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A Universe Scathed by Adam Stark
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A Universe Scathed - Part One
Date: 21 May 2007, 4:52 am
A universe scathed, a pox set upon itself by its very inhabitants. I, in my own little corner, my own piece, I began to worry as a darkness slowly seethed into the floorboards of my home, an infectious disease that would seem to eat everything it touched. I could not bear to watch as my land, my friends, my life wasted away into a cruel oblivion. The rotting ate away at my heart, like a tick sucking the blood out of your body. The heathens that occupied this planet, Macerr, showed no boundaries to their rape of the land, of nature. But I would have of it no longer. No more insanity, no more desolation. I wanted to bring life back to the wastelands I suddenly found myself in the middle of. But how will I do this? I pondered to myself. I suddenly noticed the two handguns lying there. I stared at them; their cold metal stared in return. I didn't think I would be able to do it. But now, I find myself here, wondering how I did it all. How I was able to finally find an Eden in the midst of the depths of Hell itself. How I was able to pry the tick away, and crush it under the heel of my shoe.
I stepped outside my multi-story apartment unit in the dead center of Macerr City, a bustling metropolis. Cars sped past, a lawless traffic like an untamed river; it rushed down the stream, a carelessness of those who were speeding around. I hailed a cab, stopping the flow, if only for a moment, to join it. The endless amount of urban sprawl rushed past my eyes as I journeyed into the outer edge of town. I had friends there who would get me started. The cab pulled to a stop. I paid the man, and he went on his way. I turned to the gray, concrete skyscraper that stood before me. I eyed the doors, hesitant to enter. I took a deep breath, pushing through the glass doors. It was lavish, almost like a palace or some other royal residence. The lobby, however, had a certain stillness to the air. It felt heavy, almost damp. After I had waited for a few minutes, seeing nobody come or go, I began to wander the corridors. I was about to give up, when at the end of the hall on the top floor, there was a door with my name on it. How out of place it was.
I hesitated one last time, grasping the handle. I closed my eyes and turned the handle, pushing the door forward. My friend sat there, laid back in an office chair. He stood as I approached the table he was seated at. In front of him were bags, plastic cases, all containing mysteries. He smirked, shaking my hand.
"Thanks for coming in. I've been in need of an associate for some time," he proclaimed with great enthusiasm. I smiled a bit, already caught up in the emotion. I had decided what I would do with my life.
I had been given many things. The first was my assignment. I had agreed to help his organization in taking down the people who were corrupting our society. It was the government. Mayor Greenfield, the devil himself, was appearing at a political rally to support the euthanasia of children that wouldn't be beneficial to the society. What the hell was he thinking!? The government has no right to decide if a child should live. The worst of it all was that people supported him. He had a grand following. It was sick. By the time I had calmed down, I had arrived. Tostovich Square.
Tostovich Square was positioned in the heart of the slums, a perfect place to deliver a political message. Well, it sounded good on paper at least. I set myself up on the roof of a condemned apartment building opposite the square. I pulled from the bag I had been given a SRS-99C S2AM Sniper Rifle. Its sleek, gunmetal-gray texture lit up my eyes. I was ecstatic to do this. My mind blanked, and the animal inside was beginning to take over. I locked the barrel into place, followed by the 10-power scope, then the bipod. I unfolded it. The height was perfect. I had half an hour to spare before the rally began, so I zeroed my crosshairs, sighting and resighting the weapon. As the hour approached, my heart raced. I took the four-round magazine and put it into the well, it locking into place. I racked back the bolt, charging the weapon, preparing for my time. There he was. He stepped onto the platform, waving to the audience as they cheered the new law. I cheered inside, training the crosshair on his heart, and as he opened his filthy lips to speak his nonsense, I pulled the trigger.
