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112 - Logan's Run

 
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Amyral

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PostPosted: Sat Mar 27, 2010 11:23 pm    Post subject: 112 - Logan's Run Reply with quote Add User to Ignore List

Ohio was outmatched. The One Nation troops worked well together, the mercs and farmers worked alone. So when one mercenary ran off, he found himself standing in the barrel of a shotgun, then not standing at all. When two farmers tried to come up with a rudimentary strategy, One Nation was six steps ahead.

To One Nation, this was about as much a war as a schoolyard fight was. The only difference between this group and any other bullies that had taken a stand against them was that this battle had Akigiyama’s fingerprints all over it. But that wasn’t illegal, Marco knew that. But it was too little, too late. They had lost two men and taken out half of the troops Karn had thrown at them.

“The houses are clear. The bulk of our troops have set up shop in a wooded area just to the north,” Cost said, bored that all this build up was leading to a rather lackluster showing. Of course, they expected it. Everyone knew One Nation would win this battle if it ever came to it. The Akigiyama interference was, at best, a stop-gap in a cracking dam.

“Have the troops hold position tonight. Tomorrow we move to the river. We’ll have the city taken by tomorrow night. Then we’ll see how much fight Karn has in him,” Marco ordered, heading to the phone to inform Croft of their, thus far, decisive victory.

Even Logan was bored, sitting in the kitchen without a patient. The two soldiers who were killed were from lucky shots and were dead before he could get there.

“Scott came down from the second story of the house, his rifle lying against the wall. “Not a peep. We got all the remaining civvies out of here, no movement in this area at all,” he said,

Marco sat down, smiling. “So, all that talk, all that action, and the Grand Nation of Ohio lasted as long as the Wayne Brothers. Typical.”

Cost tossed the headphones onto the table and looked up at the ceiling. “Maybe they’re holding something back? Karn isn’t an idiot…”

“Prove it,” Marco shot back dryly. “He can talk and make a deal with Akigiyama, but in the end all he did was throw puppies to the pit bulls. If he had anything, he’d have used it now. He wouldn’t have let all his citizens get slaughtered.” He was angry, that much was sure. He hated this game, he hated having to kill people who didn’t want to fight, he hated collateral damage, and most of all he hated being the invader. He wanted to be the liberator, the one freeing the citizens against the despots that forced themselves to control their citizens.

“Commander!” A voice yelled over the radio so loudly that even Logan and Scott could hear it through Cost’s headphones.

Marco dashed over, yelling into the microphone. “What? What is it?” He asked hastily as he put the earphones over his head.

“E-Enemy attacking! God, they have rockets or something… I don’t know, they tore through our camp!”

Marco shook his head. “Attacking? Get up! Sound the alarm and fight back!”

“W-We did! We can’t see who’s attacking us! Casual… casualties are piling up! We’re trying to fan out.”

Marco heard a hacking sound over the headphones. He yelled out several times for information, but to no avail. “What’s going on out there?”

Finally, a new voice came over the headset. It whispered and there was something oddly mechanical in the tone.

“Be careful, little man. 5 is coming for you.”

* * *

There were only two guards at the One Nation camp that night. Those in Ohio’s army had either been killed or had fled and abandoned their mission.

“So, you think Croft will give us a raise when this is over?” one of the guards asked.

“That hard-ass? We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t send us up to Maine right after this,” the other scoffed back.

“After all this build up? He’s going to savor this for a while, at least.

A short distance away, hidden from the sights of the guards in the sylvan camp were the Special Forces. The darkness kept them free from lazy attention for the watchmen. 1 looked over at Jet, whispering. “Our plant said they have a command post set up in a small suburb south of here. Go and take out that post, 5. We’ll handle the base.”

Jet looked at the small outcrop of tents. “Very well,” he said, beginning to sneak around the camp.

1 looked to the others, nodding. “Attack plan Gamma Charlie Alpha 324,” he commanded. They fanned out, leaving 1 with the guards.

They chatted as they looked into the trees. Suddenly, something shiny caught their gaze. One of them raised their rifle as an object landed at their feet. He crouched down, picking up a small, silver coin. He looked to the other guard, confused. “What’s this? You think a bird dropped this or something?”

