LCpl Jackie Owens's Story

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The sky was usually so beautiful over the city. Blue, sunny, with just the right amount of clouds. Flying native lifeforms, classified as a type of avians, would often flock high above, flaunting their colors. It was as if the heavens themselves had bent to the will of this city's masters to please the impetuous cattle of a populace that resided here. Not today, it would seem. Still reflecting the fleeting shroud of night and barring the way of the sun's warming touch, the thick cloud cover cried out it's mercy upon this, the City of Perfection. And Corruption. Rain flooded the streets of the less aesthetically pleasing districts, where the unwanted necessary elements of this paradise made their homes. It was little more than a ghetto on the best of days. No one looked twice at what happened here, so long as it never, ever touched the real residential areas, with their flawless and magnificent sheen. The workers who lived here, kept here by the wages barely meeting the monthly costs and never coming close to affording a way out. Wage-slaves, taken one step forward. A perfect way to maintain a steady populace of workers, at least by Corporate standards.

The scene on these abysmal streets was one that played out a thousand times before..... Violence.

"Hey, hey, man! Look, I don't want any issue, kay? You got my wallet, now just let me g-Aagh!"

The body of a middle aged man, African American by ethnicity, impacted against the unforgiving street curb. The blood from his head drifted down a nearby storm drain, carried away by the torrent of rain. Another, younger thug, caucasian, and brandishing a lead pipe, clenched his teeth in anger as he loomed over the fallen.

"Thirty-five bucks? What the fuck is this? You're payin' for your right to breath, here, and all you got is this shit? Pfft! Tough luck, gramps!"

Another hit was delivered by the mugger, shattering the passer-by's shoulder blade with the sheer force. The man's screams went unheard, almost. As this brute reared back for one more good swing, he was blinded by the spotlights illuminating him. There had to be someone to manage this lot, some kind of law enforcement, but they had no care for the civilians which lived here. Oh no, they merely followed simple orders. Maintain Peace. The Gods of this kingdom forbade that any ill news of crime, violence, or bloodshed ever reached the word of potential investors. So the streets were patrolled. Guns were loaded. And without warning or demand to surrender, the criminal was cut down by a quick burst of silenced weapon's fire.

"Target down. Situational Clean-up, underway. We'll report back when this mess is taken care of."

"Sir? What about the civie?"

The man scrambled to his knees, clasping his hands together in praise of his saviors.

"Th-thank you! Shit, I thought I was dead. If you didn't show then, I don't kn-"

"Him, too."

No moment's pause. No protest allowed. No pleading was accepted. The order was given, and a single round found it's mark between the eyes, of the fool who believed himself saved.

"Dispatch, this is K-11. Sector 38-D has been cleared. Send clean-up ASAP, over."

Two more bodies vanished into the night. No one who cared would know, and no one who knew would care. That is how this city's gleaming facade survived. That is how it always would survive, as anything beautiful did. So pretty on the outside, but beneath the skin there was nothing but rotting meat, lies, bribery, and corruption.

Welcome To Elysium City.

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Looming over them in orbit, the U.S.C.M. Nicodemus Conestoga-class carrier hovered with eyes-in-the-skies and waited for comms chatter back from the grounds. Colonel Donald Briggs headed this operation, taking his place at the bridge to observe his crew. In the hangar bay, more UD-4L "Cheyenne" utility dropships were being prepared to depart and drop as needed. Global observations were underway. Nothing was getting on or off this rock without the Colonels say-so. Though it seemed someone somewhere had a lot more tug than one would imagine, for the Nicodemus wasn't to be the only carrier present. Accompanying the Colonels ship were the U.S.C.M. Osiris and the U.S.C.M. Necromundus, each carrying reserves of fresh troops in the case of infestation. No one was taking this lightly.

Drowned out by the roar of thunder and rocked and battered by the high turbulence, the landing crafts parted the cloud cover in droves. Inside, their pilots checked and rechecked their landing status, confirmed authorization. Authorization not given by Mr. Cade, but by someone several tiers higher than him. Drop zones and landing pads, both in and out of this city, were designated and reserved for their touchdowns. The flying monsters of steel landed their feet upon the surface of their drop-point, opening their sides to reveal the armed and ready troopers they carried. Some a little dizzy or sick from the ride down, but all marched out into their formations. Sergeants within each squad sped them on, shouting out their various gung-ho speeches to motivate faster deployment.

