Apocalypse Awakening

By Jake Houstoun

What happens when the one supposed to save the day is nowhere to be found?

 

One moment, Michael's fighting for his life on the front lines, the next, he awakens in a devastated city with only his brother's corpse for company. Racked by confusion and guilt, it is up to him to track down his brother's killer through a world inhabited by roaming armies, tattered mercenaries and desert bandits bent on reigning over the havoc.

 

Apocalypse Awakening is the first title of an epic series. It's a tale of ordinary people caught up in the whirlwind of epic clashes between armies and civilizations, political intrigue and devilish plotting. Hope and optimism run against the forces of pessimism and harsh reality as everyone strives to pull themselves out of the chaos birthed by the APOC.

 

Through the eyes of war heroes and pub-dwelling mercenaries, jaded veterans and runaway prisoners, only the strong -or those wise enough to avoid them- will survive the battles and coups, the victories and the terrors, as the orchestrators behind the devastation strive to fulfil their plans and bring forth the final apocalypse.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jake Houstoun
• Release date: May 31, 2023
• ISBN: 9781739233501

Jake Houstoun

Jake Houstoun was born in London and grew up in Bangor, Northern Ireland, before graduating in History and International Relations from Exeter University. You will hear a lot more about these two subjects if you are ever unfortunate enough to catch Jake in the pub. He has been noticeably absent from his home country for the last few years, travelling through India, Latin America and Australia, picking up “odd jobs,” along the way in iron mines, naval shipyards and accounting departments. From a young age, Jake adored reading fantasy novels through the early morning and watching sci-fi movies with his grandad late into the night. He has been writing novels part-time for the last seven years, combining a gritty fantasy writing style with a grounded sci-fi universe, but has held off releasing the first book in his planned “Apocalypse” series until now. Jake is currently working on his next title in the series while teaching English in Japan, with the goal of one day writing full time. Jake Houstoun was born in London and grew up in Bangor, Northern Ireland, before graduating in History and International Relations from Exeter University. You will hear a lot more about these two subjects if you are ever unfortunate enough to catch Jake in the pub. He has been noticeably absent from his home country for the last few years, travelling through India, Latin America and Australia, picking up “odd jobs,” along the way in iron mines, naval shipyards and accounting departments. From a young age, Jake adored reading fantasy novels through the early morning and watching sci-fi movies with his grandad late into the night. He has been writing novels part-time for the last seven years, combining a gritty fantasy writing style with a grounded sci-fi universe, but has held off releasing the first book in his planned “Apocalypse” series until now. Jake is currently working on his next title in the series while teaching English in Japan, with the goal of one day writing full time. For more updates about Jake and his upcoming work, visit, jakehoustoun.com.

Book preview

In Loving Memory

of Eddie Brown.

Front Lines

What’s the problem with winning battles? People like to ask questions after. Especially civilian types who haven’t grasped enough thorny answers to know better. But tonight was supposed to be one for good impressions, so Michael took out the best smile he’d found in the mirror and got to work.

‘How does it feel to win?’ He repeated. ‘I try not to get caught in the idea of winning or losing. You do what has to be done in the moment and think on the results later.’

‘So...’ The young woman, close to his own age, drawled as she leant back in her chair, giving Michael a chance to brace himself. ‘You have to treat a life-or-death battle as another day in the office?’

He hoped his tight grin looked genuine as the audience chuckled.

‘Sergeant Conway-’

‘Please, Scarlett,’ he interrupted, ‘just Michael.’

The interviewer blushed. It wasn’t obvious. A subtle layer of make-up helped hide the reddening of Scarlett’s cheeks, but the bright studio lighting, plus Michael’s close proximity to her, made sure he was the only one who noticed. If the audience had seen even a hint of her flush, Michael was sure they would have started oohing and shouting. They were an excitable lot tonight.

‘So, Michael,’ Scarlett resumed, clearing her throat and acting as if the new form of address meant nothing to her. ‘In light of the recent victories on the eastern campaign, questions have begun to crop up as to what’s next for the Alliance? Some have even gone as far to say the military group has strayed too far from its original purpose.’

Michael made sure to shield his surprise from the cameras feeding his reaction live to hundreds-of-thousands of viewers around the world.

‘The Reform party,’ Scarlett continued, with the steely-eyed look of an interviewer with the upper hand, ‘claim the Baltharians are behind the spreading skepsis infection. Is the Alliance concerned about these allegations?’ The quirk playing on Scarlett’s lips told Michael this was payback for startling her earlier.

He smiled, despite the nervous silence filling the studio. Michael was certain his publicists backstage were falling apart in the question’s wake, but he had an easy out for these traps. ‘I’m a soldier, not a politician. I’m not here to comment on conspiracy theories, but I appreciate that you think I’m qualified enough to do so.’

The audience’s laughter was even accompanied by a few applauding hands as the tension drained. Earlier, Michael turned to look before averting his eyes. The lights were shining directly at him, making the people behind look like lurking, shadowy creatures.

Scarlett ever so slightly straightened in the armchair identical to his own, her blue suit jacket straining, and cocked her head as she smiled at him with a remarkably straight row of teeth. Michael had been doing this long enough to tell she’d been genuinely impressed by his defence. Good to see he was getting better at this theatre act.

‘My apologies Michael. It’s easy to forget this is only your part-time job. So let me ask, how do you perform so well at your regular one?’ Michael stiffened at the question. Never mind the word perform, demeaning the Alliance’s fight to some sort of easy-going show like this one.

