Mercenaries’ Tale – 2.09 Making Plans

Blaise, Gratin and Parkinson walked alongside the pipe in silence. Gratin considered continuing his conversation with Blaise but decided against it. She always became closed off when people she barely knew were around and wouldn’t be willing to divulge anything personal in their presence, even if Gratin attempted to communicate telepathically. She’d be too afraid of blurting something revealing out by accident. It was better to wait until they were alone once more. That meant travelling in silence for now.

Eventually they came to a spot where there was evidence of laser fire, the sand of the desert having been fused into glass by the heat of the blasts.

“This must have been where the cyborgs had their fight,” Blaise reasoned, kneeling down to examine some ammo casings left on the ground from the previous night.

“They were fighting close to the pipe here. I wonder why they didn’t sabotage this section?” Parkinson asked. Blaise considered this.

“They always destroy a section right next to a monitor station. This is in line with their M.O,”

“But why? That section doesn’t look like it was any weaker than this one.”

“Maybe there’s something special about the portions next to the stations? We’ll have to ask a technician,” Blaise suggested, standing up and facing the other sniper. He shrugged.

“Yeah, maybe. So what are we doing? I don’t think we’ll see much more than what the Salmanic guys did…”

“Just let Gratin do his thing,” instructed Blaise. Gratin was crouched down, examining some sand between his fingers.

“Magic was cast here but it’s faint. I think there were numerous spells of varying strength being cast,” he shook his head, “for a more accurate reading, we should have arrived many hours ago. I fear that most of the residual magic has already dissipated…” He trailed off and bowed his head apologetically at Blaise. She gave him a reassuring smile.

“Just see what you can pick up. Maybe some of the more powerful magic might still be around?”

“There is some,” he made his way around the scene, arms outstretched in front of him as if he was feeling his way around a darkened room.

“I believe the white mage was standing here. There is a high concentration of residual magic in this spot. There are smaller deposits scattered around. And there’s something else…” he wandered around for a few moments, walking around in circles and then backtracking on himself as he strained his senses to work out what it was he could feel. Eventually he came to a halt on a mound of upturned rocks.

“Here. This has been moved,” he stated before kneeling down and groping the rocks and sand.

“What do you mean ‘moved’?” Parkinson asked as he and Blaise slowly approached. There was a deep frown on Gratin’s face, his eyes closed under the mask.

“…There is a tunnel under us. It was created by magic and fairly recently at that. At a guess, I’d say the early hours of this morning,”

“Of course…that explains how the Dark Worlders have been getting around unseen! They’ve been tunnelling under the desert!” Blaise exclaimed.

“Can you sense which way they went?” Parkinson asked. Gratin moved his head back and forth as he tried to determine just that, his jaw clenched in concentration.

“Hmm, the magical residue is fainter in that direction,” he pointed to his left, away from the monitor station, “and stronger in that one,” he pointed towards the monitor station. Blaise’s brow creased in thought as she took that information in.

“That’s almost perfectly in line with the pipe. I think they’re following it to the next station,” She said.

“I agree. We better tell the others. I think we can work out where the next target will be now,” stated Parkinson.

It didn’t take long to fill in the rest of the mercs. The general consensus amongst the group was that the next monitor station along the pipe would no doubt be the next target the Dark Worlders would likely strike at. Quickly asking the technician where the monitor station was located led them to boarding the monorail that connected all the stations together. The next stop would be the monitor station in question.

The monitor station was situated inside a small canyon, cliffs lining either side of it. Blaise and Parkinson immediately scoped them out as being ideal sniping spots. They decided to go for a hike to find a good place to camp down, Doug following them due to having nothing better to do. He also felt like he should avoid the gentleman for a bit after their last encounter. He didn’t mention this to Blaise though but he did note that she seemed somewhat relieved to have him joining her on the hike, the gunslinger relaxing for the first time since they had met back up with her pals.

