Semi-Automatic: Final Draft

Part One: Misplaced

Chapter Five: Part I, Playing In the Sand

Rare was the smile that broke the General's aged lips and sent a chill of unease down Lieutenant General Tomaris's spine. His dark eyes reflected the blue and white ionized pixels before him in shadowed appreciation. All Tomaris could bring himself to feel was regret. The small barely-there boy who had been scraping by in his lessons had done what no normal man could ever hope to achieve with decadesof training. The shock wave that radiated out upon impact had damaged every security camera within fifty feet of the arena - the ones closest to the epicenter turned to dust. After weeks of nothing but expected disappointments, this was a thrilling development for the General and the General alone. Here, right before them, was concrete evidence that this doomed project was working.

The boy was changing.

And the ferocity of it turned his stomach.

"Sir," Ventured Yuma Sol in the stilted silence.

He tore his eyes away from the screen, his thumb flicking over the switch as the image collapsed back into the projector. "Yes, Dr. Sol?"

Sol was the head of the Science Department and lead researcher in the RnD Division. A woman in her early thirties, she was talented, determined, and moralistically devoid. She was fierce and unrelenting, a woman who had fought for every inch in her career while losing what little kindness she might have had in the process. "The others presented similar changes, but soon declined after that. Rapidly." She warned with a curled lip.

He locked his fingers before him, waiting on her to continue. With a fortifying breath, Sol flipped open her folder to produce the analysis sheet from the last month of testing and the newly acquired results from the blood taken in the medical tent. "As you saw, the Eco Wall burned him. We can now confirm that large amounts of eco exposure will kill him." She paused appropriately, "As you saw, his strength and speed were increased tenfold, but only for a few moments. Though, it is progress…" Her sapphire eyes flicked between the file in hand and the General, "I think we should increase testing before we assume too much of this."

Neverous nodded curtly, understanding her fears as he looked to his Lt. General. He remained silent, pensive almost, through Yuma's speech with a look of casual indifference. "And your opinion, Lieutenant?"

The soldier's eyes rose with quick purpose. "What I have seen over the course of the last month," he started formally, "he responds to situations of immediate danger presented by his environment; with the real threat of death hanging over his decisions. I believe we will see what more he can do if we send him into the Wastelands."

"Are you insane?" Sol growled out furiously, "This is just a small hint at what could be changing inside him. This may have been an accident. Sending him to the Wastes would be a death sentence. I, for one, have looked at his records. He is physically incapable of surviving out there alone."

Tomaris did not rise to Sol's frustration, his expression little more than annoyed as he as he spoke in a calm, yet resentful, tone. "That is my decision to make, Dr. Sol."

"Enough," Neverous broke the argument before it could start, "Tomorrow we will send the boy into the Wastelands for an evaluation. Real combat will be a more useful tool than a secured arena fight."

The woman thinned her lips. "Sir… I don't think it wise to…"

He silenced her with a raise of his hand. "Your protest is duly noted. I am aware of where the boy falls short and have thus far decided to not send him alone." He told her, "I was asked to document any skills or mutations the DW participant might have. We will kill two birds with one stone, as they say." He cast his eyes back to Tomaris, "How is our dear Baron's experiment faring compared to his predecessors? Along with a short 'brief on Mr. Potter."

"The human," the Lieutenant sighed, resting his forehead on locked fingers, "shows considerable amount of raw potential. He uses his small stature to his advantage and is quick, if not clever enough to circumvent most negative outcomes of a fight. However, his movements are sloppy and he is woefully slow at picking up hand to hand combat." He frowned, as if exasperated. "He moves as if used to having a sort of weapon in his hands, but he doesn't mark up to the other recruits with the use of a gun. His inability to read and write our language has slowed his progress through technical aspects of the training. I doubt," he looked to Neverous, "if he doesn't start making use of that potential – he'll make it to the next year."

"You were," Yuma sneered, "the one that said he'd never make it through the first month."

