Never before was my death as assured as it was in this moment. Crouching behind a dusty old office desk likely made redundant long before I was even born, listening to the sound of my assailants ever-approaching footsteps amidst the noise of distant gunshots, I load a fresh magazine into my rifle, cursing internally as I prepare for what is to come...
Our mission should have been a cakewalk; we were tasked with eliminating a small group of terrorists holed up in a dilapidated warehouse and office complex. Our targets numbered only five, and we had confirmed the exact location where they were hiding, A task as easy and casual as a day at the shows and by all rights it should have been.
For the most part, our task force was one I was all too familiar with, three of my closest friends Flo, Reon and Louis. My brothers through life and now in arms, and for any one of them, I’d lay down my life. The other part of the task force, however was a different story altogether. The only constant the four of us usually had from mission to mission was each other. Over time we had developed an innate understanding of each others tactics, communication and habits in such a way that some extras can’t handle or fill in for. Hence when we are assigned yet another newbie soldier to our group, we were pissed.
Now this particular extra: ‘Benedict’ as we will call him, not because I forgot his actual name...well partly for that reason. But for what he did during the mission.
As the group’s scout, I carefully plotted out safe entry points and disarmed any initial traps that we had found. Upon entry, we decided to split up into two groups: myself, Benedict and Louis in the first, with Reon and Flo in the second. Now here’s how this outstandingly simple mission turned into the Cirque du Soleil of shitshows.
The stairwell leading to the first floor loomed before us, and after a quick comms check with group two, we started up the stairs, weapons drawn and eyes scanning for trouble. Suddenly, there was a deafening roar, and Louis tumbled to the ground, blood gushing from his chest. I spun around, my heart pounding as I saw Benedict standing behind him with his gun drawn.
With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I opened fire, sending a hail of bullets towards Benedict, hitting him several times. But it was too late. A bullet pierced my shoulder, sending me reeling in agony. I barely had time to register what had happened before I heard the sounds of footsteps and shouts approaching us.
"Oh shit," I gasped, realizing that we were in deep trouble. I bounded down the stairs, sprinting towards the nearest open doorway and diving behind a desk to take cover. In the distance, I could hear the sound of gunfire, as group two met with resistance.
"Where are you?" Reon's voice crackled over the comms, sounding more distressed than I had ever heard him before.
"Offices, ground floor," I replied, my voice strained with pain and fear.
"We lost Louis...Benedict shot him," I said, my voice heavy.
Louis had been one of my closest friends, and now he was gone, taken out by that bastard Benedict.
"We were ambushed," Reon continued, "Flo took out two of them, but he got too far ahead and was taken out by a third."
I sighed with frustration. Flo had always been a bit too impulsive, charging ahead without thinking things through. But there was no time for grief now.
"Did you get the third on your end?" I asked, hoping that at least one of our allies had been avenged.
"Oh yeah, I got the bastard," Reon replied, his voice full of grim satisfaction. "I'll rendezvous with you at your position."
With that, the comms went silent, and I was left to wait in the darkness, my heart pounding with fear and anger.
Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed through the hallway outside the room. Adrenaline flooded my body. Heart racing, I quickly grabbed my rifle and positioned myself behind the desk, waiting for any sign of movement. The footsteps grew louder, and my grip tightened on the gun. With a sudden burst of courage, I raised my weapon and fired a sweeping burst of bullets in the direction of the sound.
As the echoes of gunfire faded away, I slowly emerged from behind the desk, my eyes scanning the doorway for any sign of movement. My assailant lay in a crumpled heap, lifeless and motionless. Reloading my weapon, I cautiously approached the body, nudging it aside with my foot to clear the path.
Peeking out into the dimly lit corridor, I could barely make out the silhouette of a dark figure looming at the end of the hall, a glimmer of a gun barrel catching the light. Without hesitation, I fired again, my bullets slicing through the darkness. The figure collapsed to the ground, moaning in pain.
I slowly move closer toward the body but as I do I see my friends face form within the shadow. It's Reon; my heart sinks. Before my regret even gets a chance to kick in, I hear a scuffle behind me.