The other mercs took the time to learn the lay of the land, checking for choke points they could hold an ambush at, which was tricky due to the fact that they had no idea where the Dark Worlders would be entering from other than “the floor”. The ability to tunnel wasn’t as easy to predict as they had hoped.

Parkinson clearly wasn’t very pleased at Doug’s decision to tag along. He made sure to stay several paces ahead of the others just so he wouldn’t have to converse with Doug. This behaviour didn’t go unnoticed.

“What, do I smell or something?” Doug called after him as the sniper took off, mock offence in his voice.

“Ignore him, apparently he’s just prejudiced against members of the PSF,” muttered Blaise in hushed tones, causing Doug to frown.

“He does know I quit, right? I haven’t worn the uniform in years,” he pointed out, perplexed.

“Yeah, well some people are more focused on what was rather than what is, you know? Parkinson heard you were a soldier, so now as far as he’s concerned you are a soldier. Facts won’t change that,”

“Huh. Sounds stupid to me. But then he is the bloke wearing black in the middle of a desert…” Blaise found herself stifling a giggle. She gave Doug a playful push.

“Shush, he’ll hear you,”

“Pfft, like I’m scared of some scrawny bloke covered in sweat on account of the turtle-neck jumper he’s sporting in one of the hottest regions on the planet. Sides, it’s not like I won’t be able to see him coming; he stands out like a sore thumb in those clothes,”

“Aren’t you the one that brought a thick leather jacket to the middle of the desert?” Blaise pointed out. Doug glimpsed down at the offending article of clothing that he was currently carrying over his mechanical shoulder like a cape.

“Touché. But you gotta admit, I make this shit look good,” he joked, striking a pose similar to what he thought a supermodel might make at the end of a catwalk; arms folded with his human hand cupped around his jaw and his lips pursed together into a pout. Blaise couldn’t contain the laughter that time, attracting Parkinson’s attention.

“What’s so funny?” he called back at them, halting in his march to the top of the hill.

“Nothing!” both mercenaries projected an image of innocence, albeit a half-hearted attempt at one in Doug’s case and Blaise’s being diminished by the fact she was clearly trying to control a giggle fit. Parkinson held his gaze for a few more seconds before shaking his head and walking off. The other two waited for Blaise to calm down a bit before following suit, Doug feeling very satisfied by his ability to reduce his companion to uncontrollable laughter.

They caught up with Parkinson at the top of the cliff, the Sniper in the process of examining the view via his rifle’s scope.

“Yeah, I’d say this is a good spot. There isn’t much cover down there for the terrorists to hide behind. We can see everything from up here!” he informed the pair. Blaise peered down at the view below. They were on the cliff opposite the monitor station, the back of the building pressing into the other cliff face. There really wasn’t anywhere to hide down there.

“Doesn’t look like there’s anywhere for our ambushers to hide either except maybe inside the station,” she pointed out.

“…They could set up in there. Might be a bit awkward having them all charge out of those narrow doors though…” reasoned Parkinson.

“Didn’t Annie suspect they had a hacker? If they can break into the computer system to turn off all the lights then how do we know they won’t see everyone on the security cameras?” Blaise asked, causing Parkinson to frown.

“Shit, yeah. That might be a problem…”

Doug examined the verge of their cliff thoughtfully. It was a sheer drop, not offering much of a way down for those wishing to mount a charge.

“What if we repelled down from here? Set up some ropes beforehand? That way they won’t see us coming,” he suggested.

“Where are we going to get ropes from?” Parkinson asked, clearly doubtful at Doug’s ability to plan out a decent attack. Doug looked up thoughtfully, spotting one of the Salmanic employees emerging from the station to talk to Harper.

“You leave that to me,” Doug winked at the Sniper and began the trek back down to the others.

