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http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/20121477
 	You blink. "What?"
 	"You heard me, Chief. Take that pistol, point it at that Martian, and pull the trigger," repeats General Douglas MacArthur. 
 	This doesn't make any sense! Shoot Socks? Even without considering what he's done for you and your fellow witches, he's an insanely important asset: a Martian willing to cooperate with Humanity, the first (and likely to be most valuable) turncoat of the war! Shoot him? Has the General gone mad?
 	"But sir, he-"
 	"Are you saying you can't shoot one of these bastards?"
 	Those are some loaded words. Even if being assigned to a submarine means you rarely come face-to-face with the enemy in a "white of his eyes" situation, you're still working to subvert the enemy's efforts with often lethal force. Being unable to kill the enemy implies incompetence. Dangerous incompetence, the kind that gets your fellow servicemen and women killed. 
 	Still, being told to prove you're not such a liability by killing a top Martian scientist in the General's office? It's unthinkable. He knows how important Socks is to the war effort (God, you hope he realizes how important Socks is). There's got to be a trick here. This is a test, that's obvious. He wouldn't expend Socks for confidence in one enlistee's ability to kill.
 	Beads of sweat forming on your brow as MacArthur watches you, you carefully slide out the cylinder of the revolver. Aha! There it is. The gun's not loaded. You immediately begin to rela-
 	"Oh, silly me. Here, Chief, hand me that gun."
 	Your expression quickly returns to its stressed form as you hand him the revolver, watching him carefully load each of the six chambers. He slides the cylinder back in, spinning it for good measure, and hands it back to you. There's no mistaking it; the gun is loaded.
 	You stare at it for several seconds, not moving. You desperately cling to the idea of this only being a test. There's got to be a trick somewhere, something you're missing...but you saw him load it. The safety's off. This revolver is ready to kill. "S-sir, please-"
 	"This is an order, Chief. Point the gun at the Martian and pull the trigger! It's not hard to figure out, is it? Do you need a tutorial on how to point and shoot?"
 	"N-no, sir."
 	He's made it deadly clear. This is an order. You're not getting out of this situation; you have to make a choice. Socks sits silently, waiting for this bizarre display to finish. In the back of your mind, you sincerely hope this is just another mental attack, and you'll break free at any moment...
 [ ] Orders are orders. Aim and fire confidently.
[x] Make the hard decision. Even if it's Socks, you can't just ignore an order.
[ ] Refuse. This is ludicrous. There's more at stake here than your military career.
 	...You can't disobey him. Disregarding your pride in being a hardworking, reliable, and all around 'good' enlisted member of the USN, setting aside your duty to follow orders, you're in an impossible situation. Disobeying him would amount to career suicide, and if this isn't some sort of trick, they'll need whatever you've learned from Socks. The military probably won't have time to listen to an insubordinate Chief Petty Officer, regardless of her history or magic.
 	You turn to Socks, the poor guy utterly oblivious to the direct threat to his well-being you now pose. You're glad you haven't taught him enough English to figure out what you're saying. He stares at you with alien eyes, his posture just as alien. Strange to think that so much of everything that defines him can be summed up as just...'alien.'
 	As you raise the weapon, pointing it at his bulbous head, you feel him prying at the psionic link between you, trying to establish communication. He's trying to figure out what the hell is going on, you realize. You can't bear it. Before he gets a chance to sense your emotional turmoil, before he can get an inkling of what you're about to do, you pull the trigger.
 	Click.
 	[Kuykendall, what are you doing?]
 	You open eyes you didn't realize were closed, the rest of your body still tense from the moment of truth. The hammer came down right, there wasn't a misfire. The revolver is perfectly operational. In confusion, you desperately try to fire it again. Now that you've committed to the act, trying it again isn't as hard; you're now worried if you won't even be allowed to make this decision at all, now that you've willingly chosen to kill Socks. Again, nothing happens; the rounds don't discharge. 
 	"They're dummy rounds, Chief. You didn't think I was about to throw away our most valuable asset before getting all the info we could get, did you?"
 	General Douglas MacArthur leans back in the corner, lighting his pipe. He gives it a few careful puffs, getting it going, before speaking again. "You've got a lot of trust for your superiors, that's for damned sure. Whether or not that trust comes willingly or by force of circumstance doesn't matter much to me, but I do hope that trust doesn't get betrayed someday."
