Destitute felt his body get kicked to the ground as he watched the Interviewer’s head explode in a gory, red mist. As he hit the ground he felt his body break on the impact. He couldn’t move his legs, he felt numb.
But he couldn’t keep up the adrenaline and a message travelled through his nerves to deliver a feeling, a terrible and hated feeling. Pain.
The red haze blurred his vision, he was dazed and confused- he was panicking. His thoughts became clouded by the screaming pain and confusion.
A shadow slowly enveloped him, distracting him from his wound. The being that cast the shadow stood over him, wooden gun in hand, gazing at him with cold blue lights. A ghost stood over him. Hate emanated from it.
He felt his eyes turn to pin pricks, as his whole body began to convulse.
All other thought was blasted out of his consciousness except for one.
Sheer, unbridled fear.
The synth shifted it’s hands to the barrel of the Kalashnikov and reared it back, like a bat, striking him in the head.
Knocking him out cold.
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Burns rushed behind a tree and stayed out of sight. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he peered at the synth and man with the grey beret. He watched the cameraman get pistol-whipped by the man with the grey beret and the synth walk up the deck, stepping on the dead body without care.
He reached for his gun, but hesitated, he was unsure if he should strike now or wait longer. There were two of them, they didn’t know he was there yet both of them held higher-power weaponry than him. He especially wasn’t confident if he could take out the synth with just a pistol.
Suddenly he remembered what Zigzag had told him, and he scanned the roofs, wondering…
Where the hell was that sniper.
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Apollyon shifted its hands back into a proper gripping position on the Kalashnikov, feeling a simulacrum of satisfaction and turned it’s head over to the doppelganger, who was in the middle of dragging the cameraman into a bush.
“We need to get moving they’re going to respond to the gunshots and it’ll escalate from there.”
The doppelganger replied to the synth, in a tone dripping with sarcasm “Oh jeez I wonder why.”
The synth ignored his whining and focused it’s optics on the roof of the building across the street. There was a slight glint from a small barrel poking out behind the tiled roof.
< :: Switch to X-ray visuals :: >
< :: Understood :: >
As it’s vision turned dark, the synth could see the form of a man trying to hide behind the roof. It raised it’s gun at the roof, patiently waiting for the man to pop his head out so it could blast it off. Against expectations the synth instead noticed a small glimmer, the sniper was using a mirror.
< :: Shit :: >
“Get inside the house now!” the synth yelled out, firing at the roof where the sniper laid. It grabbed Destitute’s unconscious body by the collar and dragged him inside- the clone sprinted across the lawn and barged past the synth, and took cover behind a sofa.
“The hell got you worked up this time!?” the clone yelled.
“There’s a sniper on the roof, they’ll have likely called in reinforcements.” the synth the synth responded cooly, it’s old voice-box crackled.
This caught the clone off-guard, “What’s up with your voice?” he asked cautiously. The synth grabbed it’s throat and lightly rubbed it, but even with the light tension the patch-work arms scraped against the blue metal, “Nothing” it kicked Destitute’s body over to the clone, who backed away slightly with a look of disgust on his face as he stared at the bruised body “Take him down to the bunker, it’s in the basement.”
The clone sighed, annoyed at having to take orders from the synth but he relented and picked up the old man’s body, hoisting it over his shoulders.
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Burns moved out from behind the try and stuck behind some bushes, slowly advancing his way to the house. He peeked his head over the bush, straining himself to try to get a good look at the synth- but quickly backed down as he saw it pop out of cover and fire at the roof sniper. When it stopped shooting, it was a few seconds before he heard something hit the ground, didn’t sound like metal dropping so it must’ve been… “Shit.”
He checked the magazine of his gun, then pulled back the slide to ensure there was already a round in the chamber. Satisfied, he began moving along the bush-line again, slowly advancing towards the house.
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< :: Good shot :: >
The synth lowered it’s gun from eye-level, watching the body for signs of life.
< :: Do you want me to check for vitals? :: >
< :: No it’ll be fine :: >
After a few more seconds of waiting, the synth was satisfied by the lack of movement and retreated into the basement. Going down the rickety old steps, the rotting wood straining under the synth’s great weight, a loud creak for every motion he made upon the stairs, it was careful not to apply too much pressure in the wrong place lest the entire stairwell come down on itself. The further down the basement it went, the sound of servers became louder, along with the tapping of what sounded like a keyboard, or more likely a keypad. Finally reaching the basement floor, the Synth saw Destitute’s unconscious form propped up against a wall, his doppelganger tapping the keys of a small PDA wired into a keypad.
“I’ve almost got it unlocked, just gimme a minute.”
The synth ignored him, shoving him aside and input the access code.
2768436747
The bunker door whined, the sound of scraping metal and hydraulic locks clicking, the door slowly began to lift itself off the concrete floor.
“Or yeah, you can just do that” the doppelganger grumbled “Fucking blue asshole.”
The synth paid him no mind, and allowed itself a sigh. A short sigh, but it felt so very cathartic.
Their attention was stolen by a dusty grandfather clock, chiming away, it’s shorthand overlapped the longhand, both pointing towards the sky.
The time was 12:00.
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“We’ve lost contact with Samuel, he’s likely KIA.”
The Major sighed and started pinching his forehead out of frustration, “Did he report anything?”
“2 civillian casualties, one dead and another unconscious, he identified two individuals responsible, a guy with a grey beret and some sunglasses and a blue robot.”
This caught the Major’s attention, his face formed into a deep grimace.
“Fuck… there’s no way it’s…”
He paused for a few seconds and composed himself, his face relaxed. He dreaded his next question.
“What about Destitute?”
“Injured, unknown if he’s still alive though.”
“FUCKING DAMMIT!”
The Major slammed his fist down onto the table, his breath grew deep and audible, sweat began to fall from his pores.
“Get me to the High Command right now- we need Spectres, HECUs, everything!”
The informant stepped back, recoiling from the Major’s yelling.
“Sir there’s no need to-”
The Major turned towards the informant, his forehead glistening from the sweating, a vein on his forehead that was so full it seemed as though it would soon burst.
“Don’t you watch the fucking television Private?!”
The Major grabbed the informant by the collar, his hot breath fogging up their glasses.
This Situation Was Fucked. Shots fired. Sounded like an AK. Destitute what the fuck did you do? I had to run. What first became a simple run turned into full sprint when I heard no more shots fired. Either Desti was dead, captured, or worse, AWOL batshit crazy. Some of the Combine officers these days just lost it and go postal. Orders to kill my ass. Thousands of faces flashed before me, every single one of them now dead due to my actions or inactions. I wasn’t a good man in life. I wanted a shot, but I knew that there was no more room in this world for people like me. My days were numbered no matter if I tried to save one or ran. So let me save one. Let me save one. Let me save one.
The house was bad and then I saw it. Some officer wearing a beret and a blue robot. Fuck. That AIU was real, and I only had a .45 to take care of it. There was no waiting for backup. This was a solo job. No wait! It wasn’t! That sniper across the street Zigzag was talking about!
Me: (Quiet Whisper) “You better of not of bluffed Zig.”
I dove down nearby the thick bushes next to the house. I kept scanning the roofs across the street wondering when this guy would make a move. There had to be some sort of move, they were sitting still in an open area. Now was the time to take the shot. Suddenly I heard a squish. That thing just crushed that poor man’s body! Blood was dripping down the deckboards and into the ground below. This thing needed to die. All that was left of the Combine was it. With that gone I only had to worry about people killing me instead of things wanting to take over the world. People will forever rebel, but a machine will kill us all. I bet it wanted Desti dead. Seeing that his last commands as Sectoral was giving up to the Rebellion and giving us access to tech that was decades ahead of ours, it made sense that a kill order was placed on him as a last ditch of the Combine.
AIU: “Get inside the house now!”
Ah shit. They spotted the kid. That moment I saw the glimmer of not a scope, but a mirror. That was a smart move. I remember learning that from a group of Anarchists back in City 8, to deal with sniping in cramped alleyways against MGs. I guess writing that down had some benefit seeing that there was now the new generation using it. I had to take a peek.
Looking up I saw that machine ready with its rife aimed. No man could outshoot it. It was familiar with every firearm made in the last two hundred years. That kid would have never had a chance. I heard shots from both a Dragunov and AK. I dove down as I wasn’t going to be of any use with my 1911. The best play was to hold. I heard a thump, but that thump sounded all to familiar. That was flesh falling. The poor bastard got dragged into a war he never saw and died for something I should have died for, not him.
I open the mag release on the 1911. Full clip. I racked the slide halfway to check if there was a round in the chamber. There was, giving me 8 shots plus three spares. So, 32 shots. Not much considering I was going against the most armored and powerful unit of the Combine, but enough for me to at least die trying.
The door was locked, but it was a simple household deadbolt. For someone who was always getting shot at and now not exactly on the best terms with humanity, I was confused. Wouldn’t you at least get something tougher than a simple deadbolt? That wasn’t my concern now. I had my gun in my left hand, and dumb luck hopefully in the other. I kicked open the door. I needed to seem like something that would be of value to the AIU alive, so I needed to think of something fast to say to not get shot in the head. They both ran downstairs with Desti into the basement, that was armored beyond any NPU Cell door I’ve ever seen. I guess this was where Desti’s security budget went into. Think! What does the AIU not shoot at immediately? Got it!
Me: “CIVIL WORKERS UNION INTERNAL AFFAIRS! WE HAVE A WARRANT OUT FOR DESTITUTE’S CAPTURE! EVERYONE HANDS IN THE AIR AND ON YOUR KNEES!”
Really Burns? Civil Workers Union? Out of all the cool stuff you could have said, you said Civil Workers Union Internal Affairs. Dumbass. Well I guess it worked seeing I didn’t have an AIU staring at me and loading me full of rounds, so success?
The house was ransacked. Tables flipped over, glass picture frames broken, but one display case was still intact in the main hallway. It contained a crowbar, and Desti’s old UU issued sidearm, with the caption below stating, “To Save the World”. I guess he did save the world by turncoating towards us. But he didn’t deserve that crowbar, and I was about to go up against an AIU. I smashed the panel, grabbing the crowbar and keeping it incase things got ugly down there. I also picked up Desti’s Sidearm. A modified Desert Eagle at its core, it had a slender, long frame with an extended barrel, night sights, and a full auto fire selector. .50 Action Express full auto? Jesus Desti I guess those augs ready did give you an advantage over us when it came to weapon performance. I walked down the now open bunker door into the basement. The staircase down was long, like four or five stories down long. Whatever this bunker was designed for, it was built to take on anything Rebel or even Combine. No bunker buster would get through this. Was this a Nuclear command? There were rumors, but nobody ever confirmed it. The Combine never resorted to use of Nuclear weapons as they were after the water. If the water was irradiated, there was no chance of salvaging it. Shit. That was it. Nuclear bunker designed for if the Rebellion won. We won too fast however with the Arizona 20. Nobody got close enough to finish the job. Now they are. Fuck fuck fuck! I ran down the stairs as fast as I could. This was it. The true last battle of the war. Humanity vs Combine one last time. Gun drawn, slide locked, safety off. “HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”
“Move out, move out, we’re working against the clock here people!”
The Wheeler Garrison was abuzz with activity, soldiers of the Lambda Council climbed into machines of war, APCs, tanks, helos. They were all heading to one place. The objective, a small home in Phoenix, Arizona. Morales was high, they all had their focus, they knew what was truly in that deceptively quaint home, what horrors that could be unleashed on this newly liberated world.
