The gun. Nearly useless against Organics. . . save for. . . I fell the heft of it in my hands. My breath is ragged and my movements labored. My foot has gone from fractured to what must surely be broken. Chest heaving I finally come to my destination. A rocky out cropping just above the false door. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I try to ignore that I am only vaguey aware of sensations in my left hand. I'm dying. And yet there is still hope. For both of us. Miracolously for the first time since my arrival on this forsaken rock ball, the rain has died, though the clouds still cloister the sky.
Below, the girl approaches the X marked by the guide, wearing my jacket and backpack. The hood is pulled high obscuring the face. I swallow. One shot. The moment reminds me of what it feels like to toe the line. The dangle between cowardice and the anticipation of pain. If I were anyone else, my heart should have raced, my vitals should have spiked, but discomfort, fear, those are my friends. Or rather, I have courted them so many times, that this is perceptibly no different to my body. Box breaths, one, two, three, four. Four, three, two, one. . .
(Gate opening, footsteps, Guide: Look-look! Damned, you made it back. Well come on up—
Kal: Go time ((echoe of starter gun)) SFX of him dropping down, fighting)
Grunts
Guide: The Fu— get off me
Kal: (Fight noises)
Grunts
I have him on the ropes, on more good hit and. . .
Swing, mettalic blade forming, button
He pulls out a vibra blade. A shitting hand and half sword, with three thin pieces of metal so sharp they could cut with just a touch—
Swings, just misses, sfx, (Guide: Eh!? You really think I'd be unarmed. Im gonna chop up the pretty body of yours and sell it to the highest bidder, eh?)
Scariest part is that it vibrates at such a high frequency, military grades are known to slice through metal like butter. And this is shitting miltary grade.
Fight no music, hits gore, scream, laughter.
I grab the nub of my hand, a fountain of blood bubbling from my veins. I scream again but not from the pain, that shit hasn't hit yet, but rather the horror of what I am seeing. The man stalks towards me, kicking my gun down the hill slide. His face is a snarling cauldorn of scorn and gloating. Raising his blade he prepares to take my head off of my shoulders. This is the end.
Gun fires sfx, body hit, sword drops, (Guide: The hell?).
We both blink in shock. The man staggers back, his blade knocked from his hand, a look of suprise on his hairless face. His shirt is torn open, an array of green bacteria eating at the clothe. We both look down the hill. Fear culutches my heart and triumph his. "Nice try," the man crows, "but that shit only works on drones—"
I hit him. Or rather, I push him with every bit strength still left in my body.
(Sound of him landing on the sword, the blade cutting him up, and Kal tumbling down the hill.)
I go head over heels, tumbling down the steep hillside. Briars snag at my clothes, rocks cut me open and I feel my ribs break under it all. . . And yet I'm alive. Lithe hands grab me and were it not for the state of my being I would have struck, but I had nothing left. The one grabbing me isn't who I suspect, but the girl. She throws herelf against my chest and I through a thick slur I ask, "Where is he." (Screams dying off, death). My gaze is drawn upward, guided by the point of her hand. There he is, impaled, lifeless on his blade. The sight is sickeing, his blood, bile, and globs of flesh thrown wild as if by a great blender. Pressing my hand into the girls hair, I find my feet.
(Kal: Wait here. Sfxwalking, labored breath, weapon whirring, gore, grabbing and tunring off, howling wind, to music)
Calling the girl, I tell her not to look at him. Taking her by the hand, pulling her close I lead her into the dark of the open tunnel. The way to our freedom.
"You saved me," I say.
"You're hurt," she whimpers, pulling me closer.
"Theres somethings in the bag for this sort of thing (labored speech). "Wheres that switch. . . here, I don't have the strength, press it.
Switch pressed door closing. Voices fading.
"What now? Where will we go?"
"Away. Into hiding. We'll have to change our appearance of course. . ."
"But you told me we have nothing, no money."
I raise my ruined hand, "Money comes in many forms."
"I don't understand."
"It's not your worry, " I grunt.
(Sfx walking, fading)
"Zera," I say.
"Huh?"
"If I'm to be your gaurdian, you will need a proper name. Zera."
". . . I like it, but only if I can call you papa."
(Chuckle)
"I guess thats fair. Yes, I like the sound of that. . ."
