He looked scanned the area around him for what seemed like the hundredth time, and began pulling out into the street. His machine gun was hidden under a coarse blanket in the passenger seat, a full drum mag connected and a round already chambered. Magna pulled around the corner and roughly a mile ahead of him stood the monolithic building that served as Chicago’s Complex High Temple. All of the Complex buildings and officials had names like that, Magna scoffed to himself, fancy sounding names that they seemed to think lent their betrayals more gravitas.
He had been fighting the Izrid and now the Complex for the better part of ten years, and he knew how to approach a target without drawing suspicion. He threaded his way carefully through the various crowds of people, mostly Complex first class citizens, those who had passed the arcane genetic screening and accepted the “mark of the dragon”. They lived only marginally better than those who were deemed “undesirable” and forced to the slums of the city, though when large populations of the human race lived on the razor’s edge of starvation, that margin meant everything. These first class citizens comprised the majority of the Complex military, police, and municipal infrastructure, so in the end it was human beings oppressing other human beings. It made him sick to think that nothing had really changed about human history when the Izrid and their Serpent King had conquered Earth. However, human history was for humans, and the though of alien interference made his blood burn and his brain throb with rage. It was their very alien nature that drew his hatred, and he had long ago given up feeling guilty about his xenophobia. Strangers had come into his home, killed and abused his people, and for the second time kidnapped his woman and turned her into a monster. Alexis embodied everything he believed in, and she’d been ready to stand up and pay the price for the dream of human freedom. How could he, as a soldier or as her lover, just stand on the sidelines and let her do this alone? He wasn’t about to let this challenge go unanswered, even if it meant he was going to have to die today. The way he saw it was that he lived on borrowed time anyway. Magna was not a religious man, though he had found himself certain that this last act in some way atoned for his necessary betrayal of Lysa. This was a hard life, he thought to himself, and hard choices seemed like the only ones worth making. If his Alexis could stand up to the Izrid after what had been done to her, then he’d follow her into that hell with a smile. Fuck it.
Once he was half a mile from the building he saw the checkpoint, and began speeding up, gradually at first and then by the time the checkpoint guards noticed he had hit a full sixty. It had never occurred to Magna not to fight, and from the first days till now he had always taken up arms against the Izrid.
“Wish I had some kickass last words,” Magna said to himself, and then laughed as he hefted the machine gun with his right hand and popped out the front windshield that he and the resistance fighter had carefully detached prior to his assault.
“Welcome to Chicago motherfuckers!” Magna bellowed at the top of his lungs as he opened fire with the machine gun, sending dozens of hard rounds screaming towards the checkpoint and the five sentries posted just behind the barricade.
His aim wasn’t as tight as it would have been had he not been in the careening truck, though he was a natural with the machine gun and plenty of rounds tore into the guards even as the majority spanked harmlessly off the barricades. He pulled the wheel to the left and slammed through the wire-meshed gate as the momentum of the truck plowed through the flimsy metal barrier. Magna knew that he’d likely only killed a few of the guards, though as long as they focused on him the mission would be a successful one. Bullets began smacking into the truck from several directions as more sentries picked up on the vehicle’s assault and fired as they sprinted towards him. Magna kept his finger on the trigger as he swerved to and fro, attempting to gun down as many of the guards as he could while storming the Temple. He screamed at the target rich environment as he kept squeezing the trigger, and then an armored van raced out of his blind spot on the left and slammed into the front of his truck. Magna’s truck crumpled with the impact as it was flung onto its side from the collision and went sliding across the pavement into a portable light tower. Magna blacked out for a few seconds, and when he regained consciousness he could tell that he was suspended in mid-air, as the truck had landed on the passenger side. His left leg was in near-blinding pain and he could tell that he was losing a tremendous amount of blood from it. The big man his the release latch on his seatbelt and used his strength to lift himself out of the upturned driver’s side window. The shattered glass drug hard red lines across his flesh as he squeezed himself through the opening.
Magna braced his one good leg on the steering wheel and, now that his arms and chest were out of the truck, drew forth his pistol. The big man emptied his first clip as fast as he could, spraying bullets in a one hundred and eighty degree arc just to buy himself some time to reload and pick his targets. The tactic worked, and the sentries on foot scampered for cover. He knew better than to waste shots on the armored car, which was spinning around in a wide arc to rush back to his position. Magna took a deep breath and winced at his cracked rips, and then began firing as carefully as he could. By the time he’d expended his full magazine another two sentries lay dead on the ground, both human, and in his mind both traitors to their species. Magna managed to chamber the first round of his last magazine when the armored car rammed into the upturned truck with such force that his spine was crushed upon impact.
