.

He had no such luck.

From what he understood through investigation, the inhabitants of this world used scalable energy weapons, primitive in form when compared to the Covenant and even some of the cutting-edge tech under research in the UNSC before his relocation. Ballistic weaponry was uncommon on this world.

As such it was an unlikelihood that he would attain any ammunition for his weapons for the duration of his unwanted occupation. He doubted he would find anything sufficient in the future to bolster his arsenal. This would mean that prolonged engagements would be inadvisable as he did not have the supplies to maintain any further escalation. Discretion was the word of the day, and yet as much as he disliked such missions, he had not been on ONI black operations without reason.

He had experience in this particular theater of war.

The spartan would just have to make do with what he had.

He always did.

*****

“This… this is utterly incredible! The propellant for the thrusters utilizes a mix of chemicals as of yet undiscovered by modern science! And the hull? Ablative heat shielding inlaid with some new kind of metal alloy. That is not even taking into account of its electrical systems. To think of the….”

Felina sighed, brushing a paw across her muzzle in irritation as the scientist went on and on about the wondrous mysteries of what she considered to be nothing but an ugly heap of scrap metal. It was far too high above her pay grade for her to care. It’d probably be better for her career, and health, if she let it alone.

Some people, however, could not. 

Content enough to let the researcher talk himself to death, she turned her gaze to the long stretch of open space inside the hanger. There were several kats in lab coats shuffling about, calibrating recently transferred lab equipment and chattering animatedly with each other as they consulted a plethora of whiteboards and more advanced holo tables that had been wheeled and installed respectively, for the new project.

She might have been impressed with the haste they were exhibiting if she did not already know it was because they would not have the debris for long. It’d only been four days since the crash, and after a full day of combing the site for any lingering fragments from the craft, the wreckage had been moved to Megakat R&D. Since then the scientists here have been practically frothing at the mouth with all the theories and ideas about its origin.

“Dr. Maine, please.” She finally relented with a tired sigh after several minutes of his babbling, realizing that he probably would not stop unless prompted to. “Just tell me why it is you saw the need to interrupt my nap.” She had been in the middle of a rather pleasant dream when the agitated feline had burst into the break room spouting some incomprehensible nonsense.

That, unsurprisingly, made for a somewhat irritable Felina Feral.

The kat, seeming to realize for the first time that he had been rambling, took a step back and dusted his coat with an embarrassed cough. “Ah yes, of course. Forgive my excitement, Lieutenant, but it is just so extraordinary. If my theory is correct there is no telling what impact it may have upon the scientific community, or all kat kind.”

“And what theory, pray tell, is that, Doctor?” Feline inquired as she sat herself down on a nearby rolling chair.

She then watched as he dragged a whiteboard before her, its surface scrawled with a multicolored spectrum of various colors and equations beyond her understating.

“Well as you know,” He began with audible exhilaration that only seemed to grow the more and more he spoke and gesticulated wildly at his writings. “This was recovered in its current state some days ago, and since then we’ve been able to postulate initial impact values utilizing the crater at the crash site and the thermic damage to the nearby flora. But that is just one part of an even more fascinating surprise.”

The kat brandished a pointer, leveling it at a periodic table of elements similar to what she learned in late primary school. The tip of the pointer itself was leveled against a specific element at the bottom of the list that was circled heavily in red marker… a new element.

“This,” Dr. Maine enunciated with a gleam of anticipation flickering in his eyes, “is an element with twenty-two protons. I do not know if you are aware of this, Miss Feral, but kat kind has yet to discover or create such an element.”

She paused, the synapses in her brain firing slowly, as she tried to understand what it was he was trying to tell her, or rather it was her mind attempting to process his intent.

Perhaps seeing the dawning realization on her muzzle, the Doctor nodded gravely. “The materials of this craft are composed of a metallic element beyond the current scope of kat metallurgy, and the technology housed inside utilizes a suite of microchip processors and electrical engineering that is, quite frankly put, impossible for our society to fabricate. What I am saying, Miss Feral, is that we, as a species, did not create this aircraft. We can hardly understand it. It is at least several hundred years more advanced than modern machinery can allow. And the calculations from the impact site were finished only minutes before you were awakened, an impact with an exoatmospheric vector, as in outside the scope of our atmosphere.”

