Alrighty.

When one dies, their heart quiets, and stops. If the heart stops, a person is effectively dead. However, the most effective way to stop a heart is a war. A war can break hearts, harden them, but is most famous for stopping them altogether.

Heartstopper ch.5

"We're lost." Janus muttered to himself. Unlike many sarcastic travel philosophers said in many books, going on and on in one general direction wasn't getting him anywhere. The long wilderness grass had long gone, now replaced with dunes of red and white sand.

After a half an hour, something caught Janus's eye as the steamer churned its way up a particularly steep and high dune. The slightest shadow of a moving object flashed in his sight.

The situation was dire enough to check.

Snipe was thrown into a dresser with one of his other comrades as the steamer drifted Ninety degrees. The few that had kept their balance kept the shelves and other furniture from collapsing on their friends and rivals.

"What the hell is wrong with Sarge..." Snipe heard the person he'd slammed into say, under his breath.
The steamer had halted. A soldier started coming down the steps.

"Sarge is goWHOOP!!" she tripped over nothing and crashed down the steps. She slammed into the trash bin, her head buried in a pile of trashed papers.

"Goal!" another person enthusiastically yelled. Nobody laughed. This girl had landed conveniently near Snipe, who pushed himself up to help her.

"Thank you lord, for getting Snipe's ass off me." Snipe's cushion said with a deep breath.

Snipe pulled the girl's head from the wastebin, and recognized who she was. Potpourri, the girl with long, chestnut hair and big, naturally pink eyes, the girl nobody would ever make fun of or abuse. She was just too kind to do any of that shit. Steven, the last guy to abuse Potpourri, was caught molesting her in her sleep by a bunch of other guys.

Steven was hanging by his ankle over the rest quarter's doorway, and seemingly everybody punched him in his bruises on the way.

"You okay?" Snipe asked her, brushing a few paper balls rom her hair. She looked at him. Their eyes locked, but she immediately averted her gaze.

"Damnit." thought Snipe. She didn't even blush one bit."

"As I was saying,' she continued, "Sarge found somene to get us out of this mess."

"Fucking finally." somebody said. "Brilliant. I just hope it's a naked chick from out in the desert.

Sarge came back with a girl that seemed around the age of the majority of the squad. Squads were almost always of similar age, sometimes, they had even trained together. This wanderer Sarge had found wore a thin veil that extended barely past her upper thigh.

"Feast your eyes, faggots," Sarge said in a mocking dramatic voice, "This is one of your "nude" riders. See, out here, it isn't that damn hot, so the girls keep their decency."

"Aya," the wanderer said, "Net'r ave sero'wa er wedne."

"Sexy, she's foreign" a voice behind Snipe mumbled.

"Since none of you faggots know Mountain language, apparently, I'll translate that." Sarge said. "Aglae City is about forty miles away, or at least, where the 'burbs start. Of course that isn't exactly what she said, but you'd have to be even more of a faggot to point out that obvious fact."

Feckin' Later...

Aglae City: The largest city near a warzone. The Civilian Safety pact ensures that no major cities can be bombarded or bombed, so the population is not massacred.

That being said, Aglae city is an active place. Since volunteering for military service requires a good bit of paperwork, oddly, one of the prime occupations for the war-supportive and crime ridden Aglae City is working in the Civilian Protection. Civilian Protection (CP) has no training program, and therefore is extremely inferior to the Well-trained military or even better-trainer Police.

The steamer churned to a halt beside a motel. It was beginning to grow dark, and faint lights from the border skirmishes began to dim, signifying the retreat of regular soldiers to bed and the advance of stealth operatives.

The bored motel manager seemingly brightened when Sarge went through the door to negotiate for a few rooms.

"Ah, yes! What can I do for you, honorable one?"

"I wouldn't call myself too honorable" said Sarge dully, "But I would certainly be fucking thankful if you gave my platoon rooms for the night."

"Yes, sir, how many?"

Sarge cracked open the door.

"Regus!" he snapped. "How many we got?!"

