Liberty or Possessions Chapter 6 Me, I'm Not
Liberty or Possessions Chapter 6
Me, I'm Not
Chapter 6 Song by the Amazing MasterPenguin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hChlGKOW4ow
Warnings: Character Deaths, Violence, Gore, Drug Use, Language, Torture
Sirens to Oliver meant an emergency. It probably meant the same thing there, he reasoned, but it also seemed to carry some extra weight Oliver did not understand. Something that made Maria not leisurely stroll along side him, but lead him with determination and just a few backwards glances. Once they slipped into the tunnel below the store nothing changed. The danger, whether real or imagined, did not stop above ground.
Oliver was accustomed to running, so he had no problem keeping pace with Maria as they jogged back to Molious. He wanted to ask her why they were in a hurry, why they needed to be below ground because of sirens that sounded some distance away, but Maria had not exactly withheld information from him before, and that caused Oliver to shut up and keep up. He figured whatever it meant was on a need to know basis, and at that moment he did not need to know anything other than to keep moving.
It took a quarter of the time it had taken them to leave Molious for them to return back to the base. When they did, the base was a flurry of activity. Oliver really had no idea what to do with himself, so he stuck close to Maria as she moved around.
"What's happening?" She asked as they both entered a large room toward the center of the base. It appeared to be a command center of sorts-- tables set end to end in a long row with chairs around it. There were also some other tables and chairs, most occupied by people that worked furiously on tasks. Some of the surfaces held computers, much like the data room Oliver had been in earlier, and there were soldiers seated at most of them. Additionally, plenty of TVs hung on the walls. Some were dark; others with data readouts, but the ones that held the most attention from the room were playing news feeds. Though different voices spoke out from the TVs, they all spoke in almost perfect unison. It was scripted and ridged words, however not robotic in the least. There was emotion there, but not fear. Some were outraged, screaming with anger. Others sounded sad yet distant. It took Oliver several seconds to actually hear the words they were speaking and not just the strange fluctuations of tone.
They were talking about a terrorist attack on a ballpark. Oliver could not remember there ever being a ballpark in Stockholm, but he also could never remember there being a secret underground tunnel system, or a war either, so he took no real stock in his inability to remember a ballpark. Apparently there were explosives detonated, but only a few casualties. They touted the courage and swift reaction of the military as the reason for the almost insignificant loss of life that had happened that day. Oliver took that at face value, but Maria told him otherwise.
"Whoever did it planned not to kill people," She said softly from next to Oliver. He had been so caught up in watching the television that he had not heard her return to his side. He watched her with a hint of confusion before his attention turned to some pictures she held. They appeared to be printed from a broadcast. Oliver could recognize announcers as she showed him the still images of what had transpired. One of the men had been shot, and from the way he grabbed at his throat, Oliver could guess where.
"It was a show of force, not a massacre. Whoever did this could have blown the whole park to the ground, but hadn't. He had made a display of force instead of a slaughter."
"Someone from here?" Oliver asked, thoroughly unsure. He had not understood much of Molious and what it did, but it had seemed like just the sort of group that would put up a display of force and not one that would kill a bunch of people just out for an afternoon. Maria still held the pictures up but stared at Oliver instead of the images. It was almost as if she had not thought about it before, that someone from Molious probably could have done it, but Oliver thought too highly of her to make that claim.
"No one from Molious," She told Oliver slowly, as if maybe trying to lie to herself. Oliver wondered if any of them actually had any clue where Mikkel was, and if he could have done it. He had proven to be tactically capable the day before out on the streets, but an attack like that did not seem like something anyone would do while working directly with a group like Molious. They seemed to have run a tight ship, and that gave Maria's words more credit. "It would bring too much pressure to our organization. The Founders never would let something like this happen." Oliver had not meant to start any discontent, so he nodded and accepted Maria's reasoning. He shifted nervously, unsure how to precede any further in their conversation.
He had not thought about it before, the possibility that there were others in charge, but it made sense. There was no way that a group could function as smoothly as Molious seemed to without some form of upper command. Still the strangeness of never realizing that before was not lost on Oliver. He wondered if everyone knew about something as important as the Founders or if it was on a need to know basis, much like many other things seemed to be.
"So, what does all this mean?" He asked after a few seconds where it looked like Maria had been lost in thought. She took another few seconds of looking at the pictures before she finally answered him.
"This means our field trip is over and I need to do some work." Oliver understood why something like a terrorist attack not orchestrated by Molious would require her undivided attention, but the dismissive nature of her tone spoke more than Maria's words. Oliver felt woefully out of place again and shifted. He mumbled, half-formed words that even he was unsure of the meaning of, and began to leave the room. He had no idea what he should do, since Maria had been his only companion in the base thus far. Without her guiding hand he figured he would just walk around until someone forcefully put him where he belonged. Instead Maria stopped him and walked him out of the room herself.
The hall was still a flurry of activity and Maria stopped a man. He was just slightly taller than her, diminutive next to Oliver, and much older than either of them. His hair had gone beyond salt-and-peppered to a fine level of grey that had taken over his beard as well. He eyed Maria and Oliver with confusion before Maria spoke to him.
"Take Oliver to the bunks. Just… just keep your eyes on him, Jamison." The man grunted out a reply, obviously not thrilled about being on babysitting duty, but unable to dispute a direct order from Maria. Oliver felt a little bad for him because it seemed like the older man, full of wrinkles and scars, really wanted to be in the thick of whatever had gotten everyone so worked up. Oliver hoped that he could at least get the man to tell him exactly what all of it meant. With that goal in mind, Oliver followed the older man away with just one look over his shoulder toward Maria’s retreating form.
Oliver was grateful for a real bed to sit on, unlike the mattress he had slept poorly on the night before. He was grateful that he was no longer being treated like a prisoner as well, though with Jamison standing in the same room as him, Oliver had no delusions that he was a welcomed presence in their base quite yet. However, he hoped spending some time with a different member of the group would increase his credibility some.
"Can I ask you some questions?" Oliver muttered slowly, unsure if it was a good idea or not to break the silence Jamison initiated. The older man slowly glanced at him. Jamison’s arms were crossed, and he did not exactly turn to look at Oliver. Instead he just slightly shifted his gaze and eyed Oliver from the corner of them. He seemed to be in thought about Oliver's question for several seconds, before he finally sighed and dropped his posture. He turned to face Oliver fully, but he never really relaxed.
"As long as I don't think you're snooping for any information that you shouldn't have, fine." Oliver did not exactly know the guidelines of what was considered snooping or not, so he tried to phrase his first question as delicately as he could.
"I just… well, I don't really understand why someone not affiliated with Molious going out and blowing up a building is making everyone so nervous." Oliver figured he could have been a bit more low-key with his question, but nothing really came to mind given how little he understood. Sure, he was beginning to understand that things that were normal, taken for granted, back in his reality were not the same way here. He saw fear in eyes that just did not exist in his small world. He began to see tragedy in all forms and not just self-perceived injustices. He wondered if that was how it had been in the war-torn countries of his world.
"We're not as off the radar as you might think," Jamison started, his voice old and scratchy. He seemed like the type of man that would smoke a pack of cigarettes a day and would start each morning and end each night with a straight hard drink. Oliver, of course, had no real grounds for that observation. In reality, all he had was a tired looking man standing before him.
"What do you mean? Maria… she said that this place is all off the radar. That it's safe." The idea that Oliver might not be safe in a secret base when there was so much corruption outside of it made him nervous. He had learned a bit about the world, but it was still large and foreboding. He had not actually thought about joining up as a soldier for Molious, because he knew for certain he would have been of no use to them even if Mikkel had given the okay (which had seemed highly unlikely). However, the idea of leaving them and living outside when there had been a man with his face four years prior working for the Government also seemed like a bad move. Really, if Oliver could not find some way to cope with the new world or get out, then he was basically dead already.
"I'm not saying that they know exactly where the base is," The man started, actually giving Oliver all of his attention as his tone dropped to an annoyed level. "But they know about us, kid." Oliver had been called a kid a lot, but it had never been with malice. Sure, Oliver assumed that the man always sounded put-upon and annoyed, but it did very little to calm his already frazzled nerves. "You were the Civ out there on the street, right? So you saw how bad it got. Without Chief and Maria they would have blown us all away. They know about us, kid, and it's only a matter of time until the wrath of god is brought down on us." Oliver understood the man's worry. From his perspective during the run and gun, the Government had known precisely how many people they had had, what type of weapons they would be using, and their major escape routes. It had probably been only a minor miscalculation by America, blind luck, or Mikkel and Maria's 'kill everything' mentality that allowed them to escape. Oliver had never thought of that before Jamison prompted it.
"So, what does it mean when someone does something big like what's all over the news?" The man calmed a bit, shifted, and remained silent. Oliver was not sure if he had overstepped the grey boundaries but he really did not understand the connection. Surely the Government, who had seen a lot of things from Molious, would recognize it as not their kind of tactic. Surely Molious did not need to put themselves out there to say that it had not been them. Maybe, Oliver thought, they could just lay low until it all blew over. However, by the activity of the base, he assumed it was not exactly a viable option.
"Jesus, they weren’t kidding. You really have no fucking clue, do you? Did Maria explain to you about the news?" Jamison asked a minute later after a heavy pause in which he eyed Oliver a bit softer. Oliver felt awkward that there had been talk about him and hesitated before nodding. She had explained briefly that the Government had a tight grip on broadcasts, but he had not been too sure of what that meant. "This shit is on the news, kid, and that means bad. Whoever did this got people scared, and the Government is going to want to tell people that they got those responsible. This is a shit storm coming at us, and it's coming at us hard. You get it now?" Oliver did. He stared back at the man and he understood. Whatever the Government planned to counter the attack by the nameless vigilantly would probably not be a war of attrition. It would be hard, fast, and end with heads on spikes paraded through the streets. Metaphorically, Oliver hoped.
"So that's why this is a huge fucking deal, kid. We have to be ready for a counter attack, and without knowing how much the Gov has on us and our members, we need to move fast." The attack on the ballpark had only happened an hour and a half before, but the way Jamison put it made Oliver think that soldiers were marching toward them as they spoke. Oliver hoped that he was wrong.
"I get it. I'm sorry. I just… I didn't really understand. I definitely get it now." The man grunted low and Oliver assumed it was his way of understanding. He had been hardened, like Maria, like Mikkel, and sympathies and tender moments no longer existed for them. In any other state Oliver doubted he would have even looked for a friendly hand on his shoulder and an explanation that included them being all right. He did not get them, though, because no one, not Jamison nor Maria, knew if it would be all right.
"Any other questions you feel like getting my blood pressure raised with?" The older man asked, and Oliver just shook his head. He looked past Jamison and toward where people still moved about in the halls. A moment later the man turned to follow Oliver's gaze. There was nothing of real note out there, but Oliver knew he should not detain one of the soldiers of Molious that could keep him safe. He knew Jamison wanted to be out there, and Oliver considered it the best place for the older man.
