Episode 4: Not a War Crime.

“No person in the custody or under the control of DOD, regardless of nationality or physical location, shall be subject to torture or cruel, inhuman, or degrading treatment or punishment, in accordance with and as defined in U.S. law”

- U.S. Army Field Manual FM 2-22.3.

Hudson’s awoke slowly. He knew he was conscious. And he knew he couldn’t let them know that. Handcuffs bound his hands. It seemed those pricks had tossed him in the back of some kind of a car. At least this place had something resembling self propelled transportation. There wasn’t any engine hum, only the low reverberation of wheels on pavement. It echoed through the leather seats where his head lay. Even in the darkness the scroll and floral design patterns on them were visible.

They’d taken everything from him. His uniform, vest, guns, all gone. Replaced with hole strewn tattered garbs barely fit for a prisoner. His shoes were missing, but not his thick socks. The metal of the blade still stuffed inside them gave him a cold comfort. It gave him something to focus his unrelenting fury at.

He peaked at the forward seats. It seemed this place hadn’t yet invented the idea for a headrest yet. Two targets sat having a conversation. The Duke’s voice was hard to miss.

“Drive faster Xaiver. We don’t have much time”

“Of course, sir.”

“Did you deal with the cargos belongings?”

“Yes sir. Still at the safe house sir.”

“Noted. And the artifacts?”

“Half are on my person, the other half are back at the safe house under guard.”

“Good, I knew I could count on you Xaiver. Stop the car.”

The car slowed down.

The Duke’s tone switched, “I said stop the car you imbecile!”

The driver hit the brakes, momentum carried Hudson forward like a ragdoll. In the chaos he brought his hands in close to his head.

The Duke’s friendly tone returned, “Thank you Xaiver. I will be taking my leave then.”

The door clicked open and the Duke took a step outside.

“Oh, and please don’t forget Xaiver, take care of our cargo.”

“Of course, sir.”

The door clicked shut.

As the car went back into drive, Hudson began to orchestrate his rage.

There’s something that happens to you when you face death a thousand times, and then a thousand times more. The very composition of your soul changes. You no longer process emotions, or situations like a normal person.

You only have two modes.

Zero.

And a hundred.

Hudson was now in the latter.

He removed the bobby pin from his hair and shimmed it into the handcuffs. In seconds, they were off.

The driver hummed along in a song Hudson couldn’t recognize.

One more speedbump let him get the small knife his socks.

The driver began singing.

This was the eternal problem of war. Clausewitz called it friction. Murphy made an entire law about it. Hudson however liked to call it the rule of, ‘shit happens’.

People make mistakes. They get complacent. They forget to dot their i’s and cross their t’s. Because they had trained to a level where they got the right answer once.

Delta had trained him to the point where he could never get it wrong.

Hudson placed the knife right under the driver’s throat.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

“Heya buddy. Dangerous cargo you’re carrying.”

Xavier’s knuckles went white as he gripped hard on the steering wheel.

Hudson laughed.

“Wait, how about I call you Exy. Can I do that Xavier, can I call you Exy?”

“Un-unfortunately-“

Hudson dug in the knife harder.

“Sorry my hand slipped, you wanna repeat that?”

Silence.

“That’s better. Please, just turn off this road, take us some where secluded.”

Xaiver did as he was told.

Until he began speaking, “Y-you're making a big mistake you know, Sir Umbra merely wished to speak with you.”

Xaiver turned off into another dark alley.

“Sure he was Exy, I’m sure he only wanted to talk. And I'm trying to talk to you too, just like him. Stop here.”

The vehicle dragged itself to a halt. From his new vantage point, he could make out the dashboard now. It was covered in runes. They were all glowing and moving in different directions. There was no wheel, or speedometer. Hudson couldn’t figure out the mechanism.

“Y-you’re an evil man.”

Hudson laughed.

“Sure I am Exy. Hey, have you ever by chance seen what happens when someone gets their throat slit?”

There was silence.

“I’ll take that as a no. See, it’s a real show. All you need is a jagged piece of metal and a willing, or unwilling participant. One jab. That’s all it takes.”

More silence from the man.

Hudson just laughed some more. The empty weight on his hip where his handgun should have been pushed him forward.

“And you’d think right Exy, that oh it’d at least be over quick. But no. Sure, all that blood is going down into your lungs, but you don’t drown quick from it. It’ll sure feel like drowning though.”

