| 11:10a |
More of Delta Team Arrives
Sergeant Marcus Fenix was many things to many people: A war hero, a traitor, a leader to be admired, a foe, and a friend… But many forgot that the soldier was still human. This apocalyptic war hardened the people of Sera to new precedents; still, people can only withstand so much mental anguish. After the mission to Mercy, the soldiers and survivors who watched Marcus felt the man seen as fearless and courageous would finally falter and crumble.
His team took shelter with refugees in the city of Char after promising to the cocky and zealous leader Griffin they’d do work to warrant their stay the next morning. Once they made it to their beds, Marcus sluggishly took off the top half of his gear and set it alongside his guns and ammunition, leaving only metal dog tags and plated gloves to cover his wide, dingy tee clad upper body, and a combat knife strapped to his thigh should the worst happen while he slept. It was only with the aid of a drug induced cocktail that Marcus managed to nod off, and to his dismay, no element in the drugs could stop the horrible memory of what happened at Mercy…
“Dom?! Dom, where are ya’ going?!” Marcus shouted through his communication link to his best friend, whom he watched leap into a fuel truck and speed off along a tunneled street. Marcus, Anya, Jace, and Dizzy were both blinded by the glare of the sunset and surrounded by Lambent stalks and swarms of corrupted Locusts and humans, both equally bent on destroying them as they stood their ground atop a dilapidated building.
“I’m pullin’ th’ plug on ‘em, Marcus! Jump when you see me coming! Jump! Do it!” Dom screamed in his ear. The others on his team heard the message loud and clear, and when the roar of the vehicle’s engine echoed from the tunnel walls, all of them crawled down the sides of the building or hopped to the ground, using the explosive fuel canisters nearby as a staircase. Marcus was the only one who stood still to stare at his best friend driving straight towards him. Despite the threat of impending death, the sergeant lowered his rifle and began pleading in the most somber way he knew how.
“…Never thought it’d end like this, huh?” Dom said with finite excitement as he slammed his foot on the accelerator.
“Dom, don’t! Don’t do this! You don’t have ta’ fucking do this! Dom!? DOM! NO!”
The collision from the fuel truck caused a blast greater than even the noble Santiago pictured. The blast was more than forceful to knock Marcus off of the building he stood upon. The sergeant’s body rolled backwards before the flames consumed him along with his friend. The hand of God had to have been upon him; save several cuts and bruises, none of his bones were broken from the tumble he took. On his belly, Marcus looked up at the charred lambent corpses that couldn’t escape the explosion. Foolishly, he tried to crawl to the fire, confident that if he moved a little faster, he could reach Dom and save him! Had it not been for the firm grip of Anya, and her consoling words, Marcus would have died that day too.
The shock of the dream caused the sergeant to wake up in a cold sweat; he sat up with Dom’s combat knife in hand – the only thing he had left to remember his former friend by – ready to strike at any lambent or desperate refugee that might have been hovering over him. Except…there were no Lambent or refugees near. And he wasn’t in a filthy, ruined room. Instead of a dirty mattress beneath him, there was clean, cotton colored tiles that left his shoulder blades cool, like he’d been laying on the floor for hours.
Slowly, Marcus stood upright and looked around.
It’s gotta be th’ meds… Gotta be the meds…
None of his gear was in sight. None of his team was in sight. There were no windows that showed the ruin that Sera was in. This…space… was a wide corridor, modern in design, with lighting strips along the floor and ceiling. It was pristine, sterile, and modern, much like the hospitals in Jacinto were. If this were another facet of his dream, there was no cause for Marcus to stand still. Gripping the handle so that the combat knife he held pointed downward, the soldier took cautious steps forward, unknowing what he’d find… |