Variant Strain

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"Sergeant." The huge man rumbled with a nod. He stepped lightly out of the helicopter and walked towards Talbot.

Talbot pulled his helmet off and revealed a thin, careworn face. He was in his mid-thirties. His close-cropped black hair seemed to be receding. His brows were drawn together and seemed on the verge of a perpetual frown. He also sported a mustache. A thin, neatly trimmed thing that looked decades out of style, but seemed to fit his face perfectly. He tucked the helmet under his arm and snapped off an exhausted salute. "Captain Bradley." His eyes flicked to the men unloading themselves from the helicopter and a small smile creased his face.

Peter wasn't entirely sure how they knew each other's ranks. He guessed there were some sort of marks on those outfits that would indicate rank, but he could hardly tell. As it was he could hardly tell them apart most of the time.

"At ease," The man said, returning the salute. He pulled his own helmet off to reveal dark skin and a shaved bald head. The man seemed to be about the same age as Talbot, but he was 6'5" and built like a linebacker, with strong angular features and a prominent jaw. His expression was mild, compassionate even, and his voice was a deep rumbling bass. It made Peter think of James Earl Jones at his finest. The man glanced from Talbot to the half-dozen exhausted men all in Thunderbolt Yellow behind him who were doing their best to stand at attention. He shook his head and made a cutting gesture with his free hand. "You fellows look dead on your feet. No offense. Fall out."

He glanced over his shoulder at one of the men disembarking from the helicopter and made another gesture. The man approached and seemed small only in comparison to the veritable giant of a commanding officer. The new man had a prominent white circle with a red cross on his shoulder and was still taller than Talbot, but not by as much as the Captain did. "Blake, see to these gentlemen."

The obvious medic nodded and moved over to work on the remnants of Talbot's squad. The men slumped heavily on the remains of the damaged tanks.

"I hate to do this to you, Sgt. Talbot. You can rest up in a minute, but I think we need to talk."

"Sir?" Talbot was obviously curious, but just as obviously restraining himself.

"Thunderhead dispatched Shield Team to apprehend the Spider," Bradley said. "I understand you've had a few run-ins with him already."

"Yes, sir."

"I'd like your opinion on the situation here." He gestured and took in the whole shattered mess of a neighborhood in that motion.

"I... er... sir, I would've thought you'd have gotten briefed before they sent you out."

The larger man snorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "I listened to a bunch of guesses from a bunch of armchair analysts who've never had a day in the field. You've been out here pretty much since day one."

"We've been on his trail on and off for over seventy two hours now, sir. Give or take." Talbot replied. "Permission to speak freely, sir?"

He got a nod in return.

"I hate the bastard," Talbot said without much heat.

Bradley's eyebrows lifted.

"He makes no damn sense, sir." Talbot continued. "The timeline's screwed up. He doesn't follow any of the standard behavior models..." He shrugged. "If they hadn't tacked on 'Spider' as his designation because of that glowy thing on his back, I was going to push for them to call him 'Ghost' because that's what he is."

"Go on."

Talbot scrubbed his face with a hand, "He's... he's all over the map. He got infected in Bellevue... somehow... no one's sure how it happened. He kills Sleeping Beauty and then takes off. At this point he's still conforming to classic Runner behavior. Keep moving, spread the infection, try to get enough Sleepers and Walkers til a Hive forms... that sort of thing. We were on his trail fast enough to keep him from managing to infect anyone, but then he engineers a confrontation with the Gentek security team that was after him. He kills their tracker then all of a sudden his behavior goes off model."

"He stops running," Bradley said more than asked.

"Exactly. He not only stops running, he goes to ground. He hides. I mean, it's one thing to lose track of a Runner, but they don't hide. They keep spreading their infection. They don't explain themselves. They don't pretend to be their victims and try to help a Thunderbolt team take down an Infected."

"They also generally don't manage to get up from being shot in the head?" Bradley asked mildly.

"That too, sir. Even if that really had been Cletus, he didn't have his collar. We had to shoot. I still want to know how he managed that trick, though. I really hope he doesn't teach it to anything else," Talbot growled. "Anyway, he turns around, goes back to Bellevue and turns it into a Hive. Even dresses up as one of us and leads a bunch of Hunters to ambush the Recon team when we responded to the alarm."

Bradley added, "And he still manages to give you the slip."

Talbot made an infuriated snort, "But then he turns around and the first major release that Hive produces... a damn Syetsevitch... what does he do? He kills it! Stops it dead, but then he ghosts away again with the body."

"Up until just a moment ago," Bradley concluded, "When he turns up and helps you kill a fresh Hive."

"To be frank, Captain Bradley, we were pretty much dead until Spider showed up." Talbot spread his arms helplessly at the larger man, "Petruski and Schultz even said he made a joke. In... very poor taste, but he was functional. Practically human even. If it weren't for how he looked I could almost swear he was just some guy."

