Auman
14-05-2006, 00:59
The massive mahogany doors of the Strategic Command Center swung open, revealing the black, outlined, form of a man, backlit by the starkly contrasting white light which clashed with the dark red of the S.C.C.
A group of gruff looking men, standing around a holographic chart table, turned to look at the newcomer.
'Navarrone!' shouted the youngest man, Overlord Rosiro, as he stood at the head of the table. Sheikh stepped into the room and as he did so, a pair of guards shut the doors hastily. General Navarrone, striding towards the Overlord, said 'Mornin', Rosiro.' Some of the Generals glared at him for not standing on ceremony.
Navarrone reached Rosiro's side and grabbed his arm at the elbow, an action which received scornful glares from the Guards at the door, and said lightly 'We have to talk, can you take a moment?' Rosiro stared at Navarrone's hand for a moment and gave a look that could only be enlikened to a "who the hell do you think you are?". Rosiro looked Navarrone in the eye, dubiously, and said 'Sure, Sheikh, no problem.' The two men walked to an unoccupied corner of the room. 'It's been two weeks and I've heard nothing on my reassignment...I'm looking forward to getting back to the front, Jarak.' said Navarrone, with a hint of desperation in his voice. Rosiro scratched the back of his head and looked at his feet, contemplating his words. 'Look Sheikh, it seems doubtful you're going to be sent to the front...' Navarrone interrupted 'Not another desk job!' Rosiro shook his head 'No, no more desk jobs...you're not qualified, you said it yourself.'
Navarrone stared in confusion for a second, 'Well if Im not going to the front...and Im not getting a position in logistics...' Navarrone did a quick count of the General's staff at the table, they were all there. 'You're too old, Sheikh. You're being retired.' Navarrone stared at Rosiro like the man was retarded. 'Too fucking old? Im 38!' shouted Navarrone, a vein in his neck began to bulge and his face, though you couldn't tell through the redlight, was beginning to turn the colour of a beet.
Rosiro looked away, thinking of what to say 'You're right, you're not old perse, just to old to begin training again...you know what they say about Old Dogs, right?' said the Overlord.
Navarrone didn't even respond to the comment before delivering an uppercut to Rosiro's jaw which dropped him to the floor. The Guards rushed Sheikh and he took up a fighting stance. Before the Guards tackled him, Rosiro shouted 'Stop!' and like the obedient Troopers they were, they skidded to a halt. 'You throw a good punch, Sheikh, I'll consider that your letter of resignation...don't worry, you'll still get your pension.' Rosiro got up and dusted himself off. The Overlord looked Navarrone in the eye in an attempt to intimidate him, it didn't work, and said 'Now get the fuck out of here.'
General Navarrone, with out a word, left the S.C.C. and never looked back...
----
Several months later...
"And the Carpentaria Razorbulls are going to the playoffs! What a momentous day in Pyramid history folks...this is just amazing!"
'Fuck you!'
A crystal ashtray ended the announcer's commentary as it crashed through the thick screen of the television. Sheikh Navarrone, unshaven, fully reclined in a brown leather E-Z-Boy, took a long drink of his beer. His socked feet hung off the edge of the chair's built in ottoman, his left, big, toe exposed by a rip. Navarrone, scowling at the shattered screen, picked a potato chip off of his shirt and popped it into his mouth...he crunched it with bitter overtones.
'Fifty god damned Tears shed on this god damned game...' muttered Navarrone darkly. It didn't really matter if he lost fifty Tears of the Innocent on a Pyramid game, he was filthy rich, it was the principle of it that tore at him. The Carpentaria Razorbulls have never won a game until this last series. They'd slip up eventually, definitely before playoffs... thought Sheikh as he placed the bet with his buddies, who'd a'thunk the worst team in the history of the sport would shape up just in time to...
'Fucked me over...' he spat. With a quick jab at a button on the side of the chair, the ottoman retracted and Sheikh jumped to his feet, crumbs rolling down his sagging chest and rapidly extending belly.
Retirement hit Navarrone hard.
