Warning, this chapter is solely backstory. I had a bit of writers block and figured some background information on the main character might be appreciated. Sorry for those who wanted more on the Equestrian front.
My team, ready to siege the apartment were blown off of our feet as we rounded a corner only to be blasted with an earsplitting boom from the soundwave gun that shot them against the wall disorientating them and forcing them to drop their guns as I struggled to keep hold of mine as my vision blurred, my goggles cracking and my ears bleeding. Our part in the siege was a total fail, my comrades had since been executed when interrogated for answers and I knew I would soon share a similar fate as we had been stripped to nothing but our drawers or skin in the case of Jackson, codename Fireheart, as he went commando. I could tell that they were done with good ol’ Fireheart as his muffled screams were silenced when the hammer made contact with the bullet that took the friend of a good man. Family of five and an honest wife he was a very content man and his kids adored him. If I were to survive this endeavour then I would be the first to volunteer to tell his wife about the death of her husband. I felt pressure on my back that soon exploded into pain as I stifled a grunt threatening to leave my mouth as the bastard ran his razor sharp knife across my back easily cutting through the layers of skin and piercing into my flesh, leaving a burning like no other i’ve ever felt from a knife cut.
“You like that?” Said a cocky voice from behind me. His arabic accent not lost on my ears as I fought through the pain. “It is layered with a neurotoxin. Won't kill you, but excruciating. Though I’m not at liberty to say what it is as I don't know. It is a chemical of his own design. Worked well enough on your comrades though. Had the girl rolling on the floor in pain.” He then came close and I felt his pungent breath tingle my ear as he whispered, “They’re having a great time with her now.” He said as I could practically see his nauseating grin from behind my blindfold. I just bit my tongue as I refrained from speaking to him as to not loose my temper. I vaguely struggled against my binds as I fought to get my fingers around the knot. He realized this and with a quick slash what's left of my pinkie finger was naught but a stub with a bit of shaved bone visible and susceptible to the elements. His tone icy he growled into my ear, “I wouldn't do that if I were you, less you want to lose more than your pinkie.” I merely gave quick but controlled breaths as I fought to keep my screams of pain on the inside while my nerves reeled and bucked at me as the neurotoxin took its affect, my pinkie feeling as if acid was being dripped onto it as it throbbed. I heard his footsteps as he turned and walked a few steps to face me.
“I have questions as you may know, and don't even try to claim that you don't know. Because i've done my research, and I know that you know. Now, let's get started shall we?” It was at this point in which II was mentally panicking. The only thing me and my team knew about was a recent project called Project Reach. Basically the guys down at N.A.S.A. decided that one universe to study wasn't enough and when focussed teleportation was invented they decided to use that technology to attempt to open bridges to different universes. They weren't sure which universe the would try to go to first but were actually able to make a sort of looking mirror from what i've found out. They have managed to make audio contact and what we’ve heard is certainly interesting. Though why might they choose my team to know? The thing is, they don't, only me, and now I’m about to get tortured till I give away information to them. My brain goes into overdrive and I try to think of something that I could do to either get away from them or if I can, apprehend them and bring them forth for justice. Not just for my friends and myself, but for what he might also know. Like who he's working for and why they decided to wage war on us. As I think he just slowly walks around me, dragging his blade, leaving cuts here and there. It takes all of my willpower not to show any signs of pain as my breathing slowly picks up. If I had to guess i'd gander about 37 cuts are along my back, chest, arms, and thighs. I lost count after I decided to think. Speaking of which, I think i've got something. It would require a hell of a lot of luck but even if I fail it would be better than what's going on now. I slow my breathing more so, and focus on listening. I listen for his footsteps as I ignore his questions. His yelling is throwing me off but I hear a small grunt of exertion and hope for the best as I quickly turn, throwing my arms up and while silently hoping that the knife will at least cut the rope a bit and not slice the arteries in my wrist. My hope is short lived as I feel the searing pain of the knife flaying the layers of my skin. Though as I expected a slow and gruelling death as quick as the thought came it left when I felt the rope fall from my wrist. I rip the blindfold off of my face and take a few steps back and roll to the side as he tries to slash at me. I kick him to the side and look around the room. Fortunately he was too stupid to have anyone else in and it was just me and him. He slashes at me again and I roll out of the way, grabbing the cut up rope I begin wrapping it around my knuckles as he charges at me, this time he stabs me in the bicep. I feel my muscles burning from the exertion as adrenalin pumps through me. He removes the blade, a wicked smile coming across his face with those yellow crooked teeth.
