Manganator paused to ponder what had happened. Had he misread the situation completely?
As he thought, he looked down at the girl he had killed. She too, was quite attractive.
“Bill... think about it. Do you really think a girl like that would want to sleep with a guy like you in her spare time... no offense.” As he said this, he took a glance at Bill’s uncovered chest, hairy and bursting with rolls of fat.
“Of course not, George! I paid her fifty-thousand credits!” he shouted back.
“Oh... well that makes sense...” Manganator said solemnly, watching the pool of blood grow at his feet, encompassing his boots. Boots.
“Well... we could always run away, sir,” Bill said, but Manganator wasn’t paying attention.
He stared at them, thinking what it was that was odd about them, besides a woman prancing around in her underwear and boots. “Why did she keep her boots on, Bill?” he asked quietly.
Taken aback, Bill took a while to respond.
“Uh... well she said that she didn’t like the cold steel plating. Wait... no wait... she said that she looked sexier with them on.”
“She said both of those things?” Manganator questioned, now getting a little more curious. And then Manganator remembered something.
The red-haired woman in his room. When he had bound her legs... they were the same kind of boots, or at least very similar.
“Well ya....”
“Did she leave them on when you...” he didn’t finish the sentence, an image of the now-dead booted female and Bill making love seemed like too horrible of a prospect.
“I don’t see how this is important!” Bill exclaimed.
“It is!” Manganator said, the volume of his voice raised so it overpowered Bill’s.
“Yeah, she did,” he said reluctantly.
Hearing this, Manganator’s suspicion became a theory. He reached down, stepping through the puddle of blood to get closer to her feet. Squish Squish. The bottom of his soles began to soak in the thick liquid. Grabbing a hold of her boots, he unbuckled one of them deliberately. The texture of the boot was smooth and crisp under his finger, like they were brand new.
Removing it from her foot, he examined the sole, and then rose, walking with the boot over to the kitchen. He checked it for a steel toe and sole, and satisfied that there was no metal on the shoe, he opened the door of the microwave.
“What are you doing, Brian?” Major Hammel asked in confusion.
“I’m making boot stew, Bill,” Manganator replied, placing the boot into the microwave. Setting the timer for a minute, he waited as the boot turned around on the little circular platform.
Suddenly, there was a popping noise, and a wisp of smoke rose from the base of the boot.
Manganator quickly removed the boot from the microwave, examined the source of the black smoke, and took out his knife from his jacket pocket. He began to carve into the book, and it wasn’t long before he found it.
“A tracking device and audio visual transmitter,” he said respectfully, holding it up for Bill to sea.
“Holy BBQ... that’s U.N. tech!” Bill said, taking it from Manganator’s hand. “What are we going to do?”
“Follow me, I got a live one,” Manganator instructed, getting up. He left bloody boot-prints in his trail as he headed back to his apartment.
But in his haste, he had left the door open, and the red-haired girl was gone.
“She couldn’t have gone far!” Manganator shouted.
“Marine squads one through five, please suite up with all haste and report to the port’s common area. Marine squads six through ten, secure the port, and ground all ships,” Bill ordered over his radio.
All over the port, Marines rolled out of bed. They had some of the most rigorous training the U.N. would offer, but it would still be at least 10 minutes before they were ready.
Manganator ran down the dark, steel, box-like passageway towards the lone window that overlooked the common area, one of the few sources of light that the cheap apartment hallway offered.
The apartment hallway was on the second floor, which made it a decent vantage point, so he used it to observe the scene below him.
Nothing below seemed out of the ordinary, but before he was about to turn around and head down the narrow staircase, he caught a reflective glint from the corner of his eye from one of the dark alleys.
He threw himself to the ground just as the air above him simmered from a heat-based energy projectile, burning the top of his head. The bulkhead it struck had a two inch hole bored into it, and was leaking liquid metal.
“hug...” Manganator gasped, scrambling backwards. More shots rang out as the sniper wildly tried to strike his target. The wall below the window was punched in from shot after shoot, and soon the fire was piercing through into the hallway.
Manganator threw himself from one side of the hallway to the other. One shot soared right through where Manganator had been just a moment before. “Damned 3d thermal!” Manganator exclaimed.
The square below the near-abandoned apartments, hearing the laser discharges was thrown into a panic as civilians rushed to escape the port.
More New chapters Posted! Manganator's Story
Moderators: Moleman, Kwijibo, Luna
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Manganator
- Posts: 1329
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I dunno Luna, Commander Manganator certainly thinks he knows...
But then if the girls are just girls, why is the sniper trying to kill him? Mabye the hooker has an angry pimp? Awesome reaction the the glint from the rifle scope btw, you'd need to be pretty paranoid to duck at that. Good thing he is, else he'd be dead.
Maybe the chip in the boots are standard issue for footwear? A tracking device doesn't seem the best weapon for a protitute-assasin to use.
I like the profanities too. Red Dwarf had "Smeg" and Battlestar Galactica had "Frack", so why not!
But then if the girls are just girls, why is the sniper trying to kill him? Mabye the hooker has an angry pimp? Awesome reaction the the glint from the rifle scope btw, you'd need to be pretty paranoid to duck at that. Good thing he is, else he'd be dead.
Maybe the chip in the boots are standard issue for footwear? A tracking device doesn't seem the best weapon for a protitute-assasin to use.
I like the profanities too. Red Dwarf had "Smeg" and Battlestar Galactica had "Frack", so why not!
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Manganator
- Posts: 1329
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 11:52 pm
- Location: Massachusettes
- Contact:
As Manganator scrambled back, he threw a door open, hoping to somewhat delay the deadly heat-based sniper rounds shooting through the hallway, but it proved little respite, shattering off of the wall with one blow to the hinges. The hallway was showered with burning chunks of frame and jagged shrapnel.
The thermal sniper was the perfect assassin’s weapon, it could be plugged into any electrical source to generate it’s heat rounds, and without need of rounds, it was very lightweight. Not to mention, it’s shots were very quiet. To the outside civilians, it would almost seem like the apartments were exploding spontaneously, not as a result of any sniper.
“Sir!” Bill shouted urgently, ushering him inside one of the apartments with his free hand, his other holding a heavy officer’s pistol.
But holing up inside one of the rooms would not buy them much time, rather it would leave them cornered even more than they were already..
And so, after frantically looking from side to side, Manganator leveled his pistol and discharged a round into the heating system. Steam poured from the water based heating mechanism, clouding the hallway with hot air which made thermal targeting impossible. Manganator stumbled, not able to see his own legs.
“Bill! Call us some support!” Manganator shouted over the whine of the escaping air.
But already, they had company. Manganator heard booted footsteps heading up the stairs. Blinded by the steam, he tried to visualize the hallway in his mind, and shakily pointed his pistol towards the corner that led to the left-heading descending stairwell (the only entrance), and waited in silence.