Once back down with the rest of the group, Doug joined Harper and the Salmanic employee whilst Blaise and Parkinson spoke to the others about Doug’s plan. Blaise allowed Parkinson to do most of the talking as she watched Doug hold a hushed conversation with the other two, the Salmanic employee nodding and Doug fishing his wallet out of his jacket. He shook the employees hand, palming over some money which the employee than counted before giving a thumbs up and running off towards the monorail platform.

It was a couple of hours before the employee made another appearance, now laden with shopping bags and in the company of several other employees also carrying bags. The group of mercs had made camp on the hill that led up to the cliff top, out of view of the pipeline and monitor station. The Employee and his friends appeared hiking up the trail to find the group. Doug and Harper happily hurried down to greet them, taking the shopping and giving their thanks. Doug took some things out of one of the bags and passed them out amongst the employees, who took what was offered and left. The others watched the trade suspiciously.

“What was that all about?” Parkinson piped up as the duo returned. Doug grinned and tossed some rope at the curious Sniper.

“Told you I was sorting out our needs,” He winked. Parkinson inspected the rope, passing some to Thad for his approval. The gentleman nodded in contemplation.

“Good work, McCracken, although I have to ask about the rest of the bags,” he gestured to the rest of the delivery Doug and Harper were carrying. They showed off the contents of the bags.

“Thought I’d get dinner sorted. Can’t go fighting terrorists on an empty stomach,” he said as he began unpacking the contents of the bag. One contained a selection of vegetables and steak, the other bag holding cooking utensils and bowls, where as the third bag contained a case of beer. Thad and Annie exchanged a glance.

“Oh, right, good plan. Much appreciated. Allan and I will just go and sort our ambush route out then, shall we?” Thad stood up, took the necessary equipment and left with Parkinson.

The others began to drift towards Doug out of curiosity, none of those unaccustomed to Doug having expected him to be any good at cooking. It was clear no one had really thought about feeding themselves while arranging the plans for the evening. They began eyeing up the ingredients hungrily as Doug set up a chopping board on a nearby rock and started busying himself with slicing up the steak.

“What are ya making there, sugah?” asked Annie after a few minutes of watching the chef of the group preparing his ingredients and beginning to mix them together in one of the bowls.

“Nothing too special, just a stir fry. Figure it’s got all the good stuff in it a growing merc needs to get ’im, or her, through the night,” he winked then turned to Gratin, “Hey Spell Head, you feel like doing the honors?” he asked whilst indicating a space beside him. Gratin grunted, summoned a fire ball the size of a basket ball and casually tossed it into the space Doug had indicated. It landed softly, sitting neatly on the smooth surface of their rocky outcrop and continued to burn brightly.

“Ta very much!” Doug thanked him, placing a wok on top of the strange green flame as though this was all perfectly natural. The moment the wok was hot enough, he chucked in the contents of the bowl and began to cook it. It wasn’t long before a mouth-watering aroma began to waft over the group, the others all watching the pan like a group of hungry cats waiting to pounce. The only ones not watching were Blaise and Gratin, who had both made themselves comfortable on the edge of the group and were getting on with their preparations for that evenings work. Gratin meditated whilst Blaise began to assemble her rifle, giving each component a quick clean to make sure it was all in working order.

It didn’t take long for the beef to cook and for Doug to move on to sorting out the vegetables. He arranged a small saucepan on the fire, took out a bottle of water from a bag and poured it in. Once the water was boiling, he placed a basket on top with some broccoli and pak choi arranged inside, then set to work chopping up the rest of the vegetables. Harper couldn’t help but make a comment.

“You know, I really didn’t have you pegged as the ‘home making’ sort,” Doug merely shrugged at the comment, not looking up from his work.

“I’m a man of many talents,” he commented.

“Where’d ya learn to do this? Ah can barely even boil an egg!” Annie commented.

“My Mum owned a club back in the City. Used to sell good ol’ fashioned home cooked meals there. Pub grub, mostly. I used to earn pocket money working in the kitchen as a kid. Could cook all sorts by the time I was 14,” he explained.