"No, no more questions. I just… I think I want to take a nap." The previous night's sleep had definitely done a number on his body, and Oliver was sure some alone time to think about all he had learned would do him good. He looked at Jamison when the man turned back toward him. He seemed unsure of Oliver's statement. "Look, I know you want to be out there doing something and not in here babysitting me. I get it. If I could do anything to help I'd want to be out there too, so go." Jamison seemed hesitant about that proposition. He watched Oliver as if trying to read him, so the younger man continued.
"I won’t move from here. Promise." Jamison seemed like the kind of man that did not believe in promises, but he was also highly restless being stuck with Oliver. Eventually the need to be in the thick of things won him over.
"If I hear even a peep of you leaving this room I will assume you are a spy for the Gov and I will find you and I will cut your throat. Do you understand me?" Oliver did and nodded. He would stay put, just as promised, because he had no need to break the small amount of trust that some members of Molious had placed in him thus far. He did not want to be thought of as a Government supporter, even in whispers.
When the agreement was settled on, Oliver climbed back on the bunk to lie down and Jamison took his leave, shutting the door behind him. He never heard a lock, but Oliver assumed the older man had engaged it. Still, he had no interest in walking out and being in the way, so he continued to lie there and stare at the metal crossbeams of the bunk above him.
A lot had been thrust upon Oliver that day. His family was dead, though from what Oliver had seen it had not exactly been his family. Still they were familiar, something he maybe could have lived for in this world, but no longer a possibility. Mikkel, his best friend, was waging a war and had no memories of Oliver. The planet was dead, his home country ruled by an authoritarian Government, and he was holed up in a secret underground base full of militants just waiting for a raid to come. Maria was there, sure, and would probably do everything in her power to keep him safe, but outside of being shipped somewhere very far from war and oppression Oliver could see no safety. He wondered if that was how the members of Molious felt, even while holding guns and shooting soldiers. He wondered if everyone not with the Government felt hopeless, alone, and afraid.
Oliver never imagined he would actually sleep. He had figured that all the thoughts in his head, the worry and the anguish, would keep him up for days. However, somehow, he slept and he dreamt.
Oliver did not dream in images, but just in sounds. He dreamt of a steady rhythm and of inhales and exhales. Slowly he dreamt of a voice, one that was familiar and warm. It did not speak to him, but to other familiar and warm voices. It was calming and loving, the whole experience, but it was just a dream; one that was shrouded behind white light or pitch black. It was one that did not follow Oliver back to the waking world.
A loud pop jerked Oliver awake. Lingering touches of the dream went with him but dissipated almost immediately. He looked around with alarm for several seconds and all the terror that plagued Oliver before sleep came back.
The bunkroom was dark, making sight completely useless. Without the uncomfortable and too small mattress under him, Oliver assumed he would not have known where he was. Carefully he moved, shifting to put on his shoes before standing. He had promised Jamison that he would stay put, but something akin to worry itched under his skin. Previously he had been able to see out of a small window in the door, but something obstructed it and Oliver felt very unsettled by that. In addition to the dark around him, everything seemed off.
Maybe they turned out the lights, Oliver thought as he carefully crossed the room, but it had made no real sense. Even if someone felt bad for Oliver sleeping under the florescent bulbs, there was no reason to turn off the hall lights. It also seemed like a poor idea to block the window so that there was no easy way for Oliver to be checked up on by Jamison, Maria, or any number of other Molious soldiers that could have been put in charge of watching over him. When he finally reached his destination, Oliver touched first at the door around where the window was. It took no more than a second for Oliver's fingers to drag over the glass. There had been nothing blocking it from his side. Slowly he moved his hand down the door, searching for several moments for the doorknob. When located, he grabbed and turned it. It did not budge, so Oliver assumed it was locked. Still he jiggled it a few times in futility.
Oliver sighed, not loud but enough to cut through the silence of the room. He had been alone before, plenty of times, but never in pitch black. Carefully, as to not trip over anything, Oliver began walking back into the room. He extended his hands out in front of him and waved them around slowly in order to locate obstacles before he walked into them face first. He did not get far from the door, though, before he heard a noise behind him.
Turning slowly, fear welling up, Oliver saw past the window. There was some light out there, faint, as if a long distance off, but the noise came from the door. It was a muted jingle that only bled through slightly. Keys, Oliver recognized as one scraped the handle. And the light was from whomever held them but it was purposefully being blocked. A second later the door was open and Maria pushed her way into the room. The door was closed again and Maria locked it shut once more with her keys.
"Oliver," She hissed in a whisper as she turned and caught sight of the young man. Instantly after seeing him she turned off her flashlight and moved toward him. "Oliver, we have a big fucking problem." There was no hint of a joke in her voice; there was nothing but controlled panic. Whatever the problem was her explanation of fucking big seemed to fit the bill.
"What's wrong?" Oliver asked, voice also a whisper. He assumed that she was doing it on purpose, and to go shouting would have been heavily frowned upon. Still, Oliver felt stupid for asking. A big fucking problem meant only one thing to him, and unless it involved their backup generator running out of gas, Oliver knew what it was.
"Fucking Gov coming in," She told him more professional than Oliver thought anyone had a right to be at that moment. He felt the fear claw in, the realization that he would probably die right there in that dark base. He locked up, feelings coming over him all at once. Suddenly his vision seemed to tunnel, almost as if the darkness around him encroached further. His chest felt heavy, like he had dropped a barbell and could not lift it off. His throat tightened, like Maria herself had grabbed him and was trying to strangle him. It seemed like sweat would poke from the pores on his forehead, but Maria was ready for it. "Oliver. Oliver, listen to me. They're in here and we know that. We have no power, but we're trained. Eventually we'll find out where they got in, and from there we will know where to go out. You're not the only civilian we have, Oliver, so we're going to get you all out, do you hear me?" Oliver was honestly glad that Maria had come to get him. He did not think that anyone else, not Jamison and definitely not Mikkel, would have talked him down from the near panic attack he had. She knew how to handle him, and though Oliver's rational mind told him that escape was still slim, he wanted to trust her.
"What do I need to do?" Oliver asked quietly several seconds later. He had swallowed it down, the fear, the anxiety, and the worry about who he was in this strange world. He knew that at that moment he had to just be Oliver, and to hell with all the thoughts weighing him down. He just had to be, and survive. Maria seemed to accept the change in tone as Oliver's complete obedience, so she shifted the keys in her hand again.
"First thing is we get out of this room. We're going to head back to the command center because it's in the middle of the complex. From there, when we find out where the Gov is coming in from, we'll get you and the others to the exit farthest from them." Oliver understood the plan and nodded, even though she could not see him. He hoped that her plan would go that smoothly, but a realistic part of him told him that no plans ever go that smooth. He told it to shut up, and with good timing too because they had begun to move.
Maria never offered Oliver a gun and he thought it had been for the best. Though he had been telling himself to calm down, and actually had significantly, he still could not promise Maria's or his own safety if he had a weapon in hand. Instead he followed as quietly as he could. She unlocked the door, pocketed the keys, and slipped out. Oliver followed and they paused just long enough for Maria to silently close the door again.
Oliver could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and his footsteps sounded especially loud in the otherwise silent hall. With Molious' staffing, Oliver assumed that there were people hiding all around them, just incase the Government soldiers had broken in along that hallway, but Oliver never saw nor heard them. All he could see in the black was the oblong circle of light where Maria's flashlight beam hit the floor. Occasionally it would catch the corners of things lying on the ground-- crates, tables, and the like. Sometimes Oliver swore things moved, but he had become aware that it had probably just been a trick of his eyes after awhile. No nervous adjusting of neither firearms nor erratic breathing gave any hint that anyone other than Maria and he were in the halls.
It had felt like forever before they arrived at the command center. Maria knocked softly, but it echoed. They waited, and it took several tense seconds before the door opened. Once they were both inside, Maria's flashlight clicked off.
"That everyone?" Maria asked suddenly. The room was basked in a dim light, which was welcoming to Oliver. He could actually see the other occupants of the room, even if they were in semi-shadow and looked as nervous as Oliver felt. There were a few soldiers, probably under Maria's rank, that held M-16's close to their chests. There were also other military-esque people that seemed to have cool and calm demeanors much like Maria's. Oliver assumed that they were other ranked officers that lead squadrons. Finally were the civilians that Maria had spoken of. They kept their eyes down and some shook with fear, just as Oliver had before he talked himself into action. Among them were a couple younger women, probably older than Oliver, and several men in a wide variety of ages including the doctor that had treated Oliver's wounds that morning. He seemed to be the calmest of the bunch, but still did not meet Oliver's eyes.
"Yeah, you were the last," One of the officers told Maria in a hushed tone. Oliver had not received anything from the way the man spoke, but his tone seemed to have set Maria on edge. Their verbal battle was short and quiet, but held weight.
"Wouldn't be the last if Jamison had done what I said," Maria argued, moving closer to the man. He was taller than her, bigger than her, but Oliver did not think that either would work to his advantage if engaged in a fistfight with Maria. It was not just his affinity toward the woman that made Oliver think that way, though.
"You put a soldier in a position of responsibility over what could very well be a war prisoner and he wasn't even locked up. No, Maria, I do think that's your fault." Maria might have been able to win in combat, but she obviously had lost that argument. Still, it was not the blaming that got Oliver's attention, but that the other man had basically called him a prisoner. Oliver thought he had made strides separating himself from the Oliver in Mikkel's file, but it apparently had only been with Maria. The others, probably most of them, still saw him just as a bargaining chip now that the Government was on their doorstep.
Maria began to speak, her voice almost a growl, but before a word even got out they stopped. Everyone stopped except the civilians that continued to shift nervously. The silence was thick again, and though Oliver could finally place sounds from the others, it felt more oppressive than the silence of the hallways. When it finally broke, the room turned into a flurry of activity. It caught Oliver off guard and though Maria spoke to him, he heard nothing. When he asked her to repeat, the man that had been fighting with Maria cut in.
"He's not going anywhere with you," He told her strictly. "He's going to get these fuckers out of our base." Oliver understood that meant he would be Molious' hostage, and before he could protest, Maria took control again.
"Like fuck he is, Beckius! This is not your call!" Maria did not shout, but she no longer whispered. "The base is gone. They know where it is. We're all going to die here, or we'll get the Civs out and systematically retreat." Once again her voice dropped, and she got so close to the man that it would have been impossible to hear if the rest of the room had not been so quiet. "Unless I hear that this… this kid is to be our scapegoat from the Founders, then he's leaving with us." Oliver finally understood that Maria and the man, Beckius, were both on the same level. Neither had control over the other, and with the Founders apparently not in the picture, Oliver could see the fatal mistake in the plan. No one was leading the whole group. Apparently the snake had no head, or, in this case, it appeared to have too many heads.
"Fine. You do what you have to, Maria, but that target is not coming with this group." It was obvious that time was running short for their escape. The heighten tension in the room meant that somewhere the Government soldiers had entered the base, and that they had to go if they were going at all. Maria waved her hand dismissively.
