AN: Hey; before I begin, I just...I don't know. Want to get this one-shot out there. Before I potentially work on any potential story. Give me your thoughts. Too morbid, too much of a downer one-shot? I'm attempting to go for something different here. Genuine criticism is always appreciated. Enjoy.
The darkness threatened to swallow him up. The swells of gunfire. The screams of his comrades, the explosions of ships, mechanical beasts big and small alike. The crescendo of chaos and war threatened to swallow the already shattered mindscape of him, desperately trying to hold on to something dear and near to his heart. As he sat, inside a small, darkly lit corner of the building, his assault rifle thrown to the floor far away, he curled himself up into a ball. Slowly, but surely, thoughts drifted into his fractured mind.
His first thoughts were of his dear family. Touted as the colony of some far away colony on the Frontier no one remembered. He and the kids frolicked across the homesteads, the light grass grazing his body like a trickling poke. He could already hear the laughs; already recall their distinct chuckles, and giggles. Helga had an almost raspy one, as if she had already exhausted every laugh possible, and she had only been forced to bring out a genuine one instead. Marcus was always very boisterous; his laugh would echo across the fields, ensuring all those within range could laugh with him. George would always have a nasally-like chortle, his head and voice higher than the rest. Thomas would always be last to join them in their collective laughing, being the most drowned out. The most unnoticed.
He then heard an echo in the far distance. His mother was calling all of them, from the safety of their homestead.
"Alright kids, dinner's ready!"
They all chose to leave, having decided that they would all go together.
The first time they became friends.
His second thoughts were of the academy days. Touted as nothing more but the finest of the IMC's training yards, Gridiron being the name hammered into them over and over. Where they left behind their innocence, and brought about a soldier out of them. He could already hear the distant, and distinct sounds of their guns, recalling their distinct weapons they became experts at. Helga was always with a Wingman, having somehow been noticed by the Pilot's program. Marcus always wanted to protect those around him, choosing to bring about the Spitfire LMG to pound round after round so his allies could leave alive. George would choose a sniper, preferring the heads of his enemies no longer be raised by their ego, while propping his own in place. Thomas, always last, preferred to be silent. A silenced RE-45 machine pistol was quiet, unexpected and most importantly; survivable.
He heard a second echo on the other end. Their future commanding officer, with a name he never recalled. Just "Captain" to him. Calling them over, to prepare for deployment.
"Come on! We are leaving!"
They all chose to leave, leading different paths in the same platoon, but choosing to stay together. Contacting each other when they were out on the battlefields of the so-called "Frontier War" that had just imploded into a raging inferno of war.
He remembered their first deployment. The IMC had chased the Militia to the Yuma System. Out to a simple refueling depot, where the chased fleet had been trying to raid the site. It was of little importance to the greater Frontier at large. To him, however…he could hear the echoes. The screams. Helga, being dragged away by the Militia, beaten and captured after a lengthy fight with a veteran Militia Pilot. Marcus, screaming after her, trying to pound round after round with his Spitfire in some vain attempt to stop the Titan carrying her away, but to no avail. George, his head high in the clouds, wholly unaware of the entire encounter as he was busy defending one of the Hardpoint Stations there. And Thomas, drowned out by the noises of Titans clashing and of soldiers bearing down on their position, silently watching as someone he knew from long ago was taken away from their eyes, not being able to do a thing about it.
He heard a call throughout the piercing sound. From the Captain.
"Come on, we are leaving! We are retreating; battle is a loss!"
They all chose to leave, no longer together. Divided by a damned war destined to tear them apart. That inferno that was the war blazed past planets, tearing apart formal colonies. Personal ties to the IMC, from what he heard. The inferno now moved to another relatively useless place.
He remembered another major deployment. The Boneyard, a desolate IMC base within the Leviathan system, which was abandoned long ago. He remembered the monsters. The desert sand crunching their boots, and heating their bodies like the summers on the homestead. He still remembered the distant cries for help. Helga, whose scream still haunted the group, and who was last seen within the Militia's prisoners. Marcus, who was attempting to cool their members as they bunkered down in one of the Hardpoints, holding their positions against the innumerable waves of wildlife and the IMC. George, who's proud head laid too high for the situation, and whose body unceremoniously was dumped a distance away due to the sheer nonchalant nature of the flyers there. And Thomas, who was too silent in warning George of the winged monstrosity that snatched him, as he weeped to be saved, the claws possibly killing him in a matter of seconds. He remembers the cries of Thomas. Weeping over those who he lost in a simple matter of days. Weeks even. All he had was Marcus, and Helga if she even was alive.
He heard a whisper, his Captain placing a hand on the shoulder of his as the Militia escaped with what they wanted.
"Come on, Private. We've got to go."
They left strained, to a near breaking point given all they had lost. But there were at least two, brothers in arms, ready to end this war and go home to their families. That inferno was getting close to the heart of what they called hope. Protection from the unknown.
He remembered yesterday. The raid on an IMC air base, where the Militia under Sarah Briggs tried to destroy the Repulsor Towers, releasing all known wildlife on the airbase they were stationed at. He remembered the hail of fire that he heard on the radio. The sound of Helga, joining Briggs in sabotaging their peace and protection. Of Marcus, who valiantly tried in vain to save his company, his last words being the sole sound of his Spitfire, echoing through the complex even as he was evacuating. Of Thomas, silent at the realization of the consequences of war, and of its reality. He remembered seeing the wildlife overrun the base.
He was left alone, with no one left to save him from his own suffering.
It brought him to where he was now. The orange-tinted skies of Demeter raged on like bees in his mind. The booming steps of Titans and Spectres marching, and the explosions boomed in his head like drums. His eyes watered, failing to put out the inferno that had finally torched and lit the planet in a flash of flame. He remembered Helga's raspy laugh. Marcus's attitude towards saving others. George's cocky behavior, holding his head proud in accomplishment.
And he remembered how he was too silent to stop it all. How Thomas was. How, similar to every scenario beforehand…he remained the last one. He hardly flinched when the sound of a gun was raised to his head. The legs already told him it was a full-fledged Militia Pilot. Female most likely. A Wingman.
He closed his eyes, preparing to join his friends in death. Only…he heard instead the dropping of the weapon. Then someone sitting next to him.
Opening his eyes, he turned to the Militia Pilot, who turned to him back. She never took off her helmet, only turning back, and giving out a raspy chortle, as if she found the entire situation funny.
As Thomas looked back, he could see a bright flash ahead of him, as if someone had dropped a distant flashbang. The white light was coming to him. And as the female Pilot laid her head on Thomas's shoulders, and as the white light drew closer, he could hear his mother. His Captain, both calling out to him, their voices echoing in the light.
"Come on; we're going home!"
Thomas smiled… he would no longer stay silent. Just this once.
"We're coming."
The bright light consumed the two, as he finally returned home, with those he loved.