I enter and check the place out.
It’s a hospital room. Maybe a private one since it is modern and well kept.
There is a bed but it is empty. After two seconds of silence, General Shelv thunders.
– Lieutenant! –
The lieutenant, who was guarding outside with another foot, enters with his colleague and they both are evidently surprised. Their eyes wander from the bed to the rest of the room, desperately looking for something, or someone.
-General, I assure you that he was here ten minutes ago! I came in to check on him and-
-Silence! – There are three of us in the room and we all freeze even our minds even our minds freeze up.
The other agent, evidently of a lower grade, looks at his supervisor with terrified eyes.
Shelv feels it, turns and stares at him straight in the eyes.-What’s the problem, besides the fact that he has slipped away from you!? –
The young agent, terrified, stutters.- The transfer… chart… He took it-
The white linen curtain on the window flutters in the warm night breeze.
It’s almost 4am and I have not slept for at least 20 hours.
****
We all walk behind general Shelv, or better, we plod behind him because he is almost running.
– The last point checked on those charts is the industrial area south of Gallarate. The passage area, as you well know, is not fixed, it moves erratically giving refugees new locations to pass the border undisturbed. We have reason to suppose that Sin, who carries the Iantor with him, uses refugees to attack our Ally, probably to get rid of him without getting his hands dirty.- He stops and I nearly slam into him.
-You will go there, now.-
Panic.-But how can we be sure that he went there? –
He doesn’t listen to me and starts walking.
I try again.-And how do I recognize him? I do not even know what he looks like and_-
-He had already been informed that he would be given help. He will recognize you.-
He enters a room and I am left in the hallway.
I turn to the two agents. -Somebody must take me there, I doubt there’s a bus going there and I do not have a driver’s license…-
****
Those two chicken shits practically kicked me out at the curb and then left so fast that there are tire marks on the car park tarmac.
That’s ok. Having to deal with two pencil pushers is not what I need right now.
I snort and check how many shots I have in the Glock magazine.
5, I’d better reload.
I sit on the curb and pull the bullet box out of my pocket.
I swear.
I’ve only got 5 more which, with those already in the magazine, sum up to 10.
– Good job Zendaru. You’ve just left the Confederation headquarters, where they also have panzers and you haven’t even thought about asking if they had a parabellum box for your Glock 17.
Talking to yourself, first sign of madness.
I throw the empty box of bullets and insert the magazine back in.
There is something. I turn. I look around me for a while. Then I shrug and put the gun in my sweatshirt pocket.
Seeing things, second sign of madness.
I get up and decide to check the place out. Hands in pockets I start walking down the wide and deserted streets of the industrial area.
Obviously there is not a soul at this hour.
Now and then the tar glistens as a result of the little rain of a few hours ago. Some street lights have been out for some time. Moths and some bats are flying around the lit ones, and the sign and entrance neon lights sizzle tiredly and unloaded.
My tennis shoes are extremely quiet, yet my steps make a disturbing noise: the sound bounces and booms off the closed shop shutters.
There are overflowing rubbish bins and some cans on the ground. I kick one.
Someone is sprawled against a wall. It’s a bum, flopped down with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s in his hands. As I pass near him, I hear him snore.
I continue for some ten meters until I get to the center of an intersection. I look around but there is nobody.
Duck!
I spring, I walk three steps down, I jump to the ground, roll and aim at the nearby roof. I fire twice, but the figure I was shooting at has disappeared.
– Shit –
I stay behind the lamp post and I look around. My ponytail is getting loose and some azure locks are escaping the hair-tie. I curse and quickly try to put it behind my ears.
I am exposed.
Two shots, I roll to the side and run. I throw myself between a dumpster and a wall. And I also fairly injure myself. Two shots bounce so close to my head that I’ll have a ringing in my ears for at least a couple of minutes.
– Shit shit! –
The bum!
I peek to see if he’s still alive.
My eyes open wide. He’s still asleep.
Maybe he’s dead.
I remain quiet. And in the silence, I can hear him snore all the way to where I am.
He’s not dead.