Alexis watched her man die from the distance of roughly half a mile. Once he died it was her turn to approach the Temple, threading her way through the chaos and the crowds as swiftly as she dared, so as not to attract undue attention. There was no way Magna would have been able to bring a vehicle-borne explosive within two miles of the Temple. There were simply too many checkpoints with long-range combustible sensors that would have been trained upon him. However, the sentries had not thought to turn their sensors on the throngs of supposedly first class citizens that walked the streets going about their daily business. Nor would they have thought to scan the crowds of onlookers who had assembled to witness the carnage of Magna’s frontal assault on the Temple. A platoon of half-dragons had emerged from the Temple, escorting four Complex elites, and they were engaging in a heated discussion with the captain of the guard. Alexis could see the wall mounted cameras attached to the Temple pan across the scene, no doubt sending back images of the assault and aftermath to a central intelligence hub. There the Complex would sift through the footage, searching for clues as to the attacker’s identity. They would evaluate the response times of the sentries, the armored car driver, and even the half-dragon riot team that formed a square around the wreckage to allow the elites to investigate the corpse. All of this data would be analyzed, and new defenses would be created, new engagement protocols would be chemically transferred to the Izrid shock troops that waited in the bowels of the Temple. The Complex, thanks to the aide of the Izrid war machine, was more than adept at re-calibrating their defenses and protocols to cope with the ever-changing resistance war effort.
After today, Alexis recalled MacArthur whispering to her as the leader connected the last of the detonation wires, the Complex and the Serpent King will know that they can never be safe.
Alexis moved with the crowd, right up to the edge of the half-dragon square. The crowd, and Alexis, kept just out of reach of the half-dragons, as each one of the warriors carried an electrified riot shield and gruesomely effective short-range pistol of Izrid design. Alexis looked again at the cameras and saw their lenses converging on the center of the square, and could see through the press of bodies that the elites had finally had a few half-dragons haul out the body of her lover. At the sight of him Alexis closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then pulled her heavy cloth from her cargo pocket and discreetly tied it around her head, carefully threading the knot behind her head so that she would not push off her hood too soon. Once the veil was in place she worked her way to the front of the crowd, and sque
ezed the hand of the man next to her. The resistance fighter who stood next to Alexis was named Aaron, and she had known him for nearly two years. He was a good man, a staunch soldier, and he, like a handful of others, had volunteered for this mission. Together they would turn the Serpent King’s insult into the Serpent King’s injury. Aaron squeezed her hand back and then broke contact as he began shouting false insults about the resistance, immediately exciting the crowd to join him in screeching about the hated terrorists. It hurt her soul for Alexis to hear so many voices shout out “Death to MacArthur” in unison, though it created the distraction she had needed, and she seized her moment.
The half-dragons in front of Alexis were paying attention to the crowd, and did not notice the small woman slip between them. She did not run as she closed the distance between herself and the Complex elites who stood over Magna’s ravaged corpse. Alexis was calm, more steady than she had ever been in her life, and she pulled back her hood as she saw the Temple cameras turn to focus on her even as the four elites stood up from their work and set their gaze upon her. Their eyes went wide as they recognized the veil.
“I am a human being!” shouted Alexis as she turned her head from the panicking elites and faced the Temple cameras, “I am the resistance!”
Alexis hit the detonator hidden inside her sleeve.
ACT VI
Cava-Rek felt a chill run up his spine as he reviewed the footage for the seventeenth time. The suicide bomber had taken four elites, twelve half-dragons, and at least two-dozen first class citizens with her when she detonated. To kill oneself in order to kill the enemy, such a thing was an alien idea to the Izrid. If the humans would just as soon kill themselves if it meant causing harm to their enemy… the thought made Cava-Rek’s blood freeze in his veins.
He had recognized the bomber, remembered the way she smelled, the taste of her, even the tone of her voice. He had thought to show MacArthur that her cause was doomed, that Izrid dominance was inevitable. And yet, the cursed resistance leader had sent his emissary right back to him, with a deadly message of her own.
This war was far from over.
WAR HIVE
Episode 5
“No conflict, however great or small, unfolds without multiple perspectives. An act of valor on the battlefield witnessed by one is seen as a heinous atrocity by another. In the end, war is a matter of perspective, experienced in brief bursts of enlightenment and rage. It is like love in that way, moving from moment to moment in a tempest of emotions and sensations. You could meet a man or a woman today, and in ten years collide with them as lovers or enemies, maybe both. In the midst of such madness, there is but one choice, and that is to act. Slay your enemy, embrace your lover, and live while you yet live… because all things end, and no one worth killing or loving goes quietly.”
ACT I
Fiona looked at the tattered photo of Cole as she gingerly ran her finger over the worn pendant that hung from a small chain around her neck, and thought back to the day they took the photo. That sunny day in France seemed like a lifetime ago, and in many ways it was. The leader walked away from the desk and lay down on her cot, the light of the two candles casting a flickering glow about the room, giving off just enough light for her to make out his face. He had been such a young man then, barely enlisted, and she had already been an officer with years of combat duty on her record. There had just been something about him, a reckless bravado combined with a defiant optimism, a combination that had attracted the generally cold tempered officer like a moth to flame. Fiona’s left hand slowly crept down her stomach and pulled up her black t-shirt. She ran her fingers over the c-section scar just beneath her navel, and could not help but to feel simultaneously aroused and pained by hard memories.
“Cole you’re insane, what are we doing here? The fleet takes off in an hour!” shouted Fiona over the roar of the crashing waves against the rocks at the base of the steep cliff, “We’re going to miss the war!”