As soon as he heard the footsteps stop, he discharged five rounds, starting low and well into the wall, and moving up and to the right until he had cut a swath right through the top of the stairwell.
His pistol easily cut through the thin bulkhead which had provided the corner behind which his assailants hesitated, and he heard dull thumps as their bodies fell down the stairs.
“Hold it right there!” one distressed voice called out from the end of the hallway. “This is the UN police! Drop your weapons!”
Oh BBQ, those were police?
“This is commander Manganator of the third fleet!”
“We cannot confirm that you are a commander until you drop your weapon and come out of there!” the voice pressed.
“I cannot confirm that you’re a police division!” Manganator shot back.
“Look here! Drop your pistol or we’ll just shred you apart, got that?” the man shouted.
Manganator scooted further into the hallway, crawling into the adjacent room. Bill was huddled there, still holding his pistol, shielding himself from the white vapor that nearly left him sightless. “What’s going on?” he asked frantically.
“Not sure, get marines here ASAP,” Manganator whispered back.
“THAT MEANS NOW!” the man shouted from the hallway again.
“Got to go,” Manganator said, giving his CO a pat on the shoulder. Feeling a sticky sensation, he knew the body was close, and crawled forward grabbing the steel tray with the waffles still on it.
“Coming!” Manganator shouted over his shoulder.
“Drop your damn weapon first!” the voice called out.
“Ok!” Manganator answered, throwing the platter into the mist. He then moved forward slowly, quiet enough not to be heard above the hissing escape of the steam which still poured forth and draped the hallway in a blinding veil.
He moved forward until he could just see the platter in his view, as a box-like shape just barely apparent in the smoke.
And then he saw the bare outline of an arm reaching down to pick it up. The hand made contact with the tray, and the policeman’s fingers felt the sticky syrup under his fingers.
“What the...” he began to say, when Manganator leapt forward. The policeman’s other hand, holding a pistol, reached forward to aim at him, but Manganator had already closed the distance, and grabbed the man’s hand, guiding the shot far wide, ricocheting harmlessly into the smoke.
The man tried to pull his arm back, but Manganator held it firm, stepped in, couched the man’s wrist against his body with one hand, and drove down with his elbow into the man’s outreached elbow. While he did this, Manganator kicked the man’s leg out from underneath him. Crying out in pain, the pistol fell from his hands.
The man was in pain, breathing sharply from the attack. His other hand, free from the arm-bar, groped at his side, and Manganator heard the hum of electricity and the faint blue aura as a stun-stick was activated.
Just as he felt the attacker throw his weight behind a strike with the stun-stick, Manganator stepped behind him, releasing his hand, and sweeping out his last foot with a kick to the ankle, Manganator grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the bulkhead. The man fell immediately went limp and slumped to the ground.
Manganator knelt down, and felt the metallic UN policeman badge. Cursing softly, he confirmed it by finding the mandatory authentic police identification in his right pocket.
Manganator stopped, hearing something at the base of the stairwell. “I’m sorry, but you men are not authorized to go up there!” he heard one light voice insist.
“Wait, let me get my papers,” Manganator heard another man growl. About two seconds later, two energy shots sounded out and two bodies hit the ground. Oh BBQ... I just cant catch a break...
Manganator’s heart began to race. Whoever this was had the balls to take out the police. What had he done to inspire such a desperate attempt on his life?
The assassin, or assassins ascended the stairway. Manganator could almost feel them getting closer, even though he couldn’t hear them. He felt a single bead of sweat drip down his nose. He was disoriented by the steam, and let himself lie on the deck.
He grabbed stun-stick from the limp Policeman's' hands, and edged to the corner of the stairway. He could feel the electricity dispersing in the misty air around him, giving him little shocks.
His heart pounded. He couldn’t tell where they were on the staircase. His pistol had begun to feel slippery in his hand.
The thermal sniper was the perfect assassin’s weapon, it could be plugged into any electrical source to generate it’s heat rounds, and without need of rounds, it was very lightweight. Not to mention, it’s shots were very quiet. To the outside civilians, it would almost seem like the apartments were exploding spontaneously, not as a result of any sniper.
“Sir!” Bill shouted urgently, ushering him inside one of the apartments with his free hand, his other holding a heavy officer’s pistol.
But holing up inside one of the rooms would not buy them much time, rather it would leave them cornered even more than they were already..
And so, after frantically looking from side to side, Manganator leveled his pistol and discharged a round into the heating system. Steam poured from the water based heating mechanism, clouding the hallway with hot air which made thermal targeting impossible. Manganator stumbled, not able to see his own legs.
“Bill! Call us some support!” Manganator shouted over the whine of the escaping air.
But already, they had company. Manganator heard booted footsteps heading up the stairs. Blinded by the steam, he tried to visualize the hallway in his mind, and shakily pointed his pistol towards the corner that led to the left-heading descending stairwell (the only entrance), and waited in silence.
As soon as he heard the footsteps stop, he discharged five rounds, starting low and well into the wall, and moving up and to the right until he had cut a swath right through the top of the stairwell.
His pistol easily cut through the thin bulkhead which had provided the corner behind which his assailants hesitated, and he heard dull thumps as their bodies fell down the stairs.
“Hold it right there!” one distressed voice called out from the end of the hallway. “This is the UN police! Drop your weapons!”
Oh BBQ, those were police?
“This is commander Manganator of the third fleet!”
“We cannot confirm that you are a commander until you drop your weapon and come out of there!” the voice pressed.
“I cannot confirm that you’re a police division!” Manganator shot back.
“Look here! Drop your pistol or we’ll just shred you apart, got that?” the man shouted.
Manganator scooted further into the hallway, crawling into the adjacent room. Bill was huddled there, still holding his pistol, shielding himself from the white vapor that nearly left him sightless. “What’s going on?” he asked frantically.
“Not sure, get marines here ASAP,” Manganator whispered back.
“THAT MEANS NOW!” the man shouted from the hallway again.
“Got to go,” Manganator said, giving his CO a pat on the shoulder. Feeling a sticky sensation, he knew the body was close, and crawled forward grabbing the steel tray with the waffles still on it.
“Coming!” Manganator shouted over his shoulder.
“Drop your damn weapon first!” the voice called out.
“Ok!” Manganator answered, throwing the platter into the mist. He then moved forward slowly, quiet enough not to be heard above the hissing escape of the steam which still poured forth and draped the hallway in a blinding veil.
He moved forward until he could just see the platter in his view, as a box-like shape just barely apparent in the smoke.
And then he saw the bare outline of an arm reaching down to pick it up. The hand made contact with the tray, and the policeman’s fingers felt the sticky syrup under his fingers.
“What the...” he began to say, when Manganator leapt forward. The policeman’s other hand, holding a pistol, reached forward to aim at him, but Manganator had already closed the distance, and grabbed the man’s hand, guiding the shot far wide, ricocheting harmlessly into the smoke.