The crowd screamed and cried in terror as I racked the bolt back and forward. I pulled the trigger and fired another round, putting a hole into the abomination in a human form. He collapsed to the ground as his aides rushed to help him. I was already busy packing up the rifle by the time the crowd began looking for where I might've been. I stuffed the barrel into the duffel, right before puffs of concrete from the building emanated from the wall. They had spotted me. I unzipped the bag for a second, pulling out a compact sub-machine gun. I slung the duffel over my back and began running down the rooftop. I jumped from building to building, dodging bullets from police and security guards. I followed the route I had been given, down to the docks. I made my way down a fire escape on one building into an alley. I turned left, finding nothing but a cold, brick wall. My friend, he had betrayed me. I turned to see how much time I had left. No footsteps, but there was still a crowd dissipating into the surrounding area. I ran back down the alley to the other side, climbing a shorter wall onto the main street. I found myself in the middle of a squad of police officers. They unloaded their handguns at me. I ducked under their line of fire, rolling to the closest one. I put bullets into him, dropping him as pain seared through his body. I ran as they turned to fire. Bullets flew past me, one ripping into my shoulder, nearly dropping me in pain. I ducked into a different alley, returning fire with my gun. A clicking sound rang from the housing of the gun, signaling my doom. I tossed it aside, examining my shortly quickly, then running down the alley. I climbed a rusted fire escape as the officers ran into the alley and created an amazing sight as they fired off countless rounds as me. Sparks flew around me almost like a show on the Fourth of July. The distraction was only for a split second, enough to get me shot again. A small round hit me in the liver, stitching up my side with pain. I reached the top, stumbling around. I looked toward the edge of the building. I knew this would be my last few seconds. I ran and jumped, several hundred feet above the street below. I didn't care if I died, because I knew one simple fact.
One day, I will be a hero. People will realize the grand deed I did that day, and they will praise me as if I were a god. They will say I brought an epiphany to the eyes of the people. They will hold parades. They will create a holiday. I'm a hero for all to see. Even as I plummet to my death, they are preparing the ceremonies.
A Universe Scathed - Part 2
Date: 7 September 2008, 8:44 am
Preface: I wrote the first part for this ages ago, and I've always been meaning to put up the rest of it. If you would like to read the first part, feel free to go back and read it. Any attempt to find sanity in this piece shall be laughed at thoroughly.
I awoke, by God, I awoke. The impossible happened, I awoke. But, yet, I could not feel myself. A state of suspension I felt I was in? Was I alive? Was I dead? My eyelids crawled up my eyes, allowing the light to pass through my corneas and into the rods and cones. Everything was so white, so bleak, so sterile. I could feel my arms, my legs, my hands, the hairs on my body. I was fucking alive! If only that joy had lasted for just a moment longer. The cold steel wrapped around my ankles and wrists alerted me to the fact that I would have to survive Hell on Earth before I could return once again to my Eden. Dare I flinch? Dare I alert someone of my consciousness? I could not see nor hear a being, so I tested the strength of the iron restraints. They were firm and resilient, but they would bow to my might. I ripped my limbs apart from my prison bed with ease. I ripped off the IVs. However, I froze. I tested my back. Slight pain arose, but it would have to do. I tested my legs, which were still strong and sturdy as I had left them. The windows to my room were barred, and I could see a guard outside. I went into the foot locker next to my bed and extracted my clothes and effects. I changed into my street clothes, which were as I had left them, except for the bullet holes. As for my effects, I took out a small duffel bag and tossed them into there. Zipping it up, I slung it over my shoulder.
I prepared myself. I had to return to Eden. I needed it. I pressed the nurse call button on the side of the bed. A few moments later, she walked in. I spun around in front of her and grabbed her head through her eye sockets, like it was a bowling ball. I threw her head first at the guard, who reacted to the nurse before me. I punched his faced it, before ripping his jaw off. Another guard came running. I threw the bloodied jaw at him, which stunned him with horror. This gave me time to run at him and drive his face into the ground. I wiped the bits of skull and brain onto his jacket, and then proceeded to take his weapon. UNSC-issue M6C, compact, good for security forces. I grabbed his two spare magazines and put them in my pocket. I safetied the weapon and put it in my waistband. I continued down the hall towards the elevators, the few remaining people scattering as I approached. I hit the call button on the elevator, with the light lighting up on the button to signal it had been pressed. The brushed metal doors slid apart, revealing the elevator car to my eyes. I stepped in, turning to face the doors as they closed. The elevator descended several floors, dropping to the ground floor. The doors slid open, the hospital lobby. Several UNSC officers crouched behind desks and chairs, aiming their M6s at my head. I moved to the side of the car, hiding myself from their view, as bullets erupted from their weapons, puncturing the metal in the car, but not me. Several stopped to reload, so I took the opportunity. I stepped out casually, shooting two of the eight in the head. One was behind a column, so I went around and grabbed his lower jaw. I ripped it off, putting my gun to the top of his mouth and letting a few rounds rip through his eyes and sinuses.
