Under Her Wing

The world had crashed and gone out the window, civilization was a thing of the past; at least on the humanity sense. I had been long gone from the city, from that scrap of the planet my father tried to cocoon me in when I was little. This was my home now.

I look around at the others; just like me, mercenaries willing to lose it all to just get a piece of this action. The war; to claim what's not ours to prove we are the better species, I mean it's a hell of a fight even with our bodies healing themselves, part of which I should partially thank my father. Doctor Anthony Evans, head scientist back in my hometown of Calgsbay, now working for the Major to control more of this planet. The sound blasts sharp pins into my ears pulling me from my memories as it's time to hit the line again. I gear up and pull out as my commanding officer spews orders into my earpiece and I slide into my position.

The echo of the blaring guns ricochet through my head, screams already drown out the commands. I slide forward, drawing my dual edge plasma blade through a group of enemies within mere seconds, blood soaking through my uniform. The warmth wraps around me as my eye sight zooms in on someone of importance not far off the grid, the inner camera clicks away shots as I move on. My colleague Tag slugs me in the arm as I stare off collecting intel. He chuckles and goes on about his recent fight, two beasts we know as Tankarcs. They are Orcs coated in armour and have practically no feeling to pain; when they go down, they go down hard but not without normally taking a bite of your flesh. Tag is my best friend and a braggart at most. I shrug him off as my eyes zoom back to the task at hand.

I approach McCullins, the politician in charge of funding the other side. I move through stealth, shadows leeching to the corners. I grasp him in my hands as his right fist catches me square in the jaw, electricity behind the punch. I feel the jolt coarse through my veins, I shake off the stun as my microchip re-calibrates. I slash my blade, he catches my fist in his meaty hands. Fingers and bones break and turn to dust. I make contact to hear the faint ring of metallic twang, each time I hit it reverberates louder, blood dripping down my shattered knuckles, and trickling down my nose. Another shock, this time powering my blade, with my last ditch effect I swing up and before me falls a symbiote of what I thought was McCullins; nothing but a clone. As I stand and fuel my frustration I see something out of the corner of my eyes. What is that? My dad's company logo, why is his name on this machine, does he not know what they are fighting for, and that they are against us? My emotions come flooding in, blinding my senses. Anger and sadness, I turn face to face with a Tankarc and with not enough time to even breathe before his hock of a fist hits me. I black out to a searing pain and intense wave of nausea.

My eyes hesitate to focus, blurry, achy sight. The room is dark, with the crack of a light under what looks like a door in the distance, I hear the sizzling of torn wires nearby. Panicking I look around and realize only one eye is on, heat slowly scorching my cheek. Oh god it ripped one of my eyes out, the sizzling is from me. I pull and tug at the restraints that bound me, the memories of being tortured from my youth come flooding in and I am nothing more than a mere seven-year-old weak child, no cybernetics, no big brother to watch me, all alone. A trickle of water in the distance shakes me back to reality, water a sound I haven't heard since the last decade. One of our many resources we squandered that had disappeared from the homelands; apparently not. I stress to see anything with the one good eye and that's when I hear the door click, a wave of light seeps in as fast as it leaves.

Breathing in the distance, they are watching.

"Who are you?" I bellow, they seem to hold their breath. Let me out, if my commander tracks my device you will be killed, make no doubt about it. They let out a sign and flick on a light close to me. It's this woman wearing a face mask around her neck and butcher's apron. I've seen those piercing purple eyes, shoulder length fiery red hair, neatly knotted into a bun on her head. Those legs, under a slick black dress; she was on a fashion poster I had seen on my last mission, worn with age. The war ended most normal careers, the need for fancy clothes, models, bookstores and elementary schools became a thing of the past. Yet here she was, the photos do not do her justice for her curves and those luscious li... Ouch! She's tightening the restraints and injects me with a syringe.

"What are you giving me? Let me go, I am a solider and this is dangerous work to get your..." Her hand shoots up and hushes my mouth. The smell of rain and orchards invade my senses before the room spins into black.