The Warmth of a Foreign Sun

The world in that moment became reduced to a few tingles from his chest, like the feel of a lover’s hand gently passing through the air before his flesh without quite touching.

Eyes numb to light.

Ears numb to sound.

Every inch of skin may well have been flayed and he would not know for the amount of pain reaching his dazed mind. Even thought was distant and almost as unobtainable as heaven from Earth. Ideas, images, words all flowing past like a thousand leaves drifting upon a gently flowing river slipping by his fingers each time he reached out to them.

Blood, A rifle, Pain, Grass, Steel, each one nothing more than an idea of a memory. They moved before him with growing pace, peace, water, breathe, life… the name of a woman finally sparked some vigour into his soul, reaching out to it, he could taste the name on the tip of his tongue and…

Light speared at him with the anger of a foreign god, not the digital light from a display but the dawning light of a rising star. His eyes still accustomed to the artificial light, burned with a ferocity, whether from the blast which tore off his helmet or the light of an alien sun he couldn’t tell.

Every nerve in his body cried out in agony as soon as consciousness returned, his skin burning just as hotly as that huge ball of burning gas. Rancid air forced its way down his throat even as he forced it back up, still choking on the ash and debris filling his throat. Lungs desperate for air unwilling to wait for even a moment struggled to keep an even pace of breathe as it coughed up a battlefield worth of ash. Hyperventilation threatened to send him back into the realms of the dead, but with force of will he managed to tame his body into a roughly paced breathing pattern.

Scents abruptly struck at him past the metallic smell and taste of his own blood, the appalling scent of burning flesh mixed with rotting trash. Such unfamiliar and distasteful scents forced his stomach into a revolt but there was nothing able to rise but bile.

Even now in this state of shock, his body still not his own acted without consent; patting down his flesh to check for damage all the while his eyes were scanning the environment around him. Without the assistance of his heads up display his eyes were struggling to make sense of what was around him, he saw many images which didn’t correspond to anything he understood.

Small flames flickered from atop blackened wood, mud sizzled as it boils down from the heat of the expended cartridges lying in their depths. A seemingly large vehicle was rolling away, the sounds of its engines fading while its guns fired endlessly in a loud mechanical roar which rivalled that of an avalanche.

Pain along the left side of his face brought his hand up instinctively, it came back bloody and shaking violently. Hyperventilating again like he’d just run a marathon he scrubbed hard at the blood threatening to blind his left eye. Metal, hydrophobic fingers and palm were barely able to staunch the blood flow since any blood simply flowed past his fingers.

Men screaming something strange drew his attention away from his personal struggles. There were only three of them that he could see, standing tall in the street between Matheson and the retreating vehicle. These men showed no fear as they walked amongst corpses into the line of fire of the machine guns godly power.

Matheson watched as one of the men threw their hand forwards, flames creeping along glowing flesh towards the man’s fingers. At the peak of their ‘throw’ the fire curled up in their hand, forming itself into a writhing ball flying forwards. Only a couple of these fireballs struck the rear of the retreating vehicle marking it with small black burn stains but without any significant damage.

All the while it fired high calibre ammunition back tearing through air, wood and flesh without pause. One of the men exploded after a round struck him firmly in the chest, turning his bones into even more shrapnel scattering into the nearby buildings. The others didn’t stop their cry for blood or even pause at the death of their comrade; marching forwards with no concern for their own well-being.

Overhead a drone hovering above the carnage fired a mosquito missile into the distance where another group was apparently causing more pressing issues, but was forced to dodge a series of fireballs which came flying in its direction. With the playful ease of a small bird it out paced and out manoeuvred the many projectiles fired at it, from the arrows and bolts to the nonsensical fireballs. All the while it was firing darts and missiles with lethal accuracy quickly hitting all of the men remaining around Matheson with fast acting tranquilizer darts.

