The Last of Us: The Splinter (Survival-Horror) - IC/CLOSED

[Insaeldor]

Cpl. Kyle Mulnik


I nodded to Morris and Pryz as they gave off their mag count. I was lucky I had probably the more skill group of the squad. Pryz and Capella, although Morris was sharp too. It was a comforting feeling. If I did anything stupid they'd let me know. It help keep us all alive if it ever came down to it. I looked over to see Ronan messing with one of the prisoners. He wasn't an awful guy, I personally enjoyed having him around at a DEFAC for some good conversation. But he fell into the same group as Irons, always fucking with the prisoners. Not in the same way, but it was still an annoyance nonetheless. Just let em' be and focus on the important shit.

As I thought about what Ronan was doing a ping and wizzing sound followed Ronan having his head nearly blown clean off his shoulders. It took a second for it to sink in, I could feel the warm splattering of blood and brain matter on me. But it just didn't register, I looked at Ronan for a good while. It was one of those things you just couldn't look away from. Something you never see everyday. I caught myself examining the stump on his shoulders, the dangling bits of flesh, the nub of the spine barely protruding from the rest of the fleshy mass. I sure I'm in shock or disbelief, maybe a bit of both. It was so quick though. I'd always thought it would end with a final message and a final gasp, just like all those stories you were told about soldiers. Not something so visceral, so violent, it end with a deep and wet thud rather then the way you'd been conditioned to handle it. You couldn't even apply any aid, basic never taught you about this. My stomach sank as a realization of hopelessness came over me as the seconds that felt like hours ticked by.

My stomach then thee itself violently up, it took me a moment to realize what was going on, we were yawning hard and losing altitude fast. I grabbed the bottom of the seat and tried to keep myself on the seat as tight as possible. I tightened my whole body up as we fell quickly from the sky.

---

Jesus... I muttered as I picked myself up from the wall of the helicopter. I stumbled about for amount, the interior a massive blur. I reset my footing several times as I tried to get my bearings back, holding onto some piece of metal to keep me supported. My head was ringing as clarity started to come back to me. i moved closer to the ramp that had burst open from the impact. I first saw Pryz on the ground, then Irons standing up and moving around. I then saw the body of Morris. She was writhing on the ground, my first reaction was to get on my knees and check her out, I instantly noticed the blood coming from her neck, it was dark and spreading everywhere. The soft flesh of her inner reckon turn outward from the force of a bullet or crash shrapnel cutting though her. My heart started to pound hard and fast, my eyes twitching back and forth from her dim and muted eyes to the wound. My breathing got heavier as sweat bellowed from my brow. I took a deep breath and I started applying pressure but she looked pretty fucked up. Looked over my shoulder looking to see if anyone else was as bad off, then I heard Porter.

Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck I thought. I-I can't just leave Morris like this. I keep pressure as I yelled over for Pryz to help out and get her bandaged up. I fought back the panic as the sounds of incoming fire came from the trees. I quickly moved her off the ramp, dragged her behind it for protection before following Porters orders.


"You'll get help." I told Morris with a slightly panicked pant. I rushed over to where most of the prisoners had ended up. I got out my universal key set and first started on the guy next to Ronan, then moved over to the old fucker and the Asian. It didn't take too long to get to the girl who'd been giving Irons trouble and the last few.

"Wounded to the farm" I yelled over the pervasive pings and whistling of bullets smacking the hull of the helicopter. Initially I grabbed my M16 by the buttstock before transitioning into my hands and shoulders with a proper grip. I looked over to see Irons pointing his fucking rifle down towards us, jackass wasn't even shooting back, same for Farmer. As I passed Irons took him by the shoulder and gave him a forceful tug towards the back end of the chinook.

"Irons, Farmer why the fuck aren't you guys firing back?!." I yelled at the audibly frustrated with the two of them. Why the fuck couldn't they be like Rose. I got up to the back of the chinook and leaned half my body out of the metal haul. It took just half a second to see the drifting black figures in the treeline. I shouldered my rifle and lined up my sights to take a shot at them. Simple suppressing fire.

