Part 3: In matters of War, Truth, and the Illusion of choice

The third chapter in this tale of war and humanity.

The sharp rapping of gunfire broke out from nearby outside signaling Braide into action. He crouched as low as he could without hindering his movement and dashed for the middle of the room. He could swear he heard the buzzing of bullets above his head as he grabbed the kid by his collar and none too ceremoniously yanked him out of harms way and slid him over behind cover of the portion of wall not blown to pieces. In a split second decision he leapt over to Daenth and grabbed his arm in an attempt to pull him to safety. The gunfire stopped sooner than it should have. 

He yanked his arm away and began screaming about choosing his death. He twisted around and kicked his savior twice in the stomach and once in the chest before Braide let go and stumbled backwards. A wave of pain wracked Daenth and he spasmed, kicking his rifle toward Braide. The gun stopped a few inches in front of him and he kicked it backwards in the same direction until it rested inches from the messenger. 

Braide took another step forward to pull Daenth to safety again but stopped when he heard shooting from the street directly outside. He crouched against the wall and waited, afraid to do so much as breathe. A Foot appeared first, followed by a hulking body of muscle that carried itself with the knowledge that it was a living, breathing tank. Braide took a breath, knowing it was probably one of his last, and threw himself at it. 

Both tumbled to the floor and within seconds braide had taken the gun from it and thrown it as far away as possible. He tried to pull his rifle up and finish it off before it came to a physical fight which he knew without a doubt that he would lose. It batted away his gun with such force that if the strap had still been around Braide he was sure it would have snapped his neck. It swung a colossal fist that passed just over his head, close enough to feel the wind off its hand. Braide threw himself backward and aimed a kick at the things face. It grabbed his foot and twisted. A sharp snap accompanied an explosion of incredible pain. Braide screamed in agony and dove frantically at its face, clawing, desperate for it to let go. His fingers found eyes and dug their nails in as far as they could. This time IT roared in agony and threw him halfway across the store. 

Braide skid to a halt ten feet from where it had thrown him. He scrambled to put more distance between him and the hulking giant, accidentally putting pressure on his ankle that was now twisted at an angle that it shouldn’t be able to reach. He clenched his teeth and stifled a scream. He spotted Daenth crawling weakly toward the kid. No, his gun. Daenth was going for his gun. Hope blossomed in Braides chest; if he could hold it off long enough for Daenth to get his rifle they'd be able to kill it. The thing lumbered up onto its legs.

"I.. will...destroy..you.." It managed to growl between heavy breaths. Long raking scratches carved down its face.

Braide said nothing in return as it stepped forward. Flexing its fists. For the second time that day Braide felt his body go cold.

 The explosive blast of a gun sounded off in the store three times. The monstrous soldier stopped and began to turn around, almost completely unphased by the three bullets it had lodged in it. Three more blasts and it roared, throwing itself haphazardly toward the source of the gunfire. Two more shots and it fell to the floor dead. Grieg Stepped over the body. 

It was too much. Too much like every war movie in Hollywood with a happy ending. The picture of him stepping over the slain beast, barrel still smoking, was too picturesque. The sense of relief was overwhelming. Every emotion wrought by the horror of war threatened to break open and flood his mind. No, there was time later to be overwhelmed. 

Grieg crouched low and went to his side.

"Can you walk?" Braide gave him a look of something mixed between annoyance and disbelief. Grieg Re-examined his foot and for the first time noticed the odd angle it rested at.

"Oh."

Grieg slid his arm around Braides chest and pulled him out of view of Northpointe, or anyone who decided to point a gun in their general direction. Smatterings of gunfire still peppered the air. 

"What do we do now?" Braide asked, He immediately regretted the question. He sounded childish. He was the commanding officer. He told them what they should do. He led.

"You tell me. You’re the one in charge here." Grieg dropped a clip out of his rifle and calmly replaced it with another. "Damn gun jammed when I was outside. Almost got me killed."

"We need to get out of here before they get here. I've never heard of them," he gestured to the dead mass fifteen feet away "Taking prisoners."

"You're not going anywhere." The sentence was followed by a fit of violent coughing. Daenth had reached his gun and now, it was pointing toward the two men.