Hi Guys, this piece is inspired by the Warhammer 40,000 universe, more specifically a RPG system called Dark Heresy. I love the system and vast intricate scope for stories, so you’ll have to let me know what you think.
Cheers,
Jevan Thompson
The mission comes first.
“Marcus.” A voice sounded, seemingly so far away. Like a distant whisper. Thick lho smoke curled into the air in front of him. Strange. Marcus thought, I can’t remember lighting one.
“Marcus!” Gandar said, much firmer this time. The raised voice seemed to wake him from his daydream-like state, bringing everything around him into focus. It all clicked together. He was on a gun cutter, a small flying craft capable of spaceflight, but mainly suited to planetside work.
He took a quick look around before turning to Gandar. The inside of the gun cutter was surprisingly spacious for such a nimble craft, housing all of the company’s crew and their supplies. There were lockers integrated into the walls, full of weapons, tools and equipment. Marcus turned his attention to Gandar, who was stood a couple of feet in front of him, loading shells into a pump shotgun.
“Well, you hear me Marcus? What did I just say?”
Marcus sniffed before stubbing out his lho stick underfoot. A final puff of smoke was released from the narcotic as it was extinguished. “You said it’s a simple run. Bust in, start grabbing anything we can find that’s worth a damn. Anything we find can be sold back to the company at the end of the run. Try not to shoot, but if your life is in danger, open fire. If anyone is caught discharging unnecessarily, you will have thrones deducted from your cut.” Marcus cocked his head sarcastically to Gandar.
“Fine. Get your gear and hurry, we’ve only got a few minutes until we land.” Gandar returned to putting shells into his pouches.
Marcus got up and surveyed the crew of the cutter. There were six in total, counting Gandar and himself. Over near the access ramp, there were two men gathering equipment, one was leaning against the access ramp loudly bragging about all the salvage he had accrued on the last run. He was tall, perhaps the tallest out of everyone. His body was thick with muscle and he seemed to proudly display it with the armoured vest he wore. Typical Slate, I don’t think anything could keep him from talking.
The other man was doing his best to ignore Slate, but the constant drone of boasting was tough to shut out. He was very different to Slate, like a mirror of opposites in some ways. Where Slate was tall and built with Muscle, Switch was short and thin. Where Slate talked too much, Switch talked too little. The group had nicknamed him Switch because of his uncanny ability with circuits and electrical systems, if there was a locked door, Switch could open it.
Marcus’ gaze drifted over to the centre, looking at Gandar briefly again. He was quite tall, but nothing compared to Slate who had a good few inches on him. His upper body was relatively muscular and would be impressive if it were not for his pot belly. A very thick set man, but also intelligent and cunning. His head was shaved down extremely short, but the thick beard that stretched over his face seemed to make up for it. I wouldn’t trust any of this bunch, but I trust Gandar least of all.
Lastly, he looked to the front of the cutter. Two women were talking quietly amongst themselves, one looking down the sights of an autorifle, the other adjusting tanks of compressed gas on a workbench, a welding torch lay resting on the tabletop nearby. The one with the rifle was called Minx, she was thin, but wiry. Built like an athlete. She always wore a combat helmet on runs which obscured her face, but she was beautiful, no doubt about it. Blue eyes and fair blonde hair lay hidden underneath that headgear, usually accompanied by a crafty smile. Makes a guy wonder what she’s doing with a crew like this.
The last person in the crew was the woman by the workbench, just next to Minx. She was called Smokes. She was small and carrying a bit of weight, but she wore a full flight suit which had pouches and tools hanging off, although the professionalism of the suit was ruined by the stains which covered it. She was similar to Switch in that she didn’t speak often, but then again her and Switch usually worked together on the runs. If Switch couldn’t hot-wire it open, she could melt it. If she couldn’t open it, Switch could.
Marcus reached underneath his seat, grabbing his pack that he’d placed there earlier. He opened it up, quickly checking the contents. Inside was a set of rags, two spare magazines for his autopistol, three glow sticks, a bottle of cheap amesac and a small matchbox. There was also two blades near the bottom, one long and one short. He took the long combat knife and inserted it into a sheathe on his belt, the smaller one he palmed into his sleeve. Right at the bottom was a small stub revolver, with a handful of spare cartridges loose next to it. He put the spare cartridges into a zipped pocket on his trousers of his armoured body glove, and tucked the revolver into the back of his belt.
