Mercury's brikfics.

[mercury19]

Private John Ferros looked around the battlefield, at the dead bodies of his comrades and the peaches that had massacred them.

A light sprinkle had started a few minutes ago, but he couldn't feel it. He barely registered the fog of his breath, the mist in the air around him. He couldn’t feel anything. But he could see all of it. His eye’s passed over the members of his squad, and in his mind he saw each of them in life.

Orion Horne, the sharpshooter, meticulously cleaning his rifle while listening to some classical music on his audio-chip. The guy was never excited, always focused, calm. Rarely spoke, never raised his voice.

Across from him would be his buddy from boot camp, Erik Hanson, complaining about the lack of booze and women while he shined his targeting laser into the sky. Almost Orion’s polar opposite, he never stopped talking, except to eat, and sometimes when he slept. Orion was the only one who’d share a tent with him because of the sleep talking.

Arianna King was sitting on a half open ammo box, reloading the ammo belts for her minigun, the latest model with a 24,000 round per minute firing speed. She’d be at it all night, just to make sure she had enough for the next mission.

Ray Gruman was sitting a few feet away, sharpening his kopesh. It was a scouts pride and joy, and he kept it sharper than a razor blade. As a matter of fact, he even used his sword to shave sometimes.

Then there was Sergeant Samuel Kareth. The only other Kraakhan in the platoon, the Sergeant was always busy. Not jittery, like Erik, but efficient. Everywhere he went, his eyes hooded by the brim of the old stetson he always wore, he found something to improve. He was John’s greatest mentor.

And of course, a few yards over were John and the other seven privates that traveled with the platoon. Carlos Valle, Sarah Henderson, Henry Miller, Jeremy Parks, Andrew travesty, Zack Brett, and Ian Clark. They would all be sitting around the campfire, discussing plans for after the war. The kills they’d made on the last mission. The number of times they’d almost died. The whole scene was so clear in John’s mind.

Then his eye’s dropped to his own body. He saw his pitch-black skin blending with the black sleeve of his uniform as he leaned against the large boulder, where he had sat down after the battle. ‘I am the last,’ he thought. ‘It’s just me now.’ The thought hit him like a hundred pound weight.

Then he thought of the foul peaches who had killed his platoon, his friends, his family. He was suddenly filled with hatred. He clenched his fists, and lifted himself off of the ground. He knew where the ambushers had come from. He looked around, and quickly found Ariana’s minigun. Still full, not a single round wasted on the cowardly assassins. Four years on this foul planet, right on the frontier of Avokhan expansion, cleansing it of peach mutants, only to be done in by a group of peasants with pitchforks and surprise. This would not go unpunished.

John hefted the minigun. He, like all privates, was trained in the use of a large variety of weapons, so he knew at least the basics. He walked around, and began collecting dog tags. Their radio had been destroyed in the ambush so they couldn't call for help or reinforcements. It would be a long walk back to base camp.

The last body he stopped at was that of Sergeant Kareth. Seeing his old mentor and friend laid low like this fueled his hate and rage and need for revenge only that much more. He knelt down, and collected the dog tags, and, his hands still shaking with rage, picked up Kareth’s beloved stetson. ‘I will avenge you,’ he swore. ‘Not one of those involved in your death will survive.’ John set the stetson on his head, checked his ammo one more time, and headed off in the direction of the enemy hideout.

Two hours later, John came to a grove of pine trees. He could hear voices, laughter and celebration from just within. They were celebrating their victory over his squad, and it made his blood boil. He loaded up the minigun, and began walking forward.

Inside the grove was a clearing, filled with peaches. Easily thirty of them. They were dancing and drinking and laughing. John took a step inside, just enough that he was noticed by a few people, and primed his gun. The barrels started whirring, and as the roar of the bullets began to cut through the sounds of the party, so did his roar of rage, of wrath.

peaches began screaming, running, dying. A few thought to get cover, but most were mowed down on the spot. John walked forward, turned in all directions, covering the entire grove with a hail of death.

Suddenly there was a sharp click and the roar of bullets stopped, replaced once again by the whirring of the minigun’s barrels. John looked down in surprise, as he realized he had run out of ammo. He looked around, and the clearing looked empty of life.

Suddenly, he heard noise from behind him. He looked down and saw a chainsword. Dropping the minigun, he grabbed the sword as he spun around and impaled the peach who had just rushed him, blood and guts flying everywhere as the chainsword ripped through his flesh like paper. Looking up, John saw three more peaches, each advancing from a different angle. One of them was wearing a discarded Avokhan jacket.

John flew into a rage. His vision clouded red, and all he could hear was his own blood rushing through his body.

What seemed like hours later, his vision cleared, and he looked around. He was standing in the middle of a pile of bodies, at least six or seven. no peach had escaped. Every single one of them was dead, by his hand. A fitting payment for the death of his platoon, he thought. He looked up in the sky. The rain was still there, but he caught a glimpse of sun from behind a cloud. It was almost sun set. ‘Better start walking, then,’ he thought as he began moving towards base camp.

Three weeks later, Private John Ferros stumbled into base camp number 3 as the sun was reaching his peak, wearing his stetson low over his eyes. A month after that, he was leading his own platoon against peaches. Half a year later, he orchestrated the final campaign on the planet and was promoted to captain of a division. But he never forgot, and he never forgave the peach race for what it did to him that day.

[motorhead fan]

This is awesome, Will you make more?

[mercury19]

I plan on it.

[mercury19]

I have more!

The antelope looked up. Had it just heard something? It began scanning for threats, all senses going to full alert. A minute later, there was still nothing. The antelope went back to its meal of prairie grass, slowly relaxing. Wait. There it was again. Once again, the head came up, scanning… There! A flash. The antelopes head came back to pinpoint the source. Then there was a stinging sensation on its forehead and everything… went… black…

Aiden Baar stood up from his hiding place in the grass, and moved towards the antelope’s corpse. He’d long ago perfected the shot. Get the beast alert, to get a clear shot at its head. Some times he let the scope reflect a little so that the beast would face him, and he could get a bullseye. This time had been a particularly clean shot, which made him extremely happy. This was, afterall, the last kill he would make before going home.

He’d been living on the plains, all alone for a month, as a part of his rite of passage. He had left a boy, but he would return a man, a true Mando. As he walked back to his campsite, Aiden thought of the last 30 days he had spent alone. The calm of the nights, broken only by the cry of an owl hunting its prey. The sweltering heat of the noon day sun, followed by an afternoon of hunting.

Ah, the hunting. This was Aiden’s favorite part. The careful planning, the waiting, the build up. The best part, though, was the execution. The moment that Aiden pulled the trigger, when the animal looked up and the life drained from its eyes. The moment of victory.

Aiden dropped his kill in front of the fire pit he had in the center of his campsite. He looked at the sky, gaging how much time he had before sunset. About an hour. Perfect. He sat down, and began preparing the fresh kill for tomorrow’s journey. He was planning on bringing it back whole, and using to provide a feast for his family.

Aiden walked up the road to his home at midmorning the next day. His younger sister saw him coming, and rushed into the house shouting for his parents. Very quickly, everyone was there, hugging and greeting and asking questions. That night, Aiden’s family ate well. There was more than enough, even for his parents and three siblings.

Despite have a real bed for the first time in a month, Aiden couldn’t sleep. At dinner, his father had told him about the new Republik of Independent Planets, an alliance between their homeworld and a few nearby systems. ‘To think that something so large could happen while I was gone,’ he thought as he gazed into the night sky above him. It all seemed so distant, the stars. Yet now his homeworld, Concordon, was connected to them. It was amazing. Soon though, he ecame to tired to ponder much other than his pillow, and went to sleep.

