The lizard laid out all the options. Stand there and let him shoot/threaten me. Take his pistol from him and kill everyone around me. Stab him and his friend and the Blackbriar Bitch. Stab him, his friend, and both Rangers. Kill him, let his friend shoot me. Kill his friend, let him shoot me. Kill him and his friend. Take his pistol away, shoot his friend, jump up and down and let out a primal scream to establish dominance. Club both of them down and rape them to establish dominance. Kill them both and eat them, possibly sharing them with the other members of the hunting pack. Kill everyone but the Blackbriar Bitch and mate with her to produce more offspring. Kill the Blackbriar Bitch first, before she ate my head, then the CIA guys, then establish dominance over the rest by sexually mastering the Blackbriar Bitch and not letting her eat my head.

Most of the options were immediately short circuited before I was even subconsciously aware of them, old primal impulses from before we began using tools.

On another channel ran the situational awareness. Where everyone was, what they were doing, how their muscles were tensed, possible abilities and skills. How the environment was, how far away the camo net was, how my footing was, where the tent was, who could see us, light sources and strength, wind speed and direction, ambient temperature.

All of it flickered through my brain in less than a heartbeat, old dedicated channels in my grey matter handling the load with ease as each bit of data was either discarded (like the fact that if I finished the stab wound on the guy on my right I could tear open the Blackbriar Bitch's top with my left hand before she could move) or taken into account (there were rocks beneath my boot that had been exposed by people walking over the dirt and scuffing it away, affecting my push-off step) or registered but not applicable (the wind was from the east, three mph, warm and slightly damp).

The cigarette fell from my mouth as I moved.

Two and half steps and I was on him before he even finished his sentence. My hand wrapped around the pistol, ripping it from his grip. I felt his finger bone snap and I took possession of the pistol. Before he could even react I smashed it into his face, hitting right between the eyes and pivoting in place. Something crunched and his eyes started to roll back, his muscles suddenly going rigid as he started to stand up straight. His elbows started pulling back to his body and his forearms started to come up as his wrists went limp, his brain misfiring into the primitive protective posture.

He wasn't fucked, but he was damn close to it.

Everyone else was moving in slow motion. The Blackbriar Bitch had her pistol half drawn, the SF LTC had his hand on his pistol, his thumb unsnapping the restraining strap. Red had his hand out of his sleeve, the sunlight dappling through the camo-net gleaming off the honed edge of the fighting knife he'd pulled out.

They were all so slow as the lizard dumped even more chemicals into my blood stream. ATP production skyrocketed, my adrenals poured chemicals into my system.

Everyone was so slow.

The guy on the left was charge, according to the lizard. Whatever criteria he was using I wasn't fully privy too, but it didn't matter.

Target identified.

He had the pistol already out, his eyes showed that in his mind I'd already flinched back and offered him whatever he wanted if he didn't shoot me, and his body language was the relaxed malevolence of a bully used to getting his way.

His brain hadn't caught up to reality when I dropped lefty's pistol and snatched his, twisting it to break his trigger finger. I grabbed the front of his suit with my left hand, smashing against him, taking both of us to the ground.

To my right Righty had stood straight up, his head moving back as the muscles at the back of his neck tightened up, his brain misfiring through the sudden trauma of having a big blond gorilla smash him right in the Triangle of Death.

We hit the ground hard, the CIA guy's breath blasting out of him and into my face. He'd had garlic with his lunch.

Before he could react I put the pistol next to his head and pulled the trigger three times, as fast as I could. He opened his mouth to scream as his eardrum ruptured and I smashed the pistol into his mouth, the front sight breaking off one of his teeth. I couldn't hear shit through the high-pitched whining in my ears, but I knew that the barrel was sizzling on saliva and skin. He gargled a scream and I jammed the pistol into his throat like we were in the back parkinglot of the club and he was Nagle on her knees.

Everything suddenly sped up as I shifted position so I was straddling his chest, my knees on his arms.

"Blink if you can understand me," I growled into the sudden silence.

People were yelling in the distance, but my attention was focused on Smartass.

He blinked, tears running from his eyes.

"My instincts say to kill you," I told him, leaning down. I pushed the pistol hard then eased off of it so he could gag and choke. "My authority cannot be denied."