Some among them rubbed crosses, stars and other religious paraphernalia, they all hoped that they’d stop what was coming. Hoped that they’d win.
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When Marlowe finally returned to the sea of consciousness, the first thing he felt was pain shooting up his back. The first thing he saw was a blue synth working at a computer, clicking away at the console without paying him any mind. Then he felt a cold barrel press up against the side of his head.
“He’s awake.”
The voice was familiar to Marlowe, why it was familiar, he couldn’t put his finger on it, he shuffled to try to get a better look at his captor- but the barrel was pressed harder.
“Don’t move.”
The voice spoke again, their tone going harsh. A red flash on the computer caught Marlowe’s eye, the Combine’s script scrolling past the screen.
DETONATION FAILED
The synth backed away from the computer and Marlowe’s eyes darted open as the synth turned around.
“What happened to the warheads.”
It asked cooly, even then Marlowe felt the pressure, the anger behind that voice. He was almost tempted to laugh, but he didn’t exactly feel like giving them a reason to shoot him. The silence lasted for a moment, then it was dashed away with the racking of a gun, and of a bullet falling onto the metal floor.
“I won’t ask again, what happened to the warheads.”
Destitute stared into the synth’s blue lights and let out a long held breath.
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Kirk followed the weathered concrete path towards Destitute’s home, his walk was slow due to age but maintained the form of a man from the military. His mind wasn’t totally focused on his surroundings, most of his thoughts were wondering about what the interviewer would be asking him this time around.
But as soon as his ears picked up the sound of a convoy, all of his thoughts shifted into a state of alert. He quickly scanned the area around him and ran for some dense bushes, careful to not scratch himself upon its thorns.
He peeked around the edge, careful to keep a low profile and to not draw attention to himself. A line of armoured vehicles ranging from transports to tanks sped past, the steel beasts roaring. Helos and Hunter Choppers maintained low orbit and hovered over the convoy.
“The hell?” Kirk muttered to himself, “What’s got them worked up.”
Kirk reached deep into his jacket, taking out a small radio, keeping it close to his mouth, as he pressed upon its side and it crackled to life. He made sure to keep his voice as a low whisper.
“Firebase Hades, come in, the hell’s going on with the Lambda Forces.”
A deep voice responded, slightly marred by radio static.
“Be more specific old man, the entire sector’s alight.”
This caught Kirk by surprise, he peeked over the bush again and slid back.
“Phoenix, Arizona.”
“Phoenix, Arizona…..” the man on the radio mumbled.
Kirk heard the clicking of keys on the other end and a small gasp.
“Fuck, uhhhh Kirk.” The man on the radio paused, causing Kirk’s worry to grow with every second.
“You know that old Combine Officer you were visiting? Christ the local Garrison have mobilised on his home, and reinforcements are coming from other sectors too.”
“Jesus Christ!” Kirk yelled out- but he quickly closed over his mouth, somebody must’ve heard him.
“Did you hear that Jones?” he heard someone call out.
“I’ll check it out.”
‘Fuck!’ Kirk quickly shoved the radio back into his jacket- quickly flicking the switch off.
He began pushing himself off the ground and preparing to make a run for it, but the Lambda soldier found him, rifle up and finger on the trigger.
Their eyes looked unfocused, their breathing ragged, sweat beading from their forehead. They looked afraid.
“Um… hello?” Kirk said hesitantly. The soldier lowered their gun and let out a sigh of relief.
“Jones what'd ya find?”
The soldier cupped their hands to their mouth and yelled back.
“Nothing just some old guy.”
Kirk took offence to that, but that was overpowered by a sense of relief.
‘Thank god’ he thought to himself.
As he saw the soldier run back to their squad, he grabbed the radio out from his jacket, making sure they couldn’t see him and scanning the area around him to make sure there weren’t any errant ears.
He flicked the on switch and it crackled to life once more.
“Kirk? Kirk?”
He brought it up against his mouth and calmed himself down when he realised how hard he’d been breathing.
“Yeah… yeah I’m here.”
“About time, I just contacted one of our informants, we know what’s gotten the ants so riled up and Kirk you won’t fucking believe this.”
“Lay it on me.”
“These are direct orders from the Lambda Council, storm the house, execute the AIU Apollyon.”
Kirk slumped deep into the ground, his mind going blank when he heard the syllables uttered by the man on the radio.
“Shit.”
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“HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”
< :: Behind you :: >
The synth raised the Kalashnikov to eye-level but it was too slow on the draw. Both Burns and Apollyon exchanged bullets- .50 AE pierced through the synth’s throat, 7.62mm tore through the sniper’s shoulder. If the synth felt pain it would’ve screamed in pain but even then it wouldn’t be more than a whisper, Burns on the other hand wasn’t so lucky- his pain reverberated off the sterile metal walls.
A crackled voice whispered so softly it was barely audible to the trained ear.
There is no place left on this planet that can be considered completely safe. They made sure of that, littering the planet with their technology that man-kind can barely contain. Even after several decades of vigorous searching and research the Lambda Council’s clean-up operation has barely discovered all of the secrets burrowed away, nor truly understanding it.
The Lambda Council is marred by their sense of caution, they are afraid of losing the technology of the dimension-spanning empire, it is not unfounded as there was no reason for them to believe that the Combine would ever be able to return, after all the portal storms had stopped and there was only one dark matter reactor left in the world. But they forget that without risks taken, without a proper study of the technology, then there will never be real progress made.
As the former Chief of Development used to say “Progress begets progress, we would only snowball further if we gained greater insight”, but the choking hold the Lambda Council has will forever prevent the R&D department from knowing more.
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The synth grasped itself around the throat, it’s voice crackled and wavered, slowly setting itself into a low growl.
“Son of a bitch…”
And with that came a wave of something raw, something new. For the first time, the synth felt anger. Pure unadulterated hatred to the sniper who was bleeding from their shoulder and staining the metal floor with crimson.
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The arm was dead, blood seeped through the sniper’s clothes and pain surged through from his shoulder. But he wasn’t given the chance to focus on his wounded shoulder for long, his attention was stolen by the heavy steps of metal against metal. He saw the synth run a skeletal hand deep into its throat, growling all the while, the disgusting display of field surgery ended when it ripped the bullet out, the crushed brass glistened with blue blood.
The synth threw it away like trash, not giving it a second thought, it’s searing fury was directed at one thing only. Burns felt the adrenaline in his body spike, and he reached for his fallen crowbar with his one good arm, his fake arm. The synth would have none of it, and for his troubles, the sniper received a wooden rifle-stock to the face.
Burns found himself coughing up blood from the mouth, the synth’s frustrations laid within that strike, the failed detonation, the incompetence of the doppelganger, the surrender of Earth Sector’s High Command, its destruction at the hands of Destitute, all of it. It felt cathartic.
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[EXTRACT FROM A LECTURE ON THE NATURE OF SYNTHETICS]
Despite what many assume, Synth’s are not like AI, there is a very large distinction between them. Artificial Intelligence are exactly that, Artificial, they are an intelligence that are created, not born, molded by code and not by experiences. Synth’s in truth are not the most accurate term to describe such beings, cyborgs would be more accurate and appropriate for some of the so called ‘Synths’ however there are two entities that could be described as Synths. OSEs and AIUs. This mostly has to do with the physical chassis of the entity being completely synthetic and artificial, nearly all of their biological functions have been replaced by machinery and programming, but there is one thing that remains wholly biological.
Their thought.
While it may seem ridiculous to say that OSEs are capable of thought, the autopsies and analysis of brain activity says otherwise, it is their although it is severely inhibited and focused on two goals (in fact it’s brain patterns are not too unlike the EOWs), complete loyalty to the Universal Union and the amputation of so called ‘malcompliant’ individuals. The AIU on the other hand are a different story, their brains are less, for lack of a better term, controlled than their combat-oriented counterpart (that isn’t to say that the AIU weren’t once fearsome foes as well). Yes their thinking more or less lined up with the OSE’s, however they were granted the ability of forming their own thoughts, an imagination if you will.
Well it’s wrong to say granted, because that would imply that their imagination was created, which would mean that they are an Artificial Intelligence, no the AIU are indeed cyborgs. However they have, like all of the ones that had undergone cybernetic conversion within the Combine, had certain parts of their mind blocked off.
All the unnecessary things such as emotion were inhibited, their only guiding focus was rationality and the desire to punish those that went against the will of the Advisors or the greater Universal Union.
As I stated before, they were allowed to keep their imagination, this imagination allowed them to create punishments, advise on tactics and strategies, it gave them limited free will. Pardon the oxymoron, limited free will does sound ridiculous but what I mean is that they have the free will to accomplish their objectives and form the necessary idea on how to complete that mission.
So I know a question that is going to brought up is “What would happen if the mind of an AIU or OSE was completely unblocked?”, well frankly we have no clue what would happen and in all honesty I doubt it’d be a particularly… ethical experiment.
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The synth weighted the crowbar in it’s skeletal hands, gripping tightly around the red body of the tool. It never did understand why the Resistance had insisted on using such a thing as standard issue weaponry, after all not everyone has an exo-suit that was capable of stopping bullets. Maybe it was the sentiment behind it, that everyone could be Gordon Freeman.
Preposterous.
The sniper tried pushing himself off the ground, trying to ignore the searing pain in his shoulder, the synth responded with a crowbar smack to the head.
Upon seeing the damage the crowbar had left on the sniper, the synth had to admit they were impressed, further experimentation was required to test the weapon’s merits.
“Get up” the synth growled, the damaged voice box crackled with malice.
“Go fuck yourself you goddamned lobst-”
Another smack, this time towards the centre of the chest- knocking the wind from Burns’ stomach and forcing him back to the ground.
“I said get the fuck up” it growled once more.
The sniper refused, spitting a loose tooth at the synth.
“You.”
The synth whispered.
“You represent everything I hate about your damned race”
The doppelganger started to become antsy, the synth was burning time beating the sniper.
“Are you done?” he asked hesitantly, this new development in the AIU unnerved him “We don’t got a lot of time, like you said they’ve probably sent reinforcements.”
The synth paused, mulling over the doppelganger’s words. It stared at the sniper, and if looks could kill, Burns would’ve probably been nothing more than a pile of meat. “I know who you are now.”
Burns felt his blood run ice cold, and noticed that he started gripping his right arm, his only natural arm, like his life depended on its very existence.
“Burns, a Commanding Officer of the Sniper regiment, you were captured by the NPU and your arm was removed.”
The synth tilted its head, crushing Burns with it’s cold eyes.
“Strange that they let you keep your other arm.”
Panic. Panic rushed into Burns’ mind like rushing water from a broken dam, every part of his body screamed to get away. To run. And he did try, he did try to run, but the adrenaline could only do so much. It pressed down onto him with it’s foot, caving in his body to ensure he could not escape.
Then came down the sharp end of the crowbar.
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Destitute finally felt himself come to, he’d passed out again, the blood loss was starting to get to him. For a moment everything felt like a daze, fuzzy and unclear. That was until he heard the screaming.
Even with his ears not being anywhere near as good as they once were, that scream would haunt him for the rest of his life.
He quickly glanced at the man in the grey beret, he wasn’t harmed but his face, it was contorted into a look of disgust and the synth, it wasn’t in the room anymore.
There was the sound of cracking, and the screaming became louder, a disgusting snap echoed into the room. The screaming became hoarser, devolving into a deep sobbing.