The man tried to pull his arm back, but Manganator held it firm, stepped in, couched the man’s wrist against his body with one hand, and drove down with his elbow into the man’s outreached elbow. While he did this, Manganator kicked the man’s leg out from underneath him. Crying out in pain, the pistol fell from his hands.
The man was in pain, breathing sharply from the attack. His other hand, free from the arm-bar, groped at his side, and Manganator heard the hum of electricity and the faint blue aura as a stun-stick was activated.
Just as he felt the attacker throw his weight behind a strike with the stun-stick, Manganator stepped behind him, releasing his hand, and sweeping out his last foot with a kick to the ankle, Manganator grabbed the back of his head and slammed it into the bulkhead. The man fell immediately went limp and slumped to the ground.
Manganator knelt down, and felt the metallic UN policeman badge. Cursing softly, he confirmed it by finding the mandatory authentic police identification in his right pocket.
Manganator stopped, hearing something at the base of the stairwell. “I’m sorry, but you men are not authorized to go up there!” he heard one light voice insist.
“Wait, let me get my papers,” Manganator heard another man growl. About two seconds later, two energy shots sounded out and two bodies hit the ground. Oh BBQ... I just cant catch a break...
Manganator’s heart began to race. Whoever this was had the balls to take out the police. What had he done to inspire such a desperate attempt on his life?
The assassin, or assassins ascended the stairway. Manganator could almost feel them getting closer, even though he couldn’t hear them. He felt a single bead of sweat drip down his nose. He was disoriented by the steam, and let himself lie on the deck.
He grabbed stun-stick from the limp Policeman's' hands, and edged to the corner of the stairway. He could feel the electricity dispersing in the misty air around him, giving him little shocks.
His heart pounded. He couldn’t tell where they were on the staircase. His pistol had begun to feel slippery in his hand.
He's in big trouble now. He shot someone from the UN police. Who is in on the conspiracy? Who is stalking him? Who can he trust? Looks like he's got himself in a sticky mess. Will he figure out a means of escape before they make it up the stairs?
Nice flow to the story, plenty of action and suspense. Now all you need to do is keep the story moving along toward a conclusion. I wonder if it will be predictable at all, or will it completely take turns that we don't expect? Keep up the good work Manganator.
If your reading the story take the time to tell him what you think of it. A writer needs inspiration and needs to know if he/she is keeping your interest.
Nice flow to the story, plenty of action and suspense. Now all you need to do is keep the story moving along toward a conclusion. I wonder if it will be predictable at all, or will it completely take turns that we don't expect? Keep up the good work Manganator.
If your reading the story take the time to tell him what you think of it. A writer needs inspiration and needs to know if he/she is keeping your interest.
Sticky like waffles!Luna wrote: Looks like he's got himself in a sticky mess.
I wouldn't be too worried about the assassins, Manganator took out the cops easily enough
Makes you wonder how he's going to explain it to the press though, after walking out of a bloodbath (assuming he survives, of course).
Story is awsome dude, but if your gonna use me in the story, i'd rather be a spy or comic relief than a hallway.Manganator wrote: Knowing the siren would alarm the assassin, he wasted no time, and ran through the dirty metal hallway to the next room.
But fo real, its not often you find a random writer who has story's of this caliber. You got somthing going on here, and i quite enjoy it.
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Manganator
- Posts: 1329
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 11:52 pm
- Location: Massachusettes
- Contact:
-
Manganator
- Posts: 1329
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 11:52 pm
- Location: Massachusettes
- Contact:
Manganator was beginning to feel light-headed, the rush of the fight pumping through his veins in overdrive. The deprivation of his senses was a great ally in this fight… where he only had to buy enough time for his men to arrive.
But he felt a fear seize him, first a whisper, get louder and louder.
He closed his eyes, and clenched his hands around his two weapons. I’m going to survive! He told himself, his clothes now soaked with vapor. I’m going to live through this!
First, he needed to know what he was facing. Gingerly, he took his stunstick, which emitted a strong blue aura, and slowly edged it from behind the corner, so whoever was approaching could see its light through the heavy fog.
There was just a moment’s pause before a torrent of laser fire erupted from the base of the stairs. The hot beams singed the air as they flew, and flew close enough to his arm for it to feel the heat. One shot hit well into the wall with the intention of shooting him through it, but the angle was too sharp, and it ricocheted.
He crawled backwards urgently, feeling the moister begin to soak his pants. At first he wondered if he had pissed himself, but dismissed that as he felt with his hands the puddles beneath him. Puddles.
He turned his head to his electrical stun stick, and figured a plan that anyone outside of his distressed state of mine would have thought of a while back.
He shook his head calmly, concentrating his scattered thoughts, and got onto his feet, slowly progressing down the hallway, past the punctured heater, and using his memory, made his way back to Bill’s apartment, feeling the walls.
His stunstick sparked dangerously with all of the free-floating vapor, but Manganator paid it no mind. All he concentrated on was the steady progression of footsteps up the stairs. Seeing the bodies, they were moving slowly. It should be enough time.
Bill was no longer in the doorway as he felt his way inside, but his radio was still there. Strange.
Manganator picked it up, taking note of the progress of the attacker's boots on the stairwell. They reached the top of the stairwell.
As he picked up his radio, he blind-fired absent mindedly, pausing only long enough to hear a muffled curse. “This is commander Manganator requesting a status on the marine response team sent to my location, over.”
Someone turned the corner and began to fire back, one shot streaked by the doorway, warming the air by Manganator’s face.
“Marine captain Anderson here sir, ETA is just under a minute, over.” Confident that the real danger had passed, Manganator smiled, and blind fired some more.
Soon, he would find out the real identity of his attackers, and he couldn’t wait.
Then, he heard numerous heavy footsteps. The attackers were charging him!
Blind firing some more, he heard a thump as one hit the ground, and then ignoring the inaccurate shots that whizzed by the door frame, he lobbed the stunstick into the puddle below the broken heater.
He heard someone let out a throaty, pained yell. The voltage running through the water was enough to make most people’s muscles unresponsive, which means they would collapse into the puddle like an unsupported sack, unable to move, forced to endure the torturous volts running through their bodies.
But strangely enough, he heard more laser discharges, and the marines still hadn’t arrived, but they were close, he could hear them ascending the stairway.
He crawled deeper into the apartment. “Bill!” Manganator shouted, looking from side to side. “BILL!”
He couldn’t see much as he moved forward, laser blasts still echoing behind him, sending strobes of red light through the room.
At the last of these discharges, he caught the faint outline of his CO crumpled down in the corner.
Concerned that perhaps he Major had been struck by a glancing laser, he rushed to his side, and checked his pulse, but it was normal. Hammel’s eyes flickered open.
“Did you have a panic attack, Bill?” Manganator asked the older man.
His unfocused eyes twirled in their sockets, looking in all directions. “Wasn’t I just… sitting over… doorway.”
“Comon buddy, let’s go,” Manganator said comfortingly, grabbing his arm and helping him to his feet. Bill was dizzy, so he needed to walk him to the doorway. The heavy man weighed on him.
