SuperBleh11

No Worries

Chapter 8

Something About Ringtones and Halo

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He braced himself, taking a deep breath before he rounded the corner. The steel of his rifle shown grimly in his hand as he brought it up to bear, scanning the landscape through the electronic sights of his firearm.

...Nothing!

Somehow, the canny punk had slipped away from him yet again. He was good. Too good.

With a long, drawn out sigh, he prized another magazine from the back of his pack and fitted it to the weapon; his expert hands prying back the chamber and sliding it in with a barely audible metallic click from the springs. The faceplate felt oddly confining against the low humming of his shield generator, glittering in a blue incandescent sheen of light on his HUD. A metallic coffin, claustrophobic and desensitizing.

His feet calmly paced along the solid concrete of the compound, sending echoing blasts of noise throughout. He knew he was showing up on radar, and he knew that the noise of his boots was likely giving away his position, but all the soldier could do was scan the landscape for good hiding positions and pray he didn't get caught on the raw end of a shotgun.

'I've got to get out of here,' he thought, 'His shotgun works great in these close quarters, but if I can get to the open field, I can kill him.'

The strategy was sound, but there was an entire complex to work his way out of in order to get to the open ground. The slim distance, working through hallways and corridors seemed to be miles, and he was out of grenades. All that was left was the rifle and the sidearm, tucked underneath his armor as a last resort. The enemy could play the waiting game and not show up on radar, coaxing the hapless soldier out with clever use of grenades and finishing him with a well-timed blast of buckshot.

The soldier was pounding the ground at full pace, clattering noisily without regard to the ease with which his enemy was spotting him. One confrontation. That's what he would have to live through. He flew threw another hallway, bracing himself for the imminent explosion, but found himself alive and fine.

Then, it happened.

The man in black flew through the open doorway, letting fly with a small submachine gun, painting the wall with the pattering of shells. Pure reflex got the soldier out of the way with minor bullet wounds, carrying him out past the range with three quarters of his shield left as he returned with two short bursts from his rifle. He continued past, racing as hard as he could, but he knew the layout of the building, he knew that the enemy was going to try and head him off at the next corridor, and he knew that it would be a grenade or a shotgun blast that met him there.

Sure enough, before he could even push by the palm tree sitting idly amidst the killzone, he saw the glowing blue orb fly through and stick against the wall. With a cry he threw himself back, pushing himself around the corridor just as the explosion rocked the building. Blue light blinded him, glaring against his faceplate as he moved to counterattack, firing series of bursts into the clearing smoke, knowing that the black-armored villain would emerge with a blast from his shotgun.

He heard the pained grunt and took his chance, flying forward with the butt of his rifle. The smoke suddenly encapsulated his vision as the flash of light drifted away, blowing acrid greyness through his field of vision and jerking away his enemy from sight. He managed a glancing blow against what seemed like a shoulder, and was out the door before the opponent could recover.

'Take it easy, you're not out of the woods yet,' he thought, as he sprinted backwards, peering through the scope for signs of a silhouette exiting the doorway. When there were none, he allowed himself to turn, looking desperately around for the weapon he was seeking.

And there it was, lying serenely against the grass, the black metal painting an eerie scene amidst the life of the nature surrounding it. He tossed his sidearm away, scooping the weapon up in his hands and readying it. The .50 Caliber, four shot, long-range rifle with an immensely powerful scope and an immensely accurate spread was leveled out against his arm as he crouched and waited for his opponent to appear. He pulled the scope to a minimal setting, allowing him to pan back and forth across the landscape to see where the enemy would emerge, carefully eyeing areas for movement.

'C'mon, just show your pretty little head so I can blast it off,' he thought, tentatively moving back and forth and eyeing the compound off in the distance. He knew he was a crack-shot with this weapon. He had the utmost confidence in his ability to finish off the man in black with it.

And then, the beast emerged. The looped, impossible purple structure screamed horrendously as it shot up through the air, arcing elegantly as it lined itself up. His gasp of surprise mingled with the loud cracks of the .50 Cal sniper as he fired round after round into the monstrous Banshee, praying for a direct hit, but it was not to be. The alien vessel, screaming towards him like an angel from Hell, began pouring blue fire down onto his unprotected head. All he could do was scream...

"Game Over."

"Damn it, Aang, how much time do you spend playing this stupid game?" Sokka asked angrily, casting his controller against the ground in his immense frustration, "That's the eighth time you've beaten me today! Get out of the house every once in a while!"

Aang smiled sheepishly, scratching the back of his head as he tried to passively dismiss Sokka's futile rage. "C'mon, Sokka, it's only a game, it's not a big deal," he said helpfully, but this only served to fuel Sokka's fury further.

"Snoozles, lighten up, it's a dumb videogame," Toph snapped. Out of nowhere, her hand whirred through the air to smack against the back of Sokka's head, sending a vibrant clap of flesh on flesh through the cabin, resonating in the ears of the passengers.