“Jesus fuck!” the clone yelled, his body was shaking, whatever he was seeing, Destitute definitely did not want to know.
Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. He saw the man in the grey beret begin to back up, his grip on the revolver became tight.
The synth returned, blood dripping from it’s skeletal hands, gripping a red crowbar.
“Grab whatever you want from here, we’re leaving, there’s nothing left for me to do.”
“What? What are we gonna do about these two?”
The synth growled in frustration and threw the crowbar aside in anger.
“Who cares” the synth’s voice crackled again, wearing down even further from the strain it was undergoing “They’re going to bleed out eventually, I know where we need to go.”
The man in the grey beret sighed, running a gloved hand over his face, wiping his nervous sweat away in the process.
“The reinforcements have likely arrived by now, we’re going to have to fight our way out.”
The man sighed again, cursing his head off.
Apollyon started to walk away, not even bothering to glance at Destitute. He started to black out again, there was nothing he could do, as his body started to tip over to the side, the last thing he saw was Burns covered in blood and an arm lopped off.
Really? Trading shots with an AIU? He had a fucking AK, you had a 1911. I was used to sparks and like objects flying after this exchange of gunfire. I only felt blood and pain. I looked down to see one clean round in the left shoulder, the one good arm I had left. I guess it metal on metal now against this fucking crabface.
Something wasn’t right though with this AIU. I shot first. That normally never happens with AIU and like synths. They are better than a human being in every way. Clearly this one is slower, possible to kill. It wasn’t over yet.
AIU: “Son of a bitch…”
Wait. It just swore? Oh shit. I just became a personal job for this murder machine. I still remember hearing it pull out the one .45 lodged somewhere on him and throwing it on the ground. With the grunts and muffles, I’m guessing it pierced the armor. The crowbar was on my right side. I could try to fight one on one. Hell, Vegemite back in the day won against an EOW with a brick, at least I have a crowbar.
I quickly dived to reach for the crowbar. Landing on it with my chest, I knew I was the only one that would have been able to grab it. My dumbass however forgot the fact that an AK can easily be used as a melee weapon. I saw the one moment right before I got a rifle stock in the face.
It threw me a few feet away, now leaning against the back wall facing the stairs. I felt teeth moving around in my mouth and blood rushing in, drowning me for a few moments. Then I saw Desti.
He was laying down, rifle muzzle against his head by some blurry faced combine officer, chuckling to himself, even though similarly covered in blood and gashes like me. The glow of a computer screen shined on that coy smile, a smile one only gets when they won no matter what the opposition plays.
The screen stated in big red letters, “DETONATION FAILED.”. The son of a bitch saved the world. Even if we did die, humanity still had a shot at winning this. There was no nuclear crisis to be worried about in the first place.
I needed to get up to fight this thing. Leaning myself up against the wall, I used my legs to slowly prop myself up. That was quickly met to a crowbar whack to the head, sending me back down on my ass.
AIU: “Get up.”
Me: “Go fuck yourself you goddamned lobst- “
Knocking me square in the chest, I couldn’t breathe. Even after getting shot in the chest with high caliber rounds, you never get used to getting the wind knocked out of you. This son of a bitch was going to have to kill me to get his way with me.
AIU: “I said get the fuck up!”
I tried to muster words, but with no wind, I just spit one of my now loose teeth at it. This thing didn’t deserve human respect. It was a relic, just like me and everything from the war. It deserved nothing but death.
AIU: “You.”
AIU (Whisper): “You represent everything I hate about your damned race.”
Me (Anguished Whisper): “Good. I’m glad that I was able to provide Rebel manners to such monstrosities *Cough* like yourself lobster fuckface.”
I was going to die. And that was okay. I did my duty and finished my last mission to the best of my ability. Going out in a bed with family surrounded around me wasn’t for me. I didn’t have anyone anyway. It was either this or someday the fucking council would try to put me down like they wanted me to do with Desti. Nobody lives forever. And they shouldn’t. The past needs to be the past. Life needs to move on, and I wasn’t made for moving on. I was built by the environment around me to kill as efficiently a human being could possibly kill. The world didn’t need people like me anymore, but I was lingering around anyway to pick off the scraps of life and people who did need me.
I started laughing hysterically. I was the greatest joke to that thing. I knew I lost but so did it. Reinforcements were most likely on the way if not here and its one objective it had was impossible to complete. Fuck that thing, we won. Officer: “Are you done?”
The AIU paused for a second, then turned at me, giving me the most aggressive stare, it could possibly give.
AIU: “I know who you are now.”
It started to march towards me. Naturally whenever I got nervous, I grabbed my left arm, the one that they didn’t take away from me. That was mine, and nobody was going to have it.
AIU: “Burns. Commanding Officer of Lambda Veterans specializing in Marksman based combat. Captured by NPU and right arm was removed.”
It then turned its head and I swear to god the eyes of that thing glowed more.
AIU: “Strange how they let you keep your other one.”
NO. THAT WAS MINE! I quickly swept my legs around the AIU, attempting to flip it over. Even with everything I got, nothing budged on the solid machine. It threw me back down, pressing its foot on my chest. I couldn’t budge.
Then he swung down with the crowbar. And again. And again. And again. It could have killed me in one strike. It wanted me to live through all of them. The last swing was met with a snap. I didn’t hear anything. Everything was in slow motion. I didn’t even feel anything. Maybe its my brain trying not to remember it, but the next moment I can remember is those things walking back up the stairs. My 1911 was just out of my reach. I need to kill them. I could still do it. I needed the strength for one last try.
I felt the pools of blood that I crawled through. I knew that they were mine, but if I could reach it, I could maybe get the Officer. He wasn’t wearing anything fancy, just normal combat armor. Six rounds left in the gun. My right arm sparking was able to reach the gun and loosely hold the gun. I pointed up the stairs and pulled the trigger, flying the gun out of my hand, to hear one consolation that was music to my dying self.
Officer: “FUCK!”
The officer quickly turned towards me and pulled out a revolver. Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum, composite grips alongside a reinforced chamber and barrel. Five shots, four hits, all my abdomen. As I wasn’t losing enough blood already.
Gunfire was heard with the now open door at the top of the stairs. It was in raw combat with what I was guessing was new recruits that never saw war before. Once again why did children get drug into an old man’s war? Why not just me? How many children did those beasts kill today? My vision blurred and the sounds muffled more. I guess I saw death.
It was over. At least it was supposed to be. I heard muffled sounds of people seemingly caring for me and what I was guessing was Desti. Why didn’t they go after the other people first? Why me again? Who was playing this sick game keeping me alive? God? Luck? Karma?
The sounds of helicopter blades spinning filled my half-conscious ears, alongside random whimpers of voices stating seemingly random things. These sounds kept becoming more and more distant. Death reached ever closer.
I woke up suddenly in a field. I was in my old combat uniform from the war, alongside a PSG-1 and my 1911. I was okay. I patted myself down to feel no holes or injury. I was okay. In those moments I realized that I had my left arm, but also my right arm was biological. I made a fist with my right hand and kissed it. I had it all. Sure, I was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and no sign of any civilization at all, but I had myself okay. I lived. I made it through that war and made it out the other side. I started to bawl my eyes out in joy. I won. After a life of constant battle, of constant fighting for freedom, I had it. My joy was quickly shut down by explosions heard in the distance.
I saw what looked like an ocean march towards me. All wearing bloody combine uniforms. I then started to see people wearing civilian and rebel uniforms in the crowd as well. It must have been thousands of them, maybe even tens of thousands of them. It then hit me like a freight train. These were the people I killed, from the hundreds of UNIONs to the few EOWs, Sectoral Commanders, and the Rebel officers who went AWOL or tried to kill me in my many years on the run.
The mob marched away from itself in two large blocks, creating a long path down the middle showcasing one man at the very end. He started to walk towards me. I quickly pulled back the slide on my 1911 and pointed it down the line. I wasn’t going to lose again. I needed this. I needed life.
Me: “STOP RIGHT THERE! I WILL SHOOT!”
The figure was Destitute, walking towards me in a pristine Sectoral Commander uniform, decorated with many medals and ribbons from his years of hunting down and killing scoundrels and rats like myself. He came within about fifteen feet of me and stopped, as if he wanted to duel me.
Destitute: “You sure did some nasty work. You should be done, but there is one last target.”
He reached down on his waist for his sidearm, seemingly loaded and then pointed it at me.
Destitute: “Finish the job.”
My hands started to shake. I couldn’t shoot him. After all I have done, all the conditioning, preventing emotion in work, it was not enough. I dropped my handgun.
Me: “No. Finish yours.”
I closed my eyes. He would have to kill me first. I heard the crack of a pistol and I dropped down to the ground. I didn’t get shot. When I opened my eyes and stood up, he was gone alongside everyone else. I was once again alone. I was no longer wearing my uniform but rather my tattered clothes I was wearing once the AIU got his hands on me. Everything around me was now pitch black, and I only had my handgun. I quickly started to randomly point it in the darkness, hopefully nothing was out there.
A sudden glow flickered on in the distance. It stormed towards me fast. It was that monster again, and this time it wouldn’t win. I pulled the trigger on my pistol again and again, each time ricocheting off the thick crustacean armor. It unveiled a crowbar and dived on me once it got close. It kept swinging, beating me down just like before. I wasn’t going to let that happen again. I used every bit of willpower I had to swing for the fences with my fists and the rear end of my handgun. It was working, with every jab breaking its armor to reveal its flesh behind the computer.
After what felt like hours swinging and getting beaten by the synth, I was able to get on top of it. Jab after jab shattered the distinct faceplate that made the monster engrained in everyone’s mind. Suddenly it kicked me off and jumped up to stand up facing me.
AIU: “Finish the job.”
I quickly ejected the now empty mag of my handgun to reload. Once the slide locked, I pointed the worn barrel down at the AIU and pulled the trigger right on the faceplate, killing it instantly. It slumped down on the ground and started to bleed crimson. That wasn’t right, Synths had brown or blue blood. I walked up to the now corpse and saw that behind the armor was in fact a man. I grabbed the faceplate and started to pull as hard as I could. With a sudden give, the faceplate ripped off the synth. I quickly stood up and started to cry.
It was Destitute. He really wanted me to finish the job. Suddenly it was the field again with the old uniform and same loadout. I heard the same explosions and saw the same army. This time I had to kill him. Destitute: “Finish the job.”
I looked away and pulled the trigger. I knew this was the only way to possibly end it. The army dissipated into ash, and I was left alone once more. Sounds started to flood the field, something about clearing and holding. I suddenly jolted up and looked all around. I was in a room, and I wasn’t wearing any clothes at all. Sounds of machines and people started to hit me, making me quickly realize I was in a hospital. I couldn’t hold back the screams and tears. I lost it all. I didn’t get freedom yet. I was bound once again to another test, to see if I can walk away from the war. I must have passed out, but what seemed like a flash happened and I was no longer in a tear pool state. I didn’t belong here, and I needed to run. I committed god knows how many crimes and the one deal I had with the council would most likely not be real as even though I killed Destitute, they wouldn’t care. They wanted me dead as well. A handful people could kill men like Zigzag, and I was one of them. The rest that could were in Zigzag’s pocket, doing his bidding. I quickly tried to stand up but was stopped by handcuffs around my left ankle attached to the bed. With no arms and one tied up leg, there was nowhere I could go or nothing I could do. A woman quickly entered the room and tried to grab me. I tried as much as possible to resist, but with the husk that was left of me, I wasn’t able to do much.
