8: Sperare

The air was cool. Winter had sunk its frozen claws into the town and icy winds wafted through the empty streets. Under veil of darkness a black sedan arrived alongside the canal. Two figures stepped out. One was Victor Hartman, the other, Rachelle Belleut. They wore thick jackets to keep the cold from settling upon them.

Hartman let out a heavy, drawn out sigh. Steam misted out from his jaws and dispersed into the breeze. The Europol investigator stared up at the imposing building before them. A warehouse thought to be abandoned after this area of the docks had long ago gone silent. The rusted doors barely held on their decaying hinges but somehow they stood firm. Broken windows and cracked walls marred its surface, making it look like a scene out of a horror movie...

In a way that was true. This warehouse was the site of illegal snuff films. Children were being abducted and sold through human trafficking syndicates. When they arrived here they were tortured, maimed and dismembered all while a camera rolled. These vile films were being distributed around these rings and placed on the black market.

Hartman had seen such videos. He had wanted to investigate but his superiors discouraged him, told him he was too soft...When he watched the videos he thought it might have been true. But he also knew that he couldn't let such evil to continue. He had to end the violence and shut down the child trafficking ring even if it was by himself!

Rachelle had seen the children, had performed their autopsies. She knew exactly what went on in these filthy dens. She too, wanted to put an end to it. Even if the authorities were no longer on their side, they both swore to save those innocent children.

And so they went in...

The rusted doors squealed softly as they were pushed open. The two nervous saviours stepped through into the denizen of the damned. The Camorra mafia could have been swarming throughout the entire building, so they both brought fire-arms. Victor clutched his pistol so hard it was giving him muscle cramps. Rachelle held her weapon loosely, almost afraid to use it. Victor paused and looked back at her.

"You shouldn't go in just yet."

Rachelle forced a weak smile, but she was sweating and she was shaking. Still she smiled and whispered reassuringly, "Don't worry about me. I've seen enough children dead. I don't want to see anymore." She tightened her grip on the revolver in her white-knuckled hands.

Hartman did not wish to leave her behind and so he let her continue along beside him. He took the lead, scouting the empty halls for danger. They made progress deep inside the large building, but soon enough they reached the mafia.

A guard took aim and fired, his bullet soaring past Victor's head and hitting the wall beside him. He and Rachelle were already out in the open and as they scrambled to safety more gunshots rang out in the massive chamber. Hartman fired just once, his bullet striking the mafia grunt in the chest. The guard dropped from his position and landed on the cold hard floor.

Hartman sighed with relief until he turned to his companion. She was hunched over, her face contorted in an expression of pain. She cradled her stomach, but it did little to stop the thick crimson stains from spreading out between her fingers...


Hillshire's eyes opened and he saw little but the darkness around him. Wherever he was there were no lights on. He realised he was no longer in the warehouse. That had just been a dream...Dreams from a not too distant past.

Rachelle...I lost you by trying to protect her...I cannot lose her as well!

He struggled with his restraints. Thick ropes had been knotted around his wrists and separate ropes had been used to restrain his ankles and his torso. Someone didn't want him moving around. Was it Padania? It had to be! But what of the Col Moschin? Had they truly betrayed their own country?

"Damn!" Hillshire pushed off with his feet as hard as he could, sliding slowly backwards towards a bench. He made it without any unwanted guests stopping by and after a quick scan of the room he began rubbing his restraints against the corner. It was slow, it was meticulous and the threat of being discovered was immense, but Hillshire grit his teeth and grated his wrists against the corner, slowly but surely peeling away the fibres of the rope and inching closer and closer to escape. While he did so, the bitter memories stirred by his defeat began to rise up once again...


"Rachelle! Hold on! We can get outside and call an ambulance!"

"But the children...We haven't found them...We must save them!" She wasn't stopping, even with a bullet embedded in her flesh. She wheezed and groaned as they progressed further, Rachelle leaning heavily upon her friend. She limped awkwardly, losing strength with each step. Her breathing was becoming shallower.

"Please, we have to call an ambulance!"

"No! We have to help those poor kids!"

"But-" Victor's plea was cut off as Rachelle raised her arm and pointed to a vague sliver of light seeping in from the next room.