"Fine. But Lindeen is coming with me." The soldier Maria had named turned to finally address the argument between his superior officers. Oliver watched him and thought he did not look very happy about the decision Maria had made. It was not just the superior officers that thought Oliver had ratted out their location.
"No. You want to die, Maria, then that's your choice, but you do not get to kill any of our soldiers as well. Lindeen is with us." Beckius turned from her and addressed the rest of the group. He explained who would be going with who, and what routes they would take. A paper map of the complex lay on the table and he traced paths quickly but with authority. Neither Oliver nor Maria was included in the conversation, but Maria listened nonetheless. She grimaced and snarled, but did not cut in. Instead she let Beckius decide his plan for half a minute before she caught Oliver's elbow and pulled him away.
"They came in from the western tunnel, Oliver," Maria explained slowly. Oliver figured that meant they would head to the eastern side of the base. That they would be as far from the Government soldiers as they could. However, from what Oliver heard, that meant that they would travel the same direction as the other group. From Beckius' tone, Oliver did not like that idea one bit. Maria watched him for a second, seeing realization on Oliver's face.
"No, we won’t go east. What we're going to do is go south. We have a lot of storage down in that section. Maybe we can hide out until they clear through the south and then head toward the southwest. It's a small tunnel and it'll be close to where they entered, but we might be able to sneak out right under their noses." Oliver thought about the vague mental map he had of the compound. It was not complete, certainly, but he remembered the western section. That had been the tunnel where Oliver and Maria had gone out that morning. It had been the tunnels that lead to the store.
"It was the store owner, wasn't it?" Oliver asked, and Maria did not answer right away. For all the explaining Maria had done about their escape plan, Oliver had managed to get stuck on figuring out who the rat was. He had fixated on that one point, on the injustice done to them by someone that should have been an ally, and did not seem to have listened to any part beyond that. It was impressive, but not needed at that moment.
"He will get his dues, Oliver. What's more important is getting moving. I won’t be using my light, so I want you to understand what's going to happen. We're going to head south, and when I tell you to stop, we stop. We hide. When we're going, you go. No questions, no hesitations. This time we won’t have Chief here to bail us out, but it's going to be just like in the streets. I just need you to trust me, Oliver. Can we do this?" Swallowing thickly, Oliver nodded. Beckius' group had begun heading to the door Oliver and Maria had entered through. The officer eyed them with contempt and just a bit of pity before leading the way out. Maria paused and listened. There were no immediate gunshots, no hint that the Government soldiers had made it far enough into the base to have had the room surrounded. The first good sign, Oliver thought.
"We won’t be caught, right?" He asked Maria once more, a bit shakily. She looked at Oliver, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and shook her head.
"We're going to make it out, Oliver. Trust me."
Oliver did trust Maria, so he followed her. She went to a door on the southwest corner of the room and opened it as deftly as she had the door on the bunkroom. She peaked out and scanned the darkness. When no bullets came her way, they moved.
The door shut behind Oliver with a solid click, but he realized far too late to slowly shut it. Instead he tried to stay with Maria, though he could see nothing of her once submerged in the black again. Never had Oliver relied so much on his hearing as he stumbled after Maria's footsteps. Occasionally she would kick something, or Oliver would trip over something, but they continued to move, never speaking. It felt infinitely long before Maria's voice cut through the silence in a hissed "Stop." Oliver did, and though the echo of her voice made him unsure of how far ahead she was, he waited. Neither of them moved, as far as Oliver could tell, so he just stood in the blackness like a statue.
"Oliver," Finally came her whispered voice again. He hesitated, wondering if he should speak or remain silent. She did not call to him again, though, so he ventured a very quiet "Yeah?"
"Alright, I'm just ahead of you. Come slowly." Oliver did, as slowly and as quietly as he could. Still, any movement he made, the rustling of his clothes, the soft impact of his sneakers, seemed like shouts in the silence. He grimaced with each step until a hand on his chest stopped him. Oliver jumped a little, but Maria's voice a fraction of a second later let him know that she was the one touching him.
"Close enough," The woman whispered before removing her hand and leaning down. He could not see what she was doing for several seconds before a soft click brought forth light. Maria's hand glowed red from where it pressed over the lens. Slowly she moved her hand to let out just a sliver of light, passing it along the ground. What she had found was a body.
Fatally shot more than once, in the middle of the hall lay the recognizable form of Jamison. Oliver did not gasp, did not shout, but he did begin to lock up once again. He had just spoken to the old man a few hours prior, and now he lay dead on a dirty cement floor. If the bullets in his body had not killed him, then the slit throat had. His blood had formed a lake, and Oliver saw why Maria had stopped. She had stepped in the blood and tapped his body with her toe. The boot print was still visible in the red liquid, and though she had not moved more than a step back, Oliver could tell she would leave bloodily prints if they were to continue. However, none of this seemed to be Maria's first priority. She shifted the flashlight against her pants to reach down and close the old man's dead eyes. Oliver said a small prayer, but Maria did not.
"Alright, Oliver," Maria began to whisper, but no more came out as movement from some ways down caught both of their attention. Maria's flashlight clicked off immediately and her hand was on Oliver again. "I can't put my foot down. You have to help me. There's a door a few meters behind us. Wall to your left." Like hell, Oliver thought, that they would outrun soldiers with Maria hopping on one foot. Instead he reached down to scoop her up, carrying her bridal style as he retreated back.
Oliver had no doubt that he was not quiet with Maria in his arms. It was not that she was heavy, but that he had been forced into a posture that did not allow for slow and cautious movements. Behind him, somewhere, were Government soldiers. They probably would have loved to shoot them both while they ran, but Oliver knew if he could get to the door, then maybe, just maybe, they could hide.
"Here," Maria whispered as she caught the doorframe with her fingers. Oliver turned, Maria opened the door, and they pushed in. However, as Oliver turned to fit both himself and Maria through the door, he caught sight of the soldiers.
They were not exactly visible; their bodies indistinguishable from the black, but the same green glow he had seen come from their goggles the night prior on the street told him all he needed to know. They had probably been seen. Still, Oliver had no intention of standing there and surrendering. He charged through the door and slammed it closed behind him.
The walls of the room were thick so there was no telling if they were being pursued. The blackness continued and Oliver had no idea which way to turn. Without shielding the flashlight this time, Maria turned it on. The room, a storage room by the looks of it, was full of crates, tarps, and shelves. She scanned for a door, but there was no back way out. Swearing silently, both people looked for a place to hide. Maria pushed herself from Oliver's hold, landing easily on her feet as she shown the flashlight toward some large crates. Then she turned back to Oliver.
"Hide." She told him, but Oliver did not move. He did not want to leave her out there. He wanted her to take off her damn boots, he wanted her to hide with him and make a break for it while the soldiers were searching the room. However the doorknob was turning and Oliver knew it was already too late. "Southwest. Find Chief." She told him. Oliver ran and got behind the boxes. They could save her, he knew. She was an officer and they would want to capture her. He would find Mikkel and, together, they could save Maria.
Just as Oliver ducked behind the crates, the door swung open. Maria shone her flashlight directly at the men and Oliver could finally see the soldiers from where he peaked between some boxes. They dressed head to toe in body armor and held semi-automatic rifles up. They flinched only slightly from the bright light in their night vision goggles, but they were professional.
"Hey assholes," Maria began. "Speak Swedish?" She finished, and before the final syllable completely left her mouth, a loud gunshot tore through the room. The flashlight dropped first, and without a staggering step Maria followed it. Oliver screamed, though he remembered telling himself specifically not to. He had gotten to his feet and charged the men. He stopped and realized what he had done only when the barrels of the two soldiers' guns turned on him. They did not shoot, and Oliver did not move. He stood as still as a deer in headlights, facing the eerie glow of the green night vision goggles.
"Sir?" One soldier asked, though not to Oliver. A second later one approached and slammed the butt of his rifle against Oliver's head with a speed and accuracy that left Oliver stonewalled. His world went blacker than the halls ever could have been.
Mikkel woke with a start; his gun raised and sweat pouring down his face. The sun still hovered somewhere below the horizon, but had begun turning the smog orange. He looked around the small room with both the barrel of his pistol and his eyes simultaneously. Around him lay used Opal syringes and the bottle of pills he had bought the evening prior. He refused to open it and see if he had taken any and, instead, stood and moved toward the bathroom. Everything in the room was rusted and covered in dust, but it had just become such a normal thing for Mikkel that he did not even pause as he turned on the tap. He let it run for only a millisecond before he splashed a handful onto his face and scrubbed. At least, Mikkel figured, he could do away with the sweat. At best the cold and cloudy water could wash away the memory of the terribly drug-induced dream.
Mikkel never slept unless he told himself to. He never slept unless guarded and safe. He definitely never slept in an unsecured hostel right after making the biggest anti-Government demonstration of the year. Nothing other than a bad overdose or strange concoction would have forced him to sleep and let the dreams come.
Mikkel almost never dreamt, but he almost never slept either. There were too many things to do, too many deaths to plot, and so sleep had long since been abandoned. However, even when he did sleep, he forced the dreams not to come. He worked hard to never sleep deep, to never hit REM and let his subconscious play movies of his past atrocities to him. Somebody once, probably Maria, had told him that running from the problem would just make it worse when, eventually, Mikkel would have to face it. Obviously she had been right, but Mikkel had always assumed he would be dead before he would have had to face his demons. He apparently had only needed to be too high.
Moving back to the main room, Mikkel got a bottle of water from his gun case and eyed what little liquid remained in it. He needed to get back to Molious, and it would not be an easy hike, but sleep had left him dry and with a bad taste in the back of his throat. Compromising, Mikkel took only a sip and then lit a cigarette. He picked up the used Opal syringes as he smoked. Sure, no one else would use the room, but in the off chance that American soldiers searched the hostel and connected the tiny bits of blood on the needles to him, Mikkel wanted to keep Margie safe. With the cigarette burning between his lips, Mikkel sanitized each needle with fire and wiped each tube down. He could have done more, Mikkel knew, but though not wanting to put a civilian in danger ranked high on his list, getting back to Molious ranked higher.
Mikkel would need to give a report to the Founders, as was their agreement. He figured they would be his first stop, followed by the base where he would start in on the Ekman-Larsson not soldier again. Though the dream had not faded at all, Mikkel kept himself professional about it. Oliver was most likely a spy, and if he was allowed to make contact with the Government, then a fate like what Mikkel had dreamed would not be too far behind. He had to protect Molious at all costs.
With the cigarette burned down and the syringes cleaned, Mikkel packed and left. He did not speak to Margie, did not look for another drug dealer. He moved across town in shadows. He found the building, the one with the coded lock that lead down to tunnels; the same tunnels that went to where the Founders hid in secret and seclusion. They did not welcome unscheduled contact, but Mikkel found himself particularly unsympathetic to protocol that day. He wanted water, he wanted to brief them, and he wanted to go. The dream still hung with him, and though convinced of its source as just a drug dream, Mikkel still wanted to verify. The first sign he got did not promise he would get what he wanted.
