Shield

“Hey, Erikur, you nervous?” Martyn asks; both of us are dressed in full riot gear, along with the rest of the police force.

“Yea, a little.” I say, as our truck hits a pothole; “Training never really compares to actually doing this.” I look down at the small pocket watch I keep, within I keep the only picture of me and my father, Erikur IV. It’s sort of a family tradition; my name, my father’s and even his father’s: We are all named after my distant grandfather, Erikur, from Scandinavia, he was a general in a military force, and each ‘Erikur’ has been either in the military or police force.

“I know what you mean” Martyn says, over the shaking of the truck, and clashing of metal of our rifles, “Just stay behind your shield and block them; my squad is tasked to keep you relatively unharmed.” Martyn was on the second line of the formation, I am on first, I am right up against the rioters.

“I will” I say, staring down at my shield, the same shield my father used, I was able to pull some strings and allowed my use of this on my first call, unlike the standard riot shield, this doesn’t have rounded corners and has two cross beams instead of one, it is a little dirty, but that’s just from not maintaining it for so long; “Hopefully this shield brings me luck.”

“It will, your father was one of the top men of the squad.” Martyn reassures me.

The chanting can be heard from inside the armored truck, as it slows to a stop. I grab the shield and get ready for the doors to swing open; the moment the doors open the chanting floods in as we file out. My squad links up with the other shield squads and makes a Phalanx Wall; with Martyn’s squad filling behind us; their shotguns loaded with beanbags, we march toward the mob of rioters: their ranks are just a jumbled mess of men and women, untied in protest of our leader’s new Laws, armed with only bats and makeshift firearms, we are more well suited in case a fight breaks out. As the gap between us shrinks I can see the looks of sheer determination on the faces of the closest men, but also the fear. Now face to face with the crowd the police ranks stay firm; as the rioters keep moving around, trying to break through our wall. Then, out of the sea of people, a small bottle flies toward me, I can see the cloth burning from it and I raise my shield to block it. The bottle shatters and my shield protects me from any fire; but as it shatters I hear tazers charging and chanting; that moment every single rioter pushes forward, as we stay strong I can hear the tazer prongs leave the gun and I see man collapse; shotgun bursts come flying from both sides and ‘grenades’ fly, going off in the street. I stand firm as pellet after pellet and 9mm rounds fly into the shield; I quickly look to my sides and see that at least one of our shields have broken from abuse, but it is quickly replaced; Tear gas is thrown into the crowd and they quickly scatter, but they don’t lay off. Donned in Gasmasks, a new wave of rioters runs in; we push them back, using shields and bean bags; we keep the riot down until we bring in our own special units: An armored truck, outfitted with a water cannon; using it we spray down the gasmask wearing man. Eventually we break their morale and they disperse, as we push back down the street we arrest any who do not flee immediately. I look back at the street where we fought for five consecutive hours; it is riddled with loose bricks, broken glass, busted shields, and teargas canisters, protest signs and the occasional scatter gun lie around; every shop was busted into and looted in the mania. But still we ‘won’ the day, and prevented too many casualties.

Dear Jack

Dear little Jack

By the time you’re reading this it will be your 16^th birthday; you should have questions about why I haven’t been around in your childhood by now, and you can probably figure out why by the time you finish this letter. First I would like to apologize for missing 7 of your birthdays; I would have been there if I had a choice but you will understand why I couldn’t. Secondly I would like to give you the only gift I can give you: an explanation of events; in the form of a story.