He sighed heavily, the sound a fusion of somber excitement. “This is not an aircraft, Miss Feral. This is a spaceship.”

Felina’s chair rolled backwards as she stood up slowly. She tried to truly comprehend the significance of this revelation, but could hardly fathom what it was she had been told. In the end, she supposed it could summarized in simple, easily understood words.

“Oh… oh shit.”

“Oh shit indeed, Miss Feral. We are possibly facing a first contact scenario.”

“The pilot…” She mumbled quietly, fearfully. “We never found the pilot. We had assumed they were maybe from Katzikstan, that maybe they had escaped or blended in to wait for retrieval. But…”

 “Correct.” Dr. Maine nodded thoughtfully. “We took measurements inside the cockpit the moment this became a possibility. All information gathered indicated a bipedal being, though with a significantly larger stature then kat standard. There was also some blood found on the seat, but with most of it burned or charred into the upholstery, we won’t be able to learn anything from it any time soon. But honestly at the moment I am not certain that matters. First Contact was made… and we missed it.”

Felina did not know what it was she should feel in that moment. But she did know at least what it was she had to do.

“A moment please, Doctor. There are a few calls I have to make.”

*****

Six closed the guard shack’s door, leaving its occupant unconscious and relatively unharmed in her chair. In that moment, as he stepped off the facility’s main road and faded into the clutter of buildings nestled inside the perimeter, the spartan lamented the absence of non-lethal ammunition. It was not usually his modus operandi, but he could have used a magazine of tranquilizer rounds, a handful of flashbangs or even a few smoke grenades.

Unfortunately the war with the Covenant had entirely phased out nonlethal options. No one wanted to enter a combat situation with those monsters with anything that could not kill on demand. 

This of course made his work difficult.

Noble Six was perfectly capable of killing of course. He could easily tear his way through this entire compound, and he probably wouldn’t even need his guns, but that would only mark him as a threat, as well as reveal his presence planetwide. He doubted he would have time to doctor the footage from the security system’s main frame before a militarized force arrived to retaliate, and he was not eager for the opportunity to test his metal against a world’s worth of pissed off aliens.

He’d already had his fill of that.

So when he came across patrols or wandering personnel, he stayed inside the shadows and altered any cameras he came across. This turned his progress into a crawl, and what might have taken him minutes if he had gone loud, instead took hours as he ducked through empty buildings and skulked through maintenance passages and drain pipes.

The map of the facility he possessed was a recent upload into the local data center onsite, and he was grateful for once that he actually had the correct Intel. The irony was not lost on him that it was probably only accurate because he had gathered it himself. He could not think of a time in human history where military analysts had ever consistently delivered correct intelligence for operations.

But that was a problem that was neither here not there, and the spartan stowed the concern away as he crouched behind a stack of wooden pallets at the southernmost end of the research compound.

The nav marker he set on the exterior hangar complex informed him that he was only a few hundred meters from his objective. There were a few bays on site, supposedly to house and maintain whatever experimental vehicles and aircraft that were currently under development. It was only logical to postulate that the wreckage of his sabre would be contained in a similar location.

Noble Six brushed a hand across his Mjolnir’s breastplate, a tertiary check to ensure that he still had the cans of C-7 stacked inside one of the numerous hardcases ornamenting his powered armor. He’d in all probability only need one to ensure the complete demolition of the objective, but he hadn’t made it this far into his career by taking unnecessary risks.

Satisfied that there would be no impediments to his success, the spartan rounded the final corner separating him from his target.

The airfield structure before him was fabricated from mass produced sheet metal, thin and easily manipulated by someone of his strength. It would not take even seven seconds for him to open a tear large enough to fit his significant bulk. Six, taking a moment to prepare himself for the rapid shift from silent to loud operation, placed a palm against the steel wall.