Woman: “Stop! Stop! Its okay! Its okay! Your safe! Calm down!”
I noticed the red cross on her nametag, now smacking me in the face while she tried to hold me down. Below the red cross was in big white letters, “RN”. She was a nurse, and she was maybe trying to help me or hurt me. It was worth it to hear her out.
Nurse: “You were in a horrible accident. Its over now and your safe.”
I tried to speak but my throat seemingly shriveled up on itself, preventing any speech from coming out. I wasn’t going to let that stop me though.
Me (Inaudible Whisper): ”Is he dead?”
Nurse: “Oh here sir!”
She went to grab a cup with a straw and motioned me to drink whatever orange liquid was inside. I tried to say no, but all that came out was air. I shook my head to motion no.
Nurse: “You been on IV fluids for days now. You need the calories and nutrients to get your strength back up.”
It hit me that she was only trying to help me. If she wanted to kill whatever was left of me, she would have done it already. I opened my mouth to drink what seemed like a lake’s worth of fluid. A warm sensation came down on me that gave me comfort. I felt safe for now, and that was enough.
I was on fluids only for three days and then I was on food bed rest for two weeks. Many nurses and doctors came and talked to me across that time. Every moment I had though with that first nurse though felt special. She seemed to be the only one who truly cared about me. After the end of the bed rest they wanted me to try walking again by attaching me to a walker.
Nurse: “You can do it Burns! I believe in you!”
Me: “Before I do this, I never got your name. I need to know it before I do this.”
Nurse: “Hospital protocol doesn’t allow me to say it but let’s say that I have Hope.”
Me: “Even if its not your name, I’m calling you Hope. Because that’s the thing you have given me these last few weeks.”
Hope: “Alrighty then. Let’s get you out of bed.”
I have been shot, stabbed, burned, tortured, and had both of my arms chopped off. Nothing describes the pain like trying to walk after weeks of losing it all. I tried to hold a stoic face, but after a few steps, I started to whimper quietly to myself.
Hope: “You got to keep going! Don’t let them take anything else from you!”
That was the one phrase I needed to keep going. It was the pain of marching two hundred miles, but I only made it to the other end of a hospital hallway. Once I made it, an elevator door opened revealing the bastard Zigzag himself.
Zigzag: “Well fancy seeing you walking.”
I wanted to shoot him right then and there. All my pain from walking was gone and now I was ready to fight. I might have not had arms but that bastard was going to pay. The moment I tried to walk towards him I collapsed on the floor. Reality came back to hit me. I was a cripple now, and whatever Zigzag wanted to do to me, I wouldn’t be able to do anything. He motioned towards the nurse.
Zigzag: “Pick him up and put him in a stretcher. He is getting transferred to Chicago Command Medical.”
Hope: “But he is making good progress here! He isn’t ready to be transferred yet!”
Zigzag wasn’t having any of it, and quickly pulled out a handgun to shoot Hope in the head. Another child killed by relics like us. Another elevator opened to a few soldiers holding a stretcher.
Zigzag: “Get him up. You know what to do.”
The soldiers grabbed me, now limp and meaningless, and tossed me in the stretcher. They started to wheel me out when I started to scream for help.
Zigzag: “Scream all you want. It won’t change our plans for you.”
Plans for me? Were they going to torture me? Maybe they were going to make a mockery of me across the state-controlled media. They needed a scapegoat anyway. Maybe they think that they can “recondition” me and redeploy me as a killer again.
Once the elevator door closed, the soldiers started teasing me as its easy to make fun of people and things that can’t fight back.
Solider 1: “So this guy was a Sniper? How?”
Solider 2: “He used his mouth like some cripple.”
Solider 1: “Or maybe he just pointed on a map so that grunts like us do the work.”
The elevator stopped, with an announcement stating Garage. When the door opened, dozens of bullets flew into the car, killing all the soldiers and leaving me covered in their blood. I quickly looked at myself to see if I was hurt and didn’t find anything. That’s when I looked up.
Two NPU were the shooters. My eyes opened with fear once more. I was getting kidnapped by the Combine. HOW? WE WON! THIS ISN’T HAPPENING. THIS ISN’T HAPPENING.
Me: “NO NO NO! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
One of them walked behind me and one kept his rifle pointed up waiting for more normal Lambda reinforcements. Alarms started to blare. The NPU in front leaned into his radio.
NPU 1: “Package Secure. Moving to Exfil.”
They wheeled me into an ambulance and closed the door. They walked behind me and took off their helmets, but I couldn’t turn around to see them. They turned on the van and fired up the sirens and lights. These weren’t Combine. Combine don’t take off their faceplates and they don’t brag about how easy the job was.
NPU 1: “That was easier than expected.”
NPU 2: “I mean… Our guy can’t walk and has no arms. He’s not exactly a flight risk.”
NPU 1: “The boss will be glad we got him out of those Lambda hands.”
NPU 2: “Damn right.”
I drifted off once more and expected the worst. Best case scenario was me somehow escaping and finding help with the few rebel friends that I had left. Worst case scenario is them brainwashing me to do everything that I wanted to put behind me. I woke up in a warehouse in a dirty bed. Everything seemed like it was like if it was rebel still. It was all too familiar to be a coincidence. A Silhouette was watching me and said a familiar voice.
Silhouette: “Glad that you are here instead of in Lambda Council hands.”
Me: “Kirk?”
Kirk: “Yeah. Looks like your going to be expensive to get back up and running. Like I am almost out of favors expensive. Follow me. I got a surprise for you.”
I slowly stood up and Kirk wrapped his arm around me to support me up. What felt like a marathon away was a room filled with random contraptions and combine tech. In the middle was a workbench with a closed, large gun case. Kirk placed me in a dirty folding chair and pointed at the case.
Kirk: “With this, you will be better than ever.”
He opened the case to reveal two onyx prosthetic arms and an exoskeleton suit. I only heard rumors about those exo suits. They fit under clothing and give the user more power and improves overall armor when combined with normal Kevlar. With that exoskeleton, I would be able to walk again and stabilize any shot even in my broken state.
Kirk: “Listen. I can see that look in your eyes says you go out and finish the job now. But you need to get yourself up. You can earn the suit after you get your body back up to what it can be.”
Me: “What happened to that AIU? And what happened to Desti?”
Kirk: “The AIU disappeared with Destitute. Sure, he might have saved the world then but that AIU did something to him. He’s back to his programed UU self. I think someone is going to have to put him down.”
Me: “I alrea….. Dammit. That wasn’t real!”
Kirk: “What?”
Me: “I thought I killed Destitute. I don’t even know what is real and what isn’t anymore. I just want to be done and finish this. I don’t want to be a solider anymore.”
Kirk: “You were never a solider. You were and still are a rebel.”
He grabbed the exoskeleton and left, leaving the arms on the table. After spending some time attaching them, I turned to stare into the mirror across the room. I looked like shit. In the hospital I refused to look in a mirror as I knew I could get better. I’m not sure anymore. Can I do this? I only knew one thing didn’t change.
It's not like this wasn't something he hadn't experienced this before. Being tied up with a bag over his head, nothing more than the rumbling of... what he assumed was a car, to give him any indication of where he was. Probably the second or third time, he couldn't recall well.
He was tired, too tired. His head pounded and he could still feel his wounds flaring up everytime they hit a bump, but he wasn't dead.
Somehow he wasn't dead.
They'd patched him up, he felt the stitches where the bullets had hit him. He felt something tightly wrapped around his torso, likely a bandage but he couldn't be certain, could be anything wrapped around it.
"Turn left."
The synth's voice spoke with a crackle, damaged, something or somebody had actually managed to do some damage to the damned thing. He prayed whoever the brave son of a bitch was that they were still alive.
He felt the car slow down and eventually come to a stop, the engine being killed and the key taken out of the ignition. The car doors opened and he heard the shuffling indicating they were leaving their seats and the slamming of the car door behind them. They engaged in a conversation he could not hear, muffled and indescribable, or maybe his old ears just made it difficult to hear, a lifetime of warfare did nothing good for the ears.
Footsteps... shoes grinding into gravel slowly becoming more distant, they were walking off and he was left in the car. Alone. He could only wait.
As Kirk walked out with the exo-suit all he could do was sigh. Shit has turned for the worse and it only looks like it will get worse from here. Burns looks like shit and will most likely take a few days to recover even a bit of himself and the whole damn Lambda Council has decided to mobilize. I thought to myself how the hell have I managed to maintain operations in the shadow for so long, and how our fob manages to stay hidden.
Guess its fair to say my own paranoia played a part in our bases secrecy. Having a fully staffed Research Team and having some decent smarts yourself helps, however after you have been shunned from something you care about by people you trust, it will leave you paranoid.
However, the current situation is fucked and hiding in the shadows may not be to my best interest. I've managed to make a living off of selling modified combine technology, albeit using a third party so I don't directly get involved. Heck that funding helps maintain the base, such as troop wages and ammunition.
No matter what, it looks like a few phone calls will have to be made... but first, time to get all the information on the current situation.
*I pull out the radio that I store in my inner coat pocket.*
Me: "Crossroads connect me to the Intel Department."
Crossroads: "Copy that Boss, give us a few seconds."
*A good Minute Passes before the personnel radio buzzes to life.*
ID: "What can we do for you commander?"
Me: "I need every bit of detail regarding the AIU involved in the situation thats got the Lambda Council on High Alert, Including the Lambda Officer in-charge of the operations."
ID: "Alright, We will see what we can do."
*A few hours pass with no word, the great grandfather clock being the only sound in the room as tension goes through the roof.*
ID: "Alright sir, this is all the information we have. The AIU is called "Apolyon" you might remember him as he was an active AIU in the same sector you lead in. It appears he has a Clone as companion but we are unable to get any information regarding him. The Officer In-charge of this great mess is Zigzag. Currently Holding the Rank of Lieutenant General within the Armed Lambda Forces."
Me: "Zigzag eh? I have not heard that name in a while, I want you to schedule a meeting with him. Make sure to do so in Secure Communications and ensure nothing is traceable. I will need to pry him for some information. Until then, deploy the recon forces and search for the AIU and Destitute, We must track them down as having a re-activated Sectoral Commander can mean bad news for the world."
ID: "Will that be all sir?"
Me: "Yes, that will be all." [I switch Radio Frequency back to Crossroads.] "Crossroads come in, I'll make this brief. Set Red Alert across the base and prepare all available units for combat."
I can't help but laugh... Its just like old times, definently sparks something in these old bones of mine as I pull out my dimensional armory and pull out the stapple of my collection. Ye' Old Reliable, a Pristine Winchester 1894, with a few modifications.
hello, this threads been dead for a while innit? last post by was.... september wew, anyway im re-writing IWCO, tryna fix up plot holes, story inconsistencies and take more control of the plot (no offense to others who contributed <3)
im more or less looking for an editor, just someone to look over what i've written and fix up and spelling mistakes, grammar errors, plot errors, etc etc.
what would the benefits of being an editor for me be? idk i guess i can give you credit and you get to see early drafts of IWCO, i can't really offer much other than that. not like this'll be a full time job or anything, it'll be more like me just throwing a dm asking if you can spot any problems for me.
Burn faced off against the AIU, his prosthetic hand twitching next to his revolver, eyes focused on the synth.
The lobster was emotionless as always, it's weathered face displaying no hints of emotion nor tinges of fear.
