An Alliance Forged in Blood

[Strazio Rockwell]

Isaac’s weary mind kicked into overdrive as he tried to commit every scrap of information Christa had to memory. He traced maps and documents in his mind, trying to etch every word and contour into his subconscious. This girl had informants, or was damn good at hunting down information. Hell, probably a healthy mixture of the two. The two sat in silence for quite some time. They seemed to have quite a bit in common, even though their methods differed drastically. Isaac hated death and violence, despite having seen more than his fair share of both. She seemed to thrive on confrontation, taking everything as a challenge and every bullet was fired with the intent to cause destruction. Still, despite her harsh demeanor and fierce persona she showed a more tender side when she had patched up Isaac. Something unspoken had clicked between the two, an alliance of two warriors forged by blood in the heat of battle. A simple smile found its way onto Isaac’s weathered mug, he hadn’t shaved in a few days and his face looked scraggly and ancient.

Every muscle burned with exhaustion and his bones creaked as he crawled into Christa’s unused bed. It wasn’t night quite yet, but dusk was fast approaching. Isaac closed his eyes and rubbed his severed arm, he still felt it. His arm had been gone for over a year now and he could still feel it there. Every now and again he would reach for something only to realize that his limb was still missing. It was indeed a surreal experience and one that he did not care much for. Sleep came easy for him, even in the foreign room. Despite having just met Christa he felt like he could trust her with his life and in fact she did a great job trying to preserve it.

Isaac's Dream

[spoiler]“Come on Carter, fight me! Fight me you coward!” Romearo yelled across the brightly lit arena. His bright yellow eyes and ferocious fang-filled grin were backlit by several rows of spotlights. Isaac held a defensive position, crouched on one knee and holding up his arm in a defensive posture. A shell of blood covered Isaac, almost creating a sphere around him. Sweat poured from his brow and he was breathing heavily, Romearo had spent the better part of the last thirty minutes trying to crack through Isaac’s defenses and it was beginning to tire the Bloodlance. Above them large sheets of reinforced glass protected observers from collateral damage. They were being watched, or rather studied, with the assumed purpose of developing super soldiers. This was what Sector 8, Isaac’s special operations unit, had been reduced to. They were now merely rats trapped in a cage and forced to fight each other for the amusement of sadistic scientists.

“I don’t want to fight you!” Isaac called out and pleaded with his friend “Romearo, we don’t have to fight. We can escape! We can use these powers to escape!”

Romearo flourished his wrist and from a small hole in his palm a crackling whip of yellow energy arced forth and slapped against the ground. With a flick of his wrist the whip crashed into Isaac’s shield, filling the air with the metallic smell of burnt blood. His friend attacked with reckless abandon, trying to find a chink in Isaac’s hemoglobin shield.

“Come on Isaac, we both know how this ends. Neither of us are going to survive, this all ends in blood Isaac.”

“Damnit Romearo! Listen to yourself, we’re fucking Sector 8 man we can do anything!”

Romearo laughed and lashed out several more times, splattering blood against the pristine floor. “Your precious Sector 8? They’re all dead, all of them except for you and me. They all tore each other apart, the second they were thrown in this ring they knew it was kill or be killed and they all ripped each other to ribbons!”

This hit Isaac hard. His friends, no, his family killed each other in cold blood. This momentary lapse of concentration proved to be Isaac’s undoing. His shield had loosened in his moment of weakness and Romearo struck out. The crackling yellow whip sliced through the blood with ease and wrapped itself around Isaac’s elbow. It was pulled tight and Isaac stumbled forward and fell to the ground. His arm twisted at an odd angle as the cable of energy was brought tight and he felt bone and sinew snap and twist. The shield of blood reacted quickly and wrapped itself around the crackling whip. Feverishly Isaac willed his blood to try and break Romearo’s grip. A fresh surge of electricity jumped through the whip and vaporized any blood that touched it.

The Bloodlance screamed in pain as his arm was ripped from his body. It was accompanied by a sickening squelching and snapping noise as the muscle and tendons were ripped in half. Tears streamed down the hardened warrior’s face as he curled into a fetal position. The pain was unbearable and he was so lost in the agony that he hadn’t even noticed Romearo’s approach. Without words, without ceremony his companion wrapped a rope of energy around Isaac’s neck. He hoisted the Bloodlance to his knees and the two met eyes.

“I’m sorry Isaac, I really am.”

“Me too” Isaac sputtered through the cable wrapped around his throat. A massive spike of blood drove itself through Romearo, carving a massive hole through the former Sector 8 member.[/spoiler]

Isaac woke in a cold sweat and feverishly glanced around the room. Christa sat in the middle, with a stacks of papers surrounding her. She glanced over at Isaac and raised her eyebrows.

“You were talking in your sleep” she spoke nonchalantly.

Isaac gulped down a lump in his throat and asked “what did I say?”

“Nothing much, talking about someone named Romeo. He a friend of yours?”

Isaac stayed silent and looked away “his name was Romearo, he was an old battle buddy of mine.” He stood to go drink from the tap in the other room, he felt dehydrated. Christa’s bed was soaked with his sweat and he felt a bit embarrassed about ruining her sheets. Christa didn’t seem very concerned, and turned back to her papers. Isaac removed his shirt and kept his head under the tap. The cold water felt good against his burning skin and his racing mind began to calm down. After a few moments he shut the water off and dried his head with his shirt and walked back into Christa’s room. His body was aged and weathered, but was still in shape. A octagon was tattooed onto his right pec and seven tally marks were etched inside the polygon.

“Christa” he began, not sure where to start.

She turned and looked at him.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush. I want to find Omni. From your notes I can tell you probably want to do the same. While I don’t agree with your methods, you’re damn skilled and I need help. After that little debacle at the bead store I’m fresh out of leads and I’ve got no more informants, at this point I’m basically blind.”