Sensor capillaries weaved into his nanocomposite bodysuit activated, sending a low energy pulse transfusing through the alloy and into the open space behind it, The wave of sound rebounded off any object located inside the structure before the data processing unit in his HUD software then extrapolated information in real time, a useful, if exceptional process built into his Mjolnir. This was just one of the many newer functions available to him as a result of his ONI connections. Tech like this would not have been available to the rest of the program for at least another two years, and was more a sign of the investments poured into him as a prototype weapon more than a spartan. His armor was a testbed for experimental technology, and not always of the kind that worked.

Thankfully any detrimental upgrades had been removed before he was transferred to Reach for anti-insurrectionist operations. What was left remained useful, and in this moment, most welcomed.

Fifteen anomalous contacts, open area, minimal cover. It was not exactly a breach situation he was fond of. Fifteen possible alien individuals in a vast, largely exposed interior. This would not have been an issue if he wasn’t trying to reduce or entirely mitigate collateral damage. There was no possibility that he could escape exposure unless he terminated anything that he made visual contact with.

As he was not currently in the habit of senseless murder, at least when not on ONI’s clock, he struggled to make his decision. He could not allow UNSC technology to fall into unaffiliated hands, and yet he was resistant to the notion of spilling innocent blood to achieve his ends. Back in ONI this would not have been an issue, indeed his orders would have been to kill anyone associated with comprised assets.

And while he knew what ONI’s orders would be.

He did not, in the depth of his heart, want to follow them.

Noble Six inhaled loudly, his fingers clenching against the hangar wall, the metal warping easily around his touch.

The choice, in the end, was not an easy one to make.

The spartan released his pent up breath, his helmet filling temporarily with the heavy sound of his fatalistic exhalation. He let go of the wall, his hand moving to chamber a round into his rifle as he raised it upwards, shoulders squared and his lips peeled back as his teeth gritted in a grim rictus.

His duty was more important than any emotional sentiment.

Six crouched low, the force multiplying circuits in his armor activating as his muscles tensed with impending intent.

An explosion knocked him off his feet.

The supersoldier flew backwards as a percussive wave of sound and heat violently slammed into his unbalanced posture. His armored form impacted the wall of the building several feet behind him, half a ton of advanced technology and killing power punching a hole clean through a meter of iron rebar and concrete.

A moment passed as he regained his senses. The spartan leaped to his feet, brandishing his rifle while the haze of powdered building and smoke started to dissipate. He examined his surroundings, the force of the blast having launched him into what looked like a research center. Scattered desks and chairs lay strewn around him amidst a sea of dispersed papers and office supplies, and he could see several bodies prostrated across the floor.

He could see no significant blood loss or visible signs of outside fracturing of bone and deduced that they had simply been knocked out or temporarily incapacitated from the explosion. From the force of the detonation and its apparent size, he could only reason that it had been caused by a high yield device or a severe industrial accident.

Judging from the loud voices and sharp fizzle of weaponry emanating from the hole in the building, he could only infer that it was the former and not the latter.

An outside militarized force… that was something he had not calculated as a possible interference to his plans. He did not know who the attackers might be, he hardly knew anything about this world. But he could not take a risk and disregard the possibility that they were here for his sabre. Destroying any and all traces of human technology, if not before, was now of vital importance and could not be delayed no matter what must be done to secure his objective.

The spartan emerged from the building behind him into a scene of utter chaos.

The hangar was not the only building affected, and he could see the glow of rampant fires in the immediate distance as flames consumed several large structures inside the compound. The doors to the storage unit storing the remains of his ship had been shorn off in a way similar to a breaching charge, and he could hear the sounds of combat coming from inside.

Noble Six dove into cover when he heard footsteps about to round the corner, finding shelter behind an air conditioning unit covered in bits of rubble. The spartan waited, and grew surprised at the small squad of creatures that came into view.

Entirely un-feline in appearance, these aliens were large and vaguely similar to what he had grown used to combating in his career. Covered in a dense scaly hide and towering nearly as large as an ODST in full combat dress, these things were more akin to crocodilians than any alien species he as of yet encountered.