She was once again silenced by a look from Neverous as Tomaris went on as if she had never spoken. "The DW, Eleven as they marked him, is odd. He doesn't know as much as an elf his age should about society or even technology. I'm rather curious as to where Praxis picked him up, but…" Tomaris trailed off, "He is very intelligent and has admirable ability to fight for his age. I've also been informed that he has survival knowledge in various hostile conditions. It's plainly obvious he is trained."

The General silently contemplated them both. They waited patiently on him and his decision. When it was made, it held a hint of finality that neither of them dared to contest. "Then it's decided. You are dismissed."

"So, pretty much you just kick their legs out from beneath them while you fall so the ref doesn't call you out." Laughed the topaz haired twenty-something elf named Blue. Harry allowed himself to smile and chuckled lightly. He walked, like the others, lazily towards the VR sector for their final session for the day. The division was filled with quiet chatter, winding down from the brutal morning drills. Harry walked with Blue, an interesting southern-accented man in his own group, and ahead of Ava and Jak. He had fallen into a conversation with him about a sport played in Blue's hometown; a place called Hyper. He found it to be an odd combination of field hockey and basketball.

When they came on the VR, Harry felt Jak's hand on his shoulder. He slowed his pace, turning to show the boy his profile to find him pointing over his shoulder. Harry's eyes followed his finger to find Tomaris, with his usual cigarette in hand, leaning against the wall beside the doors.

"Bollocks," Harry breathed, teeth grinding together as Jak's hand squeezed his shoulder in quiet reassurance.

Harry had learned a while ago that Tomaris wasn't a patient man. His heart never failed to drop to the pit of his stomach at the sight of the man. Subconsciously his hands crawled up his scarred biceps, still feeling the swollen skin where the needles never failed to pierce. He had anticipated a quiet end to the day, his injection had been earlier that morning and he was still fighting the nausea and soreness caused by the serum.

He nodded solemnly to Jak, detaching himself from division as Tyvin sharply ordered. "You too, Eleven. You," He ordered toward Ava, "go in and fall into division with the rest of 'em, the trainers will find you a group." Ava, not questioning, turned on her heel and rejoined the others with a disgruntled scowl.

Anger flashed across Jak's eyes as he followed closely behind Harry. Often Harry heard the Officers refer to Jak by the moniker and had foolishly asked what it meant. The pure look of hatred on the boy's face had told Harry it was tied to Haven and was thusly never to be brought up again. 'Another thing that makes us seem less human.'

"Neverous," Tomaris spoke as they followed him away from the VR, "has seen it fit to send you two into the Wastes for combat training." They came on the large metal door that neither Jak nor Harry had ever seen open. It cranked loudly on rusted metal hinges and whined open, letting a violent gust of hot, dry air lash out at them. Two guns were unceremoniously forced into their hands as well as two large packs. Harry examined the gun as he stepped through the airlock; it was a slim black and yellow rifle. He knew the gun to be a Morph Gun, a machine capable of morphing between its attachments and its properties changing to whatever Eco Disc ammo had been inserted into the terraform drive.

"Collect five 'Gems and come back here when you are done." Tyvin told them sharply, slamming his hand to the release valve and locking the confused, and mildly irritated, boys out in the desert.

"Bloody Hell," Harry mumbled, "What's this about?"

Jak was ahead of him several more paces out of the shade of the gate. He turned to face Harry with a nervous look as he brought the morph gun to his chest. "I'd say combat training."

"Don't be a smart-ass," Harry grunted, glowering.

It earned him a half-hearted glare as the elf wandered forward. They kept to a straight line from the airlock, always keeping the large black walls of Invisera in clear sight. "Think they'll shoot me full of drugs if I kill something?" Harry wondered out loud, kicking a stray stone from his path.

"Probably," Jak shrugged, eyes never leaving the horizon. "You were drooling that one time and they still came and got you."

Harry snorted in response, wary of the empty dunes that rose up at their sides. "They have piss poor timing and they blame me for being shoddy."