“Surprised you ain’t still workin’ there. Cookery is a dyin’ art form these days,” said Harper.

“Eh, s’more of a hobby. I find it relaxin’ but I wouldn’t want to do it for a living. Would ruin it,” Doug explained with a shrug, “but I see what you’re saying. Blaise can’t cook for toffee either. As for Gratin, he has a habit of flambéing everything. Never trust him with a steak,” Doug winked to show he was joking. Gratin piped up regardless.

“A well done steak is perfectly acceptable.”

“That’s blasphemy and you know it, mate! You ruin the texture!”

Gratin grunted, giving those watching the impression that if they could see his eyes, they’d be rolling. It sparked a small trickle of laughter from the spectators. Doug removed the steaming veg from the fire and brought back the wok, getting it hot again and beginning to throw in the newly chopped up vegetables. Every few minutes he’d add further ingredients, some chilli flakes here, some soy sauce there followed by a dash of orange juice. He gave the carton to Tupper, who had been inching towards the beer. Tupper took it grudgingly and drank straight from the container as he was used to being denied alcohol.

The food was soon ready. Annie helped Doug to dish it up and distribute it and the booze around the group. They sat around the fire, enjoying the warmth as the night air turned cold. Thad returned, informing the group that Parkinson had elected to stay up on the cliff to play lookout, the estimated time for the Dark Worlder’s arrival approaching.

“So what’s everyone planning on doing once we’re done with this?” Harper asked as she finished off her plate, “personally I think I’ll have myself a nice holiday. Maybe head down to Casinopolis and have a good play on the tables,” she grinned to herself leaning back.

Harper turned to Annie, the Texan comfortably nestled in the arms of Thad.

“What about you, Stone? You and Thad got any plans to settle down once you’ve got the cash prize?” Harper asked. The couple glanced at one another.

“Actually me and the boys were gonna hang around a bit. Maybe see if there’s any more jobs need doing. As we’re all the last surviving mercenaries, ah’m sure Salmanic’ll be suitably impressed if we do take down the terrorists. Ah’m sure he’ll think of us if there’s anythin’ else botherin’ him,” the Texan reasoned. Harper nodded.

“And you, Doug? I bet you’ve got some interesting plans bouncing around in that head of yours!” the scouse grinned. Doug shrugged, staring intently into the flames.

“Nah, my plans are about the same as Annie’s. Gotta keep working and Salmanic seems to pay well,” he said, attracting Blaise’s gaze. She gave him a good hard stare, brow furrowed in disbelief, before unexpectedly getting up and marching off towards Parkinson much to everyone’s surprise.

“What’s her problem now?” Doug muttered to no one in particular.

“You’ll have to ask her,” Thad stated darkly.

Annie squeezed her other half’s hand and moved to get up.

“I’ll talk to her-” she started.

“No, I’ll go. It’s me that’s got her all worked up anyway,” said Doug as he rose to his feet.

“And seeing you is gonna fix that?” Harper asked with a cheeky grin. Doug shrugged.

“Worth a shot. Be back in a minute,” he marched off, leaving the others to resume their conversation.

Blaise marched up to Parkinson.

“I’m taking over watch,” she stated bluntly. Parkinson turned to stare at her, surprised.

“You sure? I can go a few more hours yet,” he said.

“I’m sure. Go get yourself warm,” she instructed. Parkinson decided not to argue. He slung his rifle onto his back and made his way back down the hill, giving Doug a curious glance as he passed. Doug made sure the sniper was out of earshot before finishing his approach.

“You alright, Love?” he cautiously hazarded. Blaise was facing away from him, staring down into the valley below with her rifle resting in her hands. They were in the dark up here, the only source of light being the monitor station below them.

“Fine,” she flatly stated.

“Come on, Red, I know you better than that,” he insisted. Blaise sighed but refused to turn around.

