I returned fire. I wasn't gonna just sit there like a chump. Unfortunately, from this angle WAR had nothing to play with and couldn't paint the targets for me, so I just shot back at them old school.
I heard a grunt, so I definitely got one of them.
They cursed at me and I chuckled as WAR translated for me. "Chicken head! Fuckdick!"
"No, you're the fuckdick!" I shouted back and tossed a grenade at them. Didn't I tell you? I love grenades. They're like little gifts from me to every fuckdick in the world who wants to kill me.
Kablowie. Their position turned to rubble, little fires burning on frozen ground. That was ironic. I charged at them, taking the offensive. "Aaargh!" I shouted my war cry and shot another fuckdick in the fuckdick. "No more fuckdicking for you!"
I felt bad, watching him clutch his fuckdick, so I took him out of his misery with a double tap in centre mass.
The place next to the entrance was a pile of supplies and folded up tents, possibly stored away for a warmer time of the year.
I went inside the main building. The officer was down, and I didn't know if there was another to rally them up and organise them. Shock and awe works for a little while, and I was a fool on his own charging an enemy compound.
An auto-turret swivelled towards me and I saw the barrel. I didn't even have time to gulp, I was dead.
WAR showed a red 'X' over it and a 'Defences disabled,' message. 'Mission points deducted from total.'
Fucking fuckdicks! Taking out payment points because they actually helped me finish the mission? This wasn't unexpected of Ares, but still. It was shitty. I was getting shot at. I was freezing my ass off. I was putting my ass on the line for a pair of big, round snowballs. And some dickless executive decided that, no, if our operatives need help on the field to accomplish our own shady missions, we'll CHARGE THEM FOR IT!
Fuckers.
I went inside and hit them like a storm. I needed to earn some more points or the payday from this fiasco wouldn't be enough to pay Nico, his gas-guzzling helicopter or the ammo I wasted. I found a terrified soldier inside. He pointed his rifle at me, trembling.
"You poor little fool," I said and stepped up to him.
He threatened me with his rifle.
I snatched it out of his hands, then clubbed him over the head with it. It gave me no WAR points, but I wasn't gonna take out a man who had peed his pants upon seeing me. No really, he had a dark spot on them and everything.
Thankfully, I found another soldier inside who wasn't a rookie, who took a shot at me and grazed my Kevlar. I winced and shot the fuckdick back on the face. He dropped like a sack of balls.
He had a radio, and I took it. It wouldn't help me much but WAR could tap into it, extrapolate data and show me the positions of the enemy. I told you it was a soldier's wet dream.
WAR painted a guy behind the wall who was carrying his own radio. I simply hid around the corner and waited for him to approach. He got a mouthful of my boot in his face. "How does your mud taste like? Frozen, right? That's what I thought," I said, and then sliced his carotid.
I kicked his pistol away and didn't even bother to watch him bleed out. I took the stairs, and WAR suddenly flashed red in my face.
TRAP.
Well, fuck. I froze in place, not that hard to do since my ass hadn't warmed up one bit since I dropped from the helicopter, and inspected the steps. Yup, there it was, a pressure plate on the second step. I just hopped over it, no time to disable it. I just let WAR paint it so that it would remind me when I came back down. It would have been very embarrassing to survive a trap only to fall right into it when coming back down.
I got on the top floor, that was it, the building was quite small. And I turned, feeling confident by WAR not showing me anyone around.
Where would the keys be? In the guard post, which was empty. Or in the officer's desk. I pointed my rifle and went towards it.
And then I came face to face with the barrel of a gun.
The woman holding the gun to my face was rather sexy. "Who the fuck are you?" she asked in English.
""I'm an operative. I'm not here to hurt you, if that's what you're worried about." My hands were in the air.
"Drop it," she demanded. She was wearing a uniform, but it was too large for her. It definitely wasn't her own, and perhaps the officer had given it to her to wear. That raised another question, why was this hottie out here in the cold centre of nowhere to begin with, and why had she lost her all her clothing?
