"So who you think's gonna replace the Commander?" Haxx unceremoniously questioned as he lay on his bunk in shared barracks with his unit as his attention was occupied with a simple ball...one not unlike the very same Aero returned to a scared Vortian child days ago. Unintended or not, his honest question and behavior came across as callous and uncaring.
"No one's replacing anyone," Aero quickly defended as she cleaned her rifle, sitting on her cot across the narrow aisle in the tent. "Even if he's really gone like you all are so quick to believe, NO ONE can replace him."
"...you really believe that?" The Heavy Weapons Sergeant scoffed in disbelief as he idly tossed the ball up and down towards the ceiling. "Aero, we're all expendable. You should know that by now, Irk, more than any of us. You were on the chopping block for deactivation before bumping into the Commander. Face it...The Tallest and anyone else in charge could care less about the Commander's well-being. They'll see we have a vacancy and it will be filled by some smeet-brained rookie fresh off of Devastis...that or maybe Corr can sweet-talk the Tallest to take up the slack with a promotion. Either way, we're getting fresh meat in the near future...get used to it."
Finishing with the last component of her rifle as she slammed it home unnecessarily hard, Aero set her rifle against the railing of her bunk. Standing to her feet with purpose, she marched over to Haxx and snatched the small, round toy out of the air with a pointed glare down on him. The nerve of him to speak in such a manner about their leader after all he had done for them.
"No...No, I will NOT get used to it," Aero matter-of-factly spoke, the surprisingly-cheerful demeanor gone in favor of eyes narrowed to venomous slits. "You won't either...none of us will. Since when do we give up on anything, huh? You've never gave up on a mission, why give up on your commanding officer?! Did you see him die?"
Blinking, Haxx was somewhat at a loss of words. Sure, Aero had been...emotional...moody, even with her damaged PAK. Raging hormones and rapid transformation of her physical appearance had done a number on her psychological outlook on life. Sula said it was natural and tended to happen with shifting chemical balances of the brain...whatever that meant.
Right now, however, he was trying to make sense of Aero's fervent defense of a man that had a building all but fall on top of him. How on Irk could anyone think him to survive that? Sure, Vult was tough...but not that tough. Tak nearly done him in just a few short weeks prior. A single Janitorial Dr-...Invader of all things. Was it so wrong of him to believe the physics of an entire building crashing atop him would put an end to his life?
"Well...no, I didn-"
"Then how can you be so damn sure that he died?!" She demanded, clenching her hand tightly around the ball until it trembled with frustration and anger. "How would you feel if we abandoned YOU, hmm? How would you feel if we left YOU behind enemy lines, on your own, and without any way to reach friendly forces?"
Just as Haxx opened his mouth in a vain attempt to defend himself, Aero cut him off once more with her verbal lashing. For someone that was normally friendly, approachable, and outgoing, she channeled aggression and intimidation quite easily.
"You'd hate it with the force of a thousand suns...you'd feel betrayed, cast out, and neglected. You'd want to know why your supposed allies and friends didn't come to your rescue or made an attempt to meet you halfway. THAT is how Vult will feel if he's alive out there somewhere if we don't try to find him. Some how, some way, anything is better than nothing...even if it means just waiting for him...it's still something."
A wave of humility and embarrassment washed over the Heavy Weapons Sergeant's mind. It showed in his visage as he adverted his gaze from Aero's judgmental, blazing glare. She had more than simply a valid point...she was right. He would have felt equally as helpless in a situation such as Vult's...if he were in fact alive, of course. Come to think of it...rarely was there ever a moment he honestly doubted the Commander's capabilities. All their knowledge and training that turned them into the elite of the elite had originated from him through guidance and research. Maybe what Aero spoke of wasn't that far-fetched or in denial after all.
"...you still wanna just keep moving forward and leave him in the dust or you want to put on the brakes for just a little while longer and hold out on the possibility that he's alive out there and may find his way back yet?" Aero pursued of her comrade. She didn't hate Haxx. He was certainly annoying at times and his cold, hard logic was not unfound, but it wasn't right...it wasn't their way...the Shadow Striker way, to simply give up on one another like that. Until there was undeniable proof that Vult was KIA, she clung to the notion he was alive out there somewhere. How well was up for debate, but even so...alive and wounded was better than dead.
"There a problem in here?" Corr's calm voice queried as he entered the tent with Lieutenant Volx in tow.
Huffing with an agitated sigh as she unkindly tossed the ball back at Haxx with unnecessary force for him to catch. Rather than cause conflict in such troubling times that would do nothing more than fracture them further apart as a unit, the Heavy Weapons Sergeant merely accepted her verbal wrath and stinging throw into his chest for the time being. Squabbling amongst themselves wasn't going to solve anything.
"No, Sir...there isn't. Just having a...discussion with Sergeant Haxx is all," She respectively responded despite her teeming emotions beneath the surface. "...may I ask how your report to Supreme Commander Grimm went?"
