[A.N- Here it is, just like I promised. I introduced the characters a little more in this one. I hope I got the personalities right so far. Any reviews or feedback is always welcome! There's a pov switch later. Enjoy (: ]
Thirty seconds until the mission begins? What mission? Cautiously, I peer out of the safety of the bridge as I count the seconds in my head. Ten, nine, eight. I can hear someone yelling, though their voice is too distant for me to make out clearly. Seven, six, five. Why the hell did I stand on that thing? Four, three, two. I duck my head back, keeping myself against the wall as I hear gates shutter open distantly, a horn of battle calling out across the abandoned town. The bridge above me rattles viciously, and it takes all I have not to instinctively yell. A pair of feet appear near the gap of the bridge, and stop. I can just make out a set of tidy black shoes, with straight and clean pant legs stiffly formed around slender legs. As I turn back towards the strange device under the bridge, a chilling battlecry erupts. A flash of light speeds through the air, colliding with the man, and then the bridge. I leap back. I may be yelling, I have no idea. All I can hear is the ringing in my own head as the explosion obliterates the bridge. A shockwave of sound and splinters of wood blast into me, but I still can't hear myself scream. It's just pain and confusion, the world spinning rapidly. As I slowly gain my composure, I turn to where the man was, and nearly vomit. All that remains is a bloody heap of flesh and burning cloth, the shoes still in their original position but slick with blood. Dizzy, I look away, taking a moment to let my head clear. When I turn back, the best I can hope to do is get a grip on my situation. Trying to ignore the remains, I survey the damage. The bridge has been obliterated, and the cool shade of the underbridge is gone, replaced with a heat that seemed to scorch right into my bones. How the hell could anyone be fighting right now? Crawling back towards the mysterious device, I shakily push aside a platt of wood, and swear loudly. I can hear myself, at least from my left ear. That's good. The teleporter is nothing but a twisted stub of metal stuck in the ground, the rest of it blown away by the blast.
Great. There goes my escape! Sitting back against the wall, I grab my bag, wincing. My arm is throbbing painfully, and it takes a moment for me to fumble the catch open. Everything inside is alright, though it looks as though my iPod might have cracked. That's the least of my worries. I'm rather surprised to see the bag intact, though it was behind me. I suppose I should be surprised to see myself intact. Lurching the bag onto my back, I crawl out of the ditch and into the open air, the sun still scorching down. Above me rise high towers, which are coated in chipped, faded blue paint. None of them seem to have doors, but they have wide open windows. I fail to notice the man in one of the windows with a gun pointed at my head.
The sniper watched through the scope of his gun, with the small blue beam pointed directly at the head of what appeared to be a scout, who had crawled from the remains of Soldier's barrage. He looked about the right height, and though he was coated in dust, the sniper could see the faint coloring of a bright red shirt. Sniper could have shot him down, but he hesitated a second, unsure of why the supposed scout wasn't moving. "'Ou little wanker.. Why 'un 'ou just scurry off back home?" Sniper muttered to himself. He paused a moment more, wiping the condensation from his brow, before lining up the shot. Before he tightened his grip on the trigger, however, the figure turned. He was built like the scout, but this was definitely not an enemy red. He has a tight lick of brown hair, with what looked like blonde highlights. His eyes could have been pale blue or vivid gray, it was difficult to tell. The shirt he had on said "New York", and no visible weapons were in his hands. He didn't look like he was hunting down Sniper's partners. He looked.. confused. Swearing profusely, Sniper slammed down the gun, and picked up the small walkie talkie resting on a crate by a jar of curious yellow liquid. "Mates," he looked through the window, watching the newcomer wander towards the battle. "We 'ave a problem."
[A.N: I'm switching perspectives here because I feel like it'll make it easier to tell. The first chapter was told from Main C's point of view to keep the reader guessing if it was a girl or a boy, what they looked like, etc. Carry on (: ]
Alby plodded on, his head still rocking slightly, his right arm hanging limply at his side. "This is just great," he muttered. "I'm stuck in a loonatic's town." Turning his head slightly, he heard gunfire, and cries of "Medic!" and "Spy!" echoing across the town, unnerving him. Screams erupted and the laughter of a maniac ensued. Where the hell was he? Blasts of fire and rockets spewed into the sky, blood splattering out of the doorway in front of him. Whatever happened in there, he decided, he did NOT want to get involved in. He ran forward, glad of his lithe figure as he scooted into the shadows of a towering building, sweat trickling down his forehead, and craned his need to peer around the edge of the stiff, wooden frame. In front of him, the largest man Alby had ever encountered was rattling a massive machine gun off. The man was in a black vest overlaying a blue shirt was firing rapidly at a man in some sort of red, rubbery suit.
Both were yelling, but the large man was speaking in russian. The suited one couldn't be understood, hardly heard over the click of the Russian's massive gun spitting bullets into his body. He dropped dead into a pool of his own blood, his suit riddled with smoking holes. As Alby gagged once more, the body disappeared, but the blood remained. Alby jumped, falling backwards into a large stack of crates, and peered over the edge as the large russian man ran past, his flesh burned and scarred in many patches. Just as Alby thought that the heavy man would topple and twitch into death, another man in a long white coat emerged from the bloody door Alby had avoided, holding a strange looking device. It almost resembled a vacuum cleaner. He pulled the lever back, keeping pace with the russian as a vibrant blue trail of.. something twined around the russian. Alby watched half in fascination, half in fear, as the large man's skin regenerated. The new man was a loon, Alby thought. His blue rubber gloves, high boots and thick pants must make it impossible to breathe in this heat, let alone move. "I need to get the fluck out of here," Alby gasped, righting himself and kicking the boxes away. The two men were out of sight, but the battle still apparently raged on. "Jeebus Creepus," Alby muttered aloud, and walked forward, turning his head and smacking into a tall man. Falling backwards, he looked up at the tall silhouette, stuttering incoherently. The figure crouched, revealing a smoothly chiseled face with a thin chin, eyes hidden by aviator sunglasses. His hat kept him well shaded from the sun, but Alby could still see the drops rolling down from his hair and behind his glasses. In his hand was a smooth machete, flicked with droplets of blood, and with a lurch of his stomach, Alby realized that it was fresh. The man held out a roughly scarred and callused hand for Alby to shake,
tipping his hat with his other hand. "Aye."