"Look...A light..." She coughed violently and fell to her knees. She desperately tried to rise but Hillshire forced her to sit.

"Please...Just stay here." He found it hard to look at her. Seeing the pain in her eyes made him feel ill. Made him feel afraid. He shook the doubts from his mind and loaded his weapon before setting foot in the room beyond.

Hartman slid up against the wall until he seemed to meld into it. He slowly inched his way forward until he could peer around the corner and into the room beyond. It was dark, but a weak, dull spotlight fell upon a large sheet in the centre of the space. The sheet was a creamy white colour, but much of it had been stained dark red. Something was there, lying there...What was it?

The investigator took a hesitant step forward and then another and another. He approached the scene of the crime and instantly his heart sank.

A camera tripod was set up a few feet away and upon the sheet lay a young girl with beautiful blonde hair, so long that it trailed down to her waist. The girl was not moving, nor did she appear to be breathing. Bloodied instruments of torture were scattered around her and something wrapped up in linen. On closer inspection Hartman recognised the shape of a foot under the wrapping and his stomach heaved.

"We were...Too late?"

Her throat was sliced open, the ragged wounds starting to grow crusty from the congealed blood clots. Her delicate skin had been lacerated and bruised all over and much to his distress, her right leg was severed below the knee, a ruptured, bleeding stump now in plain sight.

Rachelle stepped past him, limping and swaying as she moved, and kneeled down beside the girl.

"Rachelle-"

"Watch the hall for me please," She pressed her hands against the victim's chest, "This girl is still alive...I...I have to save her!"

She worked feverishly, giving everything she had to revive the poor child. She was panting, wheezing, coughing, and exhausting herself to bring back just a tiny spark of life in the delicate young creature that had tragically been stolen from them. She knew she would be unable to last much longer. She had been shot. The end was near for her...But...But if she could do this one final favour...If she could save just one child, she would die happy...She would have no regrets.

"Victor...I'm right aren't I?" she cried.

"What?"

"This world isn't forsaken?"

"No, of course not! And it's because there are wonderful people like you, Rachelle!"

She worked harder, pushing herself beyond her limits to resuscitate the girl. Rachelle's own body was straining, wearing down. Her arms felt heavy, she couldn't feel her legs. She saw death rushing closer and so she did not stop, did not rest. Sweat poured down her forehead and her breath caught in her lungs but still she did not look back, did not hesitate nor rest. She kept on compressing until...Until...

"Rachelle?" Hartman choked on the word, unable to let it roll off his tongue. She did not respond. She stopped compressing the girl's chest and doubled over, falling on top of the girl. Hartman just stood there, paralysed with shock.

"Rachelle? Rachelle? Rachelle!"

In that instant, a pair of stunning, azure eyes opened and tears flowed...


"Triela!" Hillshire looked around the room, almost expecting his cyborg to be there by his side. He discovered nothing but emptiness. The room was void of life aside from the lonely captive. It was unusual for a prisoner to just be left like this. He must have been kept for the Padania terrorists while the Col Moschin took care of the cyborgs. It seemed the worst case scenario had presented itself.

Hillshire groaned as the raw pain in his bound wrists seemed to increase ten-fold. The ropes were chafing his hands and rope burn had sunk in after so long. He had no way of knowing how long he had been grinding the restraints against the bench corner, but he was surprised that the sun had not yet risen. He felt tempted to look at his watch but his hands were still tied behind his back. Part of the knot had come loose, but there were still multiple coils of fibre to get through before he could taste the fresh air.

His cheeks felt wet and he looked up, assuming the roof was leaking. It took a moment to realise he had been crying. The painful memories of his past had stirred emotions he had left buried for some time. Rachelle's death had impacted greatly on his career and his very life...A promise he made on that day...One he was duty-bound not to break...

HIs mind began to wander once again as he furtively wrestled with his restraints. He writhed about while he ground them against the bench. It was infuriating and the progress was slow but he could tell he was making progress. Unfortunately, all this time spent alone meant only one thing. The enemy were all stationed elsewhere, most likely with the cyborgs. They could be torturing them or even worse, executing them! Padania was aware of the Social Welfare program by now. Rumours had spread of the little girls with guns. Surely they knew of how many comrades had been slain by those delicate little hands. If so then it wouldn't be out of the question for them to execute them...