Sighing, Corr brought his forearm up to rub his forehead in exasperation. Speaking to their superior officer and commander of all Irken Elite across the Armada had been quite the challenge. It came across as failure for such an elite-trained unit given special privileges to lose its commander in combat. Having witnessed Grimm decapitate a soldier for merely breaking a mirror, it spoke volumes of what he thought of failure. Even he was not so dense to take notice to the fuming rage at their disgrace as soldiers. Grimm was a demanding man of perfection...something Corr and his comrades had been anything but with Vult's unknown status.
"He was not exactly what you would call "understanding"," the Captain went on to explain with the fresh and frankly frustrating memories at the forefront of his mind. "...we have until 0600 tomorrow morning before we're picking up and moving out. I already have our orders...but when the forward operating base packs it in, we're due for redeployment in at Dinar Pass at the foot of the Shalashaska mountain range. Command...Grimm wants us to go in and soften it up before the main assault begins, just like on Praxxus 7."
Both Haxx and Aero blinked in disbelief.
"...That's halfway on the other side of the ikveda planet!" He finally broke the awkward silence, seeming to feel the infectious, collective opinion about Vult's fate. "...lemme guess...orders are orders?"
"Unfortunately," Corr reluctantly admitted, Volx giving an agreeing nod. "If the Commander doesn't return by sunrise tomorrow...well...I needn't say more. We all know what it means."
"Thought so," Haxx huffed with a scowl of displeasure. "...so we going to get a replacement if that happens? You going to get a promotion, Captain?"
"Check yourself, Sergeant," Volx hissed at his attitude within his aggravated tones. "...The Captain's not your enemy, none of us are. We're soldiers. Soldiers die. It's part of the job, a risk that comes with the territory. We may not have chose to be soldiers beneath the Empire, but we DID choose to be soldiers beneath the Commander. You chose this, Haxx...live it and shut your mouth. Is that clear?"
"Crystal, Lieutenant," The Heavy Weapons specialist glowered, seeing how quick someone he had carted around out of the kindness of his heart was to remain cold, distant, and pull rank. "You needn't worry...I'm a good, little soldier. Grimm...Corr...you...anyone taller than me asks me to jump, I ask how high. I just remember the oath we took when we signed on with Vult is all...I know where my loyalties lie...maybe you two should look in a mirror and ask yourselves the same before we get carted off to battle again. I'd follow the Commander to the ends of the universe and back without question...you two...I dunno anymore." He concluded with a shake of his head before turning about to depart through the other end of the tent.
"Sergeant!" Volx called after him, quite visibly upset at his sheer lack of respect for superior officers. She made to follow and give him a good tongue lashing for such disrespect only to have Corr grasp her shoulder. Garnering her attention and stopping in place, she turned to look at the Captain.
"Sir?"
"Let him be, Volx...he's just upset about the Commander...just doing our jobs is going to make us out to be the bad guys for the time being. It's that or we all suffer the same fate for disobedience and dereliction of duty. I shouldn't have to explain the punishment for that. He'll realize that as soon as he has a chance to calm down and clear his head." Corr explained, allowing his hand to fall to his side once again. "...we're all exhausted and hungry with nerves frayed over all of this...everyone just needs a little space and down time...you included, Lieutenant."
Reluctantly, she nodded, realizing the error of her words. Of course she was grateful for Haxx's selfless actions in the field. They may not have always saw eye-to-eye on many things, but he was still a competent, reliable, and loyal individual she could entrust with her life. Flaws and all...Haxx was a good soldier and great friend. She was honored to know him, but would never admit such out loud to him. His ego would most certainly flare when unneeded. He could stand to learn a lesson or three in humility.
"I-...yes, Captain...my apologies."
"Just standing by your principles, no need to apologize...but it wouldn't hurt to have a little heart-to-heart with Haxx before we head out to Dinar Pass. This is difficult enough as it is, last thing any of us need is discontent in the ranks."
"Of course, Sir...as you wish," Volx acknowledged with a small inclination of her head. She snapped off a crisp salute before turning about to continue with her duties. "...Captain?"
"Yes?" Corr turned at her heeding. "What is it?"
"...permission to speak freely and off-the-record?"
"Of course, Volx. We've always had an open-door policy with everyone. Speak your mind."
Relaxing somewhat with a small sigh, her oily black gaze shifted towards the ground briefly before finding her commanding officer's once again.
"...do you really believe the Commander to be alive...or are you just trying to keep morale up through distraction and optimism? Optimism is good in moderation...but it will only crush them if they find the reality is something other than what they desire to hear. I would rather be hated now for telling the truth than forever for taking advantage of their trust in your guidance."
Corr swallowed as he carefully contemplated her words. She had a point in her cold, logical approach to everything. Maybe they were all caught up in the possibility rather than the likelihood that the Commander was still alive…that Vult was on his way back to them as they spoke. The grim reality of the matter, however…told a different tale. With the odds stacked against him and no sound or sight of his state of well-being, it was difficult to not lean towards a more tragic view.
"…About as much as you likely do, Lieutenant…knowing Vult…it is going to take a lot more than being caught out on his own behind enemy lines to stop him…if he is even alive still. Come tomorrow morning…it won't matter, either way. We got a trip booked for Dinar Pass courtesy of the Armada. I hope the Commander can join us…otherwise I can only hope to be a fraction of the leader he is and steer us in the right direction."
