Part 1: The Attack
The day began like most others. I awoke, startled, as I fought my way to the waking world from the torments of my violence-fueled nightmares. Danger was apart of my life, because of my warrior profession, and the depravity I was forced to witness day after day had seeped into my psyche.
Arising, I continued my morning routine of intense calisthenics: 50 one-armed pushups followed by 100 pistol squats and 50 pullups, all without rest. After the exercise I washed the sweat from my toned body in a hot shower. Once properly cleaned, I put on my uniform with the pride only a true warrior can possess. Inspecting myself in the mirror, satisfied that my squared away appearance would put a navy seal to shame, I put on my game face and headed to work.
As I drove, my sixth sense tingled, causing the hairs to raise on the back of my neck. Danger was afoot but I knew not where. With a few deep breaths, I was able to clear my head and focus. But, I still had no idea where attack would coming. It made no difference, I thought to myself, this wild dog is ready to rock n' roll.
I pulled into the mall parking lot where I was greeted by my partner, Charlie. Charlie was on perimeter rounds and I decided to spend a few moments in idle conversation before I entered, as we called it, the Gladitorial Arena.
"You're about to be on your own," said Charlie "My papers came in, today's my last day. This time next week the missus and I will be cashing my pension checks in the Bahamas."
"Congratulations," I said "You'll be missed, no one every had my back like you."
Charlie only laughed in response, too busy, no doubt, thinking about all the lost time he would be able to make up for, now that would be retired. He continued his rounds on foot until I noticed the prongs of a claymore mine sticking up from beneath the tarred parking lot. Before I could scream a warning, Charlie made his final step.
The explosion was deafening. Disoriented by the concussive force, I was knocked backwards into a nearby prius. Bits of Charlie had splattered all over the place. Before I even had a chance to access the situation, the trash dumpster popped open and out came a man in camoflauge wielding an RPG.
He blew up a nearby ice cream truck. The good humor man could only scream in horror as his existence, and ice cream, were snuffed out by fire and explosion. As the man with the RPG continued his assault, ropes fell from the roof of the mall and commandos rappelled down, firing automatic weapons into the crowd as they descended.
My warrior instincts kicked in. With a surge of adrenaline, I dodged their fire and advanced on the commandos as they reached the ground. I grabbed the nearest one and manipulated his neck like a pretzel. I was rewarded with a satisfying snap. Picking up his downed AK-47, I began mowing down his accomplices with reckless abandon. Much innocent blood had been spilled on their account, and I would return it in kind.
As I took out the last, I turned my attention to the man with the RPG. Before I splattered his final thoughts across the pavement, he screamed into his radio "Air support, air support!"
Before I could retrieve his fallen weapon, I heard the unmistakable whirling blades of an Apache copter enter the mall's airspace.
The merciless, steel beast fired heavey automatic gunfire and missles into the parking lot taking out cars, property, and bystanders. Shrapnel filled the air, only dumb luck had kept me from being perforated this long. Taking a deep breath, I aimed the RPG. It did not matter if I had mere seconds to live. All that mattered was that I take down the Apache before more innocents died.
As I prepared to depress the trigger, a ricochet struck the concrete near my feet, dislodging a chunk and striking me in the head.
The last thing I thought, before unconsciousness claimed me, was that I should have worn my sleeve gun that day.