Regus read a little note he pulled out of his belt.

"Fifty two. Including our "guide."

Sarge went back in and started talking with the manager. He soon came back out.

"Faggots," he began, "He doesn't have enough rooms for each of us to get one, or even four of us to get one." A few people groaned, but not many. "Therefore, four to each room. I get my own room, and so does the foreign lady. Now decide your rooms, and anybody who's outside in fifteen minutes, I break their legs. Get your asses moving!"

Snipe pitched his bag of assorted possessions onto the the writing desk, and heard the next person shove his bag off the desk and replace it with his own. Snipe sighed, and collapsed onto one of the two beds. At once, a pile of clothes whipped Snipe in the face.

"Don't slep weth tat falthy attare," said Kemal, the squad quartermaster. "You wal ruin ta bed."

Kemal was an odd person from the desert. He had stumbled into Aglae city right on his seventeenth birthday, and was promptly recruited. With long black locks and sandy skin of the desert, Kemal looked quite different, and spoke very differently from the rest of the squad.

"I get the shower first, then." Snipe said quickly. Before Kemal could say anything, Snipe shoved past him and ran for the bathroom, only to run into another person who had gotten there first.

"So sorry, but I was listing my priorities!" a voice said as it slammed the door into Snipe's nose. Snipe stepped back, swearing.

"Beh tankfol tat I am kend." said Kemal, slowly pacing up to the door. "Bot ef a laedy coms op...wall, you cahn sae tat you will naut be going next."

"He can go next." said a soft, hesitant voice. Snipe looked over his shoulder and saw the only person in the squad with gorgeous pink eyes.

"Psh. Peple kender tan me..." Keml muttered, shaking his head while unpacking his things.

"Why-" Snipe started but did not finish.

"Because...well, I wanted to repay you for..." Potpourri sputtered

"Yeah! Repay Snipe, but could you record it? Unless you want to repay me too, y'know, huh huh." blurted the voice from the shower. Potpourri blushed and looked at the floor, not saying anything else.

"Not that kind of shit, jackass! What the hell's wrong with you?"

"I got a face full of your ass, and I had to 'repay' you! Ha ha!"

Potpourri sat on the bed looking blank. Wuss, thought Snipe, but he really couldn't insult her after she had been trying to be nice. Potpourri didn't have any structure. She crumbled so easily that she barely passed Psychology training, which was a hellhole of embarrassment, humiliation and other inhumane shit that was one of the most important things in training.

Instead, Snipe let the pile of clothes soar from Kemal, over the bed, and land on the desk.

"Change into those when you're done with the shower. Kemal doesn't want anybody sleeping in the uniforms until they've been washed." said Snipe before Kemal could begin his broken record statement.

As Snipe said this, the person came out of the shower. Who was it but Mike, the asshole. Snipe remembered the strange marauder he had med at the battlefield, with the leopard and the sword, and incredible strength. He had no relation to Mike, who shared the name but not the personality.

Snipe stripped off his uniform in the bathroom and turned on the shower. It seemed that hot water was in massive supply, considering every every fourth person in the platoon was probably showering off now. The hot water was cleansing, and washed the weeks of accumulated filth and salt crust off of Snipe. He came out a new person, refreshed and reinvigorated, even though it was rather late.

Dressed in casual civilian clothes, Snipe came out and motioned for the next person. Kemal pushed Potpourri past him, not allowing her to try and go last. As she walked by, Snipe caught a whiff of her.

She smelled like fucking shit. Unsurprisingly.

Chapter Six. FUCKING FINALLY

As Kemal finished his shower, Sarge bellowed for everybody to get in the bunk or risk getting their eyes sewed shut.

Snipe jumped into the nearest bed, and gave Kemal and Mike each impressive donkey kicks. Potpourri strolled up and lay in the bed with Snipe.

"No fucking way." said Mike in mock disbelief. "So what next, are we gonna hear some bedsprings bouncing tonight?"

"Mike, shut the fuck up."

