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March 9th, 3051
21:16 Hours
House Kurita Space (Disputed)
Irece, 3 Miles South of Tengoku
One shot cracked as Tren clamped his eyes shut. He didn't want to witness his own destruction. All he heard was a twang, as the harness cord holding him in place snapped. With a sudden surge he began falling, his limp arm flailing lifelessly by his side. He could feel his body twisting and turning as he soared through the air, towards the ground below. Before he sped up too dramatically he clashed with a tree, tumbling down through the branches as he continued on his painful journey towards the ground. The branches ripped at his flesh mercilessly and some of the impacts broke bones but he was strangely thankful for them. They may have caused him harm but they had saved his life. As he continued to tumble awkwardly through the maze of twines and branches found on the huge tree, he only hoped it would end. Soon enough - to his relief – it finally did as he fell out the bottom of the tree with a agonising thump, the soft combination of scorched mud and melting snow dampening the impact. However, despite his best efforts to get up, or even move, he could not. His body would not allow him to do so. His arms were dead weights, as were his legs. He could feel several of his ribs broken within him, and his defeated breath beginning to seep away. Slowly and surely his eyes began to flicker shut on their own, no matter how hard he tried, they simply disobeyed him. As he began to hear footsteps grow ever closer with the crunch of snow under boot, he became aware of an overpowering feeling of tiredness. As his head tilted to the side to rest in the chilling snow, his hearing slowly faded away as he, and his mind, transitioned into another unconsciousness state. His last thoughts regarding the newly found pain his body was in, as well as the unwelcome advance of the biting cold...
March 19th, 3051
12:00 Hours
House Kurita Space
Luthien, Imperial City Palace
Coordinator's Chamber
Theodore Kurita waved a hand to one of his guards, gaining his attention. He nodded towards the set of beautifully decorated wooden doors, he did not need to speak. The guard – understanding his wishes - obeyed his commander, strolling over to the double doors to swing them open. Almost immediately a figure strode in with a confident stride, his grey duster trailing in his wake. The duster was buttoned shut at the front, its hood covering his facial features in a dark shadow. The boots thumped off the ornate wooden flooring as he strode through the lengthy hall towards the throne, in which Theodore sat. The figure gazed up, his hood still cloaking his face as he halted in front of the throne. The figure spoke in a rather raspy tone,
“You need my services?”. Theodore gave a slight nod as he glanced at one of the best mercenaries he had ever had in his employ. Of course, he wasn't cheap,
“ I need you to clarify something that is of importance to me and my DEST. I need you to find someone..”
April 8th, 3051
10:24 Hours
Unknown Location
Tren tried his eyes. This time they decided to obey him, opening up to reveal his surroundings. His eyes were a strange kind of sore, he felt he hadn't used them in a fair amount of time. As he tried to move his arms he became aware of restraints holding them down, a similar case for his legs. His head was not restrained, something he made use of. He tilted his head up to look down his body to further examine the surroundings. He seemed to be in some sort of cell? A medical facility perhaps? As the pain in his body slowly came to his attention, his memory slowly began to come back to him. He had been in a battle...
His brother.
With a sudden realisation, he knew his brother was dead. The last beacon he saw before his black out flicker off, it had belonged to his brother. He let his head fall back to thump against the hard surface he lay on. He was on some kind of table, with a machine to his left that seemed to be monitoring his vitals. As he gradually remembered the events as they happened, fear grew with his memory. Where was he? He tried his restraints again, only to find that they were holding him down with a firm grip. He lifted his head up, looking down his body towards where his hands lay, strapped to the table. He wrenched his hand around violently, trying to see if his restraint would give but it didn't. If he was going to get out of these restraints, he needed to think. He needed to be smart.
Without warning a door swung open, its metal hinges complaining as it did so. The figure that opened the door walked in, holding some kind of projectile rifle. Another figure strode in afterwards to stand at the other side of the door, a similar rifle in hand. Finally another figure strode into view, entering the room. Arms clasped behind its back as this final figure entering the room walked in a confident posture. As the figure strode closer to the bottom of the table then round the right hand side, his face came into the light, as he spoke,
“ Who are you?”.