Ever since that mission to the Aelosian fleet, and lecturing to Allanean diplomats, he had a decided lack of employment. Which, economically, wasn't bad for him...Military pensions, especially for someone of the rank of Retired General Navarrone, were very handsome. However, at the age of 38, Navarrone wasn't exactly a senior citizen. Though, it seemed that's who he was spending alot of time with lately. Navarrone finished his bottle of beer and placed it next to a neatly formed phalanx of empties. Sheikh threw on a pair of slippers and shuffled around his apartment. A very stylish dig, and large, by the standards of most of Vascilia City's citizens, at a very decent fourteen thousand square feet. The apartment had a built in bar, which was empty. A jacuzzi was built in place of a conventional bathtub, and the view was amazing...you could almost see right into Sylvia Palantino's apartment...Palantino being a not-to-bad looking former B-movie star, that he can proudly admit spent alot of intimate moments in his teen years watching her movies.
Sheikh left his apartment, not even bothering to get dressed. Clad in a grey undershirt, a matching pair of sweatpants and a pair of slippers that were meant to resemble walrus flippers, Sheikh sauntered towards the elevator. When he arrived the door opened, inside awaited a beautiful young woman with flowing blonde hair.
'Mornin' to ya.' He said. She looked him up and down, unimpressed.
'Afternoon...It's the afternoon.' she said shyly.
Sheikh stepped into the elevator and hit the lobby button. The woman covered her mouth and looked away.
'Sorry about the smell ma'am...I've built up a bit of a musk...' Sheikh chuckled grimly. She shook her head and said 'No, I didn't notice...I just have alot on my mind.' Sheikh glanced over, a bit concerned, but her problems were none of his business, so he kept his trap shut.
A tear rolled down the woman's cheek. This brought to attention how beautiful her face was to Navarrone. He couldn't quite take her all in, due to the space...he knew if he were to check her out he'd be busted for sure. Though, from his initial inspection, he almost mistook her for one of his ex-wives. A stripper from Ciris Aphalon, with a figure like, well, Sylvia Palantino...and a rack you could get ambushed in...Sheikh's mind wandered for a moment as he remembered the good ol' days, all three of them.
The Elevator stopped at the lobby, Sheikh politely said his good byes to the woman and departed. Blindingly bright light poured in from outside, two vague shadows joined it. Navarrone, practically strutted out to meet them.
'Should you punks be in school?' said Navarrone as he walked upto Lenny and Chet, a pair of local hoods that Navarrone had taken a liking to. Lenny slapped Sheikh on the shoulder, the pick in his afro wobbled slightly at this, the long black strands of his armpit hair were exposed to Sheikh and he shuddered internally.
'Put them away, they might reach out and drag someone in...' laughed Sheikh, at the expense of poor Lenny. Chet grinned and said 'Hey Len', when you're wearing a muscle shirt...aren't you supposed to have muscles?'
'Fuck you man!' Lenny's voice cracked, Sheikh laughed even harder. Chet and Lenny were like day and night in comparison. Lenny was a tall, skinny, Havenite with acne scars pocking his face and possibly the worst attempt at an afro Sheikh'd ever seen. Chet, however, was a stocky 16 year old from the slums of Noriegania...who'd never be seen without his leather jacket, quiet usually, especially in contrast to Lenny.
'So kids, you're not getting into trouble are you?' Sheikh asked, already knowing the answer. Lenny, of course, was the first to speak.
'Me and this guy...' Lenny was gesturing emphatically '...Totally smashed some kid the other day. It was sweet buddy, seriously. I totally went upto him and BOOM!' Lenny punched his palm with a resounding slap.
'Why?' asked Sheikh, as the kid once again offended his Aumanii sensibility with bullshit. Aumanii were fighters from the day they were born, but always fought for a reason. The Aumanii possessed a sense of honour that was lost on most immigrants.
'The kid was upset cause Chet here stole his girlfriend and called him out...' retored Lenny
'And why didn't Chet handle his own god damned problem? I remember when I was a kid, we'd throw down one on one if we had a problem...' said Navarrone as he started to get irritated. Suddenly, Navarrone was jolted as someone rushed by him. Without a word, he hussled away, down the street, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. Sheikh growled...