Although it was true. He was good at his job. Very good. The best in fact. They praised him for it. He hated that they did, but he couldn’t stop. He wished he was back there right now.

‘Let me ask that in a better way,’ Scarlett said as she seemed to notice his discomfort. ‘What makes a good soldier?’

He relaxed. She was right, it was a better way to phrase the question. Clearly, he wasn’t the only one good at his job.

‘The first thing you have to remember is that it's all relative.’ Michael grimaced as several people laughed. The media had recently picked up on that quote, even calling it his catchphrase. He’d promised himself to use it less, the problem with good phrases was they tended to stick.

He ploughed on. ‘Out on the field, everything changes. You’ll be punished for things you do every day at home without thinking about, and rewarded for actions that would see you locked up anywhere else. In that regard, there’s four virtues one needs to follow.’ Michael sat up in his seat. Scarlett’s glance towards his chest didn’t go unnoticed.

‘You’ve got to be strong,’ he said, bringing Scarlett’s attention to his hands as he ticked off the word. ‘Only when you have the strength to look after yourself can you turn to help others. And to do that, you need to be brave.’ He folded another finger. ‘Start by hiding your fear, and real courage will quickly follow.’

He locked eyes with Scarlett. ‘Then, there’s passion.’ Michael saw her sharp intake of breath. Such games with women used to perplex him. Only recently had he realised how fun they could be. ‘You have to fight, not only for your fellow soldiers, but for a cause you truly believe in.’

Michael turned in his seat, staring directly into one of the camera’s yawning lenses as the publicists had told him to. Ready for the final blow. ‘And that leaves selflessness. To be willing to sacrifice anything, even your own life, for the greater good of others.’ He turned back to Scarlett as he finished. ‘That’s what makes a good soldier.’

Applause erupted from the audience as Scarlett gave him an admiring smile. Seemed soldiering wasn’t the only thing he was good for. A far cry better than the first round of interviews he’d done. But amongst the avalanche of congratulations, Michael could still feel it. The need to get the hell out of here.

Michael took a moment, a long one, to look at the night-time cityscape lying beyond his window. He was staying in a hotel deep within the city, his view dominated by monoliths of glass gleaming across Central Square, their innards lit by empty office lights and the soft green glow of fire exit signs. High in the building as he was, Michael saw the patches of cloud floating above the skyscrapers and the hazy light-polluted skyline. Prosperity. He had visited plenty of cities in the last few weeks, and the pre-planned grid of city easily blended with the others, swept into the whirlwind of built-up coastlines and trendy riversides. Filled with a congregation of humming traffic and sporadic police sirens, Prosperity was just like the rest, except for one detail, if you didn’t count the peculiar name.

He could see it now, sitting across the square next to the town hall. The Alliance headquarters. Turned out the bureaucratic high end of the Alliance lived inside an elongated brick of tinted-window buildings, replicating the same bland skyscraper as its neighbours, neatly tucked away for Michael to find amongst the countless interviews and airports.

The discovery brought him little joy. With each passing day he felt less a soldier and more a public figure. A fighter turned superstar for vain tabloids designed to attract views and waste as much of the readers’ time as possible.

Michael knew the reasons for his latest round of appearances. To boost morale for the Alliance, to unite the dissatisfied countries that fuelled the combined military effort and raise higher recruitment numbers. It had worked in the first weeks of the campaign, but he’d read the most recent articles. The ones focused less on the Alliance’s struggle to keep global order and more on his latest leaked shirtless pictures. And now tantalising, completely fabricated stories about who he might be interested in romantically dominated the headlines.

Yesterday, he’d resolved to avoid the internet for at least a week when he saw an article discussing the Secret Conway Diet, and whether he really had gone vegan or not. Vapid nonsense designed to distract from everything he’d been saying.

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around his torso, hands tightening over his abs as a wave of perfume hit his nostrils. Scarlett rested her head against his shoulder-blade, her loose hair tickling his spine as she murmured how warm he was. He lay his hands over hers, still staring out at that expanse of humanity beyond the window.

At one time, Michael would have loved the attentions of the gorgeous young woman, but it had been a long time since he’d left home to be glorified by the military and thrust into the celebrity globetrotting life. The novelty had worn off quick enough. So many fantasised about this exact scenario although they didn’t realise how fleeting it was. He should be out there with the men and women he’d abandoned on the front, achieving something. Not fooling around back here. So why did he keep sleeping around? A few nights alone in bed or in the company of a beautiful woman’s body, the results were the same. By the end of the week, he would be gone.

Scarlett pressed her soft body against his, rubbing her thigh against Michael’s hardened leg muscles. The stroking of his hair, the wet kissing at the back of his neck, brought Michael to his senses. A lithe woman writhed against him while he brooded. He was only punishing himself by ignoring her.

‘Come on soldier,’ Scarlett whispered in his ear, ‘I have a new mission for you to carry out.’

Michael turned and planted his lips on hers, mostly to stop anymore bad jokes-

A noise.

Michael grabbed Scarlett’s thighs and flung her to the left. She squealed in excitement, bouncing atop the thick mattress as Michael spun around, planting his legs wide. He instinctively reached for the rifle strapped to his shoulder, hand coming away empty as he scanned the dim room bathed in the glow of the city’s lights. He looked for a movement, for anything out of place. The sound had come from directly behind. What could have made such a shrill-

Then he heard the ringing for a second time. His smart gauntlet buzzed on the bedside table, outer screen glowing as it received a call.

Scarlett lifted her head to look at the commotion. ‘Leave it. It’s probably another studio trying to steal you away from me.’

‘It might be the Alliance,’ Michael said, too concerned for the jovial mood.

