<div class="floatleft">(http://i.imgur.com/1w6Sw.jpg)</div><hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>  Name:</strong>Abigail Brand<br/>  <strong>Title:</strong>Agent Brand or Ma'am or Miss. Not 'Hydra-Hair.'<br/>  <strong>Affiliation:</strong>  Resistance<br/>  <strong>Location:</strong>   Northern Egypt, Near Port Said<br/>  <strong>Tags:</strong>Open<br/></span></span><hr/><br/>Port Said, Egypt<br/><br/>Twenty steps, they hadn't even made it out of the three foot wide alleyway when an explosion reverberated from above them and one of the armored mutants literally plummeted down from the sky, his armor sparking as it left a wispy trail of light gray smoke in its wake. They could hear the mutant attacker screaming before his upper body literally smashed onto the edge of one of the rooftops, did a flip backwards, and then smashed against the opposite wall before bouncing back and forth down the alley and tumbling into an armored heap literally a half dozen feet in front of them. Both of them paused, and neither of them looked merciful as they kept their weapon trained on the fallen mutant, noticing a melon sized hole in its shoulder, likely from an anti-aircraft cannon hit.<br/><br/>A groan escaped the attackers mouth.<br/><br/>Abigail fired a plasma bolt through its armored helm, roasting its skull and the slagging the brains inside with a single trigger pull of her Kree Plasma Assault Rifle. “Counts as one,” Agent Duchamp said with a forced laugh over the din of combat. Stepping over the now unmoving creature, the two of them inched their way down the alleyway, approaching one of the broader avenues when Abigail raised a hand, signaling for her partner to stop and stay low as they crouched down behind a trash heap at the end of the alley. Waving away the flies, she glanced down the broad avenue, noticing movement down the road, at an intersection as several Egyptian soldiers sprinted across the road, one of them firing wildly behind him with his assault rifle before being cut down by a blast of unnatural energy.<br/><br/>A moment later, three of their armored pursuers raced into view, but before they could make it halfway across the intersection, a loud boom followed by a tremendous explosion engulfed all three of the armored men, blasting them apart into smoking armored chunks. Abigail panned her vision back, noticing an Egyptian Army Abrams main battle tank was parked at the end the road, right next to the mosque. Nodding to them, and making her presence known, Abigail simply grinned and then darted across the road into the next alley, Agent Duchamp following hot on her heels, the tank covering their crossing. Almost as soon as they reached the next alley, they could hear the booming staccato of the Abram tanks heavy machine gun, as tracer fire soared into the air at even more aerial targets.<br/><br/>Moving down this alleyway, the SWORD Director suddenly her a radio transmission coming through and immediately she Abigail pivoted around a corner in the narrow passageway, slicing the pie as she maneuvered down another pathway, Agent Duchamp keeping his eyes both up and on their rear in case of surprises. Quietly, her boots softly crunched the sand and dirt under her feet as she looked up ahead and saw the body of an Egyptian militiaman neatly nestled under a small awning, still clinging his Kalashnikov. Abigail crouched down beside the corpse, one hand still on her rifle as she glanced down to check his pulse and confirming he was in fact dead. She recognized the body as belonging to one of the Muslim Brotherhood militias. Likely he died defending one of the many mosques and other religious institutions used as a shelter for the passing refugees. But of more immediate interest to her, she heard the radio chatter in Arabic mention something that caught her ear.<br/><br/>Abigail couldn't speak Arabic, but she recognized the designation of one of the command bunkers being mentioned and it being under attack. “Change of plans,” Abigail said. “We're heading to Command Bunker Gamma, it's under attack,” she then said, before searching the miltiaman for anything useful and found, somewhat surprisingly, a rather large, round and flat anti-tank grenade Shrugging, she decided to bring it along, just in case.<br/><br/>Agent Duchamp just dutifully nodded. “Want me to take point?” Duchamp asked.<br/><br/>“Go for it,” she replied, rising to her feet and patting him on the shoulder. He moved forward, resting the stock of his light machine gun against his shoulder, casually looking down its sight as they emerged along another roadway, this one paved and now pockmarked with impacts. “We're heading East eight blocks, towards the canal,” she then said, as he leaned his head out and saw the obvious signs of battle in this particular road. But other then that, the coast was clear, more or less.