“I just don’t get you sometimes, Doug. You’re one for living in the moment. You don’t care about money; I tell you I helped myself to your wallet and you don’t bat an eyelid and yet here you are, making career plans,” she glanced over her shoulder, “was this what you were planning from the beginning? Did you see this job as an opportunity to become Salmanic’s number one choice for Mercenary work?” her voice quavered as she spoke.

“Does it matter? If Salmanic wants to throw money at people then why shouldn’t I try and get in on that? It’s good money,” he told her. She laughed bitterly.

“Right. Of course it is,” her words made him frown at the back of her head.

“I don’t get it. Stone’s got the same plan and I don’t see you getting in a huff with her!” he complained. Blaise turned to glare at him.

“I already knew what she was after. She and the others discussed it with me. You, on the other hand, apparently have some great scheme in your head that you’re keeping secret from me! This was supposed to be one job, Doug, one!” her voice was beginning to rise.

“You’re being paranoid. Besides, you didn’t have to come. I didn’t drag you out here,” Doug argued.

“We’re a team, you arse. Of course I was going to come! Do you know how many times on the cruise ship alone that you would’ve died if I hadn’t been around to save your arse? I wasn’t going to have your death on my conscience!” her voice quavered again, Blaise struggling to keep it level. Doug grunted.

“I’m not talking to you when you’re like this, come see me when you’ve calmed down,” he told her, turning around and beginning to stomp off. Her next sentence stopped him in his tracks.

“What has this got to do with Jehoth IV, Doug?”

Doug froze. His body seized up at the mention of Jehoth IV as if she had punched him in the gut, his insides turning icy cold.

“That’s the great big source of misery you’re trying to fix, right? Answer me!” Blaise demanded. Doug shakily turned back to face her. It was too dark for her to properly see the look of abject anger radiating off of him but she could hear it in the low rumble of his voice. It was like thunder heralding an incoming storm.

“The fuck makes you think you can dredge that up?” he seethed.

“You brought it up first when you forced me to prise your gun out of your hand,” Blaise coldly retorted. Doug hadn’t been expecting that.

“The hell are you talking about?” he asked, staring her down. Blaise turned her head away, eyes closed. She took a deep breath.

“It happened during that night on the cruise ship…”

⁎ ⁎ ⁎

The double doors that led onto the deck of the cruise ship burst open and out stepped two incredibly drunk mercenaries. They stumbled about, laughing heartily and clinging to each other in an attempt to remain upright.

“An’ that’s…heheh…an’ that’s when Galvison whips his wallet out only it’s sopping wet an’ there’s a fucking fish where his money should be!” Doug was saying through his laughter.

“Haha, and you were seriously wearing dresses while splashing about down there?” spluttered Blaise through her own laughing fit. Her voice now contained a hint of an Irish twang, all of the drink having brought forward her original accent.

“Hahahah yeah. A bet’s a bet!” He grinned down at her, “Right, your turn!”

“Oh no. Nonononono. No! I don’t have any embarrassing stories!” she insisted.

“Bull. C’mon, Love. Ya gotta have one back from your days of…doing whatever it was you used to do!” he insisted. Blaise giggled and contemplated his request. She stepped away from him, brought a hand up to her chin and smirked cheekily at him.

“…I may have one about several pina coladas, the roof of our squad leader’s car and a rather…risqué dance,” she told him.

“Oh?” his interest peaking.

“Mmmhmm, but that’s all you’re getting,” she told him. His face drooped.

“Aww, you’re such a tease. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dance before,”

“Heh, well I don’t dance for just anyone,” pointed out the redhead.

“C’mon, I’ll show you my moves if you show me yours!” he proclaimed, performing a little jig. Blaise found herself the victim of another giggle fit as her partner showed off his fancy footwork. She clasped a hand over her mouth to try and suppress it, Doug attempting an Irish jig only to wind up tripping over his own feet. He stumbled backwards, Blaise lurching forward to try and catch him only to find she wasn’t able to prevent gravity from dragging them both downwards. They landed awkwardly on one of the sun loungers that lined the edge of the decking.