Hillshire shook his head and cursed himself for thinking such negative thoughts. He had to cling to the weak light of hope while it was still there. It would guide him to safety...Would help him save Triela. He had to save her! He could not break his promise, not until he was buried six feet under the earth, not until Padania was stopped! He swore he would protect her...He promised a close friend that he would keep her safe, cherish the miraculous survivor...

Rachelle...You placed your hope with her...And so, I must protect her...I must protect Triela!

With a grunt of effort Hillshire pulled with all his might, trying to separate his hands. He pried them apart with all the strength he could muster and felt the gratifying snap of the ropes. He loosened his bonds and managed to slip his hands through. When they were free he untied his legs and then his chest.

Hold out Triela, wherever you are! I promise I will find you and together we will get out of here! I won't leave here until I have you in my arms once again!


A middle aged man stood guard around the eastern barracks of the base. One of the prisoners was kept inside as well as some of the supplies they had salvaged from the crash sites. The rest of the weapons were stored in the armoury on the other side of the camp. The other prisoners were all kept in different areas. It was deemed safest to keep them separated, that way even if they escaped they would be stopped before they could regroup.

Alone, the cyborgs were very strong, but as a group they were unstoppable...Well, almost. It seemed military grade, heat-seeking missiles were enough to bring them down.

The Padania agent strolled up and down the wide road outside the three identical buildings. He checked up on the store-house and organised the scattered items that had been dumped there by the other teams on their way through. He then made his way to the next building, the one which held the prisoner. He knocked on the door and waited for a response. He received nothing but silence. That must have meant the bastard was asleep.

Perfect!

He opened the door and took out a combat knife strapped to his waist. The room was dark but he found the light switch easily enough. When the room was illuminated however, he realised that the chair in the centre of the room was empty.

"What the...?" He stepped forward and took out his pistol. He waved the barrel around the room while he searched for the missing prisoner. When had he escaped? How had he not known? Shouldn't there have been some noise or something?

"Hey! I know you're in here! I also know you are unarmed. Come out quietly and without a fuss and maybe I'll let you be. However, if you want trouble, I can give you trouble!" He cocked his gun and scanned the room once again. "I'll give you to the count of three!" he roared. He moved over to a large cupboard opposite the front door and waited.

"One!"

Silence.

"Two!"

Nothing. Only the sound of the guard's increasingly heavy breathing.

"Three!"

The cupboard door was flung open and a shadow enveloped him. The guard spun around on his heels but by then the assailant had already ducked behind him again, wrapping thick rope around his throat. He tried to call out for help but the words were trapped within his constricted throat. He thrashed around and reached for his knife but instead found it hacking into his wrist. The assailant had already taken the knife from him!

"Where are the other prisoners?" The attacker demanded, his voice cold.

The guard just choked and coughed while he fumbled around with his pistol. He turned the barrel around so that the fire-arm was pointing at himself, the he aimed blindly for the attacker. He was unable to fire however as the large steel blade was buried in his back, just under the rib cage. Black splotches appeared in his vision and he sank to the floor. He did not suffer for long.

Hillshire wiped the blade on the man's sleeve, and then relinquished the pistol from his cold dead hands. "You wretched rebels! I will not let you take her away from me! I will find Triela and together...We will bring you down!"

Victor Hillshire burst free from his cage and into the night, unaware that he was being watched. Falcon stroked his silver beard and chuckled menacingly. He peered through the binoculars at the escapee and watched him as he disappeared behind a block of buildings. It was then that he received a call from Sparrow. Supposedly one of the cyborgs had tried to break but at least her little insurrection had been quelled. That just left the handler on the run.

"Sparrow, it seems one of the handlers has escaped. He's headed south towards the hangar. If you are done with the machine, then please deal with him now." He lowered the radio and smirked. "Victor Hillshire...I know where you are headed, but you will not make it there alive."

Falcon raised his radio once again and delivered his orders. This was war...And he was a veteran...


Please review. Any help or advice is always appreciated and your thoughts on the story are important as well, so please tell me what you think of the story so far.