The next day would change his life forever. At noon, as his family was sitting down for lunch, a truck drove up to their gate. R.I.P was stenciled on the sides. Two soldiers got out of the back, and walked up to the front door. Aiden’s mother went out to greet them, and invited them to stay for lunch. They gladly accepted, and soon everyone was eating and talking. These two men fascinated Aiden. They were a part of the new Republik. What had they seen? Had they gone off world? One of them, the younger of the two, was from a colony world! His name was Erik Vett, and he had joined only recently.

After the meal, Aiden’s younger siblings went outside to play, and look at the truck. The two soldiers then revealed their mission. they were recruiting. The Republik was going to make a push soon, and they needed men to fight. As Mandos, they would not force anyone to join, but they had to ask. Aiden almost jumped for joy. This was his chance! He could go to the stars he had watched for so long, explore, fight! His parents recognized that there was no stopping their willful seventeen year old, and so they let him go. The soldiers said he had an hour to pack, and to only bring what he absolutely needed.

When it was time to leave, Aiden said goodbye to his family. First his younger siblings, then his mother. Last was his father. He stood in front of Aiden, and placed his hands on his shoulders. “I’m very proud of you, son,” he said. “This is the proper path of a Mando warrior. Nothing can bring you greater honor.” Aiden’s father reached up and took off the brown stetson he always wore. “But,” he said, as he held the hat, “Never forget where you came from. Never forget who you are.” With those words, he placed the old, worn hat on Aiden’s head. They embraced, and Aiden turned to join the soldiers. As the truck drove away, Aiden looked back. And over the roar of the engine, he heard his father’s words, “Never forget who you are.”

[Silverdream]

I like it. Is RIP your own thing, or did you misspell RIN?

[mercury19]

My own thing.

[mercury19]

Yeah resurrection! I have stuff to post!

This isn't exactly brikwars related, but it appears that all writing has been moved here so here it will go.

A bit of background: this is a project I started in April. I wanted to put myself and a few of my friends directly into a story. So I decided to make it post apocalyptic. What if something akin to the apocalypse happened this year? Then, fast forward five years. Where are we then. The actual story starts five years from now, but I wrote a bit of backstory explaining everything. I'll post it in little bits, to hopefully get feedback and avoid double posting. I stopped at part 6, but I've recently gotten back into it and am working on part 7. The original title was Another Story, in reference to all of the short lived attempts at stories I've made in the past.

Let's start with the backstory:

Alright, so here’s the background for Another Story. It starts on October 1, 2015, after months of blunder by governments in the Middle East. Unbeknownst to all, ISIS is sowing dissent within the citizens of those countries. On October 1, they launch military coups in Egypt and all of the Middle East. The only exception to any of these events is Israel.
The coups are hugely successful, with the support of the populus. ISIS renames itself Greater Arabia, and proceeds to declare war on the hated westerners. NATO rushes to aid the now surrounded Israel, and declares war on Arabia.
Later that month, a series of bombings rock the US from coast to coast, and the perpetrator is revealed to be Arabia. Obama begins military action. This is considered the beginning of World War 3.
The next year, a new candidate for president shows himself in the US. Klark Jensenn is the CEO of a new, relatively unknown defense technology company. A former military man, he knows exactly what the country needs. He gains a huge following, with a charisma rivaling that of Piltogg. He wins in a landslide in November, and begins action immediately the following January.
The first thing he does is institute a draft. It catches many people unawares, but bolsters the US’s now flagging war effort. Thousands of troops are sent overseas to the front lines, which have pressed into Eastern Europe.
Long story short, WW3 sucks just as much as the last two. It lasts until November 9, 2019. Three month prior, the leader of Arabia had been assassinated. The new leadership is much more willing to compromise with the hated westerners, and spare his people more bloodshed. The leaders of NATO and Arabia meet in Cape Town, South Africa, and come to an agreement. Three superpowers emerge from the conflict, America, Arabia, and China. China remained mostly untouched, because of its economic importance to all sides. America stayed mostly safe after the initial attack due to being overseas, and Arabia won lots of territory, especially in Africa, and was defended by a united population.
That year, on Thanksgiving, the unthinkable happened. The US, Greater Arabia, and China merged. The three leaders, Klark Jensenn, Quan Li of China, and Aram Ibn Al’had of Arabia headed up the New World Government. It resembled the governments of Soviet Russia, Piltogg Germany, and George Orwell’s Oceania. Martial law was declared across most of the world. The NWG then struck out at those places still remaining independent.
To the casual observer, this appears very sudden. But even brief contemplation reveals otherwise. As we have seen in countless stories, from high fantasy to comic books to action movies, these things are long running conspiracies. All three of the new leaders, dubbed Councilors, had a background in business. Jensenn was in defense technology, Li was in general public technology, and Al’had was in oil. One could guess that the focus on world peace and clean energy got to Jensenn and Al’had, and all three wanted an easy monopoly. Using most likely illegally acquired fortunes, they set the stage for WW3 by funding ISIS, then took control of their respective countries. Through bribes, they aligned their respective government with their goals, and wrapped up the war, which had resulted in huge land gains for Arabia and the US. Enter the NWG, which set itself up, as these governments do, as a safety net for the citizens, only to wrap them up in rules and lies and propaganda.
The last independent city on Earth was Auckland, New Zealand. It fell on January 1, 2021. And that is the day that Another Story begins.

[mercury19]

Just kidding. I'm going to double post. I'm just going to stick the rest of it here in spoilers.

Part 1:

Spoiler

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Something was different. Something had changed. … It… didn’t know what it was. It tried to identify the change, but couldn’t. What was it? What was IT? It thought, tried to remember, and moved.

So surprised was it by this movement that it froze. It had forgotten it could move, and this sudden return to activity was shocking. Then, like a cult stepping into the rain, it moved again. With this movement, the thing that was different, changed again. Even as it moved to see what else the thing would do, feeling returned. It could feel its arms and legs, and it wiggled its fingers. Then it… looked… up, and saw the thing that was different. It was light.

The thin shaft of light, stabbing like a spear through the darkness, awakened its brain a bit more, and it began to remember. It...no, he, looked around some more, saw his right arm in the beam of light. So strange it was, to be seeing again. He felt around his wrists metal manacles, and realized that his feet were not touching the floor. He was chained to the ceiling of whatever room he was in. He looked down, and saw the point where the light touched the floor. It was no more than two feet below him. He moved a bit more, and found that he felt strong. He found this strange, but decided it would only help him.

He began to pull on the chains, and at first only succeeded in lifting himself farther from the ground. Then he felt a sharp jerk on his right arm, and heard a loud Snap! His right arm fell free, but he didn’t notice. The sudden noise had overloaded his ears, and his head ached as if he’d been hit with an anvil.

A moment later, he recovered, and realized he was only hanging from his left arm. Remembering how easily the right chain had snapped, he knew all he had to do was give a slight pull. He grabbed the chain in his right hand, and hauled himself up. When he felt some slack on his left side, he let go.

He fell, felt a jerk in his left arm, heard the chain snap, and hit the ground. He had forgotten to put his feet down, and had instead fallen on his chest, knocking the wind out of him. He lay on the hard ground for a moment, catching his breath. After standing up, he looked around. There was still only that small shaft of light, but he could see from it that the ceiling was a good fifteen feet up. He moved closer to the source of the light, and found that it was a hole about the size of his head, at a point where the ceiling met the wall. Just below it, he could make out the pieces of rock that had once filled the hole.