'That reminds me, I'm headed down to the Legion, you kids want to come?'
'Nah boss, we're meeting some girls.' said Chet.
Navarrone cocked an eye and said 'I thought you already had a girl?' he didn't even wait for an answer before he started walking off.
'Peace, Navvy!' shouted Lenny.
'Don't call me that!'
----
Sam's elevator stopped in the carpark. The doors slid open. The lot was mostly empty, being located on a sublevel, it got the least people putting their cars in...mostly because a pair of goons kept breaking into any car that was unfortunate enough to be down there. She pulled up the collar of her white dress shirt, wiped away the last of her tears and walked out of the elevator, her heels clacking against the black top sharply.
'Why did I have to park so far from the lift...' she said, an accent lilted her words. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed.
The garage was creepy, silent. Almost like a set from a shitty action series, the kind of place a woman like Sam would be attacked...well, the upside is that she'll be saved by a dashing hero...or...
She heard something, like shattering glass. She hurried up, practically running. She made it to her car, a red 2885 Camarano. She ran a thin finger over a gene-scanner on the handle of the car and opened it.
She heard it again.
BANG!
She yelped and jumped into her car. Sam started her car, the engine roared and she peeled out of the spot. As she drove to the exit she saw it. A man was standing over the body of a woman, a revolver aimed at her head...
Oh my god, she's still moving...She's still alive!
The man fired three shots...she sure as hell wasn't moving anymore. Sam gunned it, he saw her...she saw him. He was horrible.
How can you do that!
Her car sped up a ramp and to the next level. The murderer followed on foot, he couldn't make the distance, no way he'd catch up.
He did
He moved fast, unnaturally fast. He was a machine.
His face, what was wrong with his face...
The back window of the car exploded, the round embedded itself in her back. She screamed in pain. Another bullet decimated her shoulder, she lost control. The car flipped and hit a support pillar in a spectacular crash. Metal rended and screamed as the impact tore it apart. The car's crumple zones reduced it to an accordian shaped mass of carnage.
The killer heard voices. Dropped his pistol and left as quick as he could.
----
Scant seconds after swiping his membership card and throwing the door open to The Legion Navarrone was bombarded by greetings.
'Got a VGD coming up, Sheikh...' said an exceptionally short waitress as she walked by with a tray bristling with booze.
'Thanks Munchie, you know just how I like it!' exclaimed Navarrone so that the other veterans could hear him.
The Legion Hall was a meeting place, no...more than just that...The Legion was the greatest place in the world. Set up by the military as a hangout for active and retired military to gather and get right plastered. Booze was free for retired Veterans, that meant Sheikh was getting a free ride...as long as he didn't chuck up in the place, then you're out for the night. Though, they just won't throw you out on the street! Being quite possibly the finest institution in the galaxy, the employees will set you up on a cot in the back. Or, if you're too drunk and belligerant to stay on some cot, they'll drag your sorry ass home.
'I love the Legion!' said Sheikh, smile as wide as a billboard.
Some said that the free hooch was what was causing the outrageous increase in alchoholism amongst Auman's veteran population, of course those people never gave their names out publically...
'I love the waitresses, I love the bartenders, I even love you Gramps!' Sheikh rubbed the shiny, bald, head of an old Veteran as he walked past him.
'I love the Legion, I love you Munchie!' Sheikh accepted a beer from the short, cute, beer-maid. Sheikh sat next to the old guy, which he insisted on calling Gramps. Gramps' attention was firmly placed on the television.
'Navarrone...something's going on in your building.' said Gramps, pointing with a bottle spout at the big screen at the far end of the Hall. Navarrone sat down and watched the news broadcast.
"One person is dead and another seriously injured in what investigators are calling an attempted carjacking, gone horribly wrong." The screen displayed the form of a person under a white sheet, a pool of blood surrounding the victim, their hand laying lifeless and uncovered. "The victim of the murder is a mother of three, Karlen Samsha. Her husband, Corporal Tarlo Samsha is currently deployed to Bhaatarahk. The other victim of this tragedy has, as of yet, been identified..."
