by Greg Ramsay
“You’re not breaking anyone today!” Gale exclaimed, her voice filled with maternal wrath as she pushed past Bruce to shield him. Her hands shook and clenched involuntarily as his group surrounded them. “You? No I have no interest in a pathetic meat-bag’s used garbage, my cohorts, however, do.” Bonerend informed her, gesturing to his underlings, who were already removing rags that covered their proportionately massive genitals.
“No...” Bruce seethed, preparing to fight with everything he had. Suddenly, the door alarm blareed once more, drowning out Gale’s scream when a faction member threw her to the ground. Deafened, Bruce watched her clothing being torn away, while discolored massive fists pummeled her for resistance. The alarm began to fade, leaving only the sound of dismay. Too distracted trying to free himself from the king’s grasp, Bruce didn’t see a figure approaching from the holdfast. Small snickers came from a few Mots, as Jonathan called them, but none acted.
Bruce’s immediate thought that it was just another child Ranger, lost and afraid, was replaced by an explosion unlike anything Bruce had ever heard. In that instant, something entered the forehead of the Mot assaulting Gale and exploded out the back, leaving a gaping hole in the back of his head. Craning his neck to see what new horror had left his ears ringing, Bruce just vaguely made out a black-clad tall figure with a long gun.
King Bonerend turned, “Watch your father die with me, meat.” He said, laughing as Jonathan pulled the trigger again.
To his dismay, his rifle wouldn’t fire again, likely due to hundreds of years of negligence. Frustrated, he threw it aside, drawing a sword Bruce recognized from his childhood. Vague though it was, he remembered a time, when he was very young, of his father proudly showing him his military supplies from the last Great War within the Holdfast’s secure administrative vault. Bruce was abruptly reminded of their plight when his father yelled, striking out at a Mot that the King had sent forward. Jonathan ducked its lumbering swing, slicing deep into its ribs as he passed under it before turning to its exposed back and ramming the blade into its spine.
The Mot’s thick muscle delayed his killing blow just enough that he was forced to evade a second Mot’s strike. Due to their close proximity, its second swing caught Jonathan in the chest, knocking him back. Jonathan crawled under the first Mot backwards with his elbows, slicing deep into its genitals to stall its rise. Rolling to all fours Jonathan received a brutal kick to the gut from a third that his armour barely alleviated. While the king watches, one Mot advances, joining in on the beating.
Meanwhile, the one that he’d effectively neutered set about beating Gale as she sat breathless and crying a few feet away. Swearing, the bleeding Mot struck her repeatedly while Jonathan struggled. Sustaining multiple blows himself, Jonathan barely managed to sever a leg tendon of his assailant, buying him just enough opening to use its falling body as a means to rise. Ignoring his other opponent, Jonathan ran to Gale, ramming his blade through her attacker’s windpipe with a vengeful yell. The Mot he’d barely escaped from lumbered up behind him quickly, seizing him around the gut before brutally throwing him to the ground.
Jonathan managed to keep a grip on his blade’s hilt as he was pulled, inadvertently using the Mot’s strength to leverage it free. Adrenaline flowed through his weary body, he quickly slashed the short sword across his opponent’s eyes right as the Mot slammed its fist into his gut. Gasping for air, Jonathan, rolled free, awkwardly getting to his feet. With one last enraged effort, he rammed the tip of his blade through the Mot’s neck like he’d done before. His enemy’s body fell with a meaty thunk, gasping its last breaths.
King Bonerend yelled in rage. “USELESS!” He roared as he tossed Bruce aside like garbage so he could crush Jonathan.
Bruce watched helplessly as his mother reached for him, coughing up blood with tears flowing from her eyes. He started to rush over but she pointed in Jonathan’s direction. Confused by all the adrenalizing violence, Bruce watched his father struggling to evade Bonerend before realizing she was indicating the dead Mot nearby. While his father acted as a distraction, Bruce rushed over to the body. A shining metal blade glinted in the sun like a beacon sprouting from its neck.
