For nearly all of human history, warfare has shifted from the personal to the impersonal. Spears were replaced by muskets, muskets by rifles, rifles by drones. Soldiers drifted further apart from the eyes of those they killed. The founding of the 101st Elysian battalion, like much after the Fall, changed everything.
-From Stalemate: military doctrine in the age of immortality
As the insurgent in front of him emptied an entire magazine into his chest, Tariq couldn’t help but feel hungry. He hadn’t had much of an appetite today, and the prospect of clearing out another block of dingy apartments in this sandy hellhole of a city didn’t help. It wasn’t that he found it immoral or dangerous, or even criminal, but the fact that he could have been back at base munching down on a pizza and listening to music irked him. Bullet holes in his uniform were not favourable, either - after getting sprayed enough times in a day, you just felt naked.
The insurgent had run out of bullets after having reloaded for a second time. Tariq had always wondered why they bothered reloading. What would another thirty bullets accomplish that the last thirty hadn’t?
The trigger clicked on an empty chamber, and the terrorist looked around in panic. They were in the back room of a small apartment, with nowhere to run except the door to Tariq’s back.
“You done in there?” Hank, his squadmate, asked from the next room over.
“Yeah, very soon.” Tariq called back. . By now the insurgent had dropped the rusty rifle to the floor, and held a pair of pleading hands towards Tariq. He spoke in the local language, a babbling mess of savage sounds that Tariq hadn’t bothered to learn yet.
“Sorry buddy, I don’t speak terrorist.” He said, drawing his pistol.
He thought for a moment, then holstered it. No need to waste a bullet on this filthy insurgent.
Walking out of the room after having sheathed his knife, Tariq was surprised to see that he managed to avoid any bloodstains. His uniform didn’t really look all that good now anyway, on account of the bullet holes in his shirt. Luckily, the insurgent had been a good marksman. Poor sap.
“Now, are we done here?” Hank said in a thick southern accent.
“Uhh, I think so.”
Hank started out the door, having to bow down to fit through the door frame. He was a large man, easily two meters tall and built “like a brick shithouse” according to their commanding officer. Tariq found it oddly fitting, so they had naturally named him Brick.
“Great.” Brick continued. “Just one more building and we’re done here.”
“Finally.”
Tariq hated the desert. Sand always got everywhere, the people were ungrateful, and it was always way too warm. But still, orders were orders. And it wasn’t like him to question them.
As if the universe was listening, a gust of coarse sand swept his face the moment they stepped out into the stuffy desert air.
Brick laughed. “Afraid of a little dust, Tariq? Y’know, back in Oklahoma we used to-”
“Use the sand to wipe your ass? Yeah, I know.” Tariq snapped back. The first demonstration had been enough.
Instead, Brick eyed a small dust devil blowing through the unusually empty street. The sun was high in the sky, bringing all its might down to bear on them. Tariq was glad for the bullet-borne ventilation.
“Which building?” He asked.
Brick pulled out a small screen. “That’n.” He said, pointing to another shabby-looking two-story building. As they neared the door, a dog padded out towards them. Brick immediately drew for his pistol.
“Hey, put that down.” Tariq said.
“They mighta put a grenade in it or something. Better to just shoot it.”
Tariq bent down to better meet the animal. It was tall for a dog, with short brown fur and a loving smile. Its tail wagged furiously when Tariq let it sniff the back of his hand.
He looked back at his squadmate. “What’s the matter, Brick, afraid of a little explosion?”
“No.” He said, petulantly holstering the gun.
“This little guy just wants a belly rub and your first instinct is to blast him? Heartless.” The dog rolled over, and Tariq gave it a few rubs.
“Come on, let’s go in.”
Tariq reluctantly stood up, much to the dog’s dismay. He made the mistake of looking down at it again, and was met with the cutest pair of eyes he had seen in a few decades, at least.
“God damnit…” He whispered as he pulled out his last protein bar and fed it to the dog. It loped off happily, settling under the shade of an awning on the other side of the street. Good. You should move. Tariq thought, grabbing his pistol.
Brick, already by the doorway, waved him over.
“So, Brickolas, what’s the plan?”
“Shoot anything that’s got a gun.”
“Sounds good.” Tariq said, kicking down the door.