"Get ready to peel when the wounded are ready!" I yelled down the fuselage of the helicopter, to no one in particular, just anyone with a gun in their hand really. I then turned back to the guys shooting at us. I fired off another consistent series of surprising fire to try and keep the enemies head down. Hopefully we could get them out of the damned helicopter before we went black on ammo. Hopefully we could come back from this dodgy ass start up and get some cohesion going in the squad. We had to act quickly, I was down half a mag already and we still had to peel.

[Arengin Union]

Corporal Scott Irons
Fireteam 3, Team Leader
FEDRA Chinook

As Mulnik began to uncuff the prisoners, Irons kept his rifle carefully aimed at the prisoners as Mulnik freed them. He had the rifle on semi automatic mode and would be ready to unload at least 4 rounds on any prisoner that tried any kind of firefly fuckery. Finally they were freed, Irons still kept tabs on them while making way to the boken sideways ramp of the crashed helicopter. Suddenly Private Farmer spoke to the corporal.

"CAR is already secured, Irons. But I'm not sure this thing is gonna worked its caked in blood already, not sure adding more to it will help."

"Good job soldier." Irons said towards the private as he kept his weapon aimed at the prisoners so they wouldn't try anything. The sounds of dizzling bullets hitting the metal plating of the helicopter made his ears ring. Irons then felt someone grabbing his shoulder, it was Mulnik.

"Irons, Farmer why the fuck aren't you guys forefinger bac?!"

That was unexpected, Irons didn't pay much attention to the corporal. It didn't matter, Irons didn't have time for casual conversations or ignore the fact they were in a shit position, unlike Mulnik who thought he was being the big shit or something.

Irons switched his attention to Farmer as Mulnik made his way to the back. "Farmer, fire your weapon at the enemy, provide suppressing fire! Burdell, provide ammunition assistance. Double time soldiers!"

Irons led the prisoners to the back, keeping a hold of his rifle on one hand and pulling himself forward with the other. He turned to the prisoner firefly's. Amy was helping Burrell up, at least she was being useful for something. The corporal kept eyes on the prisoners as they went to the back of the helicopter where the entrance ramp used to be. Irons was breathing heavily as he began to blind fire to the enemy, spraying quick semi auto bursts of fire as he again took cover. The young firefly Amy then spoke directly to him.

"This better not be a stupid plan."

Irons simply let out a breath as he kept a tight grip on his rifle. "There ain't such thing as a fool prof plan kid..." he replied with a frustrated voice.

Irons then turned his attention to the captain. "Captain. All prisoners are uncuffed. What's our plan to get to the farmhouse?" He asked, keeping a sense of discipline in his voice while also echoing the rush of the entire situation. Irons readied his rifle and continued firing back at the enemy, with much carefulness to not stick his head out. He unloaded the rest of the magazine, he quickly reloaded and kept cover waiting for Porter's next orders.

[Hastur]

Brooke Pryzbylewski
Juliett 2-3
Stratford, Tennessee

---

A short sense of relief when over Brook as the helicopter finally rose itself from the ground, away from the place where thirty odd people had met a violent and sudden end. The rotored amalgamation of metal and plastics carrying them into the sky from where they had once came, taking them home to the long concrete walls and dilapidated buildings. The long flight home made her ponder what exactly they'd do when she got back. Maybe she'd do something productive, help some people. Or maybe she'd just haggle that bastard Craig over his drawing pencils so she could finish her picture. But she'd probably just end up spending the new couple of days getting shitfaced on whatever liquor she could find, probably not in the best of company. She liked to do most of that alone, preferring the solitude so that she could forget. But when it came to it, you'd have to hang around with a couple of friends if you wanted the good stuff, especially if you didn't want to run the chance of you going blind. Although she was starting to think that might be preferable.