<br/><br/>Taking cover in the shadows of the arched overhangs that made up a great many of Port Said's buildings, (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:A_unique_house_of_Port_Said.JPG) the duo passed by the bullet and energy riddled abandoned storefronts and occasionally ducked down as whistling mortars from the enemy artillery sailed down into the city, apparently at random. “Jesus Christ,” Duchamp suddenly muttered, as they proceeded down their first block, noticing several craters in the middle of the road, dead civilians simply laying out in the middle of the street, surrounded byu their bundles and luggage. Off to the side, an apartment complex, half caved in and collapsed by Apocalypse's re-apportioned artillery units or perhaps by his mutant shock troops, was still smoldering. The tenants that escaped their buildings destruction were likely caught in the open when the artillery landed in the street, likely at the same time. Farther ahead, an impromptu roadblock of burning vehicles, furniture and tires could be seen as well as several dead armed militiamen peppered around the barricade, all of them apparently killed in various ways and surrounded by shell casings.<br/><br/>Sprinting across another road, the two of them briefly glanced southward and saw a limited telescoped view of a battle going on several blocks down. Another Abrams tank was parked in the entrance of an alleyway, only its armored front end peeking out, just enough to drive out, fire its main gun, and pull back inside. Several smaller vehicles were ablaze, with soldiers using them for cover and others firing down on their superhuman attackers with heavier ordinance and rockets along the rooftops. In response, they could see pulses of energy and lightning flung back at them, as well as the near inhuman roars of their mutant adversaries carrying over even the steady din of battle. The glimpse was only momentary, but sobering. “Are we winning this fight?” Agent Duchamp asked as they found themselves now leaning against the outer stone wall of a small mosque, likely what the miltia and their barricade was defending.<br/><br/>“We're going to,” Abigail replied as they both glanced up, noticing a series of missiles sailing over their head from the north, likely landing amongst the attacking forces. The sky was still filled with its own, almost separate battle, one likely extremely unique to history of man sized superhumans in power armor engaging conventional military forces based off the ground. The military theorists and armchair generals would be having a field day analyzing this battle for decades to come, if of course, the human race survived the month. The gate to the mosque was smashed open, but someone had parked a Soviet-era BTR armored personnel carrier across the front though that too was on fire. Laying in the front of the mosque was a man dressed as a private security guard with a pistol and a taser, one in each hand. He was also missing his head. Duchamp glanced down and then noticed Abigail eyeing the taser for some reason. Abigail nodded, and without a word, he picked it up.<br/><br/>They passed it by, Duchamp muttering a soft prayer to Christ, hoping the Muslims taking refuge within were still safe. Moving down the road, they came upon a half dozen more corpses, all of refugees, mostly in pieces, spread across the road and an overturned school bus in the intersection. Just above it, entangled in the street lights, was another power armor clad mutant dripping a thick, inky black ichor from what looked like a dozen different wounds. Moving from doorway to doorway, the two of them prepared to make their way across a wider, four lane road complete with a broad median, replete with palm tress, gardens and brick decorations. Abigail took a deep breath, realizing it was likely a kill zone as they approached the highway that ran parallel to the Suez Canal which was only a few kilometers over now. As they moved towards the side of the road, preparing to cross at the intersection, they noticed someone flashing a mirror from a balcony on a building directly diagonal of their position.<br/><br/>Focusing her eyes, she noticed a friendly machine gun nest was located on a second story apartment window. The Egyptian soldiers there holding up their hands, signaling for her to wait. Abigail nodded, and then leaned out to peer down the road and saw why. There was a literal battle erupting farther down the road. A full fledged one. Just from a glance, no more then a kilometer down the road, she could see two tanks, one located on either side of the road, opening fire on an oncoming enemy. The main guns were booming, while the machine guns never seemed to die down as the crews switched between their co-ax medium machine guns and the heavier ones on the turret. Along the windows and rooftops, rockets were being slung out and heavy cannons and machine guns ripping up an enemy Abigail simply couldn't see but could hear well enough. She could even see more infantry scurrying back and forth, taking up firing positions behind wrecked cars, sandbagged positions and even in artillery craters or the median itself while others pulled away the dead or wounded. The palm trees meanwhile didn't sway anymore, either torn apart or their foliage literally shredded or burned away by the battle.