We come from the outside...

Through hardware, software, and systems to this place:

The Super Computer.

Our Format: Mercenary.

To get the job done

Period.

They say you can't physically go inside a computer

Nobody knows for sure...

But we intend to find out!

ReBoot!

REBOOT:

THE HUMAN FACTOR

Chapter 1: Inside

Place: Somewhere in the South Pacific

Time: The not too distant future

The helicopter screamed past the installation at top speed as enemy fire pinged off the casing with a deceptive tinkle like broken glass. The men on board laughed as the side gunners swiveled to return fire. One well-placed shot and the would-be hornets nest erupted into flames. One of the young soldiers in the rear cabin stuck his head and arm out of the side of the helicopter and gestured rudely at the smoldering bunker, the blaze shrinking until it was no more significant than the flame of a birthday candle.

"WOOOO HOOOOO!" yelled the soldier. "What a rush, man!"

"Sit down, Zimmerman!" shouted his commander. Ken Zimmerman, a tall, lanky twenty year-old, turned and gave the commander a mock salute as he sat down. He looked around at his other team members and smiled. They had beaten the odds again.

"Someone toss me a Coke," called another man down the line of hard metal benches. Zimmerman opened the cooler and got one out, shaking it before tossing it to his teammate. The young man caught it and pulled the tab only to be drenched in sugary brown foam. The crew burst out laughing at the luckless soldier's sticky fate.

"Thanks for the shower, Zimmerman!" he groused, dripping in soda as the helicopter banked towards home.

Zimmerman surveyed the rear cabin as his fellow team members settled down, the adrenaline of their last mission fading. The team leader, Major Arthur Culligan, sat examining a fistful of papers while chomping industriously on a wad of gum. Beside Culligan the team's Intelligence Officer, Captain Robert Williams was doing his best to type on his laptop; the bumpy ride making such a feat next to impossible. The young prankster responsible for the Coke episode was Lt. Jerry London, the team 'brain'. At only seventeen he was new to the army, but no stranger to technology. A master programmer and hacker he had already played more than one "joke" on the company intranet. Despite his unique sense of humor, his technical skills were invaluable. Beside Zimmerman sat Sergeant Alex Smith their communications expert. Capable of getting anything anywhere in as little time as possible he was one of the best in the Alliance and Zimmerman was glad to have him on their side. Zimmerman himself was only an enlisted sergeant, but that was okay with him. He didn't need a college education to tell him how to fire a weapon. As the team's Weapons and Demolition expert, and he knew his vocation well. A gifted sharpshooter he could also wire and defuse bombs in record time, a reputation he proudly refined and defended.

"Well, let's hope we can go straight to sleep when we get back," Smith yelled over the roar of the wind and whir of the blades. "I'm bushed!"

"Yeah, right! When have we ever been able to do that? Have they ever let us go to sleep?" Zimmerman hollered back at Smith, elbowing him playfully in the ribs. Smith retaliated by punching Zimmerman's shoulder rather harder than necessary.

"Smith!" Culligan called from the other side of the cabin. Smith jerked his head up at his commander's shout.

"Yes, Major?" Smith asked, leaving his seat and crossing the cabin to buckle in beside the Major. Major Culligan handed over the headset he had been wearing. "What do you make of this?" he asked.

Smith listened as a variety of beeps twittered over the headset, noting the number of electronic beeps and the lengths of the pauses between them. It wasn't Morse code but a new code developed by the Alliance. Pulling out a pocket notebook, he hurriedly transcribed and scribbled down the cryptic message then handed it to the Major.

"'Use for simple substitution...?' What does that mean?" Culligan asked. Smith beckoned to Zimmerman who only shrugged as if to say, 'What?'

"Zim, get over here," Smith snapped. "I need you for something."

Rolling his eyes, Zimmerman came over and sat down beside Smith and examined what Smith had written.

Use for simple substitution: comm's fav. saying. Drill Sgt. nickname. Weap's fav. saying."

25 15 33 40 2

21 14 41 5 33

41 8 13 25 1

16 41 33 32 29

END

comm's fav saying catch ya on the flip side

drill Sgt. bastard

weap's fav saying

"So what's your favorite saying, Zim?" asked Smith resting his pencil tip on the page. Zimmerman blinked.

"What's this all about?" he asked, confused.

Smith rolled his eyes. "It's code, you idiot," he said. "What's your favorite saying?"