There was another flash of metal, this one coming from a large blade that flung through the air, implanting in the other soldier’s chest. He flew back, his rifle falling to the ground with a thud. His partner screamed and jumped back, but as he turned back to the forest, 1 was already on him. There was a sickening squishing should as a long, silver knife slit the soldier’s neck. The soldier fell and 1 looked over toward the large sleeping quarters. 3 was there, pulling several grenades from his waist. As the hum of 2’s rail gun filled the air, 3 threw two grenades into the tent. The first shot out a stream of gas while the second send out a bang so loud it could have woken up a hibernating bear.

There was general shouting as the contingent got to their feet. But the thick canvas of the tent was soon ripped by the metal shards fired by the rail gun. In the smoke, the soldiers could see what was hitting them, ripping through their ranks as they hastily tried to arm themselves. One ran to the flap only to get hit in the chest with a small orb. When it broke, white phosphorous erupted, catching the unlucky soldier ablaze. It wouldn’t matter much, the smoke inside soon erupted, the explosion tearing the tent to shreds.

The rail gun powered down as gunfire began to sound. 4 had spotted soldiers trying to flee, but they wouldn’t get far.

Inside the communications tent, a man was screaming on the radio. He heard the gunfire and the explosions, the dying screams and burning canvas. It wouldn’t matter. 1’s knife plunged through his neck as he was trying to relay the message. A lone gunshot put the soldier out of his misery. One looked at the radio and heard the voice of the man screaming on the other end. Their plant told them a man named Marco was the field commander in this campaign. He reached down and picked up the microphone, speaking into it.

“Be careful, little man. 5 is coming for you,” 1 said softly into the microphone. Then, he removed the alloy knife from his belt and sliced through the radio, which fell in two onto the ground.

A short time later, 2 walked into the tent, followed by 4, looking over the piles of dead annoyedly. “Is this it? Come on, they have to have more troops than this.”

1 glanced over. “Don’t worry, there will be more battle later. This was just a message. If the commander wasn’t smart enough to run, he’ll just be a part of it.”

* * *

Marco’s face was ashen as he took off the headset. He looked over at the others and took a deep breath. “How many do we have here?”

Cost shook his head. “It’s just us, Marco. We sent all the others ahead. I mean, we have another two battalions hanging back, but they’re a half-day out.”

Marco reached down and grabbed his rifle. He took a deep breath. “Gear up. Someone’s coming.”

Logan looked worried. “Who?”

Marco glared at Logan. “Whoever killed my men. I’ll make sure I return the favor. If you want to run, now’s the time.”

Logan backed away for a moment. He seriously considered it, but when he looked at his friends, he instead took out the swords. “Let’s get this over with…” He said sadly.

“Blue house, two story, second from end on the street, north side…” Elizabeth said into her microphone. Jet nodded and looked at the row of houses in front of him. It was the final buffer between him and the One Nation Field Commander. He grinned and crouched down, his suit powering him upward. A clawed hand grabbed onto a window on the second floor and he pulled himself up. He propelled himself up to the roof and stood up. He could see the house the commander was set up in.

“Elizabeth…” Jet started as he crouched on the rooftop.

“Y-Yes, Jet?” She asked. She wasn’t used to Jet speaking with her beyond the parameters of the mission.

“I’m sorry I made this so difficult. When I get back, you have to let me treat you to dinner,” he insisted.

Elizabeth blushed, running her fingers through her hair. “It’s alright, Jet. Really, we’re partners, it wouldn’t be right.”

Jet shook his head. “Nonsense,” he responded curtly as he stood up. Then something hit him. His eyes widened. “Elizabeth…?” he asked again, his voice suddenly getting hushed.

She furled her brow, not liking the tone in his voice. “What is it, Jet?”

“Can you hear them?” he asked ominously. “They’re singing…”

“Jet, no…” she said firmly. “They’re nothing, complete your mission.”

Jet nodded, taking one last step on the roof. “They’re their… the music is there…”

He turned off his communications link and broke into a sprint. The suit powered him forward. He stepped onto a light post, running along the thin metal beam and leaping to the other side.