They entered a small room that smelled strongly of some foreign spice. Huddled in a corner of the room was a meek family. Terror was evident in all their eyes, but they didn’t look armed.
Brick wasn’t certain, however, and waved his gun at the family, urging them to get up. Crying children and terrified parents rose, and a clattering noise sounded in the other room.
“I’ll handle it.” Tariq said, and walked through the door on his right. He emerged into a hallway leading to a stairwell. The room was empty, so Tariq turned to leave.
He spotted movement out of the corner of his eye and spun towards it, presenting his pistol.
A child had emerged from behind the stairs, with an ancient rifle pointed straight at him.
Tariq almost pulled his own trigger, but hesitated. The kid was dressed in rags, barefoot and with a wicked scar up his lower leg.
Brick piped up from the other room. “You alright in there?”
“Yeah, just a kid.” Tariq lowered his pistol and motioned for the kid to do the same.
The boy shouted something in a wavering voice, prompting laughter from a room further back.
“Found the others.” Tariq called.
“I’ll be over in a sec.”
Tariq slowly moved towards the boy, but was met with a bullet to the face. Through the momentary daze, he heard Brick running towards them.
Tariq moved on trained instinct from decades of practice. He dashed towards the boy and grabbed his rifle, bent it over his knee, splintering the rotted wooden stock. The boy jumped back, but a grown man with a newer looking gun jumped from the room behind him.
Tariq quickly shot the man before he could do anything, and Brick came rushing in behind him.
“Everything okay?”
“Yep, stupid kid shot me in the face. Think I returned the favour to that guy.” He said, pointing at the dead man on the floor. Tariq sneezed. “I got some of the jacket up my nose though…”
“You said you found ‘em?)
He pointed to the doorway. “I’d reckon about three guys in there, judging by the laughs.”
Brick noticed the kid, shivering in the corner of the room.
“Let’s just murk the kid.” He said..
Tariq looked back at him incredulously. He then pointed to the kid, and nodded his head towards the family near the entrance. Tariq had to insist multiple times until he eventually trudged outside.
Brick sneered. “Didn’t know you were the sentimental type. Grown soft in your old age?”
“Shut up. Now let’s get this over with. You got any grenades left?”
“Nope, fresh out after the last building.”
“Alrighty:” Tariq said, unhooking one from his belt. He pulled the pin and threw it through the doorway. It clattered on the ground before exploding. Shrapnel pierced the thin wall and embedded themselves all around him. He looked at it with a wide-eyed expression. Shit.
Not long after, wailing sounded from the room.
He rushed in with his pistol drawn. Smoke hung in the air, and the walls were painted with blood. Two men lay dead against the walls, missing various limbs. A little girl huddled up to one of them. She was missing her hand, and had shrapnel all over. She cried, clutching at the man’s shirt with her remaining hand and making bloody trails across his ruined shirt.
Tariq just stood still and looked at it, feeling nothing.
Brick barged in behind him and laughed.
“Damn, looks like we got ‘em all. Any other terrorists in the buildin’ woulda showed up by now, so I say we’re good to head back.”
“Mhm.”
Driving through the streets, Tariq poked at the holes in his shirt. Over a hundred years later, and he still wasn’t truly used to it. He was grateful, however. Immortality suited him just fine.
“So,” Brick said from the driver’s seat, “gettin’ sentimental now?”
“I…” Was he? He had a faintly odd feeling in his gut, unrelated to the gunfire. Was that sentimentality? Whatever it was, he wanted it gone. “No. Why would I?”
“No reason. Just that I rarely see you spare someone like that. The little fucker did shoot ‘ya.”
Tariq looked away. Why had he spared the kid? “Didn’t care for the paperwork I guess.”
“Well, that’s one potential terrorist in the city, pardner. He’s probably gonna kill something soon, with that itchy finger of his.”
Tariq looked back. “Why would he be a terrorist? I spared his life. If he’s gonna be anything, he should be grateful.”
“No, you don’t understand. Whaddaya do when your dog turns rabid, Tariq?”
Tariq closed his eyes and leaned back as a mild breeze blew. He could picture the dog in front of the building, clear as day. “I don’t know. Give it a vaccine or something?”
