The Hunted (Feedback appreciated)

[Gumby]

The Hunted
Chapter One: Chaos Team

Cortal, birthplace of the human race.

Hundreds of countries living in peace.

Then began the Great Expansion, the sadistic empire of Cortal, named after their planet, began an aggressive campaign to annihilate their competition, the great country Seaport.

After conquering dozens of countries and drafting hundreds of millions of soldiers, they attacked. With over a billion warriors behind them and the belief God was with them, they overran Seaportian defenses through sheer numbers within days. Moving as quickly as possible, Seaport fled on a fleet of ships, escaping with faster-than-light engines and abandoning planet Cortal to its fate.

With the Seaportians, the only power capable of opposing the Cortalan soldiers, gone, the rest of the planet quickly followed, swallowed up by the growing armies of the sadistic nation.

Three hundred years later, Cortal was dying. Given advanced technology by the mysterious Ticki-Tickalie race, they built a powerful empire that stretched their solar system, crowding every planetary body with cities and stripping the asteroid belts to create massive fleets of ships. But with a corrupt and outdated government system, the planet was falling apart. The massive cities blanketing the world were killing it, soon it would not be able to support life.

In an attempt to help ensure their survival, they made an alliance with the Drish Command, a greedy alien race battling the Seaportian Confederation, which after fleeing Cortal had bloomed into a massive and powerful galactic government. Seaport, already hard pressed by the Drish, was alarmed by the possibility of fighting two different empires at once. So in a desperate attempt, an armada jumped out of JumpSpace just outside Cortal, and before anything could be done, set the atmosphere aflame with energy weapons. As the world burned below, the two massive fleets slaughtered each other in orbit. The Seaportians finally retreated after suffering and giving heavy casualties.

Almost all of the Cortalans died that day. The only survivors were a few hundred warships, and one hundred thousand colonists who had fled before the destruction, rebelling against their government and seeking a new life, free from oppression. However Seaport did not see them that way, they saw them as renegade super-soldiers and deemed them a massive threat which had to be exterminated. In the following months, Seaportian Special Forces hunter down and exterminated the colonists, one by one.

The planet Kandalash hung in space, a white marble hung by an invisible wire. It was a lovely sight, a brilliant white ball defying the eternal blackness of space, like a flashlight in a dark room. Likewise hanging as if by an invisible wire was the Cyroni, a small Seaportian ship. Hanging in low orbit, just skimming the outer reaches of the atmosphere, it blended into its environment, photo reactive paneling which adorned the ship’s hull shifted and melted, matching the colors of the surrounding environment like a giant bizarre form of chameleon.

Aboard the ship in full armour minus the helmets, where three soldiers. Dressed in black combat armour, Chaos Team stood. Chaos Team was an experiment, a new prototype of soldier that was being field tested in a battle to wipe out the Cortalan terrorists who had spread out far and wide after the destruction of their homeworld. So far, Chaos Team had performed very well, neutralizing and effectively destroying every colony they came into contact with.

Now they had one last challenge, one last task to perform, one last mission to win before they would be fully proven in combat. They stood around a hologram in front of them, armoured arms crossed over their shoulders. They were covered in the scale-like black armour from toes up, except for their heads. Their helmets were a few feet away, resting with their own weapons, ready to go.

There was complete silence, the only sound there was the gentle humming of the hologram projector. There was no movement except for the gentle rotation of the projected planet.

Then, one of them spoke, breaking the silence.

“So, that’s the target?” The one in the center with streaks of silver adorning his armour, replied without moving.

“Yep.”

“Rechels?”

“Yep.”

“Danger close?”

“Yep.” There was another moment of silence, before the same soldier asked again.

“So, what’s the whole deal on what we got here?” This time the leader broke his position, hanging his hands at his sides and turned his rather thick head to face his comrade as he answered.

“Yeah, I guess I’m allowed to tell you both now. Josaf, you better listen up too ok?” The other soldier likewise broke his posture and moved forward, leaning against the holograms meter-wide circular projector.
His blue eye flickered with curiosity, though his mouth stayed silent. Seeing he had his audience, the leader started talking. “Ok guys, this is the stick here. We have a band of Cortalan terrorists, mainly a collection of ex-Rechel troopers and some farmers and other non-combatants. Mission as the same is always. Go in hard and fast, and blow them all away.” As the two troopers began to grin, the leader interjected once more before they could say a thing. “And guys, make sure to not go so heavy on the explosives, we don’t want a repeat of a Teratikalin.” He was referring to the colony hiding on the planet of Teratikalin, Chaos team had been too careless with high-explosives and as a result some very valuable computer Intel was lost, Intel which could have held the locations of dozens of other colonies.

Josaf grinned rather sheepishly in recollection his error at the planet before whipping it off his face as he listened for more data from the leader. But the chatty trooper nicknamed Pyro, or Chaos 2, beat his leader
to it.

“So, anything else we should know? You know, the little details like target strength, LZ and backup plan? Not that I’m concerned mind you.” He said with a sly smirk. The leader, Jancy or Chaos 1, rolled his eyes before getting onto the important stuff.

“Sure I guess we may need that stuff sooner or later, so here it is. We have estimated there are about ten Rechel troopers on the planet, plus one Tobis, so we need to be careful here.” At this news both Pyro and Josaf exchanged glances. Tobis’s were the best of Cortal’s, forces, the last one they’d fought nearly killed Jancy before being taken down. They didn’t like meeting them face-to-face and didn’t look forward to this future encounter. Jancy continued, oblivious to their concern. “Our landing zone is right here on the map, and our emergency evac ship is over here.” He zoomed in the map to a mile off the ground, showing nothing but an empty white.

The other two soldiers shot a suspicious look to Jancy, like he was telling a riddle. Pyro then demanded,

“What the daje is this? This ain’t a map, looks more like a piece of paper.” Jancy replied in earnest.

“Actually it is a map, a very detailed one. You see, I was just getting to this; the entire planet is covered with white fungus which drapes ‘but sixteen meters or so up. This fungus covers almost everything and whatever isn’t blocked from view by the hanging fungus is covered by ground-level fungus. Oh, and since this fungus contains high quantities of metal, the entire planet is a faraday cage. No electronic signals get in our out, unless you have a portable FTL space communicator.”

“Which we don’t.” Josaf pointed out, speaking for the first time. “We don’t have one, and if we can’t use our COM systems, how do we organize ourselves? How do we, well, communicate?” Jancy tossed a small oblong device at Josaf who quickly snatched it out of the air. Pyro likewise received one and both began examining it before Jancy explained their purpose.

“Since we can’t use our normal COM systems, we use these. Implant them in the back of your helmets, they send lasers between each other, sending information. They can go around and through gaps in the fungus, but only in range so we should stay within ten miles or so of each other.” Josaf nodded. It was a little tight, but they could probably manage, they had so before.

Jancy saw Pyro’s mouth open in question, but he quickly spoke first, quickly shutting his friend’s mouth. “Now, you’re also going to have to make sure that your suits sealed up nice and tight, since the planet is rather far from the sun, and the fungus blocks most sunlight at ground level, the temperature is around -70 degrees, give or take a few. Oh, and no energy weapons.” This time both mouths opened in objection, but again Jancy shut them both up. “I know I know you disappointed, but we can’t. The fungus also produces lots and lots of oil which the locals use and lamp fuel, making it very, very flammable so the last thing we’re gonna do is go around blazing away with weapons based on the concept of burning things, my as well take a flamethrower to an oil well! We’ll be using ARG-20’s, no grenades, and sanamantium combat knives. We’ll be using peratalin-cosaklind armour piercing rounds for the ARG’s, that’ll punch through any Rechel or Tobis armour. Now, any questions?”