"Hey Barton!"

Brookes rolled her eyes in a exaggerated manner like she always did in response to Fritz's calling her by that stupid nickname that he insisted on using. She thought that nicknames had to make some sort of sense. Apparently not.

"I heard that people who don't smoke have pretty faces. Ever gave that a try?"

"You're a real comedian Fritz." Brooke responded with an unenthusiastic tone, giving him a firm middle finger aimed at his face with her free hand as eyes glanced down to his notebook, noticing what was written on the page. A short smirk appearing on her face. "You're about a man and a half short of a duet fritz., and you might wa-"

Her joke was broken by the loud distinctive crack, quickly followed by what seemed like a hundred more. Her head turned to see Ronan, the young private from Irons squad, dead, part of his dead missing, making him almost unrecognizable. Then another person was hit, a firefly prisoner almost being torn in half by the force of the round. Sparks and tracers flew through the once seemingly invisible steel. Shock took over for a few seconds as she sat their in awe, unable to process the seemingly impossible. Then, as the helicopter began to spin violently as it lost control. It hit her, along with the G-force.

They had being shot down.

The bird descended back towards the ground faster than it had arose, spinning seemingly faster and faster as it grew closer to the ground. She could barely concentrate. Barely think as the bird shaped, rocked and spun.

"BRACE! BRACE FOR FUCKING IMPACT!" The pilot screamed, his voice laced with panic.

Brooke held her eyes shut, and held her breath. ready for the sudden jolt, and her death that followed. She hoped, prayed to whatever was out their that she'd either make it out fine or just die quickly.

But nothing came.

---

The last moments of the crash where a haze of unconciousness. She wasn't sure when she blacked out. Just before it hit the ground or shortly afterwards. What she did know however was that she was on her back, staring at the roof of the aircraft. And not in her seat. Her entire body felt numb, her head and ears where ringing and she could barely see properly, her vision still blurry as she tried to shake it off. A feeling of panic quickly set in. She couldn't move properly. It felt like her worst nightmare. Safety being snatched right out from under her, and now her fucking legs weren't working, with them seemingly being like jelly as she tried to move them around. Struggling to get up. If they where broken, she'd die to the hands of infected, or worse, at the hands of whoever shot down the helicopter. Either way, it'd be slow, and painful death. With the fireflys likely torturing her, and the infected turning her into one of those things. She'd eat her gun before then.

She lifted her head from the ground, doing once last check, fear visible in her eyes as she glanced down at her legs, seeing no blood, or least any that was hers, before moving them down to her toes. Her boots wiggled, and she felt no pain. Brooke had never felt more relieved in her life. She wasn't out of the fire yet. But at least her legs worked. She saw a few people walk over her, once being porter, and couple that she couldn't recognise as she climbed to her feet, grabbing her rifle and kit, stabilising herself on whatever was stable enough for her to move. Training kicked in after that. her priority was the wounded. And a quick glance, she found the sergeant on the floor, unable to move, being attended to by Morris, one of her fire team members, and a friend all things considered. From a first glance, she couldn't see anything wrong. No blood, or other obvious indicator.

"What's wrong with Sarge?" Brooke asked, coughing to clear her throat as she struggled to speak. Her voice gravelly as she tried to address her.

"His left legs broken." She replied, giving her a deeply worried look, she sounded scared. Which brooke couldn't tell if it was because of the Sergeants leg or the helicopter crash. Probably both. "Near the shin, I think, maybe. I don't know, I'm not a fucking doctor."

Great.

It was exactly what they needed, the units most experienced soldier having a god damn broken leg. At least it wasn't a compound fracture. She couldn't see any bones sticking out from under his uniform. But that still left all the other possibilities.

"Alright, let me in." Brooke said, moving down to his level as she rolled up his left pant leg and removed his shoe, getting him ready so that she could do the CSM test. Moving through it quickly. There was potentially others that needed help.

