Mobius stood in front of an injured soldier, his eyes cold and unyielding as he stared into the man's frightened gaze. Both of them were breathing heavily, the air thick with tension. The soldier, clenching at the gunshot wound on his side, could see the darkness that had overtaken the young man in front of him. This was not the look of a trained or experienced killer, but of someone who had been pushed too far—a person who had snapped, someone who has seen so much and was now consumed by a ruthless desire for revenge.
It had been two months since Mobius's hometown was reduced to rubble by Erusian bombers. Now, the invaders had established a base of operations in what remained of the town, making life unbearable for the survivors. The Erusians rationed gasoline to the civilians, treated them with contempt, and enforced their will with an iron fist, the local police departments were raided, their weapons, ammunition, body armor, every resource was taken by the Erusian Army. Medical supplies from hospitals were taken, by force and gunpoint. Store owners were being forced to give their goods to the foreign invaders, forcing them to increase the sale price for the locals. Everything had become hell to those that survived, now prisoners in their own homes.
One day, a middle-aged man named Terry Ferns, a former fireman before a knee injury forced him into retirement was tripped by an Erusian soldier and spilled his drink on another soldier's uniform. Mobius watched from across the street as he was gunned down all because he was forced into spilling his drink. He had seen enough. He wasn't going to let this continue.
Mobius caught a glimpse of the name on the soldier's uniform. "Falken," he muttered under his breath, committing it to memory.
He began to shadow a group of soldiers to a bar later that day, waiting for them to immerse themselves in the company of the reluctant waitress who served them. Once they were thoroughly distracted, Mobius seized the opportunity to steal a pair of binoculars from one of the soldiers and slipped out of the bar, his heart pounding in his chest.
He wasn't a trained operative, but desperation had made him resourceful. He followed another patrol to their base of operations—what had once been the town hall and the mayor's office before the Erusians took over. Using the stolen binoculars, Mobius carefully observed as the group's lieutenant punched in a code on the keypad at the base's entrance. With a permanent marker, he hastily scribbled the numbers on his arm, committing them to memory later and then scrubbing his arm clean.
"Hmm, his heart rate is beginning to rise," Duelo noted as he monitored Mobius's vitals.
"Is he in any danger?" Parfet asked, her voice tinged with concern.
Duelo shook his head. "Not yet, but judging by the way his muscles just tensed up and the sudden rise in his heart rate, he's about to do something—most likely violent."
On the Nirvana's bridge, BC and Magno watched the scene unfold with rapt attention. Since the last incident, Parfet had refined her machine so that Mobius's dreams were only viewable in the infirmary. However, the captain had developed a keen interest in Mobius' past and had ordered the feed to be viewable on the bridge as well, but out of respect for Mobius' privacy she dismissed the bridge operators from their stations, leaving only her and BC on the bridge.
"What do you think he's going to do, captain?" BC asked, watching as Mobius scribbled the code on his arm.
"Isn't it obvious, BC?" Magno replied, her tone darkening. "The boy is out for revenge."
Midnight approached, and Mobius hid in the shadows of the alleyways, his breath steady but his nerves taut as a wire. He had spent the past week observing the Erusian soldiers—studying their routines, the timing of their patrols, and the number of men in each group, he wrote down everything, spent hours reading his notes over and over, burning everything into his memory. His lack of formal training was evident in his rough and unrefined methods, but his motivation, his determination were sharpened like a razor by desperation and anger, and while it may not make him a formidable enemy, it did make him a dangerous and hard to predict one.
Tonight, his target was a patrol group of three soldiers—a manageable number. Mobius watched as they entered the bar, their voices loud and their laughter boisterous. He knew from his observations that they would be drunk soon, making them easier to manipulate.
Reaching into his pocket, Mobius pulled out a small bottle with three white pills inside. He wasn't a trained assassin, he wasn't a trained anything, but he had taught himself enough to be dangerous. He didn't know if this plan would work, but he didn't care. His need for revenge outweighed his fear of failure.
Taking a deep breath, Mobius entered the bar and took a seat in the farthest corner. The waitress, Lisa, approached him with a look of concern.
"What can I get you?" she asked, her voice gentle but her eyes betraying her worry.
"Two shots of vodka, please. Straight," Mobius replied, his voice steady but his eyes locked on the group of soldiers across the room.