"Nice day, isn't it?" Emmington said.

"You CIA assholes never fucking learn," I told him. "Right now you're planning on killing me at your first opportunity."

"Yup. Gonna be a warm evening," Harvey answered.

Red picked up my cigarette, putting it in his mouth as he put his foot on the other guy's chest and pinned him down through a seizure.

"Either they didn't bother warning you what I am or you didn't care," I said. I pulled the pistol from his mouth. "Well?"

"You better," he started.

I slammed the barrel of the pistol back into his mouth. Teeth snapped and he coughed blood across my face. The sight sliced his lip, adding to the blood.

I didn't care.

"You're gonna be really fucking popular missing all those teeth," I grinned. I pushed hard, past his gag reflex, shoving the pistol into his throat. "Let's get you used to deep throating now rather than later, bitch."

He struggled, wiggling, and I raised up before slamming my ass into his gut.

He started to vomit and I yanked the pistol free, slapping my hand over his mouth. Vomit sprayed from his nose as I stared at him. He was trying to throw up past my hand but I had a good seal over his mouth.

"I should let your stupid ass die," I told him, watching him trying to swallow his own vomit without vomiting up more. His sinuses were clogged and he had a mouth full of lunch.

I stood up and he rolled over, spewing vomit.

I kicked him in the kidney. Hard enough that he pissed himself.

Then I stepped on the side of his head, putting pressure.

"They never fucking learn," I said, looking at the Blackbriar Bitch.

She nodded slowly and the lizard saw the sudden fear in her eyes as something that lived in her skull saw the lizard and recognized what it was.

"Kill him?" Red asked me, kneeling next to the one who'd just had a seizure.

"Naw. Maybe some brain damage will teach him to be a reasonable human being," I said, keeping the guy's head pinned to the ground. Red nodded and stood up.

"T-Rats for dinner?" Winthrop suggested.

"If our host can," Harvey agreed.

The guy beneath my boot was crying, sobbing, but he reached up and grabbed my ankle, trying weakly to yank my foot away.

I stepped back, then took a step forward and kicked him in the other kidney.

Hard.

He screamed, long and loud, his hands going to his back and I knelt down, rolling him into his back.

"Try to have some decorum and pride, Agent," I smiled. Before he could saw anything I slapped him upside the head with the barrel of his own pistol. His eyes crossed. "After all, you represent the Central Intelligence Agency and we wouldn't want any of the dumbass military guys here to think you might be human."

"Please," he said.

"Oh, now it's please," Baker chuckled. "It always is with assholes like that."

"Manners, Agent? For some dumbass Army scrub?" I grinned.

"Now you're just being mean," Westlin said.

"Aw, Twitchy made a dust-angel," Red chuckled. Emmington laughed.

"You can't do this," the Agent whined. "I'm with the CIA. You can't touch me."

I slammed the bottom of the pistol's grip against his nose, shattering it. He screamed, gurgling on the sudden influx of blood and vomit.

"Touch," I said.

The hate was gone from his eyes, now it was sheer terror and agony. I wrapped my hand around his throat and squeezed lightly. Enough to make his eyes bulge and his pulse hammer, but not enough to cut off his air.

"This is Atlas," I smiled. "Red, who am I?" I asked without breaking eye contact with the agent.

"The Atlas Ant," Red said.

"Colonel, who's site is this?" I asked, still staring the Agent in the eyes, letting him see past what I showed everyone else.

The lizard grinned at him and licked its chops.

"Yours," The Colonel said, shrugging. "Ain't arguing that."

"Wise move," Halfrey chuckled.

I leaned down into his face. "I'm the Atlas fucking Ant, and this is my fucking site," I growled into his face.

Cromwell pushed her way under the camo and stopped. She stared for a moment then shook her head in resignation.

"Make sure twitchy there don't fucking die," I snapped at her.

"Language," she said, moving forward and kneeling down.

I grabbed the front of the Agent's uniform and dragged him into the TOC. He struggled a little and I smacked him across the face with the pistol, the sight slicing his cheek. I slammed him into the chair and quickly frisked him. I tossed the revolver from his ankle holster on the radio desk, grabbed his docs, and leaned against the table, putting his pistol on top of the canvas covering the documents and maps.