Color was fine, no restricted blood flow.

Sensation is fine. no nerve damage, hopefully.

That leaves one last part. Movement.

"Alright Sarge, this is probably going to hurt." Brooke whispered apologetically, putting her gloved hand onto his leg, moving it slightly to get a jist of where the injury was. It quickly became clear from his grimace that it was indeed, his shin. most likely a stable fracture in his tibia.

"I'm heading out, you don't need me do you?" Morris asked quickly, brooke responding with a quick hand wave indicating the answer. Morris moving towards the lowered ramp, where some other squad mates where beginning to congregate.

"Alright, lets get this splint on and you'll be back to sipping Mojitos on a beach in no time." She weakly joked, a sad looking smile appearing trying to alleviate the situation as she removed the TC splint from her kit, applying it to the mans shin. Securing it tight enough to stabilize the wound, but not enough to completely immobilize the movement, she would need to keep an eye out for swelling however, otherwise it'd end up doing more harm than good. "I'll get somebody to gi-"

A a loud crack sounded off, couldn't be more than fifty meters away. Followed shortly by more and more. The people that had shot them down found them first. Her head turned quickly enough to spot her friend Morris sink into the floor, right at the base of the helicopter. More and more people scrambled past, leaving her lying here. She was still moving.

"Man down!" Brooke shouted, fueled by panic as her friend writhed around the floor."Morris has been hit!" Mulnik taking notice as more and more rounds slammed into the dirt around her, kicking up mud, grass and dirt. It was hell out there, and she was scared shitless, but she wasn't about to leave somebody to die. She didn't even think about it, factor in her own safety or her own welfare. Or how she was potentially dead already. Before she even knew what she was doing, Brooke had rushed over, along with Mulnik both of them intent on getting their teammate and friend to cover. Rounds zipped and cracked past. it was accurate fire, a quick glance towards the treeline confirmed the worst. Catching sight of the muzzle flashes as they danced amongst the trees.

"Multiple contacts front! Fifty meters! Tree line!" Brooke screamed, her voice breaking as she raised her rifle. "Grab Morris, I'll cover!"

Brooke started firing in the vague direction of the flashes. Laying down a blanket of rounds as she pulled the trigger over and over again, sending round after round down range as Mulnik pulled Morris to safety. "Fuck you!" Brooke cried, an short outburst of anger as Brooke was in a bad position. While she had made herself as small of a target as possible just like in training. She had no cover, no concealment. cracks and zips grew louder and louder as bullets slammed into the helicopter next to her. The fuckers where shooting back at her, but she had to be sure that Morris got to cover. Mulink pulling her to the relative safety of behind the chinook.

"Moving!" She shouted, running along the path that Mulink had took, bullets still flying past as she had her way to Morris. Once glace at the girl made it clear how bad it was. Blood spluttered from her neck as she clutched at her throat as she frantically tried to stop the bleeding, fear and terror glimmering in her widened eyes. Brooke didn't waste any more time, rushing to her aid, crouching down and wrapping her arms around her neck in an attempt to stem the bleeding. Putting pressure on the neck wound. She could feel the warm of her blood from underneath her gloves as she struggled, fighting against brooke in a panic. She tried to sush her, do anything to calm her down. She had to bandage the wound, but if she let go, her friend would bleed out right there in the dirt. She had already lost a lot of blood. She was stuck between the rock and a hard place as her friend was literally dying in front of her. Totally helpless. Blood spattered from her mouth as morris struggled to breath, her movement and breathing slowing as her eyes slowly faded, giving out one last blood filled sputter before she finally passed.