There was a pause as the two regarded their new position, Blaise now lying across Doug, before laughter began to hiss out of them like water from a broken tap. She slid off so that she was lying beside him, the pair wrapped in each other’s arms. Eventually the laughter subsided, the duo taking to staring at the night sky. It was clear, not a cloud in sight. Stars littered the black backdrop of space and scattered amongst the celestial orbs were the fierce explosions of laser fire from rival starships.

“War’s always harder to ignore at night…” Doug muttered, watching a collection of lights that was one ship exchanging fire with another, slightly larger ship.

“Always used to watch from my window when I was little and couldn’t sleep. Always wondered what was happening up there,” Blaise muttered quietly. One of the ships vanished in a ball of flame. Doug peered down at Blaise and then back to the war.

“You see all those different clusters of blueish lights whizzing about?” he asked her, pointing out one such collection for her. Her gaze followed his finger.

“Yeah…”

“Those are the PSF ships. The greenish lights are the Dark Worlders. I could probably take a guess at what kinda ships are up there if you want,” he told her.

“Really? How?”

“From the way the lights are set up. Like that one,” he pointed out a collection of moving blue lights laid out in a ‘V’ formation, “that’s probably an M class Sky tank. They’re pretty big an’ bulky an’ slow so they normally have a few pilot ships floatin’ around to help it out…” he continued with the description, picking out a number of ships from both sides of the conflict and gushing over the various manoeuvres on display.

Blaise felt her eyes growing heavy as he spoke, all of the alcohol in her system slowly getting the better of her. His body was warm and comfortable, Blaise nuzzling into it to protect against the cold night air.

Doug paused mid lecture as he realised she was falling asleep next to him. He took in her contented expression, smiling softly to himself and beginning to gently stroke her arm. This caused her to stir.

“Mmm, Doug?” she murmured sleepily.

“Yeah, Red?”

“You ever miss it? The PSF?” She asked. Doug frowned as he considered her question.

“Sometimes,” He muttered, his voice oddly quiet, “…miss my mates.”

“They sounded like nice guys. Are you still in contact with them?” she wondered. Doug didn’t answer, instead gently pushing away from her and sitting up, his back to her as he swung his legs over the side of the lounger, his face falling into his hand. Blaise blinked the drowsiness away, startled by his sudden movement. She forced herself to sit up, concern etched on her face.

“Doug?”

“Fucking Jehoth IV!” Doug suddenly yelled, making Blaise jump in alarm. He was on his feet now, pacing back and forth in front of the sunlounger.

“It was jus’ supposed to be a fuckin’ recon mission! Piece a Piss! Go in, Shee wha’ tha’ bash’ard, Kraken, was up to an’ report back! But he fuckin’ knew! He knew Goddamn everthin’!” he was shouting, spit flying out of his mouth as he ranted. He couldn’t keep still. His pacing became more and more frantic as his voice rose in volume. Blaise watched him, wide eyed and scared as to where this was going.

“Elvito was first to go. Gutted like a fish. Didn’t stand a chance. Can still see Galvison’s face. They talked about marryin’ after the war. Were gonna have a fuck ‘ton of kids an’ a big ol’ house. Barbecues in the summer. He was next to go. Slow an’ painful for ol’ Galvi,” tears were beginning to stream down his face now, his skin turning red and blotchy, his nose beginning to run as he broke down.

“I tried to help. Gonna kill ‘em all. Got a chain on me arm. Shackled to a wall. Wiggin’s being tortured. They wanted to see how long he’d live without a heart. Had to stop ‘em. Arm trapped. Not for long though…” He began scratching his stump as he paced. He was applying so much pressure to it that Blaise felt for sure he was going to draw blood.

“Too late. Made Kraken choke on it. Everything red. Can’t…can’t remember…” he muttered something inaudible under his breath as he collapsed to his knees.