Bradley made a thoughtful rumbling noise in the back of his throat.

"This entire situation's off-pattern, sir. The Bellevue hive shouldn't have formed so fast. Much less the one in the Police station. The one in the deli kind of matched standard development, but it was..." He frowned, "It was too smart."

"Explain."

"We got the Police station nailed down last night. No problems. Standard spread. Eight tanks, alternating firing, half keep the infected back, half level the building." He gestured to the ruin of the deli, "Then this thing... it kept spitting Hunters out. Then they'd use the rest of the Walkers to cover their approach."

"That's not that unusual," Bradley replied.

"Yeah, but I saw Walkers turn down opportunities to feed just so they could chuck their dead and injured back into the Hive and get the thing to spit out more Hunters." He jerked a thumb at the crowds of feeding infected that still surrounded them. "Probably why they just stared feeding so hard as soon as the Hive went down. No more orders countermanding their feeding impulses. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say it learned off of what happened to the first Hive we took out."

Bradley looked thoughtful.

Talbot sighed deeply, "I have no clue, sir. I just don't get it."

"I don't either, soldier." Bradley shrugged, "But we have our orders. He might have saved your lives, but it was his fault you were in danger in the first place. That's not even counting the civilian casualties from this outbreak so far." The bigger man's voice was hard. "He does not get a pass just because you might be feeling grateful."

Talbot's face hardened in response and he replied, "Yes, sir."

"Good man," Bradley said and clapped him on the shoulder. "Now get some rest. I know you and your men just got put through the blender, but we still have to mop up the leftover Walkers and get the corpses dealt with. I sent word back to Thunderhead that we're folding Hammerhead Team's able-bodied into Shield Team for the duration."

"Yes, sir." Talbot replied and this time, despite his clear exhaustion, his enthusiasm was heartfelt.

Bradley shifted his attention to talk to another man who was approaching with his helmet also off. This one, a sour-faced blonde man wearing sunglasses.

Peter realized suddenly that Captain Bradley had stopped and was looking intently at the sunglasses the man was wearing.

No... not the sunglasses, he realized. The reflection in them. He barely had any warning before the huge man whirled suddenly, smoothly drawing the pistol from his shoulder rig, taking a firmly planted shooting stance with both hands on his gun and began firing directly at Peter.

Peter ducked. The first shot blew away the Infected directly behind him.

"What the--?" Talbot began to say, but didn't bother finishing his sentence as he dropped quickly to get out of Bradley's line of fire. His hands looked like they were going for his own weapon.

"That one infected looked like he was listening." Bradley said grimly.

The man with the sunglasses had also responded to Bradley's move and had unslung his rifle and had it in his hands and firing almost before Peter had even noticed him.

None of the other infected really reacted much. Most carried on with their meals. One or two looked up in what might be mistaken for curiosity. Bullets ripped into them and many fell where they were standing.

Peter had been the only one to dodge.

Oops. His own voice drawled.

"Oh, damn." Talbot breathed.

"It's the Spider!" Bradley roared over the sound of gunfire. More men had brought their own weapons up and were all firing in his direction. They moved with practiced ease, clearing lanes of fire for one another. "Barton! Get him, dammit! Move!"

Peter sprinted down the street, zigzagging wildly. It helped somewhat, but not enough to entirely avoid a few well placed shots that got him in the back and legs. Every shot blazed with pain, but he forced himself to ignore it.

The faux-Kevlar that comprised his clothes simply wasn't holding up to whatever ammo the Shield Team was using. That thought made him keep his head down and forced him to pour on the speed.

He didn't want to try for a leap, even though that probably would've gotten him away faster. He was sure he could adjust how he 'fell' to let him dodge in mid-air, but it wasn't something he wanted to risk learning while he was being shot at.

He turned a corner sharply ducking between a pair of houses and he vaulted over a stereotypical white picket fence into someone's yard. He still had an advantage over the Thunderbolts Shield Team. He still knew the neighborhood far better than they did... and he could move in ways they didn't expect. He jumped into an open second story window and crashed into someone's den, making a mess of their sectional couch.

On the other hand... he was bleeding badly from the bullet wounds. They'd leave a trail. The leap should've confused things for a moment, long enough to give him a breather. He grit his teeth and let his heartbeat spike, his body shifting to stitch his new wounds shut. Biomass was consumed for the repairs, but the wounds still burned and ached, which had surprised him.

Nothing had really managed to hurt him for very long so why was... he blinked and realized the reason when he straightened out and felt things inside him grind together. He'd left the bullets inside. The other bullet wounds he'd taken before hadn't really gone into him, had passed clean through... or he'd allowed his body to heal itself naturally.