‘The Alliance will still be there when you wake up. Just ring them- Hey!’

Michael crossed over to the table and picked up the gauntlet. His suspicions were confirmed. A private number was calling. Alliance command? Michael slid out the tiny earpiece from the gauntlet’s left side and clipped it to his ear. He couldn’t risk a member of the press listening in on this conversation.

Scarlett let out an annoyed huff, sitting up and clutching the bedsheets to her as Michael answered the call. ‘Conway speaking.’

‘Michael?’

He recognised the voice straight away. Lucio Cornelius, the man responsible for starting the international media blitz campaigns. Lucio had never been one of those superiors who shouted themselves hoarse at the new-starts. He had a commanding but friendly aura which earned him respect without particularly trying for it.

‘Major,’ Michael replied.

‘How are you?’ Came the kindly voice.

Michael glanced over at Scarlett who stretched her arms overhead, pretending not to notice the sheets fall to her lap. ‘Can’t complain sir. Yourself?’

A dry chuckle crackled through the gauntlet. ‘That’s a dangerous question to ask. There seems to be more bad news every day, but it's important not to get bogged down.’

‘I see,’ Michael said with an awkward pause. Lucio was undoubtedly talking about the spreading rebel group who’d recently taken to calling themselves the People’s Legion. It was one of the points Michael had been told to underplay if brought up in an interview. Alliance command were worried that an admission of the true scale of rebel victories would encourage more.

‘But the situation is improving,’ Lucio said in a lighter tone. ‘We have better equipment arriving and recruitment numbers are up, thanks to you.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Michael said with earnest. Lucio had done a lot for him these past few years. It felt good to finally be paying back the mountain of favours between them. ‘But...’ Michael glanced back to the Alliance Headquarters sitting silent across the square. ‘Is it enough?’

‘It's more than enough.’ Michael wasn’t sure he agreed but Lucio continued. ‘Unfortunately, it’ll have to come to an end for now.’

‘Oh?’

‘The rebel threat has gotten worse, and our new recruits lack experience. I need you down south to help on the front.’ Michael's chest swelled. Back to the front. Away from the civilian gossip and wasteful parties. He was sick of being told about the good work he was doing. Here was his chance to fight again. To see some results. ‘I’m sorry, but-’

‘No need to be sorry sir,’ Michael interrupted. He glanced over at Scarlett’s confused face as a broad smile filled his. ‘I’m glad to help. It’s been too long.’

Lucio paused. Chuckled again. ‘What would we do without you?’

A lot of military uniforms waited at the gate, green and brown camouflage advertising the terrain they’d be fighting in. The men and women gathered were fresh to the business, young faces excitably chatting, rather than old scars grimly ruminating. The experienced lot were already with the new sets of armour, waiting at the other end of the flight where Michael would have been too if not for the last month of interviews and undeserved luxury.

Few civilians stuck out amongst the throng of soldiers waiting to board. The place they were flying to hadn’t seen much of a tourist season these last years. A couple people looked his way, but none approached the lonely spectacle sitting on his empty bench by the white-washed wall. That was fine by him. It was still more comfortable than lounging in the comfy seats of the first-class area with the other sergeants, separated from his peers by a glass wall of false value.

A TV screen played above his head, ignored by everyone except one bored soldier, chewing her gum between the breaking news headlines. ‘Alliance officials have given Ceeama Core permission to expand operations on Mars in exchange for exclusive rates on all raw materials mined. The move gives the company a complete monopoly over resource extraction on the planet, despite opposition from groups who say-’

‘What are you playing at bro?’ A drunk voice shouted, drowning out the TV’s white-noise broadcast. ‘You know I like her.’

‘And, so what?’ another voice tinged by a drunken slur asked, ‘everyone knows that.’

‘Then why are you fucking messaging her?’

‘She messaged me!’

Michael sighed when he saw the boisterous group round the corner.

‘Come on man, let it go,’ a third man said without much enthusiasm. Better effort than the fourth member of the group, grinning like an idiot at the prospect of his two friends throwing fists.

‘Yeah,’ the smaller man who’d been doing the messaging said, ‘it’s not like you had a chance with her anyway.’

‘Oh yeah? You want to go?’ The first man turned and squared up to him, bunching a strong set of muscles together.

Michael stood.

‘Only if you want to,’ the smaller man said, not backing down in the slightest. ‘I’m not a bitch.’

‘I’ll make you wish you were.’ The big man shoved. His hands didn’t reach their target. They found Michael's chest instead. He stumbled back, his sour look turning to shock when he saw who he’d pushed.

‘Leave it Poss.’

‘Michael.’ Poss’s pout made him look all the less intimidating. ‘Sticking up for your brother, huh?’

‘Out of the way.’ Finn said, not breaking his stride. ‘I can take this small fry.’

Michael shot a look that shut him up quick.

‘Defending him again?’ Poss asked, readjusting his stance, finding it harder to tower over his new opponent.

‘Not defending his actions,’ Michael said. ‘I’m sure Finn’s been a little shit as always. But that doesn’t change the fact we’re family. So, if you want to get to him, there’s a line you have to go through first. Don’t worry. It’s not long.’

There were a fair gathering of eyes on them now, and Poss glanced about him, uncomfortable in the heat. ‘Whatever.’ He turned and stalked off, all injured pride with half the bluster. The two friends trailed after. Michael grabbed Finn’s arm before he could follow.