"Let's go, ladies! Wake up time! What, did you doze of on the way down, Patterson? Come on, move your asses! Hustle like you got a purpose, Marines! Command wanted that Forward Base operational yesterday!"

Within the confines of the Elysian Tower, an overpaid receptionist noticed the military official approaching her desk from the elevator. He looked to be just about as annoyed as she did. Making a point about his tardiness and that Mr. Cade doesn't like to be kept waiting for an appointment, she pressed the button on her terminal and paged his office. Inside, Mr. Cade could do nothing but peer through his darkened glass window at these new and unwanted visitors.

Like a swarm of ants, their armored bodies scoured out and off of the landing pads, eagerly awaiting orders from above. They mapped out grids of the city and the colonies that lay beyond it's walls. Positions were noted, orders were given to begin setting up, and plans for grid-by-grid searches were already being organized, starting with the inner city and working their way out. The civilians may not have been too keen on that, but it held no difference. The Colonial Marines were here, and ready for a fight.

Or so they thought....

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Deep within the darkness of the city's extensive underbelly, maintenance teams never stopped working to maintain the luxury those fops upstairs. Even now, on the celebratory day, the anniversary of the city's birth, they continued working. In the darkest of places, where even the security lights seemed to flicker in and out as they pleased, fear began to grow. Stories of things that lived down here, people disappearing and never being seen again. It all had some of the men terrified to even think about going down there, though to the vast majority this was nothing but a load of crap, and superstition, to support said crap. If there was something down here, then why hasn't anyone caught it? The security teams searched down here a lot. Routine is what they usually said, but the various spooks usually pointed out that they didn't do these walk-throughs till after the disappearances. Of course, most simply respond by stating that it's likely to make-

"Pussies like you feel safe at night, Redgy. Seriously, dude, the guys up-top probably have to arrange these God damned things cause you chickenshits won't work down here till Daddy checks under your bed."

"Man, that ain't funny. I told you that damn dog use to sleep under there and growl when I fell asleep. Friggin' little rat gave me nightmares till I was fourteen. But seriously, you're buying that load of shit they keep spoon feeding us? What about Ray? His girl ain't seen him in months. And we both know his broke-ass didn't scrape together enough to tell Mister Cade to kiss his ass."

"Dude, there could have been like a million reasons why nobody found him."

"Yeah? Name one."

"Alright.... Well, those damn Hyperdine Oxidation Filters are a death-trap and a half. That big opening in the inspection tank? Ray could've fell over the railing doing something stupid, like he always does, and gone down stream. The water pressure would have just shoved him along. Hell, it'd do more than that, it probably shove his ass through those narrow intake tubes and squirted him out the other side like a tube of toothpaste. The bits of him would be utterly unrecognizable, but still would be picked up by the scanners as contaminants. The system would have isolated that line and flash-boiled it away to sanitize it, leaving nothing behind. Hell, maybe we've all been drinking little vaporized bits of Ray for the past few months...."

"...... Wow. Is this the kinda shit you think of in your spare time? Cause if it is, man, fuck, go see a shrink. I mean, damn!"

"What? Things like that happen. My uncle Mike? Gone. Inspected a fission generator when a breach happened in one of the lines. The vacuum pressure sucked his entire body through a quarter-sized hole. The only reason nobody found out sooner is because some the remains of his tendons and shit actually blocked off the-"

"Okay, okay, okay, okay, change of subject! Please? Jesus H. Christ, dude. But seriously, man, I am not cool with you going down there on your own."

"Oh, for the love of- Fine! I'll get Miller to go with me, since he's already down there anyway. There, you don't have to go, and I won't go alone. Happy?"

"Yes."

"Alright, let's see if the assholes asleep or not."

Though they had no idea what lay in those dank halls. Behind the shadows of machinery and hidden in the veils of hissing steam. Things from nightmares given live. Things which were hunting their friend. Through the mucky sludge of the ill-maintained tunnels he raced, breathing erratically as he clutched his chest. He'd been running for his like for the better part of an hour now, fleeing those things which took away the workers right by him without a sound. In the dank and dreary void of the shadows, he saw them. He knew they were still chasing him, but the aged and out of shape man could no longer continue. Struggling to contain his gasps for air, he hid behind a large wall of piping. All was quiet, save for his beating heart. Maybe God would have mercy on him, and the heart attack would take him before they did. He began to leer his head out, checking the coast, when his radio sprang to life.