He realized that if that part of the ceiling had collapsed naturally, then it was very weak indeed. The amount of chain that had come off of the ceiling with his wrists was minimal, so he looked around for the spot where he had hung only moments before. He crouched, then leaped up. He flailed his arms, looking for the chains. As he reached the top of his jump, he found them, and grabbed on. as he came back down, there was sharp Crack! and light streamed in above his head. As he landed, the chunk of rock attached to the top of the chain fell next to him, and he realized that he easily could’ve been crushed by it.

Even as the thought crossed his mind, a small rock fell on his shoulder. He looked up and realized that the whole ceiling was destabilized, and would likely collapse any moment. As pieces of stone began raining down, he tried desperately to reach a clear area. Just as he reached the spot where his chains had hung, a huge slab grazed his right shoulder. He fell into the open, and saw blood welling up from a huge gash. It stung like a thousand needle pricks.Then, unexpectedly, the blood slowed down. Its flow lessened, and he could see the gash begin to close. He was healing, at an impossibly fast rate.

As the pain faded, he looked around at the now bright room. It wasn’t big, maybe ten feet by ten. He then looked down, at his now dust covered body. He had pale skin from being away from the sun for who knows how long, but his body showed no signs of malnourishment.

As he contemplated this newest development, he realized he was wearing no clothes. For some reason he could not fathom, this created a fleeting sense of panic. Why should it matter if he were covered or not? Shaking his head, he turned his attention to getting out.

It occurred to him that he should find a door, but a quick glance at each wall revealed no such opening. He had been sealed away, with no intention of release. Looking up, he saw that the walls all ended where the ceiling had met them. Without a second thought, he ran towards a wall and leaped at it. He planted his foot on the wall, and pushed up. Aided by the momentum of his leap, as well as his height, he was able to just grab onto the top of the wall with one hand. He swung his other hand up, and slowly hauled himself up.

He found himself on a barren plain, dotted here and there by small shrubs and rocky outcroppings. He realized that his prison had been embedded in the ground, and a quick look behind him revealed that the top of the ceiling would’ve looked just like this plain. Someone had really wanted him gone. Well, he was free now, so he might as well leave. He chose a direction, and started walking.

After only a few minutes, he saw a strange strip of land in front of him. It was solid black, and seemed to be made of thousands of rocks glued together. The word road entered his mind, followed shortly by the word asphalt. He had no idea what these words meant, but guessed they had something to do with the thing in front of him. Come to think of it, he had thought many things that made no sense. He remembered thinking of anvils, and cults, but he had no idea what those things were.
As he contemplated these odd things, he realized the light was fading. He looked up, and realized that not only was there a source for the light, but that it was moving, ever so slowly, towards what looked like the edge of the world. He felt a wave of panic as he remembered the cold, stifling darkness of his prison, and rushed off towards the sinking light.

After a while, he realized that he was on a slope, going up towards the quickly fading light. He pushed on, hoping to find the light on the other side of the rise. Joy filled him as he neared the top and light began to grow, and he sprinted towards the crest. Just as he reached it, just as the light was at its brightest, something hit him. He was lifted off of his feet by a force like an explosion, and flew backwards. As he landed, his head hit the ground and the world winked out.

Part 2:

Spoiler

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He awakened to a strange sound. After a few moments, he identified it as voices, two people talking to each other close by. He slowly opened his eyes, and saw darkness. For a moment he panicked, thinking he was back in his cell, but then he felt the ground under him, and his hands were free to move. Then the pain hit him.

He groaned, as all of a sudden the feeling of having been hit by a flying boulder filled his entire body. A voice over to his left said,”Hey, he’s awake.”

“Alright,” said another voice, “let’s get this over with.” Two beings moved to stand over him, one on each side. One held a light source, and he could see from their faces that they were men. They both wore copious amounts of covering, even so far as to have what looked like metal head coverings.

“Hey,” said the man on his right, “you alright, man? What were you doing running around in the desert at night?”

“I was chasing the light,” he tried to say. But, all that came out was “Iwachlit.” He felt strange trying to pronounce the words, and remembered that he hadn’t spoken in a long time.

“Eh, he’s just some weirdo on drugs. Just leave him, Joe. Less paperwork,” said the one on the left.

“Wait just a sec,” replied the one on the right, “look at him. Not a scratch! Do you know how fast we were going, Carl? I hit eighty easily.” Joe looked across at his partner. “He should be dead. You know the boss would want to see something like that.”

“Eh, fine,” said Carl. He looked down at him, and said, “hey, come on. We’re going to take you to see the boss.” The men reached down and hauled him to his feet, then began guiding him to their truck. He shook off their hands, and walked towards the truck on his own. He looked at the strange object before him, not understanding what it was. It was large, almost twenty feet long, and made almost entirely of metal. It had hard edges, and was raised off the ground on four heavy, circular things.

“What is this?” he asked.

“What’dya mean?” asked Carl, “it’s a truck. Now get in the back.” They guided him around the back, and Joe opened the large, metal doors.

He looked inside the dark, cavernous interior, and a panic set in. “What’s the matter?” asked Joe. “Just get in.” The two men tried to push him in, but he panicked harder and pushed back. They grabbed his arms, and he began struggling. “No,” he said, “not again.”

“Just get in the damned truck!” said Carl. Joe stepped back and pulled a strange metal object from a pouch at his waist, and pointed it at him.

“No!” he roared. “Never again!” He flung the other man off of him, and turned to run. Suddenly there was a loud crash, and a flash of light from the man with the strange object. Accompanying these two strange things was a punch in his shoulder, followed by an immense amount of pain. He roared, and turned to the obvious source. He charged, and there was a clink as something fell from his shoulder. “What the hell!?” Carl exclaimed, a second before he was bowled over. then he was on top of him. Punches rained down, each with the impact of a sledgehammer. Carl was dead before the third swing, but that didn’t matter.

Moments later, he felt another impact, this time in his back. He grunted, turned, and saw the man he’d thrown earlier holding another of the strange objects. Rather than charge again, he picked up the body from beneath him, and hurled it as hard as he could at Joe. The body hit Joe’s chest with an audible Crack! and he collapsed with a wet gurgle. He breathed heavily, and looked at the two bodies. The pain in his back slowly faded, and he looked at his surroundings.

Up in the sky was a strange round silver thing that gave off light. This gave comfort to him, because he no longer had to chase the light. He decided it was best if he just continued with his original plan to wander until he found some more people. More friendly people, he decided, who didn’t try to imprison him in the dark.

Before he began walking, however, he heard a scrape behind him. He turned and saw two people walking towards him, one short and one tall. They were wearing what appeared to be a single huge piece of cloth that obscured everything but their heads. They each had more cloth wrapped around their heads, showing only their face and a bit of hair. He immediately dropped into a crouch, ready to run or fight, depending on their actions. The tall one stopped short and put his hands up, in a gesture of supplication.

“Woah, “ he said “we’re not here to hurt you. We’re not with them, those other guys-- Ow!” He looked down at the short one, rubbing his arm.

“Marcus!” she said, and turned to the Man, “Sorry about him. he babbles when he gets nervous. We’re here to help, but first, I’m going to have to ask you to put on some clothes. I can’t talk to you with that going on,” she said, gesturing to his lower body.

Even as she spoke, he realized that this was in fact a woman, and looked down. Maybe, he thought as his cheeks began burning, clothes wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“We’re talking to a guy who just pummeled a pair of soldiers to death singlehandedly, and you're worried about his clothing?” said the man, turning to her. As she turned back, he took the opportunity to go to the dead men and take some of their clothes. As he stripped one of them, he heard the two newcomers’ banter in the background.

“Yeah, “ said the woman, “it’s gross. I don’t know what you guy’s think, but running around with your dick hanging out is never cool. Ever.”

