A Dash of Scarlet In Paradise

STEAL FROM THE THIEF

XV

As dormant as Nirvana would like to remain, it couldn't get away from the greatest parasite in the world. In any sense, the UDCF would still be working for a better cause than the PAU, but they were the same imposters that wanted to take what the heavens offered them.

There probably wasn't another planet as perfect as Nirvana in human standards out in the immensity of the universe. Anything else that could compensate for the charismata that swathed the luscious planet would be incredible.

The wound in his gut was tearing itself apart every time Marcus quickened his steps, and it wasn't looking good.

Vector better have on the dot timing. I don't like listening to my gut anymore; it literally feels like it's complaining.

There was something that Marcus was attracted to on his journey back down into the basement laboratory. Racks of rifles and boxes of grenades didn't seize his attention as much as the properly situated transport boards.

A transport board looked like a folded hospital bed, held afloat by its repulsion lifters on the four corners. There would be a handle to guide the boards and for them to connect into one large raft-like carrier.

I'm thinking if it can be used to transport heavy loads of guns, it can handle the weight of 15 men. Flawless timing to generate mixed feelings...not really sure what to think of the technology nowadays...

Every clock began to freeze as Marcus' head spun faster. Intricacy, complexity, sophistication, precisely the way anybody would describe the advanced machinery both tested and used for testing on Nirvana. It was nearly predicted that Nirvana would morph into the same Earth that humans left to putrefaction.

Not many planets left to inhabit, when will we learn to stop, am I the only one that has some sense knocked into?

He had to be resourceful in order to flip the page, and so more items in the room were highlighted in his eyes. The box of grenades seemed promising and Marcus was tempted to play with some fireworks.

Well, what do you know? My type of toys all the way here! I can already smell the explosives.

The place was a heap of spare components and all the weapons were like stiff soldiers, just like how Marcus had remembered his fellow comrades, but how far they have fallen.

Keeping his game up was the hardest part. It would take a child to differentiate a sloppy, jelly-like man from the other confident officers, but Marcus was great at mimicking.

Race against time...I hate you, time. You're pathetic, you only torture me, you make the most enjoyable moments go by quickly, and force me to writhe in the trickiest bits.

Time ignored Marcus like he was beating a dead horse. It went on to test him, to make him walk to the end of the sidewalk. Overcoming time had always been a major struggle for every person, like it would be everywhere to daunt you. Right then, time was hitting against the gravestone, enticing the malicious devil that dwelled beneath Marcus' will.

Where is your sympathy? What about your sanity? Damn you, time. I'll never put down the grudge against you, so don't think you can run away.

Acting as a forklift, Marcus picked up the crates of explosives and shambled them shoulder-to-shoulder on the flat transporter pad. He tried to emit as little noise as possible, but the scratching of the steel crates was unavoidable.