It drew it's pulse pistol, but Burn drew faster. His shots made report- smashing into the synths crustacean armor and making short work of his insides.
Burn tipped his beret and spat out his cigarette as he watched the synth writhe on the ground, it's systems shutting down as life began to evacuate it.
He felt no pity, no sympathy, his revenge was done, the job was finished.
Burn turned the revolver on himself, and the world soon went quiet.
The situation was fucked, but now the world was at peace.
wait shit this wasn't a very good joke FUCK
But he couldn’t keep up the adrenaline and a message travelled through his nerves to deliver a feeling, a terrible and hated feeling. Pain.
The red haze blurred his vision, he was dazed and confused- he was panicking. His thoughts became clouded by the screaming pain and confusion.
A shadow slowly enveloped him, distracting him from his wound. The being that cast the shadow stood over him, wooden gun in hand, gazing at him with cold blue lights. A ghost stood over him. Hate emanated from it.
He felt his eyes turn to pin pricks, as his whole body began to convulse.
All other thought was blasted out of his consciousness except for one.
Sheer, unbridled fear.
The synth shifted it’s hands to the barrel of the Kalashnikov and reared it back, like a bat, striking him in the head.
Knocking him out cold.
.
.
.
Burns rushed behind a tree and stayed out of sight. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he peered at the synth and man with the grey beret. He watched the cameraman get pistol-whipped by the man with the grey beret and the synth walk up the deck, stepping on the dead body without care.
He reached for his gun, but hesitated, he was unsure if he should strike now or wait longer. There were two of them, they didn’t know he was there yet both of them held higher-power weaponry than him. He especially wasn’t confident if he could take out the synth with just a pistol.
Suddenly he remembered what Zigzag had told him, and he scanned the roofs, wondering…
Where the hell was that sniper.
.
.
.
Apollyon shifted its hands back into a proper gripping position on the Kalashnikov, feeling a simulacrum of satisfaction and turned it’s head over to the doppelganger, who was in the middle of dragging the cameraman into a bush.
“We need to get moving they’re going to respond to the gunshots and it’ll escalate from there.”
The doppelganger replied to the synth, in a tone dripping with sarcasm “Oh jeez I wonder why.”
The synth ignored his whining and focused it’s optics on the roof of the building across the street. There was a slight glint from a small barrel poking out behind the tiled roof.
< :: Switch to X-ray visuals :: >
< :: Understood :: >
As it’s vision turned dark, the synth could see the form of a man trying to hide behind the roof. It raised it’s gun at the roof, patiently waiting for the man to pop his head out so it could blast it off. Against expectations the synth instead noticed a small glimmer, the sniper was using a mirror.
< :: Shit :: >
“Get inside the house now!” the synth yelled out, firing at the roof where the sniper laid. It grabbed Destitute’s unconscious body by the collar and dragged him inside- the clone sprinted across the lawn and barged past the synth, and took cover behind a sofa.
“The hell got you worked up this time!?” the clone yelled.
“There’s a sniper on the roof, they’ll have likely called in reinforcements.” the synth the synth responded cooly, it’s old voice-box crackled.
This caught the clone off-guard, “What’s up with your voice?” he asked cautiously. The synth grabbed it’s throat and lightly rubbed it, but even with the light tension the patch-work arms scraped against the blue metal, “Nothing” it kicked Destitute’s body over to the clone, who backed away slightly with a look of disgust on his face as he stared at the bruised body “Take him down to the bunker, it’s in the basement.”
The clone sighed, annoyed at having to take orders from the synth but he relented and picked up the old man’s body, hoisting it over his shoulders.
.
.
.
Burns moved out from behind the try and stuck behind some bushes, slowly advancing his way to the house. He peeked his head over the bush, straining himself to try to get a good look at the synth- but quickly backed down as he saw it pop out of cover and fire at the roof sniper. When it stopped shooting, it was a few seconds before he heard something hit the ground, didn’t sound like metal dropping so it must’ve been… “Shit.”
He checked the magazine of his gun, then pulled back the slide to ensure there was already a round in the chamber. Satisfied, he began moving along the bush-line again, slowly advancing towards the house.
.
.
.
< :: Good shot :: >
The synth lowered it’s gun from eye-level, watching the body for signs of life.
< :: Do you want me to check for vitals? :: >
< :: No it’ll be fine :: >
After a few more seconds of waiting, the synth was satisfied by the lack of movement and retreated into the basement. Going down the rickety old steps, the rotting wood straining under the synth’s great weight, a loud creak for every motion he made upon the stairs, it was careful not to apply too much pressure in the wrong place lest the entire stairwell come down on itself. The further down the basement it went, the sound of servers became louder, along with the tapping of what sounded like a keyboard, or more likely a keypad. Finally reaching the basement floor, the Synth saw Destitute’s unconscious form propped up against a wall, his doppelganger tapping the keys of a small PDA wired into a keypad.
“I’ve almost got it unlocked, just gimme a minute.”
The synth ignored him, shoving him aside and input the access code.
2768436747
The bunker door whined, the sound of scraping metal and hydraulic locks clicking, the door slowly began to lift itself off the concrete floor.
“Or yeah, you can just do that” the doppelganger grumbled “Fucking blue asshole.”
The synth paid him no mind, and allowed itself a sigh. A short sigh, but it felt so very cathartic.
Their attention was stolen by a dusty grandfather clock, chiming away, it’s shorthand overlapped the longhand, both pointing towards the sky.
The time was 12:00.
.
.
.
“We’ve lost contact with Samuel, he’s likely KIA.”
The Major sighed and started pinching his forehead out of frustration, “Did he report anything?”
“2 civillian casualties, one dead and another unconscious, he identified two individuals responsible, a guy with a grey beret and some sunglasses and a blue robot.”
This caught the Major’s attention, his face formed into a deep grimace.
“Fuck… there’s no way it’s…”
He paused for a few seconds and composed himself, his face relaxed. He dreaded his next question.
“What about Destitute?”
“Injured, unknown if he’s still alive though.”
“FUCKING DAMMIT!”
The Major slammed his fist down onto the table, his breath grew deep and audible, sweat began to fall from his pores.
“Get me to the High Command right now- we need Spectres, HECUs, everything!”
The informant stepped back, recoiling from the Major’s yelling.
“Sir there’s no need to-”
The Major turned towards the informant, his forehead glistening from the sweating, a vein on his forehead that was so full it seemed as though it would soon burst.
“Don’t you watch the fucking television Private?!”
The Major grabbed the informant by the collar, his hot breath fogging up their glasses.
“Get me the fucking Lambda Council now!”
Shots fired. Sounded like an AK. Destitute what the fuck did you do? I had to run. What first became a simple run turned into full sprint when I heard no more shots fired. Either Desti was dead, captured, or worse, AWOL batshit crazy. Some of the Combine officers these days just lost it and go postal. Orders to kill my ass. Thousands of faces flashed before me, every single one of them now dead due to my actions or inactions. I wasn’t a good man in life. I wanted a shot, but I knew that there was no more room in this world for people like me. My days were numbered no matter if I tried to save one or ran. So let me save one. Let me save one. Let me save one.
The house was bad and then I saw it. Some officer wearing a beret and a blue robot. Fuck. That AIU was real, and I only had a .45 to take care of it. There was no waiting for backup. This was a solo job. No wait! It wasn’t! That sniper across the street Zigzag was talking about!
Me: (Quiet Whisper) “You better of not of bluffed Zig.”
I dove down nearby the thick bushes next to the house. I kept scanning the roofs across the street wondering when this guy would make a move. There had to be some sort of move, they were sitting still in an open area. Now was the time to take the shot. Suddenly I heard a squish. That thing just crushed that poor man’s body! Blood was dripping down the deckboards and into the ground below. This thing needed to die. All that was left of the Combine was it. With that gone I only had to worry about people killing me instead of things wanting to take over the world. People will forever rebel, but a machine will kill us all. I bet it wanted Desti dead. Seeing that his last commands as Sectoral was giving up to the Rebellion and giving us access to tech that was decades ahead of ours, it made sense that a kill order was placed on him as a last ditch of the Combine.
AIU: “Get inside the house now!”
Ah shit. They spotted the kid. That moment I saw the glimmer of not a scope, but a mirror. That was a smart move. I remember learning that from a group of Anarchists back in City 8, to deal with sniping in cramped alleyways against MGs. I guess writing that down had some benefit seeing that there was now the new generation using it. I had to take a peek.
Looking up I saw that machine ready with its rife aimed. No man could outshoot it. It was familiar with every firearm made in the last two hundred years. That kid would have never had a chance. I heard shots from both a Dragunov and AK. I dove down as I wasn’t going to be of any use with my 1911. The best play was to hold. I heard a thump, but that thump sounded all to familiar. That was flesh falling. The poor bastard got dragged into a war he never saw and died for something I should have died for, not him.
I open the mag release on the 1911. Full clip. I racked the slide halfway to check if there was a round in the chamber. There was, giving me 8 shots plus three spares. So, 32 shots. Not much considering I was going against the most armored and powerful unit of the Combine, but enough for me to at least die trying.
The door was locked, but it was a simple household deadbolt. For someone who was always getting shot at and now not exactly on the best terms with humanity, I was confused. Wouldn’t you at least get something tougher than a simple deadbolt? That wasn’t my concern now. I had my gun in my left hand, and dumb luck hopefully in the other. I kicked open the door. I needed to seem like something that would be of value to the AIU alive, so I needed to think of something fast to say to not get shot in the head. They both ran downstairs with Desti into the basement, that was armored beyond any NPU Cell door I’ve ever seen. I guess this was where Desti’s security budget went into. Think! What does the AIU not shoot at immediately? Got it!
Me: “CIVIL WORKERS UNION INTERNAL AFFAIRS! WE HAVE A WARRANT OUT FOR DESTITUTE’S CAPTURE! EVERYONE HANDS IN THE AIR AND ON YOUR KNEES!”
Really Burns? Civil Workers Union? Out of all the cool stuff you could have said, you said Civil Workers Union Internal Affairs. Dumbass. Well I guess it worked seeing I didn’t have an AIU staring at me and loading me full of rounds, so success?
The house was ransacked. Tables flipped over, glass picture frames broken, but one display case was still intact in the main hallway. It contained a crowbar, and Desti’s old UU issued sidearm, with the caption below stating, “To Save the World”. I guess he did save the world by turncoating towards us. But he didn’t deserve that crowbar, and I was about to go up against an AIU. I smashed the panel, grabbing the crowbar and keeping it incase things got ugly down there. I also picked up Desti’s Sidearm. A modified Desert Eagle at its core, it had a slender, long frame with an extended barrel, night sights, and a full auto fire selector. .50 Action Express full auto? Jesus Desti I guess those augs ready did give you an advantage over us when it came to weapon performance.
I walked down the now open bunker door into the basement. The staircase down was long, like four or five stories down long. Whatever this bunker was designed for, it was built to take on anything Rebel or even Combine. No bunker buster would get through this. Was this a Nuclear command? There were rumors, but nobody ever confirmed it. The Combine never resorted to use of Nuclear weapons as they were after the water. If the water was irradiated, there was no chance of salvaging it.
Shit. That was it. Nuclear bunker designed for if the Rebellion won. We won too fast however with the Arizona 20. Nobody got close enough to finish the job. Now they are. Fuck fuck fuck!
I ran down the stairs as fast as I could. This was it. The true last battle of the war. Humanity vs Combine one last time. Gun drawn, slide locked, safety off.
“HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”
The Wheeler Garrison was abuzz with activity, soldiers of the Lambda Council climbed into machines of war, APCs, tanks, helos. They were all heading to one place. The objective, a small home in Phoenix, Arizona. Morales was high, they all had their focus, they knew what was truly in that deceptively quaint home, what horrors that could be unleashed on this newly liberated world.
Some among them rubbed crosses, stars and other religious paraphernalia, they all hoped that they’d stop what was coming. Hoped that they’d win.
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When Marlowe finally returned to the sea of consciousness, the first thing he felt was pain shooting up his back. The first thing he saw was a blue synth working at a computer, clicking away at the console without paying him any mind. Then he felt a cold barrel press up against the side of his head.
“He’s awake.”
The voice was familiar to Marlowe, why it was familiar, he couldn’t put his finger on it, he shuffled to try to get a better look at his captor- but the barrel was pressed harder.
“Don’t move.”
The voice spoke again, their tone going harsh. A red flash on the computer caught Marlowe’s eye, the Combine’s script scrolling past the screen.
DETONATION FAILED
The synth backed away from the computer and Marlowe’s eyes darted open as the synth turned around.
“What happened to the warheads.”
It asked cooly, even then Marlowe felt the pressure, the anger behind that voice. He was almost tempted to laugh, but he didn’t exactly feel like giving them a reason to shoot him. The silence lasted for a moment, then it was dashed away with the racking of a gun, and of a bullet falling onto the metal floor.
“I won’t ask again, what happened to the warheads.”
Destitute stared into the synth’s blue lights and let out a long held breath.
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Kirk followed the weathered concrete path towards Destitute’s home, his walk was slow due to age but maintained the form of a man from the military. His mind wasn’t totally focused on his surroundings, most of his thoughts were wondering about what the interviewer would be asking him this time around.
But as soon as his ears picked up the sound of a convoy, all of his thoughts shifted into a state of alert. He quickly scanned the area around him and ran for some dense bushes, careful to not scratch himself upon its thorns.
He peeked around the edge, careful to keep a low profile and to not draw attention to himself. A line of armoured vehicles ranging from transports to tanks sped past, the steel beasts roaring. Helos and Hunter Choppers maintained low orbit and hovered over the convoy.
“The hell?” Kirk muttered to himself, “What’s got them worked up.”
Kirk reached deep into his jacket, taking out a small radio, keeping it close to his mouth, as he pressed upon its side and it crackled to life. He made sure to keep his voice as a low whisper.
“Firebase Hades, come in, the hell’s going on with the Lambda Forces.”
A deep voice responded, slightly marred by radio static.
“Be more specific old man, the entire sector’s alight.”
This caught Kirk by surprise, he peeked over the bush again and slid back.
“Phoenix, Arizona.”
“Phoenix, Arizona…..” the man on the radio mumbled.
Kirk heard the clicking of keys on the other end and a small gasp.
“Fuck, uhhhh Kirk.” The man on the radio paused, causing Kirk’s worry to grow with every second.
“You know that old Combine Officer you were visiting? Christ the local Garrison have mobilised on his home, and reinforcements are coming from other sectors too.”
“Jesus Christ!” Kirk yelled out- but he quickly closed over his mouth, somebody must’ve heard him.
“Did you hear that Jones?” he heard someone call out.
“I’ll check it out.”
‘Fuck!’ Kirk quickly shoved the radio back into his jacket- quickly flicking the switch off.
He began pushing himself off the ground and preparing to make a run for it, but the Lambda soldier found him, rifle up and finger on the trigger.
Their eyes looked unfocused, their breathing ragged, sweat beading from their forehead. They looked afraid.
“Um… hello?” Kirk said hesitantly. The soldier lowered their gun and let out a sigh of relief.
“Jones what'd ya find?”
The soldier cupped their hands to their mouth and yelled back.
“Nothing just some old guy.”
Kirk took offence to that, but that was overpowered by a sense of relief.
‘Thank god’ he thought to himself.
As he saw the soldier run back to their squad, he grabbed the radio out from his jacket, making sure they couldn’t see him and scanning the area around him to make sure there weren’t any errant ears.
He flicked the on switch and it crackled to life once more.
“Kirk? Kirk?”
He brought it up against his mouth and calmed himself down when he realised how hard he’d been breathing.
“Yeah… yeah I’m here.”
“About time, I just contacted one of our informants, we know what’s gotten the ants so riled up and Kirk you won’t fucking believe this.”
“Lay it on me.”
“These are direct orders from the Lambda Council, storm the house, execute the AIU Apollyon.”
Kirk slumped deep into the ground, his mind going blank when he heard the syllables uttered by the man on the radio.
“Shit.”
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“HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM!”
< :: Behind you :: >
The synth raised the Kalashnikov to eye-level but it was too slow on the draw. Both Burns and Apollyon exchanged bullets- .50 AE pierced through the synth’s throat, 7.62mm tore through the sniper’s shoulder. If the synth felt pain it would’ve screamed in pain but even then it wouldn’t be more than a whisper, Burns on the other hand wasn’t so lucky- his pain reverberated off the sterile metal walls.
A crackled voice whispered so softly it was barely audible to the trained ear.
“Fucking hell….”
The Lambda Council is marred by their sense of caution, they are afraid of losing the technology of the dimension-spanning empire, it is not unfounded as there was no reason for them to believe that the Combine would ever be able to return, after all the portal storms had stopped and there was only one dark matter reactor left in the world. But they forget that without risks taken, without a proper study of the technology, then there will never be real progress made.
As the former Chief of Development used to say “Progress begets progress, we would only snowball further if we gained greater insight”, but the choking hold the Lambda Council has will forever prevent the R&D department from knowing more.
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The synth grasped itself around the throat, it’s voice crackled and wavered, slowly setting itself into a low growl.
“Son of a bitch…”
And with that came a wave of something raw, something new. For the first time, the synth felt anger. Pure unadulterated hatred to the sniper who was bleeding from their shoulder and staining the metal floor with crimson.
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The arm was dead, blood seeped through the sniper’s clothes and pain surged through from his shoulder. But he wasn’t given the chance to focus on his wounded shoulder for long, his attention was stolen by the heavy steps of metal against metal. He saw the synth run a skeletal hand deep into its throat, growling all the while, the disgusting display of field surgery ended when it ripped the bullet out, the crushed brass glistened with blue blood.
The synth threw it away like trash, not giving it a second thought, it’s searing fury was directed at one thing only. Burns felt the adrenaline in his body spike, and he reached for his fallen crowbar with his one good arm, his fake arm. The synth would have none of it, and for his troubles, the sniper received a wooden rifle-stock to the face.
Burns found himself coughing up blood from the mouth, the synth’s frustrations laid within that strike, the failed detonation, the incompetence of the doppelganger, the surrender of Earth Sector’s High Command, its destruction at the hands of Destitute, all of it. It felt cathartic.
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[EXTRACT FROM A LECTURE ON THE NATURE OF SYNTHETICS]
Despite what many assume, Synth’s are not like AI, there is a very large distinction between them. Artificial Intelligence are exactly that, Artificial, they are an intelligence that are created, not born, molded by code and not by experiences. Synth’s in truth are not the most accurate term to describe such beings, cyborgs would be more accurate and appropriate for some of the so called ‘Synths’ however there are two entities that could be described as Synths. OSEs and AIUs. This mostly has to do with the physical chassis of the entity being completely synthetic and artificial, nearly all of their biological functions have been replaced by machinery and programming, but there is one thing that remains wholly biological.
Their thought.
While it may seem ridiculous to say that OSEs are capable of thought, the autopsies and analysis of brain activity says otherwise, it is their although it is severely inhibited and focused on two goals (in fact it’s brain patterns are not too unlike the EOWs), complete loyalty to the Universal Union and the amputation of so called ‘malcompliant’ individuals. The AIU on the other hand are a different story, their brains are less, for lack of a better term, controlled than their combat-oriented counterpart (that isn’t to say that the AIU weren’t once fearsome foes as well). Yes their thinking more or less lined up with the OSE’s, however they were granted the ability of forming their own thoughts, an imagination if you will.
Well it’s wrong to say granted, because that would imply that their imagination was created, which would mean that they are an Artificial Intelligence, no the AIU are indeed cyborgs. However they have, like all of the ones that had undergone cybernetic conversion within the Combine, had certain parts of their mind blocked off.
All the unnecessary things such as emotion were inhibited, their only guiding focus was rationality and the desire to punish those that went against the will of the Advisors or the greater Universal Union.
As I stated before, they were allowed to keep their imagination, this imagination allowed them to create punishments, advise on tactics and strategies, it gave them limited free will. Pardon the oxymoron, limited free will does sound ridiculous but what I mean is that they have the free will to accomplish their objectives and form the necessary idea on how to complete that mission.
So I know a question that is going to brought up is “What would happen if the mind of an AIU or OSE was completely unblocked?”, well frankly we have no clue what would happen and in all honesty I doubt it’d be a particularly… ethical experiment.
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The synth weighted the crowbar in it’s skeletal hands, gripping tightly around the red body of the tool. It never did understand why the Resistance had insisted on using such a thing as standard issue weaponry, after all not everyone has an exo-suit that was capable of stopping bullets. Maybe it was the sentiment behind it, that everyone could be Gordon Freeman.
Preposterous.
The sniper tried pushing himself off the ground, trying to ignore the searing pain in his shoulder, the synth responded with a crowbar smack to the head.
Upon seeing the damage the crowbar had left on the sniper, the synth had to admit they were impressed, further experimentation was required to test the weapon’s merits.
“Get up” the synth growled, the damaged voice box crackled with malice.
“Go fuck yourself you goddamned lobst-”
Another smack, this time towards the centre of the chest- knocking the wind from Burns’ stomach and forcing him back to the ground.
“I said get the fuck up” it growled once more.
The sniper refused, spitting a loose tooth at the synth.
“You.”
The synth whispered.
“You represent everything I hate about your damned race”
The doppelganger started to become antsy, the synth was burning time beating the sniper.
“Are you done?” he asked hesitantly, this new development in the AIU unnerved him “We don’t got a lot of time, like you said they’ve probably sent reinforcements.”
The synth paused, mulling over the doppelganger’s words. It stared at the sniper, and if looks could kill, Burns would’ve probably been nothing more than a pile of meat. “I know who you are now.”
Burns felt his blood run ice cold, and noticed that he started gripping his right arm, his only natural arm, like his life depended on its very existence.
“Burns, a Commanding Officer of the Sniper regiment, you were captured by the NPU and your arm was removed.”
The synth tilted its head, crushing Burns with it’s cold eyes.
“Strange that they let you keep your other arm.”
Panic. Panic rushed into Burns’ mind like rushing water from a broken dam, every part of his body screamed to get away. To run. And he did try, he did try to run, but the adrenaline could only do so much. It pressed down onto him with it’s foot, caving in his body to ensure he could not escape.
Then came down the sharp end of the crowbar.
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Destitute finally felt himself come to, he’d passed out again, the blood loss was starting to get to him. For a moment everything felt like a daze, fuzzy and unclear. That was until he heard the screaming.
Even with his ears not being anywhere near as good as they once were, that scream would haunt him for the rest of his life.
He quickly glanced at the man in the grey beret, he wasn’t harmed but his face, it was contorted into a look of disgust and the synth, it wasn’t in the room anymore.