‘Let me go,’ Finn complained, loud enough for the others to hear. ‘I’ll show him a thing or-’

He stopped as soon as Poss was out for earshot. Gave Michael a relieved grin that lit up his face, made even more boyish by the wisps of hair around his mouth. ‘Thanks for that. He would’ve beaten the shit out of me.’

‘I suspected as much,’ Michael said, letting go of Finn’s arm and making for his seat, ignoring the straggling onlookers.

‘Which part? Me not wanting to fight, or him winning?’

‘Both.’ Michael sat and Finn plopped into the next seat. ‘I should be telling you off.’

‘Yeah, because we both know how great you are at lecturing.’

Michael smiled. He used to get annoyed at Finn, the cheeky attitude and his ignoring of Michael’s lessons when there had been no one else to give them. At one stage he’d learned to give into Finn’s ways, to drop the burden of being the wiser older brother, and since then they’d been getting along all the better for it. ‘You managed to find the bar then?’

‘Right after security,’ Finn said, brushing a leftover dribble from the corner of his mouth. ‘This airport wants to get us drunk.’

‘And now you’ve fallen out with Poss? Again?’

‘Yeah, but it’ll be fine. We’ll make up soon enough. Again,’ Finn said, putting on a deep voice for the last word.

Michael nodded, partly admirable of Finn being so flippant about fighting with his friends, part solemn about his own inability to do the same. Brooding, brooding, always brooding. There were only a few years between him and his brother, yet Michael felt he’d aged far more than he was due.

‘What’s got you so down?’ Finn asked, never one to overlook Michael’s moods. ‘Something on your mind?’

‘That’s the problem,’ Michael said, looking about the busy room for eavesdroppers, not entirely sure he cared. ‘I’ve been thinking too much.’

‘About the war?’

‘There’s enough discussion on that already. No, my thoughts haven’t been clear since the other day.’

‘Wait,’ Finn said, sitting up, ‘you had that interview on Channel Four a few days ago. With that hot bird.’

‘Bird? Really?’

‘Did you fuck her?’

Michael resisted the urge to tell him off for swearing. Often forgot his brother was 23 now. Just nodded instead.

‘You dog!’ Finn yelled, making a few heads turn. ‘What a dog,’ he repeated, punching Michael's arm. It wasn’t the reaction he’d been looking for. ‘I knew you’d do it,’ Finn said, smiling wide, proud as if he’d been the one to sleep with Scarlett. ‘Our little Michael’s all grown up.’

Strange sentence, coming from his considerably smaller brother.

‘Remember when you could hardly look a bird in the eye? Now look at you, picking them up left and right since you joined the army.’ Whereas the terms bird and dog seemed to be the main things Finn had picked up since enlisting. ‘This is great. I just won my bet with Poss.’

‘That’s what you’re putting money on?’ Michael asked, smiling at Finn’s building enthusiasm.

‘Among other things,’ Finn said, giving his cheeky grin again, brown eyes sparkling. ‘You’re a lucky man.’

Michael’s smile dropped. ‘That’s the thing though. Sleeping with women, the money, the fame. The fame worst of all. It’s meant to make me feel good, but I just...don’t.’

Finn looked confused. As if feeling good was a weird topic to broach. ‘So, when do you feel happy?’

In battle. In the midst of fighting where the rules were set and the objectives made clear. Us and them. Survive and kill. Nothing more, nothing less. He’d discovered the joy several years ago, and he sorely missed it each time he was dragged away. Michael couldn’t say any of that of course. Admitting to that line of thinking turned a man from role-model to sociopath. Instead, he simply shrugged.

Finn’s smile slinked back. ‘You know what it is? You’re overthinking things again.’ He sat forward, copying the style of an all too-formal talking to. ‘Why did you not enjoy sleeping with that woman?’

‘Because I didn’t connect with her.’

‘So what?’

‘So, wasn’t it meaningless in the end?’

‘Yeah. So what?’

Michael felt a little taken aback. ‘Then what was the point?’

‘Did you feel like doing it at the time?’

‘Well, yeah.’

‘And did you enjoy it?’

‘Yes...’

‘And did she?’

‘She certainly seemed too.’

‘Then there you go,’ Finn said, patting Michael’s shoulder, the black leather bracelet with Conway, etched on the metal band clearly visible. Michael had given him the bracelet to match the one around his own wrist. A marker for the two remaining members of their family. ‘That’s all there is to it. What more is there to think about?’

Michael hesitated. ‘Nothing.’

‘Exactly. You know how many men would kill to be in the position you’re in? What’s that saying?’ Finn asked, nudging Michael in the ribs. ‘It’s all relative?’

‘Wise words.’

‘There you go. You always like to overthink things, no matter how well they’re going. But at the end of the day, why bother?’

Michael found himself smiling again, did that a lot with his brother these days. His mind felt better too, some of the sludge in it scrubbed clean. Had he really been considering himself the mature one out of the pair of them a minute ago? ‘I’ll talk to Major Cornelius when we arrive. We’ll see about putting you on a post away from the front line.’

Finn suddenly frowned. ‘Can you not do that?’

‘I’m not having you-’

‘Please,’ he said, a rare awkward look about him. ‘I don’t want any special treatment. Not because of who my brother is.’

Michael wasn’t sure he agreed. The reason he’d said yes to Finn joining the army was because he could protect him in it.

‘Finn, I-’

‘Don’t do it.’ Finn stood, looking away from Michael and towards Poss, stumbling back with his two friends in tow.

‘Bro,’ Poss cried, thrusting out his arms. ‘Forget about her. We can’t let a woman get between us.’

‘Absolutely not bro!’ Finn roughly hugged him, the embrace resembling more of a wrestle. ‘Good thing you came back. I won our bet.’

