Project Devilgama

Sixteen

Hands squeezed Mhaz shoulders as the big flying vehicle plumed into the sky. The door of the bay had not closed completely, leaving a gaping square of brightness behind Mhaz. Every once in a while, Mhaz tried looking back through that opening, to the ground and buildings below that had zoomed out of his sight. These people were going slightly hard on him as if preventing him from gazing out of the aircraft.

He sprang out of people's grasp but shortly ended up falling on his head.

It had knocked the air out of him. He gasped in shock. Out of that fiery escalation, he hoped to blow the hot air out of his lungs. He remained there, laying down. His body was touching the doddering cold floor of the metal bird's interior. He could grope the machinery hums on it, vibrating in pulses.

Someone flipped him over.

The face of a man covered by a transparent face shield showed in Mhaz's vision. He had that suit of an operator over his grey long-sleeve shirt. Without a word to be said, he began what seemed to be an emergency procedure. He felt some grips on his tibia. He felt the freezing cold stethoscope head embedded into his chest. People of the same garments and similar impressions gathered around him. Well, deep down he knew he was okay. There were only a few uncomfortable sensations of a psycho-somatic origin, which made him feel dramatic.

Then came an injection to his right arm.

"Hey, try to speak." The men spoke.

"Creeping hell of the world fell down to my shiz!" Mhaz squawked.

"Good, that means your air tract is open." He took the needle out, "Now, try sitting."

Mhaz stood as the cargo bay door began to shut and a group of people in his surroundings gawked at him. Afterward, they began to pour down words. Soon, they flooded the entire space.

"Did we get him?"
"It's him, bozo!"
"That person?"
"Don't you open your eyes?"
"Of course, he is, but I could be wrong too!"

He shrugged the dirt on his teal and white suit that had mopped the soil of the railway. He checked the side pocket on his pants which seemed to bulge, so he assured Farad's drive was still there. It gave him relief.

That crouching masked officer said, "Okay, that was overkill, kinda. I am Alpha, by the way. And I guess we did not take the wrong guy right there. You must be Mhaz."

"Good, then. I am pretty much famous, isn't it?"

"Some dose of selfishness? I think you would assemble with Nate well. Come over."

"Wait, who are you and these people?"

"I cannot answer that now. But I will tell you that you are inside an Airborne Battle Station. This thing is almost impenetrable and takes on small-arms fire and missiles alike. With our finest weaponry, one is enough to level a district alone. Inside here, you can now stop worrying about those terrorists."

"But for what reason should I trust you?"

"You cannot fight us. Someone you do not want to fight against would make the strongest friend."

"Makes sense."

He began walking behind Alpha through a sort of big ward in the aircraft's belly. Several chambers were placed on the sides. He saw several people walking past him, carrying an overflowing receptacle of sharp titanian darts. Alpha told that those things were ammunitions to replenish the railguns. The same weapon that had been used to annihilate the Dogs and flatten them to the ground.

The two stopped.

Alpha unstrapped the covering of his face and hung it inside a large rack beside the metal sliding door. Then Mhaz could see his bearded face with a strip of the thin mustache. Low key, his visage whispered a blend of Javanese and Arabian. Shortly, Alpha took out a pair of spectacles and topped his look with it. It was nice, but Mhaz spurted, "You don't get some laser-eye?"