The Barracks

    The wind whips across the barren planet's surface. Red tinted earth glows with the light of the neighboring sun. Several long-abandoned barracks bunched together, the same sun's glint soon overpowered by a brighter light.

    All out of nowhere, a barrage of heavy blasts of supercharged plasma obliterate the ground around the structures. The serenity of the scene is turned straight to the horrors that the most war-hardened soldiers fear in their dreams.

    A blast lands between several of the barracks, uprooting one of the entire buildings and sending it somersaulting through the air. The light from the sun and the explosions glint off of the twisted metal fragment of it's former self, small molten metal bits fly from it before it crashes to the earth.

    The blasts draw to a close and the scene reduced to a hellish aftermath of smoke and smoldering wreckage. A desolate place so seemingly pointless for such a concentrated attack.

    A good seven or so minutes pass before the sound of slowly burning embers is overpowered by a low vibrating echo. At least five small hovering craft crest a dune, headed straight for the scene of the barrage. A larger, heavily fortified transport craft follows shortly after.

    The smaller skiffs circle the area several times, then group together back at the larger vehicle. The heavy drone of it's anti-grav generators hums slower as it sets down on the ground. Multiple heavy laser cannons immediately fold out from their panels and turn slowly, scanning the area.

    One of the pilots of a skiff hops off and heads toward the larger craft, the crackling sound of the external radio calling from one of his companions. "Stanton! Stay alert!"

    "Roger that." He whips out a large rifle, which unfolds in his grip. Leaping into the air, his backpack emits a thrust and jets him to the top of the transport craft, where he turns around and crouches. His rifle's scope slowly clicks as he peers through it at the smoke and wreckage of the scene before them. His attention is drawn behind him however as a hatch opens and another suited soldier pops up. "See anything?" The man inquires.

    "Just smoke and wreckage from a pointless attack." Stanton mutters in reply. "The hell are we even doing out here? What's the point of attacking this spot? There isn't anything here. Hasn't been for months now."

    "Leave that to the general, Stanton. You have your orders." The soldier pulls back down into the craft and sits down in a seat, looking over multiple monitors that continually scan the area. In truth, he didn't know why they were there either. "...Whatever it is, must be important."

    The squad of skiff soldiers walks slowly toward the barracks, weapons at the ready. They partially enter the smoke that bellows from the nearest bulding-that-was, and one of them halts. "There!" He shouts, the others immediately bringing their weapons to bear on the slightly visible solitary figure amidst the wreckage.

    "You there!" The Sergeant shouts out at the figure. "Put your hands in the air!"

    "How the hell did he survive those blasts?!" One of the soldiers spouts to another next to him. He is quickly silenced by the Sergeant and the squad slowly spreads out, keeping a bead on the obscured person.

    "Turn around and face me!" The officer yells.

    The figure slowly complies and faces them. By this point, some of the smoke had cleared, and two long green slits light up over the blackened helmet of the suit. Several long green energy blades manifest themselves from the elbows and knees. Every one of the troops instantly freezes in their tracks, the Sergeant included. "Mother of God... This is a suicide mission..." He winces at the thought of their commands. "He can't honestly expect us to..."

    A different voice, calm and commanding enters his very mind, and of the soldiers around him. "If you wish to live, then I would advise not pulling that trigger. Otherwise, you will have sealed the date of your funeral."

    At least thirty seconds pass as the troops aim at the one before them, unwavering as he stares them down. The Sergeant knows his orders, and begins to think perhaps he can get a drop on the man with his weapon already drawn. He eyes the soldiers, who stare back at him. He slowly nods and issues the command.

    Gritting his teeth, he feels the adrenaline pumping through his veins already, muscles tense. Yet as soon as he depresses the trigger, the barrel of his rifle glowing with the impending fire, he realizes his mistake. The figure is already halfway to him. The sergeant screams as in a split instant, the blackened armor of the notorious rebel before him draws two massive blades from his back. And the moment after, he feels his torso disconnected from his legs. Sudden flashes and beeps from critical failures echo through his helmet.

    He stares wide-eyed into space as his torso spins to the ground, the sounds and sights slowly fading into nothingness. His last sight is of one of the soldiers having their gun turned on themselves, dull flashes and a thud as they crumple to the ground.

    Stanton couldn't believe what he was watching. It couldn't be real, yet he knew it was. Despite being a skilled sniper, there was no way to keep a bead on the target. The figure leaped and even flew through the air with inhuman agility.  The sniper felt as if he was trying to hit the human Flash. He was sweating already, the roster on the display in his helmet showed his team, four dead already, then another, and another.

    His vision blurred and he blinked, clearing it. Aiming ahead, he saw the whole squad that had entered, laying slaughtered. And the single figure standing, staring right at him, or at least it felt like those piercing green slits were.

    He aimed at the head an popped off a shot, only to find that the man had simply tilted his head, avoiding it altogether. He was toying with the sniper, like a cat with a mouse. Stanton felt his blood boil, he hated being showed up, and tried another shot. But the figure simply sank into the earth below. "The hell?!"

    Banging on the hatch of the transport, he screamed into the radio. "Get everything we got online! The whole squad is down!" The craft's drives began to hum to life as it lifted off the ground, then shuddered, and shut down completely. Stanton tried to hold on, but it hit the ground again and bounced him off the side.

    He scrambled back to his feet and lifted his rifle. "Scott! What happened!" Turning to the side, the hatch opened on the side of the transport, and the soldier he had just called for slumped out of it onto the ground.

    It was at that point, that the sniper simply paused, then dropped the rifle to the dust. He heard it over the radio from the sergeant's frequency. "...A suicide mission."

    He nearly peed himself as he heard a voice from behind him. "Smart boy." A second later, and his suit jerked, a loud hissing sound as he watched the cable from his oxygen generator flailing around. Then without moving, he felt himself lifted by some unseen force and planted on one of the skiffs.

    He dared a look to the side, and saw the armored 'menace' standing beside him. "By my estimates, you have about five minutes before you suffocate. I advise running."

    Stanton didn't hesitate, kicking the skiff into full throttle, pushing it as fast as it could possibly go. Soon the loud buzz of the engine was all he could hear. Besides the hissing of the now pointless oxygen generator on his back that is.

    The minutes ticked by, and he began to gasp, it was getting harder to breath. The base was within range, just had to make it. Another minute past, he was feeling drowsy, but pressed on.

    Almost to the hangar, his body gave out and slid off the bike, he muttered several gasping words. "N-not... Fair..."



- - - - - - -



    At least five hours had passed, and Stanton blinked groggily. A blinding white light slowly came into focus, and he recognized the medical bay. Slowly lifting his head, he gasped as the mask over his mouth was ripped off. He looked up at the imposing suit of armor aside his bed, instantly recognizing their commanding General.

    "S-sir!" He attempted a salute, but the general held his arm down. "What. Happened."

    "D-dead... All dead sir, we didn't stand a chance, honest..." Stanton spat out as if his life depended on it.

    The general paused and looked at the mask, then back at the sniper. "I said... WHAT, HAPPENED?"

    The soldier flopped his head back against the pillow and sighed heavily. "He happened, sir... Vypor, happened..."