As Corr and company reluctantly prepared for their eventual departure on yet another assignment in the "glory" of the Empire, the man in question endured the elements in the face of possible capture. Vult was no stranger to increased risks and odds not in his favor. Such came with the territory of special operations. The only thing separating him and his unit from Spec Ops was the simple sworn fact of secrecy. The Tallest wanted complete and utter confidentiality of their work. The regular ranks were oblivious to their actions. He was yet to understand the reason why for such a need. Ethically questionable through newly-opened eyes thanks to his security clearance and PAK modifications, all Vult could logically see them as was a glorified Spec Ops unit cut off from any and all support unless the mission dictated otherwise. Call it whatever it may be, but the Commander relied on his instincts if thinking something was amiss with. He couldn't quite place a finger on it, but their creation and purpose surely served some sort of long-term benefit to the Tallest.
Leaving the existential topic of debate in favor of focusing on the present, the Commander had taken refuge for the daytime hours. Rest came surprisingly easy for a soldier in the middle of a battlefield. Weary in both mind and body with dwindling supplies and avoiding capture at all cost, even sleep needed to be forgone if he expected to make it back alive. Every minute he was away from his squadmates behind enemy lines was one more minute the Armada would quickly consider him KIA To think of how simple it would have been to refer to the grand database of Irken PAK encoding that was kept and notice his still had life signs and possibly even track its location would have been grand...but unnecessary given the Empire's doctrine of expendability. Their species could be cloned by the thousands at a moment's notice, numbers continually replenished and remaining constant. Population control perfected at the cost of personal freedom and genetic alteration into a shell of their former species.
A special forces operator in his element, Vult did not let Saro's violent, sudden demise deter him. If anything, it offered insight into a future reward. With what intelligence the Empire had gathered upon their former Vortian allies, the Commander knew protocol and doctrine inside and out of the Vortian Defense Force. Outposts were scattered and regular intervals as early-warning detectors at advancing enemy forces. They often were operated by units ranging anywhere from thirty soldiers to as few as two. Given the distance away from the front line and the fact Saro was put down by a rifle of high-power variety, it was safe to assume it was an outpost operated by snipers. Vortian sniper units operated in pairs, cross-trained in a variety of traits such as scouting, marksmanship, and spotting.
A wealth of knowledge stored away in his mind thanks to security clearence and rigorous hours of classroom instruction and guidance to his unit by knowing their adversaries, even then it was not the most important part.
Outposts were often part of an intricate communications network. Communications meant a sophisticated radio ripe for decryption and hacking to make contact with Corr or any of his other squadmates. The cost of Captain's Saro's life in exchange for estimating a line-of-sight and distance from the following report and echo seemed to be paying off in his favor. Of all Irken in the Armada in the universe and beyond if that were possible, Saro is the only candidate that Vult would think to suggest for such an trade. The Vortian military felt itself superior with a boost in morale and the Irken were no longer plagued by the worst of examples...then again, the Tallest cared little about public relations. All submitted or they were decimated. It was that simple.
Problem was, it was not simple. It never was and never will be.
Going off of the ingrained information at his disposal, Vult estimated the distance and trajectory vector. After evading the Vortian soldiers canvassing the area immediately after Saro's demise, he made it his sole purpose to find the outpost. It was his one last lifeline to surviving this unfortunate series of events.
One final piece to the proverbial puzzle fell squarely into place upon further inspection. By nightfall, Vult awoke to make a startling discovery after doubling back. It seemed during his hours of evasion and hiding during daylight hours that Saro's body had disappeared. The emerald bloodstain on the pavement had long dried, but his corpse nowhere to be found. Dead bodies tended to remain at rest, not rise among the living once more. Something was amiss. The Vortian regulars cared very little about Irken dead save for those directly in the paths of vehicles and mechs. Even then, they were simply ground into the pavement by wheels, treads ,and mechanical feet alike.
Night falling fast, giving the Commander peace of mind in his trained element, he moved silently and with purpose. Saro's body had not simply vanished nor was it destroyed. The blood may have long dried in the Vortian sun, but the discolored patches told a story. Smears and the signature clawed feet of the Vortian people indicated someone had inspected the body for sure, potentially even picking it up. The question remained...why? Why would they even bother with an Irken corpse in the first place? His subconscious curiosity was quickly satisfied just a few short yards away.
Like the parent patch of thick, viscous emerald that had hardened and dried, a splotch of Irken blood clearly impressed in the form of an Irken Elite boot. A footstep given the weight and dispersion. Saro was easily the only Irken Elite soldier within several klicks and possibly further. The pieces began to fall into place as Vult made sense of it all. Like a light coming on as so many referred to the notion of an epiphany, the Commander pressed on with his focus squarely on the ground mere feet before him.