Tren instinctively backed away from the man strolling ever closer up the right hand side of the table. He glanced over his facial features. The scorched scar cutting across the side of his face horizontally, from the right tip of his chin to his right hand side temple. His right eye had some kind of cybernetic enhancement, the tissue around his eye badly scarred as if he had been burnt. His weather beaten skin and hair gave away his age. The grey highlights standing out from his natural, jet black hair. However, the aspect of his appearance that stood out to Tren most was the insignia of a black wolf, with a yellow, red and blue crest surrounding it. Tren swallowed slightly, due to nerves as he clenched his fists. He had been captured. The situation had now taken a turn for the worse, as if being strapped to a table wasn't bad enough. He did – however – get a small, niggling thought in response to the situation he found himself in. He wasn't dead, which meant they may need him. All things considered, Tren answered,
“Oscar.”.
The man glanced to the two guards by the door then back to Tren, sighing as he did so. He unclasped his hands, reaching into his pocket to produce a set of tags as he spoke,
“Is that so?”.
The man dangled a pair of dog-tags in front of his face that had his own name inscribed on them. Usually Kuritian forces were not permitted to carry such tags but Tren was given a pardon due to his service. A pardon that had come back to haunt him. Tren let his head drop back down against the table top, as he glanced up towards the ceiling.
“I suggest you start telling me the truth son.”, rasped the old voice of the man that was questioning him. Tren snorted before the old man spoke again,
“Now, I am going to try that again.... What is your name?”. Tren smiled slightly as he tilted his head to face the old man, to speak,
“Can you not read?”.
-The old man frowned, glancing to the dog tags to cast them aside. In an unexpected movement the old man made a sudden movement, slamming his fist into Tren's side. This man may be old but he sure still had a decent punch.
“This isn't a game Tren.”, the old man rasped – standing back up straight to neaten out his clothes. As Tren curled up slightly in reaction to the punch he managed some words,
“So what exactly is this?”.
The old man gave out a chuckle, as did the two guards by the door, all in unison. The old man leaned in closer to look Tren right in the eye as he spoke,
“This is war son. Now until you are ready to co-operate, get used to these four walls. You ain't goin' anywhere on my watch.”. With his final statement the old man took his guards and left, slamming the metal door behind him. The room was plunged into a darkness as the one light bulb suspended above Tren's head cut out with a buzz.
April 9th, 3051
02:21 Hours
Unknown Location
Tren slipped his hand free. It had taken him the best part of a good few hours but due to his sweat, he had managed it. He must be in some kind of hot box, for the temperature was exhausting and he wasn't even moving much. Now that he had a hand free, escaping was a real possibility. He reached across his body to his other tied hand. He fumbled with the strap to unfasten it slightly, sliding his second hand free. Without wasting any time he reached down to his ankles, releasing the straps that held them in place. He launched himself from the table, over towards the door as he heard footsteps running down the corridor. They must have some kind of surveillance in the room, which made sense. As he launched himself from the table, one of the straps that was securing his ankle came free from the table and clattered against the hard, stone floor. Thinking on his feet, he scooped up the strap into his hands. It wasn't much, but it was something. He proceeded to wrap the strap around both hands in a figure of eight formation in preparation for the close quarters combat that was to follow. As he heard the footsteps stop outside, he braced himself for their entrance.
With a sudden, loud smash, the door swung round to open, two guards running in.
Tren made use of his makeshift weapon, lifting his arms up and over the head of the nearest guard. As Tren wrenched both his arms back, the strap caught the guard round his neck. With a quick, precise movement, Tren kicked the back of the guards knee causing the guard to buckle and fall. Tren then pulled the strap up and to the right with all the power he could muster. He heard the satisfying 'click' he was hoping for as the guard's neck snapped. By this point, the second guard was now facing him and getting ready to raise his weapon. In the quickest of movements, Tren reached down to grab the dead guard's side arm – tugging it from its holster. Tren did not waste time raising the weapon to shoot for centre mass. If he did, the guard would be able to take a shot at him first. Instead, Tren quickly took aim and let off one round, aimed at the guard's foot. Thankfully, the round tore into the guards foot causing the guard to let his rifle veer to the side slightly, just for a moment.
That moment was just enough.
Without a second of hesitation, Tren raised the side arm with haste and let off three rounds. Smoke streamed from the pistol's barrel as the second guard exploded in a bloody mess, with three rounds cutting through his chest. Blood spurted onto the back wall as the second guard dropped dead, no longer held up by his legs. Tren quickly unravelled the strap around his wrists and discarded the side arm. In its place, he picked up one of the rifles the guard had so kindly provided. As he pocketed some rounds off the nearest guard he could hear several other footsteps thundering down the corridor. Things were going to get really messy, really quickly.
