Gunshots rang out far in the distance. The morning dew, cold to anyone waking up, made Falco sneeze as he got up from his hot sleeping bag. Looking down at Mia, Falco was truly grateful that she was safe—as much as she could be. The door creaked as he silently pushed it open and crossed through it, leaving her to sleep in for once.
The floorboards, unstable, moved along with Falco's steps. The main door was closed; the windows were locked, and nothing was missing. His day started smoothly.
Shivering from the cold, his hands rubbed against each other as his hot breath warmed them slightly. He moved to the kitchen pantry, dreaming of good food, but the only thing inside was the greyish nutrition paste everybody got to love—or hate. Having no other choice, he took some and splurged it onto his tongue.
The taste was horrific, enough to make him gag. Almost vomiting, Falco tried imagining better food, but the taste of wet concrete would forever be stuck in his mind—at least until he ate something else. Swallowing the last glob, he looked at the empty tube with burning hate as he swore that in the future, he'd never need to ingest this… thing.
His meal finished and his back aching, he commenced his routine. On the living room floor, he raised his legs up and down intermittently. He then stretched his shoulders and back. Nonetheless, by the end of his stretching, his body was ready for anything.
Morning fatigue took him as he got up. His clothes were hanging on the rack, drying in the cold, unbearable air, begging to be used. Getting closer to the stand, he began replacing his current clothes with the "new" ones. As silently as he could, Falco put on a black coat sewn together with broken bits of fabric, a cloth bandana, a pair of boots, jeans, and a ripped pair of gloves, the right one bearing an intricate symbol.
Peeking through the kitchen blinds, Falco noticed the rising sun. Many would be happy, but Falco wasn't. He was late. He'd spent too much time stretching and eating—if only he had known.
His heart raced as he pocketed some extra nutrition paste and moved along with the morning tempo. Throwing his "pyjamas" aside, Falco hoped they'd land on the rack, and without looking, he made it to the door.
With his hand on the handle, he was about to pull it open, but a thought crossed his mind. Would she forgive me if I don't tell her happy birthday? She probably wouldn't.
Running back to the kitchen, he found a crumpled piece of paper and a black pen. With his remaining time, he wrote her a line—all that he could spare.
On the note was written: Happy birthday.
This time, he ran back to the door and flung it open. The biting air tore through him like claws; even breathing posed its own challenges this morning. With flat terrain as far as the eye could see, the city had no natural windbreakers. The only things that could be considered as such were the crumbling buildings that had stood since the city's creation.
Without needing to be discreet, he was far more effective with his running. Instead of going through windows and alleyways, all he needed to do was run along the icy path.
He cursed his predicament, eyes scanning his surroundings. Daylight was bound to relieve most, but not him; fate had proven that he should always expect the unexpected.
It didn't take long to reach the commercial sector. Many vendors were already stationed in front of their stores, waiting for the perfect customer. However, seeing the masked, black-clad vagabond running through the street at full speed, they didn't dare approach him.
His worksite was right around the corner. He gave it his all; the gas tank, once full from a good night's sleep, was now nearing temporary exhaustion. Dizzy, he tried to push himself to run farther, but the ground—wet from condensation—made his firm boot slip, which, in turn, made him… fall.
Covered in mud, his legs wobbled while his arms pushed his body forward. The merchants, having seen his great stumble, didn't even have time to mock him before he was back up and running again. He was late, after all.
His body shook, and his legs trembled. "I shouldn't be this tired," he panted. Looking at his hands, Falco tried to stabilize them. He was dirty, tired, and confused, meaning it took longer for him to notice the buildings around him shaking—yet once he did, a sense of ease took over. The boy had arrived.
The plot, finally pulling up, Falco tried to locate his colleagues but to no avail. Only a few were handling the "Titanis Heavy Machinery," while most were someplace else. It was only after he turned a corner to get to the camp side that he finally found them. They were lined up with their boss on the podium. Staring at the site clock, he knew something was up. It wasn't even 8 in the morning; they shouldn't have started this early.