When he entered the hallway the stunstick was deactivated, and the marines had occupied the hallway. The U.N. Marine was one of the best armored and trained people in the armed forces. They carried light, automatic projectile weapons, as well as high-powered energy pistols, also along with combat knives, particle vision, night vision, and thermal vision viewers.
“Report,” Manganator ordered.
Anderson, the marine captain spun around, hearing Manganator’s voice. He could tell it was him simply by how he reacted, since the marine headset he was wearing made it impossible to see his face.
“Sir, This is Captain Anderson; we’ve secured the premise as ordered. All enemy are dead, and we have one wounded, sir.”
“They’re all dead?” Manganator asked. “Didn’t you at least try to get one alive?” Surely, the Marines knew to capture one for interrogation!
“Sir! It’s even worse than that. There is not one assailant with his head still intact, sir!”
“You shot them in the head?” Manganator questioned sharply.
“Sir, the one that was still alive did it himself, and then shot himself in the head, sir!” Anderson answered.
“Captain Anderson, sir, I’ve found a policeman’s badge up here!” one marine called out.
As Anderson went to check it out, Manganator grabbed him on the shoulder firmly. “The attackers shot up a police squad while we waited in the apartment,” he told the captain slowly.
Anderson looked him in the eyes, and then assumed a tone soft enough so that the others would not hear. “And the bodies at the top of the stairwell?” he asked.
Manganator looked at him seriously, straight in the eyes. “In the fog of war, there are a lot of shots fired into the dark.”
Anderson nodded. “I’ll make sure to collaborate the fact that the assailants were the ones to strike the policemen in my report, sir.”
At the Captain’s words, Manganator felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “Ok then, let’s retrieve the dead…”
But he felt a fear seize him, first a whisper, get louder and louder.
He closed his eyes, and clenched his hands around his two weapons. I’m going to survive! He told himself, his clothes now soaked with vapor. I’m going to live through this!
First, he needed to know what he was facing. Gingerly, he took his stunstick, which emitted a strong blue aura, and slowly edged it from behind the corner, so whoever was approaching could see its light through the heavy fog.
There was just a moment’s pause before a torrent of laser fire erupted from the base of the stairs. The hot beams singed the air as they flew, and flew close enough to his arm for it to feel the heat. One shot hit well into the wall with the intention of shooting him through it, but the angle was too sharp, and it ricocheted.
He crawled backwards urgently, feeling the moister begin to soak his pants. At first he wondered if he had pissed himself, but dismissed that as he felt with his hands the puddles beneath him. Puddles.
He turned his head to his electrical stun stick, and figured a plan that anyone outside of his distressed state of mine would have thought of a while back.
He shook his head calmly, concentrating his scattered thoughts, and got onto his feet, slowly progressing down the hallway, past the punctured heater, and using his memory, made his way back to Bill’s apartment, feeling the walls.
His stunstick sparked dangerously with all of the free-floating vapor, but Manganator paid it no mind. All he concentrated on was the steady progression of footsteps up the stairs. Seeing the bodies, they were moving slowly. It should be enough time.
Bill was no longer in the doorway as he felt his way inside, but his radio was still there. Strange.
Manganator picked it up, taking note of the progress of the attacker's boots on the stairwell. They reached the top of the stairwell.
As he picked up his radio, he blind-fired absent mindedly, pausing only long enough to hear a muffled curse. “This is commander Manganator requesting a status on the marine response team sent to my location, over.”
Someone turned the corner and began to fire back, one shot streaked by the doorway, warming the air by Manganator’s face.
“Marine captain Anderson here sir, ETA is just under a minute, over.” Confident that the real danger had passed, Manganator smiled, and blind fired some more.
Soon, he would find out the real identity of his attackers, and he couldn’t wait.
Then, he heard numerous heavy footsteps. The attackers were charging him!
Blind firing some more, he heard a thump as one hit the ground, and then ignoring the inaccurate shots that whizzed by the door frame, he lobbed the stunstick into the puddle below the broken heater.
He heard someone let out a throaty, pained yell. The voltage running through the water was enough to make most people’s muscles unresponsive, which means they would collapse into the puddle like an unsupported sack, unable to move, forced to endure the torturous volts running through their bodies.
But strangely enough, he heard more laser discharges, and the marines still hadn’t arrived, but they were close, he could hear them ascending the stairway.
He crawled deeper into the apartment. “Bill!” Manganator shouted, looking from side to side. “BILL!”
He couldn’t see much as he moved forward, laser blasts still echoing behind him, sending strobes of red light through the room.
At the last of these discharges, he caught the faint outline of his CO crumpled down in the corner.
Concerned that perhaps he Major had been struck by a glancing laser, he rushed to his side, and checked his pulse, but it was normal. Hammel’s eyes flickered open.
“Did you have a panic attack, Bill?” Manganator asked the older man.
His unfocused eyes twirled in their sockets, looking in all directions. “Wasn’t I just… sitting over… doorway.”
“Comon buddy, let’s go,” Manganator said comfortingly, grabbing his arm and helping him to his feet. Bill was dizzy, so he needed to walk him to the doorway. The heavy man weighed on him.
When he entered the hallway the stunstick was deactivated, and the marines had occupied the hallway. The U.N. Marine was one of the best armored and trained people in the armed forces. They carried light, automatic projectile weapons, as well as high-powered energy pistols, also along with combat knives, particle vision, night vision, and thermal vision viewers.
“Report,” Manganator ordered.
Anderson, the marine captain spun around, hearing Manganator’s voice. He could tell it was him simply by how he reacted, since the marine headset he was wearing made it impossible to see his face.
“Sir, This is Captain Anderson; we’ve secured the premise as ordered. All enemy are dead, and we have one wounded, sir.”
“They’re all dead?” Manganator asked. “Didn’t you at least try to get one alive?” Surely, the Marines knew to capture one for interrogation!
“Sir! It’s even worse than that. There is not one assailant with his head still intact, sir!”
“You shot them in the head?” Manganator questioned sharply.
“Sir, the one that was still alive did it himself, and then shot himself in the head, sir!” Anderson answered.
“Captain Anderson, sir, I’ve found a policeman’s badge up here!” one marine called out.
As Anderson went to check it out, Manganator grabbed him on the shoulder firmly. “The attackers shot up a police squad while we waited in the apartment,” he told the captain slowly.
Anderson looked him in the eyes, and then assumed a tone soft enough so that the others would not hear. “And the bodies at the top of the stairwell?” he asked.
Manganator looked at him seriously, straight in the eyes. “In the fog of war, there are a lot of shots fired into the dark.”
Anderson nodded. “I’ll make sure to collaborate the fact that the assailants were the ones to strike the policemen in my report, sir.”
At the Captain’s words, Manganator felt a weight lift from his shoulders. “Ok then, let’s retrieve the dead…”
Manganator dodged a bullet in more ways than one.