"Miller! Hey, Miller! C'mon, man, pick up the comms. I know you're asleep down there, jacka-"

With a whimper and the stumbling of his shaky hands, he managed to silence the voice which threatened his life. It was way too quiet down here, perfect conditions for that sound to travel. He didn't breath, didn't move. Just sat there, praying to any divine that would hear him. Once more, no sound was made for the longest age. From a combination of fear, stupidity, curiosity, and maybe a need to stop kneeling on this cold, hard ground, Miller once again dared to look beyond his shelter. Darkness, and nothing more. No horrors crawling on the walls, no shrieking monsters thundering down the tunnels. Not a soul. With a heavy breath, ushered forth by the sudden relief, he looked back, and saw.... a mirror? His heart froze as he gazed at his own blurred reflection, an image which gleamed off the head of this terror with no name. It's head raised, it's eyeless-stare meeting his petrified eyes. It's lips retracted in a hiss. He saw it's teeth....

And nothing more.

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In the heart of the Jungle, only about a few miles from the city, the storm roared with all its fury, yet gave not a tear from it's clouds. Heat lightning, caused by a completely separate storm coinciding with the one that hovered over the city right now. A residual side effect to the atmospheric conditioning needed to prevent the levels of nitrogen in the air from reaching too high. The air here was humid, but not wet. It was certainly hot, though. On this world, the spring seasons were often hotter than the summer, and without the comfort of the invisible atmo-field of cooled air, previously set records were being broken. Hot, populated, violent, and with potential conflict on the horizon. Ideal conditions from those who looked at this world from beyond the stars, hidden in the vast expanses of space. Though already there were some who lurked in these canopies, seeking not the hunt, but the answer to a question.

As to what they were, well.... That was a matter of who you asked. Angels and Demons, Gods and Devils, Ghosts and Spirits. Every culture that has ever walked the Earth had a legend told about them, the invisible killers who preyed on man. The Hunters, who came in the hottest seasons, to claim their trophies. Though while no hunt was established, how could one resist such tempting game? Beneath the sea of leaves, a squad of E.C.P.D. had been assigned to investigate missing research personnel and the disappearance of several captive animals. They marched along at a relatively slow pass, awaiting the regrouping of one of their comrades. James Taggert, Roger Keyes, Raymond Lewis, and Pete Farva.

"Man, where the fuck is Farva? His ass been gone now for like forty minutes."

"Probably still takin' a dump. Told em' not to eat them damn berries."

"Yeah, I don't know. That's one seriously long shit he's taking."



"'Least check and see how close he is? It's hot as fuck and I wanna get back before noon."



"What? That dumb bastard head the wrong way?"



"Hey now, that ain't true. I've had my Snoopy watch for ten years, and it still works."



"Bullshit, that fat motherfucker wouldn't run that fast after a truck full of Krispy Kremes."

Beyond them was a thick tangle of overgrowth and vines, unwelcoming to say the least. Pushing their way through, the troupe soon came to a clearing, following the lead of the locator tag all the way to the base of a large tree.



"There's a wood joke in there somewhere."

"So where the hell is he?"

"Whew, damn it's hot."

"Yeah, no shit. I'm sweatin' my balls off over here."



The brush beyond was just enough to make line-of-sight difficult to manage, but something was moving over there. Shadows occasionally blocked out the light from the sun, which was just now beginning to illuminate the clouds. They approached, but did not enter. Not so much out of the preservation of the man's dignity as sparing their eyes from such a horrid sight.



"Yeah, man! We sittin' here waitin' on your ass!"

"......Uhhh, why isn't he answering us?"



"Got your back, bro."

The leader of this band leaned forward through the vines and leaf cover, only to go reeling back with the vision he received. His frantic left hand, in an attempt to balance himself, grasped onto a mass of vines, and tore them down. Now all could see it. The skinned cadaver of their missing squad member, with his locator tag at the top of a mound of skin, organs, and bloody rags. The squadmate at his six locked his finger down in a fear-trigger, hosing the entire tree with pulse rounds. Then the laughing started.



"Fucking Christ!"

"Where The Fuck Is That Comin' From?!"



"I Can't See Anything!"

"Yeah! Come On, Bitch! Where You Hidin', Huh?! Where You Hidin' At?!"

