She leaned back into him, standing comfortably with his arms wrapped around her, his head resting on her shoulder, the brunette hair still occasionally strange to him, but the scents wafting from her head and shoulders eased his troubled mind. He still could never find the words to describe scents the way his reptilian organs translated them to his brain, but she had a natural taste that bombarded his brain with the imagery of Western Australia, the sweet tang of the honeybags of the Desert Bloodwoods, the dry heat of the Great Sandy, and eucalyptus. He’d found lotions and bath oils made from the healing seeds and nuts of the Pundul tree and bought them for her for Christmas a couple months ago. He’d overdone it of course, who really needs a case of twenty four bottles, one case each for the bath and one for the lotions. All together, she tasted/smelled of the small bungalow and its backyard trees they’d had for such a brief time so long ago.
He breathed calmly as they stood there, her in the white tank and pajama bottoms since Henri had summoned her from the little sleep she had gotten, he in his armor, mask off for the moment, while they waited for the newscast to begin. Instinct was telling him that there was something wrong, and he’d at least warned the team this time, but he no longer trusted his instincts. Had he dreamed something? Or was it just experience? Or plain paranoia?
The discussion about controlling his dreaming had….rankled. The very reasons Brant had so adamantly used to oppose Whitley’s plan were the reasons Brett feared and needed investigated. Why couldn’t his brother see that?
He felt her hand come up to his face, along with a murmured “Brett,” and he took a deep breath, willing his arms to relax, dropping his lips to brush her neck in a thank you. Whitley had agreed to help explain the risks for him to Amelia.
Of course, that’s when the rumbling began over the broadcast.
“Protect the civilians and get them to safety.” Brujeria’s mental commands seemed to echo 
in his mind, tinged with her combined Argentine-Californian accent, but as the teleportation effects wore off, and the monstrosity of a masked homecon stood in the rubble of the once new medical clinic, it became blatantly obvious that, for Ghost especially, protecting the civilians meant attacking and distracting the threat. He was more than happy to take the bullet if necessary, but he had no way to protect a group of people, and this just reinforced it after a lengthy hiatus. Before he’d been a soldier, he’d been a rugby flanker, so maybe it made sense.
“I’m goin’ for the big one, boss,” and at Brujeria’s nod, he turned to Gleam Shimmer, “Get me above his head.” She nodded, yet even in the middle of combat, it felt strange to see her in the shiny colored armor open the portal, but he dove through without hesitation, trusting her, no matter what. Old abilities, combined with new.
He dove through, and suddenly he was forty feet in the air, diving at the ear of the giant man, where he landed, biting down onto the lobe, eager to weaken the attacker, but the skin proved….robust. Pulling back, he extended his jaws, preparing to spit acidic venom into the ear canal, when he sensed rubble beginning to fall around him and with a glance, he jumped, attempting to ride chunks of the crumbling building to the ground.
Instinct screamed, and he moved at the last second, avoiding the streaking, flaming sword strike aiming to decapitate him, the enhanced weapon streaking across his armored face mask, drawing blood and setting the armored material afire. He landed, rolling, shedding speed and dodging a collapsing building landing atop the giant, turning to face the wielder of the sword.
Pain screamed along his face as the fire burned, blistering and blackening skin that quickly healed. His jaws gaped, and he hissed loudly, pain touching his tongue from the flames, rage signalling his strike, and the jets of acidic venom he’d been prepared to launch at the giant struck the red face of his new attacker, a yowl of pain his brief reward, but the red face proved to be mask that quickly disentegrated, revealing a glimpse of cat like eyes.
He struck, repeatedly, with the stinging speed of teeth, venom, fists and feet, connecting often, but the new opponent reacted and struck with cat like quickness, combined with the flaming sword. Ghost Venom’s blood sang with the adrenaline of battle, the joy of duelistic combat, prodigious regeneration abilities healing the wounds of the sword, the fires of the flames.
He was losing, slowly, unable to hit the cat-like being often enough and hard enough to allow for a disabling strike, the flames continuously eating at his nano armor and the skin around his face. It would take time, but if he didn’t change his tactics, he might lose, and given the long seconds of the battle with no assistances from his teammates, it meant that there were multiple attackers.
He smiled, the bloody pus of severe burns dribbling down his face, and his opponent’s eyes glinted, and Ghost prepared to launch a move he always kept in reserve, the joy of combat flowing through him, when suddenly his attacker disappeared in a cloud of stars.
He turned, quickly surveying the scene, finally seeing all of the opponents next to another new person, covered in a starfield costume, American Raja, Sable Wing and Zap Dynamo plus the new giant and the starporter. “Martial Law” he blasted through the mental link. Then they disappeared, running from a losing battle.
He pulled dust from the rubble, finally smothering the flames surging across his head and shoulders. He crouched, slowly extending his tongue, taking in all the scents of his combat, tagging the unique scent of the cat like being, fire and brimstone, intermixed.
Brujeria’s mental command of, “Help the survivors,” pulled him out of his sensory analysis. He moved quickly to the rubble. While his medical training might help save one person, his senses would potentially save many from the rubble.
One part of his mind analyzed the battle, another listened to the mental chatter from the team, another focused on his enhanced smells, tastes and hearing, finding multiple survivors, and, less fortunately, dead medical personnel and staff.
One conclusion pushed its way to the fore of his thoughts. If he could learn how to give advance warning of danger, didn’t he have a duty to do so?
Last Dreams 