Without thinking, I spun around, my finger tightening on the trigger. As gunfire echoed through the hallway...
“VICTORY” is the message that read across my screen, and with it came the familiar voices of my friends. Most prominently, of course, is that of Reon “fuck’s sake, it’s not often you get two Benedict fuckin' Arnolds in one game!”
Followed briefly by my quick “Sorry 'bout that...but rule number one, we don’t argue with results”
“Why do we always get shit teammates, like is it too much to ask for one decent random” chimed in Flo.
Different iterations of “yes” were muttered around the group before we called for a snack break. Today was a rare occurrence in our lives, for in recent days, we were never all free to game anymore. Between work, study and the general toll of life. Most parties were busied by at least one of these, so it was very much welcomed.
I grew up with Flo, best friends basically from the get-go. We spent most of our days glued to our screens, playing practically every game under the sun. The other two, however came later when we had reached high school; we were a group of social outcasts. Geeky yet sporty, introverted but not the weird kids; some of us played music and others wrote web novels. A couple of us even ran a half marathon and went to the gym, we were bookworms and artists, film buffs and science nerds...but most of all, we were friends. More than that we were family. Brothers.
This particular gaming session went far into the night, a spicy one the likes of which you could only dream of. We were on a streak. Laughter was flowing; as we trash-talked both each other and those unlucky enough to cross us. It was a memorable night. One we wouldn’t forget for a while, for in the days and likely year’s following, we wouldn’t have another.
As always, we saw it first on our phones. Then on the news, and soon it was inescapable. War. One that came at a monumental price, it started first with the deployment of troops. Then conscription, optional at first, but quickly became mandatory. As able-bodied men and women were torn from the normalities of their day-to-day life and dropped into a regime of training and bloody battle. Some welcomed it openly, but the majority detested the idea; some even fleeing their countries.
It was coined “World War three” showing the originality of our generation, and began through a series of small-scale civil wars across Europe and Asia. People in power were vying for more control and authority, individual provinces declaring their independence from their whole. Trade markets crashed and burned as embargos were announced left, right and centre, and cities worldwide began protesting and rioting. But this was nothing in the face of what happened next, the UIF or United Independent Front came into play. A group of radical leaders from some of the more influential and powerful up-risers.
First of June 2022, the first bombs went off in Europe. A coordinated coup engulfing 73 government buildings in 12 major countries. This was followed shortly by the UIF’s open declaration of war...
By the following June, the UIF had annexed almost a quarter of Europe, somehow gaining momentum in their cause. Their military might slowly became an insurmountable force...
August 2024, The UIF's subjugation of Europe was set, as they began extending their reach into Asia. At this point, the death toll was just shy of 200 million, eclipsing both previous world wars...
Now, 2027, we begin our story. Deaths surpassing 358 million and ever-rising war raging on in all corners of the world. We find ourselves back with four brothers far from the home comforts of their gaming chairs...
We made a temporary home in the Cheeky Tea Platoon, a homage to our old gaming group. We were named by our captain and expert marksman, Reon. He quickly discovered his talent with rifles upon conscription. Over the last five years, he has methodically memorised every inch of his gun. I honestly believe he could build it out of scraps he knows it so well. The reason, however, that he became captain was back in the initial invasion of Rome. His company was encircled and losing men fast. When he had taken over from his deceased captain and began tactically commanding his platoon, He brought the slaughter to a stalemate—allowing them to push the invaders out from the capital. They still lost in the end, but his accomplishments did not go unnoticed.
Luois already belonged to this unit after being uprooted from his life in Berlin. He was working as a specialist engineer in an experimental neural prosthetics lab, he was always renowned as the most intelligent in our group with an affinity for science. Upon leaving home to study further in Germany, however, he developed a passion for mechanical engineering and the implementation of chemical and biological properties. His program was caught up in the initial bombing. He lost sight in his left eye and 60% of motor function in his left arm. He became the first successful subject of his own work, having prosthetics made, which had a 30% higher functionality than that which he had lost. He transferred to the mobile engineering unit shortly after, straight-up refusing to return to working in a lab after the incident.