The keypad to the tunnel had been destroyed and the door in the cellar of the building stood ajar. Mikkel did not enter immediately, but actually eyed the unusual sight with suspicion. He did not want to believe. He did not want to believe anything without more proof. Cautiously, Mikkel entered.
Periodically through the tunnel, Mikkel found more proof. He found bodies of the specially trained soldiers that stood guard for the Founders. There were not many that were allowed to know the Founders, and even fewer that were allowed to work with them, but those that were were the best Molious had. They were the best Molious could even imagine. Mikkel knew what their dead bodies meant before he even got to the main chamber.
The main chamber was where the Founders held court. There, if there ever were a breach, would be where the last stand was. Mikkel found the stand that had most certainly had lived up to its name. He stepped over the bodies, less than thirty of them, as he moved through the room. No sounds of life came to his ears as he checked the corpses. It took a few minutes, but when he found one Founder, Mikkel found the rest. The first shots that hit them, Mikkel could tell, had not been fatal. They had then been tortured, ears cut off, fingers, sometimes even limbs. A few of the bodies even seemed to have been bled. They had not given up information easily, if at all, Mikkel realized as he looked over the lifeless corpses. They had held on for a long time, maybe even long enough that the soldiers had not yet reached Molious’ base, but eventually the Founders were no longer found useful. Eventually they were executed with a few rounds to their heads. Mikkel knew they would not have given up secrets because they knew that they would have been killed regardless. They never would have cracked, so Mikkel still held hope that Molious' base would have been safe.
Mikkel moved around the rooms, looking in and out for things to take. He had rounds still for all of his guns, but more would not have been bad. He also needed water and food. Nothing. Nothing at all. Except for the bodies of Molious soldiers, there was nothing in the bunker. The American soldiers had taken everything, even their fallen if there had been any. Mikkel's jaw tightened. He needed to get to Molious.
Considering his options, Mikkel planned a route to the headquarters. It would take him in the eastern tunnels, which were the closest to the Founders' bunker. He would move cautiously and at any sign of the enemy soldiers he would take the kill first and wonder why later approach. It had seemed the day prior that he would begin making headway on avenging his fallen comrades, but with the body count he had already witnessed in the early hours of that day, Mikkel knew he had taken hundreds of steps back.
As he promised himself he would, Mikkel moved carefully. He checked each step before he took it, planned ahead in case of danger, but he had come upon no bodies, no blood, and no American soldiers. It was either they had gotten deep into the base, or they had not made it in at all. Mikkel hoped for the latter, but if the Founders had been compromised, then that left him with little hope for the Molious center. Still he moved and found nothing, until he reached the final door into the base.
A pile of bodies lay just inside, and Mikkel recognized them instantly. Among them were the ranked soldier Beckius and the physician that had been run out of his practice. Mikkel did not remember the doctor's name, and had never found it significant. Even then, when looking at the tangled pile of bullet-riddled bodies, Mikkel did not think it was significant. Whatever his name was was dead, and just another statistic. No nice words in memory came to Mikkel's mind.
The lights of the base shone brightly so Mikkel hung to walls and corners, but after sweeping a quadrant, Mikkel had confirmed his fear. His dream had been true. Somehow, through the drugs, he had seen Molious' end, and had not been there to at least put up a fight. He had gone AWOL yet again, and this time, like the last, he was given no home to return to.
Mikkel moved much quicker when not scouting every corner. He had nothing else to live for, and his old plan came back to mind. He needed explosives, and he needed guns. He needed to take the battle to the Government without any more shadow tactics. What he got out of his search, though, was a more severe rage. Like with the Founders' bunker, Molious had been ransacked. Bodies of those that had been killed in rooms were dragged to the halls. Their weapons and ammunition were taken, and they were marked after being searched. Unlike in the Founders' base, Molious had more soldiers and each had to have been designated as checked. Bright orange florescent spray paint X's on their chests were the signal, and each body had them.
The final straw for Mikkel was when he arrived in their water purification room. The piping, the tanks, and even the pumps had been smashed and left in pieces on the floor. The rage that clawed and bit under his skin and calm control finally lashed out. He grabbed a piece, any piece and he howled as he threw it. He continued screaming, dry throat getting rougher before his voice finally gave out. Then Mikkel panted. His head swam with revenge, but his body ached for sustenance. Sleep was something that Mikkel could do without, some trace from whatever happened to him when with the Government. Food and water, however, were still necessities.
Slowly Mikkel collapsed to the floor and sat with his back against the wall. It was fatigue that was more mental than physical. Before, after going AWOL from the Government, Mikkel had turned to Molious for his supplies. He had used them to get the goods to kill himself and as many soldiers as he could. Where would he turn with the supplies gone, Mikkel wondered? He had no direction any more, and the bullets he possessed would never amount to enough dead soldiers. Mikkel breathed and relaxed. He recognized what he was doing was grieving, and though a frightening thought, he latched onto it. He had grieved before, for Sidney when he had visited the apartment. He had decided then, too, to kill himself in one grand suicide mission. Now, while grieving Molious, Mikkel knew he had to think smarter.
Everything would have been easier if he had let that Oliver just die on the street.
Oliver, Mikkel thought, was the rat that led the Government to Molious. On his feet again, Mikkel stalked off. Maria had been in the southern section, Mikkel remembered from his dream. Oliver had been with her. Southwest, he had been told. He would be able to track the rat out that way. He would only need one bullet for him.
Mikkel traced the path he remembered from the dream. He moved from the control center down hallways that had been black to Maria and Oliver, but were mentally mapped by Mikkel, He knew how many meters each were, where each hall connected, where each door was set in from the wall. He had years to memorize the layout, and something in him had done so, making retracing Maria's steps easy. It took no more than a few minutes to come upon her corpse.
Maria’s body shone brightly under the harsh overhead lights. A blood streak extended from under the door of a supply room and ended in the pool that spread around her like a red halo. Mikkel felt sadness, and though foreign by that point, he could still identify it. He had not felt sad in a long time, and albeit hardly a time for regret, he felt that as well. He knew, deep down, that he might as well have been the one to pull the trigger. He had joined Molious as a ticking time bomb. He had been hunted, knew he probably was still being hunted, and yet nested under their wings. He had thought he had paid back their kindness with training, but with the body count, with dead Molious soldiers all around him, Mikkel knew he had not. He had carried out an attention campaign and the Government had hunted Molious instead of him. Oliver's intelligence had lead them inside while Mikkel hid and shot up away from the base. Oliver moved while Mikkel hid even from himself.
Carefully, Mikkel knelt next to Maria's body. He had not loved her, not like Sidney. He had not even been sure he was still capable of love after everything, but her death hit him hard at that moment. He knew, once he was sure that the dream was more, that she was dead. However, kneeling over her body put it into high definition. The only hope Molious had had, the only glimmer in the dark, had been slaughtered just like the rest. She was no immortal angel like some had believed.
In his grief, Mikkel could have sworn he imagined the soft voice. It was a whisper of his name in the empty tunnels of the empty base.
"Guess…. Guess I was wrong about you, Chief," Came the voice, and Mikkel looked at the woman. A wry smile was on Maria's face, her eyes, not her head, turned to regard him in blurry recognition. It seemed like a miracle, and though Mikkel did not believe in them, he had no time to process.
"Just hold on," Mikkel hurriedly said, moving to get up, but was stopped by her dry laugh. Maria lacked the strength to keep him rooted there physically, but she sure knew how to keep him still without it. She was alive, and it made no sense.
"I'm going to go try to find a med kit," He continued, but it died off as she shook her head. Slowly her hand moved from her abdomen, falling lethargically and heavily to the floor. She revealed the wound that brought her near death and it was a grotesque picture. Some of the soldiers that had stormed Molious had not used normal rounds, but armor-piercing rounds. They had not just shot Maria, but blown her open. He had not seen similar wounds on the other soldiers, but hers was unmistakable.
"Really no point, Chief, is there?" She told him dryly, and he knew it to be the truth. She would more than likely bleed out before he even returned. And if the soldiers had managed to overlook a single medical kit she would still probably die from toxic shock. There was enough blood and bile in her abdominal cavity that nothing short of being on a surgeon’s table right at that moment would have saved her life. Mikkel was very far from being what she needed and there was a long pause where they both seemed to come to terms with her imminent demise.
"Guess we knew we'd die like this. I mean, not really a line of work where we'll die from a common household accident in our nineties, is it?" She remained joking in the face of death and Mikkel admired her for that. He admired her for a lot of things in those moments. However, Mikkel completely understood and told her so. They all knew the risk, but they had thought they would die outside where the fighting was. They never imagined there would have been a breach in the base of all places. Mikkel could still only think of one person that would have leaked their location to the Government, and though he knew little of what had happened during his day away from Molious, he assumed Oliver had been in the center of it. As if reading his mind, Maria commented on the lost boy.
"They took Oliver. Didn't kill him."
"Probably bringing him back to put a fucking medal on his chest for finally swatting us down." Mikkel hissed venomously. Maria's eyes had slipped closed, but they opened once more to send a narrow look at Mikkel. She had not exactly expected his idea of the young man to have changed during his day away, doing whatever it was he did, but to place the blame once more on him seemed like a disjointed conclusion to an already disjointed argument.
"He's less of a monster than any of us were, Chief." Maria paused, swallowing heavily as blood burbled to her lips. She would die soon, and Mikkel would sit there and watch. It was the least he could do. After all, he had brought wrath down upon the group. "In my quarters there's a little dresser. Top drawer. Locked. Break it for all I fucking care. Get my journal and read it." Mikkel was unsure what he would find in it, the book Maria wanted him to read, but he assumed it had to do with Oliver, what with her final conversation being about him. Slowly he nodded and, though pained, Maria smiled. She closed her eyes once more, and they both remained silent as she died. Mikkel could think of no prayer to say over her body, no final words to say about the woman that had once saved his life, but he still watched her lifeless corpse for minutes. They would all die like that, Mikkel thought once more, but he had at least one more day to avenge them. He had once more day to make America pay. Still, given the self-ascribed mission in front of him, Mikkel could not force himself to move for several long minutes.
Eventually he stood, slow and labored, almost as if all the will to move had been sapped from him and only the strings of fate were pulling him onward. He moved in the same way as he stalked down the halls, past the bodies of his fallen comrades, and to the sleeping quarters. Once inside Maria’s room, Mikkel walked to the table she had described to him. Using the butt of his gun, he broke the lock and pulled the drawer open. Inside was the journal, worn red cover that bordered on almost a light brown from years of exposure to different elements. He took it and began to leaf through it before he thought better. It had been Maria’s last wish that he read it, and something inside told him that doing so without her presence would not be what she wanted. Balling his fist around the journal, Mikkel began back to her body, no longer pulled by fate but by his own determination.