"Fuck!" Brooke clamored, her voice unsteady as she let go of her friends neck, grabbing her dogtags and reloading a magazine from Morris's plate carrier, ditching the half empty magazine. There was nothing else she could do, her heart sinking deep into her chest at the thought of leaving morris's body her to rot in this god forsaken place, but more people would die. "Moving!" Brooke climbed back to her feet, moving to reunited with her rifleteam. fanning out into the firing line, re-entering the gunfight. "Morris is gone!" She shouted to Mulink, a mixture of anger and sorrow flowing through her voice. "Standing by to peel!" Brooke indicated, laying down rapid fire against the muzzle flashes in the trees. To make matters worse, she could see them trying to move. Spotting movement as what looked like a group moving rapidly to the left under heavy cover fire. "Treeline! The fucking treeline! leftside! Leftside!"

[Kentucky Fried Land]

Pvt. Olivia Burrell

And so The Bird was dead just as fast as it had come to life, fluttering through the air in such a clumsy and cluttered mess, only to plummet towards the Earth in an ever… hecticer… heap. And that’s where her mind fluttered, didn’t it? Towards “hecticer.” Her head ached, her body sore to the bones, yet she questioned the validity of “hecticer.” It was unfortunate that the Military Preparatory Schools had little in the way of literature, otherwise the young girl’s vocabulary might have been a bit better. She might’ve even tried out writing herself. Maybe in another time...

Olivia kept her eyes closed. It felt a bit better to just lay down now, with the surge of pain from her bruised skin wreaking havoc on her will. But nevertheless, she fluttered the lids open with harsh breaths, finding herself having fallen on top of the younger Firefly. She quickly rearranged her groundings, lifting herself up with wobbling legs. Almost responding to the girl in kind, she instead returned a puzzled expression as the girl mentioned coffee; a delicacy that Olivia had been neglected to being taught about in the boarding school. And thus was how the culture surrounding Amy’s comment was lost on the private.

It was then that Olivia finally got a good catch of Ronan’s half-remaining face. And indeed, it was just a bit of skull, meat, and brain that hung off part of his head, his nose twisted and torn after being snapped apart by the bullet. It was quite visceral to have his blood and muscles draping her, shards of his bone in his lap like crumbs from a bag of chips. She felt bile rising in her throat again as she stumbled away from his body, suppressing tears and vomit with her closing eyelids and clenching teeth. It hadn’t really hit her until she saw him there, mutilated and still buckled into his seat. Ronan was dead. She had experienced someone she knew dying before, but never this close. It had been her friend from school, falling through a floor and shattering their legs, only to be swarmed by a cloud of spores.

She shuddered, looking around the heli. There were a few dead, a few only injured, thank God. But that still left so very few of them. Braddock, with his neck twisted and agape expression painfully trapped on his face. The co-pilot, screaming. Burrell’s breaths caught in her throat, but she managed to swallow it down. Morris and Prez were helping each other with Singleton, whose leg was badly bent. Burrell gulped air, hyperventilating for a brief second before feeling herself tugged around by her vest.

"Hey Rookie, grab the SAW and get to work, you're our AR now!"

PFC. Rose was the one telling her this; she supposed he did outrank her, and he probably knew at least a little bit better. But hell if she was sure how much she trusted herself with the CAR, and he couldn’t order her around just because he was first class. Before she could protest, her ear perked up, only hearing the sound of Irons confirming Rose’s order.

"Noted Rose... Burrell, get your ass up and grab the CAR and fire back! Farmer get up and help out with the wounded! Mulnik, let’s do this shit! Uncuff them, I'll keep tabs on them!"

The corporal had never been one for brevity. She reluctantly nodded and turned to Ronan. Her cheeks flushed almost immediately, her mouth twitching with dread. While Burrell would perhaps have time to complain about Irons choice words for her, she instead sucked in a harsh breath and reached for the dead man’s rifle…

Only for it to be lifted from her grasp.

"CAR is already secured, Irons. But I'm not sure this thing is gonna worked its caked in blood already, not sure adding more to it will help."