Many people do things they enjoy with their friends, some play video games, others shop, some even just watch tv together; but not my friends; no, we robbed banks together. We robbed jewelry stores and moved drugs around, it was fine and I was able to provide for us for a little, but it was all over in one bad heist, the one time when nothing can go wrong, something awful happens. It was a cool January morning when Berlin, Tokyo and I were preparing for a heist, this day we were not being watchdogs for a truck of coke, but we were taking out a bank; we had 30 minutes to get in, bust the vault, and get out of there before the cops could respond. We cased the bank a week before, noted all the cameras and drew maps of the place; D.C. got a job working as a maintenance worker and got his hands on a key card, he was able to get into the camera room and disable the electronic locks, he also destroyed the bandit buster window shield controls so that the tellers cannot hide from us. When our van pulls up to the back parking lot on the day of the heist, I go to the door and pick the lock, Tokyo moves ahead when I open the door and subdues the guard in front of the camera room; after I pick that lock Tokyo opens and takes control of the cameras; he tells us how many guards are on duty and where they are. Berlin enters an alternate way from the side door and drops the guard patrolling it. I wish I could tell you what happened in the lobby but I was busy hauling the thermal drill with D.C. When we have it set up we move to the lobby and see all the civilians on the ground and we move to cable tie them, just so they don’t escape. At this point we started the drill and moved all the hostages out of sight from outside, we keep the tellers behind the counter, it’s easily accessible and we can keep our bags in there until we are ready to leave. Our robbery was going smoothly…until a hostage was trying to be a hero… While Berlin was patrolling the hostages one found his way up and tried to attack him; without thinking Berlin shot him in the chest; everything seemed to slow down as we watched the hostage’s limp body fall to the ground; during that time and the minutes after, while we were just staring at what had happened, we did not realize that one of the other hostages pulled the alarm and called the police. We rush to the vault when we realize the thermal drill had cut through the vault door; but we were faced with a new problem, another door; Tokyo meets us by the door and places shaped charges on the door, effectively blasting it open; Berlin and D.C. run in and start packing money into duffle bags, Tokyo goes to the cameras and I cover the hostages.

Thirty seconds pass then the first responders arrive at the bank, Berlin tosses out bag of cash and I quickly move to it, and place it on my back; I can hear Tokyo announcing how much time is left until the swat team is called in. Moving back to the hostages I can see the flashing lights of the cruisers and the cops slowly surrounding the bank. D.C. throws another bag out and Tokyo calls saying that we have to go now, as we prepare to leave the bank a police officer speaks through his megaphone, what he says will always ring in my head;

“You are surrounded, you have thirty seconds to come out and surrender or we will use force; we have snipers on all the exits, and swat is inbound; just give up and makes this easier for all of us.”

After the officer lowers his megaphone I remember seeing a rifle barrel out of the corner of my eye, then the flash as D.C. fires upon the cops; instantly gunfire is thrown into the building and we are pinned down. I remember how it felt to be in the crossfire, without a gun I was just a target; and with snipers covering the windows we couldn’t move too much; we learned this after Tokyo was shot in the arm. The Swat teams kept running in and rescuing the hostages, soon we had no leverage and the megaphone came on once more:

“You have no hostages left; surrender now and no one else has to die today; all you have to do is come out unarmed with your hands on your head and your mask in your hands.”

D.C. fires again and this time drops the officer with the megaphone, the police had no reason to show restraint now, and they knew that. From his feet to his neck he was covered in a thick olive blast suit; his face was covered in a thick, bulletproof helmet, and his face mask, already threatening as is, had a white skull sprayed on. His thick gloves hugged a machine rifle as he just soaked up the bullets D.C. and Berlin fired, he was able to swiftly kill both and turned to me, seeing that I had no weapon he ignored me for the time being, he looked for Tokyo. Hearing explosions coming from the camera room I try to shrink back into the wall. The Bulldozer comes back, and slowly walks toward me; I can still feel the end of his gun as he hits me across the face with it; that’s where I black out.

Now I am writing this letter as per my last request, son, by the time you’re reading this I will be long dead, but if there is something you take from this is to be careful who you have as friends.

Love,

Your Father, John

Razgriz

“On your feet” I command, watching her slowly rise from the ground, “Quicker” I yell, kicking her knees in, forcing her to the ground, “Don’t rise, jump.” Swinging her legs back, she rolls onto her feet, bolts at me, and with a clenched fist, swings at my head. I duck, then with an open palm, slam my hand into her gut,

“Not quick enough, now recover before I can land my next hits,” I say, bringing my hand back to my body and moving to grab her; without a second wasted, Elissa drops to the floor and swings her legs under mine, tripping me; as I fall I position myself to quickly get up, but the moment I hit the ground, a kick meets my side, then another; when the third comes I grab and twist the leg, causing Elissa to pause for a moment long enough for me to pull her leg, causing her to lose balance and fall on top of me,

“Never more than two kicks to a fallen man,” I say, pinning her to the floor, “Do you yield?”

“I yield when I die” she responds, spitting in my face.

“Good” I start, releasing her, “You were faster today, but still lack some technique,” Helping her up I escort her to a nearby bench, “Tomorrow we will work on showmanship.” Elissa smiles and grabs her water bottle,

“I can’t wait, but why showmanship? Don’t we work in shadows?” She questions, trying to stand, I notice this and help her stand,

“I really messed up your leg didn’t I?” I ask, as I start to walk her home, “Anyway, even if we do work in shadows, it is better to show off to who we hunt, makes them less wanting to fight.” Keeping her steady I laugh.