“I don’t know about you, but if he can smash one guy with another, than he can wear whatever he does or doesn’t want.” The man’s tone had a bit of amusement as he said this, and he could tell this was a somewhat familiar conversation.

He stood up and turned back to the people, now fully clothed. “Sorry about that,” he said, his voice raspy from lack of water. How long had it been since he’d had a drink? “I kind of just got here. I... don’t remember much.”

“You alright?” said the man, a note of concern entering his voice. “Sounds like you have dry throat. Here, have some water.” The man offered a small metal container, and he could hear liquid sloshing inside. “By the way, I’m Marcus, and this is Sevina. If I may ask, how’d you get in the middle of this desert?”

As he drank thirstily, he pondered the question. After a little, he replied,“I… came out of a hole in the ground.” Then, realizing how ridiculous that sounded, he stuttered, “I mean, I was imprisoned in a cell just below ground level, somewhere near here. I don’t know for how long, but I recognize nothing in this area. I believe I have lost my memories.”

“Hmm,” said Marcus. “You don’t look too bad for being in prison. But, you did just get hit by a truck, and get up without a scratch. Alright, I’ll buy it. What’s your name?”

He looked at Marcus blankly. “I... don’t remember,” he said slowly.

“We can call you John,” suggested Marcus, “that’s a nice generic name. They always use-- Ow!”

“Marcus! What the hell!” said Sevina, “you can’t just give him a name. He should choose.” She looked at him expectantly.

“I, uh, don’t really know any names,” he said. “I suppose John will do. It makes no difference to me.” Sevina gave an exasperated sigh and crossed her arms.

“Alright then, John,” said Marcus, “How ‘bout you come with us? I can’t imagine you have much of a home, if you came from a hole in the ground. We’ve got food and shelter, not to mention light. I can’t stand this darkness.” He paused for a second, then his partially obscured face brightened. “I’ve got it! Why don’t we ride back in the truck? I could certainly use something new to tinker, and it could be useful for...well, getting places.”

John bristled. “You’ll have to defeat me to get me in that dark hole.” Marcus and Sevina backed up a step, momentarily panicking, then Marcus moved towards the truck. He climbed into the back, and a moment later a light came on. “Hey, man,” he said, “I don’t like the dark either. Hop on in while I find the keys.” As he moved towards the soldiers’ bodies, John and Sevina climbed in the back of the truck. Sevina closed the huge metal doors behind them, and a moment later John saw Marcus get into another area of the truck, through an opening opposite the doors. “Hold on,” he said, “This is going to get bumpy.” Then the machine roared to life, and the sound of grinding dirt accompanied a jerking motion, which soon became a bit smoother. John realized that they were moving forward, very fast. Within moments, they had left behind the dead bodies of the two soldiers.

Part 3:

Spoiler

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The sun was beginning to rise. Marcus checked the dashboard clock, and saw that they had been driving for almost three hours. “We’re almost there!” he shouted back to Sevina and John over the roar of the truck’s engine. He began scanning the horizon, looking… There! he turned off the asphalt road, and began heading towards a particularly large rock outcropping. The suspension was absolute crap, but Marcus’s mind was elsewhere.

He still couldn’t fathom what he and Sevina had found. John, from what he’d seen, was basically like Wolverine without the adamantium or claws. Extra strong, and a healing factor of ridiculous proportions. He really hoped Brandon was manning the checkpoint. Brandon was after all his oldest friend, and a bigger superhero fan besides. He could imagine the look on Brandon’s face when Marcus told him. It would be gold.

Marcus drove the truck into the shadow of the outcropping, and stopped in front of a boulder. He turned off the engine, and shouted back. “Stretch break!” He himself hopped out of the cab, and moved towards the boulder. He felt around a bit, then grabbed a tiny protrusion. He slid it to the left, revealing a flat, grey metal surface. He pressed his thumb to it for a second, then removed it. After another moment there was a loud grinding sound, and an opening appeared in the side of the outcropping to his left. By now John and Sevina had come up behind him. “Alright,” he said, “Let’s go.” He led the way into the opening, which led to a stairwell leading down beneath the earth. Old fluorescent lights lined the outer sides, exposing the dirt and rust that coated the place.

As they neared the bottom of the staircase, Marcus began speaking. “Alright John, I’m going to have to ask you a favor. I don’t know how much you know about our time and the recent events, so let me tell that it isn’t good. There is a big bad government out there, and my friends and I are hiding from them. You got rid of a couple of their soldiers out there, so I’d guess you aren’t with them. But we still need to take precautions. As such, we are going to scan you for tracking devices, and brain control neurotech. We are also going to have to screen you to see if you are an enemy agent. It’s just a few questions. That sound okay?”

John looked mildly confused, but said “I suppose so.”

“Cool,” replied Marcus. He opened his mouth to speak again, but was interrupted.

“You always do that Marc,” said a voice just around the corner. “You should just let them figure out what's going on. It’s more fun that way.”

They turned the corner, and found Brandon standing there, arms crossed. He looked at Marc, a mischievous gleam in his eye. “Not this time, Brandon,” said Marc. “This is one guy you DON’T want to surprise.” Brandon raised his eyebrow skeptically.

“Oh really? What makes you say that?” he said, looking John up and down. Marc knew he was considering his chances in an arm wrestling match against the admittedly well built newcomer.

“Well for starters, he got hit by an armored car doing at least seventy. And is okay,” Marc said, as he moved into the room behind Brandon. It was a small room, no more than 400 square feet. In the center was what looked like a metal detector, with tables on either side. Marc moved towards the table on the left, and booted up the laptop that was sitting there. “After that, he killed the two soldiers with his bare hands and literally no clothes, and took two bullets in the process. I saw it with my own eyes. Not through the scope, my own eyes.” He looked up from his typing, at Brandon’s bemused face. “Dude, he’s got a healing factor. Straight up Wolverine, spit up bullets status.” He turned to John. “Hey, John. Can you come stand under this thing over here, and keep your hands by your sides?” John walked over, and stood underneath the metal detector. Marc hit a button on the laptop, and the detector made a whirring sound. He looked at the scan image that came up on the screen. “Good news, John,” he said, looking up. “The only tracking device is in the breast pocket of that jacket you picked up. No neurotech at all. We’ll get that device off, then scan the truck upstairs, and we’ll be good to go.”

“Ok,” said John, “But what’s a tracking device? And what is neurotech? And what is this thing you had me stand under?”

Marc breathed took a deep breath. “That’s right,” he said, “Hole in the ground. Lots of years. Alright here goes the long story short: Nowadays, everything is based off of electricity. That's basically harnessing the power of lightning. We use that to power things called computers, which do pretty much any task you can think of. A tracking device is a kind of computer that gives off a silent signal that is picked up by another type of computer, at our enemy’s base. They can use that signal to track the device, and therefore anyone who has it with them. Neurotech is a very recent invention. It is really small computer that hooks up to your brain, and allows someone at another computer, usually the enemy, to control you. It’s sadistic, and from what I’ve heard, painful. The thing you stood under is merely a device which scans for these thing in between its two sides.” Marc stopped to take a breath. “That probably made no sense. But I can’t explain it better until later, so that will have to do.” John shrugged in acknowledgement.

“Wow Marc,” said Brandon. “You need to work on your explaining.”

“Hey man, I just work here. Don’t ask me,” Marc shot back with a grin.

Suddenly, there was a grinding from up above, and the sound of footsteps came down the stairwell. A moment later, a tall, well built blond man stepped off the stairs. “Hey guys. Relief is here,” said Joel. “Hey, who’s that?”

“That,” said Marc, looking up, “is our new friend John. He’s not NWG, he’s just borrowing their clothes. He helped us get that nice truck up there.”