His mind still spinning, he swept his hands through the mud; the image of the falling gem struck his mind of any other thoughts. Even as chunks of flesh and blood rained down upon him from the still firing machine guns, his focus never drifted. Metallic gloves gave him little sensation or feeling of what passed through them. Threatening to accidentally crush anything smaller than a little finger but fuelled by panic Matheson couldn’t slow.

Fingers clutching only mud, as he peered into the mud running out of hope but persistent in his determination. A brief flicker of emerald light caught his eye through the brown waters, instincts drew out his arm towards that light. Numb fingers reaching out in hope of finding the one thing in this world worth holding onto.

When his fingers lifted the small relic into the air he could feel nothing of its texture, but it brought a sea of emotions surging forth inside.

The remaining combatant still somehow standing was already turning heel back to Matheson. The others of his squad seemingly too far gone to help or hinder in this fight. Hands glowing with energy shining brightly and unevenly even though the dart should have made him pass out by now. The light emanating from him seemed to be far less stable than it had been just moments ago and from the look on his face he was moments away from falling unconscious.

Holding tightly onto the hairpin was the only power he had remaining over his body as training stole away his self-control. The pistol on his hip seemed to flow into his hand as if it had a life of its own, and with less energy than put into flicking an ant off of his coat he fired once into the man’s chest. The bullets path tore through flesh, and turned bone into even more projectiles shredding into the wall behind where he’d been standing. The energy in his hand slowly losing its form and dissipating into the air.

Where his heart had been was now a gaping hole so large that Matheson could see clean through to the other side through a waterfall of blood and shredded organs. An expression of shock painted the dead man’s face as the lifeless body fell into the mud with a wet slap.

The pistol barely made it into its holster before his shaking fingers slid free from the cold lifeless metal. With the panic rising and his training fleeing, Matheson looked down upon the hairpin resting gently in his fingers. A brief flash of light seemed to ignite within the gemstone, as he stared into its depths as if expecting to find salvation hidden within. A slight spark of passion flowing in from his hand as thoughts of its previous caretaker ran through his mind.

“Save them.” The words flowing from his lips as they ran through his mind. Her last words but who was he meant to save?

Tearing himself from the clutches of the thick mud and to his feet sent shocks of pain spiking throughout his body strong enough that it felt as if he’d been struck through with a blade. A thick loud slap sounded from behind as the back part of his armour fell free with his rifle still attached, sliding down under the surface of the mud by its own weight.

Looking down at his own body he finally noticed the significance of the damage, the entire front armour of his suit was torn free and in places melted firmly onto his underclothes. A suit capable of walking through the fires of hell was torn apart and fused in places, the strength of the blast must have been comparable to standing within the sun for a few moments in order to provide that level of damage. The only reason he was able to survive was the quality of insulation provided by those same underclothes as well as the luck of the devil himself.

Even though the blast had done significant damage to his armour the lower half was still functional enough to keep most of his gear together. The joints were partially misshapen by the heat of the blast but not enough to keep him from moving.

His mind returned to her face in those last moments before death, her desperate words as she pushed him to the ground and threw herself the other direction. “Save them” The words sending so many questions seething through his mind but also a small spark of determination. With no good place to put the hairpin he’d found, Matheson carefully ran it through his own hair, only taking a brief moment to consider how ridiculous it must look. Somehow bringing a tear to his eye.

Don’t think. He rubbed away at the exposed part of his head as if it would wipe away the thoughts brewing behind. Now wasn’t the time for emotional outbursts, in fact if he didn’t move quickly death was assured even after his life had already been spared once today.

Moving quickly to uncover the back panel of his armour, his partially numb fingers kept slipping causing his distress only to increase. Before long he flipped the plate around so that the rifle was visible above the surface of the mud firmly stuck in place by invisible forces.

The magnetic lock which worked as a holster for the weapon was now stuck, the controls to release the lock were integrated into the suit which was now scattered into so many pieces.