Now, Flo had garnered an outstanding reputation; he was known as the section 8 medic. If it weren't for extreme circumstances, he would have been long discharged under section 8. This being discharge based on the military assessment of psychological unfitness or character traits deemed undesirable. For Flo, this trait was reckless abandonment out in the field; he was a combat medic known for breaking rank and pushing into enemy lines. He saved many a soldier injured on the front lines and always came back, but his dissent kept him hopping from one platoon to the next. One captain, in particular, was more than pleased to welcome him to his camp. This was how Flo came to rejoin his brothers.
And that leaves me, the most improbable scout and assassin. As a man who stands a head taller than most of his fellow soldiers, it was an unlikely vocation. Despite this, I am surprisingly proficient at information gathering and, over time, I trained my hulking form to be suited for subterfuge. I went where I was needed, used as a tool to collect intel and remove undesirables. I favoured blades, and being up close and personal when I executed my targets, years of martial training backed with life and death experiences vouched for my capability. My other speciality was ambushes and traps; I loved the challenge. Playing mind games with my victims, leading them through a gauntlet only for them to realise there's no way out. I was a solitary figure on the field, as no one could keep up, and those who could choose not to; disagreeing with my methods. They thought the war had twisted and altered me, and to some extent, it had, but what good man remained a good man when they were forced to kill others.
I was assigned to an extraordinary mission, one that could change the course of this war. Or It would be a damn good start at the very least. I was returning to my tent on the far outskirts of the camp, when I sighted a small skittish man standing outside of it. I slowly changed direction, moving toward the bush lined path behind him, a wolfish grin spreading across my face. He seemed nervous, fiddling with the letter in his hands, a sense of urgency seemingly unsettling him. I crept ever closer to my unsuspecting prey, unaware of the danger stalking him. Everyone in the encampment steered clear of this area, knowing of the monster who called it home. The man froze as I draw the blunt of my blade across his throat. "Dead" I whisper, and at that his entire body quivers before he launches himself away, falling to the ground as he does so.
"You have something for me?" I say as if the previous matter hadn't occurred.
"Y..Ye...Yes..." He says, trembling as if eternity hung on the balance of his conduct.
"Well then?" I ask; the man delivered the letter to me as swiftly as he hit the ground and with just about as much grace. He then scampered off before I could taunt him anymore.
I entered the tent, an almost barren space, bar the ragged bedroll and crate filled with blades of all descriptions: a diverse exhibition from around the world. The crate smelled rusty, not from the metal but rather the dried blood which soaked into the very handles of these weapons. I pull a short knife from my boot and deftly open the letter.
It was a cypher, but even without a key, it wouldn't take me long to decode. Not that it speaks for my experience, but rather shows the lack of it on the writer's behalf. As usual, it was a briefing of my next mission. It had been a long time since anyone gave me a task in person; apparently, the higher-ups find me unsettling. I would argue that it was unfair if it weren't for the solitude it provided me.
My assignment had me joining a frontline platoon in Lithuania, our objective the infiltration of Trakai castle. We had intercepted a transmission from the UIF organising a summit, our only issue: the castle itself. It was situated on an island, with only a single bridge as a viable entrance. To make matters worse, the walls hold a clear line of sight over the surrounding landscape.
A large scale operation was impossible, and an air raid even more so. We would be spotted a mile out, and with informants everywhere, the UIF would have fled before the planes even left the runway. That's where we come in: a small platoon numbering around 20 men, dropped in safe airspace. Only me and the captain have been briefed to stop any slip-ups. I hope that this captain has some level of competency, unlike previous ones I have worked with.
Arriving at the Lithuanian encampment, I immediately notice something is off. The soldiers around me give off a baleful aura, looking more like a kill squad than your standard infantry. Banners hanging from their tents are tagged C.T.P, and some even have it engraved on their helmets or tattooed on their body. Now I have been long detached from the merit aspect of the war, which sees platoons ranked based on their contributions. I wager that these guys were in at least the top 10 of those.
I slowly disappear into the surroundings as I weave through the camp, making my way toward the captain's tent. Testing my technique against these militant elites, pausing just outside as I arrive unnoticed at my destination. Toying with the idea of trying this captains mettle, or just seeing if he squeals like some of the others did. Before I had even decided on the unwitting captain's unjust punishment. "Are you gonna just stand there, or are you gonna come in shadow?"