Since this wasn't a teenage fantasy, I assumed that it didn't fall in ribbons as she fought these men. It made more sense that she had simply gotten all wet from the snow and needed a change.
Still, the shirt drooped at her front, making a rather exquisite décolletage. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, and the view behind the gun and deep down her breasts was quite lovely.
I didn't drop my rifle. I just let it fall from the strap on my side. "You know, it's just that, I just replaced the last rifle I lost. I keep getting into these situations, a hot babe aiming her gun at me, me putting my rifle down, me forgetting to pick it up after I had disarmed her. It sucks having to buy a new one every time."
She raised an eyebrow. It was black, like the rest of her hair. "Oh?"
She blinked.
I gestured my WAR and activated my stimpack. I usually saved it for bigger things, but right now I just needed the increase in reaction time. I pushed her gun to the side and disarmed her before she could blink with her wonderful eyelids.
When she opened her eyes again, her gun was in my hand, my other hand was around her waist and I was stealing a kiss from her.
She resisted for a second, then gave in. "Mmm!" she complained and pushed me away.
"Don't worry, I won't hurt you. I'm just here for my balls," I said.
Her eyes went wide.
"No, no. Not that," I said, calming her down. "The truck. Where are the keys to the truck?"
She stood defiant. I looked around the room. The officer was dead on the floor, lying in a pool of blood, his head cracked open. That was my doing. There was a bed in there, it was a mess, sweaty sheets and bodily fluids, but not the naughty kind. I could instantly tell this is where they treated her.
"Look, my name is Deimos. Who are you?" I said and looked around the room, then rifled through the dead man's pockets.
"I-I'm Flora."
"A-ha! Keys! Finally." I stood up and looked around one last time. "Nice to meet you, Flora." I took her hand gently in my own. "Look, I don't think you wanna stick around. I'm pretty sure the only reason you haven't been gang raped so far is because the officer protected you, right?"
She looked at the dead body and swallowed deeply. Then she nodded. "Yes. He was good to me."
"I'm sorry I took him out."
She turned her wonderful eyes at me, looking shocked.
I checked with the mission objectives. There was nothing about a prisoner of any sort. This wasn't a rescue mission, it was strictly retrieval. Heck, those bastards at Ares Defence would probably find a way to subtract WAR points if I helped her out. But I couldn't just leave her here.
"I will not hurt you, or defile you. But these guys might, and I haven't taken out all of them yet. They still think I'm downstairs, but that won't be for long. Will you come with me?"
She considered her options for a long moment.
"Tick-tock," I said, tapping my wrist.
"Oh, what the hell. This frozen ass-end of nowhere sucks, anyway," she said and stepped beside me.
I took another good look at her. "A potty mouth! A woman after my own heart," I said and then went to the exit.
WAR blared red at me, there were at least six men coming up the stairs. "Fuck, I was hoping they'd fall into their own trap." I looked around, Flora was worried but keeping silent. Good girl.
Then I had an idea.
"You're fucking crazy!" Flora screamed as I held her tight on my body.
We both fell from the floor above. The tents
were not comfy, at least not comfy to fall on from a broken window from the first floor while holding on to a dark-haired broad.
She felt nice against my body.
After the shock, she recovered and pushed me away. We stood up, kicking our way through supplies and frozen fabric. "Come on, they're coming back down," I said and grabbed her hand.
We got to the truck, I pushed her head down. "Hey!" she complained, moments before bullets pinged on the metal around us.
I returned fire. I wounded one guy, perhaps on the leg. I tossed my remaining grenade at them and rushed to get inside the truck. Flora didn't need and invitation, she was already pushing herself inside towards the passenger's seat, keeping her head down, her ass in my face. I pushed her ass inside. Normally I'm a gentleman, but we were getting shot at. No time for chivalry.
I turned on the ignition and the truck sputtered and died. "No, no, no!" I cried out, rifle in hand. I returned fire from the broken window.
"You need to let it warm up a bit," Flora said, hiding on the foot space next to me.