Olivia backed away from him, confused and distraught. He had disobeyed direct orders from the corporal, and not only that had left her with little to do. She shook her head and clenched her teeth, unsure of where the Corporal would decide to direct her now. "Get your asses up, make your way to that farmhouse anyone that tries any shit or goes a different direction I'll blow their fucking head off! Rose! Get ready for covering fire!"

Gunfire had already been erupting, but Burrell had almost not noticed it. Too caught up with herself, she supposed. Morris had followed their Captain outside and taken a bullet for it. She had always been nice, she had always been nice… Burrell watched the medic and Mulnik drag her off, as Porter turned around, eyeing Singleton on the floor. She scooped him up in a fireman carry after grabbing the dogtags from Braddock’s corpse, and Singleton cried out in pain.

"Are we good?" Amy asked her next, only for Olivia to shake her head frantically. “No.” She followed suit with Porter, reaching to Ronan’s destroyed face and tearing the dogtags off of his neck, blood covering the first four letters of his name. Her stomach churned, but she still pocketed the remaining memento of the past tense Ronan. It was then that Irons began speaking once more to the Captain. "Captain. All prisoners are uncuffed. What's our plan to get to the farmhouse?" Porter turned her head to him, her expression one of surprise and frustration. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth. ”Fucking peel!” She bit at him, before taking off out of the heli while she still had the chance. Olivia grimaced, looking around for the ammo bag with a certain fervor in her step. Alas, it was nowhere to be found, and unbeknownst to her it had been kicked out into the grass during the crash, never to be seen again by the soldiers. Instead of continuing her search, she directed Amy with her. “C’mon!” She spoke, and so they left Farmers, Irons, and the rest of the prisoners behind.

Nobody noticed the shiv that Amy had taken.

***

Terrence Redding

Terrence Redding was having an awful day. His bald black head was sweating profusely in the heat, after having left his sun hat back at base under the boss’ orders. Now he was getting shot at by a bunch of gung-ho assholes in that helicopter. The motherfuckers had barely hit their guys, who were under the watchful command of a certain Joe Sullivan. He had been ex-military or some shit, apparently. An aging man, one with a full white beard and cold, fierce eyes. His greasy hair had stretched over his ears, apparently not having the time or patience to cut it as Terrence had.

Terrence frowned, gripping his hunting rifle harshly. He was one of the better equipped Fireflies near Stratford. The rest of the crew, twenty or so of them, were mostly armed with pistols and shotguns. Sure Marvin, Erin, Jake, and Joe himself were there too with their special little M4s, but it hadn’t seemed like enough given the firepower of this crew back at the town hall. But it was working. They must have been shell shocked or something from the crash, as barely any fire was coming from the hunk of metal at them. Terrence saw it, and he could already tell that Joe saw it too.

“Crew Two, flank left!” He ordered gruffly to Terrence’s surprise. This was their chance, wasn’t it? He nodded in accordance, and with such little fire on their position he was able to get left with the rest of Crew Two easily. Crew Two consisted of himself, Buddy with his pistol, Erin with her M4, and Palmer with that shit shotty of his. It was so easy to get to the left of the heli, it was almost too easy. One of them noticed them however, and it was then that Terrence lined up his shot and pulled the trigger.

***

Cpt. Emily Porter

She hadn’t expected the flank.

She knew that she should have expected it, but that was after Winter got scalped by a .308. “Fuck!” She screamed, Winter falling to the ground. There wasn’t even anytime to grab his dogtags; he just crumpled up in a ball, twitching like nobody’s business. It almost reminded Porter of a little dance, as if he were just jamming out to some tunes. She almost started laughing, laughing uncontrollable, but she knew that the bullets would rip her and Singleton to shreds afterwards, and then she’d be doing that final death waltz.