It'd been a long time since I was detected so easily and an even longer time since I heard that voice. I push through the canvas doors of the tent, and before me is a smaller than average man. His short hair gives the illusion of baldness, and his expression is showing the pressure we're all feeling. I recognise him instantly, older, but with a baby face that still belies his age. Reon.
"Five and a half years later, and still not a single hair on your chin", I chuckle, seeing the changes in my old friend's expression. It was no surprise he didn't recognise me, a garb wrapping most of my face. I pull down the covering, revealing my battle-worn countenance. His shocked silence is louder than any bomb.
"Holy shit, the Wraith of Europe is you", Reon choked on his amazement.
"There's no way people call me that, is there?" I say, surprised by this revelation.
"You built quite the reputation for yourself; I was practically shitting myself finding out you were assigned here", he paused "Especially after hearing about Madrid in 23, two of our platoons murdered by one of our own"
I look my brother in the eye "Just following commands, orders came from the top" my eyes scanning around the room. "Anyway they were traitors, supplying our enemy with intel and weapons"
His face loosens up "I'm just glad my bro is alive after all this time," he says showing the first glimpse of a smile.
"Come on, we have a reunion to attend" finally releasing that smile, looking like an excited child.
"A reunion, with who?" I ask puzzled at his abrupt change in tone.
"Five and a half years later and you've forgotten us" and at that moment it clicked, the C.T.P.
"The Cheeky Tea Party" I murmured, lost in reminiscence
"Nowadays we go by Cheeky Tea Platoon, but the core members remain" he stopped for a second, glancing my way "Well most of us have"
He led me out of the tent to a small clearing in the camp; within it sat three tents. All are similar in size and colour but noticeably belonging to entirely different people. The first tent had a patch of herbs and flowers, meticulously grown at it's side. It had the red cross of the medics sewn on the entrance, and the number 8 painted next to it. The second clearly belonged to someone very organised, outside sat a makeshift workbench holding a set of neatly arranged tools and notes. The owner seemed to be working on something, as sitting to the side of the bench lay a large-sized tarp-covered object, possibly a vehicle, I think. The last tent was a lot more simple, only having a small stool with a rifle set against it. In the centre of it all lay a modest fire pit, yet to be lit this early in the day.
Reon walks into the clearing, taking an exaggerated sniff of the air "Do you smell that?" He says looking toward me expectantly.
"Ah yes the lack of shower facilities, just like most camps" I reply, he gives me a deadpan look as my answer was clearly not endorsed. He begins gearing himself up for something big.
"SMELLS LIKE THE REUNION OF MA BITCHES IS IN THE AIR!" he shouts. Seemingly to no one in particular, yet loud enough to be for everyone.
I look at him sceptically, Reon holds up a finger, signalling that something magnificent was about to happen. Almost flawlessly on cue with this, as if his finger was conducting the start of some grand performance, there was a stir within the tents. A rushed and far from elegant dance of the dwellers ensued. Put to music, this would have seemed rather artful, and as this display reached its finale, the subjects of the piece take centre stage.
Two men came bounding out from their respective tents. I give Reon a slow clap, commending this creation of his. Taking my time to appraise the cast, I first examine the man on the right.
His features are highly feminine, with only a slight height advantage over the average man. Long dark red hair held half up in a bun, while the remainder flowed down over his shoulders. The glasses on his face were barely holding together, and for all the movement in his tent, he was only half-dressed. His posture was carried in a carefree and relaxed manner, looking like he was moments away from falling asleep on the spot. Further reinforcing this was the excessive yawn that followed, almost drawing me to do the same. This was Flo. The section 8 medic.
In stark contrast, however, we had Luois. He stood slightly taller than Flow, although that may be because he actually stood up straight. He was looking like he had been ready before I even arrived. He stood well postured in his military uniform, which looked as pristine and creaseless as the day it was handed out to him. Now, his appearance was something of a running joke among our group, bearing a striking resemblance to Benedict Cumberbatch. He had medium short hair which rolled in waves and a similar facial structure. His eyes filled with amazement as he stared at me unblinkingly, much quicker to the mark than Flo, who was still fighting to stay awake.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
"Millon, is that you?" Luois asks, more as a confirmation to himself than an actual question.