“Ain’t no such thing. You shoot it, else it’ll get all your other dogs. Opposing us ain’t too different from Rabies, Tariq.”
He contemplated for a while. “Gotta nip ‘em in the bud.”
“Damn right pardner.”
Maybe Brick was right. He wasn’t supposed to think like that. He couldn’t help but think of the little girl, though…
No. He brushed it aside. Idiot kids. He thought instead. Why the hell would they choose to be with those terrorists? Either way, she would probably have become one herself - or worse - made some, if they hadn’t stepped in. Remove all the evil people, and evil would die with them.
From the outside, the base looked like a huge sand castle, ringed with fences of barbed wire. Around it were long, hall-like tents. Tariq and Brick walked past them. Young, sullen men in uniform watched them as they walked by. Tariq just smirked, happy that he was no longer mortal. How could they even live like that?
Lieutenant Colonel Icarian was waiting for them when they went into the main building. Tariq had always thought of himself as tall, even after meeting Brick for the first time. But Icarian practically made him feel like he was the ground, in more ways than one. He was freakishly tall, almost stretching to the sky. He looked down at the front of Tariq’s uniform.
“I understand that clearing out sector C went smoothly?”
Brick went for a crisp salute, and Tariq followed, ending at parade rest. “Yes, sir.”
“I recall telling you to avoid gunfire as much as possible, Corporal. We have gotten numerous complaints from Laundry.”
“I remember, sir. I just thought it more taxing on the enemy logistics if I let them waste their munitions, sir.”
He seemed to accept that. “I called you two here because we got news of an enemy branch of Achilleans entrenched nearby. They are in a prime position to sabotage our supply. As such, we will need to eliminate them, starting with the sabotage.”
Tariq stifled a groan, or thought he did.
“What was that, Corporal?”
“Nothing, sir.”
Icarian did not seem convinced.
Tariq relented. “Alright sir, I just don’t see why we should debase ourselves with sabotage. I find it cowardly.”
The tall man nodded. “That is why you must do it. Yes, we are a breed above the rest of humanity. Yet ascension above humanity does not put one above humility. You will do this mission.”
“Yes sir.” He sighed.
Icarian led them over to a holographic map of the local area. He pointed a stiff finger to a nearby secretary. “Miss Jenkins, set sector C status to neutralised and bring up my plans for Operation Romeo Whiskey 2-4.”
“Yes sir!” She said, meekly typing on her little keyboard. Tariq found the little secretary oddly cute, but quickly pushed the thought aside. Like nearly everyone else, she was too young for him.
The suspended gas that showed the map changed into a different area, more hilly than the flat desert of the previous one. A cave in a tall mountain was highlighted. Tariq smiled. If that was the enemy position, they would be very difficult to remove. The hill overlooked a small depression ringed by similar looking mountains. There was one road on the way in, a perfect placement for a kill zone. But if he could crest the mountain, reach the water source feeding it, he could poison and starve them…
“Corporal!” Icarian shouted.
Tariq shook his head and blinked. “Yes sir?”
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
“Did you hear what I said?”
Tariq set his shoulders. “No sir, I was strategizing.”
Icarian grunted at that, but continued on. “As I was saying, we are expecting the enemy aircraft to drop its supplies around here.” He pointed to a point directly in front of the cave’s mouth.
“Sir, supplies? I thought we were sabotaging?”
“That depends on your definition of the word. An informant in the enemy supply battalion informed us of a possible serum-related supply drop to these troops.”
Tariq nodded. “Right, so we intercept the drop before they can pick it up.”
“In essence. It will be brought by helicopter, but you will intercept it before it can be dropped.”
“In midair?”
The tall man nodded. “Even you two would not be able to intercept the drop on the ground without being captured and starved.”
Tariq shrugged. “Well, should be fun.”
Brick grinned.
“Alright. Thrusters up in 2 hours. Make sure you are armed and ready on the airfield by then. Dismissed.”
They saluted and turned to exit.
“Oh, one more thing. Come here gentlemen.”
They turned back, and saw Icarian preparing a golden briefcase on a table. He opened it as they walked over and two metal vials, also gold, laid cushioned in the case. Below a glass viewing port on the front was a silhouette of an apple tree, branches full of fruit.