“What’s so funny? Like the sight of an injured woman?” She asks, elbowing me in the side.

“No, actually I hate the sight of it; I was laughing at the fact that a few months ago, you would have blacked out after a training session like this; you’ve come a long way.” I say, smiling at her, “I am very impressed.”

“If you hate the sight of one, why do you keep injuring me?” Elissa jokingly asks, “But I am not as good as you, Ulysses.”

“You know why I do this to you, each punch, each kick, brings you strength, the more you are injured the less you will pay attention to it, and that makes you stronger, not just as a fighter but as a person; plus it is fun watching you get up after each punch, gives me satisfaction that you continue to fight and you will one day be as good as me.” I say, helping her down the street, “where’s your house?”

“next two rights and in an alley.” She says through clenched teeth.

“Tomorrow I’ll train you lighter, don’t want you to get too injured in just a practice session.” I say, supporting her when she stumbles, “You know I care about your health.”

“Yea…that’s why you made me run on that ice last winter.” She jokingly says, obviously trying to ignore her pain.

“Hey, I jumped in when the ice broke.”

“True, but you still could have checked beforehand.”

“That would have been less fun though…” I say, continuing to help her home.

We continue to joke and reminisce until we reach Elissa’s home, helping her into the house I look around the familiar house and easily bring her to her bedroom,

“Need anything before I go? Water? Morphine? An extra blanket?”

“no I’m fine, I’ll see you tomorrow.” She says as I leave, walking down the stairwell I catch a glance of some old photos of us, my hair was a darker brown then, definitely not as grey, and I still had both my eyes; Smiling I continue down the stairs and into the foyer, I pull out my key and lock the door behind me as I leave. I look down the street, dimly lit by the street lights, and start off towards my own home, the night is darker than usual, tonight the moon does not show, so only the dim streetlights guide me home. My usual walk become unusual when I hear footsteps behind me, I think nothing of it and continue my walk; but then the calm rhythmic footsteps become louder as whoever is tailing me gets closer; I turn around to see no one, or at least at first glance, a figure, slumped against the wall, is trying to stay hidden,

“Hey, for a tail you’re not very good; try to match your target’s footsteps with your own, makes you less noticed, also stop trying to hide like that, you’re putting too much effort into trying to be hidden, that you’re actually making yourself more visible; don’t slump so much, just lean, act cool, you’ve done this before, so act like it.” I say, offering help to my new ‘friend’, the figure takes my advice, standing straight, then leaning against the wall, he is less visible to me now, I laugh and approach him, also try to hide your knife more, I can clearly see it in your pocket.” The man looks down and quickly adjusts his knife, then looks up to me, “Good, now is there something you needed?”

The man looks at me, and motions to my pocket, “your wallet.” He says simply, and politely. He pulls out his knife and points it at me, “I want your wallet, but I will take your life too if I need to.”

I chuckle slightly, “Something I teach my daughter Elissa, is that if you want something…” I take a military C.Q.C stance and look my ‘friend’ in the eye, “Then take it, so go ahead and take it.” The thug closes the gap between us and promptly tries to stab at me, a quick movement to the side and an elbow to his makes him drop his knife into my hand. I go to thrust the knife into his side, but he move out of the way and punches my face, then in an instant, kicks my hand, sending the knife into the air; when he grabs it I kick him in the knees and try to catch him off guard, but am greeted by his fist. With the knife now in his hand, he tries to stab me from above, but I quickly stop his arm with my arm, a knees into his gut makes him drop the knife and I can grab it mid-air with my free hand,

“Who are you?” I ask, wiping blood from my mouth, “why are you so good at this?”

The thug smiles, “I could ask you the same.” He walks into the light so I can better see him; his hair was black like the night; and his skin, light, but coated lightly in dirt from sleeping outside, “tell me yours and I will tell you mine.”

“I am David Estarre, Government ‘worker’.” I say, stretching and looking down at the knife, it is a military issued bayonet, “Who are you, why do you have this weapon?”

With a smile the thug takes off his jacket and my eyes grow wide and I stagger a bit, “I am Razgriz, Government sanctioned hitman.” His tattoo is of a skull with two crossed Chinese sabers underneath, “You have been active, training your daughter to fight.”

I look at him and grip the knife, “and my wallet?”

“Trophy.”