James Taggert, the man who lead this squad, had been off-Earth for nearly 11 years. He thought he'd seen everything. But he failed to see what hit him. A massive force, something huge in size, bull rushed through him, sending him flying back-first into the unforgiving trunk of a tree with a simple backhand. Whatever it was, it was too fast to see, even from his other comrades. The ghost moved with such purpose that even Lewis didn't see what was coming. The vice like grip on his throat tightened as he was dragged off, practically swallowed by the jungle itself. The poor soul kept screaming the whole time, bloody murder. The kind of screaming a human only makes when he's being ripped apart. Keyes burped off several bursts into the foliage, but the screaming kept going. He turned to his downed leader and advanced to help, oblivious to the shimmer of something suspended in the air in front of him.



Too late, as the invisible noose wrapped tight around his neck. In the blink of an eye, the full grown, two-hundred-and-twenty-five pound man was whisked into the canopy. His gun hit the ground a second later, and James bolted for it. Gripping it tightly, he unloaded all one-hundred rounds into the jungle, hoping that maybe he'd at least get that damn taunting to stop. It never did.



"<{:Over Here....:}>"
"<{:Over Here....:}>"



"<{:Over Here....:}>""<{:Over Here....:}>"



Taggert's weapon clicked. The clip was spent. The hair's on the back of his neck stood straight up. He could feel the presence behind him. And it spoke one last time.



His head whipped around, meeting the invisible demon's fiery eyes. He screamed. The sharp, overwhelming pain of heated metal rending his flesh.

And the sound of his severed arm hitting the jungle floor......

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"Let's go, ladies! Wake up time! What, did you doze of on the way down, Patterson? Come on, move your asses! Hustle like you got a purpose, Marines! Command wanted that Forward Base operational yesterday!"

The voice rushed in with the rest of the planet as soon as the seal broke on the transport ramp. As cold and sterile as it'd been on the ride down, it was a shock to the system when the oppressively wet, hot jungle air swallowed them all up. LCPL Owens charged out with the rest of her squad, juggling her gear onto her back and her rifle into its sling.

The landing zone lights were harsh and blurry through the torrent of rain, and someone somewhere cursed loudly as he wondered if this rock was - always - this shitty.

Organized chaos. That's what it was. The military excelled at it. A hundred people working on a hundred different tasks at a hurried pace, and yet it mostly all got done without a hitch. Gear got moved, people fell into formation, comm relays were set up, supply depots filled.

"OWENS!" Someone relatively in charge shook her out of her vague daze, watching the madness with the gleaming lights of Elysium twinkling above, "Move your ass to the depot, I want your pack -stuffed-, am I clear?! These fucking clowns are going to find a whole new -mess- of ways to get themselves hurt, and you're bringing the bandaids!"

"Oorah!" She barked in affirmative reply, snapping off a salute and making for the cluster of prefab buildings. The mud sucked at her boots, and as for the rain.. well, she didn't care about it anymore, if only because she was soaked to the bone.

You'd really think the city would've shelled out for a better landing zone. Maybe at least something with more than a logging road to march on. Kind of like they didn't want the Marines here, or something..

In the candy store that was the supply hut, Owens gets her first pick of the goodies coming out of the transports, and she makes good on the order to snag it while she can. You never knew, right? Several pounds heavier, she slogs back through the bad weather to find her squad, squinting through the downpour for -her- particular group of armor-clad badasses.

"Yo, Whiskey! Where you at?!"

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This response was interesting, to say the least, and actually brought a bit of a smirk to Mr. Cade's lips. This one was a bit more direct than the usual gutless bureaucrats that usually were sent to darken his doorstep. This one just walked right in, smelling of the Corp., and wasn't going to budge. Dutiful, respectable, admirable. And completely oblivious that he was being led around by the nose. The sort of naive one could only breed in the USCM. This one might be trouble, but for some reason that only made it more interesting.



Cade spun back around, to face the Sergeant Major with that semblance of a smirk still on his face.



Mr. Cade reclined back, closing his eyes and giving a light scoff.



There was no hiding that last bit. Hell, like there was a way to hide any of it. Mr. Cade stood straight up, pulling his PDA out of his suit-pocket and turning towards his overview of the city, a clear signal that he was no longer acknowledging Bill's presence here. A clearer message couldn't be given with a teleprompter: Don't let the door hit you on the way out. This had taken much too long already, and he knew the reclusive, some might say excentric, Dr. Langford only got more irritable when she was kept waiting. As soon as he heard the door close, his thumb tapped the surface of the pad and an image of an extremely bored Botanist, rhythmically clicking a pen, flashed onscreen.