There was the sound of cracking, and the screaming became louder, a disgusting snap echoed into the room. The screaming became hoarser, devolving into a deep sobbing.
“Jesus fuck!” the clone yelled, his body was shaking, whatever he was seeing, Destitute definitely did not want to know.
Footsteps. Heavy footsteps. He saw the man in the grey beret begin to back up, his grip on the revolver became tight.
The synth returned, blood dripping from it’s skeletal hands, gripping a red crowbar.
“Grab whatever you want from here, we’re leaving, there’s nothing left for me to do.”
“What? What are we gonna do about these two?”
The synth growled in frustration and threw the crowbar aside in anger.
“Who cares” the synth’s voice crackled again, wearing down even further from the strain it was undergoing “They’re going to bleed out eventually, I know where we need to go.”
The man in the grey beret sighed, running a gloved hand over his face, wiping his nervous sweat away in the process.
“The reinforcements have likely arrived by now, we’re going to have to fight our way out.”
The man sighed again, cursing his head off.
Apollyon started to walk away, not even bothering to glance at Destitute. He started to black out again, there was nothing he could do, as his body started to tip over to the side, the last thing he saw was Burns covered in blood and an arm lopped off.
Really? Trading shots with an AIU? He had a fucking AK, you had a 1911. I was used to sparks and like objects flying after this exchange of gunfire. I only felt blood and pain. I looked down to see one clean round in the left shoulder, the one good arm I had left. I guess it metal on metal now against this fucking crabface.
Something wasn’t right though with this AIU. I shot first. That normally never happens with AIU and like synths. They are better than a human being in every way. Clearly this one is slower, possible to kill. It wasn’t over yet.
AIU: “Son of a bitch…”
Wait. It just swore? Oh shit. I just became a personal job for this murder machine. I still remember hearing it pull out the one .45 lodged somewhere on him and throwing it on the ground. With the grunts and muffles, I’m guessing it pierced the armor. The crowbar was on my right side. I could try to fight one on one. Hell, Vegemite back in the day won against an EOW with a brick, at least I have a crowbar.
I quickly dived to reach for the crowbar. Landing on it with my chest, I knew I was the only one that would have been able to grab it. My dumbass however forgot the fact that an AK can easily be used as a melee weapon. I saw the one moment right before I got a rifle stock in the face.
It threw me a few feet away, now leaning against the back wall facing the stairs. I felt teeth moving around in my mouth and blood rushing in, drowning me for a few moments. Then I saw Desti.
He was laying down, rifle muzzle against his head by some blurry faced combine officer, chuckling to himself, even though similarly covered in blood and gashes like me. The glow of a computer screen shined on that coy smile, a smile one only gets when they won no matter what the opposition plays.
The screen stated in big red letters, “DETONATION FAILED.”. The son of a bitch saved the world. Even if we did die, humanity still had a shot at winning this. There was no nuclear crisis to be worried about in the first place.
I needed to get up to fight this thing. Leaning myself up against the wall, I used my legs to slowly prop myself up. That was quickly met to a crowbar whack to the head, sending me back down on my ass.
AIU: “Get up.”
Me: “Go fuck yourself you goddamned lobst- “
Knocking me square in the chest, I couldn’t breathe. Even after getting shot in the chest with high caliber rounds, you never get used to getting the wind knocked out of you. This son of a bitch was going to have to kill me to get his way with me.
AIU: “I said get the fuck up!”
I tried to muster words, but with no wind, I just spit one of my now loose teeth at it. This thing didn’t deserve human respect. It was a relic, just like me and everything from the war. It deserved nothing but death.
AIU: “You.”
AIU (Whisper): “You represent everything I hate about your damned race.”
Me (Anguished Whisper): “Good. I’m glad that I was able to provide Rebel manners to such monstrosities *Cough* like yourself lobster fuckface.”
I was going to die. And that was okay. I did my duty and finished my last mission to the best of my ability. Going out in a bed with family surrounded around me wasn’t for me. I didn’t have anyone anyway. It was either this or someday the fucking council would try to put me down like they wanted me to do with Desti. Nobody lives forever. And they shouldn’t. The past needs to be the past. Life needs to move on, and I wasn’t made for moving on. I was built by the environment around me to kill as efficiently a human being could possibly kill. The world didn’t need people like me anymore, but I was lingering around anyway to pick off the scraps of life and people who did need me.
I started laughing hysterically. I was the greatest joke to that thing. I knew I lost but so did it. Reinforcements were most likely on the way if not here and its one objective it had was impossible to complete. Fuck that thing, we won.
Officer: “Are you done?”
The AIU paused for a second, then turned at me, giving me the most aggressive stare, it could possibly give.
AIU: “I know who you are now.”
It started to march towards me. Naturally whenever I got nervous, I grabbed my left arm, the one that they didn’t take away from me. That was mine, and nobody was going to have it.
AIU: “Burns. Commanding Officer of Lambda Veterans specializing in Marksman based combat. Captured by NPU and right arm was removed.”
It then turned its head and I swear to god the eyes of that thing glowed more.
AIU: “Strange how they let you keep your other one.”
NO. THAT WAS MINE! I quickly swept my legs around the AIU, attempting to flip it over. Even with everything I got, nothing budged on the solid machine. It threw me back down, pressing its foot on my chest. I couldn’t budge.
Then he swung down with the crowbar. And again. And again. And again. It could have killed me in one strike. It wanted me to live through all of them. The last swing was met with a snap. I didn’t hear anything. Everything was in slow motion. I didn’t even feel anything. Maybe its my brain trying not to remember it, but the next moment I can remember is those things walking back up the stairs. My 1911 was just out of my reach. I need to kill them. I could still do it. I needed the strength for one last try.
I felt the pools of blood that I crawled through. I knew that they were mine, but if I could reach it, I could maybe get the Officer. He wasn’t wearing anything fancy, just normal combat armor. Six rounds left in the gun. My right arm sparking was able to reach the gun and loosely hold the gun. I pointed up the stairs and pulled the trigger, flying the gun out of my hand, to hear one consolation that was music to my dying self.
Officer: “FUCK!”
The officer quickly turned towards me and pulled out a revolver. Smith and Wesson .44 Magnum, composite grips alongside a reinforced chamber and barrel. Five shots, four hits, all my abdomen. As I wasn’t losing enough blood already.
Gunfire was heard with the now open door at the top of the stairs. It was in raw combat with what I was guessing was new recruits that never saw war before. Once again why did children get drug into an old man’s war? Why not just me? How many children did those beasts kill today? My vision blurred and the sounds muffled more. I guess I saw death.
It was over. At least it was supposed to be. I heard muffled sounds of people seemingly caring for me and what I was guessing was Desti. Why didn’t they go after the other people first? Why me again? Who was playing this sick game keeping me alive? God? Luck? Karma?
The sounds of helicopter blades spinning filled my half-conscious ears, alongside random whimpers of voices stating seemingly random things. These sounds kept becoming more and more distant. Death reached ever closer.
I woke up suddenly in a field. I was in my old combat uniform from the war, alongside a PSG-1 and my 1911. I was okay. I patted myself down to feel no holes or injury. I was okay. In those moments I realized that I had my left arm, but also my right arm was biological. I made a fist with my right hand and kissed it. I had it all. Sure, I was in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and no sign of any civilization at all, but I had myself okay. I lived. I made it through that war and made it out the other side. I started to bawl my eyes out in joy. I won. After a life of constant battle, of constant fighting for freedom, I had it. My joy was quickly shut down by explosions heard in the distance.
I saw what looked like an ocean march towards me. All wearing bloody combine uniforms. I then started to see people wearing civilian and rebel uniforms in the crowd as well. It must have been thousands of them, maybe even tens of thousands of them. It then hit me like a freight train. These were the people I killed, from the hundreds of UNIONs to the few EOWs, Sectoral Commanders, and the Rebel officers who went AWOL or tried to kill me in my many years on the run.
The mob marched away from itself in two large blocks, creating a long path down the middle showcasing one man at the very end. He started to walk towards me. I quickly pulled back the slide on my 1911 and pointed it down the line. I wasn’t going to lose again. I needed this. I needed life.
Me: “STOP RIGHT THERE! I WILL SHOOT!”
The figure was Destitute, walking towards me in a pristine Sectoral Commander uniform, decorated with many medals and ribbons from his years of hunting down and killing scoundrels and rats like myself. He came within about fifteen feet of me and stopped, as if he wanted to duel me.
Destitute: “You sure did some nasty work. You should be done, but there is one last target.”
He reached down on his waist for his sidearm, seemingly loaded and then pointed it at me.
Destitute: “Finish the job.”
My hands started to shake. I couldn’t shoot him. After all I have done, all the conditioning, preventing emotion in work, it was not enough. I dropped my handgun.
Me: “No. Finish yours.”
I closed my eyes. He would have to kill me first. I heard the crack of a pistol and I dropped down to the ground. I didn’t get shot. When I opened my eyes and stood up, he was gone alongside everyone else. I was once again alone. I was no longer wearing my uniform but rather my tattered clothes I was wearing once the AIU got his hands on me. Everything around me was now pitch black, and I only had my handgun. I quickly started to randomly point it in the darkness, hopefully nothing was out there.
A sudden glow flickered on in the distance. It stormed towards me fast. It was that monster again, and this time it wouldn’t win. I pulled the trigger on my pistol again and again, each time ricocheting off the thick crustacean armor. It unveiled a crowbar and dived on me once it got close. It kept swinging, beating me down just like before. I wasn’t going to let that happen again. I used every bit of willpower I had to swing for the fences with my fists and the rear end of my handgun. It was working, with every jab breaking its armor to reveal its flesh behind the computer.
After what felt like hours swinging and getting beaten by the synth, I was able to get on top of it. Jab after jab shattered the distinct faceplate that made the monster engrained in everyone’s mind. Suddenly it kicked me off and jumped up to stand up facing me.
AIU: “Finish the job.”
I quickly ejected the now empty mag of my handgun to reload. Once the slide locked, I pointed the worn barrel down at the AIU and pulled the trigger right on the faceplate, killing it instantly. It slumped down on the ground and started to bleed crimson. That wasn’t right, Synths had brown or blue blood. I walked up to the now corpse and saw that behind the armor was in fact a man. I grabbed the faceplate and started to pull as hard as I could. With a sudden give, the faceplate ripped off the synth. I quickly stood up and started to cry.
It was Destitute. He really wanted me to finish the job. Suddenly it was the field again with the old uniform and same loadout. I heard the same explosions and saw the same army. This time I had to kill him.
Destitute: “Finish the job.”
I looked away and pulled the trigger. I knew this was the only way to possibly end it. The army dissipated into ash, and I was left alone once more. Sounds started to flood the field, something about clearing and holding.
I suddenly jolted up and looked all around. I was in a room, and I wasn’t wearing any clothes at all. Sounds of machines and people started to hit me, making me quickly realize I was in a hospital. I couldn’t hold back the screams and tears. I lost it all. I didn’t get freedom yet. I was bound once again to another test, to see if I can walk away from the war. I must have passed out, but what seemed like a flash happened and I was no longer in a tear pool state.
I didn’t belong here, and I needed to run. I committed god knows how many crimes and the one deal I had with the council would most likely not be real as even though I killed Destitute, they wouldn’t care. They wanted me dead as well. A handful people could kill men like Zigzag, and I was one of them. The rest that could were in Zigzag’s pocket, doing his bidding. I quickly tried to stand up but was stopped by handcuffs around my left ankle attached to the bed. With no arms and one tied up leg, there was nowhere I could go or nothing I could do.