Kemal turned off the lights, punched Mike in the temple, and rolled him off the bed.

Snipe was awake all night. Thinking, and trying to keep Potpourri from rolling on top of him, to prevent ridicule from Mike in the morning. At one point, Potpourri was ready to roll Snipe off the bed, so Snipe reached out a tentative hand and pushed her over.

She woke up with a small gasp.

"Shit."

"No, no, I'm sorry..." she said, scooting over.

"Sorry for what? Waking up? You don't have to be sorry for that kind of thing, Potpourri."

"I kn-"

"No, you don't know." Snipe said. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be doing it."

"...Thanks. I mean, for getting my head out of the trash."

"I don't need to be thanked for that."

"Yes, you do." said Potpourri softly. Snipe felt Potpourri peck him on the cheek, then roll back over to her side of the bed."

3:00 AM

Sarge strolled to the steamer. "So how long will it take to fix?" he asked the mechanics working on it.

"A week or more of this." said the head mechanic. "They really fucked it up, didn't they?"

"Yeah, and we need a driver too. Can you believe that?" responded Janus.

"Problem solved." said the Mechanic proudly. "We've been off-duty for too God damned long."

Morning

Snipe woke up with a raging erection, and Potpourri was smack on top of it.
"God damn it," muttered Snipe, and tried staring at the wall. In the act of turning his head around, he woke up Potpourri.

"Oh!" she yelped in shock, crawling off of Snipe. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry...sorry..." she said desperately, spitting as she tried to see how many times she could apologize in three seconds.

"Fucking relax." Snipe said tolerantly. "What are you sorry for, waking up?"

Kemal laughed.

"You tauk too domn loud." he said, laying down in front of the television, grasping the remote. "You bouth remend me of a faucking sop, or someting."

"Shaddup," said Snipe again. "It wasn't her fault or mine that she ended up sleeping on top of my boner."

"Ahhh...." said Kemal. "Must've been a pritty beg shock, eh?" Kemal laughed. Potpourri blushed harder.

"It isn't what you-"

"We know!" said Snipe. "We both know. Now stop being sorry and go see what Sarge might want, can you?"

Potpourri nodded slightly and left.

"Shees pafeteec." said Kemal bluntly.

"Meh," Snipe admitted, "She's cute, tho'."

"Awfolly petite." Kemal said, "She has faucking tiny breasts. No butt, either." he chuckled.

"How would you know that?" snapped Snipe.

"I own averybody's feesicals, remember?" said Kemal, pulling a chart from his pack. "Unfortunately, it seems meny of of tah sexy girls got keeled in our last fight." he said remorsefully.

"Well-"

"Mebbe it's beecauz zee leks you, and you are desparet to get into her paunties, you ass, you."

"Alright, so I like her. So? It's not like we were banging or anything."

"Oh, fauck no. I would have herd you. I was up all last night recording sheet."

"Wait..."

"Yesh. She gave you a leetle "geeft", heh heh."

"It was only a little kiss..."

"Go for it, you peemp." Kemal said, checking off a final box on the list.

"Sarge wants us out here. Now." Potpourri said as she opened the door. She then left as quickly as she came in.

Sarge was standing by a group of people in varied outfits of solid navy blue.

"Faggots! Today is your first patrol here. While we're staying here, we aren't going to just stay in bed and lay on our asses. No, we're going to need to work for it while our steamers getting fixed."

Sarge motioned to the group behind him. The front most person spoke.

"I am Moch, captain of Aglae City North Civilian Protection. We've been having a hard time lately, so-"

"They want us to go and help get rid of some crime." finished Janus.

"...Yes. We don't have much combat training, and we've lost alot of our people to criminals and gangs and...rebels."

A fleeting image of Michael passed Snipe's mind. He couldn't have followed them here, but he had to ask.

"Do...you know what the rebel looks like?" he asked suddenly.

"Rebels," Moch corrected. "No, we either are killed, captured or flee before we can get a decent mug shot or physical description."

Fuck, Snipe thought, these people are pathetic.

