The Esoteric Design: Disbanding Hope

by A. R. Crebs

  ‘Shit,’ Troy mentally grumbled.

  Goliath armor was highly shielded. Even in close range, the bullets barely dented the surface. As if the armor wasn’t bad enough, the man wearing it was huge. He was even taller than Troy. And though the thick armor covered him, Troy could tell the man was nothing but muscle. He briefly wished this giant of a man was a Brawler instead.

  A low, angry growl sounded from the armored soldier, and he pushed off the wall, crashing into Troy and knocking his weapon loose. A loud shout erupted from Troy as the two collided with one of the china cabinets. The sharp, cool sensation in Troy’s left shoulder blade confirmed that he received a nasty laceration from the broken glass. He tangled with the other soldier, pushing against the cupboard while ignition rounds blasted from the wall beside their heads. There wasn’t going to be anything left of the house before long. Troy twisted and pulled to switch places, allowing the splatter of gunfire to erupt into the Goliath’s back. The armored man was pushed forward by the force of the bullets, the liquid fire slowly eating through his armor. The tactic could have worked, if only the Goliath hadn’t head-butted Troy in the face and then tossed him like he weighed nothing.

  Troy flew back, landing on the edge of the sideways table. He and the furniture tipped over. Troy gritted his teeth; the impact caused a searing pain in his already injured hip. He lay on the ground, hand gripping his back. He didn’t have time to move before the Goliath had his arms wrapped around his neck in a chokehold. Troy gasped, his hands wrapping around the other man’s arms. He groaned, kicking and writhing about, trying to loosen the bulky man’s hold. Both of them were easy targets, bullets flying everywhere. The other man had the upper hand, however. He could be shot multiple times without repercussion thanks to his armor. Troy, on the other hand, had nothing.

  “Gah!” Troy gasped, feeling lightheaded. The man was an ox. Troy wasn’t weak by any means, but this man was an anomaly. Troy closed his eyes, sending a mental chip image to Aria, hoping it was enough to let her know what was up on his end of things.

  ‘What would she do?’ he thought.

  Aria was feisty, even when up against opponents twice her size. She’d bite and claw her way out of a fight if she had to. Troy glanced at the ground. He may not be able to bite through that armor, but he could certainly dig in his claws.

  Letting out his breath, Troy went lax in the soldier’s arms, his hands dropping to the floor. The Goliath immediately loosened his grip, his heaving breaths revealing that Troy had certainly put up a tiring fight. It only took a second before Troy had his hand around a broken shard of glass. He elbowed the man against his face shield, taking him by surprise, his head tilting back and showing the chink in his armor. Troy followed through with the broken blade of glass and shoved the shard into the man’s neck right between the armor plates. The man gave a gurgling growl, his hand tightly gripping Troy’s neck in response. Troy grimaced, pulling out the shard and stabbing the man a second time in the throat. Removing the piece once again, the Goliath’s grip loosened, and he fell back, thudding against the wooden floor. Troy wheezed, rubbing his neck. Fighting the past month against monsters, he had momentarily forgotten what it was like to battle humans.

  Aria’s roaring scream alerted Troy of her position. He watched her get crushed against the wall by a different man in Goliath armor. Troy hurriedly scrambled to his feet, looking for his gun. Aria continued shouting as she repeatedly smashed her fist against the man’s faceplate, her legs kicking wildly to press against his chest. He clamped a giant hand around her throat, pulled her away from the wall, and slammed her back into place. Troy lifted his rifle and aimed at the back of the man’s head. As he prepared to fire, another blast ignited against the side of the Goliath’s helmet, knocking the enemy off center and causing him to drop Aria onto the ground. Another howl sounded, and Aren was leaping onto the man, his pilot’s issued military knife drawn. He stabbed the armored man in the neck and gave a sharp tug across his throat as he pulled out. Standing, his chest heaving, the pilot looked over his shoulder at Troy with wild eyes. Troy eyed the bloody knife in the young man’s hands and nodded at him, taking his aim off the pilot. Aren quickly reached down for Aria’s hand. She gave him a smirk and patted him on the shoulder before retrieving her weapon. It seemed the back of the house was clear, but gunfire continued in the living room area.