I run at him and motion to stab his arm, but he kicks my knee, then knees my chest and lands an uppercut on my jaw; then while twisting my arm, moves behind me. I drop the knife and thrust my head back, hitting his and causing him to back away and stagger a little; I turn around and move to thrust the knife into his chest, but he knocks away the knife, I drop down to catch the knife but am kicked in the head, I collapse to the ground, and look at Razgriz, “You’re a good fighter, I have not met anyone as skilled as I.” I say, coughing up some blood.

“Likewise, this is actually fun, been ages since I found someone to fight with.” Razgriz helps me up, “now I think we have something left to finish.”

“Why help me up? Why not finish me on the ground?” I ask, stumbling while trying to stand.

“I told you, this is fun; plus what kind of man would I be if I kill a man on the ground?” Razgriz says, walking from me, I notice he is limping, “so shall we finish this?”

I grip the knife, its leather handle is damp with our sweat and blood; I turn it around and walk towards Razgriz. I swing at Razgriz, who catches my arm, sluggishly, but quick enough to catch it, he rams his fist into my shoulder, dislocating it. I can see the exhaustion in his eyes and he sees mine; but I will continue to fight, if I give up and he kills me, then Elissa is next. Realizing this I somehow feel invigorated and I jump back and tackle Razgriz, and with a sharp pain my shoulder is popped back into its socket, I then kick him backwards and move to pick up the knife. Using this new found energy I move behind him and ram his head with the butt of the knife thrice, sending him to the ground.

“This was fun…” I say, clenching my shoulder, “Too bad I can’t stay…” I look upon Razgriz, he is knocked out both by trauma and exhaustion, “I would hate to lose such an equal adversary…” I look at the knife and put it in my pocket, “A Gentleman does not finish one who cannot fight back, may we meet again.” I slowly walk away from Razgriz and start off back towards Elissa’s home; one assassin is never enough.

The Project

     “Guys…this is KS’s laptop…” Malco says, unwrapping the laptop from its nature proof seal; “You know what that means…”

            “He has orders for us, great…” Samuel says, ‘thrilled’ about having to get to work again, “$20 says he has some B.S. riddle for us again.”

            “I’ll take that bet.” A voice speaks up; I turn around and see Jessica, our field commander, making her way through the thicket, “He rarely does the same thing twice.”

            Clearing a place to put the laptop is not an easy task; we need to make a place to sit without making it known we were here at all. We find a dark area and chop few roots; just so we have a level area to place the laptop down. The computer is blank, with only the command prompt open with three letters onscreen: W.E.A.

            “Code-breaker, you’re up.” Jessica says, motioning for me to come over, “we have three letters: Whiskey, Echo, Alfa; make something of it.”

            I slowly walk over to the computer and sit down, “My name is David, and this is simple; he wants us to find the password, one that is relevant to our mission and these letters.” I scan the rest of the computer, but find nothing, “It is an acronym for something…Someone, what current event is there that’s relevant to us?”

            “Well…Asian Arms just went under…and China is growing in military strength.” Malco responds, “other than that just the entire thing with Italy and the Netherlands.”

            “What’s going on between Italy and the Netherlands?” I ask, examining the laptop’s outside.

            “They signed a peace treaty, there is tension in Europe.” Malco responds, playing around with his hand-gun, “what does this have to do with anything? Just solve the code.”

            “This has everything to do with it, wait…this light…Echo…Alfa…Whiskey?”

            “What?” Jessica asks, “Do you see something?”

            “The charge light…it is blinking in Morse code, and so is the cursor on the screen…” I say, intrigued at the computer, now more than ever.

            “What does that mean?” Samuel asks, tossing his knife around, “How does that help us?”

            “This and something else equal our password and mission; how do they fit together though?” I sit there, thinking of all the clues I have; then I get it, “Europe at War.” Quickly I type the code in and the moment I press the enter button, the screen dies; then comes alive once again, this time with more than just three letters.

            Initializing Stage One…Introduction…Complete

          -Welcome Phantoms, By Reading This You Have Successfully Broke My Code, Now To Your Mission: We Have Been Compromised, I Fear I Will Not Make It, You Must Escape While You Can; Trust Only Those With You Right Now; Meet Up At S8E16; If I Am Absent Initiate Our Cause, The Code Is The Same As Our Mission. –KS

     Terminating Stage One…Complete

     Initializing Stage Two…Termination…

            The screen goes blank and the computer refuses to turn on again,

“You heard him; we have to move out now; Malco on point.” Jessica commands; shooting the computer.