Saro was alive...or at least he had been long enough to pick himself up and walk some short distance. Given the presence of Vortian prints, it was safe to assume the Irken Elite Captain had been taken prisoner...or executed and his body dumped elsewhere. Either way, the thin trail of emerald droplets and fresh drag marks through the dirt and dust were more than telling. How he survived a gunshot wound to the head was beyond the Commander. Somehow, he had...and somehow he needed to make a faithful effort at locating the Captain against better judgement.
Tracking Saro's dried blood trail just so happen to lead in the direction of his ballistics hypothesis. Maybe the communications outpost operators were the same ones responsible for shooting the Irken Elite Captain. Maybe they were the ones who found Saro alive and "relocated" him elsewhere in their custody. Vult intended to find out one way or the other...or at least make an effort to. If Saro happened to have expired despite his blind luck in betting against fate, there would be no tears shed on the Commander's behalf.
Wary to not prevent himself a target and next tic mark to another marksman's body count in his approach, Vult stuck to the darkest of shadows. Staying off of the street as much as possible ensured as much. He would not be a daring fool like Saro had been and earned his fate as a prisoner of war...or death. Either was fitting for his overconfidence in nearly compromising them both. There was very few individuals in the entire universe Vult wished ill-will upon. Saro happened to not only make that short list, but be at the very top of it.
Despite it all...despite Saro's sadistic nature that gave competent solders and leaders a bad reputation...his sheer disrespect for other sentient beings, his allies included...and stupidly blind loyalty to the "infallible" Empire...Vult would not abandon him. Even if the Irken Elite Captain would never in a million years do the same for him if their roles were reversed...he would still have made an attempt to rescue Saro's life.
A small part of him hoped he wasn't too late. He certainly could use the extra set of eyes and antenna to watch one another's back. For now, Vult focused more on gaining access to functioning communications and less the fate of a man he believed dead already for over a day. Priorities were a cold and logical thing after all.
Deep within the dead of nightfall on war-torn Vort, the displaced Commander finally arrived at what he believed to be the likely destination. Saro's blood trail had long stopped thanks to PAK healing and clotting of his wounds, but trajectory, minute-of-angle, and acoustics of the shot that he believed to kill Saro at the time surely came from this area. Much of the surrounding area was ravaged by Deathwave Cannon volleys...precision artillery strikes to "soften" up enemy emplacements. They nearly leveled the region with a sparse few structures left untouched. Even fewer were safe to traverse at risk of a complete collapse. Smoldering ruins still swirled lazily with smoke as glowering embers of the fires of war gasped for fuel.
Silently stalking with a quick spot check of the surrounding area to ensure he wasn't being lined up in someone else's crosshairs, Vult purposely looped around and back to the corner structure. Patience was a virtue of the soldier's mind. Caution often kept one alive even in the most trying of circumstances.
The building itself was a mid-sized skyscraper in a residential block, likely a former apartment complex or low-density office building. A place of business or leisure before the war, now neither. A hollowed-out husk of its former self, much like the rest of Vort amidst the roiling carnage the Empire rained down upon the peaceful planet prior to their shattered alliance. Laying waste to their former ally was like twisting the knife buried in the betrayed's back as far as the rest of the universe was concerned. It did not earn the Empire or the Irken people any sympathy for their losses incurred. Vult was inclined to agree despite contributing a small part to the much larger problem.
Creeping along, he finally gained access through a crumbling wall into the darkened interior. Barely able to see a few feet in front of him under the cover of night in a structure without power, it was times like these he missed his advanced optical equipment and other assorted technologies installed in his helmet. Relying on them like a crutch produced avoidable weaknesses, but using them to one's advantage. At times like these, he would not have complained in the slightest to have them at his disposal.
Going off of intuition, Vult decided to descend deeper into the building. If this was in fact the location of the sniper that seemingly killed Saro, they would be elevated on one of the higher floors for a clear line of sight at farther distances. Weak and weary from a lack of rest and food, the last thing he desired was a disadvantageous fight if it could be avoided. Finding supplies and a means to establish contact with allies was a priority, not fighting the enemy. Lower on that short list of immediate objectives was finding Saro. Alive was yet to be determined, even with evidence he had stood from what was thought to be his final resting place and drug the rest of the way. That had been hours ago, after all...a lot could have happened since then.
He hoped these soldiers were of the predictable variety. They were likely frightened, paranoid, and exhausted between constant high-level stress and a lack of sleep. They would cling to their post and their radio equipment, prepared to alert their allies of Irken presence in their sector at the drop of a hat. If experience could lend itself to the scenario, they were fully prepared to outlast and endure the elements with a cache of supplies. Supplies ripe for the picking that could suddenly turn a crisis into a walk in the park for the displaced Commander. Keeping them hidden seemed most logical to ensure they weren't directly targeted.
As cautious steps descended further into the darkness via narrow staircase, Vult kept a hand to the wall for a point of reference. Heading for the basement in search of potentially valuable supplies hidden away by whatever forces were occupying the suspect overwatch outpost higher up the structure meant whatever ambient light succumbed to encompassing, pitch-black. The building above him groaned and cracked with settling dust and debris as it seemed on the verge of collapse. Unsettling did not even begin to describe it as deja vu became a nagging thought at the back of his mind. Tempting fate a second time under similar conditions was not a priority held by the Commander in the slightest.
