A Future War ~ Future Au TomTord Eddsworld FanFiction

Chapter Eleven: Paintball With Real Guns

Thud.

I very nearly face plant on the floor as I am rather violently thrown to the floor, awakening me from my unconscious state. I was having a pretty good nap, too...

I try to make sense of what is happening, which is proven to be difficult with the tired and slightly drunken haze that washes over me. I put my hand over my mouth as if it would help keep in my breakfast from this morning. I push myself off the floor of the truck in an attempt to stand up, and it takes all my efforts to not fall over as the truck violently rocks and shakes. 

Something is wrong. 

Tord catches my attention as he sits up with a jolt in the armchair he is occupying, his visible eye wide with panic. I'm not sure where he got it from, but he seems to already have a gun in one hand while he grips the chair with his robotic one. 

"What's going o-" I'm cut off as I am once more thrown to the side from another jerk of the truck. I'm barely still standing. I practically hang onto the couch for dear life. The door to the drivers cabin bursts open as Patryck rushes out. 

"Sir, we have been ambushed and separated from the rest of the trucks on the way back to the base." 

Tord stands muttering what I can only imagine to be curse words in Norwegian and rushes into the drivers cab with Patryck, leaving me to fend for myself while trying not to fall. Gun shots ring out, and I duck behind the couch as if that would somehow save me.  After a few more minutes of rough driving and loud clangs as bullets ricochet off the truck, I am thrown forward as we come to an abrupt stop. The clanging continues. The door flies open once again as Tord runs out and skids to a stop in front of the couch. 

 He forcefully pushes the couch to the side, exposing my hiding place. I can only imagine how I look to him right now, like a child cowering in the corner. He ignores me as he focuses on the task at hand. He wraps his hand around a handle on the floor. His knuckles turn white as he lifts it with a small grunt. A door opens, revealing a medium-sized compartment with a small assortment of weapons from different guns to knives. He grins, appearing to be a little too excited at the display laid out before him.  He carefully selects a couple of hand guns, keeping one at the ready and placing one more in his pocket. He shrugs and also slides a knife in his pocket, but something tells me knives were never his style really. 

Once he seems satisfied with his selection of weapons, he reaches into one of the deeper parts of the compartment and produces a long grey cord. After a few tugs, a double barreled blue hand gun similar to the one I trained with follows. He stands up, not bothering with any words nor explanation, and plugs it into my visor, causing my vision to return to the familiar temporary blackness. It loads quicker than the last time, and my sight returns just in time to see Tord hand me a knife to slip into my vest pocket as well. 

Paul and Patryck walk over, each selecting a rifle matching each other. A nod of agreement is shared between Paul, Patryck, and Tord as if they already know what each of them is thinking. 

"Tord, what's going on?" In the stress of the situation, I didn't have time to think before I spoke. Tord whips a suspicious glare at me as Paul and Patrycks eyes go wide behind him as if I just said something vile. A few more shots ring out, disrupting the intense silence shared between us, and Tords eye drifts to the floor, showing what I can only describe as... shame? He shakes it off as he is filled with a sudden confidence that I doubt it real and is just for show. 

"Ed- Eh...." He pauses, covering his face with the grin that's always plastered to his face. "Time to see a real war." He elbows me in the ribs and pokes my face in a very condescending manner that kinda hurt. Paul and Patryck head to the front of the truck as Tord and I take the back. As soon as we open the back door, more shots ring out, sending sparks off the door. We step out, taking cover behind the truck. I look over to see Paul and Patryck doing the same near the head of the truck. They take formation, one shooting over the head of the truck, with the other crouching and peaking around the front. They seem to run smoothly together, like they have their movements memorized as they run in almost perfect sync. Tord and I were the exact opposite, to say the least.