Lisa hesitated, leaning in closer. "I know you hate them,"—her voice suddenly became silent as she spoke his name—"but please don't do anything foolish. Your mother wouldn't want you to get hurt."
Mobius's expression hardened as he responded rather darkly, "The dead don't want for anything, and even if they did it doesn't matter."
Lisa quietly and sadly left to get his drink. Mobius' eyes never left the soldiers as they laughed and sang a familiar song—a song that once brought him joy, but now only fueled his anger. It had been his closest friend's favorite song, and hearing it on the lips of the enemy was like a knife in his heart, and gas on an already barely contained fire.
Lisa returned with his drinks, and Mobius downed both shots quickly, the alcohol burning his throat as he slammed the glasses down. "Thanks, Lisa," he muttered, the fire in his chest matching the fire in his hate.
With a calculated stumble, Mobius approached the soldiers' table. He had seen enough drunk people stumble out of this very bar, perople trying to drink their troubles and misery away, he knew how to act and hot to move to mimic the stupor of an intoxicated person. Pretending to trip, he knocked a glass of beer off the table.
"What the hell?!" one of the soldiers roared, grabbing Mobius by the collar and lifting him off the floor. "You just spilled my drink, pal!"
Mobius forced his voice to slur, adding a touch of genuine dizziness from the vodka. "Ssshorry," he mumbled. "Hey, I'll make it uppp to youu. How about I go and buy youuu two more drinksh to make up forr it? Howsh that shound?"
The soldier glared at him, his grip tightening before he finally let Mobius go. "Alright, but you'd better not spill either of them when you're bringing them back to me!" he barked. "If I see a single drop missing from either mug, I'll beat you to death with a bar stool, got it?!"
Mobius gave him a drunken thumbs-up, stumbling over to the bar counter and ordering two new mugs of beer. Glancing over his shoulder, he confirmed the soldiers weren't watching, his hand slipped into his pocket, retrieving the pill bottle as he waited for the drinks. His heart pounded in his chest, but his resolve never wavered.
"What do you suppose those are for?" Parfet asked Duelo.
"Can't say," Duelo replied. "Medicine has evolved quite a bit since then, but I can guess its purpose. Mixing any kind of medication with alcohol is dangerous; he might be attempting to poison the man."
Crushing the pills between his thumb and the bar counter, Mobius slid the powdered substance into his hand and discreetly dumped it into one of the mugs the bartender handed him before he clumsily made his way back to the soldiers.
"Here you go, two beersh on me!" he cheered. "Enjoy!"
Mobius began to stumble away, but one of the soldiers stopped him. "Hey, hold on!"
Mobius froze for a second. Wondering if they saw him before he slowly turned around, keeping his drunken facade.
"You know what, you're not so bad," the sergeant of the group said, his tone surprisingly friendly. "Sit down and join us. The private apologizes for the way he acted; he just sometimes goes off like that."
"I really shhouldn't," Mobius slurred, playing the part of a drunk perfectly. "But what'sh one more drink?"
Sitting down with the soldiers, Mobius drank with them for another hour, which surprised many of the patrons who knew him, especially the waitress and bartender who were close friends of his mother.
"Well, it's time for us to turn in, boys!" the sergeant said as he got up. "You're not so bad, kid. How about next time I buy you a drink? Whaddya say?"
"Sshoundsh good," Mobius smiled before he stumbled out of the bar with the soldiers.
"Well, see you around, kid," the sergeant said to him before he and the two privates drunkenly walked down the darkened street.
After turning the first corner, Mobius let out an angry sigh before looking around the corner to see the soldiers turn onto the main street.
Bolting across the street and into the alleyway, Mobius silently followed them, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.
A few minutes after they left the bar, the private who had consumed the spiked beer started moaning, "I think I drank a bit too much, guys," before covering his mouth and hunching over, vomiting in the street.
The other two soldiers jumped back, nearly losing their footing as they laughed at him.
"I need to relieve myself real quick. Hold up," the private gasped after he stopped throwing up.
The soldier stumbled toward the closest alley to him and faced a wall as he unzipped his pants.
Mobius was crouched in the shadows directly behind him. Quickly looking to see if the other two soldiers were watching, seeing that they were busy talking to each other, he made his move.