Trying his best not to collapse, the muddied, bruised, and tired worker found a place within one of the lines, trying his best not to be put under the spotlight. There wasn't anybody he really cared about, so no one would search for him. Being at the back of the line, he tried listening to what the boss was saying, filling in the gaps with whatever knowledge he possessed.
"Only five of you will be able to take this request; it isn't a job listed by us but by ZEF. If you were to take it, you would be paid around seven times your salary for the day. So, think about it carefully and accept it if you will. But you must come and talk to me first. With that, my message is finished. To whoever isn't taking this job: GET TO WORK!"
Talking to each other, the people around him tried making sense of the situation: was it worth it? Should they really take the deal? Eavesdropping, he tried finding out more information, but the more he heard, the bigger his frown grew.
"I can't believe they found a nest down there! Do you think we should go?"
"Of course not, dumbass! Do you know how dangerous they are alone? What about a nest? It's a deathtrap! I'd rather cut my hand than fight them, even if I had ten guys with me!"
He moved and passed through the moving wall of people. Should he really do this?
People let him pass without much difficulty; they held their breath and made sure they wouldn't touch him. Falco continued forward, not paying it much mind; it was his fault, after all.
He had no other choice—if only it wasn't for yesterday.
Coming up to the boss, unkempt and disheveled, Falco looked like a runaway. His muddied mouth opened as he tried offering his participation; however, slightly smirking, the bearded boss had beaten him to it.
"Yeah, yeah. I know you want to go, so here you go."
Perplexed, he stared at the boss. He didn't really care that he had been assigned to it. What really hit him was that he'd been put in before he even asked. What would have happened if he was truly late?
His questioning gaze fell upon the man. Falco was a tad bit worried, but considering his reputation, he shouldn't have been.
The boss finally finished with his note-taking, then raised his head and tried his best to placate the worried Falco.
"You always accept these types of jobs, so I reckoned you were going to accept this one."
With the badge in the boss' hands, Falco took it and nodded, trying his best to keep his image of a strong, ruthless, and "clean" young man.
Many would hate, even fear, doing this job. But for him, it was the fastest way to obtain cash. Some would argue that you could die doing it, but wasn't your life always on the line? Couldn't somebody come and rob you in your own house? Let alone in broad daylight?
His feet slid on the ground as he made his way towards the elevator. The door was wide open; he stepped inside and used the lonesome terminal by pushing his badge on the cold metallic silver.
There was a robotic voice right after he had done so. It spoke to Falco in its indifferent tone:
"Access granted."
The mechanism then sprung into life. It went down, and then lower. Falco felt the pressure increasing with every level he passed. His breath became sporadic and out of tempo; the air itself was killing him from the inside.
Clueless, he tried covering his nose and mouth with some fabric, hoping it would make a difference.
"The air filters haven't kicked in yet… huh."
Nonetheless, the elevator carried him to the underground of the worksite. Lights zoomed past as he tried following the even-deeper level: -20, -30, -40. It was only before he started daydreaming that it finally stopped at –43. The doors unsealed themselves, finally giving him the freedom to catch his breath. Carried by the embedded light nubs, he trusted the path and walked forward, hoping that he wouldn't get shot by the turrets.
He was in an impenetrable room encased in protective metal. Red, yellow, and orange paint delimited the viable walking areas, with his pass being red; he followed the corresponding trail. It was cold—much colder than this morning.
With the secondary passages opening automatically, he strolled through the hallway with no worries. The sentry turrets hadn't shot him down; no monsters lingered in these hallways. And also, there wasn't a living person down here. There never was.
Sighing at his misfortune, he tried to get rid of his cloudy thoughts. Vivid memories of his friends and family entered his head. Was this really the time? No. Should he stop? Yes. Yet he didn't. It had been a long time since he'd been able to talk to someone his age without cursing one another.
Passing the last door, he closed his eyes and stretched; his sighing was too loud as he stated his loneliness.
"Man. I need a friend."
"Why?"