"So while we keep an eye out for" Moch continued,

"I'll tell them later." Sarge interrupted. "Question, faggots! How many of you got stealth training under your belt?"

Snipe groaned and raised his hand. He had been so close to completing training as a stealth operative, a much safer job than being a grunt. The tests he had failed were detecting poisons in air, liquids, and solids, and he had also failed spotting surveillance devices in a room. He had only found three cameras out of the fifty four hidden in the room.

"Snipe, Steven, and...Macbeth." Sarge said, counting each person.

Snipe nearly broke his neck snapping his head around to see Macbeth. How had he survived? He should have run into Michael, too, if not the enemy forces surrounding the steamer at that time.

He was there, stalwartly raising his hand. The look on his face was stone, expressionless, robotic. None of his siblings or relatives in the unit had survived the battle. Snipe tried and failed to understand the agony he was going through.

"This is the rebel facility" said Moch, standing on top of the building with Snipe, Steven and Macbeth. "We discovered it yesterday. A couple of CPs were passing and they got mowed down with a heavy machine gun. They captured one of our girls, and are going to start demands and torture at noon."

Snipe checked his watch. Twenty five minutes to haul ass through the air ducts and open up the entrance for Civilian Protection, and rescue the hostage.

Snipe climbed down the air duct first. He produced a torch from his pocket and led the way.

"Jeez, is there going to be a place where we can get out?" said Steven impatiently. "This place has, like, no vents. It's cramped."

"Steven, if I could turn around, I'd punch you in your bitchass mouth. I still need to get you for abandoning Macbeth and I at the battle."

"Hey, I-"

"Shut it." Macbeth said solemnly. They rounded another corner. The ducts widened greatly, and they came to a point where two ducts crossed Here, they got more comfortable and planned the next course of action.

"So what now?" Snipe asked the communicator that all three duct crawlers huddled around.

"Brilliant, you're in." said Moch, clapping his hands.

"And now?" said Steven irritably.

"Wait for us to attack. My unit of CP and I will storm the entrance, while you wait for the guards to leave, then you'll rescue the hostage and strike them from behind! Brilliant, isn't it?"

No, thought Snipe, "No, no. What are you thinking?"

"It's a perfect plan. Good luck!"

"No!" Snipe nearly yelled, as Moch turned the communicator off. "Fuck..."

The screen then flared up. The signal was being broadcasted from inside the building. Snipe looked at his watch. The hour and minute hand were directly on the Twelve.

Chapter Seven: Watching but not doing.

The signal produced an image of a girl, probably only sixteen, strapped to a chair with a gag in her mouth. She was struggling heavily, but the chair was bolted to the floor.

"That's...my cousin." Macbeth said in shock. The girl was dressed in an extremely tight, low cut tank top, with lower cut jeans. A person covered entirely in black attire entered the room. He pulled a sharp, cruelly jagged knife from his collar. The girl struggled more.

"We've gotta get her!" Macbeth said, starting to force open the vent.

"No, Macbeth." said Steven. "We can't. That's just how it is. Don't kill us all with a suicidal move, Macbeth." Steven took a gag from his pocket and gagged Macbeth, and tied his hands and feet. "Sorry Macbeth. I'm truly sorry."

Macbeth looked at Snipe with desperate, teary eyes. Snipe turned the communicator away from Macbeth. He wouldn't see his cousin tortured, possibly to death.

"This is so you will know the measures we are willing to take." said an electronically garbled voice from the communicator. The man in black took the girl's forearm and scratched it. She recoiled, and began to shake her head in desperation.

Snipe didn't want to watch it, but he had to. He had to know how badly he would hurt Steven for all of this. All the shit he had put Macbeth through, and things he had been doing to save Macbeth's life, but destroying it at the same time.

The torturer finished cutting up the girl. She was covered in scratches, and her clothing had all been torn or cut off. She was still shaking her head furiously, desperately, as the torturer pulled out a rough baton thing. The outside of it was like sandpaper, while the tip had several jagged points.

