the infiltration operation

[tactician]

The research outpost on one of Gladsheim's more distant moons was less a functioning facility than it was a glorified storage closet for all the projects the militaristic government abandoned in favor of stealing from other planets' research sectors. Now that they had acquired the Seventh, which meant that they were privy to a great deal of information from the Sixth, a large portion of Gladsheim's more legitimate research facilities had been shut down, according to what reconnaissance agents the Circle still had out on the field, many of its previous scientists placed under obligatory planetary residence as to avoid leaking anything.

But the research outpost on Gladsheim's distant moon contained one thing that was still highly relevant to modern day prosthetic sciences, even if the government itself didn't realize as much - a field of study regarding the signalling of brainwaves to operate machinery not only attached to the body, but perhaps even in an entirely separate form itself. If brought to fruition, it could limit the need for human casualties and greatly reduce the Circle's disadvantage of lesser numbers. It was something one of its previous researches had been looking into on the down-low.

Speaking of which.

"You're looking a little pale," Evan said, checking himself in the car's side mirror as he combed a hand through his newly dyed hair before donning a pair of red-rimmed, plastic-lens glasses. His eyes slid sideways in his reflection. "You remember where it is, doc?"

Comments

[tactician]

This time, there wasn't any ploy or hesitation. Evan turned around and fired off a warning shot - painfully close to where Joel would have placed his foot next, had his reflexes been just a tiny bit slower and had he stopped just a millisecond later in his tracks.

It wasn't anywhere near enough to spook a Gladsheim soldier (if things capable of such existed), but it did give them the second or two delay they needed for both Evan and Bentley to make it over the fence. They lept clear off the edge of the platform and landed on the tarp covering the empty back pick-up compartment of the vehicle. It wasn't the kindest of landings, but the fact that they had made it into the car was really more than blessing enough.

"Hit it!" Evan shouted to the driver, still tangled in tarp, though by the way his center of mass lurched backwards, their accomplice hardly had any hesitations about leaving either.

[aphelionix]

Joel was left standing at the fence. A few guards rushed to him, opening fire on the fleeing vehicle. They were too far for any accurate shots, thankfully, though some came close. Bentley ducked down, covering his head.

The back window of the car rolled down, and the driver yelled back, "We'll be back to the ship in five minutes. Be ready for company just in case."

He tossed a couple spare guns to them. Bentley lifted his head, glancing down at them and back up. It didn't look like back-up was c-

Oh. A military truck was heading toward them.

Bentley picked up a gun.

"I... can at least try shooting tires," he said, despite his discomfort in holding the weapon. "This isn't a very known Gladsheim location, though, their vehicles aren't meant for combat."

[tactician]

They only had five minutes to lose that tail - not enough time to sit back and aim for tires. Evan shook his head, propping the end of one gun on the side of the cargo area they were being bumped around in, offering the only stabilization they had at their disposal.

"Aim for the driver," he said instead, because if they weren't combat vehicles, that meant the glass wasn't bullet-proofed.

[aphelionix]

Two people stuck their heads out of the car, guns aimed back at them. They started firing immediately. Most of the shots missed, but came uncomfortably close, bouncing off the metal of the car.

He considered the probability of them making their getaway successfully if one of them fired and one cowered in the corner, versus the two of them firing. It was obvious what he should do.

With no small amount of hesitation and dread, Bentley picked up a gun. He mirrored Evan on the other side of the cargo area, stabling the gun. The trigger felt heavy under his finger. He stared at their target - another living, breathing person like himself - and was about ready to throw the gun back down.

If it hadn't been for the bullet that came dangerously close to his shoulder, he would have. Bentley had been startled by it, and instead, pulled the trigger by accident. It didn't hit the driver, or the tires, but one of the men firing at them. Only in the arm, from what he could tell - all he could see from this far was the man dropping his gun and grabbing his arm, retracting back into the truck.

At least it was one less gun to worry about, even if he felt a little stunned at the moment.

[tactician]

"Good job," Evan called over the rumble of the engine and the crack of occasional gunfire. He didn't think much of it - if Bentley had come from an environment like Gladsheim, where even the employees at an insignificant, isolated storage facility were so antagonistic, surely he had to be used to a shot being fired or two, most often into a body of some sort.

Evan fired off almost an entire round before a bullet pierced through the windshield, and whether or not the shot hit the driver or just startled him enough to swerve the car clear off the road was difficult to say. Either way, the truck was off their trail and they were finally gaining distance, which was good, considering they hardly had time to spare. The back of the pick-up compartment had saved them from being riddled with holes (although it did suffer a great deal of denting), but it wouldn't have lasted much longer under a barrage of the Gladsheim variety.

The driver was out of the car and making for the ship faster than even Bentley or Evan could climb out of it, yelling, "Hurry up! Before they're on to us again!"