“Sweet,” said Joel with a laugh. “He’s cool in my book.”

“Well, I’d better check the truck for trackers. Hey John, can you hand me the device in your breast pocket?” Marcus watched John fumble with the unfamiliar garment, then turned around to grab a handheld scanner. He turned back, took the tracker from John’s outstretched hand, and headed for the stairs. “Don’t kill each other,” he called behind him, and headed up.

Once up top, he proceeded to scan the truck. He took no chances, checking every inch inside and out. He found three trackers.

Marcus took the trackers about a hundred yards into the desert, and dropped them on the ground. He turned, and picked up a large rock, to reveal a pile of other trackers. He put in the new devices, replaced the rock, and dusted himself off. Satisfied with his handiwork, he headed back to the checkpoint.

He walked back down the stairs, and found everyone standing in a circle, talking. “You corrupting John’s mind already?” he said, walking into the circle. “We’d better leave. It’s not a good idea to have this many people away from base for this long.”

“Agreed,” said Brandon, suddenly anxious to leave. “You guys can take the truck. I’ll catch a ride with Jack.”

“Alright,” Marc said, “John, Sevina, you're with me. Joel, you're stuck here.” Joel responded with fake puppy dog eyes. Marc laughed as he led the way upstairs.

At the top, an old, dusty jeep had pulled up. “Hey Jack,” called Marc. “You just have Brandon today. The rest of us will take the new ride.” Jack, the jeep’s driver, nodded his acknowledgment as Brandon climbed into the passenger's seat. Marc climbed into the driver’s seat in the truck, and as soon as he heard the rear doors close, he started the engine and followed Jack and Brandon east, towards home.

Part 4:

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They hadn’t been driving long when a Brandon spotted a plume of smoke on the horizon. He paid it no mind, wanting only to return home to his wife, but his radio crackled and Marc’s voice came out.

“You see that smoke?”

“Yeah,” replied Brandon, knowing what was coming next, but hoping otherwise.

“I’m going to go check it out.” said Marcus, “I’d appreciate some backup.” They both knew Brandon was the better fighter.

“Fine,” replied Brandon. He was, admittedly, curious. Jack turned towards the smoke, following Marcus.

The smoke was coming from just behind a ridge. As they reached the top, they was the smoking ruins of what appeared to be a plane, and government issue at that. Brandon hopped out of the jeep, and started walking to towards where Marcus and the others were standing. He heard the door slam as Jack got out behind him.

“I’m impressed,” aid Marc as Brandon approached. “that this plane crashed.” Brandon gave him a confused look. Planes crashed all of the time, didn’t they?

Marcus saw the look. “It’s a transport plane. they’re big and slow, and practically fly themselves. The pilot is basically a formality. And this fool managed to crash it.”

“Ah,” said Brandon, not particularly interested. He scanned the wreck looking for anything of interest. He was just about to give up when he heard a gunshot, followed by a grunt. He looked to his right, and saw John clutching his right arm. Then his instincts kicked in, and he dove for cover. There were a good number of boulders for cover and he dove behind one, next to Marc. When he looked up, he was surprised to see that John hadn’t moved. He was standing there, looking in the direction the shot had come from. Another shot rang out, and John’s left side jerked back. He roared in pain, and began running towards the still unseen attacker.

Brandon drew his sidearm, and peeked over his cover. He could see the attacker now, a tall, well built man in a tattered NWG uniform holding an assault rifle. The assailant put his gun down in shock as he realized he’d just seen John shrug off a pair of bullets to the torso like they were nothing. Not important, he thought to himself. he poked his pistol over the rock, and took advantage of the attacker’s preoccupation with John to fire a few shots. The first hit the man’s right shoulder, and there was a loud Ping! as the round ricocheted off. The man turned, and the next bullet grazed his left thigh. He raised his rifle and fired just as Brandon ducked behind the rock again. He turned to Marc, “He’s got a cybernetic arm. Face plate too. Bullet proof."

“Crap,” said Marc, “That’s an Enforcer. This going to suck.” suddenly, They heard a roar. Marc poked his head around the side, then turned to Brandon. “John just trucked him. Straight up football tackle,” he said, with a bit of awe in his voice. He looked over the top, and Brandon followed suit. They saw John and the Enforcer locked in a grapple, the rifle off to the side where it had apparently been dropped. John was holding his own quite well, and appeared to have superior strength, But his opponent had far more experience, and quickly gained the upper hand. In one swift motion, he spun John around, and kicked him into a nearby boulder. John groaned and slumped to the ground. Even as he saw this, Brandon was hopping the boulder and rushing towards the fight, knowing his only hope was to prevent the Enforcer from getting the rifle. The man turned just in time to receive a faceful of Brandon shoulder, and was knocked flat. Brandon grinned viciously as he leapt on his opponent. He swung for the face, but the Enforcer’s right arm came up to block. Brandon hadn’t been expecting the metal appendage, and only barely shifted his blow to avoid breaking his hand. The attacker hit with a boxer’s left hook, knocking the wind out of Brandon. and was already following up with his right. Brandon leaned backwards, then pushed himself off of the man to avoid the strikes. As they stood to face each other, Brandon realized that his opponent had far greater reach than him. He briefly did some combat calculations, then rushed forward.

They exchanged a series of blows, Brandon using a variety of martial arts against his opponent’s obvious training as a boxer. In the end however, the metal arm gave the Enforcer an advantage, and a devastating right uppercut left Brandon groaning in the dust. That was when Marc hit.

Marc, of course, couldn’t hold his own against this guy. He was a pilot, not a fist fighter. But he tried, and lasted almost twenty seconds before joining Brandon on the ground. Then John came back, hitting the Enforcer like a freight train.

The Enforcer flew off his feet, and from where Brandon lay he could almost imagine the comical look of surprise dawning underneath the assailants mask. He rolled as he hit the ground, and came back up in a defensive stance just as John reached him. They began exchanging blows. John didn’t appear very experienced, but his healing factor and super-human strength kept him up for far longer than Brandon.

the Enforcer had just opened up John’s defenses and had him by the throat when there was a sharp Crack! The man let go of John, and he slumped to the ground. Brandon sat up, wincing in pain, and saw Sevina standing behind the man holding the rifle like a club. He also saw John moving towards the downed man, hate in his eyes.

“No!” yelled Marc, “Stop! We need him alive!” John stopped and whirled to face Marc, who took a step back. Brandon leaned away, momentarily terrified by the bloodlust shining in John’s eyes. But then it faded, and he silently stepped away from the Enforcer’s unconscious form.

“Why?” asked Brandon. It made no sense to him. Why keep alive one of the NWG’s most deadly agents?

“Because, my friend, if we want information about the NWG, this guy will have it. And if we want to hit the government, we need information as fast as we can get it,” Marc said matter of factly.

“Ah.” said Brandon. It made sense, he guessed.

“Bind him,” Marc said to Sevina. “We’ll lock him up, and question him when we get back to base.”

“Don’t we need to scan for stuff?” asked Brandon, knowing Marc had forgotten.

“Oh yeah,” said Marc, “thanks for reminding me.” He jogged over to the jeep, and came back with a scan-stick. Jack was hauling the now bound Enforcer toward the truck. He set the man down as Marc approached, and the latter proceeded to scan the unconscious man.

“He’s clean,” declared Marc after twenty seconds. “He’s got some fried neurotech, and not a trace of trackers. Let’s load him up.” Jack and Marc carried him to the truck, and unceremoniously dumped him in the back. Marc dusted off his hands, and turned to Brandon. “I’ll see you back at base, yeah?”

“See you there,” said Brandon, and he and Jack got back in the jeep. Both cars began moving East once again.

