During my downtime, I often see a debate consistently among newer members over our etymology. Most think I came up with the Caracal name simply because of my scars or my name. Those similarities were happy accidents, though. The three scars across my face resulted from accidentally having a jagged antique vase dropped on me as a child playing hide and seek.
A tale so embarrassing that I usually reconstructed the narrative that it was a wound I sustained from hunting the enemy (which wasn't precisely untrue). As for the name, it came to me from my days as a soldier. Outside combat, the worst part of my former life was awkwardly filling the empty time between battles.
Being on the lookout for dozens of hours can be about as mind-numbing as any sensory deprivation tank. Yet, I found a miracle across my aimless occupying: a lone Caracal I nicknamed Imad. Delightfully I often saw the small feline go on its mini expeditions toward our camp, acting like we didn't see him.
Over time Imad's curiosity grew to apathy, as we soon turned to spectators that saw him as he crept or stalked in absolute solitude. It was a mildly amusing north star in an endless sea of boredom. But, over time, I came to envy Imad, realizing all too soon that he had freedom in his stripped-back life of simple survival, so much so that I decided to adopt Imad's likeness.
Because I hoped one day I could rise to meet that freedom, to reach a point where I could comfortably live for the simple act of living. To ascend past a world where life's dark complexities trap so many. Now though, it looks like I'm sinking back into the trenches. I used every bit of time my "hunter" left me.
Preventing the authorities from tracking the deal towards us, or worse, evading our dealer's higher-ups' potential misguided retaliation, would have to wait; the woman comes first. Blazing rage and edged intelligence told me that her dead body and my silver tongue could potentially stifle both forces' advances. Regardless I'm not so prideful. I can't deny when I've got put in a corner.
But as history shows me, the more one's pressured, the more dangerous one becomes. I hope to prove that again as I finish attaching my chain whip along my semi-automatic before heading toward my fated foe. Warm late afternoon air swirled past as four cars filled with four Caracals, respectively, whizzed past the cityscape. Each one armed to the very teeth while I lead the charge.
In less than an hour, we approached our next battlefield. Dubai's focus on appealing to tourists made the city's police presence incredibly refined. So much so that even the underworld's dealings often had their hands tied here. Hiding in plain sight is best for survival. I even had to applaud choosing an abandoned labor camp, partially burned from an age-old fire, as a great location for this short-lived war. I'm sure it will make an excellent grave for my nameless opponent.
"Listen up, my Caracals. In moments we will be approaching the demon who's stolen what was rightfully ours, who killed our brothers in cold blood. Remember that when you have the enemy in your sights, whether one or one hundred. They will not bestow the mercy of quick death as we shall. But most of all, stay close and in constant communication with one another. Follow these words, and I promise we will see this through!" I said with rousing conviction.
"YES, SIR!"
Their instant response caused a subtle smile to break across my face. Which instantly vanished upon realizing our opponent wouldn't let us have a warm welcome. A sentiment made depressingly clear as I saw a rocket straight toward me. Alarmed hands guided my hand before my brain registered as I swerved to have a blast missed by the thinnest leaders.
Unfortunately, my tail end couldn't evade the blast's sheer force that had it rock lurch forward. Combined with the world's most unluckily placed pothole, my car started spinning mid-air before I knew it. My entire surroundings then spiraled further when I hit the ground. Sheer blackness then completely took over my senses.
Like a directionless child, I stumbled within this darkness for god knows how long; All I did know was that when my senses returned, I was transported back towards the nostalgic woes of the battlefield. My bludgeoned skull rang towards the hums of bullets. Blurry eyes saw panicked silhouettes run through hellish flames. The metallic sting of blood caked my nose.
Those paled in comparison to the frantic cries of my men. The pieces painted a chaotic tapestry as I realized two of my Caracals pulled me from the car while using it as cover. Yet even in this desperate situation, my heart refused to waver.
"Tomas, what's the situation," I said through my scratchy and dry throat.
"Good, you're awake. After the rocket hit, you swerved into another car. From there, we've been getting hammered by five machine guns nonstop. Casualties are rising by the second."
Instantly my mind went to work, looking at the trajectory of the shots from what my frazzled brain could remember. I gripped my chain whip tightly and stood my ground before touching my comlink.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
"On my command, unpin five grenades and throw them towards me."
Like an eastern dragon, my whip unfurled itself, ready for my call. A triumphant rally I answered once I took what may very well be my final breath. I then leaped atop the car, ducking past the parade of bullets.
"NOW!"
The frags came like heated fastballs, ready to strike me down. Icily I forged ahead quickly and decisively, deflecting each explosive towards the onslaught ahead. Tense milliseconds floated by as I watched each grenade reach its mark. Leading me with nothing more than to take cover as four deafening explosions narrowly sent a monsoon of dagger-like glass.
Tiny cuts dressed over my body like violent confetti, a small spoil of victory I didn't relish. I already knew in my soul that there wasn't a single person manning those homemade turrets outside the initial rocket. Meaning I still had a mission to do. I brushed off what glass I could and then ignored the six bodies in our wake, showing my military experience in full force.
"TO ME, MY MEN, THE ENEMY'S SHAKEN! STICK IN PAIRS AND SMOKE THAT RAT BASTARD OUT!!!"
