Andrew Mackay - Pink Symphony

“Yes, I read you—”

“Charlie, man. Space Opera Charlie. I can see it with right now in the airfield,” Denny slammed on the breaks, forcing his rifle to fly off its housing and crash against the windshield. “They’re after me. They’re going to kill me.”

“Denny? Where are you?”

“The airfield, man. I had no choice, they were on to me the moment the bullet hit Vasilov’s left lung.”

The van screeched to a halt on the airstrip. Dozens of USARIC vehicles flew past, underestimating Denny’s brake application.

A score of handbrake turns sent the speeding SUVs around, kicking dust into the air from under the tires. Some of them tumbled around and upside down.

The remaining SUVs slammed on the brakes, releasing a SWAT-like team of USARIC officials from the back doors. They surrounded Denny’s vehicle with their automatic weapons drawn.

“Driver, exit the car,” came an furious voice from the megaphone atop the closest car. “We are not playing around. Exit the car now, or we will open fire—”

“—Okay, okay!” Denny screamed and kicked open the driver’s door.

“Stay where you are.”

Denny closed his eyes and placed his hands on top of his head. This was it . This was how it all ended for him, he thought. Mission accomplished and failed in one fell swoop.

A tear rolled down his cheek as he awaited instructions from the one-hundred-strong USARIC army threatening to blow him off the face of the planet.

“Driver, exit your vehicle with your hands behind your head. Once out, place your knees on the ground and hold your arms out. Failure to comply will result in execution.”

“Denny?” Handax’s voice indicated concern and haste. “What’s that noise?”

“I’m sorry, man,” Denny cried.

An armed USARIC mercenary pointed his machine gun at the driver’s door. “Out.”

Denny stepped out of the van with his hands above his head, blubbering like a little girl. “I’m sorry.”

“Shut up and get on your goddamn knees,” the mercenary kept his gun aimed at Denny as he fell to his knees on the tarmac. He looked at his colleagues and waved them to the van. “Check the vehicle.”

“Yes, sir.”

Three USARIC mercenaries ran over to the back of the van and tore off the doors.

“You got some balls doing what you did,” the mercenary said to Denny. “Why did you do it?”

“D-Do what?” Denny tried to act all innocent.

“Don’t act dumb with me, dickhead. You took out Vasilov and tried to escape. Did you really think you’d get away with that ?”

“I’m sorry.”

“And then you break into the airfield?” He chuckled with great enthusiasm and nodded up at Space Opera Charlie. “That takes guts. I’m looking forward to pulling them out of your stomach and strangling you with them.”

“I said I’m sorry. Please don’t kill me—”

“—Oh my God!” One of the USARIC trio at the van jumped onto the tarmac and stepped back. “Get back! Get back!”

Denny growled punched his left forearm, setting off a series of rapid beeps from the holes in his wrist. “Handax, I’m sorry. It’s game over.”

“Who are you talking to?” The mercenary grabbed the back of Denny’s shirt and hoisted him to his feet. “What’s going on—”

“—Get back,” screamed the USARIC van inspector, tumbling over his feet. “It’s gonna blow—”

KA-BLAAAAM !

The van exploded, vaporizing dozens of nearby USARIC mercenaries – and Denny himself. Several balls of human fire catapulted in all directions as the van crashed back to the tarmac-laden airstrip.

Those who didn’t get caught up in the explosion opened fire on Denny’s barbecuing body. Scores of stray bullets tore into the USARIC official by accident.

The latter’s murder was considered a necessary evil.

“Denny!” Handax screamed into his forearm, hearing the real-time death of his friend. A cacophony of fire and bullets rattled into Moses and Leif’s earpieces as they held their captives in the compound’s corridor.

“Sorry for your loss, man.” Moses kept his firearm at the first security guard’s head. He could see that murder was on Handax’s mind. Quite the irony, considering their mission.

Leif kept her ‘hot’ security guard at bay with her gun and tried to offer her leader some sympathy. “Handax, man—”

“—Listen to me very carefully,” Handax jammed the barrel of his gun into the first security guard’s temple. “Do you know who we are?”

“N-No, and we don’t need to know,” the guard knew his captor was incandescent with rage. The mist from his breathing plumed out through the fabric of his balaclava “Please, just let us go.”

“Take us to central control. Get up.”

Moses kept his gun held at the first guard. Leif did the same with the second.

“You’ll never get away with this,” the second guard said to Leif.

“That’s okay,’ she flirted back at him, “We don’t plan to.”

“You’re crazy.”

“That’s right. One of yours just executed one of ours,” Handax barked at the pair, “One false move and you get a bullet in the brain. Understood?”

The two guards nodded, convinced they were going to die.

Handax nodded at the end of the corridor, “Let’s go.”

“Let’s go,” Jaycee’s patience ran out. He planted his boot on Tor’s lower back and booted him along the corridor.

“Okay, stop hitting me,” Tor yelped like a pansy. “I’m going. ”

Tripp and Wool smirked to themselves as they followed behind the pair. The blatant mistreatment of their prisoner felt largely deserved.

Jelly snarled at Tor as he reached the communications panel. She hopped onto the swivel chair. The sudden application of her weight made it twirl around a few times.

“Hissss…” she dug her infinity claws into the fabric, enacting what she’d like to do with Tor if she ever laid paws on him.

He stared into her bright orange eyes and swallowed hard. Something was very definitely off between them.

“What are you looking at?” Jaycee thumped Tor on the shoulder a little harder than necessary. “Get working, you miserable bag of puke.”

“Oh,” Tor double-took and felt the metal Decapidisc around his neck. He cleared his throat and looked at the comms panel. “Yes. Manuel override set up—”

“ Manuel override?” Tripp asked in confusion.

“Sorry, I mean manual override,” Tor felt the rim of the Decapidisc around his neck. “Set up. A-W-A-K-E-4-5-7.”

A distinct air of unease fell around the team as the panel booted up. An array of lights sprang to life and flashed. Tor turned to Jaycee and tried for a smile. The comms deck had responded to the command and progress had been made.

“About damn time,” Jaycee said, refusing to share a congratulatory moment with the bad guy. Fighting off the desire to activate the man’s Decapidisc proved to be difficult as Tor stared back at him.

“Don’t look at me,” Jaycee spat. “Get Manuel working.”

“He’s booting up.”

Whump .

Manuel’s holographic book appeared few feet away from the deck. The image fizzled and acclimatized to the reboot. Manuel’s voice came out as garbled nonsense in an array of pitches and tones.

“G-Good… after-m-morrrr-ning…”

“He’s back on,” Tripp stepped forward and stared at the flipping pages finally shining to life. “At least he’s not completely destroyed.”

“Manuel?” Tor asked. “Do you read me?”

“Yes. I r-r-r-read y-you.”