'Hey, I know that family. It's a shame, really it is. Now, anyway...how about the Razorbulls, man, I seriously...' said Navarrone, feigning shock for a moment.
'What's wrong with you punks. Back in my day when a human tragedy like this happened we'd actually feel some bloody remorse...and you're still giving me that fifty, Navarrone.' said Gramps with his gruff voice. The old man didn't stand much on ceremony. Never did, not even in the military. Seargant Conre "Gramps" Zenuh had a promising career ahead of him. Top of his class in Bekanel War College, until that fateful day he met Balthazar Marduk himself, though he didn't know it. Gramps had come across the 255th Armoured during the first Hellespontos campaign. Gramps served with the 19th Siege Artillery Batallion. En route to the warzone his column ran into a traffic jam, caused by none other than Marduk's convoy...one thing lead to another and the Overlord found himself with a black eye. Back in those days, Gramps would've been shot. Marduk respected him, for some reason, the Overlord was like that...didn't much go for ceremony either, probably.
Sheikh polished off his drink and ordered a few shots for him and his grizzled comrade.
'When I drink with you squirt, I feel like I'm 53 again...' wheezed Gramps. What with the level of life saving/prolonging technology in this country, the old coot was pushing a hundred and thirty years of age...
----
The door crashed open, Sheikh stumbled in. The blue and white tiles were covered in shoe prints, mostly Navarrones. He fell to his knees and embraced the white porcelein.
'GRAAAAAAAAARGH!'
He heaved, eyes watering, tears nearly forming.
'BWAAGH'
He spat, forcing the last of it out of him. The alchohol had won, this round...one of many. The Legion was the greatest place on Mars, forever and always. The door creaked open, Navarrone disregarded it as he attempted to remove the vomit from his mouth, alleviating the foul taste of bile. Sneakers squeaked on tile. They stopped suddenly behind Navarrone, preoccupied. Suddenly Sheikh's world turned to liquid, surprise was overwhelming, his head was plunged into the toilet, he couldn't breath, the grip on the back of his head was firm, he was trapped. Sheikh struggled and failed to break free, he braced his hands on the seat of the toilet and pushed as hard as he could, he was free.
He yelled for help and then he was under again.
The door crashed open, it was Gramps, he saw the thing that was killing Navarrone...
It looked like a man, mixed with a hammerhead shark. Same eyes and jagged teeth, and it stinked to high heaven. Gramps acted, he leapt towards it and caught it's neck in a vice grip between his forearm and bicep, he squeezed the hold tighter, placing his wrist in the pit of his non-engaged elbow and squeezed tighter. This was the Guillotine the most basic and effective chokehold taught in the Army. The creature couldn't breath, it gagged and choked as it tried for air. Gramps pulled it away and Navarrone collapsed on the floor, himself gasping for oxygen. Gramps used his weight to bring it down to the floor, but it was ferocious, it was on its feet in seconds and threw the old man into a line of sinks and brought them crashing to the ground.
Navarrone, drunkenly obliging his combat instincts rose back to his feet and backed himself against a wall. The thing attacked him again and Sheikh let out a primal scream as he threw a kick to its sternum, it was stopped for a second but seemed unphased and lashed out for his throat. Navarrone blocked and caught hold of its left arm and as best he could in the confines of the stall, threw it to the ground...however, it wound up perched on the toilet...the pukey, disgusting, toilet. Navarrone struck out and punched the creature as many times as he could, often missing. His knuckles were bloodied as when he missed he struck other, less compromising objects...though, a fair amount of times he did make contact with the Alien's face. It stopped moving after a time.
The Bartender and a few waitresses busted into the washroom, the fight lasted less than a little over a minute, and pulled Navarrone away from the bleeding mess of the attacker. One of the girls let out a screem when she saw it, the others were helping Gramps up.
The Bartender, a non-Veteran asked 'What the fuck is it?