"Guys, is everything ok?" Song asked sweetly, poking her head out from behind the bedroom door. Katara's clothing fit oddly upon her slim shoulders, draping around her stomach and creating the odd impression of a overlong nightshirt. For whatever reason she had kept her jean skirt, clinging coyly to the golden tan of her legs with the help of the torrential rain still spattered against it, flowing neatly with the darkened dampness of her hair.

Zuko managed a quick look from his driver's chair; he could not resist the impulse to take another brief but evident glance at the curvature of her shapely thighs, covered so expertly by the denim, or the subtle nape of her neck that swooned down from the slightly big high school shirt that was draped over her. A quick, sordid blush appeared on his features as he wheeled back around, locking his eyes firmly upon the whirring blur of the seemingly infinite dotted yellow line that ran against the road ahead.

Morning had come like a migraine, slowly, painfully that day. The sun had seemed overly bright against the overcast, slate grey sky as it had reared its ugly head over the horizon. At Toph's seemingly random insistence, the crew had performed an all-nighter to cover more distance; it had been sheer luck that they had stumbled upon the migrating figure of young Song as she hitchhiked mournfully on the side of the road. Zuko couldn't help but ponder at the incredible luck of the instance. If the group had decided to take the night off in some parking lot or RV camp, Song would have been stranded all night amidst the pouring rain.

"Screw this game, I've got to go take a leak," Sokka muttered angrily, pulling Zuko out of his quiet introspection. He heard the audible clatter of the controller being cast angrily aside amidst the familiar rustling of clothing as Sokka awkwardly clambered to his feet.

"Oh, that's pleasant!" Katara snapped at him, shooting him a glare that looked strangely ferocious. Sokka sneered coolly in reply, brushing past her and grabbing the door handle. It squeaked rustily as it shut behind him, nearly slamming with the force of the springs as he locked it.

"He's usually not that difficult. Really," Katara pleaded, touching Song on the shoulder, "He's just very competitive, and he hates losing."

Song responded with a kind smile that was quickly cut off by Toph, "Ha! You'd think he'd get used to it!" The little blind girl yowled in a very catlike manner as she shot to her feet and stretched, bringing her arms behind her back and locking them. Katara couldn't help but notice the caption on her shirt as she jutted her chest out, "My Fist, Your Face, OTP", boldly scrawled across the deep forest green of the shirt in obnoxiously sunny yellow. She opened her mouth to mention it, but was quickly cut off.

The shrill bleating of a cell phone's artificial tones shrieked out the tune to "Flagpole Sitta", sending the vibrant digital notes throughout the cabin. Every resident instinctively grabbed at their pockets, seeking to pry their own cell phone out, but Song ended the confusion.

"Oh, it's mine, guys," she said sheepishly, disappearing back into the bedroom, "I'll be back in a second." The door closed unobtrusively behind her, lurching shut with only the dull click of the lock making any noise.

"Guess it's the parents," Toph remarked, plopping down unceremoniously in the nearest chair.

"Good," Katara replied with a smile, "They're probably worried sick about her."

Her blue jeans slid noisily against the leather of the couch as she sat, brushing a looping tendril of hair out of her eyes. The sun had begun to dissipate the clouds looming overhead, allowing splotches of blue to reveal themselves to the world below. For some reason, this period was one she loved the most about rainstorms, when the aftermath began to blow away.

"Hey, who has the Harvey Danger ringtone?" Sokka asked, as he paced out of the bathroom, running a hand through his hair.

"Song does," Aang answered from the copilot seat, peering his head around it.

Sokka took a moment, before glowering angrily at him. An eyebrow cocked upwards into his forehead as he laughed sarcastically. "Ha-ha. Seriously, who has the Flagpole Sitta ringtone? I love that song!"

"Song does," Katara repeated, nonplused, "What's your deal? She got a call and went into the bedroom."

A short, grunting laugh came from his throat as a confused grin spread across his face. He looked around the cabin, eyeing the residents for any sign of treachery before replying, "Well that doesn't make any sense, does it? If she had a cell phone, why was she hitchhiking? Why didn't she call anybody to pick her up? I know she wanted to get away, but it was pouring outside."

"I guess there wasn't any service," Katara replied, shrugging. Sokka snorted again.

"That still doesn't make any sense. Why wouldn't she call anybody while we were driving? Apparently she's getting service now. Are you guys serious? It doesn't seem to..."

But before he could continue, he was cut off by the bedroom door reopening. Song came out with a smile, sweetly directed towards the passengers that were staring at her. Sokka opened up his mouth to say something, but before the first syllable could leave his mouth, a digitized version of the Darth Vader theme fired loudly across the cabin.

Sokka looked over at his best friend, sitting blanched against the window. Her pale skin seemed to turn even paler as she pulled the phone out of her pocket and said, "Uh oh... That's my mom's ringtone."