Rainbows Are Badass

Mike's eyes slowly began to open, the light above him shining bright in his eyes. He let out a moan of laziness and annoyance 'what am I doing-' he was quickly reminded what had happened when he tried to move his shoulder. An intense pain had flared up, enough to make Mike bite his tongue and snap back to reality. He laid his back on the mattress beneath him, curiously moving his arm to his left shoulder slowly and carefully. He put his finger to his shoulder where the gash was, just touching it brought back memories, he let out an occasional ow, or oof, when he touched a tender spot, surprised at the progress the wound had made on healing.

"No, you can't heal super fast…" Said a voice to Mike's right, Mike turned quickly to see who it was, it was Oakley Jesus, "You've been out for four weeks, we didn't think you were going to make it."

Mike shot straight upwards, about to reply but he could only winced in pain as his shoulder flared up. Oakley Jesus stepped forward to help support Mike, his head down.

"Four weeks…." Mike whispered loudly, to himself and to reaffirm, "What about the hostage situation, did you all get the hostage? And what about the police barricade?"

Oakley Jesus moved to help Mike support himself before answering the question.

"The police barricade was fine," the man paused, taking a deep breath, "as for the hostage, the hostage never existed, it was created to draw attention to them, and then eventually kill any who tried to rescue the imaginary hostage they created."

Mike looked downwards in shock. Not because the hostage was fake, or not even because the terrorists were willing to throw away their lives like like they didn't even matter, but because his team, and the cops, had died for nothing.

"Mike, there's something I need to tell you," the man said, with a serious look as he took off his Oakley's, revealing his eyes.

"What is it?" Mike asked, bracing himself for more bad news.

"I'm not Jesus Christ," a smile began to grow on the man's face, "You were mumbling about Oakley Jesus while you were knocked out."

Mike's head shot upwards in embarrassment, trying to find words.

"I, uh, uhm, was woozy."

The man laughed a little, waving aside the discussion.

"Anyway, I would like to personally be your sponsor for the rainbow program."

Mike raised an eyebrow, confused.

"Listen, I respect all forms of sexuality, but no thank you."

The man furrowed his eyebrows, putting back on his sunglasses.

"It's not a club for homosexuals," The man sighed, facepalmed, then sat back down, "The terrorist you faced that day were the white mask terrorist, publicly they're a brand new terrorist organization, straight outta the terrorist factory place, whatever. Anyway, the white mask in particularly, are among the targets for the Rainbow program, our job is to stop terrorists before they go public, and in the case of the white masks, keep them classified and hidden away, eventually eliminate them."

"Okay," Mike spoke, still a little confused, "Why do I need a sponsor then? Just give me the paperwork and drop me in Afghanistan."

The man pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket, showing it to Mike.

"An agent that's already in the Rainbow program has to 'sponsor' you so that way your skills are not in question, also you could possibly die going through this training, and if you do it's blamed on the sponsors, we're like a scapegoat."

Mike stood up, refusing help from the man and biting his tongue, to prevent from letting the pain get to him.

"I was meant to die in that alley way from that terrorist, it was luck you were there…" Mike smiled at the man, offering his hand to shake, "What have I got to lose?"

"Pulse" the man responded, "just call me Pulse."

"Mike," Mike responded, shaking Pulse's hand, "Mike Smith"

From this point on Mike was given free roam around the base. He was astonished at his findings. Rubber bullet obstacle courts, gymnastic rooms, a decent sized mess hall, a firing range and much more. Mike, curious as to what the institution had to offer in terms of firearms, went to the firing range first. He decided that since he had just woke up, he shouldn't be using heavy duty firearms. He decided it best to stick to pistols of smaller more standard calibers. Mike stood in a lane designated specially for sidearms, staring at a small P226 in the holster, Mike moved to pick it up, but hesitated. When his hand moved towards the gun, it felt like something was leaving him, his heart relaxed, his eyes relaxed, he almost felt numb when he picked up the gun, oddly enough, he felt whole when he knew for a fact he was losing something. It almost felt right, but something was missing, other than he knew something that left him, it's almost like he needed something else, just that one more thing and he would've been perfect. In a blinding almost angry fury Mike whipped the weapon to the side with one hand, aiming at the paper target that stood before him. When he fired everything seemed slow, like that moment, the moment he watched his team die he could feel time slow but he knew it was still moving. This only made him more angry, but his anger made him feel alive and before he knew it, that feeling was gone again. Whatever he was missing came swelling back, and he began to feel the pain in his shoulder. He whispered a slight 'ow' to himself as he put away the pistol and pushing the button to pull in the target so he could get a better view of it.

He was amazed to see that each hit was a critical, but Mike was never even focused on a single shot. He was more concerned about himself, how this weird feeling had overwhelmed his thoughts, but it wasn't as if it was forced, he let it happen out of curiosity. He had just felt as though his entire being was ripped out of his body and something else took control of him for that period of time. And oddly enough, he couldn't stop, it was almost like a drug. He loaded another clip, pushed the target back faster, the feeling sweeping his body again as he began shooting. It had made him feel alive, the sound of bullet rounds being fired, the thought of a bullet hitting someone and all the physics behind it. When the clip was empty the feeling was gone, but he had to know, he had to know what he was missing. He put away the pistol and picked up a remington shotgun, just as angry as he was with the pistol that he couldn't solve this mystery. This time with the shotgun he got a bigger surge, the feeling enticing him even more to pull the trigger again with every shot. Mike just couldn't stop himself, this feeling, he needed it.

When the shotgun was empty Mike's feeling camp back, his shoulder grew painful and weary. He looked around at the people on the firing lane, who were staring back at him, unsure how he had made those pinpoint shots at such distances. Mike, still breathing heavy, put away the weapon and headed for the exit, adrenaline was still pumping through his body as he listened to the whispers of the standard law enforcement around him. 'Wow, is he a rainbow?' 'Yeah, a new recruit I hear' 'Wow, rainbows are badass' 'Shut up he might hear you!'. Mike exited the room, slowly but definitely speeding up in his pace, his breath increasing in pace and his anxiety skyrocketing. He bolted outside a door, it was snowing, 'holy shit it's snowing, what events took place while I was out?'

He ran further, he could hear the intercom behind him alerting that someone from the med bay escaped. Mike didn't care though, he ran, his feet freezing, giving him pins and needles, and little did he know, almost hypothermia before he passed out because of the barometric pressure, and his body not being used to the lack of oxygen coursing through his system, so he passed out, falling flat on his face as he heard the sound of crunching footsteps behind him.