He scanned the small room, looking for the previously open mouths. He didn’t see any until Josaf stood and said,

“Well, let’s go.”

Chapter Two: The hunt begins

Chaos team, now fully helmeted and updated on the situation, made a quick visit to the armory, their favorite part of the ship. Every imaginable weapon and add-on for those weapons was there. Extra clips, grenades, knives, attachments, silencers, batteries, chargers, everything! Of course they were only taking a few weapons with them this time. They all carried the Automatic Rail Gun model 20 (ARG-20). These unique weapons were several hundred years old, but effective and crucial in this flammable environment.

The ARG-20 fired super-dense rounds made out of  peratalin and cosalind, two dense, heavy metals. They fired these rounds with six electromagnetic rails which accelerated the slugs to over four thousand feet per second. The sheer speed and kinetic force of these rounds insured penetration of even the best-maintained of Tobis combat
armor.

Besides the rifles, each man took a handgun, an even older weapon which propelled metal slugs by exploding powder inside a shell and the resulting blast firing the round down a rifled barrel. An incredibly old technology, but ideal for the parameters of their mission. Still, they fired .60 rounds, so the size of the round would have to make up for the lack of propulsion.

No grenades were allowed though, the explosives would easily trigger the natural oil in the fungus, and while some of the team took well to this order, Josaf set about trying to bend the rules.

“The answer is no, I don’t want to set the whole bloody planet on fire!”
In a nearly pleading voice Josaf begged, “Come on, it isn’t that explosive! Some tiny charges set off the primer, all well inside the device, and it will blow the crap out of everything around it! Best of all, it is a resetting trap, it can does this six times before a manual reload is required.”
Jancy was still unconvinced, so Josaf continued. “Look, the exhaust won’t go all the way down the barrel so it won’t ignite the fungi. Besides, we can clear the area around it a bit, just to be safe.”

“Oh, and leave our booby-trap in the open for all to see?”

“No, it’s got a texture-buffer system; it’ll blend in to its environment, and with this environments very basic color scheme, that won’t be difficult.” There was a long pause, and then Jancy spoke.

“If you start a forest fire, you’re the one who will have disobeyed direct orders and snuck a prohibited weapon along, ok?” Josaf immediately brightened up and said cheerily.

“Yes sir, all my fault.” With a dismissive wave, Jancy gave permission.

“Fine, take it.” Without another word the armored figure grabbed a pair of the explosives and darted off in the direction of the small dropship which would fly them to their landing zone. Jancy rubbed his faceplate with the palm of his hand, sighed, and looked up at Pyro.

“Hey Pyro, you loaded up?” His visor depolarized, revealing his gaunt, cheerful face as he answered.

“Oh yeah, I am a locked and a loaded!” He racked the bolt on his ARG-20 to emphasize his point. Jancy grinned, and then ordered him away to the dropship. As the armoured man dashed off, Jancy took one last look around the gray metal room before grabbing a big, twenty inch combat knife, a particular Cortalan brand called a Kukila, admired the boomerang-shaped blade, before shoving it into a sheath strapped across his chest, grabbing his own rifle and bounding away to the dropship.

Jancy arrived at the delta-wing style Peralie dropship and boarded, his weight as he stepped up the ramp caused the vessel to bob slightly in its invisible anti-gravity moorings. He pulled open a door, and stepped in to see both Pyro and Josaf sitting in crash seats, rifles between their knees, and clearly waiting for any orders. The other occupants of the ship, the pilot and a co-pilot who was in charge of the guns, had been watching the debriefing by a video feed and were fully aware of the situation, including the fact that their weapons, energy based and explosive, were useless. They could be nothing more than a shuttle, ferry the men to the surface and hopefully, ferry them back to the ship once the deed was done, if it was done.

The pilot, a tall lanky man dressed in a flight suit with a black visor covering the top half of his face, smirked and turned around for the ****pit. His copilot, a shorter, more muscular man dressed the same, sided up with him and together they vanished behind a door into the somewhat cramped ****pit.
The door shut with a bang, breaking the silence in the troop-bay. Josaf’s head snapped up almost automatically with the noise and craned around to look Jancy dead in the eye. Any mischief was gone from his eyes, replaced by a layer of dead-seriousness. Drilling into his eyes, Josaf asked in a flat, serious voice.

“Are you ready?” Jancy swallowed. He was ready, wasn’t he? No matter how many times he asked himself and
answered himself, he wasn’t sure if he was ever ready for battle. Now the previously casual and laid-back air of the situation was quickly growing heavy and serious, permeated by a fear of and battle they had never fought and the new possibility of death. Despite the temperature-regulating armor, Jancy shivered. Now, right before battle, he felt sick inside, like he had some sort of hideous cold weight sinking into his gut. Years of training and dozens of battles
hadn’t squelched his instinct to back away from a gun fight like this.
He figured he would never ever completely crush that instinct, but maybe, just maybe, he could bury it deep enough to not notice so much. Forcing an enthusiastic, gung-ho voice, he replied, “Yeah, I’m good to go, now let’s get this tub moving!” He raised his voice for the last part to get to the ****pit ahead of him. Jancy sat down on an empty cash seat, thanking god that no one could see through his visor.

It didn’t take long for the Peralie to hit the outer atmosphere, and after a few minutes everyone could feel the ship rattling and shaking as it slammed into the layer of gases so many dozens of miles above the surface. Pressurized gel in his armour kept the jolting and slamming at a minimum, but his teeth still shook in his skull as the small, light craft rocked around, tearing a flaming gash of fire across the sky as it entered the atmosphere. Jancy clenched his teeth down to keep the rattling down to a minimum and looked at his companions.
Now they all had fully polarized visors, making it impossible to see their faces and adding a certain dimension of loneliness to the small troop bay. No one said a word, making the groaning and rumbles of the stressed ship even more loader. Determined to break the feeling of gloom, Jancy piped up over their helmet COMs.

“So, you guys got the plan nailed down right?” No response other than the two helmeted heads shaking numbly. Jancy tried again, longer this time. “The village is about five units from the landing zone, so the moment we land we’ll move up quickly, use your camouflage and blend in with the surroundings. Once we reach the village we’ll set up perimeter, a kill zone, and open up. We’re using armour-piercing rounds remember, and use your thermal sites to pick up targets. In minus seventy temperatures, they’ll show up like ladies with Josaf.”
That drew a faint chuckle from Pyro. Josaf’s head turned from Pyro to Jancy, and Jancy could easily imagine the murderous glare behind the lead-colored visor. A ghost of a grin lit up Jancy’s face. He did like these guys, and through a hundred battles he’d have no one else at his side. They were a living example of the old saying, ‘when the going gets tough, the tough get going.’  As if on cue to this last thought, an explosion erupted on the small dropship.

All humor ceased as all heads immediately snapped around towards the source of the explosion. Jancy tapped a small panel on the bulkhead and a viewport flashed open exposing the port wing. Or at least, what remained of it.
 Half of the wing was engulfed in a raging inferno, a blaze of white fire ignite by rapidly spewing fuel shot out into the other inferno created by reentry friction. Jancy immediately sat up and moved towards a small speaker near the ****pit entrance. Slamming down a button with more force than required, he yelled into the speaker.

“Cirel! What the daje just happened?” The pilot replied immediately, panic in his voice and alarms in the background.

“I don’t know! Port engine just exploded, just like that!” There was a pause, followed by some unreadable banter with the copilot Miachen, then he came back on. “I’m going to switch to the main speakers, you should get to your seat.” Jancy left and hurried back to his crash seat, Pyro and Josaf both demanding an explanation. Jancy yelled over the screeching alarms at them.