Startled, he jumped back and turned to his left. Sitting on an empty crate was a lady, and on her left leaned a built man.
Embarrassed, Falco tried to regain his lost demeanor.
"Ah… I didn't expect to have company today. Sorry for the lapse of judgment."
They didn't say anything. They just stared at him, waiting for him to say something—or to slip up. Was there any difference?
The buzzing silence was cut by Falco, who once again started the conversation.
"Well, anyhow, my name is Brian. Nice to meet you guys."
Trying to mediate the tension, he held his hand out, waiting, but nothing came. Only a scoffing gesture met his dignity.
His smile, once crooked by his embarrassing remark, had soured and turned into a chilling glare.
"Take the fucking hand."
Both were startled. The lady on the crate curiously stared at him, while the man scowled with dangerous intensity.
The man, who had been leaning on a wall with his arms crossed, pushed himself upright and went towards him. However, right before anything happened, the sitting princess spoke.
"No. Don't hurt him. I was just testing him."
Her knight, hearing that, stopped and stood right in front of the muddy boy.
"It's only natural to talk back after being disrespected like that. At least he's no pushover."
Coming closer to him, she held out her hand, greeting "Brian" with a warm smile.
"My name is Iris. Nice to meet you."
Glancing at the man, she then spoke for him.
"This here is Charles. He doesn't talk much, so don't expect him to…"
Falco had his doubts, but for now, he would play along. With his hand firmly shaking hers, their cooperation was to start. He visibly relaxed after they had concluded their greetings.
"Well now, how about we get started? I doubt there would be anybody else coming."
Iris was right; it would be best to start as soon as possible. They had a long day ahead of them.
His tone, much lighter, then echoed through the storage room.
"Yeah… What are your plans?"
Usually, Falco would scope out the area and make sure there weren't any surprises as he fought. Then, after his reconnaissance, he would kill them by grouping them into smaller, fragmented teams by whatever means necessary, either by traps laid out or with simple gunfire. This, to him, was logical and didn't need much risk. However, he feared what his "partners" thought of the situation. He couldn't just hijack the operation; he was the last to arrive, after all.
With the situation settled down, Charles moved back to his comfy place on the wall as he left Iris standing there, thinking of a plan.
As Iris had once done, Falco copied her and tried taking a seat on one of the surrounding boxes. Neither of the two even batted an eye as he moved around. His movements were too calm, shallow, and predictable. She was still thinking; arms crossed as her right foot tapped the floor furiously. With a flicker, the perfect strategy dawned on her.
"First off, Brian will be in the middle as Charles will be the vanguard." She then looked at both, pausing to make sure they understood their assignment, and with their approval, she kept strategizing. "I'll stay in the back while I oversee the situation. Charles, being upfront, will have one of the weapons. However—" Now looking at Falco, Iris made sure not to offend him. "I'm… sorry, but I don't know how skilled you are, meaning that you won't be carrying one of the guns. You can still have a knife with you, but we can't trust you enough—not yet at least."
If it was up to him, he would have done the same thing. This would be a hard battle, and a stone unturned could spell out disaster. As a team leader, this is what most expected. Regardless, Falco was not content.
"You already know I can fight. Why not just let me do my thing? I've been doing this alone for a while now. Do you really expect me to go into a nest with no gun?"
His face didn't betray his discontent as he solemnly spoke to them, well, mostly Iris.
"We don't expect you to go down without gear. We… uh…" Iris trailed off, searching for the right words, but Charles cut in just before she could finish. His booming voice tore through the uncomfortable aura surrounding both. "We wish for you to trust our ability and decision-making. It will be less dangerous for you to hide between us than being upfront with a weapon. Think about it—you can always run if you feel like it, of course only if the time is right. Don't leave with your hand in your ass if you just feel uncomfortable."
Falco began to think. He could still wield a knife; however, security wouldn't be guaranteed, even with two "bodyguards." He didn't want it to come to this, but after staring at the duo, silent and with wide eyes, Falco tried to deviate the plan. How could he justify to his sister that he'd trotted along a deep cave with no guns and no plan of his own? It would be pure insanity to follow along with their demented plan.