Quickly stepping out from the shadows that concealed him, Mobius kicked the guard in the back of his knee, immediately placing his hands around the man's chin and the back of his head before snapping his neck in one direction before quickly and violently turning it back the other way and then snapping it backward as hard as he could.
Allowing the body to drop against the nearby trash cans, Mobius took the dead soldier's knife as the two remaining soldiers in the street looked down into the alley. "Hey, Adam, you alright?" one of them called.
"He probably passed out again. Go check," the sergeant ordered.
The second private stumbled into the alley, laughing and mocking his friend as he reached him. "Hey, Adam, get up, you drunk!" he laughed as he kicked him as hard as he could manage in his current state.
Noticing that Adam didn't budge, the soldier got closer and leaned over, grabbing his friend by the shoulder. "Adam, wake up, man!"
"How far gone is he?" the sergeant called before turning away to laugh, giving Mobius his window.
Mobius leaped out of the shadows again and grabbed the soldier from behind, covering his mouth to silence him and quickly slicing the knife's edge across his throat, cutting it open. Dropping the soldier's body forward, Mobius ducked back into the dark corner as the sergeant entered the alley, muttering something about the two drunks he was with.
Once the sergeant was close enough, Mobius prepared to strike, but kicked the edge of a trash bag, alerting the soldier to his presence. "Hold it!" the sergeant yelled, pulling his gun and facing Mobius, who was still holding the combat knife he had taken.
"You?" the sergeant muttered, recognizing him before he ordered Mobius to drop the knife.
Mobius slowly moved his arm out, pretending to comply, and began kneeling over to set the knife down. He noticed that the sergeant had made a crucial mistake—in his drunken haste, he hadn't turned his pistol's safety off.
Mobius took his chance, lunging forward he knocked the sergeant's gun hand away and driving the knife into his sternum. Ducking behind him, Mobius grabbed the sergeant by the back of his head and left shoulder, rearing him back before slamming his head against the brick wall as hard as he could, he pulled the soldier's head back and slammed it against the wall again.
Adrenaline and hateful rage fueling his strength as he slammed the soldier's head over and over until a sickening splat echoed in the alley. Mobius let go and backed away from the now-lifeless sergeant and dropped down into a sitting position in the shadows.
On the Nirvana's bridge, BC and the captain both closed their eyes, turning away from the monitor as they heard the gruesome sound of the impact.
"This is troublesome," BC said, her voice tinged with concern. "It's a good thing that only the two of us, Duelo, and Parfet are watching this. If the rest of the crew were to see this, they'd probably panic at having someone who killed three people in cold blood on the ship."
"Revenge can lead someone to do horrible things, BC," Magno replied, her voice somber. "Let us just hope that he has put all that behind him now."
Mobius had taken the sergeant's gun along with his spare clip and the same knife he took from the private before making his way to the town hall.
Typing the code into the keypad, Mobius waited for the door to open before crouching in and immediately jumping into the biggest cluster of shadows he could see.
Mobius silently crept through the base, his movements deliberate and calculated. He avoided anyone not asleep, quickly and efficiently disposing of those he encountered when the opportunity arose, a knife to the chest or throat of every sleeping soldier he came across. Reaching the room they used for communication, Mobius tapped the back of his hand against the door and backed away, tension coiling within him, constricting his stomach like a python.
"What is it?" someone asked from the other side as they opened the door.
Once the door was open, Mobius darted inside and swiftly drove his knife into the soldier's neck, his gun hand already sweeping the room. Seeing that he was the only one there, Mobius dropped the dead soldier to the ground and locked the door behind him. He then sat down at the communications console, his mind focused entirely on the task at hand.
Thankfully the computers were so hastily set up that it wasn't difficult to figure out. Mobius systematically shut down the radar system the Erusians had installed, along with the air raid sirens. His fingers moved with purpose as he shut down one system after another before sending a message to ISAF, informing them that the town was now vulnerable.
With the message sent, Mobius knew his work wasn't done. He settled in for the night, curling into the corner between the console and filing cabinets, his knees drawn up to his chest, knife clutched tightly in one hand, gun trained on the door. His mind was on high alert, refusing to let exhaustion claim him, knowing he couldn't afford to fall asleep—not now.
Mobius' eyes grew heavier as the minutes and hours ticked by, an exhausting eternity, but he forced himself to stay awake, driven by nothing more than the cold fire of revenge. Then a knocking at the door broke the silence, tightening his grip on his pistol and knife.