“I don’t know, port engine just blew for no apparent reason!” Before anything else could be said by the three, Cirel’s face came in over the main speakers with both Miachen’s cursing and the ships alarms in the background. Partly yelling at them, Cirel said,  

“Ok boys, we got some nasty stuff going on up here. Port engine’s gone, completely blown away. We’ve stopped the flow of fuel to there so the fire’s almost stopped not enough oxygen to keep going. I still have partial control so I’m bringing us in at a forty five degree angle now, we’re going to miss the LZ, and our trajectory is taking us to roughly nine units south, and that’s the good news.” Incredulous looks on all of their faces, all three soldiers responded almost simultaneously.

“That’s the good news?”

“Right, the bad news is that our camouflage is out and we’re in very plain view now, I’ve got thermals sighting hostiles following us to our crash zone so we’ll have company. I’m going to activate armor lockdown. Brace yourself!” All three took heed of the warning and sat back into their crash seats, back against the wall. There was a clicking sound and magnets in the bulkhead activated, rigidly holding them in place far better than any safety-belt.

The hull had several holes in it and as the crippled craft blazed towards the surface, the screaming of air shrieking through the punctured skin almost drowned out the constant screech of alarms and klaxons. Jancy could hear the wounded ship groaning like an injured beast, moaning in protest to the abuse being handed out to it. Jancy twisted his head, making one final check on his team. They were both slammed rigidly to the wall, held tight by the magnetic clamps.

Checking to make sure the shock-absorbing hydrostatic gel in his armour was pressurized to the maximum, he clenched his teeth, closed his eyes and prepare for the crash. The whining of the alarms and wind grew and grew, increasing in pitch and frequency until Jancy shut off his external speakers, killing the outside sound. Now all he heard was the pounding of his heart, and the deep breathing of his lungs.
Suddenly his helmet speaker crackled, and Cirel’s terrified voice filled his head.

“Emergency beacon activated, signal sent! Automatic landing sequence initiated, killing engines, brace yourselves! Height is twenty meters and falling!” The vibration of the overtaxed remaining engine, struggling in vain to carry the load of the ship and its precious cargo, finally faded and vanished as it died. Now only the rattling of the damaged ship was felt, small vibrations rippling and shaking his rigid armour.
The silence did not last though, for quickly there was a quiet humming vibration as the emergency thrusters kicked in and the computer took over, trying to guide the ravaged dropship in to land safely.
Cirel’s voice punctured the near-silence his helmet again.

“Height is fifteen meters and falling, contact with trees in three, two, and one!” His voice vanished just as the dropship, coasting at just over the sound barrier; hit the top layer of the towering fungi the planet was swamped in. The ship jolted immediately like it had been hit by a giant club, but otherwise continued, leaving a trail of destruction, shattered and smashed fungus in its wake.
Jancy reactivated his external receivers and he was suddenly hit by a flood of noise. He was surrounded by a constant stream of sound, crunching and smashing noises as the round-nosed dropship plowed a path through the white forest.

“Ten meters and falling, contact with ground in ten seconds, we are coming in for a belly landing here guys so hold on tight!” Jancy couldn’t see, but just imagined Cirel’s white faced and white knuckles, teeth clenched as he tightly clasped the controls and tried to move them in for the least-destructive landing he could. The super-soldier himself grasped at nothing, an automatic reflex prior to a crash. Clenching his fists on nothing but empty air, his body tensed up in anticipation of the impact, the impact which arrived a few seconds later.

At just over five hundred miles per hour, the dropship hit the ground at almost a 10 degree angle. The reaction was immediate. The ship slammed into the slippery, oily ground and bounced. Without restraints inside the ship Jancy would have flown into the roof, probably breaking many bones. His teeth slammed together fast and hard on his tongue, cutting it. Pain flared, but it was barely a background feeling to him. Like the whole ship had been thrown into a paint shaker, the inside buckled and slammed up and down violently, brutally slamming around the occupants.
The coppery tang of blood filling Jancy’s mouth, he closed his eyes and waited for the brutal jarring to stop. His ears were filled full of sounds, the crashing and smashing of the fauna as it was crushed to pulp, the awful, high-pitched screeching of metal against rocks, the clatter as weapons, ammunition and other equipment was torn free from storage and clattered around the bouncing troop bay. Jancy winced; he hoped the weaponry at least would survive the traumatic crash.

Suddenly, something unexpected happened. The magnetic clamps which kept Chaos in place for the brutal treatment broke. They ceased to function and the three armour-clad soldiers, before they could react, flew from their seats into each other with a horrendous crash. Jancy’s head snapped back as he hit Josaf’s torso dead-on with Pyro’s legs colliding with his torso. The breath fell out of him with a whoosh, he slid back from the pileup, dazed and disorientated. He coughed, and then tried to wipe something from his vision, a splotch of red. As he regained his senses, he saw his blood splattered across the inside of his visor.

They all started pulling themselves to the metal handles imbedded in the ceiling, grips designed to grab on to in face of crash. With a grunt, Jancy hauled himself up to the handle and just as he reached for it, the whole craft came to a stop with sudden, wicked jolt. Jancy flew through the air, almost head over-heels, crashing into the far end of the cabin, right by the ****pit door. There he lay, completely stunned, staring at the grey bulkheads, now completely still.

After what could have been two hours or two minutes, Jancy began to regain himself, hearing the murky and rather distant voices of his comrades.

“Jancy, get up! We’ve gotta get moving before we come under attack, come on, get up and hurry up!” Jancy came to, finding himself being pulled to his feet by four black-armoured arms and hands, hoisting him up. Catching himself with his hand, Chaos 1 gasped for the breath he had lost, and then quickly pulled off his helmet. He opened his mouth and spat; a viscous gob of blood and saliva hit the deck and splattered. Bent over and panting, he stayed that way for a few seconds before wiping his visor clean and putting his helmet back on. Now much more alert, he turned around and wrenched open the ****pit door, where he found Cirel and Miachen slumped back in their seats, slightly dazed but quickly coming to.

They both turned around, staring dumbly for a moment before their vision cleared, their eyes lighting with realization and fear. Before a word could be said, Jancy questioned them.

“Status, what’s going on here?”

Getting his breath and beginning to scan the instruments console, Miachen answered him flatly, “Well, our last engine was sheared off in the landing, seventy percent of our emergency thrusters are either gone or too badly damaged to function, exposed electronics are frozen from the cold, and since the fungus creates essentially a
faraday cage, we can’t send or receive electronic signals. We sent out an emergency beacon before crashing, so that should get through in about two weeks. The hull is punctured in over twenty nine different places, the reactor drive is overheated and the coolant is frozen. We have no way off the planet in this wreck. On the other hand, we do have enough power, for now at least, to create a stasis field around the ship so we won’t freeze to death.” He gazed at the ruined ship somberly, as if it were an old friend of his. Visor transparent, he looked up to Jancy for hope, eyes begging and scared.

Jancy sighed; this is what he hated about leadership. Who gets to stay behind and who gets to go into danger? He said that the plan was to capture the Cortalan ship seen on the planet and make off in that. He and Chaos team would attack while the crew stayed in the ship where the weather couldn’t kill them. The two pilots nodded in understanding, thankful they wouldn’t have to leave, but worried about Chaos’ success in getting the enemy ship.
Before another word could be said between the three, Pyro spoke up.

“Uh, Jancy? We’ve got a problem, could you come here?” He turned and walked out the ****pit, and Jancy turned around and followed him. They stopped and Pyro turned around.

“What’s the trouble?” Inquired Jancy, fearing something bad.