  “Grayson,” Aria muttered, moving forward. Troy signaled to her, going the opposite way to cut through the kitchen while she and Aren took the hall to the front.

  Aria slipped into the bathroom, Aren taking cover in the second bedroom. From her view, she could pick off a few of the soldiers who had their attention on Troy. She effortlessly took them down and then placed her gun around the corner, getting sight of Grayson’s opponents. His large 50 cal. Liberty Eagle was putting holes into Feyette’s men. The blast was enough to knock a Goliath back through the front window, the bulky individual stumbling ungracefully head first into a pile of bushes outside.

  Running across the expanse of the living room, Troy grabbed a flash grenade from one of the dead soldiers and tossed it on top of the Goliath that had fallen outside. Troy pressed against the wall as the blast erupted. It may not have killed the man, but it definitely burst his eardrums.

  Troy eyed another dead Goliath in the center of the room; his armored vest held an assortment of grenades. He waited a moment for Aria and Grayson to pick off the last two enemies in the room before he darted to the corpse and snatched up a large grenade. Aria signaled, her thermals picking up multiple targets on the other side of the wall near Troy. He caught the images on his optic retina and dove behind the couch just as the side wall cracked open from an explosion. With the pin already pulled, Troy stepped onto the back of the sofa, leaped, grabbed the first Goliath he could find, and jammed the explosive between the soldier’s neck armor and helmet. Panicked, the Goliath gave an unsure yell as Troy dropkicked him backward through the hole in the wall and into the group of soldiers who were filing into the room behind him. The Goliath staggered, knocking the other soldiers back as the grenade detonated, setting off all the others on his vest, obliterating the men around him. Troy rolled to his feet, picking off the lingering men and the injured. He eyed one soldier whose legs had been destroyed. The wailing man was pulling himself across the lawn, reaching out with a shaking hand toward the back of the house. Troy frowned, took aim, and fired one shot into the back of his skull.

  “Sorry, man,” he whispered as he lowered his rifle.

  These were men who worked for his company, Bio-Tech. These men should have been his and Aria’s comrades. They had most likely fought side by side at one time in the past wars. Now, Walten was ruining that. He had turned lifelong partners into enemies. Troy suddenly didn’t feel too well, his high from the battle diminishing as he overlooked the bodies strewn all over the lawn and inside the house. He looked at Aria. She was digging through one soldier’s vest, telling Aren to pocket a few of the items she found to her liking. She caught Troy’s gaze. His thoughts must’ve been obvious through his expression because Aria immediately stopped her scavenging.

  “They aren’t our comrades anymore, Troy. They were given orders and followed them,” she said, her tone a little sour. Of course, she felt the same as Troy did, she just didn’t want to seem like she gave a damn. “They’re on Walten’s side,” she added.

  Troy shook the thoughts from his head. Actually, Aria probably didn’t give a damn at all. She never was much of a people person.

  Another loud crunch sounded from the back of the house. Aria, Aren, and Troy took formation and moved to the back. Grayson was in the lead, already firing his Liberty Eagle at multiple targets. He rushed in, pulling President Clarke from Sapphire’s room. Aria eyed James momentarily as Grayson continued moving him to safety. She couldn’t tell if James was injured or not. She and Troy pushed through the doorframe into the small lab.

  The whole wall had been wrenched open, pulled away from the side of the ho
use by Feyette’s carrier. The soldiers had Camery, forcing the frightened man onto the aircraft.

  “Fire!” she shouted.

  Aria and Troy shot, picking off men here and there as the others filed into the aircraft that was lifting off the ground. Feyette’s unit had left a few men behind, one of them running after the jet, arms waving in the air. Its thrusters lit up and ignited, blasting the man behind it with its heat as Troy and Aria took down the last remaining pair. Turning on her thermal optics, she turned in a circle, Troy doing the same.

