By 81Ceta_Deta
Jun 12, 2020
STRIKE TEAM THETA
SIX HUNDRED
LOCATION: PFC COMPOUND, [REDACTED]
The alarm rang at Samuel's ears, begging him to drag himself from the bed and quiet the alarm. Sam groaned, his voice hoarse and tired. He slapped his hand down on the alarm, shutting it up. He slowly pulled himself from his bed, resisting the comfort of his sheets and the idea of another hour of sleep. He groggily rubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly to adapt to the dim lighting of his quarters. He sat up, and looked at the alarm. It was 6:30 in the morning, the standard time in which People's Freedom Coalition fighters would wake up. The PFC higher-ups kept them on a tight schedule, and sleep alongside training was incredibly important.
Ha. Ironic. The army wakes up bright and early, trains and follows orders and yet half of the army were merely terrorists or bounty hunters, in it for the money and power. Sam found it ridiculous. The way some in the army acted made the New Meridian Empire seem fun.
His eyes adjusted and he stood, stretching his arms and yawning. Sam stood and walked to the bathroom, and started the shower. He stood in the hot water for a few minutes, his mind racing.
It was the Day.
The Day the new Strike members would be joining him and Lily.
Lily.
He reflected back on their relationship. Friends for years, they signed up together to join the PFC and worked through the ranks into Strike.
Who Sam liked. He wondered if she, too, felt that way. His thoughts lingered on her for a few minutes, and the water turned cold as it fell down to him. He left the shower and walked back into his quarters. He pulled on a pair of black pants, standard Strike attire, and a black shirt. The clothes were comfortable enough, and the day would be downtime anyway.
Sam admired the structure of the PFC. They ran a tight boat.
He left the room, the doors swishing behind him.
Sam walked through the halls of the compound. The building was old, a former NME weapons factory. The PFC had attacked and captured it during Sam's days of working in the infantry corps. It was a rough battle, a bloodshed on each side. The building had its affects from the battle. Bullet holes and plasma burns lined the exterior walls, damage to remind the base's inhabitants of what they fought for.
Fortunately, the factory had many quarters for its workers, and with some work, it became a bunker for PFC combatants. Sam admired it. The compound had held missiles, guns and ammo for a contingent of the NME Army. Ha.
How fortunate the PFC was, now that they had possession of oh so much of the NME's precious weaponry.
He turned a final corner and clicked on the keypad leading to the cafeteria. He typed the key code, a simple 4-digit passcode, and the door slid open. The chatter from the fighters in the room immediately rushed out at Sam. He smiled slightly, and entered the cafeteria.
He took in the room. It was nothing out of the ordinary. A large, rectangular room, with tables and chairs laden out everywhere. A small room lay in the far corner, with soldiers exiting it, carrying trays. The room was one of the only parts of the compound with glass walls. In fact, there was a small outdoor eating area, reserved for officers and Strike.
He walked into the serving area, and grabbed a tray, walking through the belt he selected some bacon and a pancake. He walked soundlessly to the door that led to the patio, and he typed in his identifying rank and serial number. It slide open, and he caught a sneer from a younger soldier. He walked over to where Lily sat, tray nearly devoid of food.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," she responded. She looked almost sad, her face sullen. Not like her usual chipper self. Her black shoulder length hair was tied back neatly, and she wore standard Strike attire.
"What's wrong?" He asked, sitting down.
"Just nervous. We haven't had a full team for awhile. What if the others are mean, cruel, cold? A team's like a family," she said, and took a bite of the pancake.
Sam considered this. She had a point. A Strike team couldn't operate successfully if the team had inner conflict.
"Well, we'll be meeting them in a few hours. I heard from Captain Maverick that their experienced, and their last team was pretty skilled. A team can't have that high praise if they had a lot of conflict."
Lily nodded as he said this, seeming to understand.
He ate the bacon, the taste of the meat immediately satisfying a hunger that had laid dormant. He took a swig of the orange juice he had grabbed, the sweet liquid filling his tastebuds.
They talked for a few minuted as they ate, discussing what they'd do when the war would end, what they'd do when the PFC would win.
"I'd still serve. In the Enforcer ranks, that is," Lily stated, finishing off her pancake.
"You?"
Sam pretended to think hard, but deep inside he knew what he'd do. He'd tell her he liked her, and hope it lead to something.
"Probably retire," he lied.
Lily chuckled, assuming he made a joke. He chuckled too.