Snipe decided he would torture the torturer, too, but before he could leave the vent, he felt another rope tighten on his wrists. Steven again.

"I'm...so sorry..." he said again. He then duct taped Snipe's mouth.

WARNING
WARNING
WARNING
(This may get rather...graphic. Ugh...)

The torturer shoved the torture device into the girl's genitals. She screamed through her gag in agony, as the torturer raped her with the fiendish weapon. Blood began to pool on the floor as the girl continued to scream.

Snipe could feel traces of vomit in his throat.

The baton stabbed further into the girl with each thrust. She started to soil herself while struggling to get free, to end the pain. Deep abrasions carved her legs as she attempted to stop her violent torture. The torturer removed her gag.

Her screams pierced Snipe's ears.

The torturer shoved the baton down her throat. Blood began to pour down the sides of her neck and splatter on her cheeks. She tried to scream more, but her tongue was shredded. The torturer left the baton deep in her mouth, down her throat, and drew several wires from the chair. He positioned them all over her body, then went to the wall. He lifted a safety case and pushed the button behind it.

The wires sliced through the girl. Snipe could see her entrails pour our as her last look of agony went blank. Her limbs were chopped off and her blood poured all over the floor. Snipe got his wrists loosed and removed the gag. He barfed all over the floor of the vent. Steven looked over to him.

"Steven...I'm...going to fucking murder you for making me watch that."

"I never made you watch that." Steven said morosely. He punched through the vent.

"It's time. All those people are leaving the room. I think we are ready for some..." Steven's expression went from calm and blank to furious and bloodthirsty as he loaded a submachine gun.

"well-deserved fucking revenge." Steven finished, handing Snipe a few weapons, then jumping down from the vent.

Snipe grabbed Steven before he could fully descend, pulled him up, and punched him in the face.

"The fu-"

Snipe punched Steven in the face repeatedly. When Steven finally stopped responding, Snipe threw him further along the duct. Snipe's knuckles were bloody, but he had received his well deserved fucking revenge.

Feeling rather badass, Snipe leaped down from the ventilation....into a crowd of guards assembled by the sight of Steven's lower half protruding from the vent.

"...fuck." Snipe cursed to himself.

"Should we shoot you now, or later?" one of the guards said, prodding Snipe's back with his shotgun.

"I'd rather you not shoot me at all," said Snipe, turning to the guard.

"Shot now, then." he cocked the shotgun.

"No, I second that." said a familiar voice. The guard's head fell off.

"What the fuck?!"

"Shit, who's there?"

Snipe saw the odd leopard drop from the ceiling and latch onto a person. It left him a mauled pulp.

"It's a puppet!" said another criminal in realization. "It's master's hiding somewhere! Shoot it!"

All of the rebels turned their guns at the leopard. All of the bullets hit it as it hung limp for a hopeless second. The bullets fell away, smashed, as the leopard thing crushed a firearm in its teeth and spit the shards into the crowd. All of them fell, bloody bits of steel sticking into the wall behind them. The scene quieted, so Snipe stood up again.

"Michael?"

The figure with long, dark green hair dropped from the same duct that Snipe had dropped from. His sudden appearance startled Snipe.

"Brother, do not look shocked. I am not here to kill you."

"Stop calling me your brother," Snipe said wearily. "If I had a brother, he wouldn't be so lethal."
Snipe's expression changed. "What did you do with them?"

"They are visiting the mansion of their minds." he said simply as if Snipe would understand. Snipe noticed that Michael was a good two inches shorter than him. How intimidating.

"If you're going to try to be friends with me," Snipe said slowly, "Then at least tell me: what the hell is that thing?" Snipe's eyes wandered towards the leopard thing. It looked stitched together from cloth and other materials, like a stuffed animal.

"You don't know?" Michael said. He held up a cross. It was ivory, with bronze decorations on the ends. Blingy.

Michael bent the cross in one direction. The creature's head raised. Michael tilted the cross thing and the leopard thing responded appropriately.