Part 5:

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Marcus awakened to the sound of a light tapping at his door. “What?” he mumbled irritably, wondering how long he’d been asleep. His bedside clock read 6:00. Only four hours.

It was Sevina. “Marc, get up. The prisoner is awake.”

“Eh, I’ll fight him,” Marc said as he rolled out of bed, and moved to put some clothes on. He grabbed a pair of cargo shorts, a t-shirt, and put on his combat boots. As he opened the door, he grabbed a .50 caliber Desert Eagle from a table near the doorway. “Alright,” he said to Sevina as he strapped on the pistol, “let’s go see what our new guy has to say.”

Marc walked into the holding area. It was a simple cell, eight feet by eight, with walls of three sides and bars on the fourth. Marc pulled up a chair outside the bars, and looked at the prisoner. He was sitting on the small cot, looking back at Marc. “Who are you?”

“My friend,” said Marc, “I don’t think you’re in a position to ask questions. But I’ll make you a deal, Gimli style.” He paused, to see if the reference to The Lord of the Rings had meant anything. His only response was a burning silence and the dull stare of the man's knight-like helm. “Give me your name, horse master, and I shall give you mine.”

Sevina, who had accompanied him into the room, punched him in the arm. “Oh my god, you're such a nerd!” Marc laughed. The prisoner stared at Marcus, dragging out the silence a moment longer. Then the prisoner spoke and his distorted voice said,

“My name is the Iron Angel and I will destroy you.”

“So you were sent by the government?” said Marc suddenly becoming serious. “I was wondering how that plane crashed. I’ve flown one of them before. It takes some real skill to crash it. Well, Mr. Angel, you can call me Marc.”

Even as Marc was speaking the prisoner began to radiate anger, until he lunged at Marcus. “I am not with the government!” he yelled, his voice distorted as if he spoke through a WWII walkie talkie. At the apex of his anger the prisoner struck at the bars of the cage. The impact cause the bars to shudder, and Marc involuntarily leaned back. “Don’t ever associate me with those swine! Ever!”

“Woah, calm down man. We found you at the sight of a government plane wreck, wearing and NWG Enforcer’s uniform. What were we supposed to think? And it does explain how the plane crashed.” Marc studied the man, who had calmed down a bit and was now standing behind the bars, staring intensely at his captors. “Well, if you aren’t with the NWG, then why do you want to destroy us? WE certainly aren’t with them.”

The man’s confidence seemed to waver, then he remembered something. “Then why were you driving a government issue truck?”

“You remember the guy you fought out there? Who took a couple of rifle rounds? The previous owners of the truck tried to mess with him. They’re out drying in the desert, and we got a free truck. Now if you're not with the government, then why are you trying to get rid of us? How do you know who we are? Who hired you?”

The self proclaimed Iron Angel stepped back and faltered in his ignorance. “So you’re not with the NWG? This isn’t some trick to bring me back in?” He felt the back of his neck. “My neurotech is still broken.” Suddenly, something dawned on him. “You guys are the resistance!”

“Genius!” said Marc sarcastically. “You really think the NWG would try subterfuge to get an Enforcer back? They’d have laid you out and fixed your nerotech first thing. Yes, we are the resistance. Or should I say, a resistance. The organization between cells sucks, so we mostly operate independently.”

“In that case,” said the Iron Angel with conviction in his voice, “I want to join you.”

“A deserter, eh? Former Captain Marcus Laurence, of the Eleventh United States Air Force. Happy to have you aboard.” Marc reached out his hand, and the Iron Angel reached through the bars to shake it. Then Marc pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, and unlocked the door to the cell. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Angel, I’ll show you the places you need to see.”

Marc gave the man a brief tour of the base, showing him the mess hall, the “rec center”, and ended at the barracks area. He opened a door, and motioned for the Angel to step inside. “This will be your room. I’ll go ahead and grab some blankets and stuff for you. You’ll excuse the lack of information on the tour. It pays to be cautious in our business.” He turned to go, then spun back around. “Is it cool if we call you Angel? Saying the Iron Angel all of the time is going to get sort of tiresome.” The man's facade stared at him, for a moment, then broke and nodded. “Cool,” said Marc, and rushed off to grab the blankets.

After dropping the blankets in Angel’s quarters, Marc went to find Bandon. Something about this Angel character was odd, almost familiar, but Marc didn’t recognize him at all.

Marc found Brandon, as he often did, in the garage. Well, it was actually more of a hangar, but they only had land vehicles so they all called it a garage. Brandon was over in the corner, underneath an old, beat up Pontiac Grand Am. “Hey, Brandon, I have a question.”

“I have an answer,” replied Brandon as he slid out from under the car.

“Did you notice anything weird about that Enforcer we picked up? By the way, I talked to him. Claims to be a deserter, hates the government. I gave him the room that only locks from the outside. Calls himself the Iron Angel, but I’m going to call him Angel for now.”

“Oh really? Well, I didn’t notice anything super weird, other than his robotic arm, that is.”

“Huh. I just get a weird feeling, like I know him or something. It’s kind of freaking me out. Oh well, I’m going to sleep. Sevina frickin’ woke me up after four hours.”

“Alright,” said Brandon, moving to slide back under the car. Marc walked off towards his room, intent on falling asleep before the lack of rest drove him insane.

Part 6:

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Just as Marc reached his door, no more than a minute from precious sleep, his radio crackled.

“Marc, please report to the main door. We have a Level 2 situation. Repeat, Level 2.”

“Seriously?” Marc said to the empty hallway. He began running towards the main entrance, grumbling to himself about the lack of sleep. But it couldn’t be helped. Level 2 meant someone needed their help, and bad, and as the acting leader of this base, he had to make the final call.

He burst into the main door control room, and moved to the video feed from outside. There was a man standing there, apparently wearing nothing, holding a very bloody woman in his arms and kicking the disguised door.. “Open the door!” Marc snapped at the man at the controls, who slammed the button down. Marc reached for his radio, flipping it to the general channel as he brought it up. “We have a Level 2 situation. We need a medical team down here ASAP.” Then he grabbed the first aid kit form the control room, and ran over to where the door was splitting vertically, revealing the two people. He stopped, and the medical team, who were stationed just down the hall, rushed past him with a gurney. “Put her here!” Marc called to the man standing outside. Marc could tell now that he was in fact wearing a loincloth, and underneath the stress of the situation he was relieved not to have seen two fully naked men in one day. The giant of a man, and he was huge, rushed forward and put the injured woman on the gurney, and anxious look on his heavily bearded face.

The medics began moving away, shouting to each other about medical stuff, Marc turned to look at the huge man. The man was moving to follow the medics, but stopped at the sound of Marc’s voice. “I wouldn’t follow them in there. A man of your size would definitely get in the way.” Marc studied him for a second, then continued. “You’re not from around here, are you? I have no idea how you would survive with all of that hair. Although I suppose going with the loincloth would help. Where are you from?”

The man looked down at Marc. “North. The mountains. I… Idaho,” he responded in a gruff tone, obviously unused to speaking.

Marc’s eyes widened in surprise. “You came down here from Idaho? That’s a long way to go and not get caught by soldiers. Then again,” Marc said as he noticed clumps of dried blood in the man’s chest hair, “You may not have had trouble with soldiers. Here, let’s get you cleaned up. A shower always feels nice after a long trip. That and some food. And some fricking sleep. You know, you are the reason…” Marc babbled about anything and everything, his sleep deprived mind telling him it was ok, as he lead the giant man towards a shower.