"Life's a bitch, eh?" Zimmerman replied. "Uh, pardon my French Sir," he amended quickly to Culligan. The Major only chuckled and returned to his notes. Smith documented Zimmerman's crude catchphrase, adding it to the others. He was starting to translate the words into numbers when Zimmerman interrupted.

"You forgot the 'eh,'" he commented. "I always say 'eh.'"

Rolling his eyes, Smith added 'eh' to the end and continued translating the new group of letters. After five minutes he had decoded the message.

E

E D / T O

/ A L P H

A / O N E

"Major," Smith spoke up. "We're to proceed to Alpha One, Sir."

Culligan rose and walked to the forward cabin to inform the pilots.

"Change of course! Head to Alpha One!" he barked.

"Aye sir!" the pilot returned, not taking his eyes from the sky.

"Like I said, when do we ever get to rest?" Zimmerman yelled to Smith, as the helicopter, changed course.

"What now?" asked London, finally elbowing into the conversation.

"Another day in the Alliance Marine Corps!" Smith shouted back. "We're to proceed to the luxurious resort of Alliance Base Alpha One for some R&R in the heart of the Arctic paradise!"

"Damn!" complained the lieutenant. "I wanted to do some more work!"

Smith and Zimmerman laughed and proceeded to settle in for the seven-hour ride. Another battle looming on the horizon, the team instead turned their thoughts to sleeping in a bed instead of upright in a cramped helicopter cabin. Even their dreams would not prepare them for the battlefield to which they would soon be sent. Not all victories were won in the trenches. Team Epsilon would soon experience just how true that statement could be.

"ATTEN-HUT! Officers on deck!"

Zimmerman yelped and jumped to his feet along with Smith and London jumped up as well as Major Culligan, Captain Williams, and General Norman Robertson, as the commander for the Special Ops division entered the room.

"As you were," said the general. He went to a desk in the front of the briefing room and laid five data pads on its glossy surface.

"Gentlemen, we are fighting a new kind of war. Mankind has fought battles on land, sea, and in the air. We have conquered all avenues of combat. Except one. Trenches and bunkers are a thing of the past; the war we wage today is one of intelligence, of information. The tactical advantage is not held in the number of planes and tanks we have or of the men we command, it is held in what we know. Information is our most valuable resource and we cannot allow it to fall into the wrong hands.

"What I am about to propose to you may sound strange, but it is of the utmost importance that this mission be carried out. Team Epsilon, in less than twelve hours you will be sent inside the military's mainframe super computer. There you will secure our databases and infiltrate those of our enemy."

It is not a soldier's prerogative to question orders. However, every last member of the team had extreme difficulty processing the general's last two sentences. Inside the Alliance computer network? London had the distinct feeling he had stepped into a science fiction movie. Beside him, Smith blinked blankly. Zimmerman was the first to find his tongue.

"Excuse me, Sir!" he spoke up. Culligan flashed him a look, but Zimmerman ignored it. "Did you say INSIDE the computer? What, are your tech boys scared they're gonna get a shock if they try to fix the power towers themselves?"

"No," replied General Robertson, turning to face the incredulous soldier. "You will be uploaded into the computer as data. You'll be able to manipulate data to where you need to go and what you need to do. It's-" he was interrupted again by Zimmerman.

"What're we gonna do?" Zimmerman asked. "Play video games? Or maybe we'll be fighting software pirates! Smith break-out the swords, we goin' after some pirates!"

Smith struggled valiantly against his amusement.

"Come on, sir!" London protested. "With all due respect, what do you take us for?"

The general simply smiled.

"Only Major Culligan will know the nature of your mission until after insertion," he continued, unruffled by the team's remarks. "This mission must remain classified until then in order to prevent security leakage." Handing each of the men a data pad containing an outline of the preparations they would need to make before their mission, General Robertson saluted.

"Gentlemen, you are dismissed," he ordered. "You have a timeline to meet. And Zimmerman, cut the crap."

Standing, the soldiers gave a salute and filed out the door. They did indeed have a tight schedule to keep.

Team Epsilon waited outside the massive six-foot-thick steel doors that led to... What did they lead to? All the team wondered what awaited them behind the vacuum-sealed doors. General Robertson turned a corner and proceeded towards the doors, only acknowledging the team with a brief nod. Approaching the doors a previously unseen panel slid open.

