Spare Changes

8 - Flaaaashbacks...

Summary: Memories and Mail.

Notes: This is SO full of tiny memories. It's very jumpy and brief this chapter so ... keep up!

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Somethings been up with Red Leader.

Paul doesn't know what it is, but the past eight or so months have been... different.

It's ever since he was in that explosion.

Patryk stressed all the time that Red shouldn't do solo missions. He was in charge, delegating was his responsibility. Planning. Making decisions.

But there was something that the leader had insisted on. He had a secret place to infiltrate. He gave Paul and Pat only some sparse details, like the general area. In case something happened.

And it sure did.

Paul flicked his lighter.

"Can you at least open the window." Patryk said to him, flatly. Not a question. A demand.

Paul sighed, and did so.

They were sitting in a regular old inconspicuous car. Somewhere in this boring neighbourhood. Actually, this is where the zombie outbreak from a little while ago started. That was ... their bad. It was contained. Whatever.

Paul prodded at the bandage over his eye and took a long drag from his cigarette.

This was boring.

What on Earth was Red even up to? He'd taken off every piece of Red Army paraphernalia he owned. Left in a red hoodie, dark jeans, and a bandage placed over the cheek scar that he'd had since the first day Paul met him.

Something about being perfectly blended in, he had said. Just in case.

Paul didn't get it.

When they started to hear the distant and distinct sound of gunfire and torpedos, Patryk shifted the car's gears and floored it.

Tracking the trail of the subsequent explosion, they came to a cliffside, where Red Leader was pushing himself out of the rubble, his right arm dangling uselessly at his side.

There was a lot of blood.

Paul grabbed the medical supplies.

He really doesn't know how that all happened, the huge robot explosion, but they did their best to scavenge from the wreckage for parts.

Red's wounds had healed into scars, skin looking rough to the touch. He had worn an eyepatch at first, but eventually discarded it, claiming he could see out of that eye, just a little bit.

Paul thinks the uneven vision might be making him a poor marksman. They've been... working on it.

Red gets angry easily now. He has a steady supply of sharp things to throw in rage. Soldiers have taken the brunt of his 'tantrums', so to say.

Paul isn't brave enough to pry.

But Pat is. He had asked if Red needed a short leave of absence, to collect himself and heal up some more.

The leader had stared him up and down, fury boiling in his posture as his fists clenched.

"I am fine. I have revenge plans to sort out."

That's all Paul knows about what's going on with him.

In the meantime, the army is suffering all the more for it. Red locks himself away for hours at a time, a far cry from the daily sweeps he used to do.