Bruce grunted with intense exertion, masked by Bonerend’s raging growls. After what felt like hours of Jonathan barely surviving in the distance, Bruce finally managed to roll the hulking Mot’s body onto its side. Slamming his shoe into its gut for leverage, he yanked the sword free with some difficulty. Wordlessly, he eyed the king, enraged, before rushing blade-first toward his exposed back. Jonathan noticed Bruce charging out of the corner of his eye right as he sustained a heavy blow to the head.
Bonerend pummeled his already bleeding face repeatedly. Jonathan gasped, struggling in vain to shield himself with his hands when punching the king did nothing. Silently, Bruce struck out at the back of Bonerend’s knee, his blade digging into tendons. Bonerend arched backwards in pain so Bruce used his left hand to seize his bald head from behind rapidly with his left hand while trying to slit his throat with the blade in his right hand. With astonishing speed, Bonerend’s massive hand seized his leg from behind, pulling him off balance before heaving him around.
Bruce found himself airborne briefly until he came abruptly crashing down into the dirt not far from his father. Horrified, he realized he’d dropped Jonathan’s sword. However, in that moment as his sword fell, Jonathan caught it, using it to slash at Bonerend’s throat. Bonerend leaned his head back quickly, sustaining a shallow cut along the left side of his windpipe. Bleeding profusely and rife with adrenaline Bonerend resumed pummeling Jonathan, laughing at his feeble attacks.
With the last of his strength, Jonathan gave up on self-defense and switched to inflicting maximum damage. While he sustained crushing blows from his face down to his midsection that should’ve killed him, Bonerend was shredded from the neck up with a few lacerations on his bulging arms. Jonathan’s second to last strike sliced deeper into the other side of Bonerend’s throat. Roaring, he threw everything he had left into an angled cut meant for Bonerend’s already injured neck, but blinded by blood seeping from his forehead, combined with Bonerend crawling back to evade, resulted in him slicing apart his left eye instead. Bonerend screamed, clutching the long clean line in his face that was awash with dark blood.
Bruce watched the battle, astonished. When he saw his father’s sword arm drop hard, his brain registered that something had to be done. He rushed over, grabbing the hilt from Jonathan’s hand he took a heavy swing at Bonerend’s throat. Bonerend’s amazing reflexes and flexibility allowed him to drop onto his back with his legs stills beneath him, using the tension on his injured tendons to rebound and roll, screaming from his injuries. Bruce managed to cleave a gash in his back near his spine as he rose before he was sent staggering by a reverse kick from Bonerend’s bad leg.
Struggling to rise, Bruce heard his mother struggling to speak. When he tried to stand again, his body faltered. All he could do was stagger slowly to his feet.
Above the thumping of heavy footfalls he hoarsely screamed “Never come back!” at the fleeing Bonerend, then rushed to his mother’s side as fast as possible.
Bruce grabbed her hand, barely able to tell her it’d be all right over her violent, bloody coughs. With ragged breath, Gale reached out to caress her son’s cheek as he supported her head, begging her to breathe. Despite his screams, her coughs devolved into choking gasps which soon lead to her suffocating on her own blood. All Bruce could do was watch her convulse, apologizing, calling her name, begging for her to recover, and screaming for help while her eyes tried to speak for her, to soothe his fears. To his horror, her eyes finally go blank as the last bubbles of blood seep from her broken jaws.
Bruce gently put her down, barely aware of anything around him anymore. Wordlessly, he focused on rearranging her clothes to cover her better.
“Bruce...” Jonathan gasped again, waiting for his son to hear. Dazed and confused, Bruce rushes to his side, using the rage he grew up wi
th to give him strength. “Son, I’m sorry... All the times... I hurt you were to make you stronger...So you could survive.” Bruce scoffed, despite himself, glaring through his sobs, he was at a loss for words. Struggling through intense pain, Jonathan continued, imploring Bruce to listen with his eyes, “My deals with Bonerend traded humans as slaves so he... wouldn’t invade... The Rangers were never...” He stopped to cough, focusing on his point. “of twenty Holdfasts, only ours remained till now I sold all the others I could reach. I just... wanted you both... Safe!”
Bruce’s expression was of pure, horrified surprise, his anger finally lent him the strength to speak, “You sold your people into slavery?!?”