<br/><br/>Just then, there was a rapid popping sound as one of the tanks unleashed a miniature volley of smoke rounds from its mortars and then, to the cries of 'Allahu Akbar,” both tanks suddenly surged forward as their crescendo of fire seemed to increase in volume impossibly. One of the tanks though barely could round the corner when a suddenly blast of brilliant golden light suddenly shot down straight into the top of the vehicle and immediately caused it to explode into a brilliant fireball as its remaining ammunition detonated. Glancing upward, Abigail saw a mutant literally glowing with energy soaring down the street and starting to charge up his attack again when, almost anti-climatically, a surface to air missile was fired from the rooftop literally above Abigail, the supersonic missile streaking towards the powerful mutant and slamming into his chest.<br/><br/>The missiles powerful warhead, meant to bring down jets, more then sufficed in blasting apart the mutant. From behind the smokescreen, the defenders, apparently not stymied by the destruction of one of their tanks, surged forward with the men on the rooftops and upper levels providing covering fire as two more tanks previously unseen rolled down the street, right behind the initial advance. Abigail glanced up at the machine gunners and saw them emphatically waving them to cross. So the two of them did. They sprinted across the four lane highway, hearing and almost feeling bullets crack the air as they ran with all their might to the safety of the other side. Practically collapsing as they caught their breath, Abigail nodded to the men in the machine gun nest and then nodded for Duchamp to take point again. They were almost at the command bunker. Two more blocks east, they soon realized they were hearing the renewed sounds of a battle and realized they were closing in on it.<br/><br/>Agent Duchamp rounded the corner, swiveling his light machine gun out in front of himself when suddenly his head almost violently jerked backwards and he toppled straight back and landed flat on his back on the ground. Abigail froze momentarily and then stopped cold, hugging the corner before crouching low and peeking around the corner. “Duchamp are you alright?” she called out to him as he laid there, just out of arms reach. She saw the front of his helmet was indented, but not penetrated and beyond that, no other wounds. But his eyes were closed and under all of his body armor and gear, she couldn't tell if he was still breathing. “Shit!” she cursed under breath, before glancing around the corner again, this time her plasma rifle at the ready and saw what was going on. A massacre.<br/><br/>The screams of numerous people could be heard as what was apparently a fight in the middle of a school had now spilled out into the middle of the street. A line of women and children, running down the street towards Abigail were being cut down by automatic gunfire as they fled screaming, away from the violent clash erupting behind them. Four of the attacking mutants were amongst a group of fleeing civilians running out of the school building. One of the mutants was dual wielding a pair of submachine guns and chasing down the helpless women and children racing down towards her position as Abigail realized it was likely a random bullet that struck Agent Duchamp.<br/><br/>Realizing there were lives to save, Abigail didn't delay with Duchamp any longer and moved around the corner and opened fire. She took careful aim with her first shot, knowing that over the cacophony, there was little chance of the mutants detecting her until she made her presence known. She fired a single bolt of plasma that slammed into the helmet of the mutant, roasting the murderers brain in an instant, and causing him to drop his submachine guns. Abigail meanwhile, quickly ducked behind an arch support column, out of sight as one of the fleeing civilians, clad in the white robes of an Islamic student, snatched up one of the submachine guns and opened fire point blank on the mutant closest to him. At this close of range, he couldn't miss as the bullets repeatedly thudded against the attackers armor, causing him to stagger back but not be killed. Instead the mutant lashed out, revealing its superhuman power being the emitting of some sort of energy pulse from the palm of his hand. The pulse tore the skin off of the brave civilians face, just as he drove the bayonet with enough force into the seam of armor just along the mutants waistline and as he toppled backwards, mortally wounded, he kept pulling on the trigger, perforating his attackers groin and stomach with the rest of the submachine guns drum sized magazine contents.