"Please step to panel for retinal scan," toned a highly synthetic female voice. General Robertson did so and stared fixedly as a red beam traced down his face. The word "CONFIRMED" blinked on the screen.

"Please enter password," the voice instructed. The general punched the necessary combination and the voice announced, "Access granted. Welcome to Operation Human Factor, General Robertson, Norman L."

The general walked forward through the doors, not waiting for the massive blocks of steel to open fully. The team followed in silence and stared as four guards pivoted and aimed their weapons at closing now doors. Steel met steel with a muffled boom and Zimmerman swallowed hard. Whether it was nerves or simple excitement he wasn't sure, but the heavy security system promised a surprise beyond anything his frantic imagination could devise. He didn't have time to further consider what it was he and his team mates had been selected for. Swarming technicians descended upon him and the others like fire ants. When the tide of lab coats ebbed he and the others had been outfitted in khaki fatigues, packs, and other equipment necessary for their mission. Armed with everything but actual weapons the team trooped in silence toward yet another set of doors. This set was just as thick and required General and Major to synchronize their movements as they turned a set of keys in a pair of massive locks. The doors slid open to reveal the anticlimactic interior of a large and empty elevator. Everyone squeezed inside for a surprisingly long ride down. Elevator etiquette is awkward at best. The saving grace is that it usually requires one to silently stare at the changing numbers for only about thirty seconds. This ride lasted almost three full minutes. Zimmerman chuckled to himself, imagining a long line of technicians at the ground floor waiting for the elevator car to come. Upon arrival he and the others were admitted via various security systems through another series of vault-like doors. Zimmerman was finally becoming familiar with the pattern of doors that only led to more doors when the General stopped short at yet another airtight steel locker.

"Zimmerman, you first." he stated, keying a pass code into the door panel.

"Sir." Zimmerman saluted and strode through the bulky steel archway. The doors thundered closed behind him.

"What the-?"

"We can only send you in one at a time." explained a thin and stuffy man in a lab coat and glasses. "Come on, move it."

The technician shoved Zimmerman across the floor towards a sphere of plastic mounted on a short dais. One side of it was hinged with a small door. Inside stood a cage of three concentric rings, at its center hung a padded chair with seatbelts.

"What the hell?" Zimmerman exclaimed, "It's a virtual-reality gyro sphere! All this security for an AMUSEMENT PARK RIDE?"

"Virtual it isn't, soldier." The technician remarked dryly as Zimmerman gaped in bewilderment at the oversized-thrill ride. Everything about the room was oversized. The sheer height of the place was enough to make him wonder how it fit under the base. It made Zimmerman feel small and helpless. Massive technical components were arranged in towering clumps all over the room. Powerful-looking computers lined all of one wall, manned by technicians with grim-faced guards standing nearby.

"Ready yet?" The Tech's nasal voice interrupted Zimmerman's gawking. "Let's begin then. Step inside and I'll strap you in."

Zimmerman clambered up a removable staircase and into the machine. There was nothing there except for a metal harness attached to movable rings along the X, Y, and Z-axis of the machine.

"Hey," Zimmerman asked. "What's this all about, Spekky?"

"You're going to boldly go where only five others have gone before!" replied the technician. "Inside the computer!"

Zimmerman smiled briefly to show he appreciated the modified Star Trek quote. The technician went on.

"From now on, you're in the capable hands of Microsoft and the Alliance military!"

Zimmerman and the Tech both broke into hearty laughter as the generators began to throb.

"You're kidding right?" Zimmerman asked with a grin.

"Nope."

Zimmerman's smile melted away. The technician stepped back and let the door fall closed with a slam. Zimmerman's COM link crackled to life.

"Good luck," said the voice on the radio. "Digitization in T-thirty seconds..."

"Hey um…out of curiosity, what happened to the first guy through?" Zimmerman asked trying to sound casual.

"Program error." Was the Tech's uncomforting reply.

"PROGRAM ERROR? Hold it! What do you mean 'program error'?"

"Initializing sequence." Stated the voice, indifferent to Zimmerman's panic.

Zimmerman tugged frantically at the harness but the pod had already begun to rotate. First horizontally then vertically, around and around, head over heels until his vision began to swim. It quickly became apparent why none of the team member had been allowed to eat anything beforehand. Lasers suddenly flashed suddenly, forcing a cry of surprise from his mouth. These were no mere beams of light; they tingled and made goose flesh where they touched him. The pod accelerated, turning him over and over to blending sight and feeling into a numb red blur of nausea. Squeezing his eyes closed he tried to force his stomach to calm.