Taking a deep breath and standing both feet on the metal back plate he gripped onto the rifle and with all his strength pulled. For a moment it gave way lifting off of the metal holding it in place but slammed back down almost crushing Matheson’s fingers in the process.

He was short on time, but he couldn’t leave behind such a weapon for them to find, so with an aching body he knelt down for another attempt. His fingers turning white from the tight grip, he kicked down at the plate as hard as he could and with a groan escaping from him the rifle finally came free.

The sounds distant voices shocked him into attention, his rifle held at the ready. Using reinvigorated eyes to look upon the world he took responsibility upon himself to make it through this, and to hopefully make her wish come true this time.

The alley he currently stood at the mouth of was tight, only enough room for three men standing shoulder to shoulder but the main road he was standing at the edge of was large enough for a large military tank to roll through with ease. From the tracks in the mud and the vague memories blurred by concussion it was apparent that the assault vehicle had made it through before tearing out of here like a bat out of hell.

From the state of the dozen or so bodies lying around he was able to tell that he was the only soldier left here, alive or dead. Though it seemed as though all of the prisoners had died like the woman in his arms. His heart found some relief in knowing that at least the other soldiers were fine, but that still did nothing to dampen the pain of losing her, as well as the other civilians.

Around him were dozens of what he could only call imitations of buildings, the walls were made of something delicate almost like dried mud. It was easily scorched and completely smashed apart in places by bullets and shrapnel. That wasn’t to mention the haphazard design put into them, they looked as if they were just thrown up on top of each other with no care for structural integrity or spacing.

Surprisingly there didn’t seem to be any significant blast damage from what had ruined his armour. He’d expected at least a few of these buildings to be completely levelled but the only indication of it happening was a small crater perhaps a foot deep.

The colouration of the area was mostly in the browns of mud, as well as the red stains across the walls and spreading out from the corpses. Not to mention the many chunks of flesh, bone and entrails littering the scene like confetti at a birthday party. His deep black jumpsuit thankfully was hydrophobic enough that everything that had hit simply bounced off. Though that left him standing there in an impossibly matte black, which stood out painfully amidst the browns and reds which were starting to become clearer as the sun gradually pushed its way into the sky.

On top of everything else any hostiles in the area would be rushing here with a death wish and the bloodlust of a crazed animal. A dull ache spread out from his left hip as he leapt forwards down the alley, leaving behind the remains of his armour like a lizard dropping its tail. Time and speed were far more valuable now than hi tech scrap metal.

He had on his person a knife and a sidearm alongside around a 118 rounds of spare rifle ammunition and 47 rounds of pistol ammunition. The knife was sharp to the point of cutting through steel without dulling, while the pistols calibre was great enough to punch through any basic ballistics armour.

His basic medical pack also contained a plethora of equipment and first aid items that could save his life, from fake skin to burn treatments and bone adhesives.

Ordinarily his chances of survival would be dead low, separated from his team and in the middle of enemy territory. But his enemy was surprisingly weak only managing as much damage as they had through a surprise tactic that couldn’t work a second time. Racing past a few frightened elderly women spouting nonsense in angry words, he put his chances of survival as high as 90% failing the intervention of any more strange variables.

As bizarrely calm as his mind was right now, the trembling refused to stop, threatening to trip him at any moment. The alien calls of men were already crying out from the scene of the battle, the words unfamiliar but the intent plain. Find any survivors. Kill them.

It wouldn’t be long before they found out he wasn’t dead and very little time after that before the men at the walls were warned of the fact. He had to escape the city as soon as possible to avoid further contact with the enemy. Every turned eye his direction, every word spilt from human lips, sent spikes of terror racing through his empty heart. As high as his chances of survival were statistically he couldn’t help feel the terror flowing through every fibre of his being.

The city was coming to life with the quieting of battle and the rising of dawn. Men, women and children were already starting to fill streets around him even as he kept himself to the quiet alleys soon more people would see him. Soon he would be forced into fighting them again, the thought of the fire rising from their hands sending shivers down to his toes.