Finally, as if completing some sort of ritual, he bent down to tie his bootlaces, making sure they were tight. Well, that’s what it must have looked like to the other crew, in reality he was inserting the small knife into a concealed sheathe on his left leg. Once the knife was in place, he placed the other items he’d pulled out into his pack, zipped it up and shouldered it.
“Land in two.” Gandar said.
*****
There was a loud clang as the gun cutter docked with the neighbouring ship.
The crew all swayed slightly from the impact. After a few seconds of waiting, an amber light appeared on the access ramp. “It should be good guys, the oxygen is still running but put your helmets on just in case.” All of them quickly opened their respective lockers, clipping themselves up. Within a minute, they were all ready to go.
“Right.” Gandar’s voice crackled through the helmet’s speaker. “I want Slate at the front with me and Minx, the rest of you, guarded positions until we know it’s clear.”
They all formed up, torches on their helmets and shoulders lit up, making the door turn white from all of the light. The light on the ramp turned green and it slid open slowly, gasses hissing from ports at the top of the ramp. The corridor ahead of them was suddenly illuminated with all of their torches.
The light shone to about twenty metres, then the rest of the corridor disappeared into blackness. The group inched forwards, one footstep at a time, their boots thudding loudly on the metal floor.
Minx was just behind Slate and Gandar at the front, rifle hanging loose, reading off of a dataslate on her forearm. “No motion ahead, 30 meters range.” The crew visibly relaxed a little, weapons lowering slightly.
They reached the end of the corridor, which turned into a T junction. Gandar stopped and checked left and right briefly, before consulting a map on his dataslate he held in his off hand. After a few moments of waiting, he finally spoke up.
“Right, from the ship’s mechanical plans we’ve managed to grab, the engine bay should be to our left, everything else to our right. What we’re going to do is leave one person here to cover the engine room corridor, while the rest move to the right.” Before he could finish speaking Minx immediately chimed in.
“That’s a fragging bad idea Gan, you know that splitting up on runs is asking for trouble.”
“Sorry Gan, I’m with Minx on this one.” Slate said, leaning on the corridor walls.
Gandar turned around. “I don’t care if you’re with Minx on this one, we don’t have the time or the bodies to do this properly. This way we keep the exit covered, if things get fragged, we’ve got an out. Happy?” His visor swept around everyone, even through the helmet Marcus could tell he was challenging them all.
“Whatever you say chief.” Slate said, walking past him and to the right corridor. Once Slate had gone, it was clear nobody wanted to challenge him, they all started moving to the right corridor. Marcus was left stood alone looking down the left.
Marcus walked forwards.
*****
For the next twenty minutes, Marcus did nothing but keep a light on the corridor and listen to the vox feed. There were a few tense moments, but nothing major sparked up. It was mainly listening to Minx and Slate arguing or spouting nonsense. Occasionally Smokes or Switch said a small observation about the run, but for the most part it was just unnecessary noise. It was all passing by quite quickly until Marcus heard a loud bang coming from his corridor.
Instantly, he was alert. His pistol was in his hands and aimed at the doorway, the torch continued to show an empty, dark corridor. His torchlight scanned over it, revealing nothing but a quiet empty hallway.
“Marcus to main party.” The mindless chatter between Minx and Slate continued.
“Marcus to main party.” He repeated again.
“So I said to him, how are you gonna double down when you’re out of thrones? He said…” Slate continued to ramble.
“GUYS!” Marcus shouted down the vox. The link went quiet.
“Well somebody’s upset about being left on his own. Go ahead corridor bitch.” Slate replied.
“Any of you heard or seen anything yet while you’ve been on the ship?” There was a small delay, the comms quiet for a few seconds.
“Switch, didn’t you say you’d seen something?” Gandar asked.
“Was a noise in crew compartment, think it was change of air pressure in room.” Switch replied quickly.
“What sort of noise?” Marcus asked again.
There was a few more moments of silence. “Something impacting metal.”
“Well, I’ve just heard something like that from the engine room. Shall I check it out?”
“Pffft. Corridor boy just wants to get his hands on some salvage! Well, can’t fault him for that.” Slate chuckled over the vox.
“That’s a negative, I’ll send Smokes over to assist. Wait until then.”
“Fine.” Marcus agreed, plenty of attitude seeping into his voice. Two of us means splitting the salvage. Gonna come up short. Again.
It was only a few minutes until Smokes came plodding down the corridor, her welder was on her back, her lasgun held loosely in her right hand.
“Here Marcus, did you really hear a noise? Or did you want a chance at salvage?”