The man started to shake.

“Afterall, you’ll still be able to drag down the occasional bubble of air in between all the gargling. You know, I remember this one guy, who after getting his neck opened started to puke. Oh man you should have been there Exy. God it was a sight. Now this guy actually did end up drowning, but that was in a mixture of yesterday’s spaghetti and-“

“Okay okay! Please stop I’m begging you, what do you want!”

Oh. What a shame. Hudson had at least a few more minutes of conversation in him.

“Glad to hear that. What’s the route to my gear Exy?”

The man took a moment to compose himself.

“Of course, of course just give me a moment.”

“I’m running out of moments here Exy. My hand might slip.”

Hudson put his left arm around the man’s neck.

“Okay… the path is simple.”

“Yes Exy?”

“You… you first turn around”, he said in between sniffles, “run left and go down the road until you hit an intersection… after that, take a good long second, and you can go fuck yourself.”

Xaiver threw his head backwards and it collided right with Hudson’s nose.

The knife dropped from his hands. Xaiver started clawing at his arms. Hudson fought through the pain, and connected his left arm with his right. His gambit paid off. A noose tightened around Xaiver’s neck. A perfect rear naked choke. He pulled hard. Any blood flow to the man’s brain ceased.

Hudson started counting.

One. Two. Three.

Xaiver kept kicking, and clawing.

The car started moving. Fuck, the car started moving.

Four. Five. Six.

The kicking grew more frantic. The car only gained speed. It drove through a trashcan and its contents decorated the windshield. Through the day’s filth, the image of a glass storefront slowly became larger and larger.

Seven. Eight. Nine.

The kicks slowed. Everything slowed. The twitching stopped. Xaiver went limp, and the car hit the raised side walk with a thunk.

They crashed through the glass storefront.

Chaos reigned around them. Glass mixed with food, bricks, breads and meats. The car embedded itself into a brick wall with a sharp jolt signaling the final stop.

Hudson’s world was spinning. The front of the car started to glow a bright blue. Yeah he wasn’t too sure if these things had internal combustion engines but that didn’t look good.. He jumped over the bench into the front seat with only a few moments to get whatever he could from the man. He found a small, familiar bag. It was half as heavy as before. A quick shake confirmed it’s contents. Good enough.

He pushed the door open and dragged the unconscious man out before throwing him far. The unconscious man flew through the air landing headfirst into a display of cabbages. Hudson turned to run.

“Hey get back here, you ruined my shop!”, a new voice yelled at him.

“Put it on his tab!”, Hudson yelled to the shop keeper, pointing to the unconscious man.

Hudson ran, back into the street, the cold pavement reminding him of his complete lack of shoes.

A detonation rang out behind him.

Not his problem.

Hudson kept running. Through streets and alleys. The world turned into a maze, and he let it consume him. He ran until the burning screaming in his chest became all he could hear. He ran until the faintest hint of twilight began turning the black sky into a dark navy blue.

He ran until his legs gave out under him.

He collapsed under his own weight. A million pounds. Every breath hurt. How, how had he become so weak, was it the tea still in his system? He used to run marathons with weighted vests, it was sickening. This weakness. He had to face the facts.

Everything. They’d taken everything from him. He’d lost it all.

He’d poured so much blood. So much pain. So many hundreds of hours at the range. All to hone his craft. All to be the best. The best in the world. And he had. He had made it to the top, to the elite of the elite of the elite.

And now look at him.

Reduced to nothing. A broken man heaving face first down on the pavement, dressed in the garbs of a beggar.

He’d lost his home. His country. His team. His mission. His support. His weapons.

Everything.

And now he was facing down impossible reality benders. Masters of fire, monsters who could bend the very nature of light to their whim. There was no hope. How the hell could he ever hope to match these entities. He was just a man.

Get up.

Something within him spoke.

Get up you worthless fucking loser.

Louder.

Have you forgotten your promise?!

The spinning stopped.

The pain flowing through his body became more manageable.

Get up mother fucker.

He moved his left hand first. He put it under his body. Then his right.

You’re not fucking done yet.

He threw himself back up, against the thousand-pound weight that his body had become. His body obeyed.

His legs shook beneath him, and he leaned on a wall for support.

But his body had obeyed.

His head arced upwards at the broken moon that had been laughing at him ever since he woke up.

The moon was painted by stars and a smokestack.

A Smokestack.

A plan crystalized in his head.