Racing head first around the corner of an alley, a solid thump ran through his body as he slammed into a woman who’d come running around the corner ahead of him. The impact taking the breath from him far more than he’d have expected as, for the second time today, he was sent sprawling into the mud because of a woman.

The sky, filled with black dots, turned from violet into a light shade of blue before his eyes. While he struggled to remember why that was important, he found himself staring into his own bloody palms. Coughing raged his beaten body as he struggled to find what he’d lost in the fall.

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Mud squelched beneath his hands as he struggled to rise up from his back. His rifle was hanging from his loose grip, undamaged but leaving a bruise where it had pushed into his flesh.

The woman standing before him held a strong unfaltering stance, apparently she hadn’t fallen in the collision. Words spewed from her mouth, they were sweet to the ear but unable to be unravelled by his tenuously strung mind.

Her hand hung low to a sword at her hip, its design sharp, colour dark. A sensation overcame him staring into those shapes formed at the hilt, and he knew that it would bring him only death should he await for it. A brief thought of firing at the woman was quickly washed away as he glanced into her eyes.

Her head was adorned with demonic horns like that of a being from ancient holy texts, but her face was that of a young woman. The look brought a spark of recognition into his heart and even as the rifle levelled at her chest he found his finger slipping free from the trigger unable to go even so far.

Hesitance overcame him for only a brief moment before he clutched his rifle tight and ran. Fighting against an unknown variable would be dangerous, it was safer to run rather than fight right this instant. At least that was the excuse his mind struggled with.

Pain overcome his hips from the earlier blast but he didn’t pause, vaulting himself over a wall and onto the first story rooftop of a nearby building. The lightweight materials were threatening to crumble beneath his feet, cracking open like thin ice.

Legs moving with a will of their own he kept racing towards the city gates praying that they would be open when he arrived. Now wasn’t the time to wondering that though, as he looked back over his heaving shoulder a figure was already racing after him. Her figure flowing over the buildings with the unnatural grace of a feline.

The glance backwards stealing away his balance as his knee locked up from his warped armour. The end of the rooftop rushed towards him too quickly to halt his unsteady fall. If it wasn’t for his training he’d have fallen head over heels, but instead managed a controlled drop and roll down into the muddy street, barely scraping by a mother cradling her baby. The many calls screams and looks his direction felt like daggers to his exposed flesh, no longer protected by the darkness nor the cover of numbers.

Mud gripped at his feet every moment of his mad dash threatening to tear him down but with careful balance he was able to keep on his feet at a fast pace. Another glance over his shoulder earned him nothing as she was right on his tail even in a full suit of armour. The sight igniting his movements into a further despaired pace.

Ahead the streets were thickening with people, still sparse enough to run through but he might still luck out and lose her here. Dipping around the corner without losing pace, he wove between people all of whom were giving him strange looks. If they knew what a gun was they’d likely be running and screaming, but that worked in his advantage for now.

Blood worked its way into his mouth and threatened to blind his left eye. Hips aching more ferociously than before, Mattheson knew he had to end this chase soon. Else he might just end up dead by that demonic sword of hers.

Another corner ahead offered him a chance at losing his tail, slipping around and quickly diving behind a nearby market stall he let out a breath, took one deep breath in and held it. Apparently no one noticed his quickly found hiding place immediately, as he heard no one calling out to him, and there was thankfully no one using this stall for now.

His pursuer’s footsteps came crashing around the corner and kept on going for a few paces. Feeling the pressure of her searching gaze he started to move as quickly as he could while crouched and silent. Moving along to the next stall, he glimpsed her figure staring out across the market, searching faces.

The house behind this stall had its door hanging invitingly open and emitting no sound that he could hear. Chancing being cornered over the open streets and another foot race he couldn’t win Matt swiftly dove through the door and into the shelter as a familiar voice and unfamiliar tongue spoke loudly behind him.