“We specially requested these from Ithunn in case of capture. They are sturdy, but can’t take too much abuse. Keep them with you for the length of the mission.”
Tariq took one and held it up gingerly. Brick just stuffed it in his pocket. Some had called him reckless, but Tariq knew when to be careful. It was hard not to be, on those rare occasions when you held your life in your hand. He carefully tucked it away in his inner pocket.
Two hours and five pizzas later, Tariq found himself strapped to a rocket. A warm gust of wind ruffled the straps on his parachute. Squinting against the desert sun, he gave Brick a thumbs up. Brick relayed the thumb to flight control, and the rocket began powering up.
Even the thought of the impending adventure could not stop his mind from racing.
On the way to the launch site, they had to drive through the city. Somewhere along the way, he spotted a young boy, barefoot, and clad in rags. Cradled in his arms was a limp body. She was peppered with shrapnel and soaked in blood. Her hand was missing. The boy met Tariq’s eyes. Through tears in the boy’s eyes he found an incredible anger. At first Tariq got an ugly feeling in his stomach. He had thrown that grenade…
But he’d also spared the boy’s life. Why was he so angry at Tariq? It wasn’t his fault that the boy and his sister hung out with terrorists. They chose that for themselves.
He was brought back to reality by the rockets. The growling had became deafening, evolving into a crescendo of energy. His stomach lurched, and he was sent hurtling into the sky. All the doubt of the day vanished in an instant.
He let out a whoop that rivaled the intense roar of the thrusters, and looked down at the increasingly tiny landscape below. It was incredibly sandy.
The rocket flew high above the sparse clouds, and the wind became increasingly colder - and thinner. Even so, Tariq kept his mask off. He was so used to breathing, but he hadn’t had many opportunities to try the alternatives.
Gradually, the rocket moved slower, until he started feeling increasingly lighter. Was that the lack of gravity, or the gradual asphyxiation?
Why do I even care? He thought, as he unbuckled from his seat and leaped from the rocket. Rushing wind filled his ears as he began hurtling towards the ground. He looked to his left, and saw a falling Brick right next to him. He could feel his lungs deflating in his chest, but didn’t really mind.
Instead, he enjoyed the view. The sky was its standard blue colour. Clouds were white below him. Nothing new. And wonderful because of it.
He and Brick pointed their bodies downward, towards the large ring of mountains shown on the map. By now, they could see a large helicopter - tiny to their eyes - heading towards the same ring a thousand meters below. After falling for another two hundred, Brick gave the signal, and they deployed their parachutes.
The world quickly grew very silent, except for the occasional flapping of a canvas.
“So. Come here often?” Brick shouted.
“Less than I’d like!”
“Yeah, makes sense. ‘Specially when you’re so short and all.”
“Hey, you’ve got something on your chest!” Tariq shouted back, drawing his pistol.
“What?”
Tariq laughed, and shot his buddy in the chest.
“Oh come one, whadja do that for?”
“Bored.”
Brick shrugged, and looked down. “Oh shit, get your hook ready!”
Tariq could now both see and hear the helicopter below. Time for the fun part, he thought with a smirk.
Brick gave him a nod, and he unbuckled from his parachute. He soon reached freefall again, and saw a shell casing fall upwards next to him.
Together, they fell towards the helicopter, and spread themselves out against the air to slow down. Wind ruffled his curly hair, and he couldn’t help but grin as the roar of it filled his ears. This was the type of sabotage he liked.
They approached the helicopter from an angle. It was huge, nearly 50 meters in length. As they neared the tail, they shot a magnetic grapple onto the hull of the huge machine. They fell down below the vehicle, and quickly retracted the line, shooting them towards the helicopter. The difference in momentum made Tariqs stomach lurch, but they landed softly and hung onto the bottom of the hull.
Brick fumbled with his belt and brought out a blowtorch. He struggled to ignite it against the rushing winds, but managed after a few tries. While he sliced through the hull, Tariq looked down again. They were flying above a snaking road that cut through the mountains like a river. The mountains themselves were a monotonous grey-brown. His eyes followed the road until they found the large depression in the desert, about a five minute flight away.
Brick had cut a square in the hull, and jumped in after having tossed the large hunk of metal up into the hull. Tariq joined him, and Brick welded the square back to the fuselage.