  “I don’t detect anymore,” she said.

  “Same,” Troy muttered.

  “There are no more,” Grayson’s low voice called from the dining area.

  “Camery?” James’ voice called out. He sounded weak.

  Aria and Troy rushed to the other room. Aren followed closely behind.

  “They took him,” Troy replied.

  “James,” Aria whispered, kneeling beside him. “You look like hell.”

  “As I feel…” James mumbled. “Just a bit too much excitement, that’s all.”

  “Looks much worse than that. We need to get you to the hospital,” she said.

  “Not necessary. I can’t risk any of you. Walten will be looking for me. It’s a miracle you weren’t discovered while hospitalized,” James sighed, leaning against the kneeling Grayson.

  “I took them to a private hospital closer to the edge of town, one that wouldn’t ask questions. I simply told them that the military hospitals were all full,” Aren said. He shrugged. “They understood with the amount of causalities from the attacks, so they didn’t really harass me much.”

  “Still, the amount of luck you had…I doubt we’ll be as lucky this time around,” James moaned. He looked up at Grayson. The bodyguard watched James from behind dark shades, not saying anything. “I got Grayson to take care of me. We’ll find a good place to hide, and he can patch me up.”

  James coughed. The sound was an awful rattling in his chest. The fit continued, and Grayson reached into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief. James gratefully accepted the article, nearly vomiting into it. Aria watched; a frightened expression spread over her face.

  “James…you’re not coughing up blood are you?” she asked.

  “Lungs are just a little banged up from the shards of the ignition rounds. They’ll push out eventually,” he said, hiding the handkerchief.

  “Not sure that’s a good thing,” Aren added. “They could get into the blood stream or cause an infection. Judging by the looks of you, I’d say you already have one.”

  James Clarke fed the young pilot a bitter look. “Bit too smart for your own good.”

  Aren cleared his throat. “Get told that a lot….”

  “James, we’ve got to do something,” Aria muttered.

  Aren looked at his DNAIS. “We’ve got more to worry about than the President’s wounds.” Pulling up a digital map, he revealed a blinking red light moving toward their position. “Feyette’s got reinforcements on the way. We need to bust ass out of here.”

  “Damn it,” Aria cursed.

  Troy and she immediately lifted their rifles.

  “We’ve got to get him to the car,” Aria huffed, following Aren as he led the way to the front door. Aria firmly grabbed his shoulder. He froze, allowing her to take the lead, and then fell back to the rear to provide cover.

  The group crossed the front lawn, Troy and Aria taking either side, checking through their optics for any life signs while Grayson supported Clarke.

  “Shit,” Troy hissed.

  Aria joined him, running her hand through her hair. The car had been shot to shit, the tires were deflated and barely holding onto the rim. Aren continued fiddling with his DNAIS.

  “What the hell do we do now?” Aria growled. “There’s the basement….At least, I assume there’s one where Sapphire’s being kept.”

  “And that’s what they are coming back for, I imagine,” Troy added. “Probably not a good idea to hide in there. We don’t have enough ammo to last another fight like that.”

  Aren opened the trunk of the car, pulling out the luggage and extra ammunition.

  “Maybe we can go by foot, hide in the mountains until things clear up,” Aria suggested. She looked at Grayson. James was standing, but his head was hanging low, eyes closed. She frowned, matching Grayson’s expression.

  “Or you can help me unload the car,” Aren grumbled.

  “We can’t carry all of that,” Aria barked.

  “You’re going to carry it once my Hawk shows up,” Aren snapped back, matching her sassy tone. Everyone stared at him silently. “I calibrated it to have auto-start through my DNAIS. Called it about five minutes ago. Should be here any minute,” he explained nonchalantly, feeling on the spot under all their scrutiny.

  Aria stomped up to the man, grabbing the sides of his face. “I could kiss you right now,” she said, shaking him.

  “…Um,” Aren fumbled for words as Aria released him and walked into a clearing, eyes to the sky.

