The Second Brotherhood

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I moved with total silence across the street. The night wildlife buzzed and flew about . As I moved past my own school, I thought: 

Just two months ago, I was living the normal American life, with friends, liberty and love. All gone at the stroke of a ungodly pen. 

As I moved, there was a strange noise. I instinctively stopped, and reached for my slung M24. 

I raised the NV scope to my eye. No targets. 

I continued moving stealthily, like a shadow in the fog. As I looked at the houses, I saw one I recognized. It belonged to my friend Hanna Priest. 

As I crept up the stairs, there was a creak, and it was NOT from me. I stopped, searching for any attackers. None approached. 

I slung my rifle, and drew my Crusader sword, the weapon's grip seeming to mold to my palm. I opened the door with a mighty heave, stumbling into the entry hall. 

I stood there for several moments, listening and running all scenarios through my head. Maybe Hanna had turned. Maybe she was besieged. Maybe she was dead. 

A hellish moan came from the dining room. Something not even Tartarus himself could've made. I entered the dining hall, and found a Zed. 

The thing had a putrid stench of rot, and it's once-human skin was peeling away like a banana's. It's maw opened, and it attacked.  

I clumsily slashed at the thing's throat, severing the spinal cord, and, as expected, no blood rushed forth from the wound. It collapsed, it's mouth still moving in a disgusting bite. It hit the floor with a sickening thud. I then swiftly brought my gauntleted fist into it's skull, stoving it in, and silencing the beast forever. Then, a click that seemed to last forever; and Hanna stepped into the room. 

She wouldn't be considered pretty by many American standards, but I considered her very good-looking. She had light skin, hazel eyes, and short brown hair. She was wearing a dark gray sweatshirt, and a pair of comfortable cargo jeans. She had a Glock 21 in her hands, and it was aimed between my eyes. 

I froze like a deer in the headlights. She asked in a sad voice, "Who are you?"  

I pulled off my Japanese Ressei Men, or "Furious Power" mask, which had once belonged to an old Samurai friend. 

"Forget who I was already, Hanna?"  

"Tom?" she asked, voice quavering. 

"Yes. Tom Harkonnen here." 

She rushed forward, cutting me off by engulfing me in a tight hug. "I thought you were dead. Carly said you'd been separated from her during the initial attack." 

"I was. It's a very long story. I'll tell it later. But you're sad. What is it?" I asked, inquisitive now. 

"My parents, my sister..... @#!*% , even Carly, all dead within two months. But you're here. And I'm glad of that. Tom, I hate to be blunt with you, but you look like crap. Get to the guest room and sleep. Ask if you need anything." 

"Thanks, Hanna. I appreciate this greatly. Thank you." 

I walked up the rickety stairs to the guest bedroom, and cared for every one of my weapons, from my commonly-used Crusader arming sword, to my tiny trench knife, and my Glock 17 and M24 too. I then lay down on the bed, the long, comfortable bed.......and slept.