"I'm sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else" I Lie. The elation in my voice betraying my sarcasm, I crack a smile. "Five and a half years working as an assassin, and I can't even keep it together long enough to play dumb to an old friend." shaking my head with a sigh. "it's good to see you man" I say, extending my hand.
He grabs it and shakes his head, pulling me in for an embrace he mumbles, "we're brothers, not strangers."
At this moment Flow grabs us both from the side, turning it into a weird three-way hug. Before we know it all four of us are joined together, and for the first time since this war began, I was home.
At this point the mission had long slipped my mind, we spent the night drinking and filling in the five year void. At first we had kept in touch, but after beginning my new line of work I was slowly cut off from my friends. My lonely path caused me to withdraw from everyone and everything, a never-ceasing cloud of darkness. But this moment was a brief flicker of light.
The night quickly drew to a close, awaiting us in the morning was nothing short of hell. A burning light woke me, swiftly followed by the sound of beating drums, pounding away in my head. My mouth was like an arid desert, and every little movement filled with pain. The familiar sting of a hangover, the nemesis of a good night.
I had slept out in the clearing, a stone perfectly lodged in my back. Certainly explained part of the pain. Slowly getting up, I make my way over to a canteen lying by one of the tents. The irritation while drinking a testament to the singing we did, a beautiful rendition most likely heard by the entire encampment. For which we will probably be slagged.
Despite the state I woke up in, there was a smile on my face. Something many people would be shocked to find, especially in recent days. Most of our morning was spent in recovery before meeting up to discuss the actual reasons we were here.
We all stood in Reon's tent, not the one in the clearing but rather his official captain's tent. A much more prominent and gaudy structure, especially when compared to the ones surrounding it. Inside was a small desk currently occupied by the four of us, all looking worse for wear.
"Ah yes, only me and the captain know about the mission" I chuckle, knowing that the other two have already been briefed.
"I have no idea what you mean Millon, it is only just you and me here" Reon says, the sarcasm made intentionally apparent.
"So, what's the play here?" I look between my companions, knowing that they will have already made a game plan. Whether it was good or not was a different question altogether. They were known for sticking to an initial notion or idea, although maybe that had changed after all this time.
Flo lets out an almost sinister cackle as he stretches out his arms, cracking his knuckles in the process. "We've got a plan all right", he said, in such a way that made the hairs on my neck raise. I already had a bad feeling about this.
"It'll be just the 4 of us going in, the remainder of the platoon will draw out as many soldiers as possible" Reon said, glancing to gauge my reaction before continuing. "The closest enemy reinforcements are 45 minutes out, so that will be our window."
"Entry? After all, there is only one bridge, and I presume our squads need that more than us" I look among the group questioningly.
This time Luois is the one to answer "I have been remotely excavating us an entrance tunnel, the final part of it still needs to be completed but..." he hesitates "The only way to open up the last bit without being noticed will require a compact explosive charge."
"How will an explosive charge go unnoticed?" I say, practically choking on my own words.
"The Helicopter" Reon jumps in, confusing me even more.
"It is set to land in the centre of the courtyard above the old tunnel we plan on breaching," Luois adds, noting my growing concern at this already absurd proposal. "The sounds, in theory, should cancel each other out." He said with very little confidence.
"Love a good theory, so I do", I said sarcastically "well, that's a concerning outline thus far, any reassuring details?"
"Nope" Flo chimes, in a rather sing-songy voice.
Over the next few hours we established the plan. The assassin and the beserk medic would infiltrate and take out the targets. Meanwhile Reon would provide overwatch and feed us information, and Luois would secure an area for extraction. Simple enough or so they tried to convince me.
The meeting went long into the night, Reon providing us with numbers and statistics. He also briefed me on codewords and protocols. A born strategist, but he was always like this; he always planned our plays when we gamed. Back then, he barely ever led us astray. Now that he had grown into his leadership, however, it was almost frightening. The more he explained and drew this plan in my mind, the more feasible it became. Stupid and near suicidal, but definitely possible. I mean it wouldn't be our plan if it wasn't.