“You like that soldier boy? If you give up now i’ll make your death quick.”
“I'm encouraged to think you're lying, so no, no I won't.”
“Suit yourself.” He said as he gave me a snarl before throwing a punch with his left while rearing back his right that held onto the accursed blade. I slapped his fist out of the way as I grabbed for his right arm, grasping his wrist in my grip. My strength overpowering his I twist his arm behind his back and dislocate his shoulder making him drop the knife. He yells out in pain cursing at me in Arab as I stagger him back by punching him with my rope covered left fist. He stumbles back into the wall as I run up to him and deliver a couple punches to the abdomen and an uppercut to his jaw, throwing the back of his head into the wall behind him. Wanting to finish what I started I grab ahold of his head and slam his head into my knee. Stumbling back a bit myself I walk off the pain as I look over to him. He's breathing but he's laying on his already dislocated shoulder. I’m mean, but i'm not that cruel. I pop his shoulder back into it’s socket and I use a piece of cloth that I rip off of his shirt and wrap his head to cover the cut in the back of his head where he hit the wall. I prop him in the back corner. I search him and find a small g42 glock with four rounds in it and finding a separate full mag on his and seven spare bullets. In total 17 bullets. Not bad if I can place them right. Don’t have to kill them, just have to get out and radio HQ. As I continue to search him I find a keychain, a grenade, and I also take the sheath for the knife. Speaking of the knife it's fairly plain. The highlight of it being its handle. A polished wooden finish that goes nicely with the razor sharp blade. It looks akin to a bowie knife but the blade is about the size of my palm. I take his shirt and his pants leaving him in his draws until I find my stuff. I get ready to leave as I hear the door knob jiggle a bit as I hear keys jingling. I press myself against the wall on the opposite side that the door opens and pull the blade out as I wait for the person to open the iron door. I hear someone cursing in Arab and mumbling about the keys being labeled. He eventually gets the door open as he opens it only to be greeted my new knife to his jugular before he could scream out for his pals. I grab onto him and drag him into the room and close the door only leaving a crack so i’ll be able to get out too. I search him and find another glock, with seven rounds, six in the mag and one in his pocket. I also found a bit of weed on him along with taking his pocket knife and using my knife disassembling it and stabbing it into him burying it deep so Mr. Tourturemister doesn't get any bright ideas if he wakes up. I also take his fingerless glove, putting it on my left hand for the padding when I punch. I take a granola bar off of him and a roll of bandages. I creep my head out and look around. I'm in a hallway with about seven doors total and a dead end on the right. You wait there for about five minutes before you head down the corridor, leaning against the wall as you listen for any footsteps. You take a risk and lean your head downward as you nearly rest your chin on the floor as you peek out only enough so that you can see through your right eye. You see nothing down the corridor but as you look more closely you see a camera that was placed right above the entrance to the stairs. You smile to yourself but that smile quickly vanishes as the camera begins to look your way. You pull back and contemplate shooting the camera the next time it looks away. But the guy watching the surveillance might notice and send someone to fix it or even sound an alarm. Best case you would have enough time to get to a floor with windows and find a way to escape. You didn't want to meet anyone and they could keep all of your gear for all you care, it was all basic stuff anyway, not anything personal. You never understood why people would do that. Like how your commanding officer back at HQ would always carry his custom revolver that he got from his wife for his thirteenth anniversary. Beautiful thing that looked decorative but packed a punch with his hand tooled customized receiver. No one ever saw his losing that thing, and yet it was shot out of his hand along with his ring finger during a siege. Falling with his finger into the incinerator. Couldn’t even be in the same room as that thing without proper protective gear. Burns your skin to char and makes your eyes pop, I would know, Private First Class Jared Foss tried to go in and try and retrieve it. Soon as he opened the door he practically got burned to a crisp. The rest of us suffered from full body 1st to 2nd degree burns and we were a whole 3 meters away from him. We managed to get it shut through a nearby terminal but we were too late and the damage was done. Had we not recovered so quickly we would’ve been removed from the infiltration team. Mostly due to the fact that they are needed at a constant availability for the most effective team. But mines gone now. Taken by the hands of a scumbag ISIS groupie. That's when you remembered something.