I took cover behind the column as other officers began firing again, pushing away the body. I put my M6C around, firing blindly, killing one officer with three bullets to the heart. The other four officers retreated to the entrance of the hospital, spraying the column with fire. They turned their backs to escape but I emptied the clip into their backs, nailing two of them before the magazine ran dry. With the slide of the M6C retracted, I dropped the empty magazine and slammed in a fresh one. I walked out the front doors, no sight of the other two officers that had fled. However, a small crowd had formed, wanting see the action. They vanished also as soon as they saw me and my bloodied hands. I walked to one of their UNSC Police Warthogs. I hit the button ignition, with the engine roaring under me. I peeled off in the vehicle, determined to get out of the city as fast as possible.
I was so busy escaping the city that I never realized I was just delving deeper into the wasteland. I had been at the border, but now I was to the point where all I saw was the road, and dust. I had figured I would drive for about another two hours to the Mercenary encampment deep in the south, before I would head back to the city to finish what I had started. I came upon the outskirts of a lawless place, a prime example of life in the wastelands. There was no room for any of them in the rich, lush north, and so they had been dumped in the deep south. I stopped my vehicle a mile from the outskirts, taking my effects and hiding the car in a small rock formation just off the road. I began walking down the road, not long before a large AMG Jarhead came speeding down the road, kicking up dust. I flagged it down, trying to get a ride into the town. It stopped just a bit ahead of me, so I jogged up to the passenger side. The door popped open, and I climbed in, slinging my duffel onto my feet. The woman driving was clad in burnt and dinged merc armor, no doubt a member of the Guild that called the encampment home. Her words were quick, precise, like a well-trained soldier.
"Where in town you headed?" I'm not sure why, but I smiled at her, clenching my fist as it rested on the armrest of the seat.
"Take me to the Guild dormitories."
"You don't look like a guild merc. What's your number?"
"I'm not a guild merc. That's just where I'm headed."
"Fair enough."
We took off in the large vehicle, kicking up dust once again, leaving a trail through the air. We quickly arrived in town, speeding down the road before she turned off of it. She parked in the underground garage of the Guild building. Ok, so maybe encampment was an understatement. The mercenaries had earned the resources to call this place a nice small town. I had told her along the way I was going to register to become a mercenary. In truth, I had no intention of doing that at all. I just needed a place to stay until I could get my bearings in this sick world. I followed her up to the Guild Headquarters. She was kind, but it wasn't the sweet girl kind of kind, it was like the kindness you'd expect from someone who kills for money. Her name? I hadn't even bothered to ask. And I didn't need to know just yet.
She led me to the registration area. It was mostly vacant for this time in the evening, populated by the employees and by the kids who wanted to kill. Before the girl and I parted ways, I had to ask.
"I'm sorry; I haven't even gotten your name."
"Name's Karen Richards. Yours?"
"Nick Clausen. See you in another time, yeah?"
"Yeah" And with that, she walked off. I sat down in front of one of the clerks, who ran me through a rather lengthy yet pointless questionnaire. Was I a criminal? My only crimes are against the mundane human laws. I have abided all the laws of humanity. No, I was not a criminal. Age? Thirty-six. Old for a new mercenary? Young enough to kill and still enjoy it. A small "donation" to the guild, and I had my old little place. A hole to sleep in. She gave me a Guild ID card, and off I went, a fake in a town of killers-for-hire. I headed across the street to the Guild Dormitories. Not a tall building, only four or five stories. I quickly found my place. I opened the door. The place smelled of blood and cleaning solvent. Wonderful. I walked in and tossed my bag onto the floor. It was one of the emptier places in the building. No TV, a chatter cable drop, a cot, and a bathroom. I unzipped the bag and pulled out the M6C. I would have to ditch this handgun and buy something new. Police serial numbers are an easy way to get arrested. I quickly dismantled the handgun, but kept the bullets. They have no numbers. I took out the springs and flushed them down the toilet. I etched off the serial number and tossed it down the garbage chute. The rest of the gun would have to be dispersed among the town at a later time. I tossed the duffel onto the cot and walked out of the building. I found myself on a dusty road. It was paved once, but those times are long gone. I walked down the road to the market. Guns, guns, food, armor, the things a mercenary couldn't live without. Some of the deals were pretty good. M247, only cR. 2000. MA3s for as little as cR. 100. Pistols, belt buckles, combat watches, datapads, GI socks. A bazaar of stolen and black market firearms. I spotted an even better deal, and I just had to look more closely.
