PART THREE: IMPULSE

Chapter Ten

| RUSSIA, COSMODROME REGION |

The ship throws my weight forward one last time as its engines finally begin to die down. "Do you always fly like that?!" I interrogate.

A weak white light poured in through the cockpit from the afternoon's sun, it shined right into my eyes. My arms and torso had been so tightly pressed back against the seat, so that they had left a mark on it as I forced myself up, eager to dive out the ship as it rumbled again upon contact with the ground.

He mockingly tilts his head slightly. "Like what?"

Behind us, a stairwell dropped open allowing a dry draught to brush past my hair. I didn't wait even a moment longer before racing out of the ship. I needed to stand on the ground again and wanted that refreshing cool wind against my sweaty and panicked face. "Urgh," I groan, "You are clearly an incompetent pilot. That's dangerous! What is wrong with you?!"

The robot steps out onto the grass with me. "And I was beginning to think you were the strong and silent type."

"It's hard to have a conversation when I'm fearing for my life," I argue.

"You get used to it."

"You are a dick."

"I see I've mastered my first impressions then."

In front of us stood an enormous wall built from concrete and metal; vegetation, grown over kilometres of broken stone foundations, and rusted metal shells of small vehicles scattered across it in the thousands.

"Welcome to Old Russia," my ghost introduces. "Cosmodrome Region."

"Wow," I whisper.

The robot calls for my attention from beside his ship, aimlessly waving his hand at the surrounding environment. "'Majestic, 'Beautiful', 'Incredible'. Yeah, I know. Can we focus?" He pulls the rifle from his back and shambles over to me. "Not sure why my Commander has given me this assignment. But hopefully, for both of our sakes, we can get through this process in a couple of days then 'vwoosh'," he mimics blowing his fingers, "we're out of here. Sound good?"

My ghost whispers in my head. "I don't like him."

He's very… forward. Is that my fault? "Your name was Leo, right?"

"Just take this rifle and follow me," he instructs, walking toward a grass clearing beside the wall. "And yes, it's Leo. I'm a hunter: 'serving and protecting the city' and whatnot."

"You must have a busy schedule," I inquire.

"I am," he says, "I have many responsibilities."

"Like?"

He shakes his head. "Why do humans ask so many questions? It doesn't matter to you."

We stop by a dry patch of dirt and Leo lays down some equipment; ranging from ammunition boxes to weapon attachments. As well as a bottle filled with some neon-looking liquid. He points at me. "See that rifle you're holding? I'm gonna show you how it works."

My grip tenses. "I'm going to shoot this?"

"Yes."

I throw the rifle on the ground. "No. Not again. You're not going to make me shoot anyone."

He sits down on a rock, "What? We're not gonna shoot anyone. God no. Vanguard won't set you up on any exciting missions like that for months." His voice starts to drift away. "Or if you're like me… a bit longer."

"Oh," I mutter, kneeling down beside him. "Right. Of course. Sorry. But I'm still not going to shoot anyone."

"See that canister at the bottom there…?" Leo begins as he hands me some ear protection and starts guiding me through the process of using his rifle. It wasn't a necessarily complicated contraption; it mostly involved just pushing, pulling or squeezing things in a specific order. The difficulty came with aiming the weapon and having the bullet go where I desired it to. I found it so hard to remain still - my shaking or breathing threw the rifle around frantically like I was nauseous. Leo got quite frustrated with this but eventually began to just let me practice on my own; his advice did almost nothing to help me. The blast and kick of the weapon almost always threw me over backwards; it was loud and painful, especially against my shoulder. I had to lie down in the dirt to remain stationary against the recoil. We tried a variety of weapons: from small 'arms' to larger ones. I couldn't build up the strength to carry some of the heavier ones, and he warned me to stay away from them as I might be 'a hazard to everyone'. And by 'everyone' he specifically wanted me to know he meant himself. This entire experience wasn't particularly enjoyable - the thought of another person being at the end of my scope each time that I fired kept pricking at me from the back of my mind and threw me off almost every single shot. And for our last hour, Leo decided to ramble about different stories that he'd been told by 'Guardians' in the city, but I didn't want to listen. This whole conversation saturated my brain with meaningless words. By the time the sun touched the horizon our spot was surrounded by little metal shells and my nose was burning from the smoke.

"Aaand you're not listening to a bloody word coming out my mouth anymore, are you."

I push the gun over onto the dirt and fall onto my back. "I'm fucking done with this."

Leo looks over at the wall and takes off his ear protection. "Wow... How many did you? Holy shit. Okay, yeah," he mutters, standing up. "Is your shoulder okay?"

The pain stung throughout my upper body. "No. And why the sudden change of heart?"

He stands up. "What? Listen, your ghost can take care of those shoulder injuries for you in about an hour. We're doing this again tomorrow. Same hangar, same time tomorrow afternoon. I'm not going to waste my time waiting for you. Meet me back at the ship while I pack up this gear."

He begins collecting all the weapons but I quickly stand up and grab his arm. "Wait," I demand. "... I'm sorry about earlier today. I had just freaked out when I saw you didn't look like me."

"You mean back at your apartment?"

"—yes. I haven't really met a lot of people yet so it was a bit of a shock. You probably get that sort of expression a lot - and you don't need to explain it all, or say how you feel, or…" I take a quick breath.

"Please stop." He demands.

"I just wanted to apologise; obviously this isn't something you're usually asked to do and if we're going to continue with this for a while then maybe we can start off—"

"Stop."

"Sure. Right. Sorry." I let go of his arm.

He continues to collect the weapons while I start to walk toward the ship.

"But thanks." He finally voices.

The Story Continues... 10/09/22