The azure-eyed Irken's train of thought was violently interrupted as his next, careful step did no good in preventing a loss of traction. Whatever had settled on the floor of the basement of this building had made for a safety hazard to the unsuspecting. The stench alone led one to believe it was sewage or settled water that had began to grow microbial life. Losing traction, his foot slipped out from beneath him, with it, the rest of his body following suit in a vain attempt to retain balance.
Crashing to the concrete floor in seething pain elbow-first of his unarmed hand, Vult grit his teeth tightly to not make a sound in discomfort. Falling alone may have likely set off suspicions. Whatever the culprit was smelled atrocious and was somewhat viscous in nature as it clung to his uniform. Wary to not attract unnecessary attention, the Commander activated the tactical flashlight at the front of his procured rifle.
No sooner than light cast off of the suspect substance clinging to his uniform, he knew something was amiss. Dark green...viscous...atrocious smell...very few things in the galaxy held such attributes. A curious touch to his sleeve to test, he pulled his hand back, rubbing the coagulating, cooling liquid between forefinger and thumb. The overpowering aroma didn't need to be tested further, but Vult went a step further with a touching to his tongue to taste, immediately grimacing at the tart, copper qualities.
Not quite ready to jump to conclusions despite the obvious signs present, he tracked the mounted flashlight to the floor at his feet where he resided on the floor just moments before.
Blood. Irken blood. A lot of it at that. Dulled with a lack of oxygen, yet to dry, it was fresh enough to follow the source. Given the circumstances, there was a very select pool of individuals it could have belonged to. It didn't take long to confirm his suspicions.
The pooling blood gathered at a low spot of the concrete floor. Leading away from it were several feeding rivulets slowly flowing down the gentle grade towards where Vult stood. His rifle-mounted light source tracked the tendrils towards what was likely the source. Carefully stepping out of the macabre puddle, unable to avoid tracking fresh footprints, he quickly discovered the origin.
A short distance away, emerald blood dripped with faintly echoing pitter-patter in the darkness. Running in slow rivers over the exposed contours of green skin and supple flesh. Hanging limply by bound wrists and disturbingly dislocated shoulders at a rearward angle, his scarred body stripped free of all uniform and garments. Just visually checking, it was quite clear both of the Captain's legs were extensively shattered with a multitude of fractures. Grisly splotches of razor-sharp bone shards poked through in places. What skin that wasn't flayed open and freely bled, others coagulated and scabbing, was deeply bruised with contusions. His head hung limply with a missing antenna from the base, face badly swollen from what was likely a vicious beating like no other.
Vult had found Saro...for better or worse, unfortunately. He despised the man with every fiber of his being to the point of violence...but not to this extent...not to this extreme of a scale. Maybe surviving a gunshot wound to the head was not so fortunate after all.
Snapping himself from his shocked daze, Vult silently approached, tracking the light around Saro's suspended body. No traps or wires. Those manning the outpost seemed to have recovered Saro's surviving body and intended to interrogate him. This, however...this was pure torture. Even as an Irken, Vult knew the difference. Whoever did this wanted nothing but the Captain's suffering and nothing more.
For a moment, the Commander regretted showing a shred of compassion and mercy to their Vortian adversaries. They preached such separated them from the monsters that were the Irken and the Empire in their propaganda. However, he quickly remembered that the actions of the few did not speak for the many. The actions of the Empire as a whole did not speak for Vult or his unit...even the actions of Saro did not speak as a whole for the Empire. The same logic needed to be applied to the Vortian people and their efforts to defend their home against the Irken aggressors. Whoever did this acted on their own accord, not orders from a superior.
"Saro..." Vult whispered as he approached, gently resting a finger to his neck for a pulse. Surprisingly enough with his extensive injuries, one was present. A faint, weak, stubborn one fitting of the battered, but not broken man before him. "...Saro, you still with me?"
Blearily with summoned effort of waning strength, the Captain's remaining red, organic eye fluttered open. Vision blurred, blinking in a vain attempt to focus, the bound and beaten Saro struggled to lift his head. Under the cover of darkness and plagued by his injuries, all he saw was a foreboding form. The form of the filthy, horned freak that sought to break him. Never would he kneel before anything other than a taller Irken. Not even as he barely clung to a thread of life.
"...you'll...never break...me..." The bound and beaten Captain weakly uttered, refusing to accept his fate.
Slightly confused, Vult gave him a gentle shake before tipping his head up to meet eye-to-eye with the Commander.
"Saro, focus...it's me...Vult."
His senses cleared as consciousness began to greet him once more. That voice...familiar...annoying and rage-inducing at times, but familiar. Anything familiar, good or bad, was a welcome relief from his suffering. He knew that voice. Blinking rapidly to clear his washed-over eyesight, he finally saw who stood before him.
"V...Vult?" Saro huffed, uncertain of the authenticity of the situation. "...either they...captured you, too...or the Control Brains...have a sick sense of humor...in storage after death..."
A forceful shake from the Commander brought him to another level of alertness.