“Last one breathin’. Always the last one breathin’. Always a survivor. Why always me? If I had a purpose…if I had so much left to do then why couldn’t you fuckin’ tell me what it was!” he asked the heavens above him. There wasn’t any answer. Blaise tentatively crawled across the lounger, staring at the back of his head in worry.

“…Doug?” he didn’t respond to her, instead pawing at his jacket until he found his gun. He placed it in his lap and stared at it, tears still running down his face and splattering onto his lap.

“I’m never gonna know why she came to me or why it was so damned important I got to live. Why did she come to me? I’m an asshole; a violent thug. Galvison should be here, not me. I’m not worth a damn,” he finished. He took a deep breath and picked up the gun, placing the barrel on his temple and braced himself as he gently applied pressure to the trigger…

The laser blast hit the decking a meter away. Blaise had lunged at Doug, forcing the gun to point away from his head at the last second. Doug had been taken by surprise; he’d almost forgotten she had been there and he certainly hadn’t been expecting anyone to try and stop him. She clawed at his hand in an effort to take the gun off of him but he shoved her off. She didn’t stay off for long, readjusting herself so she could spring forward, tackling him and knocking him off balance. She mounted him before he had a chance to climb to his feet and reached for his gun again. He couldn’t push her off and keep the gun out of her reach, instead trying to stretch his hand as far away from her as possible but she won out in the end. He tried to grab it again but she jostled him back to the ground with one hand, keeping the gun well out of reach with the other. He buckled backwards in defeat, panting heavily.

“…*pant* I *wheeze* had a dream like this once,” he muttered as he stared up at her, his hand landing on her thigh. She slapped it away, glaring at him.

“Shut up. What the hell’s wrong with you?!” She yelled at him. She was shaking, her voice cracking. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or in shock.

“I-” he began only to be cut off.

“No, you know what? Don’t. I’ve heard those excuses before. Heck, I’ve made a bunch of them. You weren’t thinking straight. You’ve seen some real shit in your time. You couldn’t take it anymore. Well fuck you, McCracken, you’re better than that!” she berated him. Doug felt his jaw go slack in surprise as he struggled to find his voice.

“I’d never forgive you if you ended it this way!” she continued, glaring down at him, tears welling up in her own eyes.

“I-I’m sorry, Angel-”

“Oh don’t start trying to butter me up with cute nick names. I’m not your angel or your love. You can bleedin’ well use my name for a change,” She scolded him.

“…Blaise…”

“If you’re so depressed, this ain’t the way to fix it. You gotta go out there and fuckin’ try to change the stuff you hate, not hurt yourself!”

“I know, why do you think I made us come all the way out here?” Doug angrily interrupted her rant. She stared at him, stunned.

“…What?” he refused to elaborate. They were locked in a stalemate; all she could do was stare at him as he avoided her gaze.

“I…I think you can get off me now,” he eventually muttered. She sighed heavily.

“Fine, but you’re not getting your gun back until the morning,” she told him, climbing to her feet. She tucked the gun into her coat and offered him her hand. He grudgingly took it and she helped him up to his feet.

“It’s time for bed. We’ll head back to my room. You can sleep on my floor,” she told him. Doug frowned.

“I’ve got my own room,” he pointed out.

“Yeah, and I don’t want to find you hanging by your belt in there in the morning. Either you sleep on my floor or I sleep on yours,” she fiercely rebutted. He didn’t have a comeback so she took a deep breath to calm herself down and took his hand.

“C’mon. We’ll talk in the morning, let’s just get some rest, ok?” she said and tried to lead him to the stairs but he wouldn’t budge.

“Doug?”

“Why do you care?” she froze as he asked his question.

“I…what do you mean?”

“Why do you care? You’re always complaining at me or about me. You don’t particularly like me-”

“That’s not true-”

“Isn’t it?”