His monotone voice was that of his usual business-first demeanor. These reviews were tedious, but necessary. Best be done with them.

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Sensors under his skin sent signals to his central processing units, voicing various data feeds which all translate to the same thought. It's raining, and I'm wet. Yay, life. Gary's hand smoothed out his drenched, synthetic hair, continually grumbling at his assignment. Whiskey never saw much excitement. It's not that they were not reliable or anything, it was usually because they.... uhhhh...... yeah. His boots sunk into the non-terrestrial muck, which seemed to be slowly trying to devour him from the ankles up. It's consistency marked it as mostly red clay, with a slightly higher concentration petroleum than usual, making this just shy of being a freaking tar trap. On the plus side, I bet if you drilled down far enough, you'd hit oil. Huh.... wonder if there'd be a finder's fee?

Even with all his improvements over the organic human body, the mud still made movement a fun experience. Thank God for suction-sealed boots. He eventual schlunked his way through the crowds of rushing marines as his facial recognition scans picked Lance Corporal Jackie Owens' face out of the collage of troops. In his head, he went through incoming orders for squads. A lot of them weren't suppose to be broadcasted, but like that ever stopped him? Besides, I had to find something better to do, Whiskey was assigned to civilian detail. Dealing with uptight snobs all day? Boring! So what have we got here? Echo? Nope. Foxtrot? Uh-uh. Oooh! 'Delta is to respond to a missing security team in sector 23'? That's a good ways away, but hey, beats civie babysitting. Good luck with that, Delta. This has adventure and mystery written all over it.

LCpl Owens wasn't having any luck, thus far. Squads were moving in and out with a quickness on a dozen different tasks. So when a dark grey jumper with a distinctly un-military appearance ghosts out of the steaming rain, Jackie grins.

"Heyo, Owens! Got some S&R orders for you toons. Up for a nature walk with your bestest buddy android?"

"Glad to see you made it down in one piece, Toaster. I was sure someone would've put a plug up your ass for a microwave by now."

Coarse humor and brutish language aside, the Marine brings a pair of fingers to the side of her helmet to accept the orders he'd found for Delta Squad. Being the Tech sergeant had its rewards, among them being a HUD link to the synthetic. A human-android interface, if you will. It made them natural - if occasionally competitive - partners.

"It's not Whiskey." She says, obviously, before shrugging, "But I cant find 'em anywhere. I think Command may've pushed them into the city already. Rat bastards left us behind in the muck."

She drops her hand and waves him on, turning to slog through the mud and under a transport ship's wing in the direction of Delta.

"They're short a medic. Already pinged their Sergeant, they'll be happy to have us and it'll get us outta digging a latrine or something... Not that you don't love shoveling shit and passing it off as your expert opinion." Her teeth flash white in a broad grin. While, to anyone else, the acerbic mockery was insulting in the extreme, to USCM Marines, it was just good humor. You know you love these Ultimate Badasses.

They arrive at the Marine unit just as they've finished their brief, and get the rundown from one of the privates. An early recon team sent down to secure a wide perimeter had gone silent, and on a jungle world that'd already seen one bug hive, that was unacceptable to the Sargent-Major. He'd want a report when he got back, and he would want it so far yesterday that it should already be filed and forgotten.

Into the jungle, the small cluster goes, with Gary and Owens in tow. The benefit is that the thickened canopy and root-covered forest floor makes the going somewhat easier in the dark and the rain. Their LED shoulder lights make a cluster of daylight around them, throwing sharp shadows and bright jungle colors into sudden relief.

It's a good long march before they get anywhere near the last position of the hapless Marines, long enough for initial chatter to die down into concentrating on not getting fat drops of rain right in the face, so it's silent going until the point man holds up a fist.

"We're close, now. Anyone got eyes?"

"Nope. The hell are these assholes?"

"Think some bugs got 'em?"

"Shut it, Smitty. Word from on-high is they burned that nest. Probably fell down a goddamn hole. .. This rock have any ... like.. -big- nasty animals?"

"You mean besides yo momma?"

