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Ours is not to reason why
Fealty Lost
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He'd known when he signed up that being an FNG with SlaughterHouse carried certain, well, risk.

Three days ago he'd what was, inarguably, the wildest ride he'd ever had in his years upon this scorched hunk of rock.

"Listen up Mackie." He thought back to those words and who had said them. First rule, they tell you: Never Volunteer.

Looking around himself at the ramshackle excuses for buildings this place had, he now understood why you didn't volunteer.

He'd been laying low for the last day, every since he worked up the guts to walk into the town; if this place could be called one. Waiting.

"Wear this." She'd said. Then handed him a jacket with a skull and crossbones on the left shoulder. Faded. Old. Real leather.

Now, every time the creaking hinges on the door to what passed for a tavern in this bohunk place squeaked, he looked up.

So far, none of the 'rough trade' that had walked in seemed to pay him any mind. Dirty, dusty, thirsty. Seemed to be a theme around the place.

He heard a chair scrape slightly behind him. Turned his head just enough to get a look.

His first thought was to ask who'd let the brahmin into the bar. The, person(?) stunk. And bad. He'd thought maybe the barkeep had forgotten some dish of whatever they served for food around here in a dark corner some weeks ago. But it turned out to be a person.

"Flash." The guy whispered.

"Thunder?" He answered.

"Wait two minutes then head out, make a left. Second alley."

So he'd waited. He'd left. Second alley. Right place. The stink.

The guy had turned without a word and led him through a haphazard maze of hastily constructed 'shotgun' shacks. Few had real walls. Mostly metal and old board though.

The guy stepped into a particularly beat-up looking, house? When he opened the door it had stuck a bit. Looked like the entire side of the place was going to pop open. He put a hand on the wall, leaned, yanked. Door came open.

Charles Mackie considered how much he liked life. But orders were orders. He walked in.

Once his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he was able to make out a shape setting in the center of the hovel. A dirty bulb came to life. The gloom turned to yellowish haze.

He caught his breath. "This what you're looking for."

"Uh, ya, I guess."

Glint of metal. Flying. Caught unawares, he flinched, put up a hand. No life to flash before his eyes. Keys bounced off his chest, fell to the ground.

"All yours, killer." The guy chuckled. His stink stayed long after he'd left.

Charles checked the load on his Glock. Climbed in, locked the doors, slid into the back. Now the waiting started.

vet wv

Posted May 1, 2011, 1:53 pm
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