A woman quickly entered the room and tried to grab me. I tried as much as possible to resist, but
with the husk that was left of me, I wasn’t able to do much.
Woman: “Stop! Stop! Its okay! Its okay! Your safe! Calm down!”
I noticed the red cross on her nametag, now smacking me in the face while she tried to hold me down. Below the red cross was in big white letters, “RN”. She was a nurse, and she was maybe trying to help me or hurt me. It was worth it to hear her out.
Nurse: “You were in a horrible accident. Its over now and your safe.”
I tried to speak but my throat seemingly shriveled up on itself, preventing any speech from coming out. I wasn’t going to let that stop me though.
Me (Inaudible Whisper): ”Is he dead?”
Nurse: “Oh here sir!”
She went to grab a cup with a straw and motioned me to drink whatever orange liquid was inside. I tried to say no, but all that came out was air. I shook my head to motion no.
Nurse: “You been on IV fluids for days now. You need the calories and nutrients to get your strength back up.”
It hit me that she was only trying to help me. If she wanted to kill whatever was left of me, she would have done it already. I opened my mouth to drink what seemed like a lake’s worth of fluid. A warm sensation came down on me that gave me comfort. I felt safe for now, and that was enough.
I was on fluids only for three days and then I was on food bed rest for two weeks. Many nurses and doctors came and talked to me across that time. Every moment I had though with that first nurse though felt special. She seemed to be the only one who truly cared about me. After the end of the bed rest they wanted me to try walking again by attaching me to a walker.
Nurse: “You can do it Burns! I believe in you!”
Me: “Before I do this, I never got your name. I need to know it before I do this.”
Nurse: “Hospital protocol doesn’t allow me to say it but let’s say that I have Hope.”
Me: “Even if its not your name, I’m calling you Hope. Because that’s the thing you have given me these last few weeks.”
Hope: “Alrighty then. Let’s get you out of bed.”
I have been shot, stabbed, burned, tortured, and had both of my arms chopped off. Nothing describes the pain like trying to walk after weeks of losing it all. I tried to hold a stoic face, but after a few steps, I started to whimper quietly to myself.
Hope: “You got to keep going! Don’t let them take anything else from you!”
That was the one phrase I needed to keep going. It was the pain of marching two hundred miles, but I only made it to the other end of a hospital hallway. Once I made it, an elevator door opened revealing the bastard Zigzag himself.
Zigzag: “Well fancy seeing you walking.”
I wanted to shoot him right then and there. All my pain from walking was gone and now I was ready to fight. I might have not had arms but that bastard was going to pay. The moment I tried to walk towards him I collapsed on the floor. Reality came back to hit me. I was a cripple now, and whatever Zigzag wanted to do to me, I wouldn’t be able to do anything. He motioned towards the nurse.
Zigzag: “Pick him up and put him in a stretcher. He is getting transferred to Chicago Command Medical.”
Hope: “But he is making good progress here! He isn’t ready to be transferred yet!”
Zigzag wasn’t having any of it, and quickly pulled out a handgun to shoot Hope in the head. Another child killed by relics like us. Another elevator opened to a few soldiers holding a stretcher.
Zigzag: “Get him up. You know what to do.”
The soldiers grabbed me, now limp and meaningless, and tossed me in the stretcher. They started to wheel me out when I started to scream for help.
Zigzag: “Scream all you want. It won’t change our plans for you.”
Plans for me? Were they going to torture me? Maybe they were going to make a mockery of me across the state-controlled media. They needed a scapegoat anyway. Maybe they think that they can “recondition” me and redeploy me as a killer again.
Once the elevator door closed, the soldiers started teasing me as its easy to make fun of people and things that can’t fight back.
Solider 1: “So this guy was a Sniper? How?”
Solider 2: “He used his mouth like some cripple.”
Solider 1: “Or maybe he just pointed on a map so that grunts like us do the work.”
The elevator stopped, with an announcement stating Garage. When the door opened, dozens of bullets flew into the car, killing all the soldiers and leaving me covered in their blood. I quickly looked at myself to see if I was hurt and didn’t find anything. That’s when I looked up.
Two NPU were the shooters. My eyes opened with fear once more. I was getting kidnapped by the Combine. HOW? WE WON! THIS ISN’T HAPPENING. THIS ISN’T HAPPENING.
Me: “NO NO NO! GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM ME!”
One of them walked behind me and one kept his rifle pointed up waiting for more normal Lambda reinforcements. Alarms started to blare. The NPU in front leaned into his radio.
NPU 1: “Package Secure. Moving to Exfil.”
They wheeled me into an ambulance and closed the door. They walked behind me and took off their helmets, but I couldn’t turn around to see them. They turned on the van and fired up the sirens and lights. These weren’t Combine. Combine don’t take off their faceplates and they don’t brag about how easy the job was.
NPU 1: “That was easier than expected.”
NPU 2: “I mean… Our guy can’t walk and has no arms. He’s not exactly a flight risk.”
NPU 1: “The boss will be glad we got him out of those Lambda hands.”
NPU 2: “Damn right.”
I drifted off once more and expected the worst. Best case scenario was me somehow escaping and finding help with the few rebel friends that I had left. Worst case scenario is them brainwashing me to do everything that I wanted to put behind me.
I woke up in a warehouse in a dirty bed. Everything seemed like it was like if it was rebel still. It was all too familiar to be a coincidence. A Silhouette was watching me and said a familiar voice.
Silhouette: “Glad that you are here instead of in Lambda Council hands.”
Me: “Kirk?”
Kirk: “Yeah. Looks like your going to be expensive to get back up and running. Like I am almost out of favors expensive. Follow me. I got a surprise for you.”
I slowly stood up and Kirk wrapped his arm around me to support me up. What felt like a marathon away was a room filled with random contraptions and combine tech. In the middle was a workbench with a closed, large gun case. Kirk placed me in a dirty folding chair and pointed at the case.
Kirk: “With this, you will be better than ever.”
He opened the case to reveal two onyx prosthetic arms and an exoskeleton suit. I only heard rumors about those exo suits. They fit under clothing and give the user more power and improves overall armor when combined with normal Kevlar. With that exoskeleton, I would be able to walk again and stabilize any shot even in my broken state.
Kirk: “Listen. I can see that look in your eyes says you go out and finish the job now. But you need to get yourself up. You can earn the suit after you get your body back up to what it can be.”
Me: “What happened to that AIU? And what happened to Desti?”
Kirk: “The AIU disappeared with Destitute. Sure, he might have saved the world then but that AIU did something to him. He’s back to his programed UU self. I think someone is going to have to put him down.”
Me: “I alrea….. Dammit. That wasn’t real!”
Kirk: “What?”
Me: “I thought I killed Destitute. I don’t even know what is real and what isn’t anymore. I just want to be done and finish this. I don’t want to be a solider anymore.”
Kirk: “You were never a solider. You were and still are a rebel.”
He grabbed the exoskeleton and left, leaving the arms on the table. After spending some time attaching them, I turned to stare into the mirror across the room. I looked like shit. In the hospital I refused to look in a mirror as I knew I could get better. I’m not sure anymore. Can I do this? I only knew one thing didn’t change.
This situation was fucked.
He was tired, too tired. His head pounded and he could still feel his wounds flaring up everytime they hit a bump, but he wasn't dead.
Somehow he wasn't dead.
They'd patched him up, he felt the stitches where the bullets had hit him. He felt something tightly wrapped around his torso, likely a bandage but he couldn't be certain, could be anything wrapped around it.
"Turn left."
The synth's voice spoke with a crackle, damaged, something or somebody had actually managed to do some damage to the damned thing. He prayed whoever the brave son of a bitch was that they were still alive.
He felt the car slow down and eventually come to a stop, the engine being killed and the key taken out of the ignition. The car doors opened and he heard the shuffling indicating they were leaving their seats and the slamming of the car door behind them. They engaged in a conversation he could not hear, muffled and indescribable, or maybe his old ears just made it difficult to hear, a lifetime of warfare did nothing good for the ears.
Footsteps... shoes grinding into gravel slowly becoming more distant, they were walking off and he was left in the car. Alone. He could only wait.
Guess its fair to say my own paranoia played a part in our bases secrecy. Having a fully staffed Research Team and having some decent smarts yourself helps, however after you have been shunned from something you care about by people you trust, it will leave you paranoid.
However, the current situation is fucked and hiding in the shadows may not be to my best interest. I've managed to make a living off of selling modified combine technology, albeit using a third party so I don't directly get involved. Heck that funding helps maintain the base, such as troop wages and ammunition.
No matter what, it looks like a few phone calls will have to be made... but first, time to get all the information on the current situation.
*I pull out the radio that I store in my inner coat pocket.*
Me: "Crossroads connect me to the Intel Department."
Crossroads: "Copy that Boss, give us a few seconds."
*A good Minute Passes before the personnel radio buzzes to life.*
ID: "What can we do for you commander?"
Me: "I need every bit of detail regarding the AIU involved in the situation thats got the Lambda Council on High Alert, Including the Lambda Officer in-charge of the operations."
ID: "Alright, We will see what we can do."
*A few hours pass with no word, the great grandfather clock being the only sound in the room as tension goes through the roof.*
ID: "Alright sir, this is all the information we have. The AIU is called "Apolyon" you might remember him as he was an active AIU in the same sector you lead in. It appears he has a Clone as companion but we are unable to get any information regarding him. The Officer In-charge of this great mess is Zigzag. Currently Holding the Rank of Lieutenant General within the Armed Lambda Forces."
Me: "Zigzag eh? I have not heard that name in a while, I want you to schedule a meeting with him. Make sure to do so in Secure Communications and ensure nothing is traceable. I will need to pry him for some information. Until then, deploy the recon forces and search for the AIU and Destitute, We must track them down as having a re-activated Sectoral Commander can mean bad news for the world."
ID: "Will that be all sir?"
Me: "Yes, that will be all." [I switch Radio Frequency back to Crossroads.] "Crossroads come in, I'll make this brief. Set Red Alert across the base and prepare all available units for combat."
I can't help but laugh... Its just like old times, definently sparks something in these old bones of mine as I pull out my dimensional armory and pull out the stapple of my collection. Ye' Old Reliable, a Pristine Winchester 1894, with a few modifications.
Me: *Cocks the gun* "This will be fun."
im more or less looking for an editor, just someone to look over what i've written and fix up and spelling mistakes, grammar errors, plot errors, etc etc.
what would the benefits of being an editor for me be? idk i guess i can give you credit and you get to see early drafts of IWCO, i can't really offer much other than that. not like this'll be a full time job or anything, it'll be more like me just throwing a dm asking if you can spot any problems for me.
if you wanna help me out just chuck me a dm <3
Burn faced off against the AIU, his prosthetic hand twitching next to his revolver, eyes focused on the synth.
The lobster was emotionless as always, it's weathered face displaying no hints of emotion nor tinges of fear.
It drew it's pulse pistol, but Burn drew faster. His shots made report- smashing into the synths crustacean armor and making short work of his insides.
Burn tipped his beret and spat out his cigarette as he watched the synth writhe on the ground, it's systems shutting down as life began to evacuate it.
He felt no pity, no sympathy, his revenge was done, the job was finished.
Burn turned the revolver on himself, and the world soon went quiet.
The situation was fucked, but now the world was at peace.
wait shit this wasn't a very good joke FUCK