Tariq rose up and found himself oddly comforted by the room around him. They were alone in the large, dark cargo hold, and surrounded by huge wooden crates. He surveyed the room. Drop door behind you, way to the cockpit and head in front. Opening latch on the starboard side, one unfolded jumpseat. One jumpseat. Were they really alone?
Brick opened his mouth to speak, but Tariq hushed him. He pointed at the seat.
What? Brick signed to him, with a rapid movement of his hands.
Toilet. He pointed from the seat to the side of the door. Ambush there. Me starboard, you port.
Brick nodded, and they snuck over to the door on the other side of the craft, hiding in the darkness.
They heard a rapid decompression of an onboard toilet. Tariq drew his knife.
Brick signed again. I grab mouth, you knife.
Tariq nodded, and readied himself. He was oddly anxious.
The heavy latch on the door turned, and someone walked out. The person quickly closed the door behind them, and Brick immediately put them in a well-practised chokehold, covering their mouth. The enemy reached into their pocket and pulled out some small contraption, but Tariq shoved his knife into their eye before they could do anything. He yanked it out and stabbed them through the side of the head. For good measure.
The enemy quickly went limp, and Brick lowered them to the ground. Tariq briefly studied the enemy’s face. A young boy, by the look of it, obviously mortal. Dumbass.
Tariq wiped his knife on the boy’s uniform, and picked up the contraption. It was small, with a big button on the front and a logo printed on the back. The logo, a naked woman with a golden apple, took up the entire backside. How the hell have they gotten Ithunn tech?
The Triumverate, the current coalition they were fighting, was a composite central Asian army. Ithunn only sold to the west. But the Triumverate were known for their honour. Even if they were in an active war, stealing seemed… beneath them.
He threw the button, along with the thought, over to Brick. He gave it a once-over, and pocketed it. He never had been the curious type.
Sadly for him, curiosity was part of the mission. Tariq went over to the nearby wooden crate and undid the straps. Flipping up the lid, he was met with… a golden suitcase. With a silhouette of an apple tree. How the hell had these people stolen so much serum?
Brick seemed to have the same question for once, as he dug out a sheet of paper from the crate.
Brick read it aloud in a whisper. “Your yearly endowment is here, gentlemen of the Triumverate. At such a good price, I recommend you to be frugal with your supply. Signed, Johannes Ithunn.”
He looked equally as confused as Tariq.
“Aren’t we the only ones supplied by Ithunn?” He asked the large man.
“I don’t…” He trailed off, looking into the crate. He pulled out a small white crystalline case, with a star emblazoned on top. Opening it, he found another note.
“And, should you regret your choice, I am working on a cure. Please test it out on any enemy combatants, and let us know the result. As loath as I am to write these words, my fate may depend on it. Love, Ithunn.”
“A.. cure? I thought that was impossible?”
“So di-”
“Prepare for landing!” A voice cried out on the intercom, in chinese.
“Shit.”
They rushed towards the cockpit. With their pistols drawn, they carefully opened the door. Sadly, it was difficult to open a 50 kilo door silently, and the copilot turned towards Tariq. Sadly for him, a pilot’s helmet was not bulletproof. Neither was his skin. So fragile. Tariq thought as he pulled the trigger.
The copilot slumped over in his seat, and the main pilot also got the opportunity to open his mind.
The bullet pierced the thick glass, and set off some very loud alarms.
“I’ve got the stick! Tariq shouted, and pulled the pilot out of his seat. Bits of brain and helmet covered some of the glass and the gauges. After having wiped some off with a finger, Tariq got to flying. Brick had reluctantly sat down next to him.
Tariq peered out of the window as he slowed them down. They were right above the ring of the depression. It had seemed bigger on the map, being only 200 meters wide. A group of people were waiting in the middle of the depression. The recipients, most likely.
“What’s my heading, Brick?” Tariq shouted over the sound of the engine.
“260!”
He turned them around the correct way, and was met with a newer, more incessant alarm. It blared at him in Chinese, but he was too busy flying to interpret.
“Six missile signatures, 6 o’clock!” Brick shouted.
Tariq glanced down at the radar between them. Six pips were following them, though from quite a ways away.