Jonathan nodded slowly. “The Rangers were never meant to survive...” Bruce finished. He thought first of Dave, then of all the judgement he received for being Jonathan’s son, and finally of the conversation he overheard where Jonathan said Holdfast Seven had nothing left to offer. Mind reeling, Bruce stared into his father’s piercing gaze, hoping this was just madness, that there’d be a manic expression to prove it, but there was only profound guilt. All he could do was stare at his father, shaking with rage. Taking a deep breath, he clenched his fists as he leaned in towards his father’s battered face.
“SAFE, YOU DARE PREACH ABOUT KEEPING US SAFE?! ... YOU’RE WORSE THAN ALL THE MOTS! YOU ALWAYS WERE!” Bruce yelled while his father cried, cut off by pain in his gut. They remained staring at each other for a moment, unable to speak. Gathering his remaining resolve, Jonathan seized his son’s arm, staring with surprising intensity.
“Take my gear, your mother would insist you have it. I have many regrets. I failed this species, but you... you can save it. Fight on, always! Undo my wrongs...Please Bruce!” Jonathan gasped for breath, his lungs were collapsing due to broken ribs that he’d sustained during the battle. Though neither of them knew it. The old armour could only buy time... I knew that coming out... but I thought I’d be able to do more! Jonathan thought regretfully, as his memory flashed to his first meeting with Bonerend, where he was held against the wall like a ragdoll by his neck, gasping for air. That was the first time he proposed the deal to delay his holdfast...rather his family’s danger. And one of many excuses he would use to justify taking his weakness out on them later.
Bruce stared at his gasping father with utter hatred and disdain. “Fuck you, and fuck your judgmental arrogant people, you worthless waste of flesh!” Bruce yelled in misery.
Yanking his arm free, his mind was overwhelmed with memories that conflicted with his father’s now pathetic, weak expression. All he could think about was how Jonathan had ruined every facet of his life and his mother’s. Now he has the balls to demand things of me?! Bruce thought, enraged. Yelling aloud to vent the pain caused by a torrent of torturous memories, he stood and violently kicked his father in the jaw. After watching the old bastard fall unconscious, Bruce stormed over to his mother’s corpse. Wordlessly, he gently carried her deep into the holdfast, past horrified onlookers, all the way to the organic reclamation system. Catching a glimpse of Bruce in the hall from his classroom, Sergeant Hanzo quickly caught up to him.
“Knight, what the hell happened?” He demanded carefully.
“King Bonerend killed her in a gang attack. Jonathan is just outside.” Bruce said quietly, his face reflecting a sense of emotional detachment that allowed him to keep going.
Reading the situation, all Sergeant Hanzo said was, “I’ll take care of him, son.” then quickly headed for the entrance. In the meantime, Bruce put his mother’s body into the system’s input before his eyes fell to her glinting necklace. Remember to open this up if anything ever happens so you’ll be safe and know what to do. What do you have to do? Gale’s reminder echoed in his memory from all the times she repeated it after every one of Jonathan’s outbursts. Opening the pendant carefully, Bruce found a small data drive neatly tucked in its a form-fitting interior. Fishing his wristbeam from his pocket, he put it on and stuck the drive in, desperately hoping the little cracked device still worked. Suddenly, light burst from a window in its body, illuminating the tan wall with a menu of documents. There were family photos from before he was born, other miscellaneous memories he knew nothing about, a copy of his father’s Will – which he ignored, and a single text document named “For Bruce Knight”. Holding back tears he tapped the item’s position on the wall and invisible lasers contained in the projection mapped his selection, making the selection he wanted.
December 11, 3014
Bruce,
I hope you never have to read this until you’re much older, but unfortunately that may not be the case. Please don’t hate me for bringing you into such an awful life. If I had known what was in store for us both, I would’ve done something... I hesitate to say what. Please just know that no matter what happens you’re everything to me, and in his own way... I’m sure your father feels that way too. I’m proud of the person you’ve become despite all the reasons this life gave you to be otherwise. Hold on to that good boy inside. The beautiful little boy that was always happy and just wanted everyone to be happy with him no matter what. That’s who you are to me, and always will be. Never forget that I love you beyond words. Always be happy.
Love Mommy.
P.S In case you forget our bank info and the like is in this drive along with some picture to remember us by. Make sure...