Playlist by the Amazing MasterPenguin: https://8tracks.com/masterpenguin/liberty-of-possession
Chapter 6 Song by the Amazing MasterPenguin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hChlGKOW4ow
Master Post: http://z4rf3.livejournal.com/16531.html
Chapter 7 Capital G: http://z4rf3.livejournal.com/18203.html
Me, I'm Not
Chapter 6 Song by the Amazing MasterPenguin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hChlGKOW4ow
Warnings: Character Deaths, Violence, Gore, Drug Use, Language, Torture
Sirens to Oliver meant an emergency. It probably meant the same thing there, he reasoned, but it also seemed to carry some extra weight Oliver did not understand. Something that made Maria not leisurely stroll along side him, but lead him with determination and just a few backwards glances. Once they slipped into the tunnel below the store nothing changed. The danger, whether real or imagined, did not stop above ground.
Oliver was accustomed to running, so he had no problem keeping pace with Maria as they jogged back to Molious. He wanted to ask her why they were in a hurry, why they needed to be below ground because of sirens that sounded some distance away, but Maria had not exactly withheld information from him before, and that caused Oliver to shut up and keep up. He figured whatever it meant was on a need to know basis, and at that moment he did not need to know anything other than to keep moving.
It took a quarter of the time it had taken them to leave Molious for them to return back to the base. When they did, the base was a flurry of activity. Oliver really had no idea what to do with himself, so he stuck close to Maria as she moved around.
"What's happening?" She asked as they both entered a large room toward the center of the base. It appeared to be a command center of sorts-- tables set end to end in a long row with chairs around it. There were also some other tables and chairs, most occupied by people that worked furiously on tasks. Some of the surfaces held computers, much like the data room Oliver had been in earlier, and there were soldiers seated at most of them. Additionally, plenty of TVs hung on the walls. Some were dark; others with data readouts, but the ones that held the most attention from the room were playing news feeds. Though different voices spoke out from the TVs, they all spoke in almost perfect unison. It was scripted and ridged words, however not robotic in the least. There was emotion there, but not fear. Some were outraged, screaming with anger. Others sounded sad yet distant. It took Oliver several seconds to actually hear the words they were speaking and not just the strange fluctuations of tone.
They were talking about a terrorist attack on a ballpark. Oliver could not remember there ever being a ballpark in Stockholm, but he also could never remember there being a secret underground tunnel system, or a war either, so he took no real stock in his inability to remember a ballpark. Apparently there were explosives detonated, but only a few casualties. They touted the courage and swift reaction of the military as the reason for the almost insignificant loss of life that had happened that day. Oliver took that at face value, but Maria told him otherwise.
"Whoever did it planned not to kill people," She said softly from next to Oliver. He had been so caught up in watching the television that he had not heard her return to his side. He watched her with a hint of confusion before his attention turned to some pictures she held. They appeared to be printed from a broadcast. Oliver could recognize announcers as she showed him the still images of what had transpired. One of the men had been shot, and from the way he grabbed at his throat, Oliver could guess where.
"It was a show of force, not a massacre. Whoever did this could have blown the whole park to the ground, but hadn't. He had made a display of force instead of a slaughter."
"Someone from here?" Oliver asked, thoroughly unsure. He had not understood much of Molious and what it did, but it had seemed like just the sort of group that would put up a display of force and not one that would kill a bunch of people just out for an afternoon. Maria still held the pictures up but stared at Oliver instead of the images. It was almost as if she had not thought about it before, that someone from Molious probably could have done it, but Oliver thought too highly of her to make that claim.
"No one from Molious," She told Oliver slowly, as if maybe trying to lie to herself. Oliver wondered if any of them actually had any clue where Mikkel was, and if he could have done it. He had proven to be tactically capable the day before out on the streets, but an attack like that did not seem like something anyone would do while working directly with a group like Molious. They seemed to have run a tight ship, and that gave Maria's words more credit. "It would bring too much pressure to our organization. The Founders never would let something like this happen." Oliver had not meant to start any discontent, so he nodded and accepted Maria's reasoning. He shifted nervously, unsure how to precede any further in their conversation.
He had not thought about it before, the possibility that there were others in charge, but it made sense. There was no way that a group could function as smoothly as Molious seemed to without some form of upper command. Still the strangeness of never realizing that before was not lost on Oliver. He wondered if everyone knew about something as important as the Founders or if it was on a need to know basis, much like many other things seemed to be.
"So, what does all this mean?" He asked after a few seconds where it looked like Maria had been lost in thought. She took another few seconds of looking at the pictures before she finally answered him.
"This means our field trip is over and I need to do some work." Oliver understood why something like a terrorist attack not orchestrated by Molious would require her undivided attention, but the dismissive nature of her tone spoke more than Maria's words. Oliver felt woefully out of place again and shifted. He mumbled, half-formed words that even he was unsure of the meaning of, and began to leave the room. He had no idea what he should do, since Maria had been his only companion in the base thus far. Without her guiding hand he figured he would just walk around until someone forcefully put him where he belonged. Instead Maria stopped him and walked him out of the room herself.
The hall was still a flurry of activity and Maria stopped a man. He was just slightly taller than her, diminutive next to Oliver, and much older than either of them. His hair had gone beyond salt-and-peppered to a fine level of grey that had taken over his beard as well. He eyed Maria and Oliver with confusion before Maria spoke to him.
"Take Oliver to the bunks. Just… just keep your eyes on him, Jamison." The man grunted out a reply, obviously not thrilled about being on babysitting duty, but unable to dispute a direct order from Maria. Oliver felt a little bad for him because it seemed like the older man, full of wrinkles and scars, really wanted to be in the thick of whatever had gotten everyone so worked up. Oliver hoped that he could at least get the man to tell him exactly what all of it meant. With that goal in mind, Oliver followed the older man away with just one look over his shoulder toward Maria’s retreating form.
Oliver was grateful for a real bed to sit on, unlike the mattress he had slept poorly on the night before. He was grateful that he was no longer being treated like a prisoner as well, though with Jamison standing in the same room as him, Oliver had no delusions that he was a welcomed presence in their base quite yet. However, he hoped spending some time with a different member of the group would increase his credibility some.
"Can I ask you some questions?" Oliver muttered slowly, unsure if it was a good idea or not to break the silence Jamison initiated. The older man slowly glanced at him. Jamison’s arms were crossed, and he did not exactly turn to look at Oliver. Instead he just slightly shifted his gaze and eyed Oliver from the corner of them. He seemed to be in thought about Oliver's question for several seconds, before he finally sighed and dropped his posture. He turned to face Oliver fully, but he never really relaxed.
"As long as I don't think you're snooping for any information that you shouldn't have, fine." Oliver did not exactly know the guidelines of what was considered snooping or not, so he tried to phrase his first question as delicately as he could.
"I just… well, I don't really understand why someone not affiliated with Molious going out and blowing up a building is making everyone so nervous." Oliver figured he could have been a bit more low-key with his question, but nothing really came to mind given how little he understood. Sure, he was beginning to understand that things that were normal, taken for granted, back in his reality were not the same way here. He saw fear in eyes that just did not exist in his small world. He began to see tragedy in all forms and not just self-perceived injustices. He wondered if that was how it had been in the war-torn countries of his world.
"We're not as off the radar as you might think," Jamison started, his voice old and scratchy. He seemed like the type of man that would smoke a pack of cigarettes a day and would start each morning and end each night with a straight hard drink. Oliver, of course, had no real grounds for that observation. In reality, all he had was a tired looking man standing before him.
"What do you mean? Maria… she said that this place is all off the radar. That it's safe." The idea that Oliver might not be safe in a secret base when there was so much corruption outside of it made him nervous. He had learned a bit about the world, but it was still large and foreboding. He had not actually thought about joining up as a soldier for Molious, because he knew for certain he would have been of no use to them even if Mikkel had given the okay (which had seemed highly unlikely). However, the idea of leaving them and living outside when there had been a man with his face four years prior working for the Government also seemed like a bad move. Really, if Oliver could not find some way to cope with the new world or get out, then he was basically dead already.
"I'm not saying that they know exactly where the base is," The man started, actually giving Oliver all of his attention as his tone dropped to an annoyed level. "But they know about us, kid." Oliver had been called a kid a lot, but it had never been with malice. Sure, Oliver assumed that the man always sounded put-upon and annoyed, but it did very little to calm his already frazzled nerves. "You were the Civ out there on the street, right? So you saw how bad it got. Without Chief and Maria they would have blown us all away. They know about us, kid, and it's only a matter of time until the wrath of god is brought down on us." Oliver understood the man's worry. From his perspective during the run and gun, the Government had known precisely how many people they had had, what type of weapons they would be using, and their major escape routes. It had probably been only a minor miscalculation by America, blind luck, or Mikkel and Maria's 'kill everything' mentality that allowed them to escape. Oliver had never thought of that before Jamison prompted it.
"So, what does it mean when someone does something big like what's all over the news?" The man calmed a bit, shifted, and remained silent. Oliver was not sure if he had overstepped the grey boundaries but he really did not understand the connection. Surely the Government, who had seen a lot of things from Molious, would recognize it as not their kind of tactic. Surely Molious did not need to put themselves out there to say that it had not been them. Maybe, Oliver thought, they could just lay low until it all blew over. However, by the activity of the base, he assumed it was not exactly a viable option.
"Jesus, they weren’t kidding. You really have no fucking clue, do you? Did Maria explain to you about the news?" Jamison asked a minute later after a heavy pause in which he eyed Oliver a bit softer. Oliver felt awkward that there had been talk about him and hesitated before nodding. She had explained briefly that the Government had a tight grip on broadcasts, but he had not been too sure of what that meant. "This shit is on the news, kid, and that means bad. Whoever did this got people scared, and the Government is going to want to tell people that they got those responsible. This is a shit storm coming at us, and it's coming at us hard. You get it now?" Oliver did. He stared back at the man and he understood. Whatever the Government planned to counter the attack by the nameless vigilantly would probably not be a war of attrition. It would be hard, fast, and end with heads on spikes paraded through the streets. Metaphorically, Oliver hoped.
"So that's why this is a huge fucking deal, kid. We have to be ready for a counter attack, and without knowing how much the Gov has on us and our members, we need to move fast." The attack on the ballpark had only happened an hour and a half before, but the way Jamison put it made Oliver think that soldiers were marching toward them as they spoke. Oliver hoped that he was wrong.
"I get it. I'm sorry. I just… I didn't really understand. I definitely get it now." The man grunted low and Oliver assumed it was his way of understanding. He had been hardened, like Maria, like Mikkel, and sympathies and tender moments no longer existed for them. In any other state Oliver doubted he would have even looked for a friendly hand on his shoulder and an explanation that included them being all right. He did not get them, though, because no one, not Jamison nor Maria, knew if it would be all right.
"Any other questions you feel like getting my blood pressure raised with?" The older man asked, and Oliver just shook his head. He looked past Jamison and toward where people still moved about in the halls. A moment later the man turned to follow Oliver's gaze. There was nothing of real note out there, but Oliver knew he should not detain one of the soldiers of Molious that could keep him safe. He knew Jamison wanted to be out there, and Oliver considered it the best place for the older man.