"Hey Randal!" a voice yelled from the other side of the door, followed by more insistent banging. "Open the door! Did you fall asleep again?"
Mobius remained perfectly still, waiting, knowing his moment would come.
"Someone go and get the commander!" the soldier outside the door ordered, continuing to knock louder and louder. "Randal! Wake up, dammit!"
The knocking abruptly stopped when the distant sound of gunfire echoed through the base, like fireworks in the night. "That's gunfire!" the soldier yelled, panic evident in his voice. "Someone get me a status report!" He banged on the door again. "Randal, you in there?!"
"ISAF ground forces!" a panicked voice yelled in the hallway. "ISAF ground forces are attacking!"
"What?" the first soldier yelled in disbelief. "How did they get in without being detected?"
"All of our equipment across the town is offline!" the second soldier yelled back. "The north patrol sent a runner once they saw the enemy and realized communications were down."
"Dammit!" the first soldier cursed before ordering the other to join the defense. He kicked the door open, finding Randal's lifeless body on the floor.
"What the hell?" he yelled just as Mobius sprang out from the corner, firing his gun the point-blank range ensuring that he couldn't miss as he ended the soldier's life.
"What was that?!" someone yelled from down the hall. "Gunshot from inside communications!"
His time was up, Mobius quickly shot out the windows, cursing under his breath as he realized the danger of his next move. "This is a really bad idea," he growled before jumping out the window. As he neared the ground, he tucked his arms and legs in, rolling to absorb the impact, then sprinted away, his adrenaline fueling his every step.
"Hmm. Quite resourceful," Duelo noted after witnessing Mobius' escape.
Mobius continued to run, but spotted two soldiers rushing toward him with assault rifles.
Ducking into a nearby hotel, Mobius raced up the staircase, hiding behind a wall as the soldiers kicked the door down below.
"Shoot him on sight!" one of them yelled as they split up to search for him.
Mobius remained calm, breathing steadily through his nose as one of the soldiers cautiously ascended the staircase. When the soldier was close enough, Mobius lunged out of his hiding spot and fired two rounds into the soldier's chest, then sprinted to the end of the hall, aware that the second soldier was now chasing him.
Hiding in the room at the end of the hall, Mobius listened to the rapid footsteps approaching.
"Just give up, and it'll be quick!" the soldier taunted.
Mobius didn't respond. His eyes locked onto a lamp sitting on a nearby nightstand. Without hesitation, he threw his knife at the lamp, knocking it over with a loud crash.
Hearing the noise the soldier stepped back and fired through the door, the wood of the door violently splintering mere inches from Mobius' face as the bullets ripped through it.
Waiting for the shooting to stop, Mobius fired his pistol through the door twice. The soldier yelled out in pain as he was hit, giving Mobius the opening he needed. He threw the door open, slamming it into the soldier's face and knocking him back, giving Mobius the chance to finish him.
As aimed at the injured soldier, Mobius caught sight of the name on the uniform—"Falken."
Mobius' gaze turned fierce, burning with hate as he glared at the soldier collapsed in the corner, clutching the gunshot wound in his side. Both were breathing heavily, but Mobius' gaze was unflinching, his gun aimed steadily at Falken's head.
"His name was Terry Ferns," Mobius began, his voice icy and devoid of any emotion. "And he was a good man."
Falken's sneered as he realized who Mobius was referring to—the man he had gunned down days ago. "You really think I give a damn what his name was? I was bored, that's all."
The instant Falken finished speaking, Mobius squeezed the trigger. The gunshot echoed through the small, darkened space, and Falken slumped lifelessly against the wall, a single bullet hole in his forehead.
Mobius' hand squeezed the gun tighter as he lowered it. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, but there was something else—satisfaction. Where his vengeance had been burning alone, now it was joined by the satisfaction that he had won, but that was just for today.
As he turned to leave, Mobius could hear distant shouts and the sporadic popping of gunfire. The town was under siege by ISAF forces, just as he had intended. He stepped out of the hotel, the cool morning air hitting his face as he was immediately confronted by a group of ISAF soldiers, their rifles trained on him.
Mobius' cold gaze met theirs. Without a word, he raised his gun, removed the magazine, and dropped it to the ground, signaling his surrender. The soldiers, wary but not lowering their weapons, quickly restrained him, treating him as a possible enemy.