Gramps, still weary from the hit he'd taken took a closer look at the unconcious, battered, form in the stall.
'It's a Zandozan.'
A group of gruff looking men, standing around a holographic chart table, turned to look at the newcomer.
'Navarrone!' shouted the youngest man, Overlord Rosiro, as he stood at the head of the table. Sheikh stepped into the room and as he did so, a pair of guards shut the doors hastily. General Navarrone, striding towards the Overlord, said 'Mornin', Rosiro.' Some of the Generals glared at him for not standing on ceremony.
Navarrone reached Rosiro's side and grabbed his arm at the elbow, an action which received scornful glares from the Guards at the door, and said lightly 'We have to talk, can you take a moment?' Rosiro stared at Navarrone's hand for a moment and gave a look that could only be enlikened to a "who the hell do you think you are?". Rosiro looked Navarrone in the eye, dubiously, and said 'Sure, Sheikh, no problem.' The two men walked to an unoccupied corner of the room. 'It's been two weeks and I've heard nothing on my reassignment...I'm looking forward to getting back to the front, Jarak.' said Navarrone, with a hint of desperation in his voice. Rosiro scratched the back of his head and looked at his feet, contemplating his words. 'Look Sheikh, it seems doubtful you're going to be sent to the front...' Navarrone interrupted 'Not another desk job!' Rosiro shook his head 'No, no more desk jobs...you're not qualified, you said it yourself.'
Navarrone stared in confusion for a second, 'Well if Im not going to the front...and Im not getting a position in logistics...' Navarrone did a quick count of the General's staff at the table, they were all there. 'You're too old, Sheikh. You're being retired.' Navarrone stared at Rosiro like the man was retarded. 'Too fucking old? Im 38!' shouted Navarrone, a vein in his neck began to bulge and his face, though you couldn't tell through the redlight, was beginning to turn the colour of a beet.
Rosiro looked away, thinking of what to say 'You're right, you're not old perse, just to old to begin training again...you know what they say about Old Dogs, right?' said the Overlord.
Navarrone didn't even respond to the comment before delivering an uppercut to Rosiro's jaw which dropped him to the floor. The Guards rushed Sheikh and he took up a fighting stance. Before the Guards tackled him, Rosiro shouted 'Stop!' and like the obedient Troopers they were, they skidded to a halt. 'You throw a good punch, Sheikh, I'll consider that your letter of resignation...don't worry, you'll still get your pension.' Rosiro got up and dusted himself off. The Overlord looked Navarrone in the eye in an attempt to intimidate him, it didn't work, and said 'Now get the fuck out of here.'
General Navarrone, with out a word, left the S.C.C. and never looked back...
----
Several months later...
"And the Carpentaria Razorbulls are going to the playoffs! What a momentous day in Pyramid history folks...this is just amazing!"
'Fuck you!'
A crystal ashtray ended the announcer's commentary as it crashed through the thick screen of the television. Sheikh Navarrone, unshaven, fully reclined in a brown leather E-Z-Boy, took a long drink of his beer. His socked feet hung off the edge of the chair's built in ottoman, his left, big, toe exposed by a rip. Navarrone, scowling at the shattered screen, picked a potato chip off of his shirt and popped it into his mouth...he crunched it with bitter overtones.
'Fifty god damned Tears shed on this god damned game...' muttered Navarrone darkly. It didn't really matter if he lost fifty Tears of the Innocent on a Pyramid game, he was filthy rich, it was the principle of it that tore at him. The Carpentaria Razorbulls have never won a game until this last series. They'd slip up eventually, definitely before playoffs... thought Sheikh as he placed the bet with his buddies, who'd a'thunk the worst team in the history of the sport would shape up just in time to...
'Fucked me over...' he spat. With a quick jab at a button on the side of the chair, the ottoman retracted and Sheikh jumped to his feet, crumbs rolling down his sagging chest and rapidly extending belly.
Retirement hit Navarrone hard.