‘Which one?’ Poss asked, big face crumpled in confusion. ‘The one about that redhead and the-’

‘No!’ Finn shouted, loud enough for the whole room to hear. ‘About my brother and the bird from Channel Four.’

‘No way, you stud!’ one of the other friends shouted towards Michael.

‘What a legend!’

‘Absolute dog.’

‘Alright, get out of here all of you,’ Michael said, failing to keep the amusement out of his voice as the laughing group lurched towards the line for the plane, arms wrapped around each other's collective shoulders.

Finn looked back over Poss’s shoulder as they left. ‘Will you be at the base when we get there?’

‘Yes, but I’ll be busy. Command wants to talk to me.’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Finn shouted with his usual grin. ‘You’ll see me again before you know it!’

He had not thought he would need the sliver of metal tonight, hanging dry from his belt for many months. Clean of sin. The day for it to be wetted again had finally arrived. He might not have expected to use it, but that was more reason to carry these things. Just in case.

‘Look there. They’ve moved out of cover.’

‘I can see that.’

Michael listened silently to the two men. He was close enough to hear their breaths, shallow and out of tempo with the drops of rain beating on the layers of fanned leaves. Wasn’t hard to hide back here, amongst the humid black of the trees, surrounded by the clicking of cicadas, screeching birds, and monkey howls punctuating the thick mosquito filled night.

‘Why don’t we shoot them?’

‘Not ‘til the others start. That’s the order. Wait for my go.’

Michael didn’t like it, but there was no choice in the matter. He’d chosen his path, and they theirs. From that point onwards, this collision had been destined. Fate steering into the outcomes. At least, that’s what he told himself. Always did get preachy in his head before the madness began. That sweet, simple chaos.

‘But we might miss our chance.’

‘We’ll only be ruining everyone else’s if we get carried away. Hold your nerves together. I think that’s a major over there. If we get him first, then the whole chain of command will collapse.’

They had spotted the blue A on the major’s upper arm. Impressive, considering the dense tree canopy preventing any moonlight from reaching the dark forest floor. They had to be using a pair of binos, hidden by their backs, brown coats blending into the bath of shadowy foliage. The two men must have spent hours waiting and crawling through the foul-smelling jungle muck and ditches, circling past the piquet line and scraping by the sensors buried in the bushes and long grass. A terrific effort. A mighty waste. No time for a countdown. There were no rewards for hesitancy.

A round of gunfire rang through the forest, smashing the rhythm of jungle life, echoing and calling out for its rebellious brothers to join. Michael grabbed the opportunity, lurching forward and embracing the man on the left. The one in charge.

The gasp was drowned out by a chorus of clattering rounds joining their leader, furious orange streaks ripping through leaves and splintering thin trunks, sinking into the larger trees. With every round fired came the biting roars, a spitting sound between the snarling of a large beast and the revving of a powerful sports engine, repeated dozens of times from the far tree line. Charger rifles. The rebels’ latest response to the energy weapon arms race.

The glowing orange projectiles flashed in the distance, lighting up the night and dashing through the air before burying themselves into the far side of the ruins. Michael saw his allies, proud men and women of the Alliance, crouching behind the ancient clumps of moss-covered stone, firing back with their blaster rifles, drenching the forest in blue light and synthetic screams, as the blaster shots tore into their assailants.

‘Should we shoot now? Isn’t that the signal?’

Michael doubted the man’s companion would be responding to the panicky questions. Not with an arm wrapped around his neck and a blade jammed in him. Michael hadn’t been surprised by the lack of noise from the stabbed man. No one made much complaint over a knife in the back. Their bodies must realise how pointless it would be to protest.

‘Our guys are letting up! They need our-’ The rebel paused in his shouting. Stared at the knife handle protruding from his commander’s back, and the hand holding it. Michael would have met the gaze if not for the visor of his helmet, obscuring his eyes from the terrified man with a dark screen.

He let go of the knife and jumped. The rebel’s shock delayed him, long enough for Michael to grab the round barrel of his charger rifle and shove it to the dirt. He threw himself at the man and they tumbled onto a bed of leaves that softened their fall. He easily pinned the other man to the ground, the mass of his newly armoured body crushing all resistance.

The man’s arms fell to his sides, and Michael dug through the dark tangle of grass, grabbing the concealed wrist. He rammed his thumb into the wrist’s underside, making its owner yelp as he pressed hard between the spindly bones and delicate veins. The muscles spasmed under Michael’s thumb, forcing the rebel to release his weapon.

The man had lost this battle, and he must have known it. The attempts to shift off Michael’s weight had grown far too weak. He saw the wide, startled whites of the rebel’s eyes. Michael was grateful for being in control. He could decide how to incapacitate the young man. An opportunity to spare a life. You take the small wins where you can.

Michael stooped into a crouch and rolled the man over, shoving him face-first into a pile of soggy roots and decayed leaves. Sat back, straddling the man’s scrawny back and wrapping a forearm under his neck. He placed his other arm behind and squeezed the neck in a scissor of steel-encased muscle. Michael’s breathing thundered in his ears, the reverberations trapped by his helmet, and he barely heard the man’s desperate choking between the bangs of nearby gunfire.

It didn’t take long for the man to thrash, twist, weakly flail and finally, relent. Through the flexible armour plating on his arms, Michael felt the neck muscles relax. He released his grip at once. There was a chance he’d killed the man but at least he’d tried to save his life. No time to check the results.

