#glorywithgore

Weapon limped from behind the dumpster and made his way towards his exit, his escape, his route to continued existence. The moment was as dire as it had ever been. He could not get trapped here, he could not fall into the white hands, no matter what. If he did, there was no chance they would let him live. And he wanted to live. More than anything. More than Symptom and more than defeating the city he wanted to survive it. If he had learned anything worth anything in his short time alive, it was that life was precious, life was short and so very precious. Life was freedom, the chance to do something, see things. The chance to see Symptom again or get to know Chase. The chance to rebuild and plan the fall of the city. The Chance to hear the stories of everyone else’s chances. He had to get out. He had to see Hazel again.

He heled one elbow tight against his abdomen, both body parts pulsing with pain. It hurt like hell but it did not stop him from running on, nothing could. He round the last corner, this alleyway would be the stretch home. But there was someone in his way. He was surprised and rather shocked, skidding to a stop and letting go of his arm. His enemy couldn’t be allowed to know any weaknesses.

“Oh but I do. I know them all, even the ones you do not. Agent C. Weapon.” The man was tall, freakishly tall and it was hard to make out all of him except when the searching lights from above momentarily passed over. He wore some kind of mask that reminded Weapon of a fencing mask and was dressed all in blue in a similar fencing like suit. It looked thick and protective and every bit of it was the same color blue.

“Whaaaat the fuck.” He had been stunned, the man seemed so menacing and so out of place with his giant blue gun like contraption in his hands, it took both fucking hands to hold it up. Weapon blinked hard to try to clear his mind. Was he fucking dreaming? It sure seemed like it. But he could feel the real pain and the real fear. It didn’t have that heaviness to it that the dreams had.

“Listen man. You gotta get out of the way. There’s no way I’m not getting to that door behind you, just no way. So whoever the fuck you are I suggest you go back to wherever the fuck you came from and just say you did your best.”

The man didn’t move but Weapon decided to start slowly walking ahead, he needed to get as close as possible before the man decided to start shooting. Close the distance. He could see a small pattern at the corner of the man’s chest, letters sewed in with the same color blue. T.A.

“You are both right and wrong. No matter how close you get you will not get past me. I will do my best and that will end in your final extermination. Stop you at the beginning. It’s really the best way.”

“Wha-” The man wasn’t making any sense but Weapon couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding, pesky worried fear creeping up his organs again. “The hell you on man? They saddle you up on some niiiiice spicy pills huh? And I guess you have some grandiose idea that you are the one to stop The Weapon. That you are destined to take me out? Well buddy, like I said, I’m getting to that door. What they tell you and train you to believe is waaaaaaaaaaaaay fucking different from what really is. Heheheee.”

He knew the guns he had collected would do no good, clearly the suit was completely blast proof, so he tucked them into his belt and pulled out his blade. The man responded by pulling the trigger. For a split second there was nothing, only the high pitched wiring of a machine charging, and then a ‘boom’ that sounded like it was trying to escape a vacuum.

Weapon jumped over the blast and rolled away, he was on his hands and feet scurrying and moving faster than he ever had before. He vaulted again away from a blast and now he was close enough to charge the man. But he dodged out of the way, a laugh bursting from him. The blasts were following him though and he had to keep moving.  He grabbed at a large object near him, some old junk television and chunked it with all his power aiming at the blaster itself. It worked and the machine went crashing with the t.v into the wall. It was Weapon’s turn to chuckle but he man grunted in anger and charged him, back-handing Weapon hard and sending him crashing into the opposite wall.

Weapon got to his feet with a lot of stumbling before he could make himself see straight. Thankfully the man was standing back, obviously reveling in his moment. Weapon charged and they clashed together and it felt as if he had hit the wall again. He tried to slice at the padded throat but his blade stuck into the material. A fist caught him hard in the gut and he doubled over, breath escaping him. He fell to his knees and took the opportunity to pull his last throwing knife from his belt and he plunge it deep into the bend of one of the man’s knees. Just as he thought the padding was thinner there and he could see the blood spurt form it. An angry roar now belted from the man and Weapon laughed, grabbing the good leg as he tried to kick and back away. He jerked hard and sent the man crashing down. “Noooo!” Blade still in his bloody hand he quickly crawled up the man and plunged the blade into his pelvis, that area where his leg bent which also had thinner padding. A hard back-hand again sent him sprawling back and the fresh blood flooded his mouth, choking him for a moment as he scrambled away on his back. He could see the dark red stained the man’s crotch and he screamed in pained and held the wound.

“Can’t stop it brother, not in that spot.” He made it back to his feet and grabbed his long blade that had fell to the ground before. “You can either keep fighting and die whether you win or not, ooooor let me pass and maybe you can get some help.” The man groaned and stayed down, reaching reluctantly into a pocket at his leg. “I curse you Weapon! You are nothing but trash! Filthy garbage! You will always be a pathetic tool I promise! Don’t think that you’re not!” He pulled something from the pocket and pressed it, there was a flash of yellow and he completely disappeared.

“Uh!” Weapon gasped and stepped back in panic, looking around to make sure it wasn’t just some trick and he would be attacked again. But there was no trace of the man. He clenched his jaw and tried not to scream. He had never seen anything like that, just to disappear, to truly teleport. Had the city already really created such technology? That was no good, no good at all. He had never even seen a weapon like the man had either. There were giant holes all around him from the blasts of it, and they still smoked. He took a deep breath and tried to forget about it as he ran to the hidden door, pulling the garbage away from the latch on the ground. Relief flooded his body finally as he opened it up and slipped inside, locking it tight behind him. He reached into his bag and pulled out a flashlight, checking every inch of the large passage way before he collapsed to his knees and let the sobs take over.