I focus back on my enemy. I check the roofs that are visible from where I am now. I do not see anyone.
– Who could it be? A refugee? Or maybe it’s the Eirdar who thinks I’m a refugee because no one has actually told him that I was coming here? If I have to face the Eirdar I am dead! – When I’m thinking and I am nervous I start talking to myself. A bad habit that I have to quit doing if I want to survive here.
****
-Shelv, what sort of an idiot did you send me? – I grumble while I readjust my ear-bud. In the fake Jack bottle the amplifier transmitter LED is discreetly flashing, and it’s almost invisible. -This even talks to himself… That’s just great… – I snort.
Besides the one shooting at the kid, I calculated at least 5 more refugees. And they’re all squirts.
Shots. One is definitely the boy’s Glock. Excellent weapon. If he’s the one who chose it then he is not so stupid.
OK. It’s time to party hard.
****
No more shootings, and I haven’t seen anybody on the roofs for the past two minutes.
I look around and I’m all alone.
And now what do I do? This is not my mission, I do not gain anything fighting against these guys! Moreover there must be at least three of them, and I’m all alone. The Eirdar is nowhere to be seen. Not to mention that I always start at a disadvantage having no desire to kill anyone.
I am a washout ally.
My eyes are wide open and I feel a stroke coming.
My hair is probably turning gray too. This happens when the hangar behind me practically explodes. I get pushed forward and I, obviously, howl.
I can not help screaming. The chillaxed cool character, well, it just doesn’t suit me. I’m scared shitless, okay?
And if I get hurt I cry, okay?
Anyhoo.
I remain dumbfounded there, on the ground, with the Glock in my hand and a persistent eyebrow tic.
Two refugees, one of whom is the guy who shot at me earlier, I recognize him, come out screaming.
They are on fire. Or rather, one is on fire, the other one just needs to throw his jacket off and he’ll pull through.
– What the f_-
From the torn shutter I only see fire, flames, smoke, and a figure.
I get up and hold on to my pistol.
The bum I saw earlier is now throwing away a grenade launcher and hoisting a pump rifle. Now that he is standing, I realize that that guy is huge, he must be two meters tall. And he is grinning insanely…
****
– So kids, is it time to party or not? – He says while chewing the cigarette filter in his mouth.
I do not have time to register who he is and what he’s there for, but he is clearly angry at the refugees and this is of vital importance for my brain. Suddenly, something tells me to turn around towards the refugee and I get lucky.
I shoot.
The gun slips out of his right hand and falls to the ground sliding away.
He stares at it. I see the homeless grin for a moment: the refugee raises his wounded hand and concentrates.
Fire.
I understand and suddenly breathe in, I do not even bother swearing.
I’m still not quite used to being in this dimension, so often I rely on magic. The thing is that the bracelet that we carry blocks magic, and if you try to use it, it shocks you down. But at that moment I am not thinking. It’s just a few seconds and you do not even notice it happening, but I do.
More than 80% of the water in the surrounding twenty miles, present in objects, in the air but not in living things, is conveyed in a single strip in front of me exploding upward with the power of a geyser. A wall of water stands in front of me and the bum by my side, protecting us from the magic flame the refugee sent us just a moment ago. I fall on my knees because of the wrist bracelet electrical discharge and I keep cursing myself for the great idea…
– Fire is not my favorite element – I mutter softly while the two magical energies touch and nullify each other.
Not even a second later the refugee catches fire. He begins to scream, he excitedly brings his hands to his face and throws himself to the ground. He vainly rolls on himself trying to put the fire out but it is a magical fire, and you can’t put it out! He finally lies still and groans. While fire consumes him.
I turn terrified to my right. The man I thought was a bum, is insanely grinning.
-But it’s mine – he answers me. Then he ducks to the right, avoiding a hail of bullets.
It is only thanks to my survival instinct that I avoid the same, ducking to the left. I roll behind a dumpster and I crouch: I am still shocked by the ease with which that guy has put the refugee on fire, without even trying to stop him in a more civilized manner.
Now I know, he’s not just any warmonger bum, he’s an ally.
A warmonger ally.
Comments (0)
See all