"It better work," I grunted and tried it again. There was no way I could get my big, round snowballs out of here without the truck. Nothing.
I got shot at, again. I ducked, and returned fire. "We're too exposed."
Flora agreed with a whimper, holding her head next to my leg.
I tried it again, and the engine roared. "Finally."
I just stepped on the pedal and tore up the mud, taking a big turn crashing the supply crates. I kept on forward, smashed the gate and got out of the compound.
Flora sat up on the seat and looked back. "Are we safe?"
"For now," I said, driving blind inside the whiteout. WAR was showing me the terrain and I was going at least forty kph more than what I was supposed to under these conditions, but fuck these conditions, people with rifles were coming after me.
"You're gonna get us killed!" Flora screamed when I hit a ditch.
"Don't worry, I got it," I said, clearly not having it but still trying my best.
After a few minutes I slowed down. Flora seemed exhausted, but more relaxed now.
"So, what were you doing back there?" I asked, driving much more carefully now. The blizzard had stopped but the mud roads were a death trap.
"I'm a geologist. I discovered the spherical artefacts."
"My big, round snowballs?" I asked, pointing a thumb at the back.
She chuckled. "Yeah. If you'd like to call them that."
"What are they?" I said, hitting a bump.
"I don't know yet, I didn't have time to study them properly. The conditions, we weren't prepared..."
"We?"
"Yes, me and my partner. It was too cold, we didn't have the training nor the proper equipment. We were in a precarious position, so we called out for help."
I nodded deeply. "And the fuckdicks showed up."
She looked out the window. "Yes. They killed him. He was just asking for help, reaching out to them. He was so happy, smiling that we were saved..."
"I see." This was hard for her, and I tried to communicate that it was okay for her to not tell me.
"They killed him on the spot. Shit, they left him there. I'm sure his body is still on the exact same spot, his limb position and everything."
Okay, she was chatty. "I'm sorry."
Flora turned to me and pressed up against my shoulder. "I'm freezing," she said, pressing her lips together.
I rubbed her back with my hand. "Yeah, just stay close to me. We're almost at the evac point."
Flora nuzzled her face up to my neck. "Mmm. This is better," she mumbled.
"Better, right." I didn't know what was happening. Ladies are not my forte. Oh, I know what to do with them, I just don't understand them. Was she coming on to me? It was normal after an adrenaline rush. Still, she was sick, cold, perhaps even frostbitten, we didn't exactly have time to inspect each other's toes. And the whole saviour thing, it was normal to feel grateful after someone had pushed you out of a window and ran out from bullets with you.
But how grateful?
Like, making out, grateful?
"Deimos, my saviour," she said, and started a cute little snore.
Yup, she was out, sleeping on my arm, pressing on me with her soft parts. I laughed and kept on driving to the evac point. Mission accomplished, time to deliver my big, round snowballs.
The end.
For more Deimos Çelik stories, join the Mythographers to get an email when they come out.
On Pointe All Day Long
Many people think they can remember things from when they're four years old. Truth is, that unless they've had a traumatic experience, those memories are fabricated, imaginations with the framework built from someone's retelling of the incident or even a photograph, with the older mind filling in the gaps.
However, Natalia's memory of the first day she saw ballet was accurate. It was something wonderful, something that had such an impact in the little girl's psyche that traumatised her and inspired her at the same time.
She remembers watching the Nutcracker unfold. It was the battle with the mice, the dancers were going back and forth, the music was loud, exciting, making her tiny little heart pound. And then the ballerina walks into the stage again, for the Nutcracker to protect her with his sword. She tiptoes into the scene, with her milky-white leotard and her fluffy tutu skirt. And she's on her tippy toes, gorgeous, ethereal, majestic.
Natalia knew at that moment what she wanted to do in life. She wanted to dance, she wanted to dance just like her, and she wanted to dance just like her in front of an audience that gasped and clapped and enjoyed the experience.
And then the four-year-old Natalia looked down at her own feet. Or rather, where they should have been. She was born sick, she didn't understand much, but the point was that she had no feet to tippy toe on, and the other girls did.
