The heavily arm soldier smashes the stock of his gun onto his body, as he cocked the slide to the XM-8 rifle he had readied. Before the trigger could have been pressed, Smith lunges forward and with his palm pushes the rifle upward. The skies lit up, as the soldier fired in surprise. Turning his right side forward, the Agent brings the fist before his own face as he slams the front side of his elbow into the face of the armed combatant. The right leg goes up as the knee pad connects with the crotch. Taking advantage of his stunned foe, John forces the weapon out of his hand and onto his own. With the sound of the cocking mechanism echoing throughout the staircase platform, paper pushing John points the barrel of the weapon into the attacker's face.
"No, please don't---"
The sounds of a 7.62 round can be heard smashing into flesh and skull. Blood is splashed against the wall, as the body slumps over the railing; dragging his colleague who was hanging on for dear life into the darkness.
Up and about, over the gray concrete and the dark railing, was the last flight of stairs. Twenty floors on top of the ministry of peace, there better be a reason for all the grueling exercise. Thoughts of his current objective echoed through the dark corners of his mind. The questions of existence, and meaningful purpose decked the cognitive gears within the head. Emery was certainly right about his impulse to substitute his lack of connection to meaning with the objectives of his current state of mind. Such was the nature of being sentient, to seek a higher purpose of life; despite the doubts of one. But what else was there to do? Give up on life?
As Smith pondered this question, while opening the emergency door to the floor of his objective- everything about the thoughts of giving up on life disappeared from his mind. Before him was the sleek silver coating of a might vessel. Light bounced off it, as several machine guns and rockets can be seen. There was even a 'Marine' symbol upon it as well. It menacing turns towards the weary John Smith.
"You've got to be shitting me."
Glass and concrete exploded as the automatic chatter of the mini-gun smashes the windows. Running for his life, the Agent doesn't even spare a glance behind him. All around, time seemed to have slowed down as the .50 caliber rounds make dust out of furniture. In front of him was Room 101, sanctuary at last. Thrusting his left leg forward, as his right leg propels him- the Agent smashes into the room. Suddenly everything was silent again.
"Huff.. Huff... Bastards... Throwing kitchen… sink... At us..."
A computer system with a large liquid plasma panel caught his eyes. A few buttons were pressed, as a disc reader came out. Placing the mini-disc into the tray and pushing it back in, a PDF file comes up. With the click of a mouse, the world that housed Smith shattered.