            “Ma’am” Malco responds, picking up his rifle and running ahead of us.

            When we get back to the main road, we board our jeep and take out a map,

“Where are we going?” Samuel asks.

            “Angola; Camabatela, to be exact.” I quickly say, “Just get us there.”

            “You know something” Jessica says as we drive off, “I want to know what.”

            “All I can say is you need me.” I say, looking off to the side and see a glint in the distance, “Sniper!”

            The bullet tears through the jeep door, but luckily misses everyone; the second round barely misses our tires; the third hits the steering wheel, right where Samuel’s hand would have been if he did not duck and take cover. When we clear the sniper we get as far as we can from the area; we go six miles before we link up with the main highway again.

            “Good eyes; but now we need to know why he fired on us; what is your part in this? How did he know we were American?” Jessica yells.

            “I’ll tell you when my mission is over, I can’t tell you now.” I say, staring into her eyes, “I suggest you focus on our objective at hand.”

            “Oh..shi- Roadblock!” Malco yells, Pointing out the police blocking the road, “We can’t stop; they’ll find out our involvement.”

            “Take them down; Malco, Sides” Jess yells, tossing a shotgun to Malco. The two hang off the side and fire on the police as we break through the roadblock; no police is killed, just injured so they can’t give chase.

            We arrive at our destination early in the night, a small shack stands before us, we get out and enter the shack, we see a lift and take it down to the bottom floor of the bunker. The bunker is illuminated only by the faint glow of the computer terminals. I run over to one and power it up, the screen is instantly flooded with code and a CCTV terminal opens up; revealing the police gathering outside,

            “I need some time, cover the entrance.” I command, turning back to the code.

            “Malco, Samuel, we need to protect the shack until David can input what he needs; when we reach the surface, guns free; understood?” Jessica says, boarding the lift, “David, meet us topside when you’re done.”

            I nod as the lift goes up, each soldier readying their weapons for a fire fight. I turn back and start to hack into the terminal. The first stage is easy to crack: Simplified Chinese; I easily get the password: BumpintheNight. Stage two is harder though: Morse code, translating to the password: EPIC DREAM WORLDS. Stage three opens with a simple question:

     What is your Mission?

     I quickly look over to the others through the CCTV: they are pinned behind the jeep; which they managed to pull over in front of the shack door, to give cover to whoever comes through the door. I look to Jessica; who is covering a bloody arm, trying to issue first aid whilst being shot at. I quickly input the password and call the lift down. Topside there is a fire-fight, the police have suppressed my squad mates, and my squad is not only out gunned, but their own guns run dry. I look and see Jessica propped up against the tire of the jeep, now tipped over onto its side.

            “Commander, are you stabilized?” I ask, moving over to her, “It doesn’t look serious.”

            “I am fine, just took one in my arm; I did the best I could, but our medic was K.I.A” She says, nodding over to bolder, Malco’s bloody body hides behind, “And Samuel is doing the best he can, but he ran dry on his rifle, so did I,” She moans in pain from her wound, and looks me in the eye, “I can’t fight anymore, take the gun on my waist and help me to the lift.”

            “I…I can’t, I’ve never used a gun on someone.” I say, nervously pulling the gun from its holster, “I’m sorry, I can’t.”

            “Yes you can, I believe you can.” She says, throwing her arm over my shoulder, “Fear not god-like foes, but pig-like allies”

            “How did you know the password?” I look her in the eyes, but her head leans back and her eyes close, “never mind, I will bring you back home.” I wait until the cops need to reload before running to the shack with Jessica on my shoulders, “Samuel, on point.”

            “Sir” Samuel responds, running over to us, he closes the door and locks it, “What happened to Jess?”

            “She fainted; she will live if we get out of here now.” I say, carefully placing Jessica on the ground, “Watch the lift.”

            I look at the computer and see that the police are storming the shack; they easily break through the door and proceed to the lift. We stare at the lift as it lowers and armed police surround us, only one, well decorated man remains on the lift itself;

            “At this point you are all dead.” The man says in a booming voice, as the cops lower their weapons, “welcome to the Phantom Project.” Tossing us new dog tags, he moves over to Jessica’s body, “We’ll get medics on her right away.”

            “Kevin Simpson, I take it.” I say, putting on the dog tag, “What kind of test is this?”

            “only the best are Phantoms, I had to make sure you were the best in your unit.” He says, looking at the police that surround us, as they take out their dog tags, identical to the ones Samuel and I now wear.

