Memory Shards

Warsaw's Charger Bravo Massacre - Finale

Without a second to spare, I run to the girl, crouching in front of her, I hold her tight for dear life – my back facing the metal desk.

"I'm here to hurt you." - He growls from a distance.

A deafening detonation drowns the lab – a bright flash of white and red engulfs the room. Metal shards flying off everywhere, hot, burning metal going through my ballistic armor at blistering speeds, stabbing my back several dozen times, it burns.

My clothes are scorched by the heat, my brain feels like it melts from the neural connection, my behind is a beehive. A horrid sting in my brain, a buzz in my backside.

Silence falls all over, my ears ring so bad. I try to move my legs, and they're too heavy to lift.

I open my eyes – and I see a pair of blue eyes looking back at me. She lives.

I feel anger surging within me, a primal urge to get up and keep on fighting, the urge to be a man.

I feel the neural implant reach an apex boil in my brain – the connection is established.

I muster all the strength I have got in me; I stand up for my life.

As I turn to face The King of Vampires, I see his gauntlet right up my face, he holds my skull tight – his grip like a hydraulic press. I feel the chemical burn for a long time, it stings like a bitch, I wonder if it's my body telling me my time is up, or the fires of the afterlife welcoming me preemptively, he's letting this moment linger.

But it doesn't.

He lets go of me.

"Don't misunderstand, you are nothing." - He adjusts his gauntlet where he stands in front of me. I've got nothing to say to you, even if I could.

He brings his right hand to his ballistic mask, holding it for a long time – albeit less than my face.

"You're too fun to go to waste. 15 seconds is all you get."

It's all just a game to him, something to be entertained with. I still have a gun with 19 bullets in it, barely enough to defend myself.

One of us is going to die. But you – you cheating bastard, all you need to do is take off your mask. I'll drag you down to hell with me.

My eyes are blurry, my head hurts like it's on fire, I've lost too much blood from my arm and my back is full of shrapnel. I'm a dead man walking already. I still have the best of me to give.

15 seconds left

He comes down swinging, not playing like he was before, he's trying to grab me to land a hit with the gauntlet. He's going for the kill. 10 consecutive strikes, left hand, right hand in tandem seeking blood. Every strike met with a bullet to drive it off course, I'm cutting it too close, not even an inch close this time from him reaching my head, my arm, my torso. A single mistake, a single weird move will get me killed.

This is my last magazine, even if I had more bullets I couldn't reload. I'm down to 9 already. He's wearing me down fast, running out of ammo, running out of time.

12 seconds left

I can do nothing but to keep on firing, parrying four more strikes, he's getting even closer now, grazing my clothes with his left hand. I need a solution now. Even if I shoot at him, he'll just block it. Not like this. I can't possibly kill him with just four bullets – I already tried.

10 seconds left.

There is one option, the link has already been established with the gun. I quickly kick up the shotgun from off my feet as I fire three more times at his hands away from me, he's closing in for my throat.