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Fighting for Love
He couldn't remember how long he had been fighting for, all that was certain for him, was that whether his eyes were open or closed, he could always see the blood. Whereever he dared to wander, his weapon was at the ready. He had been fighting his war for at least 5 years now, he had long forgotten dates, they had no meaning, he couldn't leave his post until the Angels sent for him. He had trouble remembering why he'd first left. Originally there was a cause, but the cause was long forgotten, but the one he had left behind was not. He had only known her briefly, but he could never forget her, and that one night of bliss he had.
At moments like these, he would wonder what had ever happend to his love. Had she married? She must've, there was no chance that a woman like her could ever remain single for long. Her long silky blonde hair, her slender body full of curves. The dress that she had worn was devilish, it was so sensously tight and seductive. Those dances they had shared at the ball all were crystaline in his memory. Though he knew very few dance moves, he had moved like a professional dancer that night... all for her. She brought out in him dormant abilities that he never even knew existed.
Maybe she was it... maybe she was the reason that he fought, maybe she was the reason that he had gone to war. No, she wasn't the reason he'd gone to war, she was the reason he fought. She was the motivating factor in his life. He fought to protect her. Her sentuos body, her electrifying personality... simply put, her.
Too much thinking was bad for a soldier, especially a covert op. He stood up and reholsterd his staff to his back. The man took his cloak out of his sack and through it around his neck. The cloak flutterd down to the ground, hiding the soldiers armor and staff. The man repositioned his scouter for defense mode, he had to run, and he had to run quick.
The man's name was Denshaw Mycliff. A Covert Op. for the Creedence Front, one of the more successful liberation forces. Currentally Denshaw was located in Rentworth, a city under the occupancy of Pogue's forces. Denshaw's mission was to infiltrate the city, and return to his unit with information regarding the cities defences. Besides a platoon of gaurds, and a few stationary gun turrets. Though he hadn't seen it, though, he had gotten word that a special VIP was in town, however, that was not his worry, that was the job of "CROW."
Slowly, Denshaw inched around the corner, looking for an signs of danger. He had to close 300 yards within 1 minute, or else he would draw the attention of the proximity turrets. Normally, this would be an easy task, but with the added weight of his weapon, armor, and pack, his speed would be incredibly decreased. Just in case the worst possible situation arose, Denshaw unbuckled his holster and reloaded his revolver.
Denshaw saw himself as one of the luckier soldiers of the war. Not once in his life had he been forced to kill a man. He had seen battlefields of corpses, but he always felt somewhat better about himself knowing he had not contributed to them directly. He took pride in the fact that never once, had his revolver been fired, in fact, he wasn't sure that if he did one day have too shoot the thing, that it would work. Denshaw's revolver wasn't a typical issuse piece, it had been a present from his best friend the night of his departure for the frontier.
Denshaw had made a vow with his friend, a vow that they would both survive the war. Of course both knew that the chances of the two of them both surviving the war were slim to none, yet still, they made the pact. And so, the two swore on a far off star, not a falling one, the two believed a falling star was a bad omen, that they would both live long enough to see the other again. That they both would survive the war.
It was humorsome to Denshaw how just putting tiny pieces of lead into a circular cylinder could bring back so many memories to him. Still, he knew that now was not the best time to remenise, he had pleanty of time to look back on things when he was an old man. He had to live for the moment, or die forever. He took one last look at his hand, full of revolver rounds, and then promply shoved them all back into the pouch at his side.
With revolver in hand, Denshaw started his trek. Though it was only 300 yards, it seemed almost a mile. With his pack weighing him down, Denshaws foot steps went deeper into the dry desert terrain, kicking up clouds of smoke with every step he took. Through his left eye, Denshaw could see the sensors begin to activate. "If I'm not through that gate in 30 seconds, I'm just another casulty of the war, just another statistic" Denshaw thought to himself. Fueled by this thought, Denshaw dug deeper into himself and found the speed that he know knew that he'd need.
100 yards to go, the sensors were warmed up and locking onto Denshaw with there heat sensors. Denshaw began to panic, the sensors had activated much quicker then he had anticipated. Sweat began to quickly drop from his brow, the temperature in his mouth rose, his stomach started to cramp up. "Why are all these conflicting ailments happening now?" He thought to himself.
About 40 yards from the gate the first shot was fired, but not by the sensors. Various soldiers and militia men had mounted the wall to try and take out the spy in there midst. After Denshaw had gone about ten yards further, he felt a sharp pain in his leg, and something driping down his left leg... blood. Denshaw knew he'd been shot, he also knew there was nothing he could do about it but continue to run. With his endorphenes kicked up a notch, he hardly felt the wound.
15 yards from the gate, Denshaw was hit again. This time however, it was not a bullet, and he was not hit in the leg. This time Denshaw was forced to slow down to the speed of a lurch. Proturding from his left eye was a thin needle like dart. No matter how much the dart hurt though, Denshaw knew he couldn't pull it out, less he wished to lose his entire eye. As soon as the dart hit, Denshaw knew he'd never see through his eye again, still though, survival was what runing through his mind most.