His CO isn't much help in a fire fight. Lucky the Marines saved the day. This just buys him more time to figure out the puzzle. Bodies are piling up faster than the paperwork required to explain it. Sooner or later he's not going to be able to single handedly fight them off. He has to find out who his allies and enemies are if he's going to stand a chance to survive much longer.
*Very well played out. Plenty of details to wrap my mind around. Good use of military ordinance to keep the action and drama at a peek. Nothing like thermal vision and lasers to stir things up. Got to love weapons in this story. Plenty of them to go around. Keep up the good work. I'm looking forward to the next installment.
**Please read and review the story if you're following the story line.**
His CO isn't much help in a fire fight. Lucky the Marines saved the day. This just buys him more time to figure out the puzzle. Bodies are piling up faster than the paperwork required to explain it. Sooner or later he's not going to be able to single handedly fight them off. He has to find out who his allies and enemies are if he's going to stand a chance to survive much longer.
*Very well played out. Plenty of details to wrap my mind around. Good use of military ordinance to keep the action and drama at a peek. Nothing like thermal vision and lasers to stir things up. Got to love weapons in this story. Plenty of them to go around. Keep up the good work. I'm looking forward to the next installment.
**Please read and review the story if you're following the story line.**
-
Manganator
- Posts: 1329
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 11:52 pm
- Location: Massachusettes
- Contact:
(Hey dirt! You're in kittens war! Do I get any diplomatic kudos for writing this? 
I'm Zacko there... don't hurt me ;D )
The Marines wasted no time in taking a few pictures of the area for documentation, from which they would eventually be able to create a 3-d recreation, and began removing the bodies.
The dead policemen would be carried to the Starbase’s now quite-empty police station, and the bodies of the attackers would be taken onto the Starcruiser for further investigation.
In absence of the Police force, it was now the duty of Manganator’s marines to file the report to the U.N., which was a very fortunate thing for Commander Manganator. The death-toll among innocents in the last few days had been very heavy.
The sight of fully armed Marines carrying dead bodies was an unusual one, even for a Starbase so close to the uncharted wings. And so, The hallways on either side were lined with spectators, any of whom could be another assailant.
Manganator and the Marines scanned the crowd urgently for any sign of a firearm.
It would be impossible to look through all of them, so Manganator watched their eyes, looking for any signs of malevolence.
In front of them was a busy intersection, acting as the main channel from the markets, and the port. Manganator could already see his crewmembers rushing from the Market district, making their way to the ship, urgently dressing or eating on the way.
And across the intersection was the line of Marines that were holding the port.
All he had to do was make it another twenty yards, and he’d be out of danger. He gave Bill, still at his side, an affirming nod, and set off through the mass of bodies. He thought that the eye contact was for his CO, who was still pale and breathing sharply, but in a way it was for himself as well. The last hours had been trying. The entire time he had been fighting, his body had been trembling. Just one mis-step could have led to his death.
But it was over now.
“Someone’s been stabbed!” The shout jerked Manganator back to the true reality. He and his men were being assaulted by an unknown organization.
“Bill, head back to the ship,” Manganator muttered. He turned back towards the yell, parting bodies as he walked against the tide. Manganator was scared, but he’d had enough.
There was only so much frustration he could take before throwing away his fear of death. And he was pissed.
“All personnel other than Marines onto the ship!” he bellowed. Seeing that the civilians that obliviously walked among them did not heed his order, he grabbed his pistol and fired a loud piercing shot into the air.
“Civilians clear the area!”
The square was thrown into even more of a panic as scores of civilians finally decided to heed his order. They were fools not to already be inside, Manganator thought. But, of course, they were civilians.
From the corner of his eye he saw a glint of steel, and then a hooded civilian bump into Communication’s officer Benson, who was still half-dressed. Benson took a few more steps, and then collapsed onto the deck, a puddle of blood pooling at his lower-stomach.
“Everyone down!” Manganator shouted, but it was too hectic, only a few people closest to him actually ducked, and the square was still too crowded and confused for Manganator to see the attacker, so he rushed forward, pulling out his radio.
“Marine squads, be on the look for a civilian with a knife and a dark-brown hood!” he shouted into the mic, as he urgently parted bodies.
Moving quickly to where he had seen the civilian disappear, his eyes looked down to see the same dark-brown hood, worn and stained with a few drops of blood, was laying, discarded, on the floor.
He moved to it, and began looking in all directions around him, seeing only a mass of bodies. He felt a fear suddenly grip him. He was exposed. His attacker was somewhere... Somewhere...
“I’ve already hacked your radio’s channel logarithm,” he heard a voice say. Then the slightest tickle on his lower back.
It was a girl’s voice. But it was the cold killer’s intent in her voice that worried him.
He spun around, pistol in hand, but could not tell any civilian in the crowd apart from the others. All rushing in different directions... their heads turned towards the floor. He tried to see which ones were female, but by the time he began checking faces, he knew she was gone.
In the distance, there were a few marines here and there, but they could not help him, there wasn’t enough time. There wasn’t enough...
As he turned, he caught someone’s eye. It was closer than he’d thought, and with a few brisk steps she was right next to him. He had begun aiming his gun when she ducked. He momentarily lost her as another panicked civilian bumped his way by. The moment he caught site of her again, she was closer.
There was a indiscernible motion and then a dull pain in his hand that held the pistol. He heard it clatter to the deck, but didn’t feel it drop. And then a sudden flash of steel as the long, slightly curved knife lunged out at him from between folds of cloth.
Everything was in a blur, but for some reason it all seemed very slow. He threw his weight, dodging to the side.
As he moved, he bumped into another Marine, knocking him to the ground. Somehow, before the hand swiped horizontally at his leg, he grabbed it. The female assassin let out a surprised gasp. His eyes connected with her catlike blue eyes for just a moment, and caught a flash of long brown hair.
But then other matters made him avert his gaze. She pushed. He lost another inch.
The blade was wobbling, getting closer and closer, blade pointed towards his gut. She had two hands pushing. One holding the knife like an untrained child holding a fork, and the other pushing the butt of the dagger.
Manganator’s one hand grasping her wrist was losing ground. He could no longer feel his other hand, except to feel the warm blood drip onto his pants.
Clueless, marines walked around him, looking in all the wrong directions. The one he'd knocked off his feet was just re-orienting himself. The blade was too low, too close to both of their bodies for anyone else to see.
He wanted to cry out, but felt if he let the air exit his tensed lungs, he’d lose that little bit of strength which kept the dagger two inches, one inch away.
As he struggled, his foot repositioned itself for more support, and he felt the pistol underfoot. With a good deal of weight on the foot, he slipped on the pistol and dropped to the ground. The stab wildly shot out, and he felt a sharp pain on his stomach.
He fell to the bulkhead, the pistol uncomfortable on his backbone.
She fell with him, knife held high.