The chase and bare survival of the blast earlier left his body in a ravaged state close to complete exhaustion. Breathing as deeply as possible he focused on his surroundings. The inside of the house was slightly more alien than he’d expected, the only thing he could immediately recognise was the wooden table in the centre and the cushioned chair sitting along one wall.

A large curved metal box seemed to be built into the wall, and beside it all sorts of small metal and wooden tools hung from hooks. Countless draws and a large ornate cupboard filled with glassware sat alongside the little metal box.

He felt slightly light headed as he reached for where his medical pack was supposed to be hanging, but of course it was lost somewhere after his encounter with the strange woman. The likes of which was surely missed right at this moment.

For now the best thing to do would be patch up any open injuries while checking for an alternative exit. If he didn’t stop the bleeding in his scalp soon he might just start to lose consciousness before this chase came to its end. His shaking developed further as he pushed into the building, every limb now quaking visibly as his very insides felt like they were spinning in a centrifuge.

Limping slightly from the pain in his hips and legs Matheson made his way through to an adjoining room, the door to which was lined with stylised metal. Inside the room he found a rather simple bed, the wooden frame of a light colour so pale it was almost white, a small table with inset draws, and some kind of old fashioned lamp sitting atop it, likely run on oil.

Though it was the massive wardrobe with really took his attention for now, made from the same wood as the bed frame, it stood magnificently tall all the way up to the ceiling just out of reach if he’d tried to touch it.

Wiping away blood from his face again earned him a slight reprieve from the incessant flow into his eye. With the same unbloodied hand he reached out opening the wardrobe door.

Inside were sets of clothing of similar design to those he saw on the people walking outside, angular and flimsy. Made from some kind of plant he had to assume, it was so smooth he felt almost criminal in ripping it. Though it probably was criminal.

The shirt he’d chosen was stained white in colour and about as long as the length of his arm. Which when torn into a single lengthy strip was long enough to wrap around his head tightly and staunch the blood flow. The rest of his injuries weren’t going to be so easily treated.

Bruising of the hip, a few scattered burns and cuts, a massive bruise developing on his chest which might develop into more concerning internal bleeding. Most of these injuries could only be fully treated in a clinic or god forbid over an expanse of time.

His mind fogged over for a moment, the feeling like a breeze flowing between his ears almost developing into a headache. For some reason he felt self-conscious like having a girl look too long at him in the showers.

A few hesitant footsteps coming from the first room gave him a moments warning before he was intruded upon. Readying the rifle he tightened his grip and his stance. Training overcoming timid nature as his finger gently brushed against trigger.

The footsteps grew louder as a middle aged man poked his head out into the room. His balding skull reflected the light from the window as his face expressed anger, he stepped into the room yelling something loudly in that same foreign tongue.

Matheson didn’t need translation software to get the gist of what he was saying but did suddenly regret how alien his gun looked to the man. Instead of turning and running the man came at him, some form of club swinging ferociously.

118 rifle rounds left meant wasting them on an old man with a club wasn’t something he was willing to do. Swiftly swapping out to his knife and blocking the swing with the sharp edge of its blade he stepped forwards into the man. A slight resistance was all that Matheson felt from the knife as the club fell to the ground in two. All the while their bodies collided, the older man taking the brunt of the damage from the tackle.

The man finally recognising his complete incapability to win this fight took the chance to turn and run through the door he’d come through only moments ago; leaving the room with a limp in his step. All the while yelling out loudly enough so that the gods themselves were likely able to hear. Though it was the more mundane pursuer which came to mind.

With little other choice remaining Matheson dove out of the window smashing through the glass and cutting himself on in the landing. Pain and exhaustion now no longer able to overcome the adrenalin raging in his blood, he threw himself atop another rooftop. This time a little smoother and more stable than the last.

It seemed this part of town was built with better quality materials than the place where the battle had raged. Now coloured with a lighter shade and a smoother surface, his boots sounded out a firm drum beat.