"No, I'm alive and so are you...unfortunately," he responded, his last bit muttered with a partial frown. "...Irk, what did they do to you?"
A humorless, potentially delirious laugh came from the restrained Captain.
"...anything and everything...they could think of," Saro huffed, strangely prideful of his ordeal. "...even then...I refused to talk. The more frustrated he grew...the more painful it became..."
Coughing with a seething intake of pained breath, he shuddered as his naked body trembled.
"...I'll give you the long version later...now...get me down...please."
Despite his ordeal and refusal to show any sign of weakness, Vult saw it in his eye. He all but screamed for rescue from his nightmarish ordeal. Even after all the atrocities Saro committed in the name of the Empire...all the pompous arrogance and disrespect of him and his unit...even the recent ordeal with the civilians before this all happened...he did not deserve this fate. Blood begets blood. Violence begets violence. Vult was not so cold or vindictive to leave a fellow Irken soldier, however morally bankrupt, to a long, slow, agonizing death at the hands of the enemy.
Nodding, the Commander secured the plundered rifle to his back as he knelt to retrieve the survival knife sheathed away in his boot. Always prepared and with a series of redundant back-ups for scenarios such as these, a simple, small combat knife of archaic design was a functional replacement for a multitude of tools in a survival situation.
"Just sit tight, I'll cut you down...don't go anywhere."
"...not...funny. I cannot...begin to describe the pain..."
"Relax, Saro...just give me a sec-"
"Look out!"
Surprised by Saro's raspy, strained voice summoning the strength to yell, the Commander stood quickly, turning around. Much to his dismay, a rather large Vortian soldier brandishing a drawn vibroblade was mid-lunge, green eyes glowering with rage in the gloom. The honed edge glistened as it caught the moonlight sifting in through a single streetside skylight, seeking to slice into supple flesh. With haste, the Commander spun about to meet his attacker, knife clutched tightly in hand as the Vortian soldier bellowed a battle cry. He leveled off his blade in a lateral slice, destined for Vult's throat. Narrowly avoiding the attack, leaving him to cut nothing but the air, Vult side-stepped away from Saro, not wanting to risk him being caught in the middle of their close-quarters encounter.
Once more, the blue-and-green clad Vortian went on the offensive, unperturbed by Vult's lightning-fast reflexes. More prepared for the follow-up attack, Vult stepped forward in preparation to disarm his opponent by wrapping his left arm around the Vortian's knife-wielding, outstretched limb. Much to his dismay, it seemed he wasn't the only one well-versed in close quarters combat.
The Vortian retained control of his vibroblade, snarling at the Irken's feeble attempt to free his ownership of his vibroblade. Physically overpowering the vain attempt, his arm remained rigid and untwisted as he stepped closer with a reared-back head and smashed the base of his bone-white horns into the Irken's forehead. Damaged helmet or not, the jarring impact was more than enough to daze the unsuspecting Vult as he reeled from the blow.
Seizing the provided opportunity, the Vortian pressed the attack with a following diagonal slash of his blade. Recovering at the risk of being flayed alive, Vult countered with a well-timed parry. The stolen technology of the vibroblade served the Empire well in resonating at the exact same frequency as the Vortian original, negating all superior cutting effects in a clang of steel against steel. Not to remain on the defensive the entire time and hope for the best, the Commander summoned his gauntlet-mounted plasma blade in a raging magenta glow that filled the room. Nearly caught-off guard by the sudden display of energetic lethality, the Vortian leaned away from a lateral slash of the heated, humming blade before summarizing his opinion in the form of a downward stab, directly into the emitter with an expression of pure malice.
The one advantage now fleeting, the Vortian's knife nearly touching flesh beneath his armored gauntlet and stuck in place between them, Vult struggled to pull his arm free to no avail. Using the pinned Irken's arm as leverage, the larger Vortian forcefully slammed his opponent's back into the wall, pressing him to it with mere inches separating their faces.
Their lethal dance of blades had come to a brief lull after mere seconds, allowing the attacking Vortian the first opportunity to get a good look at his Irken opposite. Not terribly tall...not short. Strange uniform to say the least...but something about it seemed...familiar. Between that and never seeing an Empire soldier move and fight in such a manner, there was something most certainly unorthodox about this man before him.
"…yes…you're different…not like the others," Rub hissed through narrowed eyes, keeping his attention placed on the weary, but alert azure glaring back at him. Having the size and strength advantage over an obviously exhausted opponent, direct resistance got Vult nowhere against him. "...but no matter...you vill bleed the same like the rest!"
Before Rub could make true on his threats, the crafty Commander managed enough leverage to maneuver the point of his blade in the opposite direction, ripe for a forceful stab. The short travel and intended target landed within a fraction of a second in deft hands. The blade sunk deep into Vortian thigh as flesh engulfed it up to the hilt. With it came a howl of pain as dark violet blood sprang forth immediately, deeply saturating the surrounding blue material of his uniform.