Oh god… he thought, this is it. I'm going to die of a "Contact"/"Tron" crossover…

The nausea was fading into dizziness. He felt sleepy, weightless.

I wonder what happens if it stops?

The term "Sudden Deceleration Trauma" startled his sluggish thoughts and sent panic surging through his veins once more.

"Digitization in five...four...three..

Nothing.

What is this?

Am I dead?

What happened?

Suddenly, Zimmerman was back in his body. Without warning he was thrown forward, only the restraints saving him from bouncing his skull off the interior of the pod. He had made contact and hit hard. Apparently there was such a thing as solid ground in cyberspace. And noise, lots of noise. Zimmerman did not have a long and glorious military history, but the hours he had logged as a solder had taught him to identify the deadly sounds of mortar and gunfire. Shots were being exchanged all around him with only the thin plastic shell of the pod to protect him. What was going on? Where was he? Surely not inside a computer. Computer parts didn't carry firearms. Perhaps he's simply been transported to another military base, one that was currently under attack? Yes, surely that was it. He'd just been relocated to some other spot on earth. Inside a computer. Yeah right. He couldn't believe he'd fallen for that.

A shell landed uncomfortably close, making the earth shudder and the pod roll to one side. Now was not the time to lick a wounded ego for believing the tall tales of superior officers. After hurriedly fumbling with the restraints he popped open the hatch and cautiously peeped out.

This wasn't earth.

He had indeed landed in the middle of firefight, but that was where familiarity ended.

Dear god, he thought, I've crash-landed right in the middle of Episode I

The landscape was indeed reminiscent of a 70's science fiction movie. The buildings towering overhead brought visions of "The Jetsons" and "Futureland" to mind. Instead of bullets and shells, shafts of blue light and balls of plasma flew overhead. Vehicles that looked like cars or tanks circled madly in chaotic dogfights high above the rounded tips of the skyscrapers. Strangely, few corpses littered the streets below. Not wanting to join the absent bodies, he hoisted himself out of the capsule. The green glob of energy hurtling straight towards him changed his mind, however, and Zimmerman hastily ducked back inside the pod. The plasma ball connected with the hatch and exploded, disintegrating it entirely leaving only the faint scent of ozone. Unwilling to be caught off guard again, Zimmerman unholstered one of his firearms before climbing out of the pod. The spherical walls made exit difficult and in the end he fell more than stepped out of the plastic shell. The sod that met his knees felt more like Astroturf than real growing vegetation and he was forced to dive face-first into the not-grass as more plasma came hurtling towards him.

DOA: Sgt. Zimmerman, Kenneth A...

He didn't have time to add his serial number. Strong hands had grabbed his arms and yanked him towards the shelter of some nearby chunks of concrete.

"What the-" Zimmerman's curse was cut short as a hand almost as green as the imitation grass clapped over his mouth. His wide eyes traced the hand up an arm sleeved in camouflage material to a jacketed chest bearing the nametag "Rodriguez". Williams blinked and looked into the Technicolored face of his captor. The rest of the man was as green as his hand, the same bright pale green as Easter grass, and yet Zimmerman detected faint sprigs of evergreen stubble on the man's chin, pores and pock marks in the mis-colored skin and tiredness in the dark brown eyes. Those eyes… Whether cyborg or full robot, even if the rest of this man was artificial his eyes at least were real and human.

"Shhhh!" the green man ordered, placing a finger before his lips. "Lance Corporal Jose Rodriguez, Western Alliance, SIR!" he said in a hushed tone. Zimmerman goggled at him in amazement.

"Rodriguez?" he gaped. "I thought they sent you to the front days ago! What the hell happened to you?"

Both had to duck as another round of plasma shots arced overhead.

"Me?" Rodriguez answered. "They did! This IS the front they sent us to! And what the hell's wrong with you? You're green!"

Zimmerman blinked and looked down at his own hands. They were indeed stained a pale mint green.

"Take a look in a mirror buddy," he retorted, locking a clip into his handgun.

"Are you here to get us out?" Rodriguez asked, his voice a painful mixture of hope and weariness.

"No, we're here to secure the opposition's mainframe." Zimmerman explained, repeating his orders. His orders. His orders to go inside the Alliance computer system, to infiltrate the enemy's network and recover valuable data and information, to win this war from the inside out. Zimmerman felt his insides growing cold.

