Just another day...

North East of Obtove, Ukraine, 0740hrs, February 17th:


“…day at the office!” Quentin ducked behind an age-stained concrete pillar, tucking his rifle tight to his chest in an effort to better fit behind the narrow piece of cover. A flash of light and the pillar cracked and flaked from the impact of an energy weapon, a large chunk of it turned to ash and a cloud of dust.

The Primary Investigations Bureau of Nobus was made up of some of the very best soldiers and operatives the Earth had to offer. Combat veterans one and all, whether of mundane and traditional conflicts or of the Abyss War. But, none had special abilities; no fireballs from their hands or beams of light from their eyes, no telepathy or telekinetic powers, no magic or arcane alien technologies.

In a given day, Nobus technicians could detect dozens of anomalous signals around the world; of those dozens, one or two might prove to be something needing Nobus attention, and the rest were hoaxes or false readings or faulty detectors. Nobus Agents would be dispatched to the most pressing of anomalies, leaving the rest to Primary Investigations Bureau. Most of the time, the mundane soldiers found nothing of note. But occasionally…

“Screw you! This is the last time I go to a Russian factory damn it!” Another man stood behind an open metal door, using it as cover as he leaned out to fire a few shots into the massive chamber beyond. The man wore the battle dress of a United States Marine; each member of the P.I.B. wore their home nation’s uniform and often favoured similar kit and weapons. The only unifying thing about them were some pieces of cutting edge technologies; advanced HUD goggles and such.

“Isn’t Russian. It’s Ukrainian.” Quentin grinned at his comrade in arms, then dropped to a knee and twisted to aim around the side of the wrecked pillar. The room beyond was a massive and open, with towering, defunct machines and assembly lines and equipment. Most was rusted and were clearly long-abandoned.

Amongst the machinery were strange, six-legged insect-like beings wearing silvery mesh armour and wielding cannon-like weapons that seemed to mount over one of their two dominate arms, leaving two smaller limbs lower on their chests to manipulate tools and the like. Six of the creatures skittered and leapt amongst the machinery, moving in on the two P.I.B. agents swiftly.

Quentin tracked one and fired a short burst from his own assault rifle; two of the three rounds impacted with the creature’s chest mid-leap, knocking it off course to smash comically into a piece of machinery and crash to the ground out of sight.

“Fine! This is the last time I go to a Ukrainian factory!” The American favoured an LMG as his main weapon, and he stepped out into the open long enough to burn through a twenty-round burst at another of the creatures. The rounds peppered around it and struck it across the body and legs, sending it crashing to the earth with a spray of thick, grey-ish blood as it fell.

Quentin frowned, “Moving!” He then leapt away from his pillar, rolling across the floor and through the doorway the Marine was using as cover. A second or two later the pillar vanished in a cloud of ash as three more energy rounds ripped into the old concrete. The ceiling groaned and cracked, but didn’t collapse under the sudden lack of support.

He got to his feet and jogged down the wide hallway beyond the door, moving to the next intersection. His weapon was kept tucked to his shoulder, the barrel down slightly; a good, readied position in case he needed to react to any fresh threats from ahead. “Covering! This is the first Ukrainian factory you’ve ever been to!”

The Marine let out a frustrated yell and fired another burst into the massive chamber before tugging the metal door shut. As soon as Quentin reached the far end, he peeled away from the door, which was already starting to turn a deep red as energy weapon rounds impacted against it and began to melt the thick old metal. “Moving! Soviet! The last old Soviet factory then!”

Quentin held his position, weapon at the ready but not quite aiming down the hallway as the Marine charged towards him. As soon as the man cleared Quentin’s line of fire, his weapon came up again, covering the far door, which was now sagging on it’s hinges in a decidedly unsettling fashion; the metal was beginning to sink and run like hot fudge before suddenly starting to cool. The aliens had stopped shooting at it.

The Marine took a position in the next large room, his back to Quentin who was still watching the hallway. Asides from their heavy breathing, the place was eerily silent. After a few more seconds, Quentin quickly changed magazines on his rifle, putting the partially full mag top down in one of his pouches. “Yes. The last old Soviet factory. Still remember those bloody forsaken pipes.”

“Yeah…lets not talk about that, okay? Out of our pay-grade.” The Marine hesitated, then quickly changed the barrel on his light machine gun, tucking the used barrel into a sling over his shoulder to let it cool off.

“I agree.” He was silent for a long moment, just staring down the hallway at the now solid door, then just as it might seem the conversation was over, “A boiler full of maggots, eh lad? What was that like?”