Releasing the buried knife in favor of escaping, the Commander's dash for freedom was cut short as Rub recovered on adrenaline alone. Pivoting with a sweep of Vult's feet, he pushed the Irken forward to land face-first onto the blood-slick concrete floor. Wind knocked from his spooch and already fatigued as it was, Vult quickly found the full body weight of the Vortian atop his sluggish body. A sharp jerk of his remaining antenna uncomfortably drew his head back, held in place as the razor-honed edge of Rub's vibroblade touched to his exposed throat.
So this was it...this was how it all ended. Uneventful and unexpected in the dimly lit basement of a ruined building on planet Vort at the hands of one of its defenders. For a brief moment, he wondered if he would be so quickly forgotten like many others of his kind that fell in battle. Irken lacked war heroes and the like, after all. No one was ever remembered for their accomplishments, let alone praised for them. It was their sworn duty, all expected, never given. His death would mean a simple signal sent back to the Control Brains to activate another cloned body and begin its path of servitude and false freedom. His replacement would assume command of his unit and likely tear it asunder by implementing the broken ways of old that he sought to escape.
At least it would be quick...at least he would finally obtain some much-needed rest. Either deactivation or storage on the servers awaited him. An artificial slumber until the next era in which he would be called upon in rotation. Reincarnation without a single memory of the prior life...doomed to endlessly repeat the madness that was serving the "glorious" Empire. Maybe deactivation wasn't so bad after all...
"Rub, stop! What are you doing?!" A new voice called out in disbelief as the figure dashed into the room. Another Vortian soldier given his silhouette in the darkness and gear adorning his body. Another marksman. So it seemed the larger of the two about to slice his throat wide open was one as well in a spotter-sniper team of two commonly seen in military doctrine across the universe.
Whatever they were, the second soldier's intrusion bought the Commander a few more precious seconds of life as Rub's knee dug deeper into his back.
"Vhat does it look like I'm doing?" He growled, tense with adrenaline flowing freely through his veins, doing his best to ignore the unbearable pain of the knife buried in his thick thigh. "I told you before they never vork alone...vhere you find one, you find more. I came back to check on our prisoner and found him attempting to free him...ve only need one of them alive." He concluded, making as if to finish off Vult once more.
"No, don't!" The recovering soldier a victim twice over to the very man's unit that Rub held restrained exclaimed as he lunged and gripped the larger Vortian's wrist in an attempt to stop him. "This is him! This is the one I told you about!"
Huffing as his body calmed, pulse slowing, mentally blocking out the pain of his bleeding leg, Rub looked at him incredulously while retaining a deathgrip on the Irken beneath him.
"Vhat? The one that hit you in the face vith the wrench?"
"No, not that one, the other one. That was a female anyway."
"The one that shot you?"
"Noooo," he growled in annoyance, insistently gesturing to the Commander. "Him...he's the one that spared me...let me go. Him and his unit, yeah...like...a squad of them dressed like that. The same ones that we saw at the fountain! Rub, he's the leader of them! Vorn...Veed...Vvv...Vult! Vult, yeah, that's it, Vult! That's what his subordinates called him! The ones that fought off an entire company with light armor support! We heard reports and sightings of his men and the Irken Elite company that took out the factory, too."
It all became very clear. So this was one of those soldiers that they engaged in the fountain days prior. The strangely-dressed Spec Ops unit, so he had assumed. This Irken…this man led a small unit that wreaked unbelievable havoc upon the Vortian military's infrastructure…the lines shattered and collapsing…a primary manufacturing facility needed for the weapons of war…all gone in the blink of an eye because of this man and the actions of his unit. For a moment, Rub did not know whether to express blind rage and decapitate him with raw fury from his vibroblade or silently offer respect for a fellow soldier so skilled. If he were anything but Irken…anything but the genocidal monsters responsible for the devastation that consumed Vort like a plague of the apocalypse…he may very well have.
"If he is so dangerous…so valuable to the Empire…vhy shouldn't I kill him?" Rub leered at his subordinate as if doubting his intelligence. Logically, they would stand to benefit in eliminating such a threat from their proverbial scope entirely. "Irken or not, if he is so skilled at his trade, his unit vill continue the systematic slaughter of our people! Whose side are you fighting for, Sergeant?!"
"Our side!" He quickly defended, surprised even Rub would stoop so low as to doubt his allegiance to their cause. "Evil, heartless, cold and calculated as they may be, THIS one is different! THIS one spared my life, Rub! Ever since this all started…have you heard of ANY Irken soldiers showing compassion and mercy to our people, let alone anyone fighting them?"
Vult hesitantly cleared his throat, wary to not make any sudden movements with the angered marksman on his back and knife touching the bare skin of this throat.
"…your compatriot speaks the truth, Lieutenant," he calmly uttered, quickly shutting up as Rub pressed the sharpened edge harder to his neck.
"Shut your mouth," the Vortian hissed through grit teeth, "your vords fall on deaf ears, full of lies and betrayal. Your leaders stabbed my people in the back and sought to use our own technology against us…vhy in this life or the next should I even BEGIN to listen to vhat pointless pushing of air you have to offer?"