  Escape from Battery City Part 3

Weapon woke finally, slowly opening his eyes and watching the dust float in the ray of the flashlight. He knew he hadn’t slept for very long, he knew his body would just have had to rest and heal enough to be able to go further, and that he would need much more sleep for his… feelings to heal. He felt hopeless nevertheless, and he didn’t want to even move at all. He could easily stay laying here to wallow in his sorrow until something came upon him and made him move. Thankfully he could pull through the despair enough to know that he could not do that, that he needed to get out so he could make it to Hazel, so he could make it to somewhere safer where he could again shut down.

Slowly, painfully, he started to move. Pulling himself up to his hands and knees, for a moment he could see Symptom sighing with pleasure underneath him. He let his head hang as he gave himself permission to dwell on the thought, letting the pain rack through him. He made it to his feet finally and wiped the tears and he dirt from his face. Surely he looked like a monster, the black of his eyes smeared and mixed with blood and dirt, lips caked with his own blood.

He started his final walk out of the city limits, through the underground tunnel up to the latch that opened up right out of the outside wall. Along the way he picked up tools, weapons that he and Hazel and others had collected there. He grabbed knives and grenades, a bag of food and water and packet of first aid. He got to the place he remembered placing a nice sword, a katana and it’s sheath, red and black just for him. He strapped it to his back and it made him feel just a little bit better. He made it to the door and looked around for what he knew should be there, what he had hidden there before.

He grabbed the large gas can, any other destruction seekers could take what they needed from the rest, but these were his tools, it said so clearly on the top, ‘Property of Party Poison  Weapon.’

Weapon growled and shielded his eyes from the sun as he made his way out, securely locking the door back behind him. He strolled on down the wall towards the big gate entrance way down, safely away from the long abandoned entrance that only a select few killjoys knew of and dared to use. When he was far enough away he dropped a grenade down and opened up the gas can, letting it spill out against the wall as he walked on. He dropped other grenades here and there and wondered if there was anyone watching the cameras that would come out and challenge him. So far there was no one and he was already at the front gate. It was closed tight as always but there was no one posted on the outside. Must be a holiday. He dumped three larger grenades right at the gate itself and looked up to see that all the cameras had been blasted off, he wasn’t sure who had done so and though he was grateful he was a little perturbed that it took away from another big fight. That didn’t matter too much though, he knew he had to get home. He kept walking down the wall until the gas can ran out. He stepped away and lite his match, tossing it and turning away from the flames that erupted. He made it to the place he had hidden his motor bike before the first explosion went off, he turned to watch pieces of the wall crumble. It wouldn’t be enough to take it down, but it was a nice decorative touch anyways.

Even with the heat of the sun and the heat of the flames Weapon felt unaffected, there was a numbness inside every part of him that made every other thing pointless. No one came out to challenge him and instead if rage he just felt more disappointment. He revved his bike and speed away, chancing to hope he would meet a Drac team on his way out that he could decimate at least.

A challenge did not come until he was far into the zones. He had stopped to make himself drink water, knowing he should eat he just couldn’t bring himself to care. He saw the dust ploom raising behind him.

Jumping down the balconies one by one, hanging on for a moment just to let go again, had been the easy part. Running as fast as he could had been the easy part. The hard part was when his thoughts caught up to him, when the remnants of the previous situation flooded him again and he felt that  untamed desperation. The sickness he had managed to keep down that whole night suddenly sprang up with that last image of Symptom before he dropped from the window, ‘I don’t want to be forgotten again.’

Weapon caught the wall, his body failing as the vomit erupted from his stomach. Coughing and spurtering he couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down either. FAIL. FAIL. FAIL. The whole mission into the city was a failure. He had had the empty shell of Symptom in his hands, he had his lost friend in his grasp and he let go. He left him to the whites all over again. Heat and rage and misery was boiling through him and wave after wave of vomit poured out. Then he was choking on bile and it stung only a fraction of what his failure did. He could have made him come. He could have pulled his wrist and never let go. That would have been better than leaving him to white rats, wouldn’t it? He was on his knees, trying to crawl away from his own puke. Trying to bring himself out of it, there would be Dracs behind him soon.

A wind was blowing and though it was dirty and tainted it still felt good. It reminded him of the freedom he so wanted Chase to have, no matter if his brother would never be able to return. He tried to make himself feel better, he had to snap out of it. Maybe he did what was best. Symptom/Chase made his decision, and it was his own, however misguided it was. He couldn’t have forced him to come, he couldn’t bear to drag him away without his consent, that wasn’t being free. He looked back up to the distant building, to the only bright unshaded window there. And he hoped, he prayed, that he would see his brother climbing down. But there was nothing there. He heard hurried footsteps in the distance and then voices trailing behind, ‘Yea a Nexus seven! The Weapon! If we catch him we’ll be set for life! Come on bring your ass!’ ‘Fuck that! The only thing coming outta that is your dead body! I’m out of here! Don’t fucking rat on me either I know where Shelly lives!’ ‘You piece of-!’

Weapon got to his feet, wiping the wet from his eyes and pulling his bag in place behind him. He felt lighter and that may have been the only good thing about his brief standstill. He took off again, heading to that underground bunker he had emerged from only a day and a half ago. Lights began to shine around him and soon there was a group of whites blocking him. He had three throwing knives left in his belt. He chunked one at the man who first raised his gun. He jumped and dodged blasts, one catching him straight in the chest before he landed on the man. He had pushed the weakness away with the vomit and now there was only his rage. It was all he needed.

Oh. Sorry I haven't noticed earlier, I've been... Preoccupied, I suppose.