We spent the next few days familiarising ourselves with the plan, and each other. Me, Flo and Reon spent most of our time at the shooting range. On top of his strategising skills, Reon's marksman abilities were just as impressive. Hitting every shot right on the mark, his grouping tight enough to look like one big bullet hole. Flo didn't have the same accuracy as his captain, but he made up for it with his speed and complex movement patterns. Weaving through targets unleashing a barrage of shots. In close combat, his skills weren't far from my own; although his style was wilder and more reckless. He was a slimy bastard constantly slipping out of my grasp. Every punch I got in was traded with a swift blow of his own. In the end though, I still won, my strength and precision compensating for the difference in speed. But he was definitely a resilient one.
After training we went to a nearby forest, where I began to show them what I could do. Me and Flo played a military version of hide and seek; I had a marker pen and to be struck by it meant game over. The pen was only there to stop disputes. I travelled in a circular path through the forest, quickly locating my prey. Flo was running about wildly, trying to use his speed to keep safe. My route brought me ahead of him to a tight grouping of trees. It was here I'd lay my trap.
After around 4 minutes Flo closed in on my position. I looped around behind him making my presence known. I began leading him through the woods, quickly dancing toward a thicker and harder to navigate path. Soon he could only go one direction, and that's when he saw it. An opportunity, a parting in the trees bringing him back out into open space. A smile crept upon my face knowing I had him in my grasp when, unexpectedly, he changed course. He had seen it, the shine of the wire. With a split moment decision, and an impressive leap of faith. He dove through a narrower gap in the trees.
And still ended up ensnared with rope, lying face first in the mud. "Valiant attempt" I say while walking toward the heap, Flo lay collapsed on the ground like a burst sandbag. I quickly swipe an "M" on his back in a Zorro-esque fashion, signing my victory.
That sinking feeling you get when you take an extra step at the top of a dark stairway. When the confidence in your stride missteps into fear. Your body betrayed by your mind as you tumble into uncertainty, now that is a trap. Flo had seen wire in the most obvious path, and during our bouts I noticed that he favoured his right side when evading. So I simply strung up an apparent length of wire. Whilst setting the actual trap through the next opening on the right. The simple snare did the rest.
Flo grumbled on the way back to camp, salty in his defeat. I challenged Reon to the same game, but he declined not having either the stealth or the speed. His game was one of patience and tactics, holding a spot till he fires his shot then moving on. I doubt i'd have an easy time sneaking up on him with an awareness like his, but without means of retaliation it would be a sure loss for him. Give him a rifle and he'd shoot the baws off of a midge at 300 yards, never mind finding and eliminating me before I got close.
My time spent with Louis was less work focused. We had long deep chats on life while he played guitar, I chimed in singing tragic stories of the last few years along to the melodies he played. It wasn't all sad and dreary though and it really did help lessen the burdens that life had dumped on us. Although I still think that using his prosthetic to play was cheating, the thing being able to outperform any musical genius, but he insisted the talent was all his and that it just gave him a "helping hand". One of the many puns he had made, the man churned them out at an almost insufferable rate. But he did it always at the right time, just as a conversation got too sad or someone seemed too down or angry. It was an infuriating talent of his to say the least.
A few more days passed before the mission began, I spent almost every moment making up for lost time. I only wished we had more, even just one more day. The event that followed was one that would be engraved in my very soul throughout eternity. Although we overestimated every hurdle we would face, what came next we couldn't have prepared for...
...Luois fought to remain conscious, blood pouring from his right leg. His prosthetic arm sparked and crackled. A bullet lodged within the main servo rendered it useless, its weight a hinderance in his current predicament.
The beating of his heart was almost deafening as he fought to remain quiet. The darkness creeped closer as his sight began to blur, the temptation to call for the others overwhelming. He pressed the button on his comms.
