Prometheus - A DCAU Fanfic.

22

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South-Western Somalia - 20:32.

   "Uh..." - Damian groaned, as he rolled onto his back.

For a moment his mind was blank. Having hit the ground hard enough to knock him unconscious for an undetermined amount of time. It had also knocked his earpiece out.

Reaching up to wipe the dirt out of his eyes, the young merc was met with the sight of a felled trunk of a massive tree, hovering just about five feet above him, close to crushing him.

It seemed that in the crash and subsequent roll, he'd been flung from the truck and the tree was nearly severed in two. The only thing stopping him from being a bloody puddle under the bark, was the head of the truck- which was beginning to warp under the hear of the spreading fire from the crash and the weight of the tree.

Not wasting a second, Damian snatched his sword and crawled out of the wreck. 

Seconds later, the remains of the truck finally gave way- which would've crushed Damian if he had been in there a minute longer.

The smoke from the fire was stinging his eyes and in the dark, it was hard to make out where he was. But he could hear the shouts of approaching Somali soldiers from his south, so he did the only thing he could've and went North.

As he charged further into the trees, the less dense the smoke became and the easier it became to see, especially with his genetically-enhanced sight, which made the near-pitch black forest light up like he was wearing a pair of night-vision goggles.

When there was a fair distance between him and his pursuers, Damian knew it was time to go on the offensive.

Jumping up, he pushed off of a tree trunk to catapult himself into the forest's canopy, where he then crouched onto a strong branch. From his elevated position, the young mercenary could see the entire group of armed goons who were hunting him.

There were six of them in total. All were equipped with LMGs, SMGs, tactical shotguns as a main weapon, with all carrying the same pistol as a secondary. They also were geared with light tactical armour and special-belts which held a hunting knife, a radio and various ordnance.

By the state of their gear, Damian could determine that while the group were not at the level of International guns-for-hire like those of the 'Tyger Defence Firm', they also weren't just random armed thugs.

They seemed to have some training, with the group keeping tightly-packed and watching all directions, in order to keep them from being ambushed.

This didn't dissuade Damian though. He would just have to get creative.

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   The group of hunters had lost their prey ten minutes ago and were beginning to lose their patience.

"I don't know how anyone could survive a crash like that." - Gurey, a dark skinned man with a shaved head, positioned at the back of the group, muttered in Somali. His shotgun hanging harmlessly from its strap, while he was preoccupied with finishing the cigarette in his left hand.

The broad, 6'5'' man at the head of the group, seemingly the leader, wasn't amused by his subordinate's comments. - "Stay focused." - He chastised, as he used the flashlight at the end of his SMG to check a nearby bush. - "We don't get paid unless they're dead."

"Relax Dalmar. It's six against one." - The tallest of the group, a man called Bashir commented, but all it did was annoy another member of the group.

A stocky shorter man, armed with an oversized LMG, tutted. - "You see what his friends could do! He's no more dangerous than a hungry lion."