Evan didn't need to be told twice and, taking all the firearms with them (in case anything could be traced), he pulled Bentley with him onto the getaway ship. It was smaller than a normal vessel and the three of them filled it to near capacity, but it was also faster too, outfitted only with the basics for a simple get-in and get-out functionality. The ship was lifting off the ground before they managed to even buckle themselves in.

"Here," said Evan, holding a hand out to Bentley once the man was settled. He nodded to the gun still clasped loosely in the doctor's hand. "I'll take that."

[aphelionix]

Even in the security of the ship, Bentley couldn't relax. He passed the gun to Evan shakily before strapping in, leaning back against the seat and closing his eyes. That was much more excitement than he bargained for.

The hatch closed and the cabin filled with airtight oxygen, ready to be space-bound. The engines were loud and roaring, and they were accelerating. Bentley was clutching the straps of his seat harness, trying to ground himself in some way, overwhelmed by it all.

And he felt sick.

He only let go to grab the bag from under his seat that was there for such a purpose.

[tactician]

Bentley's jerky, panicked motions didn't go unnoticed. It was just that Evan wasn't at the liberty to address them until they were well out of atmospheric range, their EM signature low and suppressed enough to ensure that the soldiers who had been on their tail wouldn't be able to find them once they were airborne.

A hand settled on Bentley's inner elbow very lightly. "Doc? Bentley."

[aphelionix]

Bentley was quiet, eyes still closed. The anti-anxiety medication he had been on was wearing off, and at the worst possible time, when the events began to settle in, hitting him like a sack of rocks.

"I'm sorry," he said with a soft laugh. "I'm truly pathetic."

[tactician]

Evan's brow raised as he withdrew. "Why would you say that?"

[aphelionix]

He shook his head, lowering his gaze to the plastic bag in his hands. "I can't handle any of this."

[tactician]

"We made it out, I wouldn't say you're not 'handling' it," Evan pointed out, leaning back into his chair. Bentley looked a bit like a wreck now, but he had shot off a gun, had helped formulate their escape plan, and had even come out here to enemy territory on his own in the first place. Evan would hardly call that, 'not handling.'

[aphelionix]

Bentley smiled wryly. Evan couldn't hear his pulse beating too fast, or feel the shake of his nerves; he supposed it'd be easy not to understand. He had been terrified.

"I didn't used to be like this," he said quietly.

[tactician]

"What do you mean?"

[aphelionix]

"I wasn't... always jumpy and overwhelmed and anxious," Bentley clarified. "Had I not been dosed with that medication, I probably wouldn't have been able to walk in there."

[tactician]

Bentley was rattled, so that might have explained the spotty explanation, but it didn't mean Evan could make any more sense of it. He frowned, leaning his head back against the seat cushion as the view from the vessel's front window darkened from gray sky to the black of space.

"You took medication prior to coming here?"

[aphelionix]

He nodded. "A simple anti-anxiety med. That's what I mean by not being able to handle this. I would've been useless without it."

[tactician]

"You're here, and we finished the mission. It doesn't matter what you needed to take to get here," Evan responded, easily, flippantly.

Bentley was hardly the first person who took anti-anxiety medicines in the Circle, and would hardly be the first one to take any supplementary drugs for the sake of the mission. Evan had tried a good variety himself, though none worked as well for him as a good piece of sound mind that came with meticulous preparation. There wasn't anything shameful or odd about the usage - the Circle was organized crime. A whole sector of the Sixth focused on the stuff.

[aphelionix]

With a sigh, he leaned back again. His gaze was turned to the window, watching the deep, freckled black space.

"The fact that I had to use anything is distressing. It just... reminds me that I'm not the same person I used to be."

[tactician]

Evan hid a smile behind his hand. "What? You were jumping into all sorts of danger a few years ago?"

[aphelionix]

"I most certainly was not," he said, frowning at Evan. "Not... any danger I didn't have to, at least. But I wasn't a coward, either. Before all that."

[tactician]

"Being anxious doesn't make you a coward," Evan said, still looking ahead, his voice deceptively calm.

[aphelionix]

"Then I'm a coward separately of that."

[tactician]

"You're very insistent on that," Evan remarked, neither refuting nor agreeing. In his experience, people who talked like that were rarely dissuaded.

It seemed as though both Foster siblings were just as stubborn after all.

[aphelionix]

Bentley fell silent, closing his eyes again. He was remembering a lot of things he didn't want to, and overall just felt terrible. Curling into a ball on the floor was about the only thing he wanted to do, and he couldn't even do that.

"I don't suppose you have a sleeping pill or five?"

[tactician]

Evan tapped his fingers against his armrest. "You're the doctor here - I don't suppose you need me to tell you the possible side effects of taking five at once."

He leaned his cheek against his fist and, after a pause, said, "It's your brother setting you on edge, isn't it?"