“Um, well when we crashed into each other, we must have shorted out or somehow damaged our camouflage. The paneling’s not working.” Dread rose in the leader’s stomach as he activated his armour photo-reactive paneling, capable of almost perfectly mimicking his surroundings. His armour flickered for a moment, sputtered, then died. Jancy let out a long, heart-felt profanity. With a sigh, he turned to his two friends.

“Ok, the new plan is to engage any soldiers we find first of all, and then hit the village as quick as we can, get it?” They nodded, and then listened for more. Jancy continued planning.

“They’re most definitely coming here to investigate the crash, so we’ll just wait for them. We wait in cover for them
to arrive then just mow them down. Now lock and load and spread out! Create a kill-zone!” They nodded silently then gathered their weapons and vanished into the foliage as much as black armour could hide in a complete white environment. Grabbing his own rifle, Jancy quickly and silently dashed off behind the smoking ship and crouched into cover, ready to do his duty.

[Horsefan1023 (Seal)]

Wow!  This is a great story, Gumby!  I love how you created the new world, and it's really well described.  I don't know who to sympathize with--the Cortalans are on the run and it's not their fault their being hunted, but the Global Team is just gosh darn awesome.   

I'd like to see where this goes! 

[Gumby]

The adventure continues! Oh, and if you want the story from the Cortalans perspective, check out the other story,http://animorphsforum.com/forum/index.php?topic=5186.msg416911#msg416911. It is a bit different than this one, but only because I modified this one for a few more epic scenes.  

Chapter Three: The Hunt

Josaf,  designated “Chaos 3”, crouched low in a thick patch of the white fungi. Already his armour was slick with the oil after only a few minutes of hiding and waiting. The lack of motion made him a bit cold, even under his temperature-regulating armour, and his toes and fingers felt as though they were freezing, only kept warm by flexing them from time to time.

Ten minutes passed since they had first taken up positions around their smoldering ship. Ten minutes of silence, odd for what looked like a winter forest. Everything was perfectly still, the tree-like fungus projecting meters up into up into the air never moved, except for the occasional gust of wind. The piles of ground fungus, soft and porous stuff, mounded up to a meter high and seemed like piles of snow.

The only sound now was the shallow noises of his breathing inside his helmet, and the incredibly faint sound of his
armour humming. Just before they’d set up positions, Josaf and the rest of Chaos team had activated their suits energy shields, at least they still worked. The plate wide, two inch thick generator imbedded deeply within their back armour emitted a self-forming field of hardened energy capable of reflecting both kinetic rounds and energy blasts.

If only their stealth packages hadn’t failed. Without stealth capability they were not hard to see. Black combat armour in a white forest made Josaf think of black bears trying to hide in the arctic wastelands of Earth.

By the time fifteen minutes passed, Josaf was getting a tad impatient. He’d have thought something would’ve happened by now; that they would have attacked or been attacked. But nothing happened. The air itself seemed to stop moving in the sheer lack of motion. Shifting on his squatted legs, Josaf tried to reposition some weight to help his blood flow better. As he did so, he quickly increased his external sound receptors to the maximum, trying to hear any solitary decibel of any sound which may be a danger.

Suddenly, he was nearly knocked flat by a massive burst of sound. An explosion! He whipped around, stealth somewhat forgotten as he looked for the source. There, twenty yards ahead of him, a blazing orange ball of fire mushroomed into the air. His speakers quickly dampened the blaring sound; bring it back to more sensitive levels, but Josaf’s ears were still ringing. The next noise he heard was Jancy’s, excited and concerned.

“Guys, don’t move. It’s probably a diversion, or a cover for an attack. Eyes open and check for any hostiles, stay careful.” Josaf started a quick and methodical search of his surroundings with renewed vigor. Still, nothing! Nothing but white trees and white bushes, just all white! An idea then occurred to him, an idea which then quickly blossomed. He franticly opened up an open COM to his whole team, urgently speaking.

“Guys, what if they have white armour?” There was a moment of silence, the other two sheer dumbfounded that the concept of white armour on a white world hadn’t occurred to them. Jancy broke the silence, rapping out orders.

“Thermals on now! Check the area and shoot anything you see!” Without a response, Josaf turned on his thermal vision with a rush of excitement growing in him, countering the anxiety and dread he’d just been feeling earlier. Immediately his vision changed, the white world became immediately drowned out in a sea of dark grey shapes, cold and lacking heat for the thermals to read. He moved, scanning the area and avoiding the explosion site which would mess up the vision. No, nothing. His smile and heart both began to sink, when he saw something.

Nine bright white figures only thirty yards away.

With a blast of adrenaline and excitement, Josaf whipped up his rifle, yelling into his mike.

“Contact! Hostiles sighted thirty yards north!” Safety off, He settled an aiming reticule projected on his visor onto the head of the nearest target, started to squeeze the trigger, and…
BAM! The fenton-base round flashed out from their midst and hit him dead in the head. Head snapping back, the massive kinetic force blew him head over heels, not an easy feat for such a heavily armoured man, and blasted the wind from him. Josaf saw the air pop around him, heard the internal whine as his shield collapsed, and found himself staring up at the white sky, trying to make sense of things.

He woke up, coming back to the thunderous sound of Pyro and Jancy’s ARG-20s firing quick bursts. Blinking rapidly, he regained his senses and, down low, he dashed forward, rifle in hand. Ducking behind a fungi-enveloped rock, he stood up, quick as a flash, and opened fire. The roar of the gun shook his teeth and after a second of firing, stopped and checked the results. The white, heat-radiating figures were moving, very quickly. One had a limp; Josaf zeroed in and fired just as they did.

His target collapsed, its leg spraying blood. Before Josaf’s enhanced reflexes could do anything, three rounds of fenton slammed into his chest. With a scream, Josaf fell like a load of bricks. White hot fire burned at his torso, his shields were gone and so was his chest plate. Looking down, he saw a bloody hole in his chest, and he could feel a punctured lung. Coughing out blood, he staggered up on reflex, level his gun and opened up again, emptying his clip.

Josaf turned, stumbled, and started to run forward, barely staying up. He made it five feet before volley of rounds tore into his exposed back, ripping apart his spine and causing massive damage. Daggers of white fire tore into his back, causing another scream of pain to rip from his throat. He collapsed, not feeling his legs. The pain screamed at him, shredding his nerves. He yelled, and then the pain died to more manageable proportions.

But not for long, he heard the sound of approaching boots, then the all-too familiar sound of metal leaving metal. An incredibly strong arm, grabbed his neck, and like he was a sock, lifted his limp form into the air. Josaf found himself glaring into the golden visor of his enemy; he thought he could see mocking eyes glaring at him through it. Before he could say a thing, a wicked-looking barbed knife flashed forward, stabbing into his stomach. Josaf didn’t say a thing; he could no longer feel from below his severed spine. The last thing he did feel was the sharp pain of the knife ripping upwards, through his heart and into his neck.

Pyro ran. Motivated by the flight of his commander, he half-wanted to turn back and tear the enemy to shreds.
Josaf was dead!

Killed! Brought down by a volley of rounds, and when he retreated, shot in the back by the cowards! Rare tears streaked the soldier’s hidden face, stinging in his eyes and making it hard to see as he charged through the white forest. Jancy was about ten yards ahead of him, running full out at a speed of about thirty kilometers an hour. They dashed like this for about twenty minutes before slowing to a halt.

Jancy turned to face his companion, visor depolarized, exposing his red, angry face. Pyro did likewise, his emotion-wracked feelings seething through the helmet, mixing with Jancy’s and permeating the air with a feeling of hatred. Jancy glared in his eyes and spoke in a curt voice hot with anger.