Fuck. “Countermeasures?”
“Deploying flares!”
Smoke and burning metal shot out to the front of the helicopter.
“How far till we’re home?”
“Two minutes if you punch it!”
Tariq did indeed punch it, and an increasingly cold blast of air rushed in from the cracked windshield. The crack seemed to spread quickly, and the glass looked ready to shatter.
That damn alarm was still going, and the missiles had gotten even closer.
Luckily, they began to see their sandcastle in the distance.
“600 meters and closing!” Brick shouted.
“Yeah, I know! Flares again!”
More smoke and metal flew forward. Looking down at the radar, he saw two of the missiles changing course.
But the helicopter was still going painfully slow. Still, they had to keep flying.
“300 meters! Can this hunk of junk do evasive maneuvers?”
Tariq buckled himself in, and Brick did the same.
He then yanked the stick towards him, pointing them towards the sky and moving backwards. The big machine creaked and groaned, but managed to keep up. A missile flew right under them. It tried turning back, but lost its lock and tumbled to the ground.
“Cut engines!” He screamed at Brick.
He pulled a lever. They slowly began falling down, just in time for a pair of missiles to fly above them.
“Flares!”
Smoke billowed out, and a missile tumbled to the ground.
Brick powered them up again, and they almost grazed a mountaintop.
“Is that all?” Brick asked, wiping his brow.
“Think so. Now let’s get this sucker home.”
Tariq breathed a sigh of relief. Good to know he still had it.
“That was some fancy flyin’ there, brother.”
“Thanks, well done on the flares.”
Brick nodded in thanks, and they fell silent for a while. The city, in all of its dusty, poverty-ridden glory passed underneath them.
“So Brick, you think we’ll be rotated out soon?”
“We did just clear out a whole city, so yeah. But… I’m gonna be honest witcha, I’ve got a feelin’ we might be knee deep in a mudflat here, Tariq.”
“What?”
“Those boxes back there.”
Tariq peered into the hold. The woman on one of the crates stared back.
Brick continued. “I don’t think we were ‘sposed to see ‘em.” He fished in his pocket and pulled out a pearlescent vial. “And we were definitely not meant to find this.”
“I can’t believe there’s a cure… Think it works on people like us?”
“I don’t think we’re at liberty to find out, Tariq.”
They both went silent. The headquarters loomed ahead of them. The setting sun behind the large structure silhouetted it in twilight. For the first time in a century, Tariq felt a tiny prick of fear.
“It’s been a pleasure serving with you, Hank.”
A sudden billow of smoke in front of them drew Tariq’s attention.
“Yeah. You know-”
A crack split the air, and the whole helicopter lurched forward. Tariq shook himself out of a short daze, only to see the ground quickly approaching.
“TERRAIN. TERRAIN. PULL UP. PULL UP.” The helicopter blared incessantly in chinese. He followed its advice, but to no avail.
They crashed into a row of tents in a mess of steel, fire and flesh. The cockpit window cracked, showering them in sand and glass. A mangled body flew into Brick right before Tariq was launched out of his seat.
He eventually found himself pinned under a mound of steel. Intense heat surrounded him, and he felt a ringing in eardrums that could not burst. Panic set in, and his hyperventilating lungs drank deeply of the smoky air. He clawed at the sand, heaved at the metal, but nothing would budge. His chest felt constricted and the air ran out, his vision swam and finally blackened as he felt his heart give out.
And he awoke again, gasping for air, fighting to free himself. A scorched corpse, nigh unrecognizable, laid right next to him. He tried to move away, struggling fruitlessly against the machine crushing him.
He blacked out and came to, again and again, until he finally found himself freed by foreign hands. He could feel the smoke in his lungs, the total absence of oxygen. His vision gone, he simply fought to exist.
…
After a time his vision returned, and air had never tasted so sweet. He was tied to a stretcher in a sterile white room. Brick was to his right, covered in soot and blood. Sticking out of his arm was…
Tariq had to look twice. A pearlescent syringe. A wiry man in a surgical mask stood over his friend, carefully slicing at his arm with a scalpel.
Drawing blood.
Tariq struggled furiously against his bonds, squirming like a captured terrorist. He used a freed hand to tear the bond constricting his other hand, and he quickly got up.