“No,” she gave his hand a squeeze, “You’re my friend, Doug, and friends don’t let friends throw their life away. Now c’mon. We’re both drunken idiots that need their sleep, okay?” she flashed him a sheepish smile and gave his arm a gentle tug. This time he moved, allowing her to take him to her room.

“I had a dream like this once,” he repeated.

“Oh hush.”

The pair barely spoke on the trip back to Blaise’s room. The silence was only broken when Blaise spotted her door and decided to lay down some ground rules for their little sleep over. Doug didn’t catch what they were having decided to succumb to his drunken stupor for the time being. As Blaise fumbled with the room’s lock, Doug hazily peered down the corridor for something to focus his attention on.

He settled on a mirror further down the corridor. He could see himself staring back. Only it wasn’t a very good mirror. The reflection’s shirt was the wrong colour – a dark green – and was covered in grime. Plus it had two arms instead of one. The left arm was a bulky set of bionics in a design Doug didn’t recognise. It wasn’t his arm, whatever it was.

The mirror Doug stared back with a bewildered expression, like it couldn’t quite believe what it was seeing. This surprised Doug as he had never known reflections to be capable of expressing their own emotions before. But what was really surprising was when mirror Doug started muttering to itself, turned around to check something on his right and then wandered off down a connecting corridor. Doug glanced to his left to check there wasn’t a corridor there for him to walk down. There was nothing but wall.

The mirror hadn’t been a mirror at all, but rather some odd bloke staring at him. Only Doug could have sworn the bloke looked like the spitting image of himself, from the scar right down to the scruffy leather jacket.

Curious now, Doug made his way down the corridor to confront the copycat.

It took a minute for Blaise to realise that Doug had vanished. She’d been focusing on getting the electronic lock to accept her code, completely missing what Doug had been distracted by. Worried now, she decided to stash his gun in the room and then retrace her steps to see if he’d gone back to the deck. She went on to spend what little remained of the night searching for him.

Of course Blaise didn’t mention that last part. In fact her description of the night in question consisted of only a couple of sentences.

“…You decided it would be a good idea to air your head out. Literally. I had to confiscate your gun to stop you,” she told him. Doug absorbed this information, processing this revelation and how it explained Blaise’s behaviour recently.

“Oh,” was all he managed to say on the matter. Blaise stared at him in bewilderment.

“That’s it? ‘Oh?’” she questioned. Doug shrugged.

“What do you want me to say? It’s not like I can remember doing it,” he told her.

“An explanation would be good! We were….I was…arrgh!” she stumbled over her words, struggling to vocalise just how much seeing him in that state had affected her. She rubbed her face, trying to reorganise her cluttered mind, her rifle swinging by its strap on her arm.

“Just tell me the truth; is there some greater purpose to you being here?” she eventually asked.

“Is it really any of your business if there is?” Doug asked. Blaise lowered her hands enough so that she could peer over them at him.

“I’d like to think I’d deserve to know if there was. You owe me that much,” she stated. Doug scoffed.

“Oh I owe you now, do I? You can’t even be bloody bothered to tell me what the deal is with you and Stone and the others, “Kate”. I don’t owe you anything,” Doug glared at her. Blaise’s brow creased, her temper flaring once more.

“I’m trying to protect you,”

“I don’t need protecting!”

“You do! You need it from your gods’ damned self!”

“You are not my angel!” he growled, finger pointed accusingly at her. He took a step towards her, not thinking about what he was about to do.

Whatever it was, all intention disappeared as the bright lights of the monitor station below them disappeared, everything being plunged into blackness…

Post by Sam | August 6, 2022 at 12:01 am | The Mercenaries' Tale | No comment

Tags: Allan Parkinson, Annie Stone, Blaise, Doug McCracken, Galmanoc, Gratin, Jessie Harper, New Dawn, Salmanic Incorporated, Salmanic pipeline, Thad the Gentleman, The Cruise Ship, the Mercs, Tupper

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