The center peel was initiated, albeit missing Farmers and Irons who were just now walking out. Nonetheless, the peel started with or without them, in the following order; Rose at the front, then Torres, then Capella, then Pryzbylewski, then Mulnik, then Burrell, with Porter leading the few Fireflies that had followed them along. Not counting the younger one of course, who had attached herself to the youngest private on the team, who was seeming to miss her ammo bag. But whatever, it was for another day. Right now, they needed to be focused on-

She spotted the other private on Fireteam 3 come running out, the CAR in head. Porter couldn’t remember if he had been the heavy for that team or not, but she was certain he wasn’t going to make it to the peel on time, which was already in full swing as Torres had just begun his move back. They leaped and intertwined, somehow managing to push the mostly untrained Fireflies back, if only a little. But it was not fast enough. Farmers wasn’t fast enough, no doubt due to the bruised ribs under his broad chest. Farmers’ arm flew up, the CAR flying from his heads with a spray of red blood. He fell to the ground, his arm limp. Porter continued moving back with the others, looking at the three Fireflies that had decided to stick with her. “Grab him!” She screamed, the implication showed by her pistol very clear.

***

While Farmers writhed on the ground, while Mulnik found himself at the front of the peel, and while Alicia, Lucy, Tristan, and Joe were rushing to aid the wounded soldier, Irons was just running out with the last two whom had proven to be... troubling. With Marcus’ leg hurt and Janet’s refusal to leave him behind, Irons had almost taken to dropping the fucker then and there. But nonetheless, the mission came first and the old man hadn’t attacked Irons yet.

It would perhaps hurt a little bit to see the rest of the squad near leaving him behind in the peel. Something he could perhaps understand, if he gave it some thought. For all his flaws, he did have something respectable in there. But mercy was not given to those who were respectable, nor was it given to the evil. A bullet didn’t have respect, a gun didn’t decide who it killed, and a men nowadays found themselves with little mercy for those who dared stand against them.

He was lucky. The bullet slammed into his plate carrier, knocking him to the ground. Another round whizzed over his head, one that would have plowed itself right through his left eye had he not been so graciously awarded the other bullet. Of course, Janet saw her chance and leaped. She grabbed his rifle while he was down, taking off into the field with it. Before Irons could grab his pistol, Marcus took his chance as well, tackling him to stay on the grass.

He punched Irons once on the left cheek leaving a nasty scar, throwing both of his hands up and driving them into Irons’ chest as a balled up fist. He raised his heads again, now aiming for Irons’ head. But it was too late for Marcus, as Irons found his pistol and fired twice. The bullets caught once in Marcus’ neck, and the other straight through his upper lip. He missed the next punch, hitting the ground instead. Irons was able to easily throw the old man off of him, before getting up. Janet was nowhere to be found, Irons’ rifle taken off with her. He ran off after the peel.

***

Terrence Redding

Things had gone disastrously for both sides.

Buddy’s cheek caught a bullet, ripping out his face so much that Terrence could practically see the bloody teeth inside, like a goddamn x-ray. Terrence could only think of the chair he had set up for him, only the chair…

They fell back, but not before Terrence had managed to catch that one fucker’s arm with a .308. There was so much fire on them now, and Terrence had begun to wonder is this was an actual squad for once. The untrained Fireflies had panicked upon a few casualties, not to mention bullets erupting through the trees and grass around them. While they did fall back to the forest, some of them had decided to go around and head for the heli after the soldiers had gotten a ways back.

They were going to be trapped in that farmhouse. And that would be their end.

Look for the fucking light, huh?

[Sarejo]

PFC. Stephen Rose, aka 'Slamfire'
Stratford, Tennessee

Stephen was about to begin the peel when Winters's head exploded in front of him.

"Winters!!" he screamed, and almost reached for his crumpling, twitching body, when a bullet wizzing close to his face quickly changed his mind. He immediately began peeling back, then began popping off shots as he yelled for Torres to move, and then Capella, but when it came down to Pryzbylewski to move, the rifle jammed as he pulled the trigger.