            “what kind of sick test causes our squad mate to be killed?” I ask, staring into Kevin’s eyes, “And I thought we were already Phantoms”

            “The test was to see if you could decode, and upload a military message before you were ultimately captured by rival P.M.C.s, You passed, your friend did not however, and your commander, well she was alive when we found her here, so she passed.” Kevin says, drawing his handgun, its gold finish shines under the florescent light above, “Do you know what this is?”

            “it’s a hand-gun, painted gold.” Samuel says

            “Wrong, this is the sign of a Phantom, all the trials and hardships overcome by a trainee is rewarded with a handgun and one bullet, what he does with the bullet determines if he is a phantom or not.” Kevin says, handing me the gun, “What do you choose to do with it? You first fired a gun today, now fire one again, but this time for the Phantom Program, initiate the Protocol.”

I stare at the gun in my hand, nervously move my finger around to the hammer and pull it back, then, trembling, I point it at my own head, looking around I see Samuel watching me, his own golden handgun in his hand, following as I do, and Kevin remains expressionless as I slowly squeeze the trigger.

            On March 5, 2015 I killed David Swillow, erased all evidence I walked on this earth, and was mourned by friends and family; David may have died, but I did not. In the bunker where I pulled the trigger on my own head both Samuel and I were brought into the Phantom Program, the Army made of dead soldiers, of ghosts, of men who are both alive and dead; no one knows who we are, not even us; our names were buried with our lives that we all through away in that bunker with that same unloaded gun, now only Phantoms remain of us.

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Ere the break of day, the torch burned in hand.

The fire, deep red, tainted with their head.

The ash carried the story of him, and

reminded her of what was left unsaid.

 

Their home, like torches, burned throughout the night.

Determined by her unspoken desire,

He went out to destroy her only blight,

His ire, was hotter than the fire.

 

Only her whim gave him cause to be,

Bringing him out of his deep depression.

All these acts committed, she cannot see,

He felt truly close to his obsession.

 

From his depressing past, he was stressed,

Until all his feelings were meshed.

Runner

            Looking out I can see the helicopters’ blades slowly pick up speed as their pilots wake up and warm their vehicles. Soon enough the night’s patrols come in and land their crafts; I look across the rooftops and grip my satchel, leaving the overlook I set off to complete my job. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, I make my way through the city; it isn’t till I pass the third checkpoint that I hear the helicopter’s hum and feel the pressing of the wind on my body. I quickly scan the area, and see the fourth checkpoint’s green window frame; dodging bullets and grenades, I dive into the open window, without stopping to catch my breath, I change directions and jump out of the westernmost window. As I exit the window frame the helicopter passes and, realizing that I don’t have enough speed to make it across the road, I grab onto the landing skids and swing myself through another, green lined window. The helicopter passes and searches the empty building, as I hide in the opposite one; after an hour the helicopter gives up and returns to its patrol, when I am clear of it, I climb the fire escape and continue to my destination. When I arrive to the apartment building, I look for my sign: a window opened with a red poinsettia, turned three degrees south of the rising sun. When I see the flower I carefully climb into the building and see my contact waiting by his television.

“Perfect timing, the news is about to start,” the figure says, slowly standing, “what did you bring me?”

“On behalf of the Mojave Express, I, Ocelot, present you with this letter,” I say as I pull a small piece of paper from my satchel, “I was told I would receive payment from you.”

“And you will, once I get the letter,” the figure says, stepping closer.

“Payment now or now letter,” I say, reaching behind myself to grip the pipe tied to my belt.

“If you must, then I can still arrest you. If not for treason, then for trespassing.” The figure says, drawing a military grade stun-gun, “I will get all of your little courier buddies arrested to, then executed.”

            Hearing this I jump at the gun, smashing his hand with my pipe, shocked by what happened, my contact leaves himself open and I take advantage of this, by slamming my pipe into his jaw and grabbing his arm behind his back I effectively grapple him.

            “Whom do you work for? The Crimson Snakes? The Steel Soldiers?” I ask, pressuring my pipe to his neck, “Tell me.”

            “No…The military.” He says, struggling to escape my grapple, now I can clearly hear the helicopter rotors below the window line, annoyed I bring my hostage to the window and force him over, careful to not let him fall out.

“Tell me why you were ordered to arrest me, and how did you get a hold of my information.”

“President Kimball ordered the arrest of all persons whom are suspected of suspicious activity.” He says, trying to escape and get away from the window and helicopter blades.