“They’re having a great time with her now.”
You mentally growl and turn back around, crouched down you make your way as silently as you could with your bare feet. You walk, leaning your ears on the doors at an attempt to listen where her body was being...let's just not think about that. You make your way to a door that was about three doors down (hehe) and you hear grunting and a wet slapping from inside. You, as silently as you could, unlock the lock. You pocket the keys as you get the gun ready, arming the flashbang you found on the patrol guy you downed. You quickly crack the door open tossing it in and closing the door. You hear it go off and charge inside, your training kicking in as you bash one of the bastards into the wall and slam his head into the concrete wall, a satisfying crack resonating throughout the room as you turn and fire off two shots into the other that was still balls deep in your comrade. You lunge at him and tackle him off of her, ripping his trachea out with your teeth you were so angry, so angry that your vision was clouded with red, and it wasn't because of the blood. The third guy is making a break for the door but a well shot round meets him halfway as the guy underneath you struggles to breath. You growl while you plunge your gloved hand into him, ripping vertebrae along with assorted muscle as you pull out. Gaining control of yourself once more you remember the task at hand and turn back around. Cassandra Gail codename Widowmaker for her skills with a rifle, or more specifically her custom .45 revolver rifle that puts even a Barrett M82 .50 cal. Being the first class infiltration team second only to SEAL Team Six you guys get to use the cool shit, testing the waters for new weapons and gear. It’s a neat job, but the position didn’t come without a price. You may be wondering how i'm only eighteen, yet i seem to have these experiences...well that's where things get...difficult. You see, the younger America thought it would be funny to see how it would be like to see Donald Trump as president. Need’th I say more? I do? Ok then… well he basically wanted to make more than just America ‘great again’. After many failed attempts at taking other countries resource reserves they decided to retaliate. And retaliate they did. Why didn’t the court stop him you ask? Well let's just say he had friends in high places. Killing or bribing higher ups and killing those who got in his way. He turned this great country into a dictatorship. He bit off more than he could chew and we payed the price. Not him but the citizens of said country. He took children, didn’t matter if they were boy or girl. He used them for experimentation. Eventually, while I was in my sophomore year, having skipped grades and only being 11, the man that took me said that I would be a perfect candidate. They had been doing experiments for about three years by that time, hidden to the public. Other countries like Canada, Russia, and especially Germany started to retaliate. The German representative saying that he and his country never wanting to see what happened with Hitler to repeat and that they would do everything they could to stop it. So Germany, leading the charge, declared war on America. While this was going on, I was being trained. They had succeeded. After killing over seven thousand children and five thousand teenagers they had developed a serum that had accelerated the growth and mental capacity of the younger generation. So they started taking children from 12 and up, using the serum and two years of training they were sent out into battle. The serum in layman's terms because I’m too lazy to write down the specifics now, take a child and teenager and speeds up their growth. They become adults in the course of five days of sitting a chamber. They didn't even give you food or water, they just let you sit there. You're still conscious, but nobody ever complains.They kill those ones. They then spend the next two or three years depending on which branch you go into and train you to be an emotionless, remorseless, killing machine. Or at least on the outside. No one would ever admit it because they filter out the weak for the strong but we all hated it. We did what we were told and didn’t think twice. It was kill or be killed. After my training I had ranked the top of my class. I was thought to be a prodigy in my field. I was a corpsman. After two years of service I was put in an unnamed team of seven people. We were told by the general that we were second only that to SEAL Team Six, at the time that excited me. I had read a book about them a few years back, but that's besides the point. My team and I over the next three years were sent on a total of 346 missions. We were eventually taken down, and we couldn’t be more happy. The supposed ‘super soldiers repelled against Trump. We took down the bases, killing only when necessary. We were led by a kid names Jared Myservier. He led the first charge and sparked the resistance needed to take down the hell that we were succumbed to. After learning what America was doing to their children the countries that we were formally at war with took pity on us. Trump however pulled a Hitler and killed himself before they were able to get to him and the others that had formerly run the court system with cyanide lined creps that were dipped in a thin layer of gold. They died dining like Kings and Queens. After the war I decided to go back to school. I met up with old friends that had happened to survive and things were starting to return to how they were before the war.