“Don’t say a thing right now. We’ve lost Josaf. We’re not busting ourselves on some fury-fueled mission to get his body and revive him, he’s gone. Get it through your head and make daje sure it doesn’t interfere with your orders soldier! A man is down, and friend or not, we’ve got a mission to do and we’re going to do it. Our new orders are to go back and slaughter everyone one of those killers, take their ship and torch this whole bloody planet, are we clear?” Pyro stared into his eyes,  burning a hole into his soul and feeding it compressed, barely-controlled fiery rage. Jancy met this with his own before Pyro replied in a low, thick voice full of fire.

“Yes sir. And when we head back there, I’m going to kill all of them, every single one.” He polarized his helmet to the maximum and turned around, rifle ready and started to move forward. Jancy’s voice stopped him.

“Pyro.” Turning, Pyro looked at him for an order. Jancy shoved him aside, gun up. As he moved forward his head turned around and said plainly.

“You wanna kill all of them? Well, you’re gonna have to be faster than me. Now let’s move!”
A cold, terrible grin grew across Pyro’s mouth as he silently obeyed the order, dashing forward in front of his leader.
Moving at full speed, the two avengers dashed off into the white abyss.

Back at the ship, Cirel was not prepared for this. Not in the least.
He was a pilot, daje it! He was trained to fly around in all forms of ships, drop off the troops, and fly back to the safety of orbit as quick as his thrusters could carry him, and if needed provide a little bit of cover-fire.
His job did NOT involve a sudden explosion, crashing on a minus eighty degree planet, and getting stuck in the middle of a firefight between Cortalan terrorists and Seaportians NGTs (Next Generation Troopers.)

It was even worse when the NGT’s lost in their first encounter with the enemy, one of them died, and other others took off.  Now, hiding in the sealed ****pit with his friend and copilot, Miachen, clutching his head in hands he moaned about how this couldn’t be happening, it wasn’t happening. The cold, stark naked fear in his heart he felt a little of when he flew over a hot LZ was hitting him in full force now, terrifying him!
He felt like crying, like curling up in a ball and whimpering helplessly. This, couldn’t, happen! Not on his ship! Not with him! And not on his ship with him! He let loose a small, quavering sigh which sounded more like a pathetic cry. He stuck his head up then to see what his companion was doing.

To his utter and complete surprise, Miachen was not wailing or looking defeated at all! While he definately looked nervous, scared even, he didn’t surrender to fate. Instead, he tapped a symbol and popped open a small compartment beside his seat. He dipped his hand into it, and pulled out a small metal device. Cirel realized that it was a pistol!

Miachen pulled out an ailon handgun, capable of firing a high-energy beam which, on setting six, could vaporize an unarmored man. He casually checked the power reading, then switched off the safety. Cirel looked at him like he was man possessed, then cried out in shock and horror.

“Are you a mad man? Are you going to try and fight them? If an NGT unit couldn’t beat them, what chance do you think you have?” Shrugging, Miachen looked at him and answered in a determined, quivering voice.

“They want to break this ship; they’re going to have to buy it.” Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Cirel hissed.

“Well then it looks like they’re going to pay a very cheap price for it! Are you out of your mind? You want to live, you should just surrender now!” Shaking his head, Miachen popped open the door and stepped out. As he did, he said his last words to Cirel.

“Well, I gotta do something.” With that, he shut and sealed the door, leaving Cirel to his fate. A sudden volley of shots shattered the canopy, throwing duraglass everywhere. As the stasis fields kicked in, halting the movement of air around the ship and stopping any cold air from getting in, Cirel curled up and whimpered; sure he would never see his friends or family again.

Miachen stood a meter in front of the entry door, ailon pistol steadied in both hands before him on maximum power. His cold, sweaty hands shook slightly in apprehension of what was to come, but he kept the wobbling weapon pointed at the point of entry, waiting for the Cortalan’s to break in. He did not have to wait long.

The door flew open, the center of it crumpled where it had been kicked. Like a nightmare, in marched his tormentor. The armour worn by him was small and flexible looking. Around the wrists there was an impressive amount of tools and weapons matched by the tools and weapons on his waist. The armour was gray and trimmed with gold and had a black cape hanging off the left shoulder. The helmet looked like a grey and gold sugarloaf helmet with a few exposed tools on it.

Before the stunned Miachen, who had never fought before, could do anything, the figure saw him and reacted immediately. Moving like greased lightning, he snapped forward and snatched the gun, wrenching it away from the co-pilots hands and breaking his finger in the process. Miachen yelled in pain as his finger snapped, and at the same time pressed the trigger.

There was a burning sound, a brilliant light, and a white hot sizzling beam of energy fire from the barrel, raising the room temperature a good ten degrees and blowing a very clean hole through the top of the ship, stabbing through a break in the hanging fungus and into the sky. Stumbling back and cradling his wounded hand, Miachen suddenly found himself on the deck with the armoured assasilant kneeling on his chest and pressing a knife to his neck. He tried to swallow, he couldn’t. Trembling in fear, Miachen shivered despite the heat of the room.
When the man spoke, it was very calm, plain and deadly serious.

“Where are the soldiers going?” Managing to finally gulp, Miachen stared, transfixed, into the searing golden gaze of his foes visor and with his last scrap of courage, managed to croak out.

“I don’t know.”

“Really?” The man asked and started to push down the blade, drawing a trickle of blood. Miachens nerve broke and he suddenly erupted with a blabbering stream of everything he knew, including the size and dimensions of the ship. He finished talking and lay there, quivering and bleeding. Again, the soldier asked, more sternly this time. “Do you know where the soldiers are going?”
In a low, completely terrified voice, Miachen whispered, “No.”

“Is that your final answer?” Miachen barely managed a faint nod.
With a shrug, the man said simply, “Ok then.” Then he shoved down and the last thing Miachen felt was the knife applying pressure as it sliced through his neck, killing him instantly.

Cirel decided it was now or never. He’d heard the ailon fire, he’d heard the brief interrogation followed by Miachen’s burst of information, followed by his silence. Cirel decided it didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened and decided that it was best to run for it, maybe link up with the NGT squad, or what remained of it.
Wrapping himself up in a thermal suit and helmet, he gingerly climbed out of the shattered canopy and scrambled across the oily and crushed crash site. He got into the thicker ‘trees’ without a hitch, and started to run at a quicker pace. He shivered, even in the thermal suit it was freezing! He stopped checked behind him, saw no one, and started to run forward again when he was tackled.

A figure dressed in white armour slammed into him, throwing him into a nearby bush. His breath left him with a whoosh, as did a curse of “Daje it!” He landed on his back, finding himself effortlessly pinned down by the elegant, white armoured man. Terrified, he stared into the eyeless visor, wordless and just getting his breath back. Moving like an oiled snake, his captor whipped out cords and bound him tightly before wrapping him a white blanket, wrapped him up too tight to escape, and then called out.

“Where are you going?” Cirel was shocked. A girl? Girl or not, her voiced sounded like one who wouldn’t hesitate to kill him in a heartbeat, if ordered to. Laying there, shivering in cold, he waited as several more Cortalan’s lightly dashed over to his position. So tightly bound, he couldn’t turn around to see anything which was slightly embarrassing. Still, as he heard the following conversation, embarrassment became the farthest thing from his mind.
It started off with Miachen’s killer who spoke in an annoyed voice, “You look awfully pleased with yourself.”
His capturer then whipped off the white blanket, exposing him shivering from the cold which was now numbing his toes and fingers. Then the newcomer spoke again, talking into a communicator of some sort,

“Ferin, can you hear me?”