He thought back to the explosion in Berlin. The burning pain from his eye, the sensation of slowly suffocating under the mountain of rubble and smoke. The pain from his arm should of forced him to faint, but instead it made him see everything clearer. That was the moment he finished his project, the pain sparking the idea that would revolutionise his field.
He released the button "I'm not making it out this time" he said under his breath. He wanted to tell his friends he was fine, that it was still possible. But every time he went to speak all he wanted to scream was "RUN" or "GET OUT". He knew though that they wouldn't leave without him, that they'd die charging down here to rescue him. He smiled, the pain sharply turning it into a grimace. He had his moment, he had survived once when he shouldn't have, He accomplished something he'd be remembered for. He got to see his brothers one last time, that was enough.
He heard the footsteps outside, He drew his pistol from it's holster and burst out into the tight hallway. The door smashed into the first soldier, as he charged the second pushed him into the wall and fired three bullets into his stomach. He clenched at the pain wracking his body, turning to fire upon the downed man. He could hear the air tearing behind him, the bullets ripping through his body...
...In a gamble to create some distance from his pursuers, Reon continued to climb the southern tower. His vantage lost, he could no longer get eyes on the movement happening within the courtyard. He pushed his speed and stamina to their limits, bounding up the old spiral staircase. Each step seemingly more eroded than the last. He had only encountered two guards, seemingly the only ones posted here. Luckily.
He debated informing his brothers, calling for rescue. But he knew they would abandon everything to come save him, be it the mission or their lives.
"Fuck" he murmured, his voice ragged and pained. He slammed his fist down upon the castle's battlements, wincing at the pain that it caused. With barely a moments rest, things once again took a turn for the worst.
The sound reached him first, like the discordant beating of drums. Rampantly evolving as the air began to pulse, the pressure seemingly constricting him. It was a sound he was far too familiar with. Helicopters. Not just one but two of the bastards.
It was their death sentence, the reinforcements finally arriving as their time drew to a close. He sighed, as he rested his rifle on the wall. They would pass over him shortly. He looked down the scope. Reon steadied his breathing, shut out the world around him. The shouting from the courtyard, the charging steps of his pursuers echoing through the stairwell below. He only had one thought on his mind as he lined up his shot "As long as they survive".
He fired and chaos ensued.
He closed his eyes, as the tears began to fall. The pilot of one of the Helicopters slumped in his seat, as the bullet hit its mark. The result greater than Reon could of anticipated, as one Helicopter collided into the other. The sound of metal shredding against metal was painfully loud, and only increased as they got closer. Finally crashing into the tower...
...Flo applied the turnicate to his arm, in an attempt to slow the bleeding. He didn't know where his squad was: his comms damaged in the previous exchange. His usual laidback countenance was replaced with a frightening expression, everything had gone wrong.
He continued onwards, wielding a handgun in his functional arm. His ears still ringing from the gunfight earlier, the dimly lit corridor making it difficult to see anything at all. His senses dulled, failing to alert him to the slow and steady footsteps closing in on him. The corridor in front of him fading into nothing as his vision went blank.
The thobbing pain in the back of his mind woke him, he could hear faint conversation in a language he did not understand. He opened his eyes, the brightness of the room making it difficult to see right away. He was tied up by his wrists, and there was no-one in front of him.
"How many of you are there?" a feminine voice said from behind him, his lack of response eliciting the question being asked again.
"Of me?" He seemed to ponder "just one unless Luois managed to clone me, ooh imagine how great that would be"
The smell of burning flesh hit him before the pain registered, as a red hot knife slowly cut into his side. An inhuman scream released from his mouth.
"I will ask again, how many?" the voice said, the tone cold and uncaring.
"I wonder...if they are just a...as...sexy as the original" he said through gritted teeth. The knife sizzled as it once more left a sizeable cut in his side.
Screams echoed through the hall, the wounds littering his body. The only resbite being when his torturer stopped to reheat the blade.
He smiled through the pain, not even considering giving away anything. He wouldn't forgive himself even in death if he gave his brothers up.
"WHAT IS YOUR OBJECTIVE?!?!?" A man shouted this time, clearly perturbed by the lack of answers.