Jak gave a clipped laugh, his gun held tight to his chest. Harry wondered if he would ever have a fraction of the awareness Jak had. His eyes were everywhere, always so aware of what was going on on all sides of them. A tense silence rose between them as they kept forward diligently. With the midday sun bearing down hard on the both of them, a fine layer of sweat had developed on Harry's brow by the time they had come across several sandstone pillars jutting up from the sand.

"Let's rest here a bit," Jak suggested, leaning his gun against the pillar as he slid into the shadow to fall cross-legged in the sand. He wiped his brow, reaching into his bag to pull out the little water they had been given. There was one thing that Harry and Jak had in common; they knew how to ration. Their canteens were barely enough for a day's water and they'd been given one food ration to last however long they were out in the desert for…

A none-to-subtle hint at their rather ambiguous time restraint.

"So I scrapped the running away plan." Jak stated tugging at the dirty wrapping around his left forearm that had come loose.

Nodding grimly, Harry added. "No kidding. We'd probably die within the day from exposure or… dehydration… or both, probably both." He trailed off, pulling at the collar of his navy shirt. The Invisera uniform was made for tropical weather, but the dusty heat was making it cling to him; soaked in his sweat.

"How long," Jak suddenly asked, skipping a stone across Harry's paced path, "do you think it is going to take to find one of these 'Wasteland Metal Heads?'"

Clueless, Harry shrugged. He made to pass by the pillar Jak was sheltering under when he tripped on a sudden inverse. At first he thought he had stumbled over his own two feet and expected a snide remark from Jak, but another violent tremor nearly sent him to the ground a second time.

"Precursors," breathed Jak behind him, panickedly scrambling back to his feet and slipping in the sand. Harry turned quickly, eyes flashing across the sand to find the startling reminder that he wasn't in his own world.

His jaw slackened, bewildered by the sheer size of the beast limping towards them. It was easily twice the size of an elephant; perhaps larger as it came lumbering closer. It ran on two stout legs as tiny arms curled against grey-scaled skin. Its eyes, just like the rest of its species, were glowing and a gem was lodged deep in its forehead. What alarmed Harry the most was the empty saddle strapped to its sloped back.

"Jesus Christ, that's a sodding dinosaur." Harry hissed, eating dirt as he dove behind the pillar for cover. They dared to breathe as the creature neared, steps slowed by a large bleeding gash up its right thigh. It moaned, lips thick with drool, and huffed as it paced in angry circles just beyond their alcove.

"How are we supposed to take that? Let alone five?" Jak hissed frustrated, throwing his hands towards the monster.

"No idea…" Harry mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief.

Jak, face in his hands, took in several deep breaths as he worked for a solution. Rocks spilled off the pillar onto them, knocked loose by tremendous force behind its footfalls. It howled pain-laced roars into the sky as it kicked up dust into tiny sand devils and scattered everything not firmly rooted down. Faintly, behind the guttural growls, Harry could hear the metal latches of the saddle smacking against the bone-armor.

"I got it," Jak pulled his hands away from his face, far more grim for a man with a plan should have been. "It's the best I can think of…"

"Shoot," Harry urged, desperate for anything.

The elf nodded curtly and gestured with his chin towards the empty saddle. "One of us can distract it, get it to charge at them while the other gets into the saddle. If we can get up there, we can reign into the ground or get between the plates…" He paused, running his tongue along his teeth in a nervous tick. "I just don't know how to get up…"

"This looks tall enough," Harry smacked his hand against the sandstone pillar they took refuge behind. "Think you can make the jump?"

"Yah… Maybe." Jak mumbled, shielding his eyes as he tried to see to the top of it. "Are you-" Before Jak could stop him, Harry had already grabbed his gun and moved into the creatures line of sight. He could hear Jak swearing as he pushed his gun to his side and mounted the first steps – scaling awkwardly up the uneven side.

"Think you can out run it?" He called down mutedly.

Harry frowned, but called back. "God I hope so."

"Heh," Jak laughed mirthlessly, "You are so screwed if you can't."