"Howdy, you don't look like you're from round here. You a merc?" inquired the dealer.
"Yeah, greenhorn," I replied. I paid little attention to him and more attention to the M90A Shotgun on the rack. It was marked at only cR. 250. A normal M90A was cR. 2200. A steal of a deal. "So what's the deal with this shotgun? Why the low price?"
"It was returned by a guy who said he lent it to a friend who was shot the head when the gun jammed on him. I inspected it and it works fine. He thought it had a curse, so I'm just trying to get rid of it."
"Sure, I'll buy it." I handed him my cR. Card, which he withdrew the money from on his datapad. While I was at it, I picked up a box of shells and a new handgun, an M6G. Same ammunition as the 6C, but it was handier and more powerful. I put the shotgun and sidearm into a gun case and carried it back to my room at the Guild dormitories. I tossed the case on the bed next to the duffel, opening it up. The M90A rested on the foam liner, next to the box of shells. I took out a handful of shells and loaded them into the weapon. Protection. The UNSC might come knocking at any moment. I set the shotgun down next to the cot and set the rest of the gear and duffel on the floor. I needed to rest, I had already killed enough today.
I woke quickly. There it was. Another knock at my door. I checked my clock. Seven in the morning? I slept late. I was almost always up by six. I grabbed the shotgun from the side of the bed and hid it under the pillow, a second's reach away.
"Come in, the door is unlocked." In walked a short man, no more than six feet, probably shorter. He introduced himself.
"I'm one of the guild supervisors. Our job is to watch out for the mercenaries under us, make sure they don't fuck up and make the Guild look bad."
"Customer service, eh?"
"Not exactly. More like a babysitter." He paused, pulling out his chatter. He talked into it, glanced at me a few times, before putting it away. "Hey, name's Nick Clausen, right? Could you follow me down to the Guild HQ?"
"Who was that on the chatter?"
"Friend, he wanted to hang out. C'mon, let's go. I snagged one of the prototype M6 Lasers. Shoots through almost anything." He was bluffing. Fucking lying to me.
"I'm going to have to call you on that." I pulled out my shotgun from under the pillow and fired into his torso. He stumbled back into the wall before slouching to the door, bleeding out onto my new floor. One of his hands tried to cover the gaping wound, but he would die shortly. I took his chatter from his pocket and scrolled down to received calls.
Last Received Call: UNSCMP – Macerr City HQ. Just as I thought. They know I'm here. I threw the contents of the gun case into the duffel bag and pumped the shotgun. Might have to shoot my way out of town. A few occupants peeked their heads out of their rooms as I ran out and down the hall. My feet flew down the stairs and carried me out of the building. I stopped there for a moment. Where was I supposed to go? I killed a mercenary in a town of mercenaries. Shit, I really should have thought this through. I could head out of town, back into the wasteland. I looked down the street. Several cars were speeding towns the dorms. I sprinted across the street and into the Guild HQ. It was mostly empty at that time in the morning. However, there was the desk clerk, just staring at me. I don't know why, but, she knew, and I had to kill her. The M90A told me to kill her. I pulled the trigger. The elderly woman's face exploded, the left side drooping down, oozing blood. I pumped the gun and ran past the desk. I sprinted down stairs and into the motor pool. I brought the weapon sights to my eye, moving carefully now. A Jarhead pulled into the garage as I stood in the middle of the drive. I aimed toward the driver, their face darkened by the tint. But as they stepped out, I lowered my weapon.
To be continued...
A Universe Scathed - Part 3
Date: 16 September 2008, 5:09 am
"Karen…"
"Nick, what the hell!? Were you the one that shot the supervisor in the dorms?"
"He was going to sic the cops on me."
"What do you mean? What did you do?"
