Redeemer

[MaXenzie]

Redeemer​

Walking through the ruins of Hereford, West England, with the rain pissing down and the ground squelching underfoot isn’t the best start to my day. I would’ve rationalized it, had I been given an order to do so by my officer. But instead, I’ve been pressed into working with a group of rebel LARPers with silly names. There’s no rationalizing this. It's insanity. What’s even stranger is that they haven’t killed me yet.

The squad I’m stuck with calls themselves Squad Galahad. The fuck is a Galahad? My squadmates consist of 3 “normal” rebels, their leader, and a Vortigaunt. They don’t seem to use nicknames. The rebels are Vince Kimmons, Howell Poe, Bradley Kemp, and the Vortigaunt, Gromit. Like Wallace and Gromit. The Vort doesn’t know that his name is stolen from a bloody claymation cartoon. The last person is the eponymous Galahad, some pompous prick he is. Seriously, What the fuck is a Galahad?

They let me keep my uniform, but they gnarled it up. Spray painted some UK flag colours onto it, made me look like a right twit. In short, even if I was spotted by friendlies, I’d still be shot at. The three rebels wore what you’d expect, save for the British iconography plastered on their clothes. The Vortigaunt, Gromit, wore a garb made out of what looked to be an extra large shirt and hoodie. A priestly garb, I think. Loose-fitting, and muted in colour compared to the rest of the gagglefuck surrounding me. Usually has his hood up so he looks mysterious. I don’t buy it, he still talks like he belongs in a Shakespeare play. Galahad’s the odd one out. He’s got bits of actual plate metal stuck to his armour. He looks like some amalgamation of a modern soldier and something straight out of medieval Europe. Never seen him wear a helmet. I still can’t tell if he’s 20, 50, or somewhere in between. Not a wrinkle on him, but his eyes are fucking piercing. Haunting, really. He might have a private supply of skin lotion.

As we scouted the Welsh border from the safety of the most westwardly town in England, one of the rebels, Vince, approached and started talking to me.
“Hey, Cop - Apply.’” he grinned.

“Fuck off,” I replied. He laughed as a courtesy, looking over to the rest of the squad investigating the nearby ruins, before looking back to me again.
“You ever gonna take that mask off?” he asked, glancing back over.
“No. Why?” I asked in return.
“Be nice to see a human face under there. Galahad said to remember; even though you look like machines, you're still human underneath, y’know?” I thought about his answer for a few moments. Then, I turned my head, and looked him dead in the eyes.
“My Commander told me that being human doesn’t make you an ally,” His smile faded.
“Well, we could convince-”
“He’s dead.” There was another silence, as he thought about his answer. Then he shrugged.
“Looks like we convinced him, then.”

Maybe as a test of trust, or sick joke, I was told to investigate one of the dilapidated buildings to see if it was clear. I’d considered running, but it would’ve been pointless. I wasn’t given a gun. With grim resignation, I approached the building they’d pointed out to me; some old, rundown shop with half the letters scrubbed off the name above the front. “Egg,” was all that was left. I chuckled a bit at the odd name, before I approached the door, and carefully pushed it open. The door fell off its hinges and collapsed with a rattling thud. The inside of the store was pitch-black. I couldn’t see shit.
“Hello?” I absentmindedly called out, expecting no response. Though, surprisingly, I got one.

Then I felt my ribs shatter, and my legs lost contact with the ground. I saw a massive, bestial insect below me, its head rearing up, and a deafening roar emitting from its maw. I could count how long I was in the air. When I hit the ground, I was a wheezing, gasping mess. I saw this… shadow towering over me, rearing its front legs up, ready to slam down with vicious, homicidal intent. I’d like to say I was quick to make my peace, but no, I was a snivelling, pathetic, and mewling mess.

It was only when I heard the cry of “Antlion!” and a staccato barking of gunfire that I’d considered for even a moment, that I might just survive. The monster stumbled back, its massive head smashing into the ground just inches from my legs. I turned on my stomach and crawled as fast as I could. I tasted iron. There was something hot inside my mask. It didn’t take long to realize it was blood. I got as far as I could before my legs failed me, my hands clambering in an effort to peel my faceplate away before I drowned. I think I only got a few feet away in the end.

I could hear the lightning of a Vortigaunt’s beam as the ground flashed green around me. I could see blurred silhouettes. Fuck, I might’ve got a concussion. I could hear the panicked cries of “reloading!” as the gunfire ceased. The Vortigaunt’s light was flickering out as it sucked in air. I saw Galahad, the mad bastard, charge into melee with the beast. He dodged a headbutt, and sliced through a joint in its front leg. Piss-yellow blood shot out like a jet from its knee as it slanted over to the right, shaking its massive head at the knight. He backed off, and gave a nod to the Vortigaunt, and said something, but I couldn’t make it out. The Vortigaunt moved, and planted its hands on the side of the immobile guard.

The guard exploded in a burst of green energy, viscera and hissing steam blowing across the open ground. Vince approached, unclipping my mask for me, and tossing it aside. I took in a sharp breath, and promptly gagged. The air smelled foul, like the bathroom of a Nando’s, I swear I almost threw up.
“Never smelled an antlion before?” Vince laughed. He rolled me on my side, and a torrent of blood ran from my nostrils, out onto the ground. The Vortigaunt approached. I winced, and closed my eyes. Instead of oblivion, I was gifted with some odd, warm radiance. It tingled. Then it hurt. I could feel my bones moving inside my body, trying to realign themselves.
“We cannot bring this one to prime condition alone,” the Vortigaunt spoke.
“So, what do we do?” one of the rebels asked.
“Myrmidons do not guard abandoned abodes for no reason. There is a hive beneath us. The extract from their larvae will grant me the ability to heal this one’s wounds,” the Vortigaunt explained slowly. Like fuck were these rebels going to go into an antlion hive for some cop.
“Maintain a vigil over him, my cleric,” Galahad began. I could hear him struggle to stop himself from panting. “If we do not return in good time, take your leave, and bring the penitent with you,” he composed himself. I squinted. Were they all going along with this?

As the squad wordlessly entered the building and disappeared into the darkness, I realized just how insane these people were. Willing to walk into death to save some bastard that wouldn’t hesitate to kill them in return.

My chest hurt. Everything hurt. I grit my teeth, and my eyes welled up from the agony. The alien looked down at me. I could swear I saw pity in his giant, red eye. Silently, he offered a hand to hold, while we wait.
I took it.

"I do not understand it, this fighting and killing, this urge to conquer. I will never understand it."​