"Where are we?" he swallowed.

"Inside the computer," answered Rodriguez. "We can't get out. Whatever we try, there doesn't seem to be a way back. We've been here in this position for seventy-six hours! We want out!"

Inside the computer. He hadn't stumbled onto a movie set. He wasn't dreaming. This was real. Too real. His head ached with the effort of converting science fiction into fact. This was too crazy, even for him.

"Wait a minute- who's 'we'?"

"It's only me and Tech Sergeant Santiago left," replied Rodriguez. "They captured our captain and killed our intelligence and communications officers... I don't know what to do! This is insane!"

Suddenly a cry rose up from the far side of the battlefield. "Death to the Rebels! Glory to Terahertz, Conqueror of the Super Computer!" A cheer followed, roaring above the noise of increasing gunfire. The plasma shots were rapidly eating away at the rubble Zimmerman and his fellows had taken cover behind. Someone whistled. Twice. Three times. Rodriguez's face fell.

"Who's chirping?" Zimmerman demanded, preparing to panic.

"Santiago. That's the signal…" he choked, voice tight with fear. "They're starting to advance!"

"They're not the only ones." Santiago added, crawling over and joining his remaining teammates. "Take a look at the sky."

Zimmerman tilted his head and gaped as the dome-like sky swirled and twisted turning from pale blue to a volatile combination of purple and red. A small hole opened high above and a round object fell through.

"Another pod's coming! Damn!" swore Rodriguez. "How many of your teammates are coming

"I'm the first," Zimmerman shouted over the gunfire. "Four more."

It was Santiago's turn to curse. "We can't possibly hold this position for more than a few more minutes!" he exclaimed. "Your team better get in here fast!"

"I'm supposed to secure the area... I think," Zimmerman said. "To be honest, I didn't believe this was possible!" He holstered the handgun and brought the machine gun up to his shoulder.

"Shall we go get my other team-mates?" he asked Rodriguez.

"Let's."

"Cover me."

"Yes, Sir."

Zimmerman scrambled to the pod and jerked open the hatch. A frightened-looking London sat strapped securely inside. Upon seeing Zimmerman, he jumped and raised his gun with a trembling hand.

"Don't shoot, you idiot!" Zimmerman snapped. "It's me, Zimmerman! C'mon, we've got to go! We're in the middle of a war zone!"

London, still dazed from the insertion process, grabbed his gear and hastily climbed out after Zimmerman. Having let them slip across the open field once, the enemy shooters did their best to keep such a thing from happening again. The two men had to dance and dodge the plasma shots as still more screamed by overhead. Rodriguez, still hiding behind the rubble, gestured frantically. Zimmerman turned his head just in time to greet a beam of plasma. He knew there wasn't time, but he had to try. Zimmerman threw himself to the ground. The beam struck him, clipping his left shoulder. The stench of burned flesh and fabric thick in his nostrils, Zimmerman clutched the wound and screamed. For once, military training overrode London's natural instincts. He half shoved half-dragged Zimmerman into the trench and then hurled himself in after.

"It hurts like hell!" Zimmerman gritted through clenched teeth. Santiago inspected the wound and nodded briefly.

"How bad?" asked Zimmerman, eyes watering.

"You're fine." Santiago told him applying a bandage that looked more like a short strip of white duct tape.

"I don't call being shot 'fine'." Zimmerman snapped back. He let out his breath as the medical tape touched his skin, absorbing the red-hot needles of pain. "At least I didn't bleed much," he mused, trying to think of a bright side.

"It's plasma. You didn't bleed at all."

"Oh…" Apparently no one here used good old-fashioned lead. Zimmerman supposed there were pros as well as cons to this. It could have been worse. His bicep still stretched uncomfortably as he worked his arm but at least the bandaged had relieved most of his pain. He reached out a hand but Santiago gently took hold of his wrist to stop him from reclaiming his rifle.

"Let me use it till you settle down."

Zimmerman nodded and leaned up against a convenient chunk of concrete. Holding his arm against his chest as if wearing a sling, he took a moment to catch his breath. London sat quivering nearby, his skin stained a warm marigold orange. He had never seen the face of war up close before. As a teenager and technical officer he had always fought at a distance from the safety of a military base or the inside of a reconnaissance vehicle. Zimmerman felt a twinge of pity for the poor kid. To be thrown cold into a battle was one thing, but to add such a level of surreality was really asking too much. Who would have known that the inside of a computer could be such a dangerous place?