A shove turns into a quick jostling before someone whistles, coming up on the position of the locator tags. Not liking the silence, weapons start to unlimber from slings with that distinct rifle rattle. Owens pats down her gear, being sure of its security, before ratcheting down the helmet with that distinct green cross and finding the fat block of a locator. It powers up with a low hum and a glow of blue light, showing their clustered dots in the middle of its pulsing range lines. In ones and twos, the other, non-moving dots just sit there in decidedly not normal manner, and Owens takes the time to frown at it, give it a smack, and shake her head at Delta's lead.

Slowly, the Marines close in on those dots, spilling over into a small ravine one by one with rifles and shoulder lamps sweeping.

"The fuck? They should be right here."

"... They are, Smitty... look up."

Strung from the dripping tree limbs like grim ornaments, the bodies, skinned straight to the muscle - are hung from their ankles, skull's teeth smiling down at them. Scraps of Marine armor litter the ground, as well as broken, discarded weapons. Many of which don't even look to have been fired.

Jackie looks up for a long moment, before she swallows, turns slightly, and promptly vomits. She isn't the only one. In the hand that isn't grasping desperately at the front of her uniform, the tracker beeps ominously. There's something moving, out there in the rain, and it's getting closer.

Cade's face was the definition of apathy when the vidcomm cut out. He couldn't care less about some peon in the labs, so long as it served a purpose. Speaking of sacrifice in the name of progress, another alert beeped over his PDA. Glancing down, he noticed it was S-12, a squad of his personal androids he'd deployed into the lower levels on a "routine" inspection. Mr. Cade was actually quite eager to hear their report, which was slightly unusual for him. With the tap of his thumb, a private encrypted channel was opened between the two.





The metallic, monotone voice of the inhuman speaker on the other end confirmed with no emotion, as did Mr. Cade. The call ended, as he stood in front of his large, empowering window, watching over the entire South end of the city. His dark eyes pierced out through the tinted glass, as if he could spot them from here.

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Many things vied for dominance. Animals, men, monsters, and even the storms in the sky shoved each other aside. The low rumbles of thunder were gone, replaced by dark clouds that rivaled nightfall, and the downpour of rain which ruined the hunt. Though, this wasn't a hunt, was it? This held a deeper meaning, the toying with the softmeat. The great walls of the city gave little entrance for even the most savvy of hunters. But it was merely safety for their prey, and the oomans were skittish. If they were given a reason to flee, the predator need only follow the retreating prey to their hole in the great wall. Many of these little packs had they made trophies of, but this was getting nowhere. The one survivor was likely too terrified to find it's own way.

Even though the rain disrupted their ghost suits, the Yautja kept on with the chase. Close enough to startle this ooman into running, but never were they seen. The wind rustled the leaves around them, carrying with it the sound of oomans to the East. Giving up on the chase, they followed the source and found a new source to have fun with. These ones were different, a strange mix of discipline and rashness. These were warriors which Ni'Charak had known before. Good sport, not of this city. Krit'Na was inexperienced with the oomans in general, never before even seeing them till they'd landed on this world. The Youngblood listened and watched them intently, but scarcely understood their woods. Ni'Charak, on the other hand, knew a fair bit of their language. Enough to get a general idea, though he was often confused by their..... slang.

Still, it was inevitable that they run afoul of the remnants of previous squads. More so since Krit'Na had found the signal they used to detect each other on those tiny objects they carried. Perfect bait. Though their haul was.... less than desired. The supposed hardened warriors, of which Ni'Charak told many tales, barely could stand the sight of their fallen comrades. The smell of their sick lingered in the air, forcing Krit'Na to back away a bit. He raised an eyebrow and flexed a mandible inquisitively, questioning his brother's knowledge of these creatures. This earned him a threatening trill, and a hand signal to keep quiet. Even their proud race had lesser warriors, those sent into the battle without being fully prepared. The softmeat were no different. Besides, an interesting confrontation was closing in fast.

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Still running, for hours it felt like. To where, to who, to what, it didn't matter. Taggert just kept running. The humidity of the jungle was unbearable, sweat was pouring off of his skin so profusely that the rain made no difference. Three times now. Three times had he run into another squad on patrol, and each time the same happened. The laughing started, guns were fired, and then everyone died..... Everyone but him. They were letting him live. Why? It didn't matter, no time to think, just had to get out of here. They were still behind him, chasing him, hunting him. Running as fast as he could, the pain in his legs rivaling that of his missing arm. His senses were all blurred by the sensation, hell, he could barely notice all the flashlights and guns in his face when he broke through the brush into the clearing.