“Both. Come on, let’s check it out.”
*****
The two of them got through about 15 meters of winding corridor before hitting the engine room, a thick plasteel gray door stretched across the corridor, barring their way. Their torches scanned across the thick door. It was marked in large black letters.
ENGINE ROOM.
It was only on the second pass of his torch marcus noticed something.
There was blood on the access controls.
Marcus nudged Smokes and she nodded her head in confirmation. “Marcus to main party.”
“Gandar, go ahead.”
“We’ve found blood on an access panel, it’s not any of ours. Did you guys find any trace of the crew?”
“Not yet, we think they’ve been spaced. Carry on, it’ll be fine.”
“You sure Gandar? Blood’s not a good sign-”
“Carry. On. Gandar out.”
Marcus cocked his head over to Smokes, who shrugged and shouldered her lasgun to the doorway. Marcus had his pistol aimed as well as he moved over to the access controls. He was about to open the door when another oddity caught his eye. The floor, right next to the door had a purple like colour. He couldn’t see it from his angle earlier, but now he was next to the door, it was clear as day.
“Marcus to main-”
“Carry. On. Gandar out.”
Unbe-fraggin-lievable.
Marcus looked over at Smokes again, who nodded her head. “Ready.” She confirmed.
He hit the access button.
*****
As soon as the large door slid open, Marcus knew something was wrong.
The inside of the room was lit by the emergency lighting and a hellish purple glow resonating from the fuel stores, bathing the room in a horrible mix of dark purple and flashing bright red. Marcus’ sense of sight and sound were overwhelmed, his hearing exploded with a high pitched whine that sent him reeling against the wall, dropping his pistol and cradling his helmet with his hands trying to shut out the noise. It was like running into a wall, the strength of the strange unseen force blurred his vision and made the room swim.
He was unaware of anything else but the noise, it consumed every part of his fibre and drove out any other ideas other than the piercing sound. After a few seconds, he was dimly aware of himself screaming as he sank to his knees, his voice sounding like he’d been trapped underwater. Through his blurred vision he saw a faint figure moving across the room, but with all the shapes of the room overlapping in the haze of the noise, it was near impossible to tell.
He collapsed to the floor, still screaming inside his helmet, on the fringes of his senses he could tell that his voice was going hoarse. Lying on the floor, he had a view of a figure he thought to be Smokes. She was in a similar state, on her knees with her hands clawing at her own helmet. The blurred figure was moving over to her, Marcus thought he might of been skipping, but the pain was distorting everything.
His vision cleared slightly, and he was able to stop screaming, changing into pained, struggled groans instead. Blinking his eyes rapidly, he managed to clear his vision even further, just in time to see the figure dancing next to Smokes. The man kicked Smokes in the head, with a harsh stomping motion, even in his delirious state he could tell that must have done some damage. Even through her helmet. Marcus thought he heard laughing, but it could have been a hallucination. The figure then bent over and grabbed her by the head, and began moving his arm forwards and backwards, over and over again.
Forwards and backwards.
Forwards and backwards.
In and out.
In and out.
The noise cleared a little further and he could make out long ropes of liquid dripping from Smokes’ figure.
Blood. It was blood.
The figure had a knife. Gotta get up. Marcus thought to himself through the pain. He attempted to push himself to his knees, but his arms would barely respond to his commands, he could feel blood running down his nose. He groaned with effort, but his body would not obey him.
The figure stood up and waltzed over to Marcus, blood dripping from the knife in his hand. GET UP! He screamed at himself in his mind, but he would not move. The figure stood over him, he was still so blurred though, Marcus couldn’t make anything out in the swirling light. The figured looked like he was laughing, but he couldn’t be sure. DAMN THIS! MOVE MARCUS! MOVE!
The figure was now straddling him, his mouth twisted into a horrific grin as he plunged the knife down. The pain was incredible, instantly shocking him out of his nightmarish trance. All of a sudden, everything cleared. Clarity was restored to his mind and body, he was in an almost euphoric state as all of his senses came rushing back.
Then the moment was over and the knife in his shoulder sent pain stabbing into his brain.
Marcus roared as the figure pulled the knife out, blood dripping from the blade again. He could see his face more clearly now, now that the horrible noise had gone. He was a worryingly thin man, with skin as pale as styger milk. His ribs were visible under his skin, which look like it had been stretched over him as tight as possible. Blood was sprayed all over his body, but his arms had turned completely crimson with the gore. His face was twisted in a crazed grin, his red eyes open wide, seemingly bulging out of his head.