The Marine let out a frustrated growl and locked the new barrel in place, “Gross. F’ing disgusting. They were everywhere. Took you long enough to open the damn thing and get me out of there.” The silence continued, no signs of the alien creatures giving chase. “Think they’re like bees maybe? Maybe they chased us far enough away and they don’t care anymore?”

“Yes well…I still do not understand how a boiler…an inanimate object…ate you.” Quentin glanced into the room the Marine was now watching, then he slowly lowered his rifle and tucked his hands into a satchel at his side. He pulled out a claymore charge and carefully duck-walked into the hallway a bit, placing the charge against the wall about half-way up from the floor. A few seconds later and he armed the motion sensor and eased back out of the hallway. “Could be that they are trying to fix that…hmmm…circle they were working on.”

“It was an oval. Learn your geography.” The Marine slowly stood and started moving towards a large cargo door at the far side of the room, with Quentin falling in a dozen or so meters behind him.

“Geometry. Geography is what would have told you this was your first Ukrainian factory.” The two men chuckled and eased the rusty old door open enough to roll under it and go back outside. It was painfully early in the morning, the sun only starting to peek over the distant forest-obscured horizon. Snow had drifted against the door, forming a three meter tall wave, the peak of which they had to stomp and kick their way through.

The pair plowed their way through the snow, always making a point of keeping near things that might make for useful bits of cover as they circled the massive factory to where their vehicles were parked. A pair of snowmobiles, one with a sled attached with extra gear.

Working through the advanced HUD system built into their helmets and the advanced Nobus PDAs stored in a ballistic-grade hardcase at their belt, the regional Nobus field office was already aware they had found something in the old factory. Actual Nobus Agents were already on their way, leaving the two ‘mundane’ agents to secure the scene in the meantime.

"Negative. No Class 1 Agents are available for deployment at this time. Head Office wants your team to re-asses the situation. They want an estimate on how long it will take the Intergalactic Wasps to finish that machine. Tech staff suspect it is an illegal salvage operation; the machine is a Dimensional Bridge, and they will use it to transport the metal they salvage from the factory." A woman, seated in the Ukranian Nobus field office, relayed the pair's updated orders.

Inspector Quentin McCullom sat on the seat of one of the two snowmobiles, calmly refilling a few magazines with the spare rounds stored in his saddle bags and stared blankly into the distance as he tried to process what he had just been told. His partner was walking a lazy circle around the pair of vehicles, keeping an eye on the factory and the surrounding woodline.

The two men shared a glance before turning the brunt of their attention back to their ongoing tasks. "If the technical staff can identify the machine, why can't they guess how long it will take to complete? I don't know about you, but I am not a...would it even be theoretical physics any more? Well, either way, I have no idea how long it would take them to finish it."

The Marine just shrugged; he too hadn't the slightest idea how long it would take the aliens to finish their machine.

"Head Quarters is aware neither of you are qualified in the engineering and construction of a Dimensional Bridge, agent. However, this situation is deemed a low priority. Primary Investigations Bureau is saddled with situation resolution. Addition P.I.B. agents can be deployed to your position in approximately 26 hours. In the mean time, Head Quarters wants you to provide the estimation on completion, and to cordon the area until additional agents are on scene."

The two agents glanced at each other again, and both took a meandering look at their surroundings. The factory in question was huge; the main building was nearly two kilometres long, let alone the dozens of secondary buildings. There was simply no way two men could cordon the entire area. Quentin quietly rubbed at the bridge of his nose and nodded tiredly, "Roger that. Anything else?"

The woman was quiet a moment, then offered in a strained tone, "Head Quarters has approved situation resolution by any means necessary. If you deem it tactically achievable, your team are authorized to use maximum force to shut down the salvage operation. Due to manpower shortages, it is preferred that your team resolve the situation now."

"Roger that. Out." He thumbed the PDA and ended the communication, before tucking it back into the ballistic hard-case on his vest. Thumbing a final round into his last mag, he tucked that away and stood up, rolling his shoulders a few times to ease the tension from the day's festivities. "So uhh...any bright ideas?"

The other man shrugged and tucked his LMG into his shoulder more snuggly, adjusting it that most of the weight hung from the ring of his bayonet and one of his vest pouches. "Uhhh...kick the door open, shoot everything that moves, then pack the bridge with grenades and run?"

"Sounds good to me." Quentin stomped his feet twice to help get some more blood flowing in his legs, wiggling his toes vigorously, then started stomping through the snow back towards the factory.