 	Stunned, you slump into your chair, revolver still in hand.
 	"Still, that hesitation shows you've got a head on your shoulders. You think about your orders. If the situation changed, you'd probably figure out what to do."
 	Figure out what to do? If the situation changed? There's nothing that could have changed here to change what I'd have had to do, bar you dropping dead!
 	MacArthur takes his pipe out from his mouth, turning it around in his hand. "So, you can still fight these aliens." He places it back in his mouth, puffing it once more. "But right when you pulled that trigger...it looked like you were shooting your own mother."
 [ ] Of course it did! Have you ever known someone so completely as Socks and I can?
[ ] Stay silent.
[x] Other.
 	"Sir," you begin, trying to keep your voice steady, "I didn't just think that...that I was being ordered to kill our best chance at victory." You pause to give your voice a chance to recover. It doesn't. "I didn't just think I was being ordered to kill someone that saved my life several times. I thought I was being ordered to...to kill a friend."
 	General MacArthur puts down his pipe and rubs his chin with his hand. "I'm sorry to hear that, Chief. You've been through a lot, that's for damned sure."
 	You don't say a word.
 	"Well. Let's find out just how much. VICTOR!" He yells to one of the numerous assistants that had been ushered out of the room. A few second later, Victor opens the door, leading in Yetta, Miranda, and Rae. "Take a seat, ladies. It's time to for you to tell me what the hell you've gone through to get here, and why I'm staring at a Martian sitting in my office with what looks like a stupid smile on his face."
 	He does indeed appear to be trying to smile. It's not much, but it brightens your spirit just a bit.
 	"Hey, Cleo!" whispers Rae. "What's with the gun?"
 [ ] Explain.
[x] Get on with the debriefing.
[ ] Other.
 	"Nothing," you say quietly, surprised to still find it in your hands. Miranda and Yetta lean forward from their chairs to look at you. "What? Let's...let's get started."
 	With that, you begin the debriefing. You start with a brief explanation of the Substriker, an underwater counterpart to the Tank Strikers and flight Strikers. MacArthur is a little intrigued by the idea, but otherwise keeps silent as you describe the trip to pick up the other witches. You describe the sinking of the Tullibee as best you can, Yetta becoming silent as you do.
 	"So that's what happened to the Tullibee," says MacArthur. "Circular run, huh? That's a damned way to go."
 	"Yes, sir," you respond.
 	"Well, how'd these green bastards end up capturing you? You were in the water, right, Chief? Lt. Kellos and Sub-Lieutenant Falkowska were still on-board the Tullibee when it was hit?"
 	"They...they hit me with some sort of sonic attack, sir. It was like my head was tearing itself apart," you answer. "I didn't even get to see them. As for Mira-I mean, Lt. Kellos and Sub-Lieutenant Falkowska..."
 	Miranda takes over. "I was en route to the infirmary, General. Debilitating headache. Commander Brindupke decided I...I was a liability in that state. I was passing by the launch room when the torpedo hit."
 	Yetta shivers as the strike comes back to her. Again, a horrid feeling in the pit of your being washes over you from within as you imagine being stuck like that in a tube, trapped as the sub sinks.
 	"I...I extracted Sub-Lieutenant Falkowska from the tube she was trapped in as she tried to sortie. With no way out, we waited. Eventually, the Martians boarded the sub, taking us captive."
 	"I see," MacArthur says. "Strange that they'd go to the trouble. What about the Japanese Witch? Any idea what happened to her?"
 	You shake your head, and the others follow suit. "No, sir, we haven't seen her since. As far as Socks knows, there were no other prisoners."
 	"Hmm," he acknowledges. "Continue, please."
 	You continue, describing the relevant parts of your captivity: the struggle to keep Rae alive, how you socked Socks, your strange sensitivity to psionic activity (and the torture you had to endure), Socks' dissatisfaction with the Martian Commander, contact with Miranda and Yetta, and finally, the breakout.
 	"...and we found these." Miranda pulls the Mars Strikers from their bag, placing them in front of the General.
 	"What on God's Green Earth are these?" he wonders aloud.