“Trust me babe, you’re not going to want to miss this,” Cole smiled as she grabbed Fiona’s hand and drug her across the beach at a swift jog while their feet splashed in the rising tide, “The omni-wiki says that this only happens once every eighteen months, and we’ll probably be knee-deep in Ukrainian mud before the next one happens!”
Cole rushed across the beach, happily dragging Fiona behind him. The two lovers had been on a three-day furlough when their trackers had begun blaring message alerts. They had both been recalled, as the battalion was finally mobilizing. They had both dutifully checked in with command and according to Fiona’s data-burst intel packet the Russian and Chinese forces poised on the Russian side of Ukraine had finally decided to launch a full-scale invasion. Their air-assault infantry unit was being pulled from reserve duty and hurled onto the front lines. For Fiona the news had been of little surprise or import, as she had fought in a dozen countries since the corporate-wars had begun, and Cole was an as yet un-tested recruit. Though for both of them this would be their first deployment upon a battlefield that was officially being classified as a full-scale World War III engagement. The news had rattled Cole to the core, and his response was to drag his reluctant superior officer to the beach.
Fiona’s hand moved from her scar and to the tops of her cargo fatigues, which she buttoned and then slipped her hand beneath. She let out a small moan as her fingers found her clit and began to massage it as the pleasant and poignant memories flooded her mind. Her other hand let the photo of Cole fall to the cold concrete floor as she moved her fingers over her breasts and pinched her left nipple.
She and Cole had rushed to the bottom of a large set of cliffs, the beach before them strewn with heaps of ragged boulders being relentlessly hammered by the waves. Cole squeezed her hand and looked at her, the sight of his eyes unabashedly soaking in her swimsuit clad body arousing her so quickly that she actually blushed. Fiona MacArthur was an attractive woman, though her years of battle and frosty demeanor had ensured that she received little attention from would-be lovers. Over the years she had simply come to accept it. Her ex-husband lived somewhere in southern Florida, and her two daughters had both been protected from the military draft as they were still in middle school.
Her self-esteem was solid, though she identified as a soldier and a mother, and until Cole had come along not thought of herself as a sexual being. This young man had entered her life as casually as he seemed to live his entire life, simply striking up a conversation with her in a local café while they were both off-duty. The young man moved quickly, and two days later they were ripping each other’s clothes off in Fiona’s Paris dormitory.
He had ignited in her a passion long dormant, and it was as if his affection reminded her of just how attractive she was, the beautiful blonde bombshell that lay forgotten beneath the body armor and the protocols. Cole was young, strong, exceptionally well endowed, and seemed to have a genuine affection for her that Fiona thought impossible for men of his age. She had lived much of her life around soldiers, especially younger ones, and most of them were more possessed of brawn than brains. Cole fucked her like there was no tomorrow, and yet took the time to enjoy things like sunsets or simply holding each other. Or, for that matter, the crazy adventure on the beach that he had demanded once their orders came in.
“The radiation from Fukishima mutated the algae of the world’s oceans, everybody knows that,” Cole shouted to Fiona as they neared the rocks, “What most people don’t know is that the algae here, just in south France, were changed so that they glow, even during the day.”
“Bioluminescence, it isn’t that big of a deal Cole,” Fiona responded as he led her to an open patch of sand surrounded by ragged boulders, “I don’t see the big deal.”
“You will, take my hand,” Cole said as he smiled and extended his hand, inviting the officer to join him in on the sandy oasis, “It won’t be long now.”
Fiona reached out and gripped Cole’s, and he pulled her to him into a deep kiss. She hadn’t been expecting that, so
nearly lost her footing, though was held aloft by his thick arms. They held each other for a few moments as they continued to lock lips and revel in the experience. The crash of the waves reverberated in Fiona’s chest as Cole wrapped his arms around her. Soon their kiss turned into an exploration of tongue against tongue as they pushed into each other’s mouth with more and more passion. Cole’s hands ran up her back and with an expert twist of the knot untied the back of her bikini top. She pulled back to let it fall to the sandy ground as Cole leaned in and began to suckle at her nipples, alternating between both of them as he expertly squeezed them with one hand while he gripped a handful of her muscular ass with the other.
Fiona’s body shuddered at the memory of Cole’s hands upon her, and her fingers worked more swiftly as she further moistened. They had been so good together, she thought to herself, in those sweaty and sensual weeks before the war went into full swing.
Cole sank to one knee in front of Fiona and with her help worked her bikini bottom down to her ankles. He had a sexual quirk that she enjoyed, where he would tie whatever undergarment she was wearing to her ankle, which he did with the skimpy bikini bottom. She’d had not worn such a revealing swimsuit prior to her liaisons with Cole, though as their relationship had blossomed, so had her confidence to show off the warrior’s body she’d worked so many years to perfect. Cole buried his face into her lady garden with enthusiasm, and while he held her steady with one arm he worked his fingers into her now dripping wet pussy even as his tongue flicked her clit. Fiona raised her right leg and draped it over Cole’s shoulder as he continued to do his work, gripping his short-cropped hair as waves of pleasant sensation washed over her.
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