"Yesterday, back in Macerr City, I broke out of the hospital. I killed a lot of cops. Don't you know who I am?"
"What do you mean?"
"I killed the mayor."
"When? Macerr has had the same mayor for the past four years!"
"Wait, what year is it?"
"2552."
"Oh my God. I was in a coma for seven years?"
"Yeah, there was that guy who was killed awhile back. I wouldn't know, I just moved to Macerr about five years ago. You were the killer?"
"Of course I killed him! The sick fuck was a psychopath!"
"Hey, calm down. I'm your friend here. And probably the only one. The Mercs want your blood."
"Can you get me out of town?"
"I can get you back to Macerr City. Hop in the Jarhead."
"No, take me to Kalaa."
"Fine, but only because…never mind. Get in."
I smiled and opened the door to the passenger side of the vehicle, throwing my bag in first. She keyed the ignition and sped out of the garage. I looked back to see dozens of armed mercenaries running into the building, wanted me dead and my head atop a pike. Too bad for them. I looked to the road ahead. A dusty highway, my uncertain future. I looked at Karen. She was a puzzle in herself. Expressionless. She kept on driving, and for a while, I could not figure out why she was helping me. We sped for an hour until we hit the Intercity Expressway.
Had I really escaped? Nobody would look for me. I was a criminal from another time. Nobody cared about me. And the mercenaries wouldn't look as far as Kalaa, that's for sure. Maybe I had done enough killing. I certainly wouldn't find peace in death. Maybe I'd take the spaceport out of Kalaa, go somewhere nice, somewhere safe. With living people, loving people. Yes, that was the new dream. That was my new Eden. The Expressway took us by the Sea of Macerr. My God, how beautiful it was, late in the evening, the star disappearing behind the mountains, casting a golden light upon the waves. Maybe even this place could be Eden. We were exiting the road there, pulling onto a small drive that led to the sea. But then I realized this wasn't right.
"Why are we turning here? This isn't Kalaa," I asked, puzzled. Was she betraying me, or did she want to spend time with me?
"The man you killed, the supervisor. Well, he had been around the guild for years. He was like a brother to all of us." She paused as we pulled up to the lake. She turned off the vehicle and got out. I got out as well, still wondering what in the hell we were doing at this place.
"Except…he actually was my brother."
"Karen, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"
"Fuck you and your sorry, Nick. You're a sick fuck who loves to kill. So do us all a favor and go fuck yourself!"
"Fuck you." She drew an M6 and aimed it in my direction. "Fuck you and your gun." Her finger motioned, and I ducked away behind the Jarhead, just in time to dodge the bullet. I grabbed my bag from the open vehicle and unzipped it. I pulled out the M6G I had bought, but I only had one mag. Not enough for a gunfight. She ran around to the side and fired at me, the brass 12.7mm casings ejecting from the weapon. I ran around to the back and flipped of the safety. I fired two shots around the side before sprinting for the trees. She fired again and again, but always missed, instead sending up puffs of sand on the small little beach. Hopefully the pine forest that bordered the sea would give me some shelter. I turned and fired two more rounds. Shit, I can't waist any more, that left me with four. She kept firing, but soon ran dry, reloading on the chase. This was my chance. I turned and dove to the ground, aiming carefully. She looked up just in time. Oh God, just in time for me to shoot her in the head. Blood poured from her as she crumpled on the beach, dead. I got up, throwing away the handgun. I brushed off the sand and walked over to her dead body. She didn't even have time to close her eyes. They just sat there, open, a thousand-mile gaze that was glazed over. I sat down next to Karen. Close, but far enough that the pool of gore wouldn't stain my pants. I hadn't meant for it to end like this. She didn't deserve to die. I had to take responsibility for this one. She was no mayor. She was no monster. I picked up her body and placed it in the back of her AMG Jarhead. Soon, I heard sirens in the distance. People call cops when there are gunfights. Fuck, it was over for me. I was not comatose this time. I would be put to death soon. But still. For this, I had to face the consequences. And with that, I rested on the beach, enjoying the peace for that small moment.