Ferin obviously could because then the man responded, “We’re going to stay here until the soldiers show up.”  Then turning to the girl, “Tarlish you can start talking again anytime you feel like it.”
Her cold, slightly amused voice replied, “Hmm, you’re just upset because you didn’t catch him.”

“Just because that’s true doesn’t mean you’re right.” That was the last voice Cirel heard for about twenty minutes. Unnoticed, he just lay there, shivering silently, teeth chattering inside his helmet. He was getting worried now, while his thermal suit retained his body heat, it worked best when he moved to generate such heat. Here, in such freezing conditions, he was worrying he might just freeze to death!
His fears were, however, eluded when apparently after hearing some radio chatter, the man spoke up again.

“Quit complaining! How far could they possibly go with no ship? Just start following their tracks.” Then, apparently turning to him, said. “Or maybe our friend has an idea of where they are going.” He crawled over to a now petrified Cirel, flipped him over and stared him in the eyes.

“Do you know where they are?” Cirel, now too terrified to say anything, rolled his head in the direction of the original target. The man questioned him. “Is there a village that way?” This time the girl, Tarlish, nodded solemnly.
Turning back to Cirel, the man stood up and said in a decent voice. “You’ve been very helpful.” With that he pointed his rifle at Cirel’s chest.

Now to terrify to do anything but let out a horrified moan, Cirel closed his eyes and hoped it would be quick! Nothing happened though, prompting the poor pilot to open his eyes and look at what was happening. Tarlish, the girl, was half-yelling at his executioner,

“What are you doing!?!”

In a matter-of-fact voice, the man turned his head and plainly stated, “Well we can’t take him with us.”
In an equally statement tone of voice, Tarlish corrected him, “Yes we can.” With that, she pulled out a rather long needle from in her armour somewhere, and in one fluid movement, stabbed it into the shocked pilot’s heart. Cirel felt the jab of pain, followed by the sudden wave of numbness and exhaustion which spread through his body as the sedative went to work. As he sunk into a sea of blackness and silence, he heard only muted mumbling as he wondered if he would ever see home again?

Jancy and Pyro had ran for a shot distance, then started creeping on their bellies towards the ship, minds set on vengeance. No longer blazing with fiery fury, but now the icy, cold, calculating minds of professional killers. They had gotten forty yards closer to the ship before stopping, staying utterly still. Ahead they had heard the voices of the terrorists, heard them chase down and capture Cirel, and heard them knock him out with sedatives. Watching as they decided to start moving again, Jancy vanished into the white undergrowth.

Stay fifty meters from the party at all times, they stayed silent as wraiths, tracking them down. Finally, after an hour of crawling and creeping, they finally got a good shot sighted. Pyro opted to take it and lay flat on his stomach, leveling the ARG-20 on a flat rock. Breathing slow, deep breaths, he shut one eye and aimed down the iron sights, lining up the W shape with the targeting reticule on his visor. He waited for the end of his exhale, waited for the brief pause between heart beats, he squeezed the trigger and fired.

The gun exploded like a bomb, the high-velocity round screaming as it blew through the sound barrier at the blistering speeds of over four thousand feet per second. His target, the one in the lead, dropped like a rock, missing a large portion of his head. All the others dropped two and began taking up defensive positions and returning fire in the general direction of the two NGTs.

Jancy smiled with an evil joy as his adrenaline began pumping with battle joining. This is what he loved! A shoot out with the enemy! A shoot-out with a friend at his side! Shooting with a friend for a friend, to avenge a friend! Soon the entire area with thick with fire. The super-dense rounds from the NGTs ripping through foliage, blowing patches of fungus to piles of mush, while the eerie green base-fenton rounds of the Cortalan terrorists plowed trails through the solid white landscape.

This is what Jancy and Pyro loved! What the excelled at! Chaos! The enemy couldn’t see more than twenty feet in front of them, while the NGT’s thermal vision picked up their radiating body heat and zeroed in on their targets. Soon one fell, a spray of steaming blood splashing from his side and across the ground. Another one just fell, riddled with a half-clip from Pyro.

Laying there, Jancy was relatively untouched. Though some shots landed close, none of them had hit him ye-

Wham! Three rounds clustered together and rammed into his chest, popping the shields and knocking him backwards. He lay there for a moment dazed, and then began crawling backwards, away from the fight. He made it ten feet, took cover behind a particularly large fungal growth, then sat up and reloaded, ejecting the spent clip and sliding in a full one with a satisfying click.

Grinning, he peeked around the corner and checked the targets. He spotted about four more, still spraying the area and moving quickly and professionally. Now, they retreated. He opened a COM to Pyro, giving out the order.

“Ok, job’ done. Now we pull back, tail ‘em for an hour, then hit them again! Actually, no, head for the village! They’ll follow us there, then we shoot them down from the buildings ok?” No response, but a green confirmation light blinked. Jancy smiled, then took off running, bent down low. Making a lot of noise, he checked to see if he was being followed. Seeing the white figures chase after his noises, he planted Josaf’s mine, revenge for his fallen comrade, and armed it.

Taking off at a much more silent and stealthier pace, he gained ground quickly, then dashed ahead a hundred yards, then stopped and waited for Pyro.

He didn’t wait long, his friend reached him in thirteen seconds. Jancy held up a hand and ordered him quiet. “Now, be quiet and listen.” They stood still and silent for a few minutes, then heard the resounding bang of the mine and the scream of a victim. Pyro’s mouth turned up in a cruel smile before saying.

“And our comrade is avenged.” Jancy replied curtly.

“Not yet, but he will be soon. Now let’s go!” Turning around, he and his friend sprinted off for the village.

Chapter Four: The Kill

Half an hour later of sprinting, hiding and resting later, the remains of Team Chaos arrived at the village. A collection of lumpy, white huts about ten meters wide and fifteen feet high; it was not an interesting settlement.
Like the rest of the planet, it was incredibly dull and boring. But didn’t care about of course Jancy the looks, and ever since they’re transport and exploded in mid-air, boredom had been far from his mind.
Now, he and Pyro were on top of a slight hill overlooking the bland looking village. About thirty or so buildings, he figured it could probably hold a hundred or so inhabitants. The problem was that he couldn’t see any of the inhabitants. They’d been watching for about five minutes, uncomfortably aware that the longer they waited there, the sooner they were to being discovered by the terrorists.

They had both been scanning the whole area with thermals the entire time, and still they saw nothing. The heat-sensitive vision was picking up only blacks and grays, meaning that everything was cold. Leaning closer to Pyro, Jancy said,

“I think they’re all inside. I mean, who would want to hang out here in this blasted cold?” Pyro’s voice crackled back to him.

“Yeah, that’s probably true. How shall we go about this? Hit every house one by one?” Jancy nodded, affirming the idea.

“Yeah, we’’ get in close to the first one over there,” He pointed to the nearest hut. “Jump in and hose everyone down. The others’ll run over t see what happening, then we cut ‘em down, okay?” Pyro’s confirmation light blinked green. Jancy slapped him on the back in a reassuring manner, and said with excitement I his voice. “Ok then, let’s go! Follow me up, ten yards behind!” He quietly and quickly scampered over the hill, slid down the oily slope and got to his feet. Pointing his rifle in front of him, he steadies his breathing and crept forward, friend behind him.
Crouching, he picked up the pace and dashed over to the small, oval-shaped entrance to the white hut. He kneeled and scanned the position around him, checking for anyone watching him. No one was, he signaled Pyro over. His comrade took up a practiced position, right besides the other side of the door, flat against the wall. Jancy’s hand flashed three fingers, three, two, and one. Chaos 1 whirled round and booted in the door, rifle leveled in front of his face. He rolled and came up silently, ready to waste anything he saw.