            “And how did you know how to set up my contract?” I ask, pressuring him further out of the window.

            “You know your little girlfriend Cathrine?” he says, smiling wickedly, “We got it from her.”

            “What did you do to fox?” I ask, forcefully pulling him back in, just so I can hit him again with my pipe.

“So much; first we beat her, then electrocuted her, broke her limbs, starved her, drew her, and now she is set to be gutted.” Full of rage, I send his head into the wall, and my metal into his shoulder,

“Go ahead and finish me, we can add murder onto your sentence.” He says, though blood, and teeth.

            “unlike you, I am no murderer.” I say, releasing him with a kick.

            “Last mistake” I hear as I feel a sharp pain in my side, I look down and see three metal prongs in my flesh and as the current flows I black out.

            My head is cloudy as a bucket of ice water is thrown on my face,

            “I am only going to ask you this once politely, who are you?” A familiar voice asks, familiar, but unknown who it belongs to.

            “If you want me to talk, then you better do your worst, then maybe I will talk.” I respond and a heavy fist meets my jaw thrice, before the voice asks again, but this time much angrier.

“Who are you?” I spit a bloody tooth at him as my answer, “not talking then?” He asks, getting a cattle prod, “don’t worry, I can fix that.”

            As I am tortured, I cannot help but let out a psychotic laugh as the voice and his minions try to pry my name using violence.

“You done yet?” I ask, spitting another bloody tooth out, “I can go like this for days, this is actually quite fun; we haven’t used the salt in a while, mind pouring that on my wounds.”

“You’re psychotic.” The voice says, stepping back, “utterly psychotic.”

“Psychotic?” I respond, looking into the man’s face, whom I recognize as ‘President’ Aron Kimball, “or determined to make sure you don’t get even the time of day from me?”

“We will get what we need from you, somehow.”

“You could always be polite, we haven’t tried that yet? Just punching.” I recommend. Aron sits down across from me and, as if humiliated, asks for my name, “Much better, my name is Ocelot.”

“Ocelot?” Aron asks getting closer, “tell me your real name.”

“I don’t have one.” I respond.

“You have a name now tell me.” Aron angrily demands.

“I have no name, no past, and no future, at least of my own design.”

“What are you talking about?  Everyman has their own future. And a name.”

“A future of what? Domestic Slavery? Oppression? Fear?” I say, raising my voice, and noticing that the leather straps that hold me down are wearing out from the stress form the torture, “You control everything, from when we are born to when we die, no citizen can even think their own thoughts without being arrested and executed, we are all slaves for you.”

“If you have no future why do you run then? What will it accomplish?”

“Tell me Aron, why do you eat, sleep and breathe?”

“To survive.” Aron responds.

“That is why I run, to stop means death for not myself but for the idea of a free city; I run not because I have to, not from anyone, but for freedom and to end your reign of oppression.” I say, staring him in the eyes.

“You know as much as anyone that freedom brings uprisings, chaos, and death; by controlling them I am saving them.”

“Freedom is life, imprisonment is death!” I yell at Aron, as he hits me, I start laughing, “You know, what I said about not having a future, well I did not tell you the truth entirely; What I said was if I stood around and waited.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Aron asks, getting closer.

“Only the weak wait for their future, the strong make their own.” Breaking free form the binding leather, I punch Aron in the face and thrust my knee into his gut. As he slowly gets up I pickpocket the cell keys and throw him into the wall opposite the door. I then run to the door and kick it open, locking Aron Kimball in behind me as I start to leave the cell block.

“This prison seems to be broken up into 8 blocks, A-H.” I say to myself, “I guess I should look for Fox, hmmm…the warden should have the master list.” I see a ventilation shaft a few inches off the ground, I carefully climb into it and head off towards the Warden’s tower.

Eventually I reach the center of the prison with the Warden’s tower, it is lightly guarded with only three guards, but each has a rifle and a bandolier of brassed ammo; I look around for a weapon or a way around them but all I see is a rusted pipe clinging onto the wall, I try to rip it off but make too much noise and lead starts to fly through the vent, knocking off the cover and forcing me to press myself down. The Bullets suddenly stop flying, I wait a moment before snaking up to the edge and looking down; the guards are being held up by some masked men.

“Ocelot you can come down now, the guards are subdued.” A loud voice calls out to me and I see Fox in the tower waving to me. Smiling I jump down and run over to the tower, “You must really like me to come all the way out here to rescue me.” Fox says, hugging me.