How do I plead to the murder of Mayor George Greenfield? Not Guilty. I perpetrated a crime against a monster, not against a human. For the deaths of the officers? They were in the way. The mercenary supervisor? Self-defense, he was going to take me down. The receptionist? Face it, that old fart had lived too long anyways. But Karen Newman? I was guilty as sin. It was a mistake to kill her. She was innocent in a guilty world. And I was part of the guilty party. Death sentence? So be it, I'm dead anyways. Best make it quick. Now get me out of this fucking courtroom, I am done with this life.
Death row is a funny place. I am amazed at how long the dead are kept alive. To me, it would seem simpler to just be put to death in the courtroom once convict is sentenced. Such a waste of time, a waste of money, a waste of manpower. Seemed like a suitable place to keep me until my time came. It's almost like a free hotel. Room service, exercise areas, a library. I enjoy it all at the expense of the people. Still, every day is the same, sometimes I can only tell the day and time by what I am eating and drinking.
However, I did not know that a red letter day was about to occur. I had a visitor on this day. Odd, nobody comes for me. Intrigued, I stepped out to talk. UNSC officials? I was never affiliated with either army. After all, I had resigned when the Insurrection. began. I did not want to be part of this circus show of stupidity. But his offer. That is the true gold of it all.
A free ride out of prison, escaping death by chair, death by needle. For what? I would become their soldier. A platoon of us. Death Row convicts and the like were to be trained for high-risk military operations. The world's most expendable soldier created out of the world's waste. Nobody would be heartbroken if I were to die. A perfect candidate. At first, I said no. I wanted the punishment for ending that poor girl's life. I'm a criminal now, not a soldier.
But, wait. Opportunity is abound on this momentous occasion. I could escape and fix what I did. I should not have condemned myself so quickly. Yes, I will join your little military venture, Major. Sign me up. I would have never expected escaping prison to be this easy. At the end of that red letter day, over forty of us escaped death row.
A Universe Scathed - Part 4
Date: 26 September 2008, 5:52 am
They had their chance to kill us. Our turn now. The training was slow. It was like growing up all over again, learning how to walk again down an old road long since abandoned. My hands were taught once more to fire the MA5, taught again how to hack base door controls. My hands were taught to fight again, and my fingers would do battle once more. Training was to last six weeks. The quarters for all of the convicts were together, something that would prove to be a grave mistake on the part of the UNSC. See, little supervision let to talking, and talking would lead to conspiracy. Which is exactly what happened.
We all constantly thought it, but he was first to suggest it. Prisoner 019 – Leon Farrior. Convicted on three counts of aggravated assault and fourteen counts of armed robbery. Quite a catch for the army. He could break any vault with enough explosives, and now he thought we could break out with enough firepower, given the opportunity. We waited a week, before we were given our golden chance. Tank exercises out in the wastelands south of the Mines. Perfect. Hijack the tanks and drive to Macerr City, get off the planet. But how would we do that? My contact, the one from the assassination. He condemned me, left me to die, but he was our only hope. That night, I stole a Chatter from a guard and called him up. A woman answered by the name of Josefina.
"Is Troy there? Tell him this is his mutual partner."
She answered swiftly. "Troy is my lackey now. I run things here. How did you get this number?"
"I did the hit."
"…Nicholas? Nicholas Clausen?"
"Shh, I am supposed to be dead to the world."
"Yes, but you turned our organization around. We don't kill for money any more. We do honest jobs for big organizations."
"I have one request. I hope you can make it up to me for fucking me over big time."
She paused. "What do you need?" I went on for a while from there, explaining everything that had happened, and what we needed now. But it was too much to get forty convicts off a planet without incurring some serious amounts of debt and paperwork. We would have to do a job. A big one.
"Have you ever been to the mines?" she asked.
"No. Never plan to."
"You should change that. Here is what you are going to do. When your group seizes the vehicles, you will drive to the Mines and kill all the cops and guards. When you have done that, you will secure the mines. Then, call in, and we'll come in and pick up the package."
"What is the package?"
"Seventeen tons of enriched uranium to be sold on the black market. Do this and you will live to see another planet." I put her on hold as our rag-tag army discussed the consequences and problems. Prisoner 023, Jon Divers, was an ex-cop for the Mines until he did a hit and run on four people while completely and utterly smashed. He knew it inside and out. And he also knew that the cops had nothing to fight against tanks.
