Fusion and Iron

28. Siege of the Control Center

Silence.

The rolling giants of puffy gray clouds shielded the light of the early morning, leaving the glade in a perpetual darkness under a brooding, dead sky. The Dark Tree was just a shadowy silhouette, dominating the center of the jungle as its twisted lambs swung eerily in the tropical wind. All around, blades of grass and fragile twigs bent and staggered violently in the draft as if nature itself was disrupted by Fuse's presence. The trees hunched over, their branches being pushed away from the direction of the Forsaken Valley, battling the coastal breeze.

Just beyond the fractured boundary of the abandoned Infection Zone walls, a lone warrior revealed himself from a dense patch of rainforest grass. His stride was tranquil and methodical, arms resting calmly at his sides. Unmoved by the violent gusts or the abominable infection killing the land around him, he pressed forward. His sandals trudged through the grime and mud, his heels tugging at the back of them to keep from sticking.

He approached the entrance to the bridge leading to the center of the glade, pausing at its edge. In one fluid motion, his hand reached for the grip of his katana hooked at his side, his fingers curling around it with an intense purpose. The leather-wrapped hilt felt all too familiar in his grasp, a warm welcome before every horrendous obstacle in his way.

The world around him held its breath, the deafening breeze growing louder as if in anticipation of the coming storm. His expression was both determined and intense, quietly preparing himself for a rapidly approaching challenge.
Samurai Jack smoothed out his rigid lines, the tension rising in his muscles. His breath was steady with a stern face, holding an unwavering gaze at the insidious heart of the glade. The wind tugged at the edges of his robe, yet he remained absolutely still. A loose strand of hair whipped across his forehead while his man bun held itself together tightly.

With another steady hand, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small earpiece. Without taking his eyes off the foreboding darkness before him, he hooked it around his ear and set the device in with a slight click. He held his breath for a few moments, then exhaled slowly as he pressed a finger up to the side.

"I am in position."

On the other side of the glade, the second team approached a different bridge that stretched over the same ominous chasm. Numbuh One led the way, hell-bent and straight as he scanned the area. His combat armor clung onto his frame, being a sleek, dark suit designed much similar to Cree's armor. The suit was designed for protection and mobility from neck to toe, complete with a neon orange visor (rather than his sunglasses) that glowed faintly in the dim light. His lighthearted personality was gone, his hard expression for leadership pressing the team onward. Clutched tightly in his hands was one of Dexlabs' finest collabs with the Plumbers, a piece of modified alien weaponry called a PM-1 Energy Rifle. A band of batteries meant to be charges for the weapon were strapped to his belt, including a sheathed space-age sword on his back. The blade itself was made from a lightweight metal, and the tip and grip of the weapon were coated in a bright orange. These commonly produced weapons were called Aerial Swords, mass-produced and efficient in fusion territory.

Numbuh Two was close behind, moving with surprising grace given his bigger build. Over the goggles on his helmet, the visor he wore over them flickered with readouts through a heat sensor as he checked his surroundings. His upbeat demeanor was replaced with quiet concentration on the field ahead, his heavy armor clattering with each step. He retained his confidence, the overclocked S.C.A.M.P.P. rifle in his arms boosting his confidence ever so slightly. Strapped to his hip was a rare weapon constructed just for him, an intricately grey and puffy orange pistol called a Vaporizer. Black war paint was smeared across both of his rosy cheeks and over his large belly were two strips of weapon magazines. He had his war face on, alert and eager for battle.

Numbuh Five was up next, moving as the lightest one of the three. Her armor was slim cut, fit for her agile approach. Both of her upgraded pop guns were drawn, pointed up while her eyes searched for any sign of fusion creatures nearby, observant thanks to her visor too. Not a single step of hers made noise in those boots, the only sound coming from her being her hands clutching too tightly on the grips of her pistols. She wasn't trigger-happy but felt like she could burst open the moment a fusion got too close. Her hair was tied in two strict ring braids rather than her usual long one so it didn't become a distraction