Ever since that mission to the Aelosian fleet, and lecturing to Allanean diplomats, he had a decided lack of employment. Which, economically, wasn't bad for him...Military pensions, especially for someone of the rank of Retired General Navarrone, were very handsome. However, at the age of 38, Navarrone wasn't exactly a senior citizen. Though, it seemed that's who he was spending alot of time with lately. Navarrone finished his bottle of beer and placed it next to a neatly formed phalanx of empties. Sheikh threw on a pair of slippers and shuffled around his apartment. A very stylish dig, and large, by the standards of most of Vascilia City's citizens, at a very decent fourteen thousand square feet. The apartment had a built in bar, which was empty. A jacuzzi was built in place of a conventional bathtub, and the view was amazing...you could almost see right into Sylvia Palantino's apartment...Palantino being a not-to-bad looking former B-movie star, that he can proudly admit spent alot of intimate moments in his teen years watching her movies.
Sheikh left his apartment, not even bothering to get dressed. Clad in a grey undershirt, a matching pair of sweatpants and a pair of slippers that were meant to resemble walrus flippers, Sheikh sauntered towards the elevator. When he arrived the door opened, inside awaited a beautiful young woman with flowing blonde hair.
'Mornin' to ya.' He said. She looked him up and down, unimpressed.
'Afternoon...It's the afternoon.' she said shyly.
Sheikh stepped into the elevator and hit the lobby button. The woman covered her mouth and looked away.
'Sorry about the smell ma'am...I've built up a bit of a musk...' Sheikh chuckled grimly. She shook her head and said 'No, I didn't notice...I just have alot on my mind.' Sheikh glanced over, a bit concerned, but her problems were none of his business, so he kept his trap shut.
A tear rolled down the woman's cheek. This brought to attention how beautiful her face was to Navarrone. He couldn't quite take her all in, due to the space...he knew if he were to check her out he'd be busted for sure. Though, from his initial inspection, he almost mistook her for one of his ex-wives. A stripper from Ciris Aphalon, with a figure like, well, Sylvia Palantino...and a rack you could get ambushed in...Sheikh's mind wandered for a moment as he remembered the good ol' days, all three of them.
The Elevator stopped at the lobby, Sheikh politely said his good byes to the woman and departed. Blindingly bright light poured in from outside, two vague shadows joined it. Navarrone, practically strutted out to meet them.
'Should you punks be in school?' said Navarrone as he walked upto Lenny and Chet, a pair of local hoods that Navarrone had taken a liking to. Lenny slapped Sheikh on the shoulder, the pick in his afro wobbled slightly at this, the long black strands of his armpit hair were exposed to Sheikh and he shuddered internally.
'Put them away, they might reach out and drag someone in...' laughed Sheikh, at the expense of poor Lenny. Chet grinned and said 'Hey Len', when you're wearing a muscle shirt...aren't you supposed to have muscles?'
'Fuck you man!' Lenny's voice cracked, Sheikh laughed even harder. Chet and Lenny were like day and night in comparison. Lenny was a tall, skinny, Havenite with acne scars pocking his face and possibly the worst attempt at an afro Sheikh'd ever seen. Chet, however, was a stocky 16 year old from the slums of Noriegania...who'd never be seen without his leather jacket, quiet usually, especially in contrast to Lenny.
'So kids, you're not getting into trouble are you?' Sheikh asked, already knowing the answer. Lenny, of course, was the first to speak.
'Me and this guy...' Lenny was gesturing emphatically '...Totally smashed some kid the other day. It was sweet buddy, seriously. I totally went upto him and BOOM!' Lenny punched his palm with a resounding slap.
'Why?' asked Sheikh, as the kid once again offended his Aumanii sensibility with bullshit. Aumanii were fighters from the day they were born, but always fought for a reason. The Aumanii possessed a sense of honour that was lost on most immigrants.
'The kid was upset cause Chet here stole his girlfriend and called him out...' retored Lenny
'And why didn't Chet handle his own god damned problem? I remember when I was a kid, we'd throw down one on one if we had a problem...' said Navarrone as he started to get irritated. Suddenly, Navarrone was jolted as someone rushed by him. Without a word, he hussled away, down the street, hands shoved deep into his coat pockets. Sheikh growled...