She tried to stab him in the neck, he moved his crippled hand in the way. The blade pushed right through, although he couldn’t feel it. The blade pushed through his palm, and he could see it’s tip exit the back of his hand. He gave a little ground, letting her try to force the knife to his neck.
He met her eyes, and she met his. She gave a cocky smile. The blade was just millimeters away, his neck tingled where he felt the warm drips of blood from his useless hand.
The marine had recovered, and leveled his gun to take the shot. By the time he would fire, it would be too late. Manganator pulled his good hand from under his back, pistol in hand. The blade gave one last lunge, Manganator brought the pistol up, firing repeatedly as he did so.
First into her leg which was locked solidly on his waist, again into her pelvis, into her lower stomach, into her chest, into her neck. From behind him, he heard the marine fire shots off as well, and Manganator was splattered with the woman's blood.
Her body fell forward, and Manganator gave his last ounce of strength to avert it from his neck, stapling the uncharacteristically sharp knife to the deck. He breathed heavily.
He had stared down death through the glint of a blade. It had been close, but how long would he stay this lucky?
I'm Zacko there... don't hurt me ;D ) The Marines wasted no time in taking a few pictures of the area for documentation, from which they would eventually be able to create a 3-d recreation, and began removing the bodies.
The dead policemen would be carried to the Starbase’s now quite-empty police station, and the bodies of the attackers would be taken onto the Starcruiser for further investigation.
In absence of the Police force, it was now the duty of Manganator’s marines to file the report to the U.N., which was a very fortunate thing for Commander Manganator. The death-toll among innocents in the last few days had been very heavy.
The sight of fully armed Marines carrying dead bodies was an unusual one, even for a Starbase so close to the uncharted wings. And so, The hallways on either side were lined with spectators, any of whom could be another assailant.
Manganator and the Marines scanned the crowd urgently for any sign of a firearm.
It would be impossible to look through all of them, so Manganator watched their eyes, looking for any signs of malevolence.
In front of them was a busy intersection, acting as the main channel from the markets, and the port. Manganator could already see his crewmembers rushing from the Market district, making their way to the ship, urgently dressing or eating on the way.
And across the intersection was the line of Marines that were holding the port.
All he had to do was make it another twenty yards, and he’d be out of danger. He gave Bill, still at his side, an affirming nod, and set off through the mass of bodies. He thought that the eye contact was for his CO, who was still pale and breathing sharply, but in a way it was for himself as well. The last hours had been trying. The entire time he had been fighting, his body had been trembling. Just one mis-step could have led to his death.
But it was over now.
“Someone’s been stabbed!” The shout jerked Manganator back to the true reality. He and his men were being assaulted by an unknown organization.
“Bill, head back to the ship,” Manganator muttered. He turned back towards the yell, parting bodies as he walked against the tide. Manganator was scared, but he’d had enough.
There was only so much frustration he could take before throwing away his fear of death. And he was pissed.
“All personnel other than Marines onto the ship!” he bellowed. Seeing that the civilians that obliviously walked among them did not heed his order, he grabbed his pistol and fired a loud piercing shot into the air.
“Civilians clear the area!”
The square was thrown into even more of a panic as scores of civilians finally decided to heed his order. They were fools not to already be inside, Manganator thought. But, of course, they were civilians.
From the corner of his eye he saw a glint of steel, and then a hooded civilian bump into Communication’s officer Benson, who was still half-dressed. Benson took a few more steps, and then collapsed onto the deck, a puddle of blood pooling at his lower-stomach.
“Everyone down!” Manganator shouted, but it was too hectic, only a few people closest to him actually ducked, and the square was still too crowded and confused for Manganator to see the attacker, so he rushed forward, pulling out his radio.
“Marine squads, be on the look for a civilian with a knife and a dark-brown hood!” he shouted into the mic, as he urgently parted bodies.
Moving quickly to where he had seen the civilian disappear, his eyes looked down to see the same dark-brown hood, worn and stained with a few drops of blood, was laying, discarded, on the floor.
He moved to it, and began looking in all directions around him, seeing only a mass of bodies. He felt a fear suddenly grip him. He was exposed. His attacker was somewhere... Somewhere...
“I’ve already hacked your radio’s channel logarithm,” he heard a voice say. Then the slightest tickle on his lower back.
It was a girl’s voice. But it was the cold killer’s intent in her voice that worried him.
He spun around, pistol in hand, but could not tell any civilian in the crowd apart from the others. All rushing in different directions... their heads turned towards the floor. He tried to see which ones were female, but by the time he began checking faces, he knew she was gone.
In the distance, there were a few marines here and there, but they could not help him, there wasn’t enough time. There wasn’t enough...
As he turned, he caught someone’s eye. It was closer than he’d thought, and with a few brisk steps she was right next to him. He had begun aiming his gun when she ducked. He momentarily lost her as another panicked civilian bumped his way by. The moment he caught site of her again, she was closer.
There was a indiscernible motion and then a dull pain in his hand that held the pistol. He heard it clatter to the deck, but didn’t feel it drop. And then a sudden flash of steel as the long, slightly curved knife lunged out at him from between folds of cloth.
Everything was in a blur, but for some reason it all seemed very slow. He threw his weight, dodging to the side.
As he moved, he bumped into another Marine, knocking him to the ground. Somehow, before the hand swiped horizontally at his leg, he grabbed it. The female assassin let out a surprised gasp. His eyes connected with her catlike blue eyes for just a moment, and caught a flash of long brown hair.
But then other matters made him avert his gaze. She pushed. He lost another inch.
The blade was wobbling, getting closer and closer, blade pointed towards his gut. She had two hands pushing. One holding the knife like an untrained child holding a fork, and the other pushing the butt of the dagger.
Manganator’s one hand grasping her wrist was losing ground. He could no longer feel his other hand, except to feel the warm blood drip onto his pants.
Clueless, marines walked around him, looking in all the wrong directions. The one he'd knocked off his feet was just re-orienting himself. The blade was too low, too close to both of their bodies for anyone else to see.
He wanted to cry out, but felt if he let the air exit his tensed lungs, he’d lose that little bit of strength which kept the dagger two inches, one inch away.
As he struggled, his foot repositioned itself for more support, and he felt the pistol underfoot. With a good deal of weight on the foot, he slipped on the pistol and dropped to the ground. The stab wildly shot out, and he felt a sharp pain on his stomach.
He fell to the bulkhead, the pistol uncomfortable on his backbone.
She fell with him, knife held high.
She tried to stab him in the neck, he moved his crippled hand in the way. The blade pushed right through, although he couldn’t feel it. The blade pushed through his palm, and he could see it’s tip exit the back of his hand. He gave a little ground, letting her try to force the knife to his neck.
He met her eyes, and she met his. She gave a cocky smile. The blade was just millimeters away, his neck tingled where he felt the warm drips of blood from his useless hand.
The marine had recovered, and leveled his gun to take the shot. By the time he would fire, it would be too late. Manganator pulled his good hand from under his back, pistol in hand. The blade gave one last lunge, Manganator brought the pistol up, firing repeatedly as he did so.