“I don’t see him,” Scott said, looking out across the street. He couldn’t respond fast enough when the window blurred. A foot met his nose and there was a loud crack. He flew back, crashing into a wardrobe as the others turned. He stood up in the living room of the home and the One Nation soldiers stared at the armored man.

“W-What?” Marco stammered as he raised his rifle.

“For many years, I’ve walked among you…
Through the folds of time and space…
Kingdoms fall, leaders die, as I see fit…
I devour souls of those that pose a threat…”


The armored man was singing, a low, creepy voice softly harmonizing the hymn. Marco raised his rifle just in time to see Jet’s sword destroy the only light fixture. He fired, but Jet was no longer where he stood. He felt a slash across his back and he fell forward, turning and firing wildly at the wall behind him. A metal foot smashed against his mouth, sending him reeling head over heals.

Cost fired, the shotgun blast catching Jet in the back. Jet slid back a short distance, wincing as the blow knocked him back. But the armor, while thinner than the others, still didn’t break.

“I walk the Earth another day,
The wicked one that comes this way,
Savior to my own, devil to some,
Mankind falls, something wicked comes…”


Cost fired again, but Jet was no longer there. His body spun in the air. Cost didn’t feel the slash across his face until the blood dripped down into his mouth. He stumbled back, screaming as Jet grabbed his uniform, throwing him across the room, directly into Marco, who was just getting up. He turned his head and saw Logan’s silhouette in from the light in the kitchen.

“I bide my time planning your fate,
With bated breath, the Elder wait.
The coming curse, your anti-Christ, I am the Watcher’s eye.
For your crimes on our kind, you all will die…”


Logan turned and tried to run, but before he could, the mechanical man had his hand around his neck and lifted him up into the air. He looked down. The swords were singing to him, resonating. They were calling back to him. “Where did you get those…?” he asked softly.

Logan gagged some as he tried in vain to free himself from Jet’s grasp. “The… They were given to me…”

“Liar,” Jet yelled, throwing Logan against a wall. A loud crack filled the room as Logan fell forward. He tried to get to his feet, but a boot struck him across the temple. “Again, where did you get those?” He yelled.

“He…” Logan started, trying to get to his feet as he held his head. “He told me… to keep them safe… away from people… like you…” he answered defiantly.

Jet’s eyes widened. “Logan?” he asked.

Logan’s stammered, trying to back away. “W-Who are you? How do you know my name?”

The face plate on Jet’s armor retracted, showing his face. It was older, more worn with age and sin, but Logan recognized it. “Thanks for keeping my swords safe…”

Logan stared for a moment. It was Jet, he knew it… but it wasn’t. He had changed, he wasn’t the young man who saved their lives years earlier. In his eyes Logan could see how far he had sunk. He tried to crawl away, but it was no use. A metallic heel planted into his back and he reached down, ripping the swords from their holster.

It was like a burden on his shoulders were lifted. Instantly, he felt the connection return. Then the bullet hit him on the side of his head. Marco stood in the doorway, holding his pistol and panting as Jet fell to the ground. “Logan, get them and run!” he yelled. He didn’t know what the swords did, but he knew they meant something to this man who had attacked them. He somehow knew he shouldn’t have them. Logan grabbed them and clutched the blades to his chest, running off. He didn’t feel anything, no magical resonance, no mystical properties, no special affinity. But he ran nonetheless, away from the battle, back to camp. He was in pain, but he ran as fast as his legs could carry him.

Back in the house, Marco walked toward the man. A small stream of blood dripped down the side of his head. Was he dead? Was that the weak point? He kept the gun raised, ready to fire again. He stopped a few feet away, breathing heavily. He had never seen armor like that. It had Akigiyama’s stench all over it. Croft and The Freedom Fighters should know what was going on, what type of weapons Akigiyama had sent.

His eyes widened. He saw the bullet, the helmet was dented, but not penetrated. The bullet fell to the ground with a nearly inaudible tinging sound.

“Mankind falls… Something wicked comes…”

Jet sang…

Logan didn’t look back. His legs hurt, his head hurt, his back hurt and his arms hurt from carrying the swords.

He’d be the only One Nation soldier to escape. When reinforcements arrived at the house the next day, it was nothing but a burned shell.
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