Not Alone

Crossfire

The Mutant pressed his foot down.

So much for finding a friend.

"Stop messing around," the taller Mutant snapped.

"Nah."

The Mutant in black took his foot off Brown and bared his teeth at him in a parody of a smile.

"Aren't you going to put up more of a fight than that?"

Brown didn't take the bait. He scrambled to his feet and ran.

Before he got far the Mutant grabbed his bruised upper arm and pulled him back.

"Bro..." the taller Mutant sounded irritated.

The Mutant let go of Brown's arm. He tried to run again, but couldn't take more than three steps before the Mutant caught him in an iron grip, spinning him around.

"STOP THAT!" the taller Mutant shouted. "It could be a tr—"

Like a meteor falling, a wall of metal hit the ground between them. Brown staggered back. The Mutant's hand was still clutching his upper arm, no longer attached to his body.

A massive sword-point had cut it clean off.

Brown had been so focused on his new tormentor that he hadn't noticed the sky darkening. The Strider's head, craning down to look at him through its welding mask, blocked out the sun. One of his swords stood between Brown and the Mutant.

Brown watched a second sword descending, feeling like one in a dream. It skewered him through the already tattered collar of his coat and lifted him. He didn't try to resist this time. Whatever the Strider planned to do to him would at least be a quicker death than the death he'd just been saved from.

The two Mutants gawked in stunned fury as he was pulled far out of their reach. The smaller one was clutching his right arm just below the elbow, oil and blood pouring out of the stump. His face, which had so recently been home to a gloating smile, was now taut with pain and rage.

His right hand, of course, was still clinging to Brown's arm. He prised the disgusting thing off and tossed it back to its owner. His aim was true— thanks to so many hours of shooting practice— and he hit the Mutant right across his unpleasant face. The force of being slapped with his own hand made the Mutant stumble. He fell backwards and collapsed in an undignified flop.

It was the first time Brown had felt anything like happiness since the beam had fallen on him.

Can't get me now.

Of course, he still had a far bigger problem.

The Strider lifted Brown to the height of his face and stared at him coldly through the window of his welding mask, shaking his head.

"I told you not to go out there. I told you they would kill you on sight."

You didn't tell me that the warehouse was in the middle of enemy territory, Brown thought bitterly.

And why was the Strider hiding from his own side?

Was Brown stranded in the middle of a Skibidi Civil War?

Wait, was that why the Strider was holding him hostage?

As a bargaining chip to offer other Skibidi Toilets?

Oh.

Maybe he should have stayed with the Mutants after...

But that thought was interrupted.