As soon as I reached the hatch, I stopped in my tracks. I turned around and headed back towards the Command Center. It’s never good to go on a hump without some form of communication gear, and whatever else I can manage to scrounge up. Finally, loaded up with a tiny radio, some food discs, and the ever important language nanites. I head out, hoping I won’t need to use my little bitty knife.
Walking out of the hatch and down the rocky terrain towards the massive forest, I check my HUD map for the location of our uninvited guests. It should only take me about an hour through dark, creepy woods to get there. Thankfully, I should have another hour or two before the sun sets. Living in a bunker without windows is throwing by sense of timing all sorts of out of whack.
As soon as I reached the woods, I hear feet pounding the rock behind me. Readying my knife and turning to look, it’s just Chip.
“Hey, wait for me, I can help too.” Chip wheezed out.
“Nope, Negative, turn right back around and go back to the bunker. I will not take a redshirt with me into the deadly forest of death.”
“But, I’m not wearing a redshirt.” He responded baffled.
“You have no combat skills, no weapons or gear, and no idea how to be quiet in the woods. That makes you only useful as a bullet sponge, or whatever weaponry they have...sponge.” I inform him. Yeah, that sounds about right. Right? Close enough.
Finally, he turned around and stomped back to the bunker, I felt like I stole his lollipop. What with his dejected expression and slumped shoulders. But better that than a tombstone that says ‘Here lies Chip Douglas, He was a Redshirt and a Sponge’. I’m enough of an asshole to make sure that’s what it says.
With that out of the way, I make my trek through the forest. Other than being the main course at an all you can eat buffet, it was surprisingly uneventful. With several hundred feet between me and the supposed enemy camp, I bent down and slathered some mud over my face, to avoid the shine of my skin and to help me blend in. It’s always better to recon a situation, then just walk in and ask to be violently killed.
After quietly low crawling up to the camp, I can finally hear the voices. Thankfully there are no perimeter guards. Only a few tents and a blaring bonfire in the center of the camp. Closing an eye, I get comfy and wait to figure out what this is all about.
“Hey, zeke, you finish dinner yet?”
“No, and I ain't cookin for ya either, ya twit. Make your own.” I’m assuming Zeke replied.
“But all I got off them demons was a few copper bits, I’ll trade ya for some grub.”
“You’ll get your share of the slaves when we turn them over, if’n your willing to part with some of that, I’ll consider feeding ya.”
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Great, Zeke sounds like an entrepreneurial slaver. Just what we need more of, greedy slavers. I might not be a great guy, but slavers I’m more then willing to introduce to the pointy side of my knife. Thankfully, there not here about the bunker. I should probably just leave them be, not my problem.
Preparing to make my slow crawl away from the camp, I’m interrupted by a child's’ scream. Well, shit, now I have to help. You don’t fuck with children.
I catch a glimpse of a huge man wearing a leather roman lorica, dragging a screaming child. My knuckles pop and turn white around my knife. As I keep surveying the area, making sure I’m not missing someone. So far I’ve seen three people, but there’s at least room for 10 with all the tents. Assuming they like living nut to butt. And that giant tent in the center, that the bear of a man dragged the little girl from.
Not even contemplating what he wants the screaming girl for, as soon as he leaves the light of the campfire, I make my way after him. I come up behind him, walking slowly and careful not to spook him. Loosening my death grip on my knife and preparing to jump on this mountain of a mans back to slice his throat open. When the little girl looks right at me and asks for help. Of course, this causes my friend the Hulk to start turning around towards me. With no time left, I sprint at him and manage to plunge my knife into his throat. He lets out a startled squawk, but hopeful not loud enough to alert his buddies. I twist my knife, pull back and aim a thrust through his side under his armpit and hopefully into his heart. Sadly, big guy + dinky knife does not equal enough reach. He grabs me by my wrist and yanks my hand away, flinging me towards a tree. Probably dislocating my shoulder before I hit the tree like a broken rag doll. By the time I manage to make the world stop spinning and start standing up, I almost fall on my ass again as he falls to the ground with a big *thump*. Must have cut an artery, small favors and all that.
Being tackled by a sobbing child after fighting well outside my weight class, is not all that pleasant. I’m horrible with kids, and crying, and people, and...you know what, nevermind.
“You have to go save my Mom and Brother.” At least I assume that’s what she asked through the crying and the snot. I’m going to have to wash my jacket soon.
Focusing on the area around me, I keep having to shift her head against my chest. She must have some sort of hair clip or something, that keeps digging into me. Finally, pushing her back and brushing her blonde her out of her face, my hand slides across a horn. Wait...WHAT.
Upon closer inspection. She can’t be more the 8 years old. Blonde hair, red eyes, horns and red skin. Well, damn, when they said demons, I didn’t think they meant actual demons. This world is so messed up.
Standing up with her holding my thigh in a vice grip, I make my way over to the downed Hulk. He’s not breathing anymore, and his glazed eyes are staring up into the sky. Yep, he dead.
Checking over his body, I find a short sword and a real knife.
I have to take a minute to pause and appreciate a real knife. If I had this before, I wouldn’t feel like I got ran over by all 18 wheels of a semi. After Sending Tactical Equipment to an Alternate Location, namly to myself. I’m now the proud owner of a new sword and belt, plus a Knife*. *[You have to say that with an Australian Accent. It’s required]
Unable to disengage from the little demon girl. She’s like a damn koala, she has me in a death grip, and I think she may be asleep, assuming that’s drool now soaking my pants leg. I slowly make my way around the camp, successfully snapping necks or choking them out. Thankfully there were only five of them, and they were not very vigilant.
I should probably go check the slave tent, but years of experience and fantasy literature, leads me to believe there is either a boss guy or magical fire throwing d-bag in there waiting to remove my short and curlies. I decided to just sit back on a log and try tonight's dinner, and wait for death grip demon to release herself from my drenched leg.