Getting the man to shower had been a nightmare. For whatever insane reason, he seemed afraid of the hot water. Or the closed space. Or something. It was like trying to convince a stray dog to get in the bath tub. Marc guessed that the man had been living in the wild for a while, but that was not an excuse. Especially if Marc could smell him. Marc had the worst sense of smell in history, so if he could smell something, it was either dang good or dang bad. This was NOT good.

After the man finally calmed down and went into the shower, Marc went to find some clothes for him. Marc himself was the only person on base who was even close to the newcomers height, so he grabbed some cargo shorts and a t-shirt from his own room. Resisting the urge to lay down and go to sleep right there, he wandered back to the man’s room. Upon opening the door, he found the man standing in the middle of the room with no clothes on at all. “AAAAGH!” he yelled, and turned away. “I don't want to see anymore pantsless men!”

Right at that exact moment, as usual, Sevina walked around the corner. “What?!” she shouted, and Marc’s face ran through the usual dozen or so expressions before he said,

“Don’t come any closer!” Sevina stopped in her tracks.

“Why?”

“Hey, you were the one complaining about guys letting it hang in the first place. Let this guy get dressed before you go blind or something.”

“Uugh,” said Sevina, and hastily turned and walked back the way she had come.

Marc tossed the shorts and shirt behind him, at where he guessed the man could be. “Put these on. Please.”

Marc heard some shuffling, and the distinctive sound of a zipper. He turned around, and found the man standing, looking very uncomfortable in the too small cargo shorts, and holding the shirt in his hands. He looked at Marc. and said “Won’t fit.”

Marc laughed, realizing how much smaller he was than this man, “I guess you’re right. Here, I’ll take it back. You hungry? Let’s go get a snack.” The man, looking mildly put off by this energetic stranger, followed along. “So,” said Marc, “What’s your name? Are you going to be the third nameless man today?”

“Samson,” the big man said, almost doubtfully.

“Huh. I knew a Samson once, long ago. He was a ginger too. He died when the war started though, in the initial bombings I heard. Well, it’s nice to meet you Samson, I’m Marc.”
Samson grunted. Marc shrugged, and fell silent. A moment later they entered the dining hall. Dinner was winding down, so the room was mostly empty. Marc walked up to the window into the kitchen. “Hey,” he called, “what’s for dinner? Get this dude a double portion.”

“Sure boss,” yelled a kitchen worker.

“Hey, I ain’t no boss. Frank just left me in charge for a few days.”

“Then say please!” said another cook, as she walked up with a huge pile of spaghetti and a plate of breadsticks.

Marc lowered his head in a mock bow. “Tenemos hambre! Nos queremos la comida! Por Favor!” he said, his voice dripping with mock desperation and humor.

The kitchen staff laughed. They’d known Marc long enough to understand, if not the literal meaning, that he was requesting food in his broken Spanish. The female cook set down Samson’s plate on the counter, then went back to get a smaller plate of pasta for Marc. “Thanks,” said Marc as he took his own plate.

Marc lead Samson to a table on the side of the room, and they sat down and began to eat.

They ate in silence for a while, until a man in scrubs walked up and tapped Marc on the shoulder. Marc turned, and the man whispered something in his ear. Marc turned to Samson, “They managed to stabilize the girl. She’s in recovery now, and should be able to leave the med-bay tomorrow afternoon. She’s sleeping now, so there’s no point in visiting. But you can see her tomorrow.” Samson’s face brightened under his thick beard, and he nodded once. Marc took the last bite of his pasta, and wolfed down another breadstick. “Now,” he said, “I am going to sleep. I would advise you do the same. If you need help, yell. Someone will wake me up. you remember how to get back to your room?” Samson nodded again. Marc nodded back, then got up and took his plate to the kitchen. As he left the dining hall, it occurred to him that maybe he shouldn’t let the giant wild man wander the halls of their base. Then an image of his pillow and blankets popped into his head. “Nah,” he said to no one in particular. It would be fine.

Marc wandered into his room, yawned, and shut the door. “I’ve put this off for far too long,” he said to himself, quoting Bilbo from The Fellowship of the Ring. He chuckled as he lay down, almost wishing there was someone who was there to get the joke. Then sleep claimed him, and he thought no more.

[mercury19]

I finished part 7! Here it is:

BWAH! BWAH! BWAH! Marc woke to the sound of an alarm going off in his ear. His immediate thought was that there was an emergency on base, but as his mind shook of the last vestiges of sleep he remembered that there was no alarm in his room. He looked up to see Sevina standing over him holding her phone, and the screen was flashing red. “Marc!” she yelled, “get up! There’s a catastrophe in the med-bay!”

The near panic in Savina’s voice told Marc that she was not in fact playing some unusually cruel trick on him, and so he jumped out of bed. He had fallen asleep in his clothes, so without hesitating he bolted out his door and shot down the hall. Within seconds he was standing at the door of the med bay, and realized that catastrophe was right.

On one side of the room, Samson was holding Angel up to the wall with both hands, obviously trying his best to throttle the deserter. On the other side of the room a bed was collapsed against the wall, covered in blood. Marc realized that this had been the bed where Samson’s friend had been. His mind flew through the facts and came to the conclusion that Angel had killed the girl, and Samson had been in the room. Marc unholstered his pistol and prepared to take aim at Angel, knowing that they had once again been fooled by the government, when suddenly the ex-enforcer’s foot came up and hit Samson in the stomach. Realizing that a fight in earnest was about to start, Marc put away his gun and prayed that someone other than him would show up to stop this madness.

The Iron Angel’s kick had sent Samson flying to the other wall. As the big ginger made contact, the Iron Angel caught his breath and rubbed his throat. He appeared to be finished, almost ready to surrender, which Marc found odd, but Samson was not sharing the sentiment. The man stood up and charged Angel with roar, his eyes bloodshot and crazed. There was no stopping this guy.

Angel braced himself for impact, but he still slid backwards as Samson hit him. Marcus could almost feel the room shake with the collision, and he prayed that it would stop before the conflict left the room. It was like watching a battle between titans. For a moment they were locked together, then Angel got underneath Samson and heaved him over his shoulders. Samson hit the ground, and Marc imagined the solid rock floor cracking underneath the impact. Within seconds samson was on his feet again, swinging wildly at Angel. The Iron Angel stood firm, blocking the massive strikes with the precision of a trained fighter, but unable to find an opening to retaliate.

Suddenly Ange missed one. He brought his arm up to block a split second too late, and Samson's fist hit him with the force of a truck. Angel was lifted off his feet as he flew sideways, towards the wall where the door was. Dust came off of the ceiling with the impact, and for a millisecond Marc thought Angel might be out for the count. But then the soldier jumped up and rushed Samson.

The fight went on for what seemed like ages, blows being traded that would’ve killed a normal man ten times over. Many times Marc feared that their titanic struggle would bring down the ceiling on their heads. Just as he thought they would never stop, someone brushed past him into the room. Marc realized that it was John and instinctively he reached out to stop him, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. He turned his head to see Brandon there. “He’s the only one who can stop them. I grabbed him as soon as I heard something was wrong, figured he could help.” Marc nodded, realizing that his friend was right.

John stepped into the room. Samson and the Iron Angel were on either side of the room, preparing to rush each other once again, oblivious to the newcomer in their midst. They leaped towards each other, just as John arrived in the middle of them. He caught their fists in his hands, preventing what Marc was sure would've been an atomic level explosion. The shock on the faces of the two combatants was almost comical, as they realized their fight had been stopped in its tracks. Brandon tapped Marc on the arm, and Marc took the stun gun his friend offered. Flipping it to the highest setting, he took aim at Samson and fired. He heard Brandon firing at Angel at the same time, and as the two men collapsed to the ground, unconscious, the tension flowed out of the room. John let his arms fall, and blood began dripping from them. Then there was an odd grinding sound, and John yelled in pain. Marc realized that his hands must have broken when he caught the punches, and the healing was probably painful. He walked over to the man, cautiously walking around to face him form the front.