“Two more sacrifices! Oh the box will be overjoyed!” The crazed man shrieked happily. Marcus roared with pain and rage, swinging his fist over in a looping hook. His knuckles connected solidly with the man’s jaw, his chin pivoting on his neck as impact rocked his head. The man dropped to the side of Marcus like a ragdoll, the punch had hit him just right in the sweet spot. Marcus began to clamber to his feet, but the pain from his shoulder and the effects of the strange noise had hit him harder than he thought. It took him three attempts before his stood unsteadily on the blood stained metal floor.
His right hand clutched his left shoulder as blood lazily dribbled out from the stab wound. It was painful, but dribbling blood meant nothing vital was cut. He looked over to the man, who had dragged himself to his feet brandishing the knife in front of him, swishing it from side to side.
“The gods need blood and you’re going to give it to them! It’s beautiful! I thought I was going to have to do it, but they sent you instead! They love me!” He exclaimed, sobbing to himself happily. He rushed Marcus, swinging the blade from his hip to Marcus’ chest in an arcing motion. Marcus managed to block the brunt of the knife with his left, but it earnt him a long cut down his arm for his efforts. He grabbed the man by his throat with his right whilst he rammed his forehead into his nose.
Marcus heard the bone snap as his forehead impacted, blood gushing from the man’s nose like a waterfall. He wailed in pain and tried to push Marcus away from him, but he lost his footing on the blood-slick metal floor and they were both sent tumbling ungracefully to the ground. Marcus drew his combat knife quickly, his old outcast instincts returning to him, and reached over, plunging it into the man’s chest. The man cried out and kicked at Marcus, hitting him in the face and sending him sprawling over behind himself. He hit something solid and groaned loudly.
The noise was beginning to come back, he could feel it crawling up his spine and into his head. He shook himself and stood to his feet turning around. He had fallen into a dark wooden box, smeared with blood and grime, open and spilling out with purple light. He felt physically sick just by looking at it, he couldn’t tell what was inside it. It’s got to be the box! That has to be causing the noise! He grabbed the lid, wincing in the pain from his shoulder and slammed it shut.
Instantly, he felt better. As though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. It was like he could breathe again. He turned to face the bloodied man, who now had Marcus’ knife stuck in his chest. He had managed to pull himself up from the floor and he now had his free hand on the handle of the blade. With a determined pull and a shriek of pain, he pulled the knife from himself. He coughed blood over his chest.
He screamed an ungodly scream and walked towards Marcus purposefully, blood dribbling from his nose, from the two knives he was holding and from the wound in his chest. In one focussed, calm move, Marcus drew the stub revolver he had rammed into his work belt earlier. He pulled the trigger twice, sending two bullets hurtling into the man. The first hit him in the throat, sending a spray of red mist into the air and onto the walls behind him. The second hit him in the forehead, throwing blood and grey matter all over the room in an explosion of flesh. The man instantly collapsed to the floor, as if he’d been switched off.
Marcus exhaled deeply, then sank to the floor breathing heavily.
*****
“Calm down Marcus, just walk us through what happened again.” Gandar said.
Marcus was being looked at by Minx, who had patched his shoulder and arm up with medi-gel and bandages. She was just finishing her knots on the arm when Marcus spoke.
“For the last time Gandar, I heard a noise coming from the engine room. You sent Smokes over. We went in, there was something inside coming from a fragging box that shut us both down.” Marcus glared at Gandar silently, daring him to question him.
“What do you mean shut -”
“I told you what I mean! We walked in, it was like getting hit with a pipe. We both got dropped by this noise, this horrible high pitched noise. I’m telling you it was like getting hit with something. I’ve never been dropped like that before.”
There was a few moments silence before Gandar spoke up again. “Okay. Well, what happened after that? There was a guy in there as well?”
“Yeah. He was crazy, he fragging starts dancing over to Smokes when she’s on the ground and he starts stabbing her over and over again. He was fragging laughing while he did it! Laughing! For frag’s sake.” Marcus’ eyes seemed to glaze over. There was a lot of blood. He was laughing. Who laughs when they’re stabbing a defenceless person in cold blood?
Marcus thought back to his brief time on hive world Meridian, where up close, harsh gang violence was rife. He’d seen people killed on the orders of those higher up, or better known as “victims of the swirl”. He’d seen people who were supposed to be close to him “Swirled”, but nothing even came close to the horrifying visage of gruesome murder that took Smokes.