Familiar cries come from behind, likely from the same woman who’d given him chase this whole time. All the while his mind felt that same breeze waft through again. The strange sensation threatening to make him fall from his precarious run as his attention drifted.

Knowing full well how capable the woman was, he didn’t waste time looking backwards and just assumed she was still firmly on his tail.

The path forwards came to a sudden halt as the roofs gave way to thick thoroughfare in the highway below. Pausing only long enough to find a gap in traffic in which to land, Matheson fell from above frightening countless non-combatants enough that he was given a wide berth.

The many different people called out in strange words or stay silent staring at this stranger who fell from the sky, their eyes like daggers. Some expressed fear but didn’t seem so frightened as to start a panic in the crowd for which he was thankful. He hoped to use these people to lose that devilish woman. Keeping the rifle low he walked amongst them pushing his way through the crowd as quickly as he could.

Behind, the calls from his pursuer started to catch on to the crowd. The sudden feeling of being surrounded forced him to move quicker and push harder. This battle wasn’t going to be easy, he thought, as the crowds turned further against him rallied by the calls of a young woman warrior.

For the first time in this chase he seriously gave thought to the idea of turning and shooting the woman. These crowds would quickly turn on him though if he did so now. A loud thump from behind signalled that he was far from losing the woman and from his estimation should they continue this chase on open ground she was likely to outpace him. Her sprint a faster pace and her constitution as of yet unfaltering, the thought of being so outpaced even with the enhancements of his lower armour sent tremors through his body.

A man grabbed his arm muttering something in a calm voice, Matheson didn’t pause to give the man his ear. If he stopped he would be caught very, very quickly. Ahead there was a break in the crowd and a small alley heading deeper into the warrens of this alien town.

Without any other choice and losing his lead he sprinted for the dark alley, pushing men and women aside without care for class or gender. Air still seething in his lungs and granting him only a fraction of the nourishment he asked of it, he half fell half leapt through that dark aperture into the less populated alley. It was so tight that Matt could touch both sides at once if he held his arms out straight and a number of dirty humans were crawled up into the edges of the alley without mind for any traffic wishing to pass them by.

Treading as hastefully as possible without tripping over the living obstacles he held tight to the rifle which might just be his ticket to winning this chase. A golden ticket he had no intention of using, but he may just be forced into doing so. The men and women lying around at his feet didn’t say much even when he accidentally stepped on them they just moaned a little and curled up tighter as if they were little more than plant life.

The absurdity of humans living in such conditions would have struck him as strange had he not been moving too quickly to think about such matters. Racing around the corner and into another thickly travelled road he weaved through the waves of people as best as he could without making a scene. His pursuer on the other hand called out loudly with a voice as beautiful as an angel taking the ears off all who stood near as they opened a path for her.

Looking at the horizon he saw that the wall was only about half a klick away, with the gates wide open. They mightn’t stay that way if any of the guards hear that he is in the area, the thought spurring him onwards. Pushing past the endless streams of flesh and noise he finally managed to get himself past the thickest of the groups of people and into a lull in the traffic.

Running at full pace now the gates open right before his eyes, just a short hundred metre stretch to go before he was out of the city, free of these eyes tracing his every motion. Free of the men who summon fire from air. Free from strange woman warriors and treacherous ambushes.

Just as he was sighing in relief his escape plan fell about as quickly as massive steel portcullis. Guards were already lining up in front of the now closed escape route, spears pointed his direction as they stood in flawless formation. Heart now losing faith in his abilities the same adrenaline that was giving him strength, now drained away leaving him feeling as a worthless husk.

He could get past them and possibly raise the gates if he used his rifle but doing so would leave him exposed to the woman still giving chase and any other combatants who decide to attack while his back is turned. On top of that was the fact that this city seemed filled to the brim with unexpected dangers, if he paused to allow them to catch up something more might surprise him.