“You know, I don’t think John was the right name for you. I’m going to call you Deuce.” John looked askance, and Brandon said, “What?”

“Like Deus Ex Machina. It’s a storytelling device, something that solves the unsolvable problems. Usually looked on as bad storytelling, but I ain’t gonna complain if we have one on our side.”

“Ok,” said Brandon, who had long ago learned to let go of the unintelligible babble that came from Marc. John looked confused, but gathered from Brandon’s silence that asking anymore would be useless.

“Alright, let's get these two fools into lock up. Make sure they are thoroughly bound, I don’t want them to be able to move their pinky toes.” Marc moved towards the enforcer, hoping he was lighter than Samson. Just then Jack appeared at the doorway. “Excellent timing Jack. Can you help Brandon carry that dude? John, can you help me over here?” Jack and John nodded and moved towards their positions.

It took about ten minutes to haul the two men down to the holding cells, where they got the guard on duty to assist them in binding the men. “Alright,” Marc said after he caught his breath, “we need to decide what to do with these guys. One of them is a murderer and the other is a berserk mountain man. The whole deserter thing was an excellent ploy, but I have no idea who that girl was or why she was a target. We need to interrogate him.”

“We should at least keep the big guy around,” said Brandon. “Extra muscle never hurts”

“True,” Marc replied thoughtfully, “But I don’t know how well in control of himself he is. We can’t have him flying off the hook every three hours and wrecking some part of our base. We’re lucky the med bay only had the one patient, otherwise we’d be in real trouble.”

The room fell silent as the five resistance members considered the strange situation. Then John’s stomach grumbled loudly. the rest of the group laughed as John’s face redened. The tension flowed out of the room as the focus moved to food.

“That,” said Marc, “is an excellent idea. Let’s go eat.”

“I heard bacon cooking this morning,” Brandon replied eagerly, “Let’s go.”

With that, the group moved away from the holding cells towards the mess hall, where an excellent, bacon-filled breakfast awaited them.

[Quantumsurfer]

Goodly amount of material. Took me a minute to get through all of it. Pretty decent stuff, mate. I hope to see more.

[mercury19]

Alright, I've got part 8 here.

Two days had passed since the incident in the infirmary, and no one had decided anything regarding the prisoners. Brandon slid out from under his old pontiac and wiped the sweat off of his brow as he thought. It wasn’t exactly an easy decision.

The enforcer should’ve been easy to deal with. The simple answer was to execute him. He’d killed an innocent girl, and he was a government agent, former or no. But Marc argued that something wasn’t right. His neurotech had been fried, and he had been found as the only survivor of a very mysterious crash. At the very least, they should try and get some information on the government out of the enforcer. Brandon suspected that Marc was oversimplifying that part of it, but the idea still had merit.

Then there was the matter of the mountain man. The one who called himself Samson. Brandon, personally, was all for keeping him around. Who wouldn’t want a giant like that on their side? The whole berserk thing shouldn’t be a problem. It was the enforcer’s fault, for killing the girl Samson had brought in.

But it was more than that. Something else was even more disturbing. Marc had pointed it out when they’d first brought in the enforcer. A strange sense of familiarity struck Brandon whenever he looked at the cyborg. And at Samson, for that matter. It seemed to strike all of the resistance members from their home town.

Of course, for Samson it was explainable. Marc, Savina, Joel, and Brandon had all had a friend named Samson, who was a tall ginger to boot, when they were in high school. But they’d heard that him and his family had been killed in the initial bombings.

But that still left the enforcer. Brandon couldn’t understand why he seemed so familiar. It was the strangest thing, almost like he’d known him for his whole life. But he just couldn’t place it.
Suddenly a dripping sound caught his attention. He looked under his car, and saw liquid dripping down from the engine block. With a sigh, Brandon slid back under the car to continue the endless task of tuning up his car. It wasn’t good to dwell on puzzles like that for too long, and the car certainly wasn’t going to fix itself.

The next day Marcus called a meeting of the temporary leadership. This resistance’s leader, Frank Eichlitl, was away trying to get in touch with some other pockets of resistance, and had left Marc in charge. Marc, knowing the full depth of his own indecisiveness, had immediately called his closest friends together to assist in the job, and they had formed sort of a council. When Brandon walked in everyone else was already there. Marcus was spinning around in a swivel chair on the opposite side of the room. Savina was sitting to his left, obviously mildly annoyed with his childish antics. Joel was on the other side, crumpling up small pieces of paper and attempting to hit Marc in the face with them as he spun. Brandon closed the door and took the last open seat, across from Marc.

Seeing that the last member of their little committee had arrived, Marc stopped spinning. Unfortunately, Joel had been waiting for just this moment, and launched a barrage of paper scraps directly at his face. Joel burst out laughing and Savina and Brandon snickered as Marc’s face contorted with a variety of emotions, finally settling on acceptance.

“Alright guys,” he said as Joel’s laughing subsided, “we have to do something about our two dudes in lockup. They’ve been there for three days. Any suggestions?”

Brandon immediately spoke up, “Kill the cyborg and keep the berserker.” everyone in the room had been expecting this, and Brandon knew that. But he also didn't’ feel like waiting around for someone to get the ball rolling. Patience had never been his strong suit.

“That sounds about right to me,” Joel agreed. He and Brandon shared an appreciation for the simple approach.

“I’m not so sure about that, “ responded Savina. “I don’t think we should kill the enforcer. He could have valuable information. And besides, do we really want to do any more killing than we have to?” She paused to let that sink in for a moment, then continued. “As for the big guy, I’d rather not keep him around. I don’t think he’s stable.”

“How are we going to get information out of the enforcer? None of us really know any interrogation techniques, at least not for someone of his stamina,” Brandon responded calmly.

"Don't forget he's a cyborg. We can always use computerized methods," Marcus countered. "We have some pretty heavy duty software. Something's bound to work."

"Hmm. I guess we could - " Brandon was interrupted mid sentence by the sound of a lockdown siren. A staticky voice came over the loudspeakers, almost indecipherable.
"The enforcer has escaped. Repeat, the enforcer has broken out of lock up."

Everyone in the room stood up and rushed out without hesitation. This was bad news. How could he have gotten out? Brandon's mind flashed through all the methods he himself would've used, and realized that with the enhanced strength the enforcer would have had no trouble breaking out. They should’ve taken more precautions.

They rushed through the halls, accompanied by the sound of blaring sirens and flashing red lights. Every once in awhile a voice would come over the loudspeaker, pinpointing the escaped prisoner’s position. He was heading towards the main hangar.
The four friends arrived at the hangar a split second too late. The large doors were open. Off to their right they heard the roar of an engine, and seconds later one of their old jeeps sped towards the doors. The hangar had descended into chaos. There was smoke everywhere, and people were running back and forth, shouting. Brandon, who had been leading the group, turned to face his friends. “We can’t let him get away. I’m going after him,” he said calmly.

“Alright,” said Marcus. “Joel, you go with him. We can’t take chances with this guy. “ He paused for a second, and looked around. “I’m going to prep the base for evac. We can’t stay here. We have our secondary location prepped. Brandon, you and Joel know where it is. Meet us there when you’ve finished. Ready, break.”

Brandon and Joel moved farther into the hangar, towards one of the vehicles left undamaged by the prisoner’s escape. “I’ll drive,” said Brandon.

“Alright,” replied Joel, “I’ll be on lookout.” They climbed into the jeep, and minutes later they were out in the desert, following the escapee’s trail.