"Because would an Irken like me have his fair share of discrepancies with my leaders and often find himself questioning the morality of orders?" The subdued Commander calmly responded, mentally blocking the instinct to panic and retaliate with the vibroblade to his vulnerable throat. The pressure slackened ever-so-slightly. Progress worthy of being optimistic in the Vortian's silence. "...I will not pretend to understand the plight you and your people face or the reasons why my own felt it necessary to invade…I am just a soldier…a soldier like you. Soldiers follow orders. While you may face tribunal for dereliction of duty with a lengthy incarceration, my fate is decided the moment I stand by my beliefs in the face of authority. Is it wise to martyr myself for my cause that will fall on deaf antenna?"
"So you don't agree with your leaders and commanding officers," Rub spat, unimpressed despite his own mental considerations. "Vhy should I believe you? Vhy should I believe anything you have to say?"
Breathing deeply despite the crushing weight of a full-grown Vortian male atop his back, the Commander did not make any attempts to move.
"That is at your discretion. You can choose to or not to. You can choose to slit my throat and be done with it…or consider my words for the potential they may hold on others. Whatever it means to you, if anything at all, I will not report this location or encounter to my superiors…your outpost remains undetected. You are of no direct threat to my mission; all I want to do is return to my unit and provide the leadership they deserve. All I ask in return is I leave on my own volition and take the Captain with me." He added with a subtle nod towards the beaten, weary, and weakened Saro.
Emerald eyes laced with malice narrowed sharply at the tall request.
"Of all the despicable, disgusting soldiers that fill your ranks, he is one that is least deserving of compassion and mercy!" Rub made abundantly clear. "It is a miracle alone he still breathes…he should burn for vhat he's done…the atrocities he's committed in the name of your precious Empire!"
Vult did not hesitate to turn and look up at the glaring man pinning him to the floor, a single azure eye harshly contrasting green skin as he locked eyes with Rub.
"I assume that justified whatever it is that you were doing to him then?" The Commander retorted, his tone accusatory, but wary of his situation. "I will be the first to speak from experience what he is capable of…what he has done. I will not defend or justify it…but that does NOT justify what you have done to him. He deserved a quick and merciful death if anything in retribution…not this. It makes you no better than he…makes you no better than I…or the Empire you are so dedicated to eradicating from the face of the universe."
Pausing as he focused his attention back to the barely-conscious Irken Elite Captain dangling by his bound wrists and dislocated shoulders, he looked back to Rub.
"…you've made your point...even he would be wise to listen now with the life lesson he's been given in fate."
The Vortian sniper was at somewhat of a loss. Never before since the beginning of the invasion and his interactions with Irken soldiers had he spoken to one, let alone one so eloquently versed and less jingoistic and fanatical than he expected. He seemed strangely…normal, for lack of a better term. Not bloodthirsty, sadistic, and driven by oppression and servitude for those greater in stature.
"Rub…"
Turning to his apprentice and spotter, he kept the knife prepared in the event their second captive had a sudden change of heart.
"…he's right. About that guy…about everything…he's not like them, we can see that. He spared my life and you heard him, he's only doing as he's told or its certain death…not like he's enjoying it, right? Isn't it you that always told me to be wary of fighting monsters lest you become one? The moment we become monsters to fight monsters, the battle is lost, as is the war. Make things right…let him and the other one go."
The silence and building tension made Vult uneasy. He wished he could see the gears turning in the Lieutenant's head and what his next actions were to be. The end of his life may very well be mere moments away for all he knew. Thankfully, instead of a stroke of the blade, Rub addressed the concerns of his spotter.
"Vhat about Command? They are expecting a prisoner."
He shrugged with a weak huff.
"…make something up. I wouldn't be surprised if the Empire shuts them off remotely to prevent them from being compromised. Suicide pill or self-destruct button…plenty of blood here to make for a convincing story."
Rub weighed his options. What he spoke of was logical, however…the potentially vital information that could be gleaned from a live Irken captive was too good to pass up. However…now in the clarity after nearly exhausting himself beating the man nearly to death for hours, even now through the dull, throbbing pain of his bleeding thigh, knife still buried to the hilt…he had become the very thing he despised. He lost himself to vengeance, forsaking his morality in exchange for the blood of the wicked.
Slowly to not give the wrong impression to the Irken Commander beneath him, the Vortian sniper stood to his full height off of him, pulling his combat knife away from his exposed neck in the process. Clutching it firmly in the event he attempted anything after being granted freedom, his eyes warily tracked every subtle movement.
Picking himself up off the floor with a small grimace of disgust at the thick coating of cold blood clinging to the front of his uniform, Vult slowly turned to face Rub for the first time. He could see now under calmer circumstances why the man so easily overpowered him in their brief scuffle. Standing tall and broadly built, trim with muscle, he was a veteran soldier through-and-through.
"For your best interest, Irken…do not let my mercy be vasted. I vill not hesitate to kill you the next time ve meet again if you tempt fate again." Rub declared before grunting in pain as he wretched the knife free from his thigh. Vibrant violet blood flowed freely from the wound, further saturating his uniform as he unmindfully spun the blade around to hand to Vult handle-first. "…cut your ally down and leave at once."