They were decently equipped, wearing modern armor and weaponry, and spoke amongst each other in a thick, guttural language he could not decipher. Ironically, it was surprising that they spoke in an unfamiliar language, and made him question the notion of their origin. But he had no time to wonder beyond that.

The reptilians stacked in front of the broken husk of the hangar doors, and appeared ready to enter the building. It was this action that sealed their demise.

Six merged from his cover, squeezing the trigger of his rifle in four quick bursts. The high velocity rounds punched neat, circular holes through the skulls of his targets, splashing the wall beside them with crimson blood and pinkish brain matter.

Six did not wait long and stepped over their corpses. His pace quickened by the downward spiral of events. Whatever these things were they wanted access to the wreckage and were fully willing to assault a government facility for it. He could not allow that, not with the way the situation was developing.

Following in the footsteps of the dead creatures, he stopped just in front of the doors, readied himself for the approaching violence and confusion, and then rushed inside.

*****

Feline dived to the side, avoiding the hail of orange lasers that perforated the air she had just been occupying. Growling low to herself, the feline peered from behind the holo-terminal and returned fire with her sidearm.

“Dr. Maine, keep your head down!” She hissed, grabbing the panicked scientist by the wrist and forcing him to crouch low beside her.

“Lieutenant, what’s happening?” The kat asked fearfully, though he continued to listen to her advice as he huddled into a smaller ball, tail tucked tight to his chest.

She might have responded to his question, had she an answer for him. Her brain was still a little fuzzy from the explosion that had knocked her off her feet, but she knew enough to understand that whatever the hell was going on, it had something to do with the starship wreckage.

Godsdamned army’s never around when you need them. She wasn’t sure why it would take so long for a military recovery unit to arrive, but at the moment that was not her priority. Thoughts like that wouldn’t matter if these things killed her.

Checking the charge in her pistol, she lifted her head slightly above the holed holo table in front of her and sighted another one of those giant reptiles as it lumbered towards her, covered from multiple positions by its squad. She didn’t know what these things were, but they were professional and organized.

Tongue running across her parched lips, the feline exposed herself for a handful of seconds, targeting the wide-open scaled creature and tapping her trigger rapidly. The weapon in her paws hissed as it spat out an accurate burst, the flurry of lasers skillfully landing on her adversary, center mass.  

Armor bubbled and scaled hide peeled away under the high energy bolts. She watched in grim satisfaction as it dropped to the floor, grunting silently as its lungs were charbroiled.

Felina did not have long to celebrate her minor success before a storm of retaliatory fire smashed into her cover, and she watched in panic as the thick slab of metal and electronics visibly sagged, melting under the harsh fusillade.

It would not be long before they had nowhere to hide.

She looked back to the scientist, huddled in fear and muttering incoherently to himself, and cursed. It’d been stupid to leave her equipment behind, at least she had the damn common sense enough to keep her sidearm with her, otherwise this exchange would have been even more one-sided then it already was.

She could at least assume from the constant sounds of combat, that the rest of the unit that had been assigned here was still alive and doing their best to hold against this unexpected assault.

It was unfortunate that she and the doctor would probably be dead before any of her officers could come and help. Undoubtedly they had their own problems to deal with right now.  They’d have to try and get out of here on their own.

“Doctor, can you hear me?” She looked back to the scientist currently jabbering to himself, and realized that he was probably going to be of no good to her. And she could hardly blame him, this was definitely far beyond what he expected when he went to college.

The feline sighed. “Sorry for this doc.” Raising her handgun, she smashed it across his temple, his muttering silenced as he slumped into unconsciousness.

Grabbing the insensate kat by the collar of his lab coat, she located their next piece of available cover and she readied herself to cross the distance. It was not the best plan, but it was still better than cowering behind the table as it was slowly melted away by concentrated laser fire.

Felina mumbled a prayer and hunched low, leveraging the comatose researcher onto her shoulder before launching herself forwards, her legs pounding against the concrete floor as she sprinted to the next available piece of cover closest to the opposite doors, their best chance at getting away from this encounter with their fur intact.