"No, no more questions. I just… I think I want to take a nap." The previous night's sleep had definitely done a number on his body, and Oliver was sure some alone time to think about all he had learned would do him good. He looked at Jamison when the man turned back toward him. He seemed unsure of Oliver's statement. "Look, I know you want to be out there doing something and not in here babysitting me. I get it. If I could do anything to help I'd want to be out there too, so go." Jamison seemed hesitant about that proposition. He watched Oliver as if trying to read him, so the younger man continued.
"I won’t move from here. Promise." Jamison seemed like the kind of man that did not believe in promises, but he was also highly restless being stuck with Oliver. Eventually the need to be in the thick of things won him over.
"If I hear even a peep of you leaving this room I will assume you are a spy for the Gov and I will find you and I will cut your throat. Do you understand me?" Oliver did and nodded. He would stay put, just as promised, because he had no need to break the small amount of trust that some members of Molious had placed in him thus far. He did not want to be thought of as a Government supporter, even in whispers.
When the agreement was settled on, Oliver climbed back on the bunk to lie down and Jamison took his leave, shutting the door behind him. He never heard a lock, but Oliver assumed the older man had engaged it. Still, he had no interest in walking out and being in the way, so he continued to lie there and stare at the metal crossbeams of the bunk above him.
A lot had been thrust upon Oliver that day. His family was dead, though from what Oliver had seen it had not exactly been his family. Still they were familiar, something he maybe could have lived for in this world, but no longer a possibility. Mikkel, his best friend, was waging a war and had no memories of Oliver. The planet was dead, his home country ruled by an authoritarian Government, and he was holed up in a secret underground base full of militants just waiting for a raid to come. Maria was there, sure, and would probably do everything in her power to keep him safe, but outside of being shipped somewhere very far from war and oppression Oliver could see no safety. He wondered if that was how the members of Molious felt, even while holding guns and shooting soldiers. He wondered if everyone not with the Government felt hopeless, alone, and afraid.
Oliver never imagined he would actually sleep. He had figured that all the thoughts in his head, the worry and the anguish, would keep him up for days. However, somehow, he slept and he dreamt.
Oliver did not dream in images, but just in sounds. He dreamt of a steady rhythm and of inhales and exhales. Slowly he dreamt of a voice, one that was familiar and warm. It did not speak to him, but to other familiar and warm voices. It was calming and loving, the whole experience, but it was just a dream; one that was shrouded behind white light or pitch black. It was one that did not follow Oliver back to the waking world.
A loud pop jerked Oliver awake. Lingering touches of the dream went with him but dissipated almost immediately. He looked around with alarm for several seconds and all the terror that plagued Oliver before sleep came back.
The bunkroom was dark, making sight completely useless. Without the uncomfortable and too small mattress under him, Oliver assumed he would not have known where he was. Carefully he moved, shifting to put on his shoes before standing. He had promised Jamison that he would stay put, but something akin to worry itched under his skin. Previously he had been able to see out of a small window in the door, but something obstructed it and Oliver felt very unsettled by that. In addition to the dark around him, everything seemed off.
Maybe they turned out the lights, Oliver thought as he carefully crossed the room, but it had made no real sense. Even if someone felt bad for Oliver sleeping under the florescent bulbs, there was no reason to turn off the hall lights. It also seemed like a poor idea to block the window so that there was no easy way for Oliver to be checked up on by Jamison, Maria, or any number of other Molious soldiers that could have been put in charge of watching over him. When he finally reached his destination, Oliver touched first at the door around where the window was. It took no more than a second for Oliver's fingers to drag over the glass. There had been nothing blocking it from his side. Slowly he moved his hand down the door, searching for several moments for the doorknob. When located, he grabbed and turned it. It did not budge, so Oliver assumed it was locked. Still he jiggled it a few times in futility.
Oliver sighed, not loud but enough to cut through the silence of the room. He had been alone before, plenty of times, but never in pitch black. Carefully, as to not trip over anything, Oliver began walking back into the room. He extended his hands out in front of him and waved them around slowly in order to locate obstacles before he walked into them face first. He did not get far from the door, though, before he heard a noise behind him.
Turning slowly, fear welling up, Oliver saw past the window. There was some light out there, faint, as if a long distance off, but the noise came from the door. It was a muted jingle that only bled through slightly. Keys, Oliver recognized as one scraped the handle. And the light was from whomever held them but it was purposefully being blocked. A second later the door was open and Maria pushed her way into the room. The door was closed again and Maria locked it shut once more with her keys.
"Oliver," She hissed in a whisper as she turned and caught sight of the young man. Instantly after seeing him she turned off her flashlight and moved toward him. "Oliver, we have a big fucking problem." There was no hint of a joke in her voice; there was nothing but controlled panic. Whatever the problem was her explanation of fucking big seemed to fit the bill.
"What's wrong?" Oliver asked, voice also a whisper. He assumed that she was doing it on purpose, and to go shouting would have been heavily frowned upon. Still, Oliver felt stupid for asking. A big fucking problem meant only one thing to him, and unless it involved their backup generator running out of gas, Oliver knew what it was.
"Fucking Gov coming in," She told him more professional than Oliver thought anyone had a right to be at that moment. He felt the fear claw in, the realization that he would probably die right there in that dark base. He locked up, feelings coming over him all at once. Suddenly his vision seemed to tunnel, almost as if the darkness around him encroached further. His chest felt heavy, like he had dropped a barbell and could not lift it off. His throat tightened, like Maria herself had grabbed him and was trying to strangle him. It seemed like sweat would poke from the pores on his forehead, but Maria was ready for it. "Oliver. Oliver, listen to me. They're in here and we know that. We have no power, but we're trained. Eventually we'll find out where they got in, and from there we will know where to go out. You're not the only civilian we have, Oliver, so we're going to get you all out, do you hear me?" Oliver was honestly glad that Maria had come to get him. He did not think that anyone else, not Jamison and definitely not Mikkel, would have talked him down from the near panic attack he had. She knew how to handle him, and though Oliver's rational mind told him that escape was still slim, he wanted to trust her.
"What do I need to do?" Oliver asked quietly several seconds later. He had swallowed it down, the fear, the anxiety, and the worry about who he was in this strange world. He knew that at that moment he had to just be Oliver, and to hell with all the thoughts weighing him down. He just had to be, and survive. Maria seemed to accept the change in tone as Oliver's complete obedience, so she shifted the keys in her hand again.
"First thing is we get out of this room. We're going to head back to the command center because it's in the middle of the complex. From there, when we find out where the Gov is coming in from, we'll get you and the others to the exit farthest from them." Oliver understood the plan and nodded, even though she could not see him. He hoped that her plan would go that smoothly, but a realistic part of him told him that no plans ever go that smooth. He told it to shut up, and with good timing too because they had begun to move.
Maria never offered Oliver a gun and he thought it had been for the best. Though he had been telling himself to calm down, and actually had significantly, he still could not promise Maria's or his own safety if he had a weapon in hand. Instead he followed as quietly as he could. She unlocked the door, pocketed the keys, and slipped out. Oliver followed and they paused just long enough for Maria to silently close the door again.
Oliver could hear his own heartbeat in his ears, and his footsteps sounded especially loud in the otherwise silent hall. With Molious' staffing, Oliver assumed that there were people hiding all around them, just incase the Government soldiers had broken in along that hallway, but Oliver never saw nor heard them. All he could see in the black was the oblong circle of light where Maria's flashlight beam hit the floor. Occasionally it would catch the corners of things lying on the ground-- crates, tables, and the like. Sometimes Oliver swore things moved, but he had become aware that it had probably just been a trick of his eyes after awhile. No nervous adjusting of neither firearms nor erratic breathing gave any hint that anyone other than Maria and he were in the halls.
It had felt like forever before they arrived at the command center. Maria knocked softly, but it echoed. They waited, and it took several tense seconds before the door opened. Once they were both inside, Maria's flashlight clicked off.
"That everyone?" Maria asked suddenly. The room was basked in a dim light, which was welcoming to Oliver. He could actually see the other occupants of the room, even if they were in semi-shadow and looked as nervous as Oliver felt. There were a few soldiers, probably under Maria's rank, that held M-16's close to their chests. There were also other military-esque people that seemed to have cool and calm demeanors much like Maria's. Oliver assumed that they were other ranked officers that lead squadrons. Finally were the civilians that Maria had spoken of. They kept their eyes down and some shook with fear, just as Oliver had before he talked himself into action. Among them were a couple younger women, probably older than Oliver, and several men in a wide variety of ages including the doctor that had treated Oliver's wounds that morning. He seemed to be the calmest of the bunch, but still did not meet Oliver's eyes.
"Yeah, you were the last," One of the officers told Maria in a hushed tone. Oliver had not received anything from the way the man spoke, but his tone seemed to have set Maria on edge. Their verbal battle was short and quiet, but held weight.
"Wouldn't be the last if Jamison had done what I said," Maria argued, moving closer to the man. He was taller than her, bigger than her, but Oliver did not think that either would work to his advantage if engaged in a fistfight with Maria. It was not just his affinity toward the woman that made Oliver think that way, though.
"You put a soldier in a position of responsibility over what could very well be a war prisoner and he wasn't even locked up. No, Maria, I do think that's your fault." Maria might have been able to win in combat, but she obviously had lost that argument. Still, it was not the blaming that got Oliver's attention, but that the other man had basically called him a prisoner. Oliver thought he had made strides separating himself from the Oliver in Mikkel's file, but it apparently had only been with Maria. The others, probably most of them, still saw him just as a bargaining chip now that the Government was on their doorstep.
Maria began to speak, her voice almost a growl, but before a word even got out they stopped. Everyone stopped except the civilians that continued to shift nervously. The silence was thick again, and though Oliver could finally place sounds from the others, it felt more oppressive than the silence of the hallways. When it finally broke, the room turned into a flurry of activity. It caught Oliver off guard and though Maria spoke to him, he heard nothing. When he asked her to repeat, the man that had been fighting with Maria cut in.
"He's not going anywhere with you," He told her strictly. "He's going to get these fuckers out of our base." Oliver understood that meant he would be Molious' hostage, and before he could protest, Maria took control again.
"Like fuck he is, Beckius! This is not your call!" Maria did not shout, but she no longer whispered. "The base is gone. They know where it is. We're all going to die here, or we'll get the Civs out and systematically retreat." Once again her voice dropped, and she got so close to the man that it would have been impossible to hear if the rest of the room had not been so quiet. "Unless I hear that this… this kid is to be our scapegoat from the Founders, then he's leaving with us." Oliver finally understood that Maria and the man, Beckius, were both on the same level. Neither had control over the other, and with the Founders apparently not in the picture, Oliver could see the fatal mistake in the plan. No one was leading the whole group. Apparently the snake had no head, or, in this case, it appeared to have too many heads.
"Fine. You do what you have to, Maria, but that target is not coming with this group." It was obvious that time was running short for their escape. The heighten tension in the room meant that somewhere the Government soldiers had entered the base, and that they had to go if they were going at all. Maria waved her hand dismissively.