Michael knelt amongst the treeline, stealing the position his enemies had used. Hoped he wouldn’t be receiving the same surprise they had but you could never count on luck to survive out here. He was ready for whatever came.

The forest in front was awash with sporadic blue and orange light, a dazzling firework display of both sides fighting to gain control over the clump of meaningless time-stained stone. Even with his helmet on, Michael’s ears were bombarded with the cacophonous noise, difficult to discern one thunderous gunshot from the next. The weapons’ sudden contrasting fire stung his eyes, leaving deceitful afterimages to play amongst the forest. Stabbing bright charger rounds zipped from the depths of forested undergrowth that merged with cloaked, shifting men. He tried to spot the enemy beyond the shadow-line of the trees and quickly realised it was hopeless.

He focused on his own side instead. Soldiers, coated in armour designed with blocky flairs of jungle camouflage popped in and out of sight as they were illuminated by their blue blaster shots. They sheltered behind a thin line of lichen-crusted stones adorned with grassy clumps. The cover wouldn’t last long. Not against weapons as fearsome as charger rifles. At least the enemy were worse off behind their curtain of leafy branches and tall plants. But it was obvious the rebel numbers were greater, bolstering their attack. Impossible to tell how many that number was, which was probably the greatest disadvantage of all.

Where was Finn? Michael couldn’t spot him or any of his squad amongst the soldiers in the clearing. Hoped that was a good thing. He might be further back in the forest, where the Alliance numbers were thicker. Michael’s own squad had been ambushed coming back from patrol and he’d become separated, retreating alone to the forward operations base to find the two men waiting in the bushes. The enemy had been planning this ambush for a while. Michael would have to worry about Finn later. Had to deal with the immediate threat first.

He spotted the major, Lucio Cornelius, who the two rebels had been preparing to shoot. He was crouched under an archway that stood further back from the walled defensive line and Michael suddenly spotted something about the archway that the major hadn’t.

The stones were flashing in and out of sight as blaster rifles near it fired, each shot painting a split-second picture of rock starting to crumble, dust sprinkling on top of the oblivious major. The immense kickback of vibrations flung from the blaster rifles caused the ancient stones to tremble and rub against one another, and the ruin of archway was ready to give into their dance. Lucio wore a new set of armour but that wouldn’t save him. It was designed to stop a lucky shot of gunfire, not half a ton of falling rock.

Michael could shout and warn Lucio, or call him on his armour’s communication system, but he realised the major wouldn't hear him and the call take too long. Before he could properly think, his body had already acted.

Michael sprinted forward, barrelling through the jungle vegetation. Branches snapped. Bushes and grass crushed underfoot. A charger shot raced through the trees ahead, slamming dead centre into the archway’s keystone. A great crack. The arch broke and stones tumbled in earnest, hurtling towards Lucio. No time to warn. No time to drag him safely aside. All he could do was push and pray.

Michael jumped forward and shoved. Lucio went sprawling, arms stretched in surprise. He cleared the arch and fell behind the stone wall. Safe. Michael felt a brief rush of triumph.

Then the first stone hit. It crunched into his back, crushing his armour and mushing his insides. Felt something crack. Maybe lots of things. He vomited and a sluice of blood flooded his helmet, filled his eyes. Another stone hit the back of his head, knocking in the helmet, repeating the process. No longer able to feel. No longer able to see. Couldn’t hear or even smell. Only taste the blood.

Everything went black.

Part I

A New World

Not a Good Day

Dead. He must be dead . Then how could he still-

Michael lurched forward and slammed onto the floor, water cascading around him. He spluttered water from his mouth and gasped desperately for air, whacking numb limbs against stone. A harsh light struck him and he covered his eyes, turning onto his back. Howling filled his ears, cold air whipping his skin. He kicked and pushed himself across the floor until his back propped up against something hard. Something metallic. He sat there cowering, hands over his face with knees drawn, waiting for whatever came next.

Nothing happened.

Water trickled, drained and settled while the howl petered to a prickling whisper. Michael slowed his breathing as he listened, but there was little to hear. He leant against the metal using his back which only seconds before had been destroyed underneath all the armour that...he no longer wore. The suffocating noise of battle and the thick hot smell of jungle. The gunfire and the crushing rocks. Where had it all gone?

A chill seeped through his feet and rear touching the hard floor, especially at his back pressing against the cold metal. Michael had just enough sense in his numbed body to realise he was naked, although not a hint of dampness clung to him. Where had all the water drowning him disappeared to? Even more bizarrely, where had it come from?

Could this be torture? Maybe the rebels had defeated the battalion and captured his wrecked body, waiting before waking him. Some interrogator would be standing over him, directing a cruel smirk at the pitiful sight curled up before his feet. Preparing to hit with whatever-

‘Defrosting complete.’

A woman’s voice. He hadn’t been expecting that. Defrosting? Surely that couldn’t have meant him? Treated like a slab of meat shoved in the freezer to stop it from spoiling.

A draft carrying the chirping of a bird brushed against Michael’s ears, making his skin shiver and pimple in protest. He hadn’t felt a cool breeze like it in weeks. He began to open his eyes, from lines to slits to wedges. Michael flinched as a rock fell near his feet. He took a deep, calming breath and sat forward, squinting at the misshapen rock where a stick protruded from its centre. Rocks tumbling and birds tweeting in an interrogation room? No, there was no torturer, no table, no glaring light bulb. Not even a wall.