Breathing lightly, he scanned the room. Nothing. Jancy moved forward into the room, Pyro silently filing in behind him, rifle barrel constantly moving with his hands and face. The dwelling seemed to consist of a large main room, and two smaller room’s side-by-side. Jancy shivered as he stepped forward and into the next room.
He rushed into it, heart pumping wildly and eyes wide open, ready to shoot anything that moved. But nothing did. Now he was getting nervous. Swallowing heavily, he tried to shake off the uneasy feeling as he rolled into the final room. Nothing, no people, no furniture, no anything! Just a bare room, like the other two. He turned and saw Pyro in
the door way. Shaking his head in a silent no, Jancy backed out of the room and left the house.

Now he noticed the silence that filled the air, the dead, thick silence which permeated everything. Normally he’d expect people talking, moving, something to show that people lived there. Bt now it was dead and lifeless as a ghost town. They checked several more of the huts, and found them bare and devoid of all signs of life as the first.
Now in the center of it all, they glanced uneasily around the buildings, the uneasy silence seeming to close in all around them. Pyro voiced both of the opinions then, simply stating,

“This isn’t good man, not good at all. Where are all the people? There ought to be at least a hundred people here, maybe more! But it’s all dead and lifeless as Parcon.” He referred here to their old Commander, Higher 1 Gyrel Parcon. Jancy chuckled a bit at the remark, breaking the dead silence. But not for long, soon the humor was swallowed up by the all-consuming silence.

An idea had been forming in Jancy’s head after the second hut, growing and festering like some sort of infection, an infection which Jancy didn’t want, but decided that he would now have to admit to. Turning to face Pyro, cradling his rifle in his hand, he depolarized his visor and stared his last true friend, and told him what he believed to be the truth.

“I think I know why they’re all gone.” He said bluntly. Pyro asked rather eagerly.

“I’m all ears, what’s up?” With a deep breath, Jancy started explaining his theory.

“They’re all gone, that much is clear. I’m willing to bet that the Cortalan terrorists, the ones we just fought, saw our ship crash and warned them villagers to escape. I’m willing to bet they all took off for their emergency ship and took off.” Pyro stared at him, annoyed.
“You mean the ship we were planning to get off this frozen slime pit with?” Jancy nodded solemnly.

“The very one. Now of course, since we’re in a clearing here, we can just send out an emergency beacon and the Cyroni could just send down a shuttle to get us. We head back up there and set the planet on fire, mission accomplished.” Then, another through occurred to him, and before Pyro could say anything, he said. “Wait a second here. If they wanted the village to get out of here before we got them, they must know we’re heading here.” His blood froze as he heard his own words. “We’re not leading them here, they expected us here.” He and his friend exchanged shocked looks, frozen in realization of the truth. Jancy broke the shocked stupor with one command.

“Run! Get to the tree line!” Both men blasted out of the village, sprinting flat-out for the cover of the hanging fungus. Jancy was half-panicked now, heart beating and adrenaline pumping furiously through his system. He had to get out of there, out of before the inevitable happened. Panting, Jancy was getting closer and closer to the tree line. Forty yards, thirty yards, twenty, ten. Then, ten yards from the relative safety of the tree line, Jancy’s whole world exploded on him.

The entire village vanished in a blinding explosion which set fire to the oily landscape around it. The land blazed like a sun for a moment, just before the shockwave extinguished it. The same shockwave hit Jancy, hurling him along at a few hundred miles per hour, picking up his six hundred ton armoured body like a mere toy. Jancy’s terror flared as his limbs all flailed, trying to stop his inevitable crash.

He blasted through the air for what seemed like an hour, he hit a ten meter fungal growth. His shields exploded, collapsing violently. His breath burst from his lungs in an instant. His senses enveloped by sound and flames, he senselessly crashed down through the ‘branches’ and piled onto the ground beneath. Crumpled in a heap, he lay there for almost ten seconds before coming to a world of pain.

Gasping a shooting agony striking through his chest, he clutched the wounded region, crying out in pain. He lay on the ground gasping, and then opened his eyes, looking at his flashing vital stats on his visors Tactical View Display (TVD). AS he became more aware of what his surroundings, he saw through his pained daze that his left lung was destroyed. His armour was even now numbing down the pain to a more tolerable state to help him operate better. As the pain faded partially, he managed to pull himself up and look around.

Where the village had been, a smoking, black and smoldering crater remained. He leaned on his rifle to help himself balance, gasping through his one working lung. He searched desperately around the devastated land, searching for his last friend. He opened up a COM channel to his friend and desperately started calling out.
“Pyro, you there buddy? Answer me man, answer me daje it!” He screamed in terrified rage at his friends silence! In frustration, he whipped his rifle butt into a nearby fungal growth, crushing it to a pulp. Red faced, he stood there, steaming in anger at those who’d taken his friends from him. Then, a weak, pained voice crackled in over his COM.

“Yeah, I’m here. Turn around.” Jancy whirled around in a fury, and saw Pyro’s battered form limping towards him. His grief and anger quickly turned to joy, then to horror as he noticed Pyro’s legs. Or to be more precise, his lack of them. Pyro’s left leg, from the knee down, was a horrific, smashed and crushed mess of blood, flesh and armour. Pyro tried to smile at him, but it too quickly broke down into an agonized grimace.

He nearly collapses, blood spilling onto the white ground. Jancy rushed forwards to catch him, but Pyro warded him off with his hand. He managed to stand back up, straighten himself out, and start hobbling forward. He increased his pace as he cast a fearful look behind him; just as bolt of fenton blew apart a patch of fungi a few feet away.
Jancy whipped around, rifle up and firing. He expended off a several short bursts of cover fire as they both retreated into the fungus, now in a flat out run for safety and life. Jancy took the lead, then stopped and turned for his friend. Pyro saw his efforts and started furiously shouting at him.

“No way! Get outta here now! Look I ain’t going anywhere on one leg, not like you can with two! No get outta here now! I’ll be fine; I’ll find a way out, I always do. Now just go, forget me and go!” Angry and agonized, Pyro through all his strength into turning away his friend. Seeing his furiously determined face, Jancy nodded softly, and ran off, leaving his heart behind.

He sprinted forward, trying to get as much distance as possible. However, you just can’t run far on one lung, and Jancy made it twenty yards before collapsing in a heap. Panting and gasping against the pain, he lay back and stared at the white sky.

He was alone now.

Pyro saw his last friend run, and managed a grimace. He wasn’t going to make it, and Jancy probably knew it. Pyro couldn’t run on one leg, not fast, but he could try to lead them away from Jancy. He quickly began hobbling opposite of his comrade’s direction, moving as fast as possible and using his molten rifle as a support. The fiery agony of his ravaged leg gnawed at him, maggots of white fire squirmed and ate through it as the flesh froze in the cold.

Pyro never heard the footsteps, never heard the running man behind him. He did feel the sharp, stabbing pain as the knife neatly bisected his spine at the center. The chewing pain in his legs died immediately, as did all feeling in his legs. With a yell of more fury than pain, he wheeled around and clubbed his assailant in the face with his ruined rifle. The attackers helmeted head snapped back from force of the blow, staggered back, dazed. Then he regained himself, and took the advantage immediately. Knocking the useless weapon from Pyro’s pained grasp, he kicked him to the ground, shoved the huge and wicked looking knife at his throat, and said.