He snorted in response, trying to quell the shaking in his hands as fear crawled into his chest. It hadn't noticed him yet, still too focused on its rampaging cant. He took his gun from his back. He recounted his range lessons, bracing the rifle to his shoulder, and taking a knee to steady himself. He was glad that Jak was too high to see him and his shaking hands. The sight of the gun was jumping in his unsteady grip, anxiety pushing into his chest.

'Calm down,' he begged, taking aim. 'Summon up some of that Gryffindor courage.'

"One," Harry muttered, taking deep breaths.

"Two," he slowly tried to follow the sluggish movements of the beast's legs.

"Three!" He hissed, popping the trigger several times. The knock back of the blaster nearly took his arm out of the socket, he hadn't held it right and none of his shots had hit.

But the noise had got its attention.

It took every ounce of self-control that Harry had to not dive for cover the moment it turned to run towards them. "Hold!" Jak shouted from above him, crouched on the ledge.

"Easier said than done, mate!" Harry shouted back, fists clenched at his side as the beast roared. It charged head down and it was coming in fast. It would be on them within in seconds, but Harry waited on Jak's signal with his back pressed to the uneven stone.

"NOW!" Jak shouted and Harry didn't need to be told twice. He dove to the right, elbows scraping on the rocks as he felt the tail flying just over his head in a violent gust. He scrambled back to his feet, spitting dirt, and pulled his gun back into his hands. In the chaos of the creature's flailing, he spotted Jak clinging to the saddle desperately. He couldn't get to the reigns in the thrashing and spinning, nearly being tossed twice as it screeched.

"Hang on!" Harry shouted, but knew that Jak couldn't hear him over the Metal Head. His mind raced, running after the two of them as the Metal Head bucked and jumped farther away from him. He prayed to just keep it in sight long enough to figure out what he could do to help. A straight shot was hopeless, it would bounce off the armor, but maybe he could get a few decent shots off in the wound in its leg. At the very least it could stun the thing for a minute. "Hold on, hold on," Harry muttered, pulling his gun up and fired blindly. The first six shots missed, one nearly hitting Jak who ducked in time, and Harry berated himself furiously.

'calm down!' he sternly told himself, legs going on pure adrenaline. 'You can do this.' Harry encouraged, bracing the gun again. If Jak was bucked at this height, he'd likely die under the thing's feet if not worse. He needed to focus. Harry, panting, held his breath as he took aim. He dared to wait near a minute before popping the trigger again. This time, this time, he hit home. The yellow bolt lashed through the air and splashed against the gash on its haunch. The Metal Head roared in pain, stunned for a split second. It was enough time for Jak to crawl forward and grasp the reigns – Harry begged it was enough for Jak to get off a few between the neck plates. He watched, helpless, as the creature jerked forward suddenly and Jak's entire body slammed into the horn. He could hear Jak's Blaster going off as the Metal Head disappeared over the dune – a loud thud shaking the ground as Harry ran after it.

"Jak!?" He shouted panicked, stumbling in the sand. He spotted the creature half a league away, laid out in its side not breathing in a pool of its own blood – Jak nowhere to be seen.

"I'm fine!" Jak's voice echoed back somewhere beyond it. Harry could have collapsed with relief and jogged around the head. He found Jak sliding off the faceplate with the gem in hand. He flashed Harry a triumphant smile, teeth and the front of his shirt covered in blood from what looked like a broken nose.

"Holy shit," Harry managed, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

Jak, swallowing deep breaths, pulled the bag from his back to force the gem in. "I have room for two more," He muttered, looking up to Harry. "You alright?"

"How are you okay with this!?" Harry asked, flourishing hands to the mountain of armor and flesh, "What the Hell?"

"I've fought bigger," Jak offered, getting back to his feet as Harry gave a strangled shout. "Next time," He wrinkled his nose at Harry, "you get to jump of the pissed-off Metal Head's back."

Harry rolled his eyes, bracing his face with both hands. "What sort of childhood did you sodding have?"