As his eyes adjusted to the blurry grey stone, Michael realised he lay in a cave, light streaming in from its mouth. Too weak to walk, he crawled onto his front, dragging himself across the ground and ignoring the small scraping rocks against his torso. His hand scrabbled against the surprisingly flat floor, and he used his fingertips to gain leverage as he dragged. Stones jabbed at his exposed sides, and Michael swore as he squirmed and yanked across the floor like a one-legged spider. The edge of the cave suddenly dipped away, allowing him to grip the ledge and pull. He finally collapsed, panting at the edge.

He turned to face his reward. Grey skies, grey seas, grey giants, all layered against one another in a bleary looming blob. Michael closed his eyes, shook his head and let his breathing catch up. Knew it was important not to get panicky. The images would make sense, eventually. He wasn’t going to let a set of blurry eyes get the better of him.

He looked again, and this time the shapes took form. The skies were blanketed in thick drab cloud, blocking the sun’s vain attempts to break through. The shifting sea that stretched below was moving, not from a current, but by wisps of mist and fog. And the giants were no more than great boulders, jutting from the ocean of fog, some half collapsed and leaning against each other for support.

An urge rose to run from the alien world, but Michael refused to let it grow. This didn’t make sense, and he’d promised himself to never panic until grasping the full picture. Still, it was hard not to be overwhelmed. Where were his allies? How did he end up here, completely alone? Even some enemies would have been a comforting sight.

He began to look back from where he’d came, away from the craziness swirling outside. Saw the rock that had fallen from above. Only now did his eyes see it for what it really was, a chunk of concrete with a sheared-off piece of rebar protruding from its middle. He craned his neck and saw the ceiling above, half crumbling, half missing. Not a cavernous roof of rock, but a broken floor of plaster and linoleum. Now he was truly baffled.

Michael’s eyes finally focused. Outside of the room’s shell lay not an ethereal forest of enormous rock stacks but the destroyed ruins of a city. A vast one of vacant skyscrapers towering far above, and their not-so lucky brethren dashed across the streets below. He gripped the edge of the floor and glanced over the side. Directly below Michael lay the contents of the next room, but when he dared look out further, he was greeted by the far drop. He looked across the street and saw his reflection staring back in the windows of an obsidian black tower. He lay in the middle of a gash in the building where the rooms had been torn open and exposed to the wrecked cityscape.

The ruined walls mirrored the dozens of surrounding buildings down and across the street. Each one had been damaged in some way, from gouges ripped through windows and steel alike, to half collapsed towers struggling to stay upright. The destruction was so fearsome that some buildings were utterly demolished, leaving piles of debris in their place. Michael’s own room had suffered during the long-dead chaos, a giant rip left in the floor.

The once gleaming monuments of glass and shiny metal were now grey and dilapidated. The only bright things Michael saw were the green vines and trees, lots of them, permeating throughout the destruction. Everywhere he looked, nature took its stranglehold, covering lower parts of the buildings and spreading higher in large green veins on a quest to reach the top-most parts of their new kingdom. A pack of dogs barked from the heart of plant-clad streets below, thick with grass and scattered tress. That worried Michael more than anything else. How long had it taken for all this vegetation to grow? There was no city, at least none he knew of, that had been allowed to fall into such disrepair. How long had he been...what had he been doing?

Michael rolled over and looked back at the contents of the room. Facing him were three metal cabinets, tanks, standing guard by the far wall. Only the right-most one remained intact, a dark-grey chrome box that quietly hummed to itself. The tanks were each big enough to fit a man inside. In fact, that was their purpose, for within the left tank sat a dried-up skeleton, glowering at him with empty eye sockets and a hanging jaw. Michael realised he could have easily been in its place if whatever had opened the other tank finished the job. A bad ending for sure.

The middle tank’s metal doors, which he’d leaned against moments ago, were wide open. A cool mist wafted and a white liquid dripped from the bottom of the tank, seeping through cracks in the floor to the room below. Michael must have been submerged in the liquid while he’d been asleep. Had he really been frozen?

Michael tried to stand and ended up on his knees as he crawled over to the right-hand tank that was still closed. The dark metal had a brushed shine, a unique tinge he hadn’t seen before. Black cables trailed from the ceiling to the gently humming tank. There had to be a third person frozen inside. Michael stretched out his hand and touched the metal.

He yelped and fell back as an alarming sting ran through his palm from the severe, penetrating cold. He held up his hand and saw an ugly red and white mark already beginning to form there. Michael gritted his teeth, furious at his own stupidity. But this was not the time to dwell on it. Most of his palm had been burnt and he would need to find warm water, quick, to submerge it in. Then he could-

‘Ah!’ A searing pain shot through his body as he collapsed onto the floor, writhing on the concrete and arching his back as invisible needles stabbed every inch of him. Michael yelled, swore and kicked wildly into the air, unable to find the source of the torture. The painful sensation rippled through his torso, down his arm and to his right hand, concentrating on the burn. He struggled to hold back the tears, gripping his wrist as tight as possible to try numb the area. Was that steam coming from his palm? He couldn’t tell as everything grew dark.

The pain vanished as quickly as it had come, and Michael gasped in relief as he returned from the brink of passing out. Through teary eyes, he saw his hand’s normal fleshy colour, completely healed. What he was sure from harsh experience would have taken weeks to heal, had done so instantly, at an excruciating price. Now he was back to square one, lying naked on the ground, gasping for breath.

‘Damn,’ he said, hitting his freshly healed fist weakly on the floor. It had been a miracle all right, but one that only left him more confused. Michael sighed and lay back, ready to sleep. A horrible thought stopped him. It was almost as if another voice entered his head. A faint, reminding whisper.

‘Where am I?’