'That reminds me, I'm headed down to the Legion, you kids want to come?'
'Nah boss, we're meeting some girls.' said Chet.
Navarrone cocked an eye and said 'I thought you already had a girl?' he didn't even wait for an answer before he started walking off.
'Peace, Navvy!' shouted Lenny.
'Don't call me that!'
----
Sam's elevator stopped in the carpark. The doors slid open. The lot was mostly empty, being located on a sublevel, it got the least people putting their cars in...mostly because a pair of goons kept breaking into any car that was unfortunate enough to be down there. She pulled up the collar of her white dress shirt, wiped away the last of her tears and walked out of the elevator, her heels clacking against the black top sharply.
'Why did I have to park so far from the lift...' she said, an accent lilted her words. Her shoulders slumped and she sighed.
The garage was creepy, silent. Almost like a set from a shitty action series, the kind of place a woman like Sam would be attacked...well, the upside is that she'll be saved by a dashing hero...or...
She heard something, like shattering glass. She hurried up, practically running. She made it to her car, a red 2885 Camarano. She ran a thin finger over a gene-scanner on the handle of the car and opened it.
She heard it again.
BANG!
She yelped and jumped into her car. Sam started her car, the engine roared and she peeled out of the spot. As she drove to the exit she saw it. A man was standing over the body of a woman, a revolver aimed at her head...
Oh my god, she's still moving...She's still alive!
The man fired three shots...she sure as hell wasn't moving anymore. Sam gunned it, he saw her...she saw him. He was horrible.
How can you do that!
Her car sped up a ramp and to the next level. The murderer followed on foot, he couldn't make the distance, no way he'd catch up.
He did
He moved fast, unnaturally fast. He was a machine.
His face, what was wrong with his face...
The back window of the car exploded, the round embedded itself in her back. She screamed in pain. Another bullet decimated her shoulder, she lost control. The car flipped and hit a support pillar in a spectacular crash. Metal rended and screamed as the impact tore it apart. The car's crumple zones reduced it to an accordian shaped mass of carnage.
The killer heard voices. Dropped his pistol and left as quick as he could.
----
Scant seconds after swiping his membership card and throwing the door open to The Legion Navarrone was bombarded by greetings.
'Got a VGD coming up, Sheikh...' said an exceptionally short waitress as she walked by with a tray bristling with booze.
'Thanks Munchie, you know just how I like it!' exclaimed Navarrone so that the other veterans could hear him.
The Legion Hall was a meeting place, no...more than just that...The Legion was the greatest place in the world. Set up by the military as a hangout for active and retired military to gather and get right plastered. Booze was free for retired Veterans, that meant Sheikh was getting a free ride...as long as he didn't chuck up in the place, then you're out for the night. Though, they just won't throw you out on the street! Being quite possibly the finest institution in the galaxy, the employees will set you up on a cot in the back. Or, if you're too drunk and belligerant to stay on some cot, they'll drag your sorry ass home.
'I love the Legion!' said Sheikh, smile as wide as a billboard.
Some said that the free hooch was what was causing the outrageous increase in alchoholism amongst Auman's veteran population, of course those people never gave their names out publically...
'I love the waitresses, I love the bartenders, I even love you Gramps!' Sheikh rubbed the shiny, bald, head of an old Veteran as he walked past him.
'I love the Legion, I love you Munchie!' Sheikh accepted a beer from the short, cute, beer-maid. Sheikh sat next to the old guy, which he insisted on calling Gramps. Gramps' attention was firmly placed on the television.
'Navarrone...something's going on in your building.' said Gramps, pointing with a bottle spout at the big screen at the far end of the Hall. Navarrone sat down and watched the news broadcast.
"One person is dead and another seriously injured in what investigators are calling an attempted carjacking, gone horribly wrong." The screen displayed the form of a person under a white sheet, a pool of blood surrounding the victim, their hand laying lifeless and uncovered. "The victim of the murder is a mother of three, Karlen Samsha. Her husband, Corporal Tarlo Samsha is currently deployed to Bhaatarahk. The other victim of this tragedy has, as of yet, been identified..."