“Good job.” He then plunged the knife through Pyro’s neck and ended the mans pains and sufferings forever.
That’s it, I’m done running. Jancy thought as he leaned against his rifle, gasping for breath. His one lung wouldn’t
give him the oxygen he needed to run and, his armors medical abilities non-with-standing, he wouldn’t live much longer either. He stated coughing, retching and gagging violently. A splatter of blood smeared the inside of his visor and he felt a lightning bolt of pain lance through him.

He stiffened in agony, then leaned back on his rifle, panting heavily now, pain clearly evident in his voice. Head hung in shame, he thought of the two fine men, his two friends who had died under his bumbled command. He should have known, from the first explosion on the dropship, from the voice he’d heard interrogating Cirel. He should have known that he could in no way defeat that one man, that one man who’d been his friend, his competitor, and then his enemy, all so long ago.

Mercy.

Mercy was coming for them, had come for them, and now was coming for him. Mercy, the one man he could never beat, who’d always pulled ahead of him time and time again. Now he was behind Mercy again, and two of his best friends had paid for his ignorance. He remembered, oh so many years ago, when he was back in training on the massive Ticki-Tickalie ship, The Toratotalaternion. Back when he trained as a Tick-Tickalie Krab, as a mighty soldier before he left to join Seaport.

Now he was facing again the one man he’d hoped to never meet again, to never hear of again. What chance had he had against Mercy? The Ticki-Tickalie themselves had called Mercy ‘The Un-Defeated.’ Still undefeated, still invincible like he was fifteen years ago.

Jancy knew he was defeated, even before they hit the ground he was defeated. And now he would pay the price. He heard the crashing as the armoured man, as Mercy crashed through the fungus towards him. He did not see him yet, but he would soon. Taking one last pained breath, he checked the clip in his rifle, his last clip. Sixteen rounds remained. He vowed to use every one of them. The crashing grew louder, nearer. Jancy began to bring the rifle to a firing position just as Mercy emerged into sight.

Jancy fired, expending all sixteen rounds in less than a second. Mercy didn’t break stride, and most of the round bounced off the battle armour he wore. Six of them penetrated, sticking out of his armour like spines. He pulled them out and snapped them like twigs, never breaking stride. In a flash Jancy expended his entire handgun magazine into the approaching figure. The heavy-caliber bullets just bounced off, barely scratching the paint.

Mercy stopped ten feet in front of him. Jancy considered throwing the gun, then dropped it. He let out a sigh of defeat, staring at the ground, and then looked Mercy dead in the eyes, as f his mere gaze could burn a hole in Mercy’s visor.

“Thing sure have changed huh Mercy?” Mercy seemed confused for a moment, not speaking for a moment before answering in a calm, inquisitive voice.

“What do you mean?” Jancy replied almost casually in a tired tone.

“The galaxy, the people, you.”  Mercy seemed to take this in for a moment, before asking a new question.

“Why did you stop?” Jancy half-laughed, it made out like a pained cough.

“There’s no way I can outrun you, no on one lung.” Mercy said in slightly amused agreement.

“How true that is.” Jancy took another look around, looking at the white abyss all around him. Then, with only one thing left to do, he whipped out his Kukila, the boomerang-shaped blade flashed in the weak sunlight as he charged towards Mercy recklessly, noiselessly. Mercy’s own combat knife came up to meet him, blocking his attack and following with a double feint and a stab. The blade pierced Jancy’s damaged armour and cut into skin. Grabbing Mercy’s extended arm, he slashed at it with the Kukila.

It sheared through the oily armour, cutting through the plating and slicing open the armour flex, drawing blood. With a look of what seemed to be annoyance, Mercy punched the weary soldier, breaking his arm before ripping the knife out and sticking it on his waist.

Jancy fell back, clasping his broken arm as agony shot through it. Gritting his teeth, he stared at his foe, the killer of his friends. They stood their silent for a moment, before he asked a question he already knew the answer to.

“So, what are you going to do now, shoot me?” Mercy shrugged, and then hefted his rifle, saying.

“That’s the plan.” He then squeezed the trigger, and three rounds smashed Jancy in the center.
Jancy was on the ground before he felt the pain of the base-fenton rounds. He fell, a silent cry frozen on his lips as he landed on the porous, spongy ground. He craned his head up, saw blood gushing from his chest, felt the cold start to freeze him. As he began sinking into a pool in inky blackness, into the realm of oh-so merciful unconsciousness and death, he saw out of his fading, tunneling vision Mercy reach down to grab him.

Then he felt nothing more.

Chapter Five: The End

Movement. Blackness. Jancy was in a world of numbing, pressing darkness. He saw flickering shadows, heard murmuring voices from far, far away. He could feel himself flying, no, not flying. Being lifted, carrier away by people. He felt jostling, his body bumping and moving as hands grasped his limbs and hauled him away. He saw distant lights, bright lights, and then faded back into the blackness.
An unknown amount of time later

Jancy was being dragged. Not across fungus or snow, but over dirt and soil. Leaves and branches scratched at his face. His eyes opened, and then scrunched shut, overwhelmed by bright lights. Green leaves and branches. He opened his eyes again, and then felt himself sink once again into blackness.

Voices, far away he heard voices.

Murmuring, getting louder. Murky and smeared voices began to get louder, solidify. His bubble of blackness was now being pierced, invaded by reaching spears of light. Flickering light faded and danced outside his eyelids. Coming to, Jancy forced his eyes open, and he found himself staring at a thatched, woven roof. He began to hear his breathing, he started making sense of things as much he could.

He was on a dirt floor, no, on a blanket on a dirt floor. Voices, it was Mercy talking, talking with someone else. He titled his head to one side to try and pick up the conversation. He heard a new voice, no Mercy. A rather thick, but sharp and intelligent sounding voice, now like a human.

“Mercy, I’ve told you once, I’ve probably told you a thousand times! Stop bringing me dead people!”   Then he heard Mercy, speaking with a tad of irritated determination.

“He’s not dead yet, I’ve made sure of that. I want him alive and well, and you can make him so.  Know you, your culture dictates you can’t let anyone, regardless of race or affiliation, die in your presence! Now hurry up before he does die!” Deciding to make himself known, Jancy used his voice for the first time in a long time. He at first didn’t recognize it, it was so scratchy and dry, like a sanding belt had taken the place of his throat.

“I’m not dead yet, but one of you soon will be.” There was silence for at least five seconds, then the strangers voice came in again, full of disbelief.

“Where do you find people like this? You kill his team, beat the life from him, car him across space to another planet, drag him through the woods, and the first thing he wants to do is fight? Who is this guy?”
Jancy turned over painfully in his blanket so he could see Mercy, un-helmeted, smiling slightly.

“Lets’ just say I have my ways of finding people, and you have your ways of healing them. Now please, hurry up.” There other creature who Jancy couldn’t see yet, sighed in exasperation and consent.

“Fine, I’ll heal him.” Jancy lifted his head again and asked.

“I don’t get it Mercy, why do you want me? Why didn’t you kill me?” Mercy smiled elegantly at him, closing his fingers together. Leaning forward, he answered.

“I don’t want you, not really. No, you’ve got something much bigger in store for you. I’ll tell you when you get up what this’ll be. Now, sleep.” With that, he punched Jancy in the head, effectively knocking him out again. The other creature gave him a murderous glare, before approaching with his medical supplies. As he began to work on the battered form, he said over his shoulder.

“Honestly, can’t you bring me some less-dead guys?” I mean I can save him an all, but its awful annoying when there are so many holes in him. By the way, what are you doing with him anyway?”
The mercenary’s faint smile flickered oddly in the dancing light of the fire as he thought for a moment, then turned to the creature.

“Don’t you worry, you’ll find our soon enough my friend, you find out soon enough.”

To be Continued…