Fully expecting to be cut down by a withering volley of weapons fire, she was instead surprised when she heard a thunderous roar coming from behind her. The sound was unlike anything she had heard before. The closest she could come to describing it, was rainfall against sheet metal but deeper and deafening in volume.

Whatever it was, it proved to be the distraction she needed and the feline made it to the overturned table out of breath, and not full of holes. Felina set the scientists down gently, propping him against the upended desk as she reached to her holster to retrieve her sidearm.

The feline froze when she felt hot steel press against the back of her head. That was also the moment she recognized that the sounds of battle had grown silent.  

“Don’t move.”

Felina flinched at the voice, and she knew she would never forget it however long it was she had left to live, masculine and loud, grating to the ears like broken bottles in a cement mixer.

She briefly considered her options, realized they were practically nonexistent, and decided to obey the demands from her unknown captor.

“Stand up, slowly.”

The voice grunted sternly and the panicked feline complied, rising unhurriedly to her feet and making sure he could not misconstrue any of her movements as antagonistic. While she listened to his commands, she desperately tried to recall anything she had learned in the classes she had taken on negotiation she had studied in the academy, but she was terrified when she drew up only blanks. She was far too fearful to think that far back.   

“Hands up.” The male ordered harshly, and as she moved to follow his instructions she felt his boot, hard edged and metallic, kick against both her legs and spread them apart. A hand soon followed, equally armored and rigid, as it combed over her uniform, obviously searching for hidden weapons. Seemingly satisfied that she was only lightly armed, the hand stopped at her waist, grabbed the sidearm holstered there, and appropriated the weapon.

“Kneel.” He barked aggressively, and when she did not immediately adhere to his demand, he shoved his boot into the back of her knee, and she dropped to the floor with a grunt of pain. The hot sensation of the barrel of his rifle returned, and she was embarrassed when a pathetic whimper escaped her trembling lips. She was proud however, to realize that she was not crying. If this was to be her end, she would at least like to go out with some dignity.

Her whimper turned into a mewl when a hand roughly grabbed her arm, pulling it sharply against her back, and not a second past before her other appendage soon followed. Her ear twitched at a new sound, like a pants zipper, and she felt a sharp sting around her wrists as they were bound together with plastic cordage.

The barrel pressed against her head retreated as a fist closed around the collar of her uniform, and she was hoisted effortlessly off her feet with a single arm. Her attacker dragged her across the hangar and deposited her none too gently against the far wall, her muzzle pressed roughly against the steel. A minute of nervous silence passed before another kat was dropped beside her. It was Dr. Maine, unconscious, but alive and strung up as tightly as she was.

“Do not attempt to escape and you will live.” His parting words drew confusion from Felina; they were softer, if no less coarse.  

Tied up and forced to kneel against a wall, all she could do was listen. She tested her bonds of course, but they were far stronger than she would have expected from a zip tie, and she knew she would not be able to break free without help.

Left with little recourse, she instead focused her efforts on listening to the footsteps of her attacker as he moved about the hangar. Minutes passed in tense silence, until she heard the heavy footfalls of her captor as he returned.

As before his armored hand grabbed her shirt and she was lifted up with no sign or sound of effort from the male as he retrieved Dr. Maine as well. Her vision whirled as she was crudely carried by the unknown assailant. Whoever they were they must have been a giant. Her feet did not even touch the ground, and the Doctor’s unconscious body only scarcely brushed against the concrete, and he was being carried by the waist.

All information gathered indicated a bipedal being, though with a significantly larger stature then kat standard.

Large than…

Felina’s chest constricted and a deathly coldness clutched her heart. It made sense in a crazy illogical way.

Her revelation was interrupted by the sound of an explosion, and she nearly flew from her captor’s grasp as the hangar detonated, the feline witnessing first hand as all evidence of the starship and its pilot was burned away. And she could only watch as she was abducted from Megakat R&D by an honest to gods alien.

Helpless in his clutch, she hung suspended from his hand, wondering at her uncertain future.