A little background information but now back to the final mission.
You turn her over onto her back, placing your finger on her neck, checking for a pulse. You let out a breath as relief flows through you. You take the clothing off of one of those ISIS bastards and dress her. You take the ropes they had tied her in and tie her to your back. After checking to make sure she wouldn't fall you take inventory. You had gained a sizeable amount of ammunition now and are no longer worried about that, and even then, you would still be pretty light on our feet with your friend tied to your back. Though you are sorry for having to tie her so tight, her boobs would NOT be thanking you after this, with them being squished up against your back and her soft breath against your neck an- ok lets not think about that for now less you want your little friend down below to hinder your movements. Anywho taking inventory you now have thirty two bullets total, your knife, three grenades, one more flash bang, and a pair of sunglasses. You set the sunglasses on Cass and wrap a cloth around her head blocking off her ears and mouth so she won’t make as much noise or hear as much when she wakes up or if another flash bang goes off she won't be blind or deaf. Or at least as deaf as she probably already is from when you threw the flash bang in there. Not to mention her time in the service. You make your way back to the corner where the camera is and carefully line up your shot for the lense for its circuitry. You take the shot, the gun discharging and sending a bullet flying through the air and hitting the maintenance box. The camera sputters for a few seconds so you fire a second shot. It nails the lense and the camera shudders before the red light dims out and you proceed down the hall, keeping an ear out for any alarms or the sound of footsteps to your area. You make it to the stairway and after waiting a good five minutes to see if anyone would come you head downstairs, the sign to your left telling you you were only on the second floor. You quickly make it down the stairs, your bare feet making your footsteps near silent as you make your way down to the first floor. You open the door to be greeted with an empty hallway. You thank your good luck and then proceed to check for cameras. There is one right above you. You decide that it would be a bad idea to shoot it since you have an open exit and decide to just sprint for it hoping that you’re in the same building you were going to infiltrate as you recognise the layout of the area as the hallway near the supposed barracks and mess hall of the alleged ISIS group. And if you’re correct then this should lead you to the back where you can make your escape and walk to the nearby town of Lewiston. There you can either hijack a car or hitchhike back to base and turn in your report and face the punishment for failing your mission. Probably some time in the shame games, a competition where they filter out the inadequate and keep those only worthy of living as they put it. Along with half rations for a week or two. They will probably make you do double shifts of guard duty afterwards too. So thats nice. Besides it's not like they can use your team anymore, you’ve failed. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get killed after you give your report. They won’t kill Cass though, no, they need the women. And when she turns eighteen, she will be nothing to them than a breeding machine. Meant to pump out more soldiers while the lower class raise them and then take them once they become of age. So i'm not exactly in a hurry to get back home. But then I thought about it. Maybe I don’t have to go back. Maybe we could just leave. Surrender to the Germans and hope for mercy. Or at least save Cass the hassle. So I decided to do just that.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~seven hours later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Math for those who want to know my reasoning for the timeframes. I used the Army's smaller but heavily used OH-58D Kiowa Warrior. The approximate distance from Lewiston, ME to Jacksonville, NC is about 969 miles or 1559.45 kilometers. Which divided by the cruising speed of the OH-58D Kiowa Warrior would take it approximately seven hours and fifty minutes, air time to travel the total approximate distance. But with the time it takes to prep the copter, fly it to altitude, plus possible turbulence, my calculations come out to around nine hours. If the chopper was to have a more fuel efficient engine, which my story is based in the future so it is possible, and is not shot down it would be possible for that helicopter to make it to Lewiston, ME, going at a cruising speed of 127 mph or 204.387 kph in a period of nine hours. Thankyou if you read this, it may be an insignificant thing that I could've just thrown in random numbers but its the small things that count. Not to mention that not many people consider how much works goes into writing. Plus in the future I would like to try to make my story as mathematically accurate as possible with my intelligence.)