"He is Mercedes, and he is my puppet." he continued. "I made him, and I injected him with my life force."

Michael pointed down the hall. "I will deliver your comrades to your base. I killed all of the rebels in this building, as well as the civilian protection surrounding it..."

"Holy shit!" Snipe exclaimed "You just slaughtered fifty people? What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Fifty three." Michael corrected. "I fight for justice." With that, he leaped back up into the ventilation system, with Mercedes, his odd weapon and companion.

Chaptr Svn

A puppet is formed by taking an ordianry stuffed animal or something alike, and filling it with one's life force. However, not many know about puppets and far less know the technique to create one. It is neccessary to retreive a person who knows the written form of the ancient desert language of Natali, to construct the rune through which life force can be channeled. It is not known how they do it, nor will they tell us scientists and researchers, but puppet masters and their puppets are often the fiercest, most harmful thing a soldier could encounter.

Snipe walked rather untriumphantly back to the motel. He made sure to come back late. Very late.

Unfortunately for his sneaky return, Sarge was seated on a dumpster near he parking lot.
"You're alive." Sarge said, as if Snipe was suddenly the biggest thing happening at the moment.

"Yeah." said Snipe tiredly, "Is that a good thing?"

"Where's Steven and Macbeth? Everybody thought you were all fucked when that crazy bastard flew out and started slaughtering the clusterfuck of dumbasses."

"Believe it or not, Sarge, I've seen him before. He threw me."

"Great. Get to your room." Sarge commanded, with a more serious tone.

As Snipe went off to get some rest, he could barely hear Sarge swear as he walked away.

Michael tossed the limp body of a Civilian Protection officer onto the roof of a house. Let the detectives figure that one out. He comtemplated on how he would dispose of the rest of the ten corpses he had produced about fourteen seconds ago. As he picked up another body to shove into a storm drain, he heard a slight whoosh coming from the direction he had just thrown the other body. He turned around and chucked the corpse at the corpse now flying towards him at a viscious speed. The two dead people collided, forming a grisly tangle. Mercedes, his puppet, leaped for something behind Michael. Michael turned arund and pulled his sidearm from his breast pocket...to aim at nothing. Mercedes sniffed in suspicion and confusion, then looked down a dark irregularity in the road. Michael stepped over to look, but then realized.

He jumped into the air, and narrowly missed the arm coming up to grab him from underneath the asphalt. Sergeant Janus burst up from the underground, asphalt and dirt exploding upwards at Michael. He yanked on Mercedes' strings to pull him over to fight.

Janus huffed to himself. If it wasn't for that damned puppet, he would've at least taken the rebel bastard's foot off. However, they were both airborne now. The rebel wouldn't be able to dodge.

But he did! Janus looked over in confusion as Michael pulled himself over to his puppet faster than Janus could grab him.

"Why are you here?" Janus demanded as he landed. "Wasn't killing my soldiers at the border enough for you?" Janus drew a handgun. Massive barrel. Magnum. "Or did you come back for more of this?" Sarge said, pulling the trigger.

The explosion of the gun was massive. Michael felt a tremendous bullet whisk by his head as Mercedes tried to deflect the bullet. It bounced off of his skeleton, and left a massive hole in his exterior, but Mercedes wouldn't be able to repair himself at the moment. Michael stung unvoluntarily as he remembered the power of the gigantic gun blowing through both Mercedes and his own spine the last time he and Janus had confronted each other.

BOOM!! BOOM!!

Two more shots that sounded and felt like a cannon firing sent their deadly projectiles at Michael. He was ready, though. He dodged them, but not with ease. He swung Mercedes at Janus, wrapping Janus in the strings, and Mercedes' deadly power.

And he forgot to let go of the manipulator.

Janus flipped his magnum in his hand and bludgeoned the patchwork leopard in the forehead. He was instantly released, and he noticed Michael on his knees, holding his head with blood seeping between his fingers.