I reconnected with Josefina and spoke. "We'll do the job. But we want off the planet the second you guys have secured the package."
"That can be arranged. The job is set for this coming Thursday."
"See you then, Josefina."
From a distance, our column was nothing more than a plume of dust rising from the ground in the wasteland region that surrounded the Mines of the South. The M808B MBTs were moving slowly, followed by a convoy of M12 Warthogs. The rocky terrain jostled us inside, as we moved out to our practice location. It was a small valley the UNSC had been using to train their newest fighting force. They couldn't be trusted with weapons, yet the UNSC commanders were training them for tank battles. The ultimate fighting force, completely expendable. Nobody would remorse our death. We were like homeless people in the alleys. We would up and die, and not one tear would be shed for us. Who were we? Simple. The most expendable manpower available to a civilization are those who have been condemned to a 10 foot by 12 cell where they read the same old boring material.
Convicts. Prisoners. The same men who had raped, murdered, stealed were being taught how to use a tank. It would be the ultimate mistake the UNSC would ever make. And I would personally make sure that they would remember it.
Ten in the morning came around that Thursday, and we were just finishing off our practice rounds, the instructors sitting beside to watch for any errors. The call came in then.
"sszpsrfhsfThis is Lieutenant Torrick, we need you to cancel the target practice and reroute your tanks north to Kalaa. We got trouble up here."
The head instructor, First Sergeant Jessie Penaflor, responded. "Roger that, sir. Rerouting and heading up. Over and out."
She passed the command on to the instructors, who ordered the trainees to exit the vehicle. When the trainees exited the tanks, we jumped the instructors, knocking them off the tanks and onto the ground. I hopped off the tank and kicked my instructor to the ground, a small cloud of dust emanating from the ground as he landed hard on his back. I delivered an easy blow to the instructor's head, knocking him out cold. I pulled the pistol from the instructor's belt and fired four rounds into three other instructors, wounding them, allowing the other convicts to grab their weapons. The First Sergeant, realizing what was going down, keyed the ignition on her Hog and sped off, spewing dirt behind her. One of the convicts fired a burst of rounds from an MA5-B he had procured, wounding her in the shoulder as she made her escape. I turned and fired at two more instructors, taking them down. Convict 0024 - Jim Gilchrist bashed in the face of one of the Blues, spraying his body with bullets. The convicts finished off the instructors killing all fifty of them, before gathering around their leader: me. I rolled up my sleeves, exposing my array of tattoos, a collection of emotions and nicknames I had accumulated back in the old days. One was scrawled down my right arm as if it had been written in blood, displaying the word, Edicius.
The combat in this dessert, it reminded me of the old war where I earned that name. Before the Covenant, when only humans killed humans. I was a sergeant during the early days of the Insurrection, and those days were the worst of it all. Bombs detonating on the hour, innocent bodies littering the streets, I didn't last long in the position. After a year of it all, I just couldn't take the bombs anymore. So I was reassigned to a desk job at a recruitment office. But that didn't stop the bombs. The last bomb to ever detonate during my active duty was the same bomb that killed my family. I guess after something like that, I just lost faith in the cause, and that's why I quit. I do recall, during one psychological screening, a doctor mentioned the symptoms of PTSD, but I never really knew what he was talking about. I moved to a quiet colony after I left the Marines, Macerr. Maybe the bombs just wanted to follow me. Or maybe it was insanity that followed my footsteps. Over time on this planet, I had gotten caught up in the wrong movements, the wrong protests. Maybe it was all of these things that led to where I am now. On a stolen tank convoy to kill a bunch of civilians to steal uranium. Funny how things change.
As the dust on the battlefield in Kalaa settled that day, others stirred far away somewhere else on the planet of Macerr. We waited for the night to fall, then I ordered my men to commandeer the tanks, and ready themselves for the battle that would make them rich. Fifteen M808B "Scorpion" Main Battle Tanks roared to the southern edge of the mines, and its adjacent town, aptly named "The Mines". From what the ex-cop told us, we knew the town itself was guarded by nothing more than a handful of militia armed with at best MA2Bs. The mines themselves, however, had a detail of 30 UNSC military police guarding the rich uranium deposit, as well as the enriching plant that had been built not far from the entrance. Still, nobody in the town had the manpower to stop what was coming at them.
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