 [ ] Explain yourself
[x] Ask Socks for a more technically correct description
[ ] Other
 	[Socks.]
 	[Yes, Kuykendall?] You can sense his puzzlement at your conflicting but intense emotions. Worry, anger, happiness, relief...and several you can't name. 
 	[Can you more accurately describe these Strikers to the General?]
 	[General? So, we have indeed reached out destination? Intriguing. I would have thought there would be more security, given that I am likely still regarded as an enemy.]
 	[You're surrounded by four Witches, Socks.]
 	[Ah, that is indeed true. Very well. Kuykendall, there is one issue with your request. I cannot speak your language.]
 	You groan. [Tell me, Socks. I'll take it from there.]
 	"One moment, Sir. Socks is going to explain it to me," you say. 
 	"The Striker unit to my left is a Martian replica of one of our own. We don't know the exact model, but it was basically built as a test, to see if they could examine our technology fully enough to reproduce whatever effects drive it. Unfortunately, the Martians seem to be woefully ignorant of magic; they couldn't get it to run. I've personally used this pair. I had to learn how to use them on the fly, but they seem functional enough. Socks doesn't know much more than that."
 	The General nods.
 	"The center unit was an attempt to test their understanding of magic. They've...combined some of the principles they've guessed are at work behind the magic engine with some of their own engineering twists, using technology beyond ours. Socks doesn't know exactly why they would do this, as they have no magical capabilities to speak of. I'm a bit at a loss as well, but Rae-I mean, Lt. Caulders-tested them as well." You look to her for input.
 	"Yeah. I don't have much in the way of flight time in a pair of Strikers, but from what I do remember, these puppies pack a serious punch. They've got to have almost twice the efficiency and raw power output of some of our front-line units. If the Martians got this far without knowing what the hell they were doing, then it's a very good thing we got the hell out of there before they could really get started experimenting with us," she says.
 	"This day just keeps getting better and better," comments MacArthur.
 	"The far unit is probably the most interesting unit. It is a striker, but it doesn't function on magic. It uses psionics and electromagnetism to simulate the output and functions of a traditional Striker."
 	MacArthur lets out a whistle, turning to Socks. "You bastards are toying with some serious stuff. Still..." He gives Socks a careful examination, then gives you the same. "It seems to me that the Martians lack two things we call 'legs,' Chief."
 	You nod. "Yes. Again, Socks is a little confused as to the ultimate goal of the unit. He speculates that it was going to be used as a kind of Rosetta Stone, a way to compare psionics and magic in a working chassis and draw parallels between the two. His best guess is that it was going to validate their theories behind magic, psionics, and electromagnetism. He doesn't think the techs behind these units had started testing it, though."
 	"These things just can't let us get figure out how their heads think. Well, any other presents for me, Chief?"
 	"Well, there is the submersible we recovered from the Harbinger during our escape. It contains what looks like a real-time readout of Martian military assets on the planet."
 	MacArthur's pipe drops to the floor. "You better not be bullshitting me, Chief. That's a hell of a thing you've got there."
 	"I used it myself. I can't say if it's still working or not, but we did our best to bring it here in workable condition."
 	"Let's talk about this Harbinger. What exactly is it?"
 [x] You can handle this one.
[ ] Socks?
[ ] Other.
 	"Imagine this, Sir. Take one of our aircraft carriers, say, the Lexington. Take several of it, side by side. Then lengthwise. Then stack that layer with another. That's the Harbinger. It's huge, and can travel underwater, reaching depths our submarines can only dream of. It's loaded to the brim with personnel, submersibles, aircraft, experimental technology, and a commander so absurd and eccentric he drove Socks to breaking us out. I suspect he's been the source of much of our grief in the area."
 	MacArthur leans back in his chair. "It's a god damned hive ship, swimming around without a care in the damned world. Christ, no wonder I couldn't get Isaki to flush them out."
 	"Yes, sir."
 	"That's how they hit Brisbane. Shit, not a single coastal city is safe as long as this thing is running around!" He kneads his temple for a moment. "Any idea of its defenses?"
 [ ] Probably real good.
[x] Socks?
[ ] Other.
 	[Socks?]
 	[Yes, Kuykendall?]
 	[Know anything about the defenses on the Harbinger?]