“Marcus!” Gandar asked firmly. Marcus snapped out of his trance and glanced around the room. They were still on the ship, but in one of the vacant crew compartments. Some compact tables and chairs had been set up in the room, but the room itself was still messy, with clothes and odd items strewn over the floor. All of the crew, including Gandar were looking at him. All of them had taken off their helmets, he could now see all of their concerned expressions directed at him.
“What?”
“What happened to the man after he stabbed Smokes?”
“What do you mean what happened?! He stabbed me in the fragging shoulder. I snapped out of whatever was keeping me down, stabbed him, then shot him twice. He went down like a sack of meat, that brings us to now. Happy?”
The crew began to look around themselves as if seeking approval of the story. After a few moments, Gandar clapped his hands together and slung his shotgun on his back. “Right, here’s what we’re going to do. We’ve cleared the ship, so it’s all safe now. We’re going to strip out anything valuable, then we’re going to get the frag out. Minx, Switch and Marcus, you guys take anything off of this side of the ship. We’re looking for anything that could be valuable. Tools, weapons, personal effects, I don’t give a shit. If you think you can sell it, bring it back.”
He walked towards the doorway and tapped Slate on the shoulder as he went past. “Me and Slate will take the box, we’ll see if we can shift it.”
It took a few seconds for that to reach everyone as the two of them walked out of the door. As soon as Marcus had deciphered what they’d said, he bolted out of his chair after them.
“You’ve gotta be fragging kidding me! Did you listen to a single word I said in there?!” Marcus exclaimed.
Gandar turned around and raised an eyebrow.
“Of course I did. Look I get it. Box was bad, but you closed it right? It’s safe to take.”
“You can’t be serious Gandar. This thing killed Smokes and it damn near killed me!”
“No Marcus. A crazy man trapped in a room with a knife killed Smokes. That box is an Artefact, you know what that means? It means a fragload of thrones for us. Use your head Marcus, this could be the last Run. We’ll all be richer than kings!”
“He’s right Marcus, things like this always sell. We won’t have to worry about money again.” Slate said scratching his chin.
“Count me in.” Agreed Minx.
“Shouldn’t do it.” Switch said quietly. “Not safe. Not moral. Not legal. The Arbiters and Inquisition will know.”
“Frag you Switch! Since when have you cared about things being legal?!” Slate shouted angrily.
Switch leant against the wall and shook his head slowly. “Not right.”
Gandar looked around at Marcus and Switch in disbelief. “I can’t even try to understand what’s wrong with you two, I’m offering you the biggest payday you’ll ever see and you’re telling me it’s not safe? Not legal? Since when has anything we’ve done been safe?! Or legal?!”
He scratched his beard again.
“You know what, I don’t care if you’re not on board with this. You don’t wanna get more money than you can imagine, fine by me. You can stay here on this piece of junk. Hell, I’ll even leave you some rations for the wait.”
Switch pushed himself off the wall and confronted Gandar, only about a foot away from him.
“You can’t do that.”
“Gandar, think about what you’re saying.” Marcus added.
“I’m the commanding manager for this run, so I think you’ll find I can do whatever the frag I want.”
“They will speak on the Crompton. Sure they won’t like heretical artefacts on board.”
“They aren’t gonna know! We put it in a corner of the cargo hold, I’ll vouch for it. Case closed.” He said finally.
Switch didn’t move. His eyes remained locked on the thickset manager.
“Not. Right.” Switch said enunciating each word clearly.
“Shut him up.” Gandar said, turning away down the corridor.
In the fraction of a second it took for the command to be uttered, Slate punched Switch heavily in the face. Slate’s muscle made it even worse for the thin Switch, as the punch broke his nose and sent him spiralling to the cold metal floor.
Marcus rushed to Switch’s side as he spat blood from his gushing nose. “You fragging animal!” He raged at Slate.
Slate shrugged. “Sorry. Ain’t nothin personal. Just the Swirl. You know how it is.” Slate turned his back and continued walking towards the engine room. Before Marcus could say anything else, Switch had clumsily pulled himself to his feet, one hand clamped firmly on his dripping nose. He swayed slightly, resting on Marcus for a second, then he stepped forwards and drew a small autopistol from his belt.
The sound of the hammer cocking was wincingly loud in the confines of the corridor.