Instead of keeping his "normal" tone, he bore the same voice he had when he had threatened Iris. "That plan is ridiculous! Do you really expect me to only have a knife while traversing that horrible cave system? I don't even know how powerful the both of you are!" Taking a sidestep to stand in front of both, he continued. "Why don't we just throw in some fire or acid bombs and clean them up right after? We would have respirators, after all."
Falco wasn't wrong, but he knew that deep down, this plan of his was dangerous. However, he didn't care right now; it would be much safer for him.
He stood there menacingly, waiting for Iris to speak. She took a contemplative stance as Charles moved to cover her. Tensions were rising as Falco reached behind his back—a bluff. They showed no reaction; only the eyes of Iris glinted with a feeling best described as amusement.
"You're bluffing; there are no guns allowed here," Iris pointed at one of the many security sentries. "But look… as a compromise, we will let you have a handgun only. That's it. The balance is in your favor."
Easing Charles aside, Iris stepped forward; she made it clear that she didn't fear "Brian." There were too many variables at play.
With one swift motion, she raised both of her fair-skinned hands to form a "scale"; the palms of her hands facing upward as they both shifted heights intermittently, thus creating a vivid image of what was truly at stake here. All this while staring dead into Falco's eyes.
"The scales are balanced, Brian. From your point of view, things couldn't get more favorable. First, you get to have even more money—the money you're desperately missing—because we are three instead of five. You're protected by a strong vanguard, a beautiful lady, and you get to have a weapon. What more can you ask for? That's if you're serious about this job."
She couldn't be more right. She saw through every bit of him.
Falco had nothing to say. She was right. Things couldn't get easier. But wasn't this too easy?
Without easing his guard, he disengaged and moved back to the crate. His back was turned to them while Iris and Charles also disengaged. This was a silent agreement. He had finally accepted.
_*_*_
Not much time passed after their small conflict. Falco was finally satisfied with his own gear, while Iris and Charles were happy that "Brian" only had a handgun.
Respirators, tactical vests full of ammo, knives hidden everywhere, sound makers, goggles, flashlights—the whole works. The trio was finally ready to venture on.
The crates they had once sat upon were now scattered around the room; some open while others weren't. The knight and her princess were quietly getting ready as Falco silently opened crates. He knew that, if asked, they would decline; that's why, after making sure they weren't watching, he opened the grenade supply and secretly stashed one.
Acting nonchalant, he took a random gun and started shifting it around. It wasn't heavy; on the contrary, it was light. With it unloaded, he raised the gun and took aim at the wall. The gun was fitted with a holographic sight—perfect for dark environments. He then "shot" it a few times and tried to insert a different magazine. The trigger was tight. The loading was seamless.
"This gun is perfect."
Turning it sideways, he tried finding a model; maybe he'd buy it one day. Well, that's if the weapon ban was lifted.
Looking at the serial number attentively, he then cried out in exclamation, startling the other two in the process.
"You've got to be kidding me! I can't afford this! Airis technology? No wonder this gun is perfect…"
His reaction was justified. Iris also thought the same.
From across the room, she tried to defuse the palpable tension between the two groups.
"Yeah, I also had the same reaction when I first saw it. I can't believe we are armed with Airis weapons." Chuckling to herself, she continued. "If I hadn't known better, I would have thought we were going to a zone raid. We are overgeared, after all."
She was right once again. They were too overprepared.
"Yeah, it's quite strange. But what can we do? My steak is too juicy and my lobster too buttery; let's just take this unexpected boon and continue."
He tried sprinkling some humor, but within, he knew something was fishy.
"Are you ready?"
Taking the opportunity, Charles made it clear that they should start. They couldn't delay the operation any longer.
"Born ready."
Falco joined the group as he holstered his now-loaded weapon. All three seemed as if they were ready to take on the world.
"Are you ready, Iris?"
"Yes."