With the question lodged in his mind, he couldn’t shake it. Michael lay still on the floor, staring at the cracked ceiling. Stayed like that for a long time, thinking. The Alliance. Finn. What could have happened to them?

Nothing. Nothing in his memory explained this. Fighting for his life one second, and the next...teleported? Frozen and reanimated? Nonsense. The words, defrosting complete, they must have come from the freezer, but who put him in there? Why release him now?

A cold draft hit Michael, and he shivered, bringing him back from his musings. It was hard for a man to properly reflect without any pants on. The sun was low in the sky and the temperature worse off for it. His first concern should be survival. Nothing’s ever achieved waiting for something to happen. You have to find the solutions yourself.

He sat up and looked towards the doorway. A skull stared back at him. A second one, attached to a skeleton sprawled on the floor, blaster rifle lying centimetres away from its bony fingertips. Michael didn’t have the strength to be surprised. Of course, there would be other corpses. Ones probably responsible for the destruction everywhere.

Clothes hung off the skeleton in several places. Good. Michael would need to cover up against the cold of the night. He stumbled over to the corpse, legs at last strong enough to support him, and examined the clothes. They were rotting, and pieces of fabric fell apart in Michael’s hands as he tore the trousers off. No luck there. The only thing somewhat intact was the jacket, protected from the once rotting flesh by the vest underneath that had taken the brunt of the decay.

Michael snatched the jacket from the skeleton, scattering bones across the floor. He ripped off the disintegrating collars and used the sleeves to wrap the jacket around his waist. He supposed he’d cover his most vital area if nothing else. He glanced at the boots, then his own feet. Could tell just by looking that he was many times bigger in size. There was no use in staying here. Time to move closer to the ground and begin his hunt for answers.

‘Food.’

That too. Michael must have been hungry enough that he imagined his stomach faintly talking to him. Wouldn’t be the most surprising thing that happened today.

All that was left was the rifle. Rust cascaded from the metal as Michael picked it up. It had the similar bulky shape of a blaster rifle, but any other details were long-past discerning from this piece of crap. He tossed it over the side and listened. It took a long while for the thud to come back. It would take some time getting down.

The room’s only door was drop-bared on his side, but Michael didn’t want to take that route. Those bars were probably the reason he’d been left alone for so long and there was still one more occupant in the freezers. He could come back for them later. For now, he’d drop into the room below and find a way down from there.

Michael took a step forward and froze as a glint of light caught his eye. It came from the arm of the skeleton that had rolled across the floor. From the bracelet attached to its wrist-

Michael rushed to the spot and knelt, cold sweat springing to his head. He liked to think himself a man you couldn’t shake easily...but this...this-

Slowly, he pried the bracelet from its owner. An emptiness spread through him, but that didn’t stop him from feeling the leather in his hand. Stark contrast of black against his palm, the metal band in the middle standing out clearest of all. Michael looked from the bracelet to the corpse, the name Conway, burning bright in his eyes.

Today was not a good day.

Farewell Party

‘W here do you think you’re going, girl?’ Quidel tightened his grip around Emelia’s neck, pushing her further up the crumbling sand wall, lifting her feet off the ground. She struggled to suck in breath as her hearing went fuzzy, hands scrabbling uselessly against Quidel’s forearm. He leant forward, spit flying into her face as he spoke. ‘How did you get out of your cage?’  

Emelia was vaguely aware of Quidel’s spikey mohawk shark-finning at the bottom of her vision as her eyes rolled upwards. Barely felt his hand pinning her arm to the wall.  

‘You’ve certainly grown haven’t you, girl? I told Sawtooth he couldn’t let you get too big. We ought to have clipped your wings before you tried to fly away, like we should the others. I knew this would happen. He never listens to me. No one ever does.’ Quidel’s grip loosened, allowing Emelia to squeeze in precious gulps of air. Able to focus her eyes again. Hearing that bit better. ‘I should be the one in charge here, you know that. You know that, don’t you?’  

Emelia knew Quidel wasn’t asking her the question. Ranting to himself as always, but she answered anyway. She was taking a risk talking without permission, but she had to try.  

‘Y...es,’ she gasped in between breaths.  

‘What?’ Quidel asked whipping his narrowed eyes back to hers, loosening his grip further. ‘Did you say yes?’  

Emelia paused as if to speak, inhaling as much as she could.  

‘Well? What did-’  

Emelia kicked upwards. Her right boot slammed into Quidel’s crotch, immediately followed by her left. Quidel’s eyes widened as he doubled over, mohawk swishing down with his head, too pained to scream. His muscles clenched, trapping Emelia’s dangling legs.  

They tumbled into a heap on the sandy floor. Emelia pushed away Quidel’s arms and lunged for his face, throwing her fists at everything below the man’s bright yellow hair. She didn’t really know how to hit, but at least her aim was good. She whacked Quidel below the eye, cracked him on the side of the nose and pummelled his jaw in quick, clumsy, succession. Quidel held up his arms, meagrely defending his battered face. His legs loosened enough to let Emelia squirm free.  

‘What’s going on down there?’  

Emelia jumped to her feet, yanking the knife out of Quidel’s belt pouch, and ran down the dark corridor away from the new voice. She would have liked to see her handiwork on Quidel’s face, but that would waste her one opportunity to escape. Her hands began to throb as she ran. She shouldn’t have hit him so hard.  

She saw a bright spot ahead. Even in the middle of the night, the drunken cheers and blaring horns thundered over the trucks as they roared, trying to batter the others to pieces in the arena. Emelia had never seen much of the spectacle, always by his side, too scared to look up and attract attention.  

Emelia reached the end