Morale swung upwards like a pendulum, rousing our weary frames into a rampant stampede. Streaks of fading sunlight made my fresh wounds feverishly itch. I couldn't tell if it was a chilling premonition or uncontrolled jitters. The cramped rooms and ash-ridden relics gave me a twisted nostalgia. It wasn't long before I commanded prisoners alongside soldiers that I had achieved paradise.
Before it got ripped away from me in the span of one night. As a small army commanding weaponry, unparalleled bombarded us all. As if we were mere ants kept captive by a cruel god. I pray history doesn't repeat itself. Because when I tore through those men and clawed through my survival, when I looked at years of backbreaking effort washed away as if sand on a lofty beach, I promised I would never be "caught" ever again. No matter what. After another empty search, Tomas and I exited another room, looking ahead at the dozen faceless rooms surrounding us.
"This is going to take forever. When you said we're dealing with one opponent, I almost didn't believe you, but if that's the case. They could pick us off and retreat as they please," he said cautiously.
"And we'll catch them and close in when they do that. Just be patient, Tomas. Penance will come soon enough," I said, wiping muck-filled sweat from my brow.
"I know. You've never steered us wrong yet, Asad. Not now or ever."
Tomas knew that better than anyone. He was among the first to follow my leadership before abandoning the military. Even though we Caracals have shifted through many places and names over the years, he remained one of the few constants. Yet never has he doubted me, nor have any of the others. More than ever, I hope I can show off why they've never needed any doubt. My next response was consumed quickly by the sound of echoed gunshots penetrating the air, only to be consumed by the crackling shouts of terrified men.
"FIFTH FLOOR! I REPEAT, SHE'S ON THE FIFTH FL-!"
"SHE'S GOT ARMOR, PIERC-GAHH!"
The cavalcade of chaotic calls sprinted in my mind as Tomas jetted toward them. Amidst my advance in horror I saw my fellow comardes on the opposite walls were getting gunned down. Unfortunately, we were already far too late when I got there. The bodies already dropped to the floor. When we made our way up, the only thing greeting us was a massacre. Volumes of ash-ridden dust filtered through the fading sunset as if the labor camp was trying its best to cover up another gruesome tragedy.
I didn't dare look away, though. I etched every last horrified grimace into my soul as Tomas followed my lead to the door where each body seemed to fall towards. Simultaneously we both gave each other one last reassured nod before entering the dark room. Once again, a new story was told, as a left-behind children's blanket was riddled with holes.
Grimy graffiti also lined the walls, their meaning lost to time. Quiet as mice, we trudged forward, keeping our flashlights and rifles ready. Perhaps too ready, as in my tension, I forgot to note running blood obscuring my scarred left eye. A crucial factor my opponent took full advantage of as I saw a fast blur blitz my blind spot. Autonomously I reacted, firing wildly to hit its mark.
"NO, DON'T!" Tomas screamed widely.
His warnings didn't register in time, leaving his words uselessly hanging while consumed in sensory overload. Violently the flashbang stole both sight and sound, leaving me to rely on touch as I'm thrown to the floor, straight back outside the room, while my rifle clacks to the ground. Chaotic delirium took over the rest of my senses as I navigated my way through a blown eardrum and blurred eyesight.
When both finally cleared, I immediately wished for both to be taken away again. For in a flash, I realized Tomas' twitching body had been the difference between life and death. My trembling fingers quickly grew red and wet, realizing his back might as well have taken a complete magazine. But, unfortunately, the sheer shock also seemed to rob my voice, forcing Tomas to sputter out his last words.
"Keep ... going," he said as I saw the light leave his eyes.
"On that, we agree. After all. We still have unfinished business."
Even with my dilapidated hearing. I recognized the voice instantly when a hooded figure came into view while dropping a smoking handgun. On her was a proverbial treasure trove of knives, holsters, and a combat vest. What drew me the most were her eyes, however. As a former jailer, I often beat several prisoners beyond simple punishment.
I was living proof of how dangerous a fiery soul could be if left to foster. My theory couldn't have been more true for my opponent, whose aura felt inhumanly intense, as if I was facing a demon-given human form. Potent bloodlust filled her next words carefully, holding my very soul captive.
"I won't lie to you. Not a day has gone by where I haven't imagined this moment, where I hadn't imagined the last words I would say to your face while I took everything away from you. Musing amongst sleepless nights, what expression you'd make at my chilling proclamation. It wasn't until I hung up the call that I realized what I wish to ask before we begin."
She then flipped up her hood.
"Do you remember me, Asad? Have I become a symbol now?"
Those eleven words did more damage and befuddling than this night of deathtraps and mind games. In seconds I'm thrown back to where I lost my home. When I saw my comrades and riches burned away by those unknown men. Enemies seemed to only appear after my talk with Sarah Walters.
Realization prickled my mind like a pincushion as I rearranged the years-old pieces. I had spent so long trying to escape that crucial night without seeing its perpetrator with my own eyes. Without knowing how deeply we seemed to haunt each other. Yet, all the same, I welcomed the challenge. I didn't dare give the women even an inch of satisfaction. Instead, I mustered every fiber of courage and kept my look as steely as ever, offering a fake smirk.
"Hmph, does it even matter? The way I see it, we're just two simple soldiers on an unmarked battlefield. What else needs to be said?"
Sarah genuinely pondered the question, her wrathful eyes shadowing a soul-crushing apathy. Followed shortly by brief insanity as she similarly smiled.
"I guess. Nothing," she said wistfully.
The dying embers of twilight then perished on cue, sparking the final battle.