SIX HUNDRED
LOCATION: PFC COMPOUND, [REDACTED]
The alarm rang at Samuel's ears, begging him to drag himself from the bed and quiet the alarm. Sam groaned, his voice hoarse and tired. He slapped his hand down on the alarm, shutting it up. He slowly pulled himself from his bed, resisting the comfort of his sheets and the idea of another hour of sleep. He groggily rubbed his eyes, blinking rapidly to adapt to the dim lighting of his quarters. He sat up, and looked at the alarm. It was 6:30 in the morning, the standard time in which People's Freedom Coalition fighters would wake up. The PFC higher-ups kept them on a tight schedule, and sleep alongside training was incredibly important.
Ha. Ironic. The army wakes up bright and early, trains and follows orders and yet half of the army were merely terrorists or bounty hunters, in it for the money and power. Sam found it ridiculous. The way some in the army acted made the New Meridian Empire seem fun.
His eyes adjusted and he stood, stretching his arms and yawning. Sam stood and walked to the bathroom, and started the shower. He stood in the hot water for a few minutes, his mind racing.
It was the Day.
The Day the new Strike members would be joining him and Lily.
Lily.
He reflected back on their relationship. Friends for years, they signed up together to join the PFC and worked through the ranks into Strike.
Who Sam liked. He wondered if she, too, felt that way. His thoughts lingered on her for a few minutes, and the water turned cold as it fell down to him. He left the shower and walked back into his quarters. He pulled on a pair of black pants, standard Strike attire, and a black shirt. The clothes were comfortable enough, and the day would be downtime anyway.
Sam admired the structure of the PFC. They ran a tight boat.
He left the room, the doors swishing behind him.
Sam walked through the halls of the compound. The building was old, a former NME weapons factory. The PFC had attacked and captured it during Sam's days of working in the infantry corps. It was a rough battle, a bloodshed on each side. The building had its affects from the battle. Bullet holes and plasma burns lined the exterior walls, damage to remind the base's inhabitants of what they fought for.
Fortunately, the factory had many quarters for its workers, and with some work, it became a bunker for PFC combatants. Sam admired it. The compound had held missiles, guns and ammo for a contingent of the NME Army. Ha.
How fortunate the PFC was, now that they had possession of oh so much of the NME's precious weaponry.
He turned a final corner and clicked on the keypad leading to the cafeteria. He typed the key code, a simple 4-digit passcode, and the door slid open. The chatter from the fighters in the room immediately rushed out at Sam. He smiled slightly, and entered the cafeteria.
He took in the room. It was nothing out of the ordinary. A large, rectangular room, with tables and chairs laden out everywhere. A small room lay in the far corner, with soldiers exiting it, carrying trays. The room was one of the only parts of the compound with glass walls. In fact, there was a small outdoor eating area, reserved for officers and Strike.
He walked into the serving area, and grabbed a tray, walking through the belt he selected some bacon and a pancake. He walked soundlessly to the door that led to the patio, and he typed in his identifying rank and serial number. It slide open, and he caught a sneer from a younger soldier. He walked over to where Lily sat, tray nearly devoid of food.
"Hey," he said.
"Hey," she responded. She looked almost sad, her face sullen. Not like her usual chipper self. Her black shoulder length hair was tied back neatly, and she wore standard Strike attire.
"What's wrong?" He asked, sitting down.
"Just nervous. We haven't had a full team for awhile. What if the others are mean, cruel, cold? A team's like a family," she said, and took a bite of the pancake.
Sam considered this. She had a point. A Strike team couldn't operate successfully if the team had inner conflict.
"Well, we'll be meeting them in a few hours. I heard from Captain Maverick that their experienced, and their last team was pretty skilled. A team can't have that high praise if they had a lot of conflict."
Lily nodded as he said this, seeming to understand.
He ate the bacon, the taste of the meat immediately satisfying a hunger that had laid dormant. He took a swig of the orange juice he had grabbed, the sweet liquid filling his tastebuds.
They talked for a few minuted as they ate, discussing what they'd do when the war would end, what they'd do when the PFC would win.
"I'd still serve. In the Enforcer ranks, that is," Lily stated, finishing off her pancake.
"You?"
Sam pretended to think hard, but deep inside he knew what he'd do. He'd tell her he liked her, and hope it lead to something.
"Probably retire," he lied.
Lily chuckled, assuming he made a joke. He chuckled too.