Damnit! Damnit! raged the invisible voice of pain, throbbing in Michael's head. He had forgotten to release the manipulator, so that he wouldn't suffer damage from the blow on Mercedes. It had been an extremely powerful blow: Michael was starting to fade.

"No choice" he said to himself, and he rushed at Janus straight on. A shot blew through his gut, causing him to tumble to Janus's feet. Only a touch was neccessary, though.

Janus felt the fiend touch him. Dark hazyness flooded his vision. The last thing he heard before regaining his vision was "Visit the mansion in your mind!"

Michael shivered as he grasped the manipulator and drew life force from Mercedes. His major wounds healed, but the pain wouldn't leave for a bit. Leaving the still, comatose body of Janus with the dead Civilian Protection officers, he stumbled off to recover.

*Note: I'm not going to type out Kemal's accent anymore. It's too annoying to go back and create spelling errors.

Sarge didn't come back next morning. Sarge usually did some kind of atrociously shocking act of scaring the shit out of everybody who didn't wake up in time, but today....nothing. Snipe was able to sleep until 10:00. Everybody had.

"So where the hell is Sarge?" Kemal asked, flipping on the coffee machine. "You were here late. Really late."

"Hell if I know." answered Snipe. "He just left."

"Macbeth and Steven?"

"Same." Snipe lied. He didn't need to say anything about the puppeteer, so he didn't.

"Everybody's saying shit about going out and living. Sarge isn't here, so they don't need to be."

"What do you think?" Snipe asked, himself wanting to truly enjoy himself for once.

"I'd say fuck the Sarge, I'd go off and not be a soldier." Kemal said, shrugging in mock innocence. "But if Sarge came back, he'd be pretty damn pissed."

Snipe thought the same about pissing Sarge off. Fuck 'im.

The local arcade was decent. It wasn't a crappy Pizza arcade, and actually featured a few pieces of hardware that were fairly new. Snipe saw a game themed after sniping terrorists. Interested, Snipe went to play it.

The lightgun was much smaller than Snipe's primary equipment. Snipe was afraid he'd tear it off.

"Meet up with your squad at the site. Get going!" the game said as the breifing appeared onscreen. Snipe read it carefully, then proceeded with the mission...

"Green Light" Snipe's cover said. The first target was a terrorist on the roof of the skyscraper, observing the area below. Snipe quickly adjusted his aim and put a bullet through the enemy's forehead. He could see the terrorist fall, but there was no recoil from the gun. Odd. Getting over this new oddity, Snipe swung his aim towards the next target in the building and blew his brains out. Another target! Blam! The terrorists had no idea what him them.

"Over there!"

Snipe swung his aim towards the ground. A terrorist had a hostage, but he was at the wrong angle. Snipe reached for his data transmitter to call a sniper from another squad in this area...

His communicator wasn't there! Snipe angrily took a round of powder nonlethal shot from his belt.

That wasn't there either. Snipe's aim shook with the little carbine he held. He took a breath and aimed at the target.

The hostage was suddenly released as Snipe's bullet slammed through the terrorist's head.

"Mission Success!"

Snipe could hear faint voices, but that wasn't important right now. He now had to guard a VIP's copter from being attacked by terrorists at an ambush point.

He was on the side of a helicoper. An easy target, and his aim wasn't helped by how the helicopter constantly performed evasive manuevers. Finally, the helicopter had to land, and an enemy copter rose up from the valley. Snipe couldn't call for air support. He searched for his sidearm, but it wasn't there either! All he had was this rifle and the ammunition. The helicopter rose into the air. Snipe altered his aim upwards...

Crack!

Snipe was thrown back into reality. He had broken off the plastic rifle. The game was continuing at the point where he had been, but the aiming reticule was gone. Snipe now held a plastic carbine in his hands. Little kids stared up in shock as Snipe slowly put the gun back down and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Snipe tried to think of a way to explain that incident in case he ever got caught. While he was striding along, he noticed Potpourri almost staring at him. Snipe felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up. Why the hell was she stalking him?

Updated: 02/09/08 11:31 PM Log in to comment! | Share this!