<br/><br/>Abigail turned around the column and saw the remaining two mutants standing there. One looked like a hulking brute, the other... just looked... off. He wasn't even wearing armor beyond the jump jet pack and had a monotone, sandstone brown complexion to his body that was even devoid of anything but the most vague of facial features. The brute brought his tire sized armored boot down upon an injured old man, crushing him under his foot and letting out a roar of sick satisfaction as the mans remains splattered across the road. The other mutant meanwhile was firing a single round of his assault rifle into the heads of the bodies of civilians surrounding him.<br/><br/>Firing quickly, Abigail emptied two bolts of hot plasma into each of the mutants. The brute grunted as the bolts of plasma sizzled against his armor reinforced carapace, as the other two energy bolts seemed to almost seamlessly pass through the other nondescript mutant, creating brief holes in his body before they seemed to almost magically fill up. Not like regeneration but, like the mutant was made of gel or play dough. Abigail frowned, this was going to be trouble. It was then that she heard Duchamp groan from behind her just as  the brute started to charge forward.<br/><br/>Thinking quickly and wanting to take attention off of Duchamp, she charged down the street towards them, letting off her best battle cry before reaching into her bandoleer and throwing a grenade at them. The playdough mutant stretched upward, pulling himself onto an awning as the brute suddenly rocketed high into the air, thanks to his jump jets. And it was then that Abigail grimly smiled and watched the brutes shadow slowly grow bigger.<br/><br/>Racing across the street, she reached into her haversack and pulled out the anti-tank mine and tossed it into the middle of the street, right where the brutes shadow was. She dived behind an abandoned sidewalk food stand just as the brute touched the ground again, one of his big feet slamming onto the anti-tank mines detonator. “Did I step in camel shit?” the brute growled, lifting his foot and exposing his groin to several pounds of high explosives.<br/><br/>The column of the blast engulfed his body as a pair of beefy legs flung outward in opposite directions, while the shredded upper body spun in the air before flopping back onto the ground only a few feet away. Three down. One left. Abigail saw the playdough mutant, still toting his assault rifle, leap back down onto the street and without hesitation advanced on her while opening fire. She returned fire, only to find her plasma bolts still uselessly punching through its body, not even slowing him down. She ducked behind the stand as the mutant kept her pinned down, all while still closing in. “You're dead bitch!” the playdough mutant growled, casually reloading his assault rifle before advancing on her again as his 'wounds' instantly regenerated. “I'm going to fu-aanannnnggghhh!” he suddenly said, his voice seizing up as Abigail immediately popped out from behind the food stand and saw the playdough mutant almost randomly spasming before crumpling to the ground.<br/><br/>Standing not too far behind him, Agent Duchamp, deployed taser in hand, kept the current surging through the mutants body. Abigail walked around the corner of the stand she was taking cover behind and them produced a thermite grenade. “I've always wondered what happens when a thermite grenade meets playdough,” she said, activating the weapon and throwing it with enough force into the playdough man it half submerged into his spasming body as Duchamp dropped the taser, the two of them quickly scurrying away just as the thermite started to sizzle, roasting the murderous mutant alive.<br/><br/>The two of them moved forward, carefully stepping over and around the bodies of two dozen murdered civilians, and then found the scene of yet another battle just outside a police station. “They must've been part of this group,” Abigail said, referring to the four mutant team they had encountered moments before. The carnage of the battle here was obvious. The police cars used to block off the road were all ablaze and in one case torn apart. “This command center was located under a police station,” Abigail said. “Watch the perimeter, I'll go inside and see if anyone is alive,” she then ordered her partner who nodded, looking for the best overwatch position.<br/><br/>The police station itself was literally pockmarked with burn marks and bulletholes, all of the windows shattered and one wall literally collapsed, the ceiling partially caved in. The corpses of a squad of Jordanian commandos could be seen scattered around and inside the police station, along with a few civilians and local police officers along with the armored corpses of about seven mutants, most of them blown apart or riddled with bullets, but usually both. The mutants had struck this police station in force, using twelve power mutants it looked like. That couldn't of been a coincidence, she realized. They knew to attack here.<br/><br/>She had to move quickly and warn the other command bunkers.