First into her leg which was locked solidly on his waist, again into her pelvis, into her lower stomach, into her chest, into her neck. From behind him, he heard the marine fire shots off as well, and Manganator was splattered with the woman's blood.
Her body fell forward, and Manganator gave his last ounce of strength to avert it from his neck, stapling the uncharacteristically sharp knife to the deck. He breathed heavily.
He had stared down death through the glint of a blade. It had been close, but how long would he stay this lucky?
Where did the female assassin go? She appeared to be fatally wounded. 
This chapter is far more action packed and suspenseful. Very well thought out and written. Assassins and intrigue at every turn. Another exciting installment in what will be a very thought provoking story. We haven't seen Dirt mentioned yet so I'll be looking forward to seeing how he works into the fabric of the storyline. It's always interesting to see familiar names in these stories. Hope we don't have to wait long for the next chapter.
Luna
This chapter is far more action packed and suspenseful. Very well thought out and written. Assassins and intrigue at every turn. Another exciting installment in what will be a very thought provoking story. We haven't seen Dirt mentioned yet so I'll be looking forward to seeing how he works into the fabric of the storyline. It's always interesting to see familiar names in these stories. Hope we don't have to wait long for the next chapter.
Luna
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Smeagol...
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- Contact:
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Manganator
- Posts: 1329
- Joined: Mon Jun 06, 2005 11:52 pm
- Location: Massachusettes
- Contact:
“I don’t really care about the technical aspects of this, Patrick. I’m sure you could talk me through your textbook if you needed,” Manganator said, glancing over at the weighty old-fashioned medical book on his desk, and wondering why the old doctor simply didn’t store it in his computer logs.
“But, I only care about one thing. That is my hand, and its functionality.”
The medical bay was a poorly lit, untidy mess, which was amazing considering the entire system was computerized. For some reason, the lights were always slightly blue, casting a strange light over the dark-plated room.
But if any doctor could manage such a mess, it was Patrick O’Brien. His organization problem was made up for with his experience, however. And this latest wound certainly wasn’t his first visit.
Fastening his flexiglasses, Doctor Patrick O’Brien’s wrinkled face contorted into a grimace as he turned the bloody and swollen mass of flesh over in his probing hands. “What’d you try to do? Jack off a knife?” the doctor asked.
Manganator snorted.
“Well, the medics did a good job of cleaning this and sealing it with clotting foam… there will be no infection, but I’m sorry to say the nerves and tendons have been completely severed.” As he said this, he squeezed beneath the thumb’s joint, a sensitive pressure point, and elicited no response from the hand.
Does this mean I’ll be lame for the rest of my life? Manganator wondered, feeling a deep sense of hopelessness begin to settle in his gut. His strength and coordination had always been so important to him.
“What does that mean?” Manganator asked softly, eyeing his crippled hand with distaste.
“That means you will have no use of it, period.” O’Brien said harshly, gazing at him with a pair of fierce grey eyes. Those eyes held no escape, no comforting words, only the grim truth.
“Is there anything I can do?” Manganator asked with callous desperation.
“Well you could have nerve reconstruction done, which is an incredibly long, painful, and usually fruitless process, or you could get a mechanical hand attached. That’s painful and long as well, but generally not as fruitless.”
“But it’s not the same.” He looked down at his crumpled hand again, trying to will it into motion. It was ichy, even though it had no feeling… he could almost feel the circulating air in the room tickle his hand, but the nerves were completely detached.
“Remember Ace Jones? Even though he could no longer serve as a pilot, his mechanical replacement worked fine after a while,” Doctor O’Brien stated with a flicker of awe in his eye. “The perfect union of man and machine.”
“Ace Jones’ wife also took the kids, and he shot himself,” Manganator added dryly.
“Oh well at least he shot himself. That proves the hand works, doesn’t it?” the doctor added with a dark chuckle.
“I’ll see if your machine fetish is shared with my planetside doctor, O’Brien. In the meantime, let’s see if we can keep this lump of stinking flesh from falling off of my arm, ok?” Manganator asked.
“We should probably just cut the damn thing off,” O’Brien said to himself, his arthritic hands gingerly mousing through the drawer to find a crude bandage, which he began to wrap around Manganator’s hand.
Manganator glanced over into the next room, seeing the pale feet of a dead man drooped in the middle of the doorway. “How did the autopsy go?” he asked.
“That girl knew what she was doing,” O’Brien said with a gruff appreciation. “She severed their spines, from the nature of the wounds; I could tell the strikes were clean and very quick. I haven’t gotten to pancake woman, yet, but she’s due as soon as I get through all the injuries these damn Marines got from all of their damned bar visits.”
The shipmen had dubbed the dead blond “Pancake Woman”, after one chuckling Marine discovered a pancake still stuck to her thigh when they loaded her onto the stretcher.
“What were their names?” Manganator asked, suddenly feeling ashamed that he did not know the identities of his deceased shipmen.
O’Brien looked down on a list, squinting his eyes through his glasses. Manganator was amazed O’Brien could read his own illegible scrawls, with poor vision, no less. ”Private Henry Codginson and First Sergeant Peter Cole, don’t know if you believe in coincidence, but both of these boys…”
But Manganator was already heading out of the door. “Henry Codginson, Peter Cole… Henry Codginson, Peter Cole,” he muttered to himself, determined not to forget.
Hearing that the doctor was still talking, Manganator shouted over his shoulder. “Sorry doc, we gotta get this ship in vacuum, we’re in a hurry!” He met the irritated look in the doctor’s grey eyes and gave him a smile before turning the corner.
Honestly, Manganator couldn’t wait to get out of the medical bay ever since O’Brien had finished taping his hand. The sight of dead bodies had always made him queasy.
“Sir!” Shipman snapped salutes to him as he passed. It was strange that they all knew who he was, but he barely knew any of them.
It was funny, wherever he was in his ship, even though he had walked it’s dark-metal hallways numerous times, he still could hardly distinguish one hallway from another. But judging from how long and how fast he’d been walking, he judged that he was about…
BOOM! A huge rumbling crash echoed through the hallway. Manganator felt himself get thrown forward, as a huge force slammed into his back, launching him through the air, and smashing him into the floor. What the hell? Manganator thought, completely disoriented.
His ears were ringing painfully, and the hallway had gone black. Not to mention, he landed the wrong way on his ankle. Fortunately, it only hurt a little. He got up and immediately collapsed as the dull pain intensified and a crack sounded from it.
Broken.
He pulled out his radio, breathing raggedly and still covering his left ear with his free hand. “Report.”
“Sir,... en a... internal detonation,” Manganator barely heard his CO report. “We’re venting atmosphere.”
Judging from how long I’ve been walking, I’m past sector 11. “Seal the entire sector... seal it off,” Manganator shouted. He felt his vocal chords burn from the shout, but to his ears it seemed no louder than a whisper.