Hours passed, and dusk fell. Mobius was taken to what used to be the Mayor's office for questioning. He sat at a table, his hands shackled in front of him, staring blankly at them. The room was dimly lit, casting long shadows across the walls.
A middle aged man entered the room, the emblem of ISAF on his beret and a captain's insignia on his shoulder, "So, why don't you tell me who you are and what you were doing with that pistol."
Mobius didn't respond immediately, his gaze fixed on his hands. His mind was still racing, replaying the events over and over, but his face remained an impassive mask.
"Nothing to say, huh?" the captain pressed, trying to get a reaction. When none came, he continued, "We found two dead Erusians in the hotel you came out of. Your gun was recently fired, and both Erusians were recent kills. That your doing?"
Mobius nodded without a word, his expression unchanged.
The captain leaned in closer, studying the young man before him. "We also found three other bodies in one of the alleyways. Killed late last night, brutal and and a bit sloppy. Yours as well?"
Another nod.
The captain straightened up, crossing his arms as he observed Mobius more closely. "Why don't you tell me why you killed them? I get that you must hate them after what they did, but to kill each of them so brutally…"
Mobius finally spoke, his voice low and filled with a quiet intensity. "My family… My mother, my father, and my little sister. They were killed in the bombing two months ago."
The captain's stern expression softened slightly. "I see. So it was revenge, then?"
Mobius's eyes, filled with a mix of pain and anger, locked onto the captain's. "It was Claire's birthday. She had just turned 15. I was going to pick her up from school that day when the bombers came." His fists clenched tightly, the knuckles turning white. "I was holding her in my arms… She was dead by the time I found her… I should've gone to pick her up earlier. If I did, she'd still…"
He trailed off, his voice breaking as he struggled to maintain control over his emotions. The room was silent, the weight of his words hanging heavily in the air.
The captain walked around the table, placing a hand on Mobius's shoulder, an attempted gesture of sympathy. "I can't imagine how horrible that must have been for you, son. I won't hold you any longer. I'll tell my men to give you a bed so you can rest."
Mobius's voice, now steady and resolute, interrupted the captain as he turned to leave. "I want to fight."
The captain paused, looking back at Mobius with a mixture of surprise and concern.
"I want to fight for ISAF," Mobius continued, his gaze fierce and unyielding. "I want Erusea to pay for what they've done, for what they've taken away from me."
The captain studied Mobius for a long moment, recognizing the fire in his eyes. It was more than just anger; it was a deep, burning determination. "I'll see what I can do," he finally said. "Do you have any idea what you want to do if you join?"
Mobius stood up, his posture rigid with resolve. "I'm going to be a fighter pilot. My life was taken from me by bombers. I'm going to take over the skies and return the favor."
The captain couldn't help but smile faintly, impressed by the young man's resolve. "Becoming a fighter pilot isn't easy, but something tells me you could make it. I'll establish some communications with command and let them know we've got a recruit for the Air Force."
Mobius straightened and gave the captain a sharp salute, a gesture filled with respect and gratitude. The captain chuckled softly and returned the salute. "Come on, I'll show you where you can get some rest," he said, leading Mobius out of the room.
As Mobius's dream ended, he slowly opened his eyes, the intensity of the memory lingering in his mind. He sat up calmly, his expression thoughtful.
"Good morning," Parfet greeted him as she turned off the machine that had recorded his dream.
"Coffee," Mobius muttered as he swung his legs off the bed, still feeling the weight of the dream's emotions.
"Here," Parfet said, handing him a warm cup of coffee. "I figured you'd want some when you woke up, so I went to the cafeteria and grabbed some for you a few minutes ago."
"Thanks," Mobius said, taking the coffee and sipping it gratefully, the warmth helping to ground him after the vivid memories.
"You're welcome," Parfet replied before turning to Duelo. "I should get back to Engineering. I've got a lot of work to do."
Duelo nodded. "Of course. Thank you for the assistance."
Parfet smiled and left the infirmary, leaving Duelo and Mobius alone.
"Are you ready?" Duelo asked, referring to the recording of Mobius's dream.
Mobius nodded, and Duelo played the recording on the console.
As Mobius watched the first few moments of the dream, he muttered quietly to himself, "Claire…"
The name hung in the air, filled with a deep, unspoken sorrow.