The masked man screamed for help, until Tariq grabbed his scalpel and opened his throat.
He quickly tossed the man aside, and knelt down to Brick.
He was breathing, but passed out. Tariq cut him free with the scalpel and picked up his heavy partner. Tariq followed the exit signs to his left, and ran out as fast as he could.
He heard shouting from behind him, and sirens quickly erupted all around.
What had they done to his friend? Brick was still out cold, bleeding even more from his arm. The sight made Tariq’s stomach churn.
He rounded a corner, and a black-clad soldier pointed her rifle at them.
“Stand down or I will shoot, soldier!” she shouted.
“Don’t do something you’ll regret, kid.” Tariq kept walking towards her.
“I said stand down!”
“You’ll die if you pull that trigger.”
The soldier opened fire, spraying Tariq with bullets. He felt legitimate anger for once. I warned you. He turned around, shielding his friend.
A short time later, the bullets stopped. Tariq slung Brick over his shoulder and leaped towards the soldier, scalpel in hand.
He swiped with the stubby knife, but the soldier evaded. She hit Tariq in the head with the butt of his rifle, cracking the plastic stock. Tariq, for once, went for the leg, hamstringing the back of the right knee.
The soldier dropped her rifle and fell to the ground, clutching her knee.
Tariq righted himself to keep walking, but spared the injured soldier a look. “I usually don’t do this. So count yourself lucky. Also, do yourself a favour, don’t scream for help.”
The soldier cried out for backup, tears audible in her voice.
Tariq rolled his eyes and set his friend down against a wall. So fragile, yet so eager to die, he thought and picked up the rifle. The stock was destroyed, but the gun was intact. He grabbed some magazines from the soldier and loaded the gun.
The dying woman looked him in the eyes. In those large, panicked eyes, Tariq saw what he had seen in ten thousand others.
“I’m sorry, p-p-please don’t do this!” She bawled.
“You did this to you, soldier. I gave you the choice, but you’re the one who pulled this trigger.” The soldier softly grabbed Tariqs ankle. “W-what about my family? Please sir!”
Tariq rolled his eyes again, and drew in a deep breath. “Your family… all you mortals are the same! You’re all so fucking fragile but you do your best to shatter yourselves. Why the fuck would you become a soldier if you had a family-”
The soldier pulled out a photo of a woman with a child in a forest. “Sir, because… Oh God please, my daughter..”
Tariq grabbed the woman’s shoulder and shook her violently. “WHY ARE YOU A SOLDIER?! The gentlest fucking gust of wind would kill any of you, and you still do stupid shit like this! Why don’t you listen? Why do none ever of you fucking listen?”
The soldier broke down, sobbing with every word. “My daughter…”
“Your daughter will die eventually, because of your stupid choices! I’m saving you from the pain.” Tariq said coldly, placing the muzzle on the mother’s forehead.
She met his gaze, crying. “Please…” She whispered meekly.
Tariq hesitated, flexing his firing hand. He shook his head and set his jaw. Why was he even considering saving her? What good would it do in the long run to save someone who would just die later anyway? Besides, she might call for help. Remove all the evil people and evil will die with them.
“Please…” She whimpered. Pathetic thing.
Tariq pulled the trigger.
He slung the rifle over one shoulder and heaved Brick across the other, then began walking. Muscles strained and tore under the immense weight, but he kept going.
His feet made a faint sloshing sound as he walked. Looking down, he saw bloody footsteps leading away from the dead soldier.
After more walking down indistinguishable linoleum hallways, he finally found a doorway to the outside. He kicked it open, rifle in one hand, friend in the other.
He was met by harsh sunlight and a whole company of soldiers, armed with rifles and nets.
Lieutenant Colonel Icarian towered behind them.
“In the name of Johannes Ithunn, you are hereby arrested, Corporal! Drop the subject and surrender!” Icarian shouted.
Subject? Subject? Tariq laid his friend behind a sandbag and faced his firing squad, rifle in hand.
Brick was… He didn’t know what Brick was now. But mortal or not, he belonged to Tariq.
And Tariq knew what he was. And he would make damn sure Icarian knew that.
“Over my dead body.”
He charged forward.