"Just breathe, kid," he told the young officer. "We'll get out okay."

London didn't look as if he believed him, but nodded. His nerves restored, but his rifle in Rodriguez's hands, Zimmerman lifted a grenade from his bandoleer. Pulling the pin he counted three before hurling the tiny bomb well past enemy lines. It exploded on cue and abbreviated screams resounded over the deafening blast. Zimmerman put his good arm up to shield his face from the sudden shower of rubble. Santiago turned briefly to stare blankly at him.

"Er…Thanks."

Zimmerman grinned and shrugged. "No problem."

"If I may ask," asked London, "Who are you people?"

"I'm Lance Corporal Diego Rodriguez," said the soldier. "That's Tech Sergeant Jose Santiago. We're all that's left of the first team. One has been capture, the rest of them are dead...killed by this Terahertz guy."

London blinked, puzzlement clear on his face.

"It's a long story," said Santiago.

"Well, thanks for covering us," replied London.

"Welcome," was all Santiago had time to say before turning to fire on the approaching enemy. Zimmerman watched as Santiago neatly disposed of half a dozen adversaries. He had to admit Santiago had excellent aim.

"Guys, we're gonna have to get out of here. We can't hold up against a force that size. Where's the rest of your team, Zimmerman?" Rodriguez demanded, his voice frantic around the edges. Zimmerman gritted his teeth. If the Alliance just left Rodriguez and Santiago here, chances were no one was coming in after him and London either.

"Fine." Zimmerman finally answered, "Let's grab what we can and get out of here!" He paused in the act of retrieving a sack of grenades. "Um... where are we going?"

Rodriguez and Santiago exchanged glances.

"Away from them." Rodriguez answered, jerking a thumb towards the still approaching enemy. London rolled his eyes. A startled yelp from Santiago returned Zimmerm's attentiontion from Rodriguez's unique sense of humor to more pressing matters. Santiago lay sprawled on his back, his weapon lying on the ground a short distance away. A large gouge had been blasted in the pile of rubble he had been crouching behind only moments ago. Shaking himself, Santiago sat up, swallowed hard and grabbed the weapon once more.

"Let's go. Now," he said, fumbling to gather any remaining weaponry.

A flash filled the sky a second time. The soldiers raised their eyes to see a new pod materialize and fall to earth.

"Who will that be?" he asked London.

"Smith!" shouted London, dismayed.

Zimmerman bit his lip. "I think we can get him out in time!" He said, shoving London forward. "I'll cover you!"

"Me?" squeaked London. "Oh, God..."

"Just do it!" yelled Zimmerman. "You're the smallest and the fastest! You'll be fine!"

Hands shaking, London darted from the safety of the improvised bunker towards the pod. He had reached the halfway point but skidded to a halt and slipped backwards onto his behind as Smith burst out of the pod, machine gun ablaze. The shots hit the two creatures that had been moving in to attack, sending their bodies flying backwards.

"Smith!" London exclaimed, unsure if he should be worried or overjoyed. "Over here! Follow me!" The two retreated to the remains of the makeshift bunker. Looking back over his shoulder, he noted more troops arriving, swarming around the pod.

"Damn," cursed Zimmerman. "Williams and Culligan are going to have to wait."

"Try contacting them on the radio." Santiago suggested.

Zimmerman put the communicator to his mouth and spoke. "This is Zimmerman contacting Alpha Base. Zimmerman to Alpha Base, please reply. Alpha Base?" He was met with only deafening empty volumes of static. Cursing again he let the useless device drop to the ground.

"Looks like the trip screwed up our radios," he muttered. "I can't warn Williams or Culligan."

"They'll have some problems coming in," London replied, warily eyeing the now over-run drop site. "Would it be possible to wait for them, then rush the pod and get them out?"

"Not possible," replied Santiago. "The big guy- Terahertz -is here. He's the leader of the Viral forces. The five of us can't possibly take on him, his personal guard, and all his troops. I'm sorry, but we'll have to leave them."

"Guess that makes me team leader for now," Smith spoke up, readying his weapons. "I say let's get the hell out of here. Anyone want to question that order?"

"No, Sir," replied a grateful Zimmerman. Amid the flashes of plasma and roar of falling debris, the team cautiously retreated from the battle.