Interlude 0.2

He ran.

He ran as fast as he could through the inky, darkened streets of London. It had rained recently, and the cobbles were slickly wet, but he ran as fast as he could despite. He pumped his legs, pushing his hefty body forward as far and fast as he was able.

He ran, his boots slipping slightly on the wet stone. A moment of tension. He recovered, didn’t fall. His will to get to his destination kept him going, single-minded, single-purposed. There was an explosion nearby. Shit. It was starting faster than he had anticipated.

He turned down an alley, his momentum almost skidding him into a wall. He pushed off of it and corrected his course. He was almost there.

He checked his TA. Lights flickered. Down the street, in several seconds, was a deep green terror, tinged soon with the ice blue of relief. That was his target. He ran to the house, up the stairs, and crashed bodily through the doorway.

He stopped running, checked with his TA again. The green was above him. In the present, he looked for stairs, and soon found them. Taking them three at a time, he bounded up them. Time was of the essence. There was one room up here, a dark attic. In it, a young girl sat, facing away from the door, a small candle flickering in her hand. She had put cloths over the windows so the light couldn’t be seen from outside.

She was terrified, he could sense it, and rightly so. He walked up to her, gently putting his arm on her shoulder. She jolted, stiffening, turned around slowly, and after a second, a warm smile rolled over her face. There was the relief he had felt before. He took her hand in his and lifted her into his arms. He blew out the melted candle, and began to race down the stairs.

He was breathing heavily. The exertion was difficult for him. But he began running again. Back the way he had come. Bombs were falling freely now, explosions sounding from all around. The girl whimpered, and curled up smaller in his arms.

He ran. While he was running, he used his TA yet again. All around him was red, stark terror and pain and anguish. He looked forward in his path. He couldn’t focus, the bombs were distracting him, the red was distracting him. So much red, so much terror surrounding him. It tore him apart inside that he couldn’t do anything about it.

He ran faster. A bomb fell where he had been several seconds earlier. He could feel the heat from the explosion hit his back, could feel the concussive force shooting outward from the center of the impact. He stumbled, recovered. The girl shrieked a loud shriek, and fell silent.

He was blown off his feet. He flipped in the air, landed on the wet stones, skidded, rubble and debris falling on him, hitting him in the head, the back, the leg. He stopped, lying on the ground. Blood flowed freely from all over his body. He had a cut on his lips, and his chin. He couldn’t see out of one eye.

He got up. Adrenaline shot through his body. He used his TA, all he could see coming was black. He shook his head, yelled the girl’s name. Piles of rubble were strewn across the wet street. Encased in one such pile, half of the girl’s body stuck out from under it. Black pain shot through his body, ice went through his spine. He limped over to her, and began tearing the rubble off. He yelled her name again, his voice hoarse. She didn’t respond.

He dug her out, picked her up in his arms again. He turned around and began limping forward, the darkness of the street more oppressive than ever.

There was no need to hurry now, so he favored his injured leg. Bombs continued to fall, but he no longer cared. He carried the girl’s body, slowly, taking care to be gentle with her. The rain fell freely now, whatever obstacle was holding it back earlier had disappeared entirely. Sheets of rain, thick, heavy droplets fell around him. He pursed his lips and continued on, ignoring the biting cold.

He was back. He didn’t need to take the small device out of his pocket to locate the door to his office, in his rush he hadn’t taken the time to close it behind him. In the rain, in an unimportant spot in the middle of the street, was a disembodied doorway leaking orange light. He walked through it, gently placing the girl down on the floor. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Although he had escaped the rain, the wetness continued to flow down his face. He allowed it, letting the tears fall. He limped over to his console, pushed a button on the speakerphone that was there.

“Yes?” A voice chimed in from the console, buzzing, crackling.

The man sighed shakily, and wiped the tears from his face. Whatever he was feeling, he had to act professional. He took in a deep breath, and spoke.

“This is…Corporal Adrian Siegfried checking in post-op. Mission failure, target lost. I’ve recovered the body.

“Okay Corporal Siegfried. We’ll schedule a meeting about the mission with your superiors upon your arrival.”

He turned off the speaker. He had no reason to go back right now, when he left didn’t matter.

He laid down next to the girl’s body on the floor. The tears came back, and he curled up into a fetal position. A sob unhitched itself from his throat, and he began sobbing in earnest.

She was dead. He wasn’t able to save her. He was too late.

His sister was dead, and it was his fault.

My sister is dead

He cried.