Misconceptions
:: A short story set in the post-apocalyptic winter of Nuclear Dawn
In a quiet, dusty basement, a man kneeled on a concrete floor. His head hung low, eyes closed under his skin-tight helmet, thoughts focused. The man made a quiet, lonely image of prayer and meditation. A thick, grey light shone down into the room from a high window, pooling around the man's solemn form. It struck a dust mote as it sailed gracefully to the floor, glistening and glowing. Nothing moved to disturb its peaceful fall. Beneath his helmet, Killich eyed the mote, and envied it for its natural peace.
The mote barely stirred as a steel-capped boot swung through the air to collide with Killich's jaw. He fell backward onto the floor, kicking up further dust.
“Not so fucking clever now, are you?”
The words tumbled through the dusty air, grating Killich's nerves as he huddled on the floor. Vicious laughter rose as another boot slammed into his side.
“Your Empire is nothing, you little fucker. Do you hear me, Dog? Your communist bullshit is nothing to me.”
This last delivered with a particularly nasty kick, discharging several layers of his nanotech stealth armour – proudly branding him as a People's Empire scout – and sending a small electric charge down his spine. Killich lashed out in pain on the cold floor as the gruff voice continued.
“Better red than dead, isn't that what they say?”
Synthetic laughter cackled out of vocal effectors, resounding harshly from the broken concrete walls all around. Killich groaned and curled up tighter.
“You damned Stealthers. You come from no-where, always striking the unwary. How does it feel to be the defenceless one, Dog?”
Silence descended on the room for a moment. Killich opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. Apart from the beam of light from a tiny window, the only light in the room came from his tormentors. Their blue electro-visual goggles suffused the room with a cold glow, making the walls seem icy and apathetic to his plight. He didn't respond to the jibes as he formulated a plan.
Killich rolled over, taking care to cover his hands with his body. He carefully forced his fingers into his chest armour, cracking the sealed material. He tore out a chunk of carbon-fibre and nanotech composite, writhing under another impact. Groaning, he crumbled the dark armour under his palm. He risked a grimace – it was a good job these Consortium flunkies could hit hard. His hi-tech suit had been beaten to a pulp, and came apart easily with a little pressure. The expensive materials ground together under his palm.
“What do you think HQ will make of this, boys? A communist, sneaking around our town. No doubt trying to plot more artillery strikes. That right, Dog? You want to blow us up some more?”
In the tiny space, three men clad in standard Consortium armour stared down at their latest victim. They weren't warriors, but they were soldiers. Rugged, ruthless and angry. The war had raged for years now, each new conflict only serving to escalate the emotions of both sides. Killich didn't expect much in the way of mercy. He had been foolish to get caught in the first place. He got cocky. He got slow.
He made a show of trying to get to his feet, surreptitiously fingering loose the low-calibre ammo clip from his belt. He felt a heavy collision against his spine and was slammed back into the floor. More dust kicked up into the air as his head whipped against the concrete. A fresh flow of blood began to trickle from his battered nose.
“Oh we're not done with you yet. Do you know how many times shit like you appeared from no-where and cut down one of my buddies? We're going to take our time with you, Dog.”
The words meant nothing. Killich didn't wear the suit because of politics. He scraped his head against the floor, trying to shift to a less painful position. He'd managed to open up a single cartridge beneath his chest and was adding the explosive charge to the crushed armour. He shifted again, this time to release a lighter from a pocket. A personal favourite - stolen from a careless Consortium General. It had an engraving on the back from a loved one: the personal touch made it all the more valuable. He closed his eyes, and positioned the lighter on top of the mix. Everything was in place. He made another silent prayer, hoping the charge would be enough.
Killich waited, gathering his strength. Face flat to the floor, he watched heavy boots stride in front of him as his captors circled in the dank space, seeking a fresh vantage to strike at their prey. He held his breath and concentrated on their slightest movements. One soldier stopped and dragged a foot back to strike, standing off balance for a half a moment.
Now.
He raised himself off the ground with his arm – barely an inch, but enough to spark the lighter and burn the mixture. As the thousands of nanotech particles burst into light they emitted a small electromagnetic-pulse: small, but just strong enough. A muffled cry broke out above him as three sets of boots staggered backwards.
He leapt up as the soldier's electronically-enhanced goggles reset themselves. They would be blind for mere moments, but it gave Killich time to drop a concussion grenade at his feet. He hurled himself away from the small group, just as the suited thugs regained their vision.
“What the fu-”
A mechanised voice suddenly rose into a scream. As Killich rolled across the floor, he opened his eyes to the sight of the three TC troops clutching their hands over their eyes. Their glowing masks had reactivated just as the concussion grenade went off. The goggles hadn't had time to adjust to the environmental light, and the flash of the grenade burned their unprotected retinas with its full glare.
Exhausted by his sudden motion, Killich dragged himself to his feet. Eyeing the musty concrete space, Killich was sure he could see shadows closing back around the room. He didn't even know where he was; the wrong ruin on the wrong side of town. He grabbed his pistol from the floor nearby – painfully aware that his last reload was now lost – and slipped between a crack in the thick wall. Darkness spread in every direction. The stealth suit crackled and fizzed in a vain effort to adapt to its surroundings.
One arm against the wall, Killich staggered out of the ruin.
~o~
The city beyond the basement offered few charms. Ravaged by nuclear war and years of pointless military strikes, the surface of the city was little more than a reminder of better times. Scarred roads stretched to no-where; houses crumbled; office blocks shed their skins and collapsed into skeletal frames. Above ground, the city was deserted save for Consortium patrols and desperate scavengers. Beneath the shattered ruins, refugees sheltered from the wars in basements and sewers.
After hours of creeping through tunnels and alleyways, Killich crept down an unremarkable staircase just off a deserted street. Darkness was everywhere save for a thin blue line on the ruined horizon; just beginning to glow with pale fires as dawn broke. He stumbled through concrete doorways and crashed into the gloom that he called home. The darkened refuge was little more than a shelter from the struggles of the surface: a place where the friendless could gather. He collapsed, disturbing a shabby table. Silhouetted faces peered at him from around burning fires, and voices rose in alarm. It wasn't until Killich pulled off his battered mask that familiar voices rose over the growing din.
“Killich! Dad, come quickly! Killich is back! Killich, can you hear me?”
Killich heard his sister's voice cry out in fear. He hadn't meant for this. Stupid, so stupid.
“Elzbeth,” He croaked, reaching up to the growing dark, “Elzbeth...”
Another voice leapt out of the darkness, seizing his attention.
“Oh Killich my boy!” His father. What now? He was empty handed. “That wretched suit! I told you not to go out with it! Oh my boy... Lilleth, find some water, hurry! No girl, clean stuff....”
He had brought back no food, no batteries. Only his battered body. Even the stolen suit was useless.
“Easy now lad. Cairn, come help me carry him!”
Killich felt hands reach down to him, felt himself being lifted. The last thing he was able to do was mutter an apology.
The world went dark.