I’ve been walking for seven hours now, I’ve finally made my way to the town of Lewiston. I’ve since untied Cass from my back and instead made it look like i'm giving her a piggy back ride. Not that i’m complaining and I bet her breasts feel a lot better about that as well. It's about ten at night from what I could tell from the position of the moon. I made my way to the local police station. I’m in Maine, this part of the country having been taken over by Canada a few years back and over the years had been built back up and is now functioning again as a seafood supplier and port. The previously lawless place had been restored to its former beauty in a mere matter of years. I made my way to the police station after asking for directions from a cashier in a passing gas station.
I walk through the door, instantly making eye contact with the receptionist. I set Cass down on a nearby bench taking off my shirt for her to use as a cushion between her and the hard wooden surface of the police station. I then walk to the front desk, the conversation is as shown.
“Helo sir, how may I help you?”
“Hey, look, I just want to say that i’m sorry for what i’m about to tell you. I’m a soldier made by Trumps experiments. I brought a fellow comrade after we failed our mission of infiltration.” You say as you rest your elbows on the counter, resting your head in your hands. “I don't know if you know what they’re doing there. But if anything, when we are defeated, take pity on the young. You may not believe me, and that's okay. But they have been doing awful things to their troops. They have developed a serum that accelerates the growth of children. So while we may look and sound like we're in our twenties, we’re not. I can’t say much else but all I ask is that you take my friend Cassandra, and give her pitty. I have to go though. Someone has to take the blame for our failures. And I won’t let her suffer any further. So all I ask is that you help her get acquainted into society. Let her live the life she deserves. And keep in mind that she’s really only 15. She was taught for the past three years nothing but how to kill and fight. I don’t care if you try to kill me for who I am and what i've undoubtedly done. But know that I am trained to combat forces greater than me. Now if you’ll excuse me. I have to go now, who knows how they’ll react when I get back. They’d probably kill me for failing. And I don’t want that for Cass. Thank You for listening. I’ll be heading out now.” You say as you start to back up to the door, not letting your eyes off of the receptionist so she doesn’t try anything, keeping your hand on the grip of your gun. You lean down and run your hand along Cass’s face once more before stepping out of the police station. Once I rounded the corner I heard the tell tale noise of police sirens. ‘Should’ve known that they wouldn’t let me go like that. Probably just scared the poor girl behind the desk. Let's see...that alleyway looks promising.’ You think to yourself as you slip into an alleyway, crawling underneath a dumpster, hiding as far as you can in the shadows without exposing yourself. You wait there for about an hour, the sirens having been long gone. Not taking any chances you decided to wait rather than risk being caught. You feel a pang of hunger as you feel your stomach protesting to the lack of food. You hadn’t realized how taking this situation had been for you. You also needed to find a way to escape the city and go back to base. But the more you think about it the less you want to go. The only real reason you want to go back is for your stuff. You have some things that you can’t replace in there. Like the drawing book from your younger sister, the acoustic/electric guitar from your grandparents that you had gotten not a week before they were killed in a car accident, and the scottish claymore that had been passed down for generations from your family. The heirloom being passed down from your father to you in recent years. These things which were in a bag under your bed in your barracks was a necessity to you to get back. Even if you want freedom, the disappointment of your family morally would make you feel as if you’d thrown it away. With that in mind, along with your hunger, which you ignored. You began to run to the nearest gas station, intending to snag a map of the area and make your way back to the base back in North Carolina. That is, without being shot down. Then, clear as the water back in Puerto RIco, and you facepalm for no thinking about it sooner. You could just fucking call them. Which you do. Once inside the gas station you ask the cashier if you could use their phone. With a bit of hesitation and some convincing on your side they allow you to. You step into the bathroom and make the call to the thirty-six digit number that you were forced to remember as you wait for them to answer. When they do, the conversation goes as shows.