'Hey, I know that family. It's a shame, really it is. Now, anyway...how about the Razorbulls, man, I seriously...' said Navarrone, feigning shock for a moment.
'What's wrong with you punks. Back in my day when a human tragedy like this happened we'd actually feel some bloody remorse...and you're still giving me that fifty, Navarrone.' said Gramps with his gruff voice. The old man didn't stand much on ceremony. Never did, not even in the military. Seargant Conre "Gramps" Zenuh had a promising career ahead of him. Top of his class in Bekanel War College, until that fateful day he met Balthazar Marduk himself, though he didn't know it. Gramps had come across the 255th Armoured during the first Hellespontos campaign. Gramps served with the 19th Siege Artillery Batallion. En route to the warzone his column ran into a traffic jam, caused by none other than Marduk's convoy...one thing lead to another and the Overlord found himself with a black eye. Back in those days, Gramps would've been shot. Marduk respected him, for some reason, the Overlord was like that...didn't much go for ceremony either, probably.
Sheikh polished off his drink and ordered a few shots for him and his grizzled comrade.
'When I drink with you squirt, I feel like I'm 53 again...' wheezed Gramps. What with the level of life saving/prolonging technology in this country, the old coot was pushing a hundred and thirty years of age...
----
The door crashed open, Sheikh stumbled in. The blue and white tiles were covered in shoe prints, mostly Navarrones. He fell to his knees and embraced the white porcelein.
'GRAAAAAAAAARGH!'
He heaved, eyes watering, tears nearly forming.
'BWAAGH'
He spat, forcing the last of it out of him. The alchohol had won, this round...one of many. The Legion was the greatest place on Mars, forever and always. The door creaked open, Navarrone disregarded it as he attempted to remove the vomit from his mouth, alleviating the foul taste of bile. Sneakers squeaked on tile. They stopped suddenly behind Navarrone, preoccupied. Suddenly Sheikh's world turned to liquid, surprise was overwhelming, his head was plunged into the toilet, he couldn't breath, the grip on the back of his head was firm, he was trapped. Sheikh struggled and failed to break free, he braced his hands on the seat of the toilet and pushed as hard as he could, he was free.
He yelled for help and then he was under again.
The door crashed open, it was Gramps, he saw the thing that was killing Navarrone...
It looked like a man, mixed with a hammerhead shark. Same eyes and jagged teeth, and it stinked to high heaven. Gramps acted, he leapt towards it and caught it's neck in a vice grip between his forearm and bicep, he squeezed the hold tighter, placing his wrist in the pit of his non-engaged elbow and squeezed tighter. This was the Guillotine the most basic and effective chokehold taught in the Army. The creature couldn't breath, it gagged and choked as it tried for air. Gramps pulled it away and Navarrone collapsed on the floor, himself gasping for oxygen. Gramps used his weight to bring it down to the floor, but it was ferocious, it was on its feet in seconds and threw the old man into a line of sinks and brought them crashing to the ground.
Navarrone, drunkenly obliging his combat instincts rose back to his feet and backed himself against a wall. The thing attacked him again and Sheikh let out a primal scream as he threw a kick to its sternum, it was stopped for a second but seemed unphased and lashed out for his throat. Navarrone blocked and caught hold of its left arm and as best he could in the confines of the stall, threw it to the ground...however, it wound up perched on the toilet...the pukey, disgusting, toilet. Navarrone struck out and punched the creature as many times as he could, often missing. His knuckles were bloodied as when he missed he struck other, less compromising objects...though, a fair amount of times he did make contact with the Alien's face. It stopped moving after a time.
The Bartender and a few waitresses busted into the washroom, the fight lasted less than a little over a minute, and pulled Navarrone away from the bleeding mess of the attacker. One of the girls let out a screem when she saw it, the others were helping Gramps up.
The Bartender, a non-Veteran asked 'What the fuck is it?
Gramps, still weary from the hit he'd taken took a closer look at the unconcious, battered, form in the stall.
'It's a Zandozan.'