NO PLANET

'THE MAN IN THE GAS MASK' (Chapter 3)

"YOU SUMMONED THE FALLEN?!"

The Fallen? Here? To a small seeker ship for The Federation? He shouldn't have come. The man in the gas mask thought.

"Shit. Shit. Shit..." He muttered under his breath over and over, his fingers drumming against the arms of each chair, plotting how best to get out of this one.

Crack! The idiot who'd summoned The Fallen was on the floor. The Commander had thrown one of those military punches, throwing his weight and connecting his knuckles cleanly with jawbone. As the Commander rushed the skinny one up like a raging bull and shoved him against the wall, the prisoner tilted his head slightly to his right, like a dog pricking up its ears at hearing its owner use the word 'walk'. An Enlisted was making his way towards the scene...just about to pass his chair in 3...2...1. The man in the gas mask dropped a gloved hand. It seamlessly passed through the life enforcement band and found a small round object that he whipped out of the enlisted's belt.

The Prisoner grinned. Sometimes it came in handy being not entirely alive. Life enforcement bands may as well have been made out of the air around them.

The man cast his eyes across the room. The Commander still had the mouthy weedy one pinned against the wall. All four Enlisted were turned towards the scene. Nobody had noticed.

Good. Good. Now how to work the bloody thing.

The object was silver marked with a red symbol. He tried pressing the symbol. Nothing happened.

"There will be enough bloodshed when it arrives." He heard the Commander say.

He was right. The Fallen would kill them all. He thought, doubling his efforts.

He tried twisting it, pulling it, nothing would work.

"Hey-"

The Commander began, just as the Prisoner smashed the object against the arm of the chair.

It exploded in his hand. The prisoner grunted through the pain and was forced to shield his vision just for a second as the room was blasted in scorching white light. It was coupled by a high piercing siren screech that felt like it was piercing holes in his eardrums. He jumped out of the chair.

Viewing the scene before him made him silently thank his mask for shielding him from the worst of the blast. The Commander had clenched fists pressed to his screwed shut eyes. The weedy one was in the foetal position on the floor, knees pressed up into his eyes, rocking back and forth. It must've felt like dying to them. The prisoner grinned.

The enlisted were crouching, shiny black armoured arms stretched out in front of them, prepared to defend themselves despite their current blindness. Pathetic against someone with his advantage.

One came close. Amusing himself he tipped his wide-brimmed hat in polite greeting before he cracked an elbow to the enlisted. He then brought his arm back and threw the enlisted's head down on to his rising knee. He felt the skull cave satisfyingly through the helmet, like when you finally break into your first easter egg. The first Enlisted clattered to the floor. The Prisoner whirled around. His gloved fist connected with the next's head, sending its helmet flying off. He turned around and jabbed another one in the throat before turning back to the previous, grabbing the charger pistol from its belt before it fell. The effects of the flashbang had made them stupidly wild and inaccurate.

He aimed and shot a synthetic charge into its face.

He spun round ready to shoot the other, but paused at the sight in front of him. The Enlisted who he'd jabbed was still clutching at his throat, desperately trying to claw a breath out of his collapsed gullet. The prisoner tilted his head. Clad in its black armour it looked like some sort of crazed bat. He would've laughed, but he was in a rush. He raised the pistol.