Forsaken, with its red-hued light, comes-a peaking over the horizon when I slide into Browntown, that’s my village, see. My people been livin’ here for about 10 generations or so, I hear-tell. Instead of growing like a town is supposed to do, it’s been shrinking, because folks keep leaving to the city or off-world for better opportunities and go to sell their souls to mega-corporations and such.
I get back to my place, wishin’ Dahlia was still around but she left me a week ago, saying I got no ambition. That’s ridiculous, see, I gots plenty ambition, I figures… But she figures things differently. She wants all that fancy bullshit of our oppressors and live in the big city where you can’t even pick our goddamn nose without being constantly surveilled; no thank you. I takes a swig of whiskey, takes off my pistol belt, kick off these boots, flop on the couch and pass out, right quick.
Later, I wake up to all kinds of ruckus outside, looking out my window I see a bunch of United Systems assholes in town. They got all that heavy armor on, heavy assault rifles, and we don’t want them nor like their kind ‘round here. Then I see what they are up to, they are dragging Reverend Jo Virginia out the church, in cuffs, and Dahlia is screaming at them, and a gathering of towns-folk yelling and crying. “Motherfuckers. I’ve about had it with these bastards and their goddamn bullshit.” So, I get my boots and pistol belt on, and go out there.
Dahlia looking at me with them eyes, she wants me to do something, I know it. So, I grab the trooper escorting the Reverend and throw his ass to the ground, “no you don’t, you son-of-a-bitch!” But a rifle butt from another trooper hits me in the back, knocking me to the ground. Now I'm getting pissed, so I turn around getting ready to crack some heads, but I’m greeted with a rifle right in my face.
“Stand the fuck down, citizen!” the trooper yells, her voice mildly distorted from the mask and microphone relaying her voice through it.
“Fuck you! What you want with Reverend Jo, anyways?” I demand as I try to stand up, but I’m pushed back down by another trooper.
The trooper with the rifle in my face says, “it’s under arrest for spreading and teaching false information!”
“What the fuck? It’s called history, you dumbass!” Try as I might to protest, but they shove Reverend Jo in the back of the armored transport, nonetheless. Dahlia got no sense, and she tries to grab for him but gets shot in the belly for her effort, the five-megavolt assault rifle burns a hole right clean through her, severing her spine and nearly blowing her in half.
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The sergeant in charge yells at the crowd, the crowd screaming in terror, that is, “I warned you all to stay the fuck back!” as the other troopers hit some of the crowd in the face or belly that were too close with the butt of their rifles.
I reach for my pistol but the trooper with the rifle in my face pushes the barrel into my face harder and says, “go ahead kid, pull that fucking bug zapper and see what happens, your goddamn funeral will be close casket, I guaran-fucking-tee you!”
“Okay okay, fucking okay motherfucker, fuck! I’m just taking my pistol belt off, I just want to help Dahlia, and get her to the medic.” As I slowly undo the buckle, letting it drop with my pistol to the dirt.
There’s no time to waste, I grab her up and get her over to the clinic. The nurse sees me and jumps to it, being the professional that he is. “Dear lord, that’s an assault rifle injury! I need to stabilize her and get her to the city; this is way too severe for me to treat here.” He scans her wrist implant and sees she has a high-level emergency medical package, “she’s lucky she’s a level-3 with Rapid Global Samaritan Extraction, they are probably already inbound.”
A few hours later, I’m in Thunderbird, that’s the capital city on Blasted Lands, waiting in the lobby of the hospital for any news about Dahlia when her mom shows up, panicking, ballin’ her eyes out. Her dad is off-world, working on a long-haul freighter, that’s how he afforded such a good medical package and such. Anyway, I give her a long hug while she balls some more, sobbing and asking, “I don’t understand, why would they shoot Dahlia?”
“Well, Mrs. Branson, I don’t know but it was excessive force and totally unnecessary, she’s forty-five keys, soak and wet.” I say as I help her sit down.
Around about this time the head, cybernetic surgeon comes on out to give us the news, “I must tell you, she suffered massive tissue damage to her entire lower torso, we installed a new synthetic, cybernetic spine, and most of her lower internal organs. We will need to keep her for a few days because we are concerned with the spinal column damage and want to keep her for observation, but she is awake, you can see her now.”
Inside the observation room, she seems surprised to see me, maybe even happy while she’s lying there, all fucked up, “you came all the way here to see me?”
“Of course, I did, I wanted to make sure you were alright, but you should rest up, now, hear?” and I kiss her forehead.
I leave her mom to stay with her, I know she isn’t my girlfriend anymore, but I still got feelings for her and such. I’m in a dark place on the transport flight back home and I still need to find out what happened with Reverend Jo. The troopers are getting more and more bolder and more brutal, I never thought things would get this bad, but here we are. It’s becoming a shit-show, right quick.