"Fine. But Lindeen is coming with me." The soldier Maria had named turned to finally address the argument between his superior officers. Oliver watched him and thought he did not look very happy about the decision Maria had made. It was not just the superior officers that thought Oliver had ratted out their location.
"No. You want to die, Maria, then that's your choice, but you do not get to kill any of our soldiers as well. Lindeen is with us." Beckius turned from her and addressed the rest of the group. He explained who would be going with who, and what routes they would take. A paper map of the complex lay on the table and he traced paths quickly but with authority. Neither Oliver nor Maria was included in the conversation, but Maria listened nonetheless. She grimaced and snarled, but did not cut in. Instead she let Beckius decide his plan for half a minute before she caught Oliver's elbow and pulled him away.
"They came in from the western tunnel, Oliver," Maria explained slowly. Oliver figured that meant they would head to the eastern side of the base. That they would be as far from the Government soldiers as they could. However, from what Oliver heard, that meant that they would travel the same direction as the other group. From Beckius' tone, Oliver did not like that idea one bit. Maria watched him for a second, seeing realization on Oliver's face.
"No, we won’t go east. What we're going to do is go south. We have a lot of storage down in that section. Maybe we can hide out until they clear through the south and then head toward the southwest. It's a small tunnel and it'll be close to where they entered, but we might be able to sneak out right under their noses." Oliver thought about the vague mental map he had of the compound. It was not complete, certainly, but he remembered the western section. That had been the tunnel where Oliver and Maria had gone out that morning. It had been the tunnels that lead to the store.
"It was the store owner, wasn't it?" Oliver asked, and Maria did not answer right away. For all the explaining Maria had done about their escape plan, Oliver had managed to get stuck on figuring out who the rat was. He had fixated on that one point, on the injustice done to them by someone that should have been an ally, and did not seem to have listened to any part beyond that. It was impressive, but not needed at that moment.
"He will get his dues, Oliver. What's more important is getting moving. I won’t be using my light, so I want you to understand what's going to happen. We're going to head south, and when I tell you to stop, we stop. We hide. When we're going, you go. No questions, no hesitations. This time we won’t have Chief here to bail us out, but it's going to be just like in the streets. I just need you to trust me, Oliver. Can we do this?" Swallowing thickly, Oliver nodded. Beckius' group had begun heading to the door Oliver and Maria had entered through. The officer eyed them with contempt and just a bit of pity before leading the way out. Maria paused and listened. There were no immediate gunshots, no hint that the Government soldiers had made it far enough into the base to have had the room surrounded. The first good sign, Oliver thought.
"We won’t be caught, right?" He asked Maria once more, a bit shakily. She looked at Oliver, clapped a hand on his shoulder, and shook her head.
"We're going to make it out, Oliver. Trust me."
Oliver did trust Maria, so he followed her. She went to a door on the southwest corner of the room and opened it as deftly as she had the door on the bunkroom. She peaked out and scanned the darkness. When no bullets came her way, they moved.
The door shut behind Oliver with a solid click, but he realized far too late to slowly shut it. Instead he tried to stay with Maria, though he could see nothing of her once submerged in the black again. Never had Oliver relied so much on his hearing as he stumbled after Maria's footsteps. Occasionally she would kick something, or Oliver would trip over something, but they continued to move, never speaking. It felt infinitely long before Maria's voice cut through the silence in a hissed "Stop." Oliver did, and though the echo of her voice made him unsure of how far ahead she was, he waited. Neither of them moved, as far as Oliver could tell, so he just stood in the blackness like a statue.
"Oliver," Finally came her whispered voice again. He hesitated, wondering if he should speak or remain silent. She did not call to him again, though, so he ventured a very quiet "Yeah?"
"Alright, I'm just ahead of you. Come slowly." Oliver did, as slowly and as quietly as he could. Still, any movement he made, the rustling of his clothes, the soft impact of his sneakers, seemed like shouts in the silence. He grimaced with each step until a hand on his chest stopped him. Oliver jumped a little, but Maria's voice a fraction of a second later let him know that she was the one touching him.
"Close enough," The woman whispered before removing her hand and leaning down. He could not see what she was doing for several seconds before a soft click brought forth light. Maria's hand glowed red from where it pressed over the lens. Slowly she moved her hand to let out just a sliver of light, passing it along the ground. What she had found was a body.
Fatally shot more than once, in the middle of the hall lay the recognizable form of Jamison. Oliver did not gasp, did not shout, but he did begin to lock up once again. He had just spoken to the old man a few hours prior, and now he lay dead on a dirty cement floor. If the bullets in his body had not killed him, then the slit throat had. His blood had formed a lake, and Oliver saw why Maria had stopped. She had stepped in the blood and tapped his body with her toe. The boot print was still visible in the red liquid, and though she had not moved more than a step back, Oliver could tell she would leave bloodily prints if they were to continue. However, none of this seemed to be Maria's first priority. She shifted the flashlight against her pants to reach down and close the old man's dead eyes. Oliver said a small prayer, but Maria did not.
"Alright, Oliver," Maria began to whisper, but no more came out as movement from some ways down caught both of their attention. Maria's flashlight clicked off immediately and her hand was on Oliver again. "I can't put my foot down. You have to help me. There's a door a few meters behind us. Wall to your left." Like hell, Oliver thought, that they would outrun soldiers with Maria hopping on one foot. Instead he reached down to scoop her up, carrying her bridal style as he retreated back.
Oliver had no doubt that he was not quiet with Maria in his arms. It was not that she was heavy, but that he had been forced into a posture that did not allow for slow and cautious movements. Behind him, somewhere, were Government soldiers. They probably would have loved to shoot them both while they ran, but Oliver knew if he could get to the door, then maybe, just maybe, they could hide.
"Here," Maria whispered as she caught the doorframe with her fingers. Oliver turned, Maria opened the door, and they pushed in. However, as Oliver turned to fit both himself and Maria through the door, he caught sight of the soldiers.
They were not exactly visible; their bodies indistinguishable from the black, but the same green glow he had seen come from their goggles the night prior on the street told him all he needed to know. They had probably been seen. Still, Oliver had no intention of standing there and surrendering. He charged through the door and slammed it closed behind him.
The walls of the room were thick so there was no telling if they were being pursued. The blackness continued and Oliver had no idea which way to turn. Without shielding the flashlight this time, Maria turned it on. The room, a storage room by the looks of it, was full of crates, tarps, and shelves. She scanned for a door, but there was no back way out. Swearing silently, both people looked for a place to hide. Maria pushed herself from Oliver's hold, landing easily on her feet as she shown the flashlight toward some large crates. Then she turned back to Oliver.
"Hide." She told him, but Oliver did not move. He did not want to leave her out there. He wanted her to take off her damn boots, he wanted her to hide with him and make a break for it while the soldiers were searching the room. However the doorknob was turning and Oliver knew it was already too late. "Southwest. Find Chief." She told him. Oliver ran and got behind the boxes. They could save her, he knew. She was an officer and they would want to capture her. He would find Mikkel and, together, they could save Maria.
Just as Oliver ducked behind the crates, the door swung open. Maria shone her flashlight directly at the men and Oliver could finally see the soldiers from where he peaked between some boxes. They dressed head to toe in body armor and held semi-automatic rifles up. They flinched only slightly from the bright light in their night vision goggles, but they were professional.
"Hey assholes," Maria began. "Speak Swedish?" She finished, and before the final syllable completely left her mouth, a loud gunshot tore through the room. The flashlight dropped first, and without a staggering step Maria followed it. Oliver screamed, though he remembered telling himself specifically not to. He had gotten to his feet and charged the men. He stopped and realized what he had done only when the barrels of the two soldiers' guns turned on him. They did not shoot, and Oliver did not move. He stood as still as a deer in headlights, facing the eerie glow of the green night vision goggles.
"Sir?" One soldier asked, though not to Oliver. A second later one approached and slammed the butt of his rifle against Oliver's head with a speed and accuracy that left Oliver stonewalled. His world went blacker than the halls ever could have been.
Mikkel woke with a start; his gun raised and sweat pouring down his face. The sun still hovered somewhere below the horizon, but had begun turning the smog orange. He looked around the small room with both the barrel of his pistol and his eyes simultaneously. Around him lay used Opal syringes and the bottle of pills he had bought the evening prior. He refused to open it and see if he had taken any and, instead, stood and moved toward the bathroom. Everything in the room was rusted and covered in dust, but it had just become such a normal thing for Mikkel that he did not even pause as he turned on the tap. He let it run for only a millisecond before he splashed a handful onto his face and scrubbed. At least, Mikkel figured, he could do away with the sweat. At best the cold and cloudy water could wash away the memory of the terribly drug-induced dream.
Mikkel never slept unless he told himself to. He never slept unless guarded and safe. He definitely never slept in an unsecured hostel right after making the biggest anti-Government demonstration of the year. Nothing other than a bad overdose or strange concoction would have forced him to sleep and let the dreams come.
Mikkel almost never dreamt, but he almost never slept either. There were too many things to do, too many deaths to plot, and so sleep had long since been abandoned. However, even when he did sleep, he forced the dreams not to come. He worked hard to never sleep deep, to never hit REM and let his subconscious play movies of his past atrocities to him. Somebody once, probably Maria, had told him that running from the problem would just make it worse when, eventually, Mikkel would have to face it. Obviously she had been right, but Mikkel had always assumed he would be dead before he would have had to face his demons. He apparently had only needed to be too high.
Moving back to the main room, Mikkel got a bottle of water from his gun case and eyed what little liquid remained in it. He needed to get back to Molious, and it would not be an easy hike, but sleep had left him dry and with a bad taste in the back of his throat. Compromising, Mikkel took only a sip and then lit a cigarette. He picked up the used Opal syringes as he smoked. Sure, no one else would use the room, but in the off chance that American soldiers searched the hostel and connected the tiny bits of blood on the needles to him, Mikkel wanted to keep Margie safe. With the cigarette burning between his lips, Mikkel sanitized each needle with fire and wiped each tube down. He could have done more, Mikkel knew, but though not wanting to put a civilian in danger ranked high on his list, getting back to Molious ranked higher.
Mikkel would need to give a report to the Founders, as was their agreement. He figured they would be his first stop, followed by the base where he would start in on the Ekman-Larsson not soldier again. Though the dream had not faded at all, Mikkel kept himself professional about it. Oliver was most likely a spy, and if he was allowed to make contact with the Government, then a fate like what Mikkel had dreamed would not be too far behind. He had to protect Molious at all costs.
With the cigarette burned down and the syringes cleaned, Mikkel packed and left. He did not speak to Margie, did not look for another drug dealer. He moved across town in shadows. He found the building, the one with the coded lock that lead down to tunnels; the same tunnels that went to where the Founders hid in secret and seclusion. They did not welcome unscheduled contact, but Mikkel found himself particularly unsympathetic to protocol that day. He wanted water, he wanted to brief them, and he wanted to go. The dream still hung with him, and though convinced of its source as just a drug dream, Mikkel still wanted to verify. The first sign he got did not promise he would get what he wanted.