The pre recorded message tells you to type in your seventeen digit identification code. After doing so, you follow the directions to connect to the operative that connects you to your senior officer, which after you quickly debrief him, skipping the part about you saving Cass. He doesn’t have to know, besides you’d never risk her newfound freedom. If they give her any. Hopefully they do. Though you suppose prison would be a cakewalk compared to what you do now. Your senior officer forwards you to the Airman's division in which he dispatches a helicopter that will pick you up in a remote location about thirty five miles from your current location. After formalities are traded you return the phone, thanking the kind cashier, and make your way over to the drop point.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Six hours later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
(Math: Used the Army's smaller but heavily used OH-58D Kiowa Warrior. The distance from Lewiston, ME to Jacksonville, NC is about 969 miles or 1559.45 kilometers. Which divided by the cruising speed of the OH-58D Kiowa Warrior would take it seven hours and fifty minutes, air time, to travel the total approximate distance. But with the time it takes to prep the copter, fly it to altitude, plus possible turbulence, my calculations came out to around nine hours. If the copter was to have a more fuel efficient engine, which my story is based in the future so it is possible, and is not shot down it would be possible for that helicopter to make it to Lewiston, ME, going at a cruising speed of 127 mph or 204.387 kph in a period of nine hours.)
You ran the whole way, only stopping to catch your breath after a mile or so has passed. You make it to the drop point, waiting there you sit down to catch your breath. You wait for about three hours as you wait for the chopper. After which you see the chopper off in the distance. You wake it down to the clearing they mapped you out to meet in and waited as the helicopter. After formalities and another nine hours of flying you found yourself in the barracks, showering and mentally preparing your verbal debriefing. As you wash yourself, wincing at the exposed cuts that itter your body. The field medic that had been dispatched with them had cleaned and stitched them closed during the long ride where you had gotten some well deserved sleep. You were pretty refreshed physically, mentally you were still dreading what would happen to Cass. I mean, you literally just dumped her there, gave a sap story, and left at gunpoint and a snippet of information. I contemplated trying to call so I could check on her. But I knew that’d be a bad idea. They track and record all the calls that are made through their radio towers. An artificial intelligence drone was programed to monitor all out of state outgoing calls and have them broadcasted to one of the many people monitoring all the lines. The only way to get around that would to have a phone that is either encrypted to block off the drones signal, relaying it false information or to have a phone registered to an underground company. Which is near impossible to do here due to the lack of providers, the number one provider being U.S. Cellular. The briefing took about an hour or so of me explaining everything. I asked for a funeral arrangement and ceremonial gathering but was refused due to funding. ‘If we don't have much funding then why were you assholes eating caviar and sirloin before i came here eh? God damn pricks’ Of course I’d never say that out loud, I don’t want to fucking die, not after all this bull shit. I’ve gotten too far to give up now. The war should be ending in the next couple years now. I just have to hold out till then. The remaining forces we have are becoming cannon fodder. Raised to think that they’re some superior above the rest because they’re American. Fucking despicable. That’s what runs through my mind as I walk down the hall to my barrack.