Strike Fiss’ Manifesto
October 2002
Redeeming One’s Self
It’s the smell that wakes me up. Jogs my memory. Reminds me I’m still alive despite the fact my body has gone completely numb. It’s of burning. Flesh and blood. The smell of sweet gunpowder and hot flak. A kind of heady, earthy rush mixes with these mechanical death smells…the forest floor I’m laying on. It bleeds sap and rain, not the crimson goo that covers my hands.
They must have thought me dead. Left me to be picked up by the garbage collectors. I can still hear a dozen or more of them fighting close by. Having a tough time, by the sounds of the grunts and yelling. Most of the name calling and screaming obscenities for the camera shots are only in the first few minutes. These men and women aren’t used to fighting on ground that doesn’t ‘klang’ when you step on it. They’re unfamiliar with the rolling natural hills and ancient roots that hide some of the more useful traps and weapons.
My HUD powers back up. Flickering. Showing my armour is almost dead. It also shows I have one round left in my gun. I’ve had worse odds, but not when I’ve been left so far behind. A little ‘beep!’ in my helmet tells me I have six minutes left before someone wins. It’s bad. Very bad. If I get up and move, someone’s going to see me. Someone with much more ammo. Just like the man over the hill. He spots my body, but thinks I’m dead and turns away. Reloading what looks like…
Yes.
My favourite. A tri-barrel rocket launcher.
With a deep breath, I force my arm to move again. It lines up the scope of my rifle. One shot is all I need if I don’t screw up. If anyone else sees the shot…though…I’m dead before I get to the rockets.
This is the point I reach in every match. Where I know it would be better just to sit here. Wait. Hide until the end of the match and not get myself killed. But then I remember all I have worked for. All I have sacrificed. All those I let down…but also…all those who are hoping for me. Calling out my name. Watching me, though I can’t see the cameras.
And it is the most satisfying feeling when a bolt of lightning arches out from my gun and vaporizes the head of the man a few feet away from me.
My feet scramble and I am somehow upright. I take the rockets and the portable cannon. All the others are fighting on the other side of the trees: none the wiser to my return to the land of the living.
I reach into my pocket and take the last bit of Adrenalin I have. The only legal drug in this sport…and the only one you need if you’re smart enough to use it. Fire engulfs my body. My heart races! It’s like a star being born in my stomach, radiating pure energy out in my limbs.
The next parts are almost a blur.
I jump over the roots of the trees guarding my rebirth, on instinct, loading the first two rockets in my launcher. I know what lies over this hill…and it’s never left alone for long. Sure enough, as I let the rockets fly, my instincts prove themselves. Two lumbering hulks in armour were heading for the Shield Pack that I am now free to pick up.
My armour hums to life and a field of orange energy crackles around my body for a moment before fading again. In less than ten seconds, I have gone from dead to full power again.
Not a moment too soon. “FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!” is broadcasted everywhere.
I look down at the fallen I have just claimed, and almost can’t believe it when I see a large warhead next to one. It is marked with the warning signs of radiation and nuclear goodness. I pick it up and ready it in place of my rocket launcher.
My heart still racing, I run and jump over to the edge of the clearing. Below, in the valley formed between the massive roots of these alien trees, I see the main battle. Those who have survived this far are grizzly. Fearsome. Bloody and loving every moment of it. They fight like rabid wolverines, but with chain-guns, energy weapons, and when all other ammo has been expended, guns that civilians use.
I stand over the scene with a grim smile. In their feeding frenzy to be the last one standing, they don’t see me. My visor lifts off, so I can see the scene clearly.
“Ahh…” I find myself whispering to the giant gun in my hand. “I’ve been away for far too long…”
With that, I let the Redeemer fly. My victory is announced even before the shockwave clears.
And with that, I smile, and hit ESC to quit the game.
http://www.unrealtournament2003.com/
Strike Fiss, Studio Shinnyo 2002. Khattam-Shud, EOF.
Posted under Manifestoes, Short Stories
Add A Comment