"Clearly trying to fuck myself, what about you? Wait are you trying to fuck me too?" Flo replied winking through the pain as he did so, clenching his teeth waiting for the searing agony of the blade.
The response a single bullet...
...I found Flo first, strung up and lifeless. His body covered in cuts, and a pungent smell filled the room. A woman lay dead behind him, her eyes wide in disbelief. The pain I felt as boundless as the hatred welling up inside me. Running my blade through her throat was the only apology I could offer my brother. I slaughtered my way through the castle, leaving corpses in my wake. I repeatedly tried to contact the others, with radio silence being the only response. The glimpse of light I had finally found, devoured by the plauge that is war.
Thousands of images flooded my mind, My step faltering as I crashed to the ground. My body writhed in pain like i've never felt before. I tried to scream, shout, cry but there is nothing. It's like my emotions have shut down, replaced with an indescribable numbness. I want to be angry. I want to be sad. I want...
Them back...
After that it was all a blur, like I was there but also blacked out. My body moved on its own accord, faster than ever before. It lacked any purpose but to kill, I moved from room to room leaving them devoid of all life. I had sustained multiple serious injuries. My body ignored them, driven by more than just adrenaline, possesed by an overwhelming desire to avenge my brothers.
...I stood at the bottom of the stairwell that led to the roof, the room behind me littered with the bodies of my targets. All bar one of them. Andrei Delerouge the founder and chairman of the UIF.
I ascended the stairs to find the man standing at the edge of the roof, trying to garner the attention of his men down in the courtyard. He noticed my presence, turning to face me with a wolfish grin. "I'm guessing you found my little gift, the self absorbed horny little fucke..."
I barrelled myself towards the man, cutting him off, he raised his gun and emptied his magazine at me. My body slowed with the impacts, but my charge continued. I thrust my knife into his chest as we tumbled over the edge, I accept my fate. Relieved that my brothers won't have died for nothing.
I don't know if we ever won the war, or if everything we sacrificed on that day was worth it. But I do know that on that day the Cheeky Tea Party was no more.
There was no impact as I hit the ground, infact there was just nothing. Actually I don't even know if I made it to the ground, did I die during the fall.
My questions were somewhat answered: when I awoke in a lush verdant forest. I lay there unmoving, not yet ready to face reality. The reality that my brothers were dead, that they were taken from me by the cruel machinations of this world.
As I sat there cursing this injustice, uknown to me the land grew dark, unnaturally so. The grass around me wilted becoming black, the trees withered and charred. Tar like clouds unfurled across the sky, eclipsing all light. A monochromatic wasteland fragmented by streaks of purple lightning formed, with me at it's centre.
I was trapped within my mind, blinded by my negative emotions. I mourned my brothers, I damned those who took them from me. I hated myself. We all knew the risks, we had all seen death and knew it could claim any one of us. I unleashed a hellish scream, letting loose my emotions on the world.
The sky seemed to collapse. Bringing with it lashing volleys of ink black rain, a rupture forming in the clouds. A mass of complete nothingness, and from it fell a single violet drop. It's original form becoming more crystalline as it decended.
Slowly I brought my mind back, dragged it out of the prison formed through my emotions. I could see again, the forest around me once more vibrant and full of life. I sat and tried to collect myself. I examined my body, not a single scratch. My previous injuries gone, as were the scars that previously littered my body. Washed away as if they had never existed in the first place.
There was something more though, something that didn't feel right. As if part of me didn't belong. This sensation seemed to come from my head, I felt around checking for any sustained injuries. As my hand passed over my forehead something happened.
I could feel the skin rip apart, an excruciating pain tearing through my head. A sickening sound followed as a hole formed, but no blood flowed out. It was a pitch black void. The pain intensified as something came out of it. A small glassy rock, deep purple in color with black lines scoring it's length.
A series of images flashed through my mind, memories of my life from the start till the end. The moment I played my first game with my brothers, my first job, my years of service, from friends to old lovers and finally to the face of Andrei as we plummeted from that roof. Watching this reel of my life somewhat comforted me, took away from the pain I felt. But it didn't stop there, memories or rather information I didn't recognise poured into my mind. Information about another world...the overload of information was too much, my body falling unconscious once more.