The keypad to the tunnel had been destroyed and the door in the cellar of the building stood ajar. Mikkel did not enter immediately, but actually eyed the unusual sight with suspicion. He did not want to believe. He did not want to believe anything without more proof. Cautiously, Mikkel entered.
Periodically through the tunnel, Mikkel found more proof. He found bodies of the specially trained soldiers that stood guard for the Founders. There were not many that were allowed to know the Founders, and even fewer that were allowed to work with them, but those that were were the best Molious had. They were the best Molious could even imagine. Mikkel knew what their dead bodies meant before he even got to the main chamber.
The main chamber was where the Founders held court. There, if there ever were a breach, would be where the last stand was. Mikkel found the stand that had most certainly had lived up to its name. He stepped over the bodies, less than thirty of them, as he moved through the room. No sounds of life came to his ears as he checked the corpses. It took a few minutes, but when he found one Founder, Mikkel found the rest. The first shots that hit them, Mikkel could tell, had not been fatal. They had then been tortured, ears cut off, fingers, sometimes even limbs. A few of the bodies even seemed to have been bled. They had not given up information easily, if at all, Mikkel realized as he looked over the lifeless corpses. They had held on for a long time, maybe even long enough that the soldiers had not yet reached Molious’ base, but eventually the Founders were no longer found useful. Eventually they were executed with a few rounds to their heads. Mikkel knew they would not have given up secrets because they knew that they would have been killed regardless. They never would have cracked, so Mikkel still held hope that Molious' base would have been safe.
Mikkel moved around the rooms, looking in and out for things to take. He had rounds still for all of his guns, but more would not have been bad. He also needed water and food. Nothing. Nothing at all. Except for the bodies of Molious soldiers, there was nothing in the bunker. The American soldiers had taken everything, even their fallen if there had been any. Mikkel's jaw tightened. He needed to get to Molious.
Considering his options, Mikkel planned a route to the headquarters. It would take him in the eastern tunnels, which were the closest to the Founders' bunker. He would move cautiously and at any sign of the enemy soldiers he would take the kill first and wonder why later approach. It had seemed the day prior that he would begin making headway on avenging his fallen comrades, but with the body count he had already witnessed in the early hours of that day, Mikkel knew he had taken hundreds of steps back.
As he promised himself he would, Mikkel moved carefully. He checked each step before he took it, planned ahead in case of danger, but he had come upon no bodies, no blood, and no American soldiers. It was either they had gotten deep into the base, or they had not made it in at all. Mikkel hoped for the latter, but if the Founders had been compromised, then that left him with little hope for the Molious center. Still he moved and found nothing, until he reached the final door into the base.
A pile of bodies lay just inside, and Mikkel recognized them instantly. Among them were the ranked soldier Beckius and the physician that had been run out of his practice. Mikkel did not remember the doctor's name, and had never found it significant. Even then, when looking at the tangled pile of bullet-riddled bodies, Mikkel did not think it was significant. Whatever his name was was dead, and just another statistic. No nice words in memory came to Mikkel's mind.
The lights of the base shone brightly so Mikkel hung to walls and corners, but after sweeping a quadrant, Mikkel had confirmed his fear. His dream had been true. Somehow, through the drugs, he had seen Molious' end, and had not been there to at least put up a fight. He had gone AWOL yet again, and this time, like the last, he was given no home to return to.
Mikkel moved much quicker when not scouting every corner. He had nothing else to live for, and his old plan came back to mind. He needed explosives, and he needed guns. He needed to take the battle to the Government without any more shadow tactics. What he got out of his search, though, was a more severe rage. Like with the Founders' bunker, Molious had been ransacked. Bodies of those that had been killed in rooms were dragged to the halls. Their weapons and ammunition were taken, and they were marked after being searched. Unlike in the Founders' base, Molious had more soldiers and each had to have been designated as checked. Bright orange florescent spray paint X's on their chests were the signal, and each body had them.
The final straw for Mikkel was when he arrived in their water purification room. The piping, the tanks, and even the pumps had been smashed and left in pieces on the floor. The rage that clawed and bit under his skin and calm control finally lashed out. He grabbed a piece, any piece and he howled as he threw it. He continued screaming, dry throat getting rougher before his voice finally gave out. Then Mikkel panted. His head swam with revenge, but his body ached for sustenance. Sleep was something that Mikkel could do without, some trace from whatever happened to him when with the Government. Food and water, however, were still necessities.
Slowly Mikkel collapsed to the floor and sat with his back against the wall. It was fatigue that was more mental than physical. Before, after going AWOL from the Government, Mikkel had turned to Molious for his supplies. He had used them to get the goods to kill himself and as many soldiers as he could. Where would he turn with the supplies gone, Mikkel wondered? He had no direction any more, and the bullets he possessed would never amount to enough dead soldiers. Mikkel breathed and relaxed. He recognized what he was doing was grieving, and though a frightening thought, he latched onto it. He had grieved before, for Sidney when he had visited the apartment. He had decided then, too, to kill himself in one grand suicide mission. Now, while grieving Molious, Mikkel knew he had to think smarter.
Everything would have been easier if he had let that Oliver just die on the street.
Oliver, Mikkel thought, was the rat that led the Government to Molious. On his feet again, Mikkel stalked off. Maria had been in the southern section, Mikkel remembered from his dream. Oliver had been with her. Southwest, he had been told. He would be able to track the rat out that way. He would only need one bullet for him.
Mikkel traced the path he remembered from the dream. He moved from the control center down hallways that had been black to Maria and Oliver, but were mentally mapped by Mikkel, He knew how many meters each were, where each hall connected, where each door was set in from the wall. He had years to memorize the layout, and something in him had done so, making retracing Maria's steps easy. It took no more than a few minutes to come upon her corpse.
Maria’s body shone brightly under the harsh overhead lights. A blood streak extended from under the door of a supply room and ended in the pool that spread around her like a red halo. Mikkel felt sadness, and though foreign by that point, he could still identify it. He had not felt sad in a long time, and albeit hardly a time for regret, he felt that as well. He knew, deep down, that he might as well have been the one to pull the trigger. He had joined Molious as a ticking time bomb. He had been hunted, knew he probably was still being hunted, and yet nested under their wings. He had thought he had paid back their kindness with training, but with the body count, with dead Molious soldiers all around him, Mikkel knew he had not. He had carried out an attention campaign and the Government had hunted Molious instead of him. Oliver's intelligence had lead them inside while Mikkel hid and shot up away from the base. Oliver moved while Mikkel hid even from himself.
Carefully, Mikkel knelt next to Maria's body. He had not loved her, not like Sidney. He had not even been sure he was still capable of love after everything, but her death hit him hard at that moment. He knew, once he was sure that the dream was more, that she was dead. However, kneeling over her body put it into high definition. The only hope Molious had had, the only glimmer in the dark, had been slaughtered just like the rest. She was no immortal angel like some had believed.
In his grief, Mikkel could have sworn he imagined the soft voice. It was a whisper of his name in the empty tunnels of the empty base.
"Guess…. Guess I was wrong about you, Chief," Came the voice, and Mikkel looked at the woman. A wry smile was on Maria's face, her eyes, not her head, turned to regard him in blurry recognition. It seemed like a miracle, and though Mikkel did not believe in them, he had no time to process.
"Just hold on," Mikkel hurriedly said, moving to get up, but was stopped by her dry laugh. Maria lacked the strength to keep him rooted there physically, but she sure knew how to keep him still without it. She was alive, and it made no sense.
"I'm going to go try to find a med kit," He continued, but it died off as she shook her head. Slowly her hand moved from her abdomen, falling lethargically and heavily to the floor. She revealed the wound that brought her near death and it was a grotesque picture. Some of the soldiers that had stormed Molious had not used normal rounds, but armor-piercing rounds. They had not just shot Maria, but blown her open. He had not seen similar wounds on the other soldiers, but hers was unmistakable.
"Really no point, Chief, is there?" She told him dryly, and he knew it to be the truth. She would more than likely bleed out before he even returned. And if the soldiers had managed to overlook a single medical kit she would still probably die from toxic shock. There was enough blood and bile in her abdominal cavity that nothing short of being on a surgeon’s table right at that moment would have saved her life. Mikkel was very far from being what she needed and there was a long pause where they both seemed to come to terms with her imminent demise.
"Guess we knew we'd die like this. I mean, not really a line of work where we'll die from a common household accident in our nineties, is it?" She remained joking in the face of death and Mikkel admired her for that. He admired her for a lot of things in those moments. However, Mikkel completely understood and told her so. They all knew the risk, but they had thought they would die outside where the fighting was. They never imagined there would have been a breach in the base of all places. Mikkel could still only think of one person that would have leaked their location to the Government, and though he knew little of what had happened during his day away from Molious, he assumed Oliver had been in the center of it. As if reading his mind, Maria commented on the lost boy.
"They took Oliver. Didn't kill him."
"Probably bringing him back to put a fucking medal on his chest for finally swatting us down." Mikkel hissed venomously. Maria's eyes had slipped closed, but they opened once more to send a narrow look at Mikkel. She had not exactly expected his idea of the young man to have changed during his day away, doing whatever it was he did, but to place the blame once more on him seemed like a disjointed conclusion to an already disjointed argument.
"He's less of a monster than any of us were, Chief." Maria paused, swallowing heavily as blood burbled to her lips. She would die soon, and Mikkel would sit there and watch. It was the least he could do. After all, he had brought wrath down upon the group. "In my quarters there's a little dresser. Top drawer. Locked. Break it for all I fucking care. Get my journal and read it." Mikkel was unsure what he would find in it, the book Maria wanted him to read, but he assumed it had to do with Oliver, what with her final conversation being about him. Slowly he nodded and, though pained, Maria smiled. She closed her eyes once more, and they both remained silent as she died. Mikkel could think of no prayer to say over her body, no final words to say about the woman that had once saved his life, but he still watched her lifeless corpse for minutes. They would all die like that, Mikkel thought once more, but he had at least one more day to avenge them. He had once more day to make America pay. Still, given the self-ascribed mission in front of him, Mikkel could not force himself to move for several long minutes.
Eventually he stood, slow and labored, almost as if all the will to move had been sapped from him and only the strings of fate were pulling him onward. He moved in the same way as he stalked down the halls, past the bodies of his fallen comrades, and to the sleeping quarters. Once inside Maria’s room, Mikkel walked to the table she had described to him. Using the butt of his gun, he broke the lock and pulled the drawer open. Inside was the journal, worn red cover that bordered on almost a light brown from years of exposure to different elements. He took it and began to leaf through it before he thought better. It had been Maria’s last wish that he read it, and something inside told him that doing so without her presence would not be what she wanted. Balling his fist around the journal, Mikkel began back to her body, no longer pulled by fate but by his own determination.
Playlist by the Amazing MasterPenguin: https://8tracks.com/masterpenguin/liberty-of-possession
Chapter 6 Song by the Amazing MasterPenguin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hChlGKOW4ow
Master Post: http://z4rf3.livejournal.com/16531.html
Chapter 7 Capital G: http://z4rf3.livejournal.com/18203.html