 	[Not in detail, but I do have a general knowledge.]
 	[Good. Help me out.]
 	You begin to convey what Socks knows. "Socks doesn't have specific knowledge, but he knows of some general systems. The Harbinger makes use of an active pressure system to protect itself from the immense pressures at the bottom of the ocean. He believes it likely that that system is also used to protect itself from attacks from more usual Human weapons, such as depth charges. Additionally, it has...I'm sorry, I'm not sure how to say this. It's some kind of sound weapon, probably what took me out. It uses...overlapping waves of sound?"
 	[Socks, simplify your explanation, I'm not getting this,] you say.
 	[Very well.]
 	"Basically, you can think of it as a...ray of sound. It's like their other energy weapons, but it's not hampered by water. On the other hand, it doesn't work very well in the air. Either way, if something gets close, it'll be shaken to pieces. Other than that, Socks doesn't know much. There are a lot of smaller craft inside it, as well, so it'll be a tough nut to crack overall."
 	"So even if we could touch it, it'd be a hell of a fight. How the hell was this thing built right under our noses?" MacArthur slams his fist on his desk in anger. "Maybe something with the sub or these Strikers might be able to help. Hmm... You said you're all part of testing these 'Substriker' things? How deep can they go?"
 	Miranda steps in. "Sir, I've read up on the technical specifications and limits. It varies witch to witch and with the target operational time, but they can operate normally as far down as 350 feet without being forced to almost immediately come back up. Going straight down...they might reach 500ft before their shields fail to hold back the pressure. That range is extended with pressure acclimation, but we're still talking about a limit below 1000ft."
 	"...And the Harbinger can basically go to any depth." He gets up, trying to find something on his map. "Not much in the way of ocean depth maps here..."
 	"I believe the ocean around us quickly tapers off to something like 15000ft deep, Sir."
 	"So we'd have to catch it by the shore...but this is for another time. Anything else, ladies?"
 	You and your group finish the story, mentioning the mysterious Martian visitor ("Great, psychic spooks from Mars," commented MacArthur), and ending with your arrival.
 	"Well, we'll get you all situated soon. Things are a mess with the recent attack, but we'll be sure to put your efforts to their greatest effect soon. Dismissed." General MacArthur waves towards the door. As you exit, Victor gestures for you to follow him. As you do, Socks starts talking.
 	[Kuykendall, what was that incident with the gun?]
 [ ] Nothing.
[ ] Tell him.
[x] Other. - General was being an ass.
 	[The General was being an ass, that's what.]
 	[What do you mean, Kuykendall?]
 	You sigh as you round the corner, passing by a few soldiers waiting in chairs outside a room. They eye your unmarked IJN dress curiously, but quickly shift their gaze to Socks as he passes by.
 	"You'll be escorting this one shortly. One word gets out and you'll be tried for treason. Trust me, we know who you are," threatens Victor. His calm and collected voice carries a terrifying edge. Beneath this demeanor, there's a deadly serious man. The soldiers nod vigorously, resigned to their new future assignment.
 	[He...he ordered me to shoot you.] You turn over the General's revolver, still in your hands. For whatever reason, he didn't ask for it back. You have half a mind to toss it, but you're not sure you want to be responsible for losing the General's sidearm just yet. 
 	[But you did not.]
 	[I pulled the trigger, dammit! It was loaded with dummy rounds, too! I told him I could still fight. This entire thing proved nothing! A complete waste of time, and...it hurt. Being accused of incompetence. Being ordered to shoot someone who's saved my life.]
 	[Kuykendall, I have repeated this many times before. When I decided to help you, I did not believe I would be given a warm welcome. I was fully prepared to be locked in a cell, much like you were, if not tortured and killed. I cannot lie; sometimes I wonder if I have made the right decision. Still, you should not brood over this. You were ordered by a superior. You followed it. This was the correct decision.]
 	[Socks, you completely defied that Commander! Are you really one to be talking about following orders?]
 	[Kuykendall, you missed one thing. I am not a soldier; I do as I please.] If you didn't know better, you'd swear you could see a glint in his eye and a curve in his mouth.
 	[Dammit Socks, I think I'm rubbing off on you.]
 	[Perhaps, Kuykendall. Perhaps.]