Before and After... Cause and Effect Part One
• • •
Nexus...
In the wake of a detonation, Alphonse opened his sealed eyes. His head throbbed, his body ached, and the smell of burnt flesh filled the air. He grunted, finding it hard to get his feet under him. His sidearm was there, secured in its hostler. He removed the Magnum and used the pillar behind him to his standing.
The Titan - the Stryder - was lying in a pile of smoking rubble. A mangled arm exposed through the opening of the cockpit. The dust cleared out from behind it and another Titan - an Atlas Chassis - stood in victory. A blue star painted across its metallic chest.
"You feelin' okay kid?" A voice called out, through the Titan's intercom.
The voice was none-other-than Sergeant Ryan "August" Harper (character based on Michael Rooker): Anvil Three's Gun-Nut and Explosive specialist. The Titan's hatch opened and August jumped down, thrusters from his jet pack activating to avoid any injuries from the fall.
"Aren't you happy to see me?" August questioned, approaching Alphonse with arms wide open.
"Somewhat," replied Alphonse solemnly. "Where's the others?"
"Pullin' out."
"Why?"
"Mission's gone to shit. Cap'n can't afford to lose anymore men."
Alphonse turned away, eyes frozen on the bodies of his Grunt Conscription Team. Men who looked up to Alphonse... men who knew he would protect them from danger because he was invincible - because he was a Pilot.
August followed his gaze and grimaced at the scene. "C'mon kid," he tugged at the young Pilot's arm. "We gotta go before reinforcements arrive."
Alphonse could only nod.
Two Weeks Later...
Frontier Militia Space
Waves of nausea, the body aching, the mind absent or lost in memories he'd wished to forget. Fragments of the incident. Fragments of the moment his world was torn apart.
Hale's dark humor and his orders. The door getting smashed in... followed by a blood curling scream. The horrid sound of bullets piercing the skin... Electricity crackling as a faint smell of burnt flesh fills the air. Quiet laughter. Chatter. Heavy boots scuffling away - pounding on the concrete floors and leaving behind the mess in that room.
Tres Emery groans softly, jerks upright, and grips his shoulder tight. His eyes rapidly jumping around the room until they've stopped on a slumbering man. The man was Hale's second-in-command. Elliott Hawke; gung-ho and tough as nails. His appearance is unkempt - dark rings under his eyes shown Tres that he hadn't slept in days or weeks... Probably waiting for him to wake up from his coma. Waiting for his best friend to wake up and return to the land of the living.
Tres found it hard to decide which memory was it that he'd first met Elliott Hawke. Maybe it was that time he commanded the recently decommissioned Shadow Runners of the IMC's Expeditionary Forces? Or that time when Hawke pulled his bloody carcass from his downed Ogre Titan and marched on for miles?
Tres found it hard to recall his first time meeting Hawke but knew the man has been through it all with him. He'd follow him through hell and back if he had to! Tres knew that Hawke would never leave his side and when Tres made that decision to join the Frontier Militia - Hawke was more than ready to drop his silver uniform for a worn-out green one.
They were brothers in arms. Men who'd risk their lives for each other.
Tres chuckled lowly at the memory and allowed his feet to hang from the edge of the hospital bed, wincing at the sharp pain that jolted throughout his body for even moving a muscle. He shouldn't be going anywhere until the Corpsmen stationed here tell him otherwise. But Tres never listened. He removes the IV from his forearms and heads for the exit... all-the-while keeping the slumbering man from waking up.
A/N: Well, it took a while but I've been busy lately so... yeah. Anyway, hope my readers enjoyed it and there would be more to come!
R&R and no negatively! Thank you :)