With the last approval, Charles then spoke to Falco while he turned to the entrance to the tunnels.
"Brian, take your card and use it to open the gate."
The question was redundant. Why couldn't he just use his own? Nonetheless, he accepted and swiped over the terminal.
The red screen then turned green as the same robotic voice gave out its prewritten answer: Access granted.
The gate opened slowly. There was a contrast between the room and the mineshaft. Previously, Falco thrived in the sterile whiteness of the complex. However, as the gate fully opened, vines stretched thinly until they were ripped open by the mechanism. It was dark and sullen. There was a stench that crept into the room, "contaminating" it in the process.
"Respirators on."
Iris gave out her orders. Charles followed through, and only then did Falco comply.
Like promised, Charles led the charge as Iris had her eyes glued to the information-gathering device. The tunnels they walked in were ragged, full of sharp rock—graphite, granite, basalt—and slippery moss.
"Beware, don't touch the vegetation. They didn't supply us with the antidote."
Iris walked forward as her drone hovered a few meters ahead. They hadn't seen anything yet; however, none of them dared to lower their guard.
Not a sound was spoken between them. Only the hovering of the drone and the rare but creepy scratching from the darkness could be noticed.
Glowsticks were thrown every ten meters. There would have been a huge green line if it weren't for the twisting of the tunnels. They would last for hours; enough time for the second team to arrive—not that they wanted that grim fate.
All three flashlights were shone through the front, and after a few more minutes of the arduous tunnel mapping, they had finally reached their destination.
With a hushed tone, Iris, from the back, hurriedly made them stop.
"Stop! There's movement up ahead."
Orders given, both Falco and Charles stopped. Her bodyguard held the rifle stiffly as he focused on the barrier between the darkness and his flashlight.
The drone hovered slowly—too slowly. It was unnerving. Falco held his breath and analyzed the darkness. His grip tightened while he tried focusing on his aim. Sweat trickled down his face as the drone finally reached that darkness. Its flashlight, much more powerful than Charles', finally shone even deeper. At first, nothing happened; its propellers were the only noise present, but after reaching far enough away, it was attacked. Green sludge flew from the unknown; it hit the drone and almost hit the vanguard.
All hell broke loose.
Everybody began shooting wildly. Sparks from the gunfire flew randomly; some even lit up the attackers.
The drone tried flying back, but with its master busy, it crashed and landed close to Charles. Green liquid seeped through it. Parts of the machine were also falling out. Only its flashlight worked. The enemies, hidden in obscurity, were now visible.
"The drone flew too high—missed them on the ground!"
Iris, from the back, screamed out her mistake.
Now at ground level, the trio could finally see the monsters they came to kill. They were hideous; some would even puke. The creatures resembled isopods, but one hundred times larger. They were filthy and full of mucus. Their fourteen legs gave them great agility, but what were they compared to Airis weapons? Dead meat.
While he shot, Falco tried counting the enemies. The initial barrage killed many, yet acid still flew toward the team. With careful movement, they wouldn't get hit.
Left with no other choice, they abandoned the drone as they continued exterminating the nest. He walked past giant corpses; most were unrecognizable from the bullet pelting.
"I count six dead! Do we continue?"
Falco almost screamed out his observations. If not for the ear protection, all three would have gone deaf.
"Go! Go! Go! Most are already dead, finish them off!"
Iris issued her command. Charles followed through happily. Falco didn't have a choice.
They moved in sync. Not one action was lost. They were reaching the end of the tunnel as the enemies thinned out. The frequent bursts of acid were dwindling. At this point, "Brian" counted 23 dead carcasses. They were on the last stretch.
From above, one fell directly on the vanguard. It was horrifying, but Falco was able to shoot it down in an instant—Charles' helmet caught the fall. But off-balanced, Charles accidentally left his right flank open.
It was the last one. The end. Yet acid still hissed in the air. Time froze. Iris screamed. Falco kept shooting.
The green, viscous substance was mere hairs away from Charles' face. "What have I done?" he thought. Was this his end? A stupid mistake like this?
