Loss and Return.

Chapter 1. Rookie mistake

One could almost feel the malice behind the blood, laced with a strong sense of revenge. It was made obvious in the way the men's throats had been hacked through; not slit. Or perhaps in the agony forever rendered on their dying faces. Body parts were haphazardly strewn about and crimson painted every square inch of the room. The smell was just as horrid as the mess. Viscera and gunpowder mingling together to form a powerful aroma.

But to Jack, this was art, in the purest yet crudest form. The medium was murder, and the tool was a very cold and deep running hatred. Though along with the awe the scene before him instilled, a pang of jealously tainted his appreciation. Something this gruesome should only be done by him, not by the hands of some half crazed bandit on a mission for vengeance or whatever idea he had in his small, underdeveloped mind. No. Something this beautiful should only be created by something equally as beautiful, such as himself.

He laughed aloud and assured himself that if he were the creator of this madness, much more finesse would have been thrown into the mix. Maybe he would have filmed it, or echoed up the families and loved ones of the soldiers, and let them watch. He preferred a methodical approach to things like this, not a messy slaughter. He wanted to find the artist, shake their hand, then blow their brains out.

"Sir! You may want to see this!" A voice from one of his Hyperion soldiers boomed through the stillness of the room. Jack twitched his eye in annoyance and stepped outside. He looked over to the man who called for him, and saw him standing there pointing, mouth ajar. Tracing his hand down to where he was motioning towards, a rather large messy splatter of blood covered the sand. He walked over beside the man, and saw what really lay there.

Where is Timothy Lawrence, Jack?

"Well shit," was all Jack could mutter in response.

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Inhale, exhale.

Quiet, and calm.

Rarely did Ogre ever remain this still, for this long. Then again, this is the moment that she had been waiting, planning, and hoping for. A year had passed, and the time had come. The anticipation was almost unbearable. Her finger itched to pull the trigger. She felt like a kid who had finally received a long awaited gift. It took all she had not to jump the gun, and go for the kill before the opportunity even presented itself. It was a painful task to resist acting on such adrenaline. For Ogre, this went against everything she was. She was accustomed to being a proud predator, loud and fearless, running headlong to her prey. No one had bested her yet, so how could anyone ever? This was too good of a chance to throw away on pride though. This was her only mission.

Inhale, exhale.

Quiet and calm.

Niven's words echoed in her mind, giving her something steady to focus on. She took a deep breath, and peered through the scope of her rifle.

Inhale.

He stood in the valley bellow, reading the message she had left for him. The shock registering on his face was sweet satisfaction to her.

Exhale.

Stay focused, Ogre.

She sighed in annoyance, but steadied herself nonetheless. Without realizing it, she had begun shaking slightly with giddiness. The seconds were dragging on and she could hardly bare it. Her hands and body moved mechanically, following the man's everyone move. The crosshair of the scope ghosted along the length of his body, feet to chest. Finally, she found his head and rested it comfortably there.

Inhale.

Even Niven's voice was showing traces of excitement. Ogre's heart pounded in her ears. The deafening sound of blood pulsing through her veins thrilled her. The world around her faded away, leaving only the sight of the head ready to be blown away. Every bit of her senses were zeroed in on this one task. Time for her was standing still.

Now?

Now. Exhale.

The boom of her rifle firing echoed through the valley bellow. Very suddenly the world around her came back into view, but what she saw wasn't the explosion of red blooming out from his neck that she had anticipated. Blue and white sparks danced where he had stood, a fuzzy image quivering in the dusty air. Men around the building scrambled back and forth, frantically searching for the source of the shot. She needed to move, and move fast.

Ogre, get out of there. Now.

The words didn't quite register in her mind, nor did the image unfolding beneath her. Nothing was making sense. She pulled the trigger. She heard the shot. She felt the gun jolt in her hand. He was in her sights. Right there. Right damn there. She refused to move, not until she could discern what had happened.

Looking through the scope once more, she turned to the odd blue light. Gradually, its shape was changing into something much more identifiable. Feet, legs, torso. The sparks morphed themselves back into their original form, gaining a normal scale of colors as they did so, until the picture of a man was painted in place of the light.

"But, he was-"

Her words of terror were cut short by a swift impact to her stomach. She could feel a boot dig hard into her midsection, flipping her over in the process. The rifle fell from her hands and tumbled lazily down the cliff. Something inside her popped, followed by an intense searing pain.

"Oops, sorry there. Might'a kicked too hard. Even I could hear that." He laughed as he kneeled down, a fake look of concern on his masked face.

"Were you looking for me?" A menacing smile stretched from one ear to the other. "Guess you mistook my hologram for yours truly. That's insulting too. Those things don't look half as good as I do."