  “I can see it,” she said. She looked back at the others, her enthusiasm quickly diminishing. “And I see Feyette’s team! We need to scramble.”

  In seconds, the Hawk that was kilometers away was already pulling to a stop, morphing into copter mode above the house. It circled into the lawn, and the small group moved. Aria and Troy lugged their gear, Aren digging through his car for his auto-drone. Once everyone boarded, Grayson safely buckled James into his chair before rushing to get the med-kit. Aren jumped into the Hawk, plopping his bot heavily into the seat beside him. He flicked a number of switches, the doors closing in as they lifted into the air. His drone gave a high-pitched whine as it kick-started, levitating in its seat, its pinching hands clamping open and closed while it bleeped and looked at its master.

  “You’re functioning as auto-pilot. I may need you to man the battle station,” Aren said to the bot.

  The drone gave another beep and gripped one of the joysticks on the instrument panel. The Hawk jolted as it converted into its jet form.

  “Battle station?” Troy asked.

  Aren looked back at his occupants. Giving a crooked smirk, he replied, “Yeah. Feyette will no doubt want a fight. Now that we’re out of the house, there’s nothing stopping him from destroying us.”

  “You’re going to dogfight with us still on the Hawk?!” Aria asked, already feeling her stomach churn.

  “I would let you jump out, but then you’d be caught in the middle of the desert all alone. Besides, there’s not enough parachutes for all of you,” Aren said. Boy, his confidence sure was rising.

  “I don’t like the sound of that at all…” Aria said.

  “And since there aren’t enough parachutes for the whole lot, then I had just better get our damn asses out of this mess in one piece,” the pilot added.

  “Aren,” Aria said in a low tone, “if you kill us…I’m killing you.”

  “At least I’ll take your secrets to the grave with me,” he said, laughing. He gave her a wink.

  Aria folded her arms. The young pilot seemed entirely too reckless, but he had already saved their lives before. She would simply have to maintain her faith in him. His humor at least helped ease the tension. Gavin’s traits were apparent in the pilot.

  “He’ll get us out,” Troy said, looking out the window. He seemed a bit distant, but in the reflection of the glass, he caught her stare and gave a lopsided grin in return.

  Aria sighed, awaiting the inevitable.

  A red alarm chimed, alerting the crew that something had locked onto the Hawk.

  Aren pulled up a multitude of data readings on his panel. “We have two bogies. Franklin, engage.”

  “ENGAGE,” the bot droned.

  Aria gripped the arms of her chair as the dogfight began.

  The Hawk swooped to the side, a missile already skimming past their wings. Feyette’s team wasted no time. Aren drove forward, heading directly toward the enemy jet. His round robot clamped tigh
tly around its joystick, the other clamp pressing various buttons in lightning speed. A clunk sounded, and the Hawk’s turrets dropped; beads of light pelted toward the enemy ship. Feyette’s craft sprayed its deterrent shield, the frequencies taking multiple hits. Aren’s panel lit up with scattered red alerts; high-pitched alarms sounded from all directions. They were about to collide. Another missile ejected from the enemy aircraft, a burst of light spraying out the back, and Aren pulled up, passing right over the top of the other vehicle. There was a rumble that shook the Hawk. The front window revealed a rearview image of the other ship igniting into pieces. The enemy projectile had backtracked, chasing Aren’s tail, and had inadvertently collided with its own craft. Thanks to Franklin’s spray of gunfire, the shields were temporarily damaged just enough to allow the full force of the missile to impact the other jet.

  “Holy shit! That was close!” Troy shouted; a laugh erupted as he looked out his passenger window.

  “Bogie one down,” Aren said, pulling the Hawk into a near barrel-roll as he dodged yet another missile. He looked to the side, his face hard and sober. “Onto bogie two.”

  The other aircraft kept a safe distance away from Aren, pulling back and darting to the sides as Franklin repeatedly fired. Aren mimicked the other craft’s movements.

  “Gonna have to try something new, Frank…” he muttered.