He winced. "Okay... dig bullets out first... then close wounds." He muttered, clenching his teeth. He tried to relax and found that the bullets under his flesh were moving of their own accord. Slowly shifting away from bone. It felt like overstressed muscles being forced to keep moving. A cramp that you were trying to work through moving under his skin.

Maybe if he hadn't forced the wounds closed, his body would've pushed them out first.

New and important fact, that I really should've already realized, he told himself. Getting shot really sucks.

- - -

He wasn't entirely sure what happened to the bullets. Just that about the same time as the search broke off, he stopped feeling the bullets rattling around inside him anymore. He wasn't entirely sure what had happened to them, but he expected they'd turn up sooner or later.

He didn't think the Thunderbolts were waiting for him outside, but he didn't want to risk moving too soon. As they'd said... the Hive that had been the Police Station was gone. So that likely meant Detective Stacy was safe. That also meant that they'd pretty much leveled the Police Station. The neighborhood was a wreck... his neighbors... He shuddered.

If any of them even survived, the odds were good they were infectees. The men he'd saved... they would still be trying to kill him. He lolled his head back and considered. Maybe he should've let them die? He snorted. No. Of course, he couldn't.

The moment he did that he'd be no better than what they expected.

He might as well let them kill him then, because he wouldn't be him anymore.

He still didn't know what he'd been thinking. He'd stayed mingled with the crowd of infected mostly out of curiosity.

We all know what that did to the cat, don't we? His voice drawled.

He hadn't expected to really learn anything useful. At least he found out that he confused them. Which was something. He confused himself. And that there were some fairly predictable patterns of behavior engaged in by the infected. The Weapon Plus document files Doctor Pym had provided him with had broken down some of the developmental paths in some detail, but it had been couched in some fairly complex technical language. In Russian.

His phone chimed then.

Only one person would be texting him while he was here. He fished his phone out and checked his messages. "Which part of keep out of the Red Zone was unclear? Call me."

Peter winced, sighed and realized that Hank would keep texting him until he called. He hit the speed dial.

"Why are you back in the Red Zone?" Hank's digitized voice came to him.

"And good morning to you too," Peter grumbled.

"Never mind," The voice had gone flat once more. "I have not had much luck in convincing Thunderbolt Command to shift any forces into Manhattan given how quickly and spectacularly the Queens outbreak has spread."

"Sorry to hear that," Peter replied. "Is there anything I can do?"

"On that issue, sadly, no. Hidebound old fools are notoriously difficult to convince of anything. Certainly not of anything that doesn't fit their preconceptions." There was a mild bitter tone to the digitized voice, but then turned cheery as it continued, "You can assist in another way."

Peter nodded, "Sure, what do you need?"

"I imagine you could make your way back to Manhattan without being caught if you had to?" Hank asked.

"I guess so. Why?"

"Your specific variant strain of Hydra is unusual. I've never seen anything like it." Hank's voice colored with enthusiasm, "I've been working with the virus since the sixties and I've never seen it follow this specific developmental path. I'd like to get some blood samples from you. If we are very lucky, you might hold the key to stopping Hydra."

Peter scowled. He was sure the man was trying a little too hard to flatter him. Maybe this was what he wanted after all. It didn't seem like much... but then again, all he'd learned so far had given him the impression that the outbreak in Queens had been started with a few rat bites.

Hank continued cheerily, "Also, I noticed you were staying in the home of George Stacy last night. Your father's former partner. If you are curious, he is doing well. He's still under quarantine and observation, but as of 8:30 this morning, his blood tests show clean."

Peter gave a sigh of relief.

He's watching your phone, Donna whispered, GPS data. And he knows who you called. He doesn't care you know what he's doing.

He knew that. He also hadn't really expected Hank to confirm it quite so bluntly, but then he realized something else. Hank wasn't exactly a people person. Worse, he was trying to manipulate him while being... well... kind of bad at it. He'd mentioned that others tended to think of him as not a person... then perhaps he'd gotten into some bad habits in interacting with people. No one expected a computer to convince them to do anything, did they?

But Hank could get him to information that he needed.

"Are you still there?" Hank asked after a moment. "I don't think the connection dropped..."

Peter replied. "I guess I could do that, but if I'm going to be in Manhattan anyway, I need something from you."

"Name it, Peter," Hank replied.

"What happened to my mom's body?" Peter asked bluntly.

"Things got a bit hectic right after her death. It was moved into the cold storage room for the Gentek Bellevue facility. No one had a chance to move it afterwards, given what happened. The logs show it should still be there. Why do you ask?"

"I want to see her." Peter forced the words out.

There was silence on the line for a few moments before Hank's flat, digitized voice replied, "I can make arrangements."

Peter let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I'll see you then."

"I'm sending the address to your phone's GPS now. I look forward to seeing you." Hank said, his voice clearly pleased.

Peter hung up quickly. "I'll bet you do." He muttered under his breath and peeled himself off the broken sectional couch.

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