Looking up, he saw the solid metal blast doors drop down. Apparently I’m still in sector 11, Manganator thought grimly. Well this sucks. Now locked, Manganator could feel the slight breeze as atmosphere was being sucked from the hallway.
It was draining the heavy black smoke, but it was also draining his oxygen.
He tried to get up on one leg, slowly pulling himself to his feet with his only good hand.
He looked in both directions, frantically trying to find a vacuum suite, or someone who knew the section better than he did. As soon as he looked behind him, he saw a crumpled body on the deck, face up.
She was mumbling softly, still alive, but her face was riddled with shrapnel, and both of her eyes had been pierced with twisted metal. Manganator hobbled towards her steadily.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I was until you screamed in my ear!” she shouted back, attempting to sit up and open her eyes. Manganator resisted the urge to laugh.
"What's you're name?"
"Luna"
“But, I only care about one thing. That is my hand, and its functionality.”
The medical bay was a poorly lit, untidy mess, which was amazing considering the entire system was computerized. For some reason, the lights were always slightly blue, casting a strange light over the dark-plated room.
But if any doctor could manage such a mess, it was Patrick O’Brien. His organization problem was made up for with his experience, however. And this latest wound certainly wasn’t his first visit.
Fastening his flexiglasses, Doctor Patrick O’Brien’s wrinkled face contorted into a grimace as he turned the bloody and swollen mass of flesh over in his probing hands. “What’d you try to do? Jack off a knife?” the doctor asked.
Manganator snorted.
“Well, the medics did a good job of cleaning this and sealing it with clotting foam… there will be no infection, but I’m sorry to say the nerves and tendons have been completely severed.” As he said this, he squeezed beneath the thumb’s joint, a sensitive pressure point, and elicited no response from the hand.
Does this mean I’ll be lame for the rest of my life? Manganator wondered, feeling a deep sense of hopelessness begin to settle in his gut. His strength and coordination had always been so important to him.
“What does that mean?” Manganator asked softly, eyeing his crippled hand with distaste.
“That means you will have no use of it, period.” O’Brien said harshly, gazing at him with a pair of fierce grey eyes. Those eyes held no escape, no comforting words, only the grim truth.
“Is there anything I can do?” Manganator asked with callous desperation.
“Well you could have nerve reconstruction done, which is an incredibly long, painful, and usually fruitless process, or you could get a mechanical hand attached. That’s painful and long as well, but generally not as fruitless.”
“But it’s not the same.” He looked down at his crumpled hand again, trying to will it into motion. It was ichy, even though it had no feeling… he could almost feel the circulating air in the room tickle his hand, but the nerves were completely detached.
“Remember Ace Jones? Even though he could no longer serve as a pilot, his mechanical replacement worked fine after a while,” Doctor O’Brien stated with a flicker of awe in his eye. “The perfect union of man and machine.”
“Ace Jones’ wife also took the kids, and he shot himself,” Manganator added dryly.
“Oh well at least he shot himself. That proves the hand works, doesn’t it?” the doctor added with a dark chuckle.
“I’ll see if your machine fetish is shared with my planetside doctor, O’Brien. In the meantime, let’s see if we can keep this lump of stinking flesh from falling off of my arm, ok?” Manganator asked.
“We should probably just cut the damn thing off,” O’Brien said to himself, his arthritic hands gingerly mousing through the drawer to find a crude bandage, which he began to wrap around Manganator’s hand.
Manganator glanced over into the next room, seeing the pale feet of a dead man drooped in the middle of the doorway. “How did the autopsy go?” he asked.
“That girl knew what she was doing,” O’Brien said with a gruff appreciation. “She severed their spines, from the nature of the wounds; I could tell the strikes were clean and very quick. I haven’t gotten to pancake woman, yet, but she’s due as soon as I get through all the injuries these damn Marines got from all of their damned bar visits.”
The shipmen had dubbed the dead blond “Pancake Woman”, after one chuckling Marine discovered a pancake still stuck to her thigh when they loaded her onto the stretcher.
“What were their names?” Manganator asked, suddenly feeling ashamed that he did not know the identities of his deceased shipmen.
O’Brien looked down on a list, squinting his eyes through his glasses. Manganator was amazed O’Brien could read his own illegible scrawls, with poor vision, no less. ”Private Henry Codginson and First Sergeant Peter Cole, don’t know if you believe in coincidence, but both of these boys…”
But Manganator was already heading out of the door. “Henry Codginson, Peter Cole… Henry Codginson, Peter Cole,” he muttered to himself, determined not to forget.
Hearing that the doctor was still talking, Manganator shouted over his shoulder. “Sorry doc, we gotta get this ship in vacuum, we’re in a hurry!” He met the irritated look in the doctor’s grey eyes and gave him a smile before turning the corner.
Honestly, Manganator couldn’t wait to get out of the medical bay ever since O’Brien had finished taping his hand. The sight of dead bodies had always made him queasy.
“Sir!” Shipman snapped salutes to him as he passed. It was strange that they all knew who he was, but he barely knew any of them.
It was funny, wherever he was in his ship, even though he had walked it’s dark-metal hallways numerous times, he still could hardly distinguish one hallway from another. But judging from how long and how fast he’d been walking, he judged that he was about…
BOOM! A huge rumbling crash echoed through the hallway. Manganator felt himself get thrown forward, as a huge force slammed into his back, launching him through the air, and smashing him into the floor. What the hell? Manganator thought, completely disoriented.
His ears were ringing painfully, and the hallway had gone black. Not to mention, he landed the wrong way on his ankle. Fortunately, it only hurt a little. He got up and immediately collapsed as the dull pain intensified and a crack sounded from it.
Broken.
He pulled out his radio, breathing raggedly and still covering his left ear with his free hand. “Report.”
“Sir,... en a... internal detonation,” Manganator barely heard his CO report. “We’re venting atmosphere.”
Judging from how long I’ve been walking, I’m past sector 11. “Seal the entire sector... seal it off,” Manganator shouted. He felt his vocal chords burn from the shout, but to his ears it seemed no louder than a whisper.
Looking up, he saw the solid metal blast doors drop down. Apparently I’m still in sector 11, Manganator thought grimly. Well this sucks. Now locked, Manganator could feel the slight breeze as atmosphere was being sucked from the hallway.
It was draining the heavy black smoke, but it was also draining his oxygen.
He tried to get up on one leg, slowly pulling himself to his feet with his only good hand.
He looked in both directions, frantically trying to find a vacuum suite, or someone who knew the section better than he did. As soon as he looked behind him, he saw a crumpled body on the deck, face up.
She was mumbling softly, still alive, but her face was riddled with shrapnel, and both of her eyes had been pierced with twisted metal. Manganator hobbled towards her steadily.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I was until you screamed in my ear!” she shouted back, attempting to sit up and open her eyes. Manganator resisted the urge to laugh.
"What's you're name?"
"Luna"
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Smeagol...
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