"Jam!" he shouted as he tried to pull the charging handle to dislodge the round, but the apocalypse had not been kind to the gun, and it refused to clear. Angry, he threw it to the ground and pulled out his sidearm, wanting to save his shotgun for the close-combag sure to come at the farmhouse, and resumed firing in the general direction of the enemy forces.

"Jesus Christ could be a whole platoon out there, and God knows how many reinforcements they've got..." he thought to himself, "we need to reach the QZ, and ASAP, or Christ, we're screwed hard."

Once the others had finished the initial peel, Stephen got ready to move again when he saw Irons go down and one of the Fireflies jump on top of him and commencing beating him. Stephen was going to aid when Irons drew his sidearm and blew two rounds into the older man's face, while the girl ran off with his rifle. At the same time, Farmers took a round to the arm and dropped, writhing in pain. The three remaining Fireflies ran to pick him up after Porter screamed at them, and Stephen fired off the rest of his magazine to give them some covering fire, and then began to move when it emptied.

"Moving!" he shouted, and began peeling back again, when he heard the return fire fade off. "Enemy must have ran off to regroup. We need to move, and fast," he thought.

"Hey Cap'n, I don't hear any more return fire," he said in a more level voice than the screaming he'd been maintaining during the firefight.

[Beiarusia]

Firefly Amy Tallow

Amy ran as fast as she could through the proverbial minefield. Sure, there were no actual explosives buried underneath their feet, but the open field was just as dangerous, perhaps more-so, the crack of bullets whizzing by uncomfortably close as they made for the sorta-nearby farmhouse. Whoever was attacking was doing a damn fine good job at it. They were surrounded, and despite the soldiers laying down a thin blanket of covering fire they were taking hits. Another soldier went down from a headshot. The man who'd grabbed the SAW followed suit with a gunshot wound to the arm, rescued, ironically enough, by a few of the Fireflies. Amy saw Corporal Irons go down but was too busy keeping herself alive to see if he was dead or not.

A stray shot came a bit too close, and Amy stumbled, almost falling before grabbing onto Olivia who dragged her along by the hand. Amy would be lying if she said that she wasn't terrified. The gunfire lessened to a degree, the tactical retreat having thrown the attackers for a loop. The soldiers (and captives) had a clear shot towards the farmhouse.

What do we do after? A troubling thought that Amy kept to herself. She pumped her legs harder. That was a problem for later.

[Arengin Union]

Corporal Scott Irons
Fireteam 3, Team Leader
Stratford, Tennessee

Why did you have to do it, why did you force my hand... I didn't want to kill you old man... fuck. Where the words in Irons's head as he fired his M9 pistol at the enemy's direction, following the peel retreat while being careful to spend much ammunition. His chest ache, it hurt like hell, he was lucky to be alive but he had lost his rifle to a shit fuck Firefly and had taken a hit in the face by an old, now dead, Firefly. He didn't want to kill the man, he wished he hand't had to. But it was either him or me... Was what Irons said to himself to get the thought off his head, but it was difficult not to think of the old man's last expression as the bullet pierced right through his lip into his head, letting out a dust of red matter and dropping on the floor lifeless. Irons was not a stranger to killing, hell! he had killed 4 Fireflies that day. But this was different, it felt different, it had been up close and in the moment. Irons had tried to keep them alive, tried to help only to get shot and them taking the first chance to get an edge on him. Well fuck them, fuck all these fireflies shitheads. What mattered now was getting to the farmhouse and helping with the retreat in anyway he could.

Irons fired several rounds as he then began to sprint back in the farmhouse's direction. Finally it seemed they had made it to the farmhouse, Irons kept firing rounds at the treeline where he believed the enemy was at, as he also made his way towards the farmhouse, sticking to his squad and trying to help in keeping suppressive fire as best as he could. Each firing of his pistol made his body hurt, the deep pain in his chest had been overshadowed by the adrenaline in his blood and the wish to survive. He had to help keep the squad alive.