"14 yards... 12 yards... 9 yards..." Denshaw could hear himself mumbling the distances off to himself. Then, in the back calf of the leg that was shot before, Denshaw was shot again. He could no longer run... he could no longer support his own weight. Denshaw fell to the ground and a cloud of dust went up, obscuring the various soldiers view of him.
From within the cloud of smoke, 6 lead bullets flew out. The last desperate act for a scared soldier. 4 of the shots missed compleatly, flying up in the lower atmosphere. The 5th shot went through the back window of a nearby car. The 6th shot though, is the shot that will be rememberd. The 6th shot flew on an near impossible course, with incredible trajectory, and crashing through the outer metal covering of a immense structure proturding from the ground. The contents of the strucutre though, and the chain reaction it set though are the truly amazing parts.
The strucute was an oil tanker, alligned for the ultimate defense of Rentworth, the wall of fire. The bullet ignited the tanker and then quickly, the flames spread throughout the city by way of a chunnel system running throughout the city. In about a minutes time, the entire city was surrounded by flames. Just the break the Denshaw needed.
Through his one good eye, Denshaw could see the flames crackleing high above and around the city, that was, until he passed out from a combination of pain, exaustion, and heat. The last vision that he could remember was seeing a group of men, cloaked like himself, coming from the gate, screaming loudly, and firing a wide variety of fire arms. And then... darkness.
The first glimpse of light slipped through his eyebrow for aproximeally 5 seconds. From what he could put together, he had been asleep for about 1 day. The sun had been out when he had first passed out, and the sun was out now, though this would typically believe this to mean only a few hours had passed, he had a low level of healing in his left leg, where he rememberd be shot at least twice. If it had been only a few hours, hew knew the pain would have been immense.
The second glimpse of light came about ten minutes later, and this time, Denshaw was able to capture the light for a good 5 minutes. The first thing he noticed, was that he was seeing far less then usual. It was then that he rememberd the needle. With his good eye, he tried to see, to no avail, what had happend to his other eye. After a futile attempt, lasting a good 5 minutes, Denshaw passed out once more.
When next Denshaw awoke, he was no longer in the room that he had been in the last time he had awoken. Originally, he had been in a very dull room, your typicall recovery ward, bland blue/gray walls and ceiling, a sink in the corner, and a bell to ring for assitance. Now though, he was in a luxorious bedroom with long silken flowing curtains. The bed had about 3 comforters, 4 layers of silk sheets, and a long quilt on top. In each corner of the room stood 4 completly original marble pillars, the designs of which he had never before seen in his life. Though his vision had not fully recoverd as of yet, Denshaw swore he saw the outline of 3 other people in the room.
Each person in the room wore a completly diffrent outfit. One seemed to be dressed like a soldier who had been at the front lines of the war for a long long time. The second looked almost like a dignitary, he was dressed in the formal garbs of any officer, your typicall leisure wear. The third man, however, was a complete mystery. He couldn't make out anything about the third mysterious figure. He couldn't tell if he was dressed formal, or unkempt. Whether he wore robes, or a suit. The man was nothing but a siloutte to Denshaw.
The three mysterious men surrounded the bed. The soldier stood at one corner of the bed near Denshaws left foot, the dignitary man stood near the right. Standing behind Denshaw, and looking down on him, was the third man. The three man moved there lips constantly, as if having a heated discussion, but Denshaw could hear nothing. Whoever the third man was, he seemed to be in charge, Denshaw could at least tell that much. Whenever the siloutte talked, that other two stoped talking, making it seem as if those two were the subourdinates of the mystery man.
No matter how interesting the situation was to Denshaw, lack of strength once again took its toll on him, and he slipped once again into inevitable slumber. Unlike the other times Denshaw had fallen asleep though, this time was diffrent. In his sleep, he saw himself, not as he was, but as he had been. He saw back to himself, that one fatefull night before he left for the fronteir. He saw himself, dressed up in his royal uniform, waiting at the front gate for his friend and colleague, Laslow. This was too be the final celebration for the two, that night, the dined and danced with royalty, the next day, the fought, and lived with the grunts.
It seemed as if he was revisiting that night again, however, this time he was not himself, but instead, a spiritual viewer. He could see what he had done, and what others had done, but not change the events that had occured in any way. And so, he was himself, waiting in front of the grand banquet hall for Laslow. He had rememberd how he almost gave up hope on Laslow and was about to enter the party without him, but fought the urge and still waited for him.
The moment that Laslow walked out of the Great Hall with a woman on each arm, I was ready to kill him."Denshaw thought to himself "However, he seemed so happy to be in the company of the two woman that I couldn't slug him once in the face. To each man his own, I suppose.
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