Chapter Two
My vision slowly became clear. The dim room around me started to make sense. I was in a dark, damp room with large crates, boxes, and barrels all around me. A few tall, bulky guards faced the door, away from me, side by side. I struggled to get to my feet only to realize my arms and legs were tied up.
A lean, medium sized man entered. Unlike the others he had a mask on. Was this Ty? He moved slowly around the other guards. He brought himself to a knee. I didn't speak. Neither did he. He simply slipped the rope off of me and handed me a combat ax and knife. "No gun?" I wanted to ask but he didn't allow me. He held his finger to his lips and lingered toward a small window. There he left.
Now I could truly assess the situation. Two guards on my left. Two on my right. One straight in front of me. Double doors dead ahead and a small window behind me are the exits. I slowly spin to stare at the window. I approach it with much ease. I appear to be on the seventh floor. Ty runs through my head but I push out the thought quickly.
Now I face the doors again. I can bank my ax off the wall, hit the guard in the center, and never be noticed. So I position myself against a barrel and hit the wall.
My ax flies right over the guards' heads and hits the middle man. Surely the guards on the right will assume the attackers were the left guards. And the left will think the right guards banked it off the wall, right? Wrong.
What does happen though is better. The guards end up splitting up, alone. That's four one on one battles that I have the displeasure of fighting.
Yes you read that right. Displeasure. I admit it. I hate fighting. Hand to hand is the worst. Knife to knife comes at a close second. Gun to gun; I could care less who I kill with a gun. As long as I don't touch their blood. Nasty blood. Thick blood. Thin blood. Infected wounds. Thats why I have such good accuracy. I never miss so I never touch blood.
I see my chance and grab my ax. It had been bathed in the guard's blood. It hits another guard. Another. Another. Another.
I leave the room at a high speed and realize what I need to do. I quickly change directions and grab a recruits uniform off of his dead body.
I pass tons of people in the long walk to floor one. Not a one knows a thing. I reach floor one and near the exit when- "Attention, attention!" A voice on the intercom with a very German sounding accent says, "Soldier number 245-" I glance at the numbers on my outfit. They start with 245!
"-782-" They match too! Only five digits left!
"-7014-" Those match too! I'm toast! I rush to the door.
A step away and- "-2. I repeat: 245-782-70142 has had his uniform stolen! Stay on the lookout for the thief!"
I grab a random coat from the rack and shove it on, covering my number. "Where are you going so fast?" A guard with a thick Russian accent grabs me by the arm and pulls off the coat. He doesn't even glance at my number. "That's my coat, man!"
"Sorry," I squeal with relief, "It's my girlfriend, man! I'm in such a rush. She's always so pushy!" I try my best French accent on him.
He grabbed my shirt so that the number was covered up. Guards all around close in looking for the thief. I mumble fast about her having a doctor's appointment for cancer and me being so rushed all the time and some other mumbo-jumbo.
He pushes me and throws me out the door... And I hit the ground running.