“...to leave me with the flowers so they can be happy too..” Bruce whispered to himself through streaming tears that rendered him unable to read further. He’d always thought it was a silly mantra, even once he was old enough to understand what it meant, but now reality fully sunk in. Sobbing, he hit the accept button and Gale’s body was slowly lowered into the machine to be converted into organic fertilizer for the Holdfast’s plant life.
Moments later, right after Bruce shut down the projection and pocketed his wristbeam – the only gift he ever got from both his parents before his father violently put a stop to gift giving – Sergeant Hanzo returned with Jonathan’s body, conspicuously armourless. Bruce’s guts clenched, filling him with the familiar sickness of guilt. Did I kill him? If so why do I feel bad? Bruce wondered to himself.
“I saw he had a Will.” Sergeant Hanzo noted gently.
“I don’t care.” Bruce said coldly.
“That being the case since he was once my commander and a man I greatly respected, may I see what that man’s last wishes were?” He enquired. Bruce wordlessly pulled the drive from his wristbeam. Sergeant Hanzo set Jonathan down in the reclaimer tube for the time being, then scanned through the will quickly on his security tablet. As he read, a small smile crept across his face. He was properly mad the year this was written. Seems a little bit of his true self remained after all. Hanzo mused to himself before deftly returning the drive wordlessly and switching the tablet to scan mode.
“In short he wanted to be reclaimed for the benefit of others, just like Gale...” Sergeant Hanzo summarized politely. Bruce stepped aside,
“By all means, do the honours. At least he’ll actually benefit somebody for once...” Bruce said coldly, using his anger to mask sudden unexpected sadness. At a loss for a reply Hanzo, executed the first part of his Captain’s Will.
“Bruce, just as a formality please stand still and relaxed for me.” Hanzo requested calmly.
Well accustomed to security formalities by now, Bruce obliged, happy for the brief distraction. Hanzo scanned his hands and face, which was not too abnormal save for the timing, so Bruce didn’t care enough to be curious. Hanzo nodded his appreciation, returning the drive, and Bruce practically jogged to his mother’s room. Slamming the door behind him, he quickly stowed his wristbeam with the drive in it inside his mother’s safe, then jogged out of the room. On his way through the labyrinthine Holdfast, Hanzo caught up to him, following him silently all the way outside.
Bruce stopped abruptly when he came upon his father’s war armour piled together with his sword laying atop it horizontally.
“When I foun
d your father, he was almost dead. CPR was of no use. So I took off the rest of the armour to lessen his weight. I meant to bring it all in next to store in the armoury, but it appears he left it to you...” Hanzo stated with an air of understanding, he looked to Bruce for a response. Bruce stood there, staring at the blade with fierce determination. Silently he put on the armour, looking sadly at the Canadian flag etched into its black futuristic breastplate. So I didn’t kill him... and yet I don’t feel any better. Bruce realized internally.
Minutes later, he stood before Hanzo, fully decked out from neck to toe in military-grade full coverage segmented armour. To complete the lethal ensemble, he sheathed the sword at his hip. Bruce admired the line work of its interlocking plates, which allowed him full a range of motion.
“Fitting armour for a modern Knight.” Hanzo exclaimed jokingly. Bruce gave him a dirty look but smiled despite himself.
“How long can Holdfast systems support life excluding cryo time?” Bruce asked suddenly.
“If rationed and managed well enough, another 30 years assuming full occupancy. With our current numbers, maybe 100 years?” Hanzo guessed, consulting his tablet for readouts.
Bruce hummed acknowledgement, “Good, get inside, lock down the holdfast. No one deals with outsiders. Put people back in cryo if you have to!” Bruce demanded.
“For one thing cryo will need recalibration, which will take a while, and for another, we can’t just lock ourselves down when we’re supposed to be taking the planet back!” Hanzo argued indignant. “Wait where are you going?!” He demanded, noticing Bruce had jogged off.
Bruce stopped abruptly, turning back he gave Hanzo a serious look. “To avenge my mother!” He stated seriously.
Hanzo took one look at the Mot bodies, “You won’t survive, get your ass back here now!” Hanzo demanded, concerned. Caught off guard by his tone, Bruce faltered, “Please rethink this, you need time to mourn!” Hanzo demanded pleadingly.