With little other choice he ran into one of the nearby dwellings, losing sight of his enemies for a brief moment while he stumbled upon the loose items strewn throughout the house. Another window on an adjoining wall acted as his escape, tucking and rolling back out into the dawning light. His aching muscles only stressed further by the impact with the earth, it wouldn’t be long before he lost consciousness at this rate.

His hearing was already drowned by the many voices calling out, whether to him or each other he had no clue. Everything seemed to be escalating beyond his control, bearing down on him until he was too weary to fight back. Even the most powerful could be taken down by time and numbers.

Mud slapped against his back and glass tore at open his skin, pushing his limits he sprinted with all his remaining strength to leave the area before they were in sight. The sprint lasted only until the next corner where his strength finally failed him, legs quaking and faltering beneath him. He stumbled along like a man struck to the head too many times in a row.

The slick mud sliding underneath him and slapping hard against his side as he fell down. The bandaging on his head had already slipped free, and blood was again freely flowing down his face. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad to just lie there, surely whatever they could do to him wouldn’t compare to the pain now tearing through his flesh.

Tears worked their way down his cheeks but he didn’t quite understand why. Voices both real and imaginary swirling around him, losing focus as his mind ran from the pain and exhaustion.

In an attempt to find peace his mind stumbled across words which instead ignited his heart in guilt and despair. Words which he’d heard long ago, and words he’d heard every day since.

“Save them.”

It wasn’t some great passion which pushed his consciousness to rise above the darkness. Not some great heroic emotion like out of some folktale of heroes and villains. It wasn’t love, kindness, or even hatred which forced him up. It was guilt pressed against him, drawing on the last of his strength to stand up. The voices of the dead haunted him, refusing him access to the world beyond death.

Vision blurred he pushed himself up to look upon the escape route he’d made for himself. The air in his lungs burned, as if even it wanted him dead, the heavy rifle now hanging loosely in his hands beat against his bruised chest in pace with his staggering steps .

He stood in yet another alley, though this one wasn’t quite as favourable to him as the others had been. A large solid wall, without even small hand holds to grant him escape stood at the end and along the sides.

Already the slapping of feet in wet mud was getting louder behind him, denying any retreat. With enough time and strength he could cut through one of the clay walls but it didn’t seem he had that much spare time right now.

Hoping that these walls were as delicate as the others he’d seen, he rallied what little strength remained while staring down that wall at the end of the short path ahead. The last of his energy bursting forth from his muscles with a strength and desire for self-destruction like a candle burning brighter at the edge of burning out.

One deep breath preluded his mad sprint at the wall struggling to find enough purchase in the loose mud, he pushed harder and harder. The large brown wall loomed upon him intimidatingly, each step that much more difficult to make as his subconscious screamed at him to stop.

Someone was already behind him, calling out clearly enough that he knew that he wouldn’t get a second chance. For a moment time seemed to slow as that clay wall stood within arm’s reach. His body leaning over to strike it with his shoulder, while preparing for the pain. Terror loomed in his heart, natural instinct trying to force him to a halt even though it was already far too late.

He found himself thinking about how stupid this was just as his shoulder pushed into and through the clay. Pain flaring intensely as the world tumbled around him.

The next thing he knew his mind was whirling and his heavy body lying down amidst the debris left behind from the collapse. His shoulder throbbed intensely, the bruising likely enough to inhibit his accuracy, and any attempt to get clear of this mess.

A voice called out pulling him out from his muddled mind. His immediate instinct to the alien voice was to crawl away towards the heavy set door in the room, the one part of this room he was able to recognise with the successive concussions he was suffering from.

The voice called louder, as he reached the door trying what passed for a handle only to find it wouldn’t move. A third time that voice called out and this time he turned to face the speaker, rifle in hand shaking with more intensity than the wounds alone would be responsible for.

She stood in the opening he’d left behind of the wall silhouetted by the rising sun at her back. Her short stature no less intimidating to him as she readied her demonic blade and pointed it at his heart.