Tren glanced at the projectile rifle, it was an unusual model that he hadn't seen before. Nevertheless, all projectile rifles worked in generally the same way. He pulled back the cocking lever, tightened his grip on the rifle and pushed the rifle stock against his shoulder as he swooped round the corner. He opened fire. The rifle was a fully automatic – which was good and bad. He had expected it to be a semi-automatic. In adjustment to this feature he let off a few bursts of hot lead before slipping back round the corner. He had dropped at least two of the five or six guards running down the hallway. The guards weren't dumb. Now that they knew he had a rifle, it was a different ball game. They would shoot to kill and they would be a lot more careful. Tren's advantage of surprise has not diminished. The corridor was a two way corridor. He sat in cover where there was an indent in the wall, which existed for his cell door. He could turn right or left but for some reason, guards were only coming from the right meaning that his escape route was most likely in that direction.
As Tren heard some movement coming from the right hand side, he was pulled from his thoughts and back into the reality of the situation. He was certain somebody was moving up on his position but if he risked a peek, he may get a bullet to the brain. Instead, Tren slid the rifle round the corner and held in the trigger. He wasn't even aiming but the corridor was that thin that it didn't matter. If anybody was moving up on him, the spray would hit them. The rifle recoil kicked back as rounds tore down the corridor. There was the unmistakable sound of a bullet cutting through flesh, accompanied with painful screams. He brought his exposed arm and rifle back round the corner, a split second before the corner erupted rubble from concentrated projectile fire. As Tren glanced away from the exploding rubble, back into his cell, he was hit suddenly with an idea. A stupid idea but the only way he might get out of this. As he glanced towards the dead bodies he sighed, running back into his cell, back towards the bodies. He slung his projectile rifle across his body in a horizontal fashion, picking up the projectile pistol in one hand. With his other arm, he proceeded to lift up the dead body of the smaller guard. He made used of his shoulder and weight to support the dead guard in such a way that it covered the majority of his body. AS he lifted the body towards the cell door, he himself couldn't believe what he was about to do. He reached the cell door, and walked out into the open.
There was a continuous stream of gunfire aiming down the corridor at him, the rounds either missing completely or shredding into the body of the dead guard. Despite the guards size, he made the perfect meat shield. Tren used his barely free hand to slide the projectile pistol round the side of his shield, letting off a few random projectile rounds. It was only when he tucked his head down, away from the bullets whizzing over the top of his shield, that he saw it. Strapped to the back belt of the guard was some form of grenade. He wasn't too sure what type of grenade it was but it certainly was an advantage. He manoeuvred his pistol back round the dead body shield to slip it into his own belt. He then made use of his free hand to slide the grenade free from the dead guard, took out the pin and hurled it towards the guard formation. The gunfire stopped and Tren heard the clatter of boot against the metallic floor. Tren dropped the meat shield, running back towards his cell for cover. As he jumped round the corner for safety he was counting the ticks. As predicted, the grenade exploded on the right tick. Except, it was a lot louder and brighter than a fragmentation grenade. It was a flash bang.
Without a moment of hesitation, Tren swung his rifle round to bare and swung round the corner. As he ran towards the guard formation he let off small bursts of hot lead towards each, incapacitated guard. He ran past the formation, putting rounds into the guards sprawled around the corridor in a blind, deaf haze. As he made for the door at the end of the corridor, he glanced back to ensure nobody remained in a state to follow him. None of them were. He spun back to face the front, opening the door at the end of the corridor to be greeted with and open courtyard. Thankfully, the courtyard was in a blanket of darkness due to the night. Without looking back he slipped away into the shadows, heading for the compound boundaries.
As alarms rang out across the compound, Tren had just reached the wall boundary. As he quickly slung his rifle over his shoulder to being scaling this wall, he heard shouts and calls behind him. He had just started to make progress up the wall when a spotlight fell on his back. However, despite his discovery, it was already too late. As the guards took aim to open fire upon him, he threw himself over the other side of the wall, landing in the mud below. It didn't take him long to scrabble to his feet, allowing them to propel his body away from the compound.
He could hear the shouts and screams of guards back at the compound as he ran off into the night...
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End of Part Three! Part Four will be up next Sunday, like usual.
All the best!
Written By: IGravemind