<br/><br/>Making her way through the station, she stepped over the tied and bound bodies of two female police station office workers, both of them with their necks broken. Next to them was the door to the basement, wide open. The interior was well lit. The mutants had made their way inside.<br/><br/>Abigail already knew whoever was inside was likely dead, but she had to check anyways, if only to use their radio to warn the other command bunkers to either reinforce their security or redeploy. Briskly running down the stairwell into the basement command center itself, plasma assault rifle at the ready when she stepped off the stairs and into the basement proper. A dozen more bodies, all of them killed in a violent fashion, monitors smashed, computers wrecked, papers scattered. She recognized many of the faces. Senior military officers and political operatives of the Egyptian military, and a NATO military attache.<br/><br/>“Too late Dear Abby,” an unmistakable American voice suddenly called out from the side.<br/><br/>Abigail turned, leading with her rifle when two flashes of light soared across her field of vision and suddenly she felt her rifle ripped from her grasp and sent skittering across the blood drenched floor as a second later, another blast of pure concussive force slammed across her armored side with enough force she could feel her ribs crack as she was lifted off her feet and sent careening into a file cabinet across the room. Groaning, the SWORD Director tried to stand up, but felt her chest seize up with pain before she convulsed, coughing up blood and letting out a dry grunt.<br/><br/>“Oh poor Abigail baby,” her attacker then cooed as she stepped into view, twirling a pair of batons of coherent hard light in her hands. “As the first and last leader of the resistance, let me say, it is my honor to be the instrument of its... and your... demise,” the woman said.<br/><br/>“Who the fuck are you?” Abigail spat at her, the blood staining her lips as she struggled to stand back up.<br/><br/>“My name is Joystick,” the supervillain replied with an exuberant smile completely unlike that of her stoic mutant brethren. “I bring joy to my master Lord Apocalypse by wielding these sticks,” she explained in a cheerfully sarcastic voice, (http://www.comicvine.com/joystick/29-4809/) nonchalantly twirling the light batons in hand as she stood over the SWORD Director. “See!” she then said, suddenly spurring into action as she brought one of her batons into grip and aimed it into a downward strike aimed at the point of Abigail's body where the neck met the shoulder when a gunshot suddenly rang out and Joystick staggered backwards, suddenly clutching at her gut as she stumbled back rapidly, before falling backwards over a computer desk with enough force it flipped over with her.<br/><br/>Abigail gave her pistol a twirl as she stood back up. “Blah. Blah. Blah,” the SWORD Director said with a sigh. “Next time, though I doubt there will be a next time, don't bother gloating. It makes you look stupid,” she said, walking up to the overturned desk that Joystick had fallen behind. “Now how about you tell me how you found this bunker and I might get your gut wound patched up before you die.” She peeked over the edge of the desk only to see to her genuine surprise, Joystick was no longer laying there. There wasn't even a speck of blood on the floor.<br/><br/>The SWORD Director immediately spun around, pistol in hand only to see it get knocked out of her grasp as one of the batons slammed across her wrist, followed by the instep of Joystick's foot slamming into the side of her face, sending her careening to the floor. “Next time you shoot somone once, make sure they're not wearing lightweight, high tensile body armor,” Joystick then replied, closing in on the fallen hero yet again as she scrambled to get back to her feet. “See?” she then said, lightly tapping the two small burn marks on her vests inserted trauma plate. “I'm always underrated.”<br/><br/>Abigail spit out another dollop of blood and clenched her fists. “Prove it D-lister!” Abigail spat back. Joystick smiled, more then willing to oblige.<br/><br/><em>Other SWORD Agents:</em><br/><br/>Agent Hariri (http://i1001.photobucket.com/albums/af134/MNBlend/Class/PaulaGarces.jpg) (Lebanon): Linguistics and Diplomacy.<br/>Agent Marquez (http://i.imgur.com/xmUcy.jpg) (Philippines): Intelligence Analysis.<br/>Agent Duchamp (http://i1001.photobucket.com/albums/af134/MNBlend/Guys/PatrickCote.jpg) (Canada): Weapons Specialist.<br/>Agent Fisher (http://i1001.photobucket.com/albums/af134/MNBlend/Class/PaigeWyatt2.jpg) (United States of America): Reconnaissance Marksman<br/>Agent Tokoro (http://i1001.photobucket.com/albums/af134/MNBlend/Class/AmiTokito.jpg) (Japan): Communications Technician<br/>Agent Coffeecake (http://i1001.photobucket.com/albums/af134/MNBlend/Susan%20Coffey/1decadentdesigns.jpg) (LMD): Offworld Consular Relations<br/><br/><em>NPC Villains:<br/><br/>Joystick (http://www.comicvine.com/joystick/29-4809/)</em>