It hurt. It hurt her so much that the memory remains etched in her brain.
Natalia was seven years old. She got blades for Christmas, and she could actually walk on them. They were awkward, but she kept trying until she managed to figure it out. She fell so many times. Her father wanted to reach out and help her, her mother grabbed his hand and held him back. "Nyet. Let her do it on her own," mommy said.
Natalia squealed in delight when she managed a couple of steps. "Daddy, look!" she said and lost her balance, falling on the edge of the table.
Her mommy rushed towards her to pick her up. Natalia felt something wet on her eyebrow. She touched it, her hand came back red. The blood poured out of her cut and they had to rush her to the hospital. Seven stitches. She didn't care. She was on the blades and trying again on the very next day.
Natalia was eight years old. She asked for ballet classes, her parents turned and looked at each other, communicating with just their eyes. Daddy said, "Yes, honey," and mommy crossed her arms. "But remember what the doctors said about your bones? Well, you see, all little girls need to grow strong before they can do ballet."
"I know, daddy, I googled it. It said I can start when I'm eight. I'm eight right now, aren't I?" Natalia frowned.
Daddy looked at mommy briefly. "Yes, honey, but the doctor said it'd be best if we wait a while longer."
Now it was time for Natalia to frown and cross her arms in a mini version of her mother. "How much longer? I've been waiting ages."
"When you're nine, alright?" daddy said.
Natalia huffed out and offered her hand to her daddy. "Okay, fine. When I'm nine."
Daddy shook her hand.
Natalia turned nine. Daddy took her to buy her dancing kit. The shop was nice, it had so many nice fabrics and Natalia ran around and touched them all. The lady at the store was older than mommy, she looked like auntie. She glanced down at Natalia's blades and then pinched her cheek. "Well, well, hello my little ballerina. We'll need your spandex leotard, you'll need two of those since you'll get sweaty a lot. A tutu skirt, would you like this pink one?"
Natalia sho
ok her head. She wanted a white one, and pointed at it.
"Alright then," the lady said. "White it is." She turned to a top shelf. "And of course, no self-respecting ballerina can go without a magnificent pair of silk pointes-"
The lady stopped talking. She froze, holding the gorgeous ballerina shoes on her palm, presenting them to Natalia. She glanced down at the blades, then up at Natalia. Her eyes went wide and she started to stutter. "I-I'm so sorry," she said, turning to daddy. "I wasn't thinking, I'm terribly sorry."
"It's alright," daddy said, pushing the ballerina shoes away. "Just give us the rest of the kit."
"Of course," the woman said, keeping her head down.
Natalia tried them on, they fit perfectly, and she looked at her reflection in the mirror. If she ignored the blades, she could almost imagine herself as the ballerina she saw when she was little.
The lady put the ballet kit in a shiny bag with a nice bow and daddy paid for them. She frowned and said nothing more.
Natalia didn't care. She couldn't wait to start dancing lessons next week, it was the only thing that mattered to her.
Natalia got to her first ballet lesson. All the girls were there with their moms, Natalia had her daddy waiting for her. The other moms found that very interesting and kept asking daddy various questions in very squeaky voices, and daddy sighed and answered them all. Natalia went to change, she put her leotard on, and her fluffy tutu, and a bow on her hair, and her white pantyhose and she was ready. The other girls stared at her blades.
"What are those?" one of the ballerinas asked, reaching down to touch the blades.
"My blades, I use them to walk with," Natalia replied. "I'm Natalia, what's your name?"
"I'm Marina," the ballerina said, lifting her nose.
"Do you want to be friends?" Natalia asked, smiling.
Marina laughed. "I'm the prima," she said, as if that meant something and ended the conversation. She spun around in a pointe turn and walked away.
The dancing class was amazing for Natalia. She loved everything, the feeling, the teacher showing them the five positions of ballet, the tutus, it was heaven.
MOAB � Mother Of All Boxsets Page 39