Without saying anything I pulled a crumpled cravat out of my pocket and used my canteen to wet it. The Agent was bent forward, spitting blood and vomit chunks onto the canvas floor of the tent. He looked up and I saw a hint of defiance in his eyes.

"I should make you lick that up," I told him.

The defiance vanished.

He remembered that fear tasted like gun oil and metal, jerking upright in the chair and shrinking back from me in the same motion. When I held out the wetted cravat he flinched. After a second he took it, his hand trembling.

"Clean your face, you look disgraceful," I told him. "And fucking compose yourself. You're a trained CIA agent, fucking act like it."

He mopped his face, wincing when he hit the cut and his broken nose. He had a good set of raccoon eyes going on when he handed it back. The terror was still in there, he couldn't hide it, but beyond his eyes it didn't show. He saw me reading his docs, opened his mouth to say something, then shut it when the terror surged back up.

"I'm Corporal Anthony Stillwater, NCOIC of FSTS-317/NATO Site 93," I told him, folding his billfold and tossing it back to him. "You are Agent Randolph Christian, Central Intelligence Agency's Direct Action Section."

He nodded, picking up his billfold slowly. He folded it and slid it toward his torn open suit top.

"If you're thinking of going for the knife in your jacket, I'll take it from you and feed it to you through your eye," I told him.

He yanked his hand away.

"I thought about killing you, but then I'd just have to repeat this with your replacement," I told him, lighting another cigarette. I'd lost the other one. I handed the agent the first one, lit myself a second, setting the lighter and pack of cigarettes on the canvas.

"I don't like the CIA. I don't like CIA agents. I don't like anyone from the Big-13. They seem to think they're in charge of everything," I told him. I sneered at him, the nerve misfiring and jerking up the whole left side of my face. "When they're not busy fucking me in the ass and then leaving me holding the bag with a bloody asshole and jizz on my face while everyone else looks for someone to throw under the bus."

He just nodded. His fingers trembled as he took a drag off the cigarette.

"You have some Secret Squirrel mission to carry out and you decided you'd just take charge of an entire ammunition depot from the dumbass teenage Army retard, didn't you?" I wasn't really asking.

He nodded, not bothering to deny it.

"Your orders are to observe the movements of the GRU and KGB agents across the way as well as to try to establish HUMINT across the Iron Curtain," I said.

He narrowed his eyes.

"Your mission is obvious to anyone, dumbass," I said. I shrugged. "I've established HUMINT, I've got contacts across the 1K Zone. Hell, I'm in the middle of subverting an entire Soviet Spetsnaz team and a GRU officer," I told him. I grinned and he flinched.

"I'm going to break a rule for you and Twitchy, Agent," I said.

Cromwell pushed her way into the tent. She walked by us and moved behind the agent as I continued speaking.

"I'm going to let you live. You and Twitchy. My authority is absolute, so if anything happens to me or I think you're about to fuck me in my tight little ass," I said. I nodded to Cromwell.

She grabbed his hair, yanking his head back, and set her pilot's survival knife, available at any Shoppette or PX, against his throat, right under his Adam's apple.

"I'll throw your body in the 1K Zone and claim the KGB killed you," I said. His eyes were bulging out as he realized he'd made a mistake in dismissing Cromwell as some uniformed cooze with no skills beyond dick sucking. I nodded to Cromwell. "That's good."

Cromwell let go and stepped back.

"Shall we work together and you get to live or shall I just kill you now and save everyone trouble?" I asked him.

"Live," he croaked.

"Good Agent. Good boy. Heel," I smiled.

He flinched back.

"Patch him up, Cromwell. Make sure I didn't give him a brain bleed or some shit," I said.

"Language," she chided.

"Red! Show 'em in!" I shouted.

"Let's get this show on the road," I smiled to myself. I tossed the CIA Agent his pistol. "Here, you might need this," I told him.

He looked at his pistol and flinched slightly before looking up at me.

"Just remember what I told you, Agent," I smiled as the other men began filing into the TOC.

"I'm the Atlas Ant, and this is my goddamn site."

Cromwell didn't bother to chide me, just got out her medical tape.

"Welcome to Atlas," she said softly.