“You know I don’t care for other’s company.” I respond, pushing her away, “people get in the way of missions.”

“So you didn’t send these men?” Fox asks, confused, “then who did?”

            Suddenly the iron doors burst open and an army of the masked men rush in, securing the area, followed by a tall, stern looking man.

“Solidus!?” we both say in unison, surprised by the legendary courier’s appearance.

“Hello children, you have a nice time in Château le Locker?” he asks, sarcastically as he reaches the tower.

            “How did you find us?” I ask, shaking the hand of the fastest courier to have lived a man’s life.

            “I followed the helo as it passed my route, I saw you unconscious and decided to help, so I gathered the rest, and here we are.” He says, smiling to be out of his mundane schedule, turning to face the corridors he says, “This place contains all our runners, it was designed to interrogate and murder us.”

            “When you said you gathered the rest…what do you mean?” Fox asks, looking towards the masked men, “who are those men?”

            “There is one thing only I can do, what you see here is every courier in the time zone, both ours and where you are right now.” Solidus responds, lifting his overcoat to show the Mojave Express insignia, “The steel soldiers, Crimson snakes, even the Scarlett Herons all joined to reclaim their couriers…but there is one problem.”

            “What is this problem? You have men, more than there are guards” Fox responds, motioning over to the guards.

            “That switch will cut the power to every cell, they will open, but the alarm will sound, alerting every guard; we don’t have much of a chance against every guard in the prison, plus we are underground, so an escape is…complicated, but not impossible, however if we don’t pull the lever we can escape and comeback with more men, maybe more guns even.”

            “so we decide if we fight or run?” Fox asks, spitting on the floor, “Ocelot?”

            I stand there, pondering my options, “So I decide life or death?”

            “More like death in a prison cell or in battle, you don’t know these men, and you won’t, but you have to decide to leave or to fight” Solidus replies, looking into my eyes, “you have to choose, you can’t run away from this. I close my eyes and reach out to grasp the lever, inhaling deeply I open my eyes slowly,

            “Freedom is life Imprisonment is death.”

Alone- by Eric Vasold

Alone

            In the concrete and in the air, corruption lies heavy, poisoning the lives of us common citizens, but lines the pocket of the priests and the chantry. I frequent the chantry enough to know this: priests eat like kings and live like gods; off of the donations of the poor and sick, forced onto them by the very priests that ‘save’ them. This life style and worship made my country’s most notable landmark, the Lasting Wood, to become old and twisted, even the church forbade entry into the very wood that was said to bring one closer to the old gods. If one was to enter the wood and go against the church, then god was said to punish them and forsake them in the wood; but I, Jörg, son of Bjön, was taught not to listen to what priests say, but only to what I hear from the gods themselves, so I trekked into the forest, deep from the chantry’s lies and greedy prophets.

            The tree’s twisting and choked branches try to hide, from the outside eyes, the secret treasure within, the truth about the chantry and church. In the dirt and in the wood, uninviting spirits fly forth, trying to impede my advance into the wooded heart; within the heart lies a small clearing, with an awkwardly shaped stone in the center, a place of forsaken beauty that even the gods themselves could forget about. I sit upon the stone and slowly make a small camp, careful not to disrupt anything more than I require to, I would pick fruit from the soil for food and collect rainwater in the stone’s indentations. As the hours passed into days and those turned into weeks, I could feel and see the forest change; and after the first year the forest looked completely different: the creeping branches no longer choked each other, but instead cascaded around, almost like they were playing; and the warding spirits that were unwelcoming were simply crickets, crickets playing an inviting song to their guest; and even the rock I sit upon looks more like an eye than a rock itself, as if the gods are always watching me.

            In the dark soil and in the lush trees I could see why it was forbidden to stay in the wood: the tranquility and peace took one closer to the gods and their messages, and in doing that led many to leave the church to worship on their own, which in turn led to less donations to line the pockets of the priests and chantry. It took two years to learn the truth, two years alone, two years to notice all the greed and corruption that was shown to me every day, I never questioned it because the church kept telling me they were the gods’ messengers, and would cast out anyone who disagreed. I knew I had to change this cycle and break the chain of command, putting the gods back over the churches, so I started a church of my own, without walls or power or even simple utilities I would need no donations; using the light provided by the gods themselves I would teach others how to see this truth, and eventually overcome the chantry and their lies; because all those too poor to continue living under the priests’ lies and those whom think the gods have abandoned them can seek out the church of the Lasting Wood of The Gods, and no longer live alone in the darkness.