"No!"
Leaping forward—literally jumping to his aid—Falco reached him first as he pushed himself.
The fall was bad. Blood was everywhere—Charles' blood, which soaked the ground beneath them.
Iris, who had killed the last one, rushed to their side, trying to gauge the extent of the damage.
She took off his dented helmet and held her breath. Was he alive?
Falco shined his flashlight straight onto his face, hoping he'd be fine. However, his silent worry came undone with a simple line.
"Get that light out of my face!"
"Thank goodness," he thought.
He grimaced in pain and breathed rapidly.
"Quickly, give him an extra respirator! Take the med kit out too!"
He did as instructed. With his backpack on the floor, Falco quickly reached out and tossed the extra respirator to Iris, who then put it on Charles.
They weren't limited in time; they did kill all the monsters after all, yet time was still of the essence.
There were many jagged rocks beneath them, and sadly, some struck him. Seeing his grievous wounds, Iris panicked.
Her hands were trembling as she opened the kit and picked up some gauze pads.
Falco stayed on guard. He made sure that no one would disturb them.
Trying his best to help, he secured the area and pushed the corpses away.
The trail of green light, which had ended at the drone, continued once more. He didn't dare leave them, but as a precaution, he lit up the perimeter with the green tinge of the glowsticks.
Minutes passed by like this. Charles was groaning in pain while Iris treated his wounds. She would occasionally ask him questions, but none to Falco—he was ignored.
Finally, before Falco lost his patience, Iris helped Charles get up. There was a thick bandage rolled around his right leg; his left arm was also stitched up.
"Do you need help?"
Out of courtesy, he tried helping Charles.
"No thanks…"
They both wore long faces.
"Is my help really that frowned upon?" He questioned himself.
They walked in silence, only this time Falco was up front.
Only after Charles reached the broken drone, after a few minutes of walking, did he try to thank him.
"Hey… I might not be in the best state right now, but I wanted to thank you. Without you, I would have died. This is why it pains me so much, Falco…"
Charles's voice cracked—not with gratitude, but regret.
Falco froze.
Charles fired first. Iris followed a heartbeat later.
Gunshots erupted. Bullets tore past him, missing him by inches.
He threw himself behind the broken drone. Rounds sparked off its hull, the only shield between him and his "partners."
He knew this was a setup! His mind tried telling him but his heart didn't listen!
The gunfire stopped, it was of no use. The metallic drone could stand there for days, tanking all the hits.
"Falco! Come out with your hands up! We promise to do it cleanly!"
Iris, or whatever her real name was, tried to negotiate with him.
Why are they after me? Who sent them? Did they... No... Impossible.
His mind swirled with anticipation. He feared the worst-case scenario.
"Over my dead body!"
With that, he opened his suit and took out the hidden grenade he had pocketed. He looked at it, praying that it would truly help him. He had one chance—one opportunity.
Drawing his gun, he took a few deep breaths and, after some contemplation, pulled the ring and tossed it behind him.
"RUN!"
Charles cried out in desperation as he tried to protect Iris. There was no way for him to get away from the blast, meaning that the most logical choice was to throw himself at his princess—his last deed.
Falco leaped out right after the loud explosion. Dirt from above fell and dirtied him as the tunnel shook.
He had jumped expecting a fight, but there wasn't anything. No one was standing, and none was ready to kill him.
He looked down at the shaft. He felt no pity. Half of Charles was gone; under him was Iris, who was crying.
She had lost her legs and most of her right arm. She could barely breathe, let alone fight.
Coming up to her, he kicked the corpse off her and pointed his handgun at her skull.
"Who sent you?"
Between her wheezing, she tried making out an answer, only to start crying again. She was of no use.
Bang!
Her head exploded like a watermelon.
Red filled every crevice. The metallic scent of blood permeated the area.
"It's over…"
He stared at the carnage—at the people he'd trusted, at the blood he'd spilled. Then he started cleaning up. ZEF didn't like loose ends.