Our Dirty Hands

They are going to shoot me. And I am going to die.

That was all I could seem to think about.

As I sprinted through , everything seemed to decrees and slow. I watched, dazed, as the crowd of wide eyed shocked men split like the red sea. Then I caught the 50 year old man, the Cyclemen, just staring at me with a face of sorrow. He looked upward towards some shafts with bags of dry concrete powder on them, right above the Nazmen.
Before, I could focus on what he was looking at, I heard it. I knew this noise all too well. The click trigger of a cycle gun and then the loud humming noise it made when it unleashed the electricity of the bullet. I fell flat on my stomach as the bullet sharply passed over my head. My mind finally woke up and I was able to realize, I can't outrun them...

I looked upward. I see it now. I quickly turned on my back and pulled my 272 up to my chest and fired at the shafts. The crowd scattered as the dry cement powder came crashing down on the Nazmen.
I continued to speed my way out of the building exit with thousands of other men.

'I've got to get rid of these clothes or they'll know it's me immediately.'

I threw my helmet off and oxygen gear. I put my hood up and dug my boots into the dead dry ground and dashed forward.
I had never run so hard in my life. My lungs were throbbing in my chest and I could hear my self wheezing. This damned smoke filled air ruined my chance of getting to my father sooner.

I stumbled toward my cabin house.
The first thing I saw was the jet black smoke.

'He's probably just working on his blacksmith...'

But as I closed in, my heart shattered and I fell on my shaky knees and screamed bloody murder as the *blue flames rose to the clouded sky.

Tears ran down my face as I screamed at my home and everything I owned and loved...burning.
My father was now one with the ashes.

I stood as I heard the solder's metal boots clinking toward me. My whole body was wobbly and I could feel the lust for blood pumping through my veins. Anger. Hate. Revenge...it all poured out as I screamed once more and pulled out my Cycle gun and began shooting every man I could see.
There blood sprayed out of there bodies as there chunks of flesh flung into the air and there guts spilled out onto the dead dirt floor. They tried to fight back, but they didn't have a chance.

They had no fucking clue what kind of weapon I had on me and my level of skill. So, assuming I was just a good shot with a 101 Cycle Pistol, was the worst assumption of there lives.
I found it odd that they didn't carry an automatic and would just blindly walk out into the ghetto cities with manual cycle guns; but I didn't care, I just wanted them all dead. I wanted them all to burn in hell and have the sparrows pluck at there damned skin and peel it away from there unholy bodies. I wanted them to suffer for what they had done to me and my father who was only 1 year from retirement.

I guess he got to retire early, like he had always dreamed of doing.

Before I knew it I ran out of ammo and dropped to my knees again.
Dead bodies, all around me.
I hyperventilated and my body shivered violently.

I heard the crunching of sand and I saw the shiny vintage boots of the man with eye patch.
I effortlessly reached for the knife in my work boot but I was too late.
Everything went black.

~

"What a way to go...I salute you solder. May you rest in a hot tub, filled with beautiful ladies.."

I felt a gloved hand digging around in my pockets, looking for my money pouch.
My eyes shot open and I roughly grabbed the arm of the man digging in my pockets, but he was no man, he was just a boy, the boy from the factory.
He sat back in his seat in shock,
"Good morning, skunk. That is your name right?....please tell me it's your name...that would be fantastic.."
He was making fun of the white streak in my hair I got from being exposed to the Gena.
I flung my self at him and grabbed him by the collar,
"You think this is some sort of sick game? They're going to kill us you fucking idiot.."
The boy just smirked at me and fiddled with the cigar in his mouth.

"Where did you get that!?"
He pointed to a small pouch in the nice hover car we sat in.
I grabbed it and stuck it in my mouth and lit it up with a liter that was near by.
Cigarettes were like gold to us, it was the only thing that seemed to take the pain away better then O.P.I .

I snagged a couple of them and stuffed them in my pocket.

"What's your name kid.."

He glared at me and he let out a breathe of smoke.

"My names Lenith Court...and I'm not a kid I'm 16."

I let out a sigh, "Quarin Danes..I'm 19.."

Lenith grinned at me, "That was some pretty bad ass shootin' out there..."

I spoke low as I glanced out the back window watching my home city fade off into the dead wasteland, "You an't seen shit yet.."