Marcus took a few slow paces back, his mouth now shut and his eye’s wide open. He’d seen this type of thing happen before, countless times in his past. People argue, that’s usually fine. People fight, that’s usually fine, maybe a broken jaw or nose, but fine. As soon as someone pulls a weapon, a gun or a knife, that’s when you’ve got problems. Guns are the worst though. A knife, you’ve got to be thinking about what you’re doing, it takes a lot of thought or emotion to push a length of steel into another person. A gun however, all it takes is one twitch on the trigger and it’s all over.
Slate and Gandar turned around, both of their weapons still hanging from their slings wrapped around their hands harmlessly. There was a pause for a few moments, until Gandar spoke.
“Switch, put the gun down. Don’t be stupid here.”
“Can’t let you. Not right.”
“Okay Switch, we won’t touch it. We won’t take it okay? Just put the gun down.”
Switch shook his head. “You won’t.”
Marcus knew something was about to happen, all of his instincts were screaming at him. He backed away slowly, barely making a sound.
Then several things happened in quick succession.
First, Minx fired her autorifle from the crew compartment. She had got it ready and shouldered whilst everyone else was talking and she picked her moment. Her bullet flew into Switches’ right side, but before he crumpled to the floor, his finger twitched on the trigger of his pistol. The pistol barked and sent a round into Slate, missing Gandar by about a foot. Slate span around from the force, and he dropped his shotgun to the ground with a loud clatter.
Once Switch had been hit, Marcus and Gandar both locked eyes and reached for their weapons. Time seemed to run in slow motion for Marcus, as him and Gandar raced. Gandar only had to raise his shotgun up to his shoulder, but the gun was wobbling around from being held at the sling. He managed to get one of his hands on the barrel of the shotgun, the other was moving to the trigger on the stock.
He was fast. But Marcus was faster.
In a zenlike state, Marcus pulled his stub revolver out from his belt and aimed it at Gandar calmly. He pulled the trigger twice and the revolver boomed twice. Both bullets smashed into Gandar’s chest, sending him stumbling backwards, but he didn’t drop. Marcus had to put a third one into him, finally putting him to the blood sprayed metal floor.
The smell of cordite hung heavily in the air, Marcus stood alone in the corridor for a few moments, his mind processing what had just happened. One cartridge left. Used two earlier, needed three on Gandar. One left. He heard footsteps coming from the crew compartment ahead of him on the right.
He realised then he had two choices. Run further into the ship. Or charge Minx.
He sprinted towards the doorway, seeing the muzzle of an autogun appear through it just as he reached it. He grabbed the autogun with his left hand, pulling it as hard as he could. Minx was clutching the autogun for dear life, which unfortunately sent her stumbling through the doorway into Marcus. The autogun went of with a burst of fire, sending rounds flying down the corridor to the right.
Marcus brought his right arm up and pressed the muzzle of the revolver into Minx’s chest.
“Marcus! Don’t-”
The revolver boomed again, spattering Marcus with droplets of blood. Minx gazed up at Marcus, with her beautiful blue eyes and spoke again, much quieter this time. Her face had been drained of colour, becoming terribly pale.
“I…I was just doing what Gan said Marcus… I…” She coughed, specks of blood coating her lips then she crumpled to the floor breathing raggedly.
Marcus was left stood alone in the corridor, sprayed with blood that wasn’t his and surrounded by dying crewmembers. His head ached, his heart raced and his eyes were tired. There were some groans, but he couldn’t tell who they were coming from.
Marcus shook his head quickly and walked over to Switch. He lay curled up on the floor, blood steadily flowing from the side of his chest. Marcus bent down and turned Switch over. He was paler than normal, his skin pure white. Sweat marked his forehead and face, his chin was stained with red.
“How bad Marcus?” Switch asked softly, his voice weak.
“Bad Switch. I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this.” Marcus said, his voice wavering slightly.
“Nobody does.” There was pause for a few moments, Marcus watched Switch’s chest rise and fall jerkily.
“Goodbye Marcus.” Switch said finally. He rolled himself over and gave one long final breath.
Marcus stood up and surveyed the carnage around him. Four bodies lay motionless on the corridor, bodies of people he had spent the last sixth months working alongside. Slate’s was facedown on the ground, Marcus could see his face twisted up in pain, forever frozen by the bullets kiss. Gandar was lay on his back, his face obscured by the angle. Minx had stopped breathing and her eyes were open wide in surprise, her mouth slightly open.
Marcus took a lho-stick from his jacket pocket and put it to his mouth. He lit it with a match and took a deep breath in.
“Fragging swirl.” He said to himself shakily.
Teller of Some Tales 