Two days passed in the blink of an eye. Brock was once again woken up by blaring alarms. He immediately shot up from bed, took a quick shower, and ate the food that had been placed on his table. Brock was in high spirits; this was the day his long awaited freedom wiil be gained.
He was led to the training hall, where he saw Wilson and Instructor Stone standing together, engaged in conversation with a man he did not recognize. Not far away, 100 was already training with the puppets. How is that girl always early? Brock wondered. He walked over to her side and began training with the puppets as well.
A clap drew both his and 100's attention. Wilson was the one who had clapped and he beckoned them over.
"You will be under his command during the mission, make sure to listen to everything he says--especially you 100", Wilson said pointing to the unfamiliar man. he had plain features, his only distinguishing traits being a pair of bushy sideburns. The man looked at them ," Adress me as Captain, Follow me". With that, the man headed for the exit. Brock and 100 exchanged a brief look before falling into step behind him.w
After walking for a few minutes, the man brought them to an elevator and stepped inside with them. He pressed a button, but Brock could not tell whether they were ascending or descending. As he pondered their direction, he caught sight of the man slipping on a gas mask.
A moment later, a thick vapor flooded the elevator. Brock's head spun with sudden dizziness, and the world went dark as he fell unconscious.
When Brock gained consciousness, he saw himself in a vehicle with people he did not recognize, but they where all equipped with the same garments. He also noticed his attire had been swapped into that garment. He did not spot 100 in the vehicle.he looked outside. He looked outside and so four other vehicles as his own. So he reasoned 100 will be on any of them.the vehicle he was in was like a pick up with beches at the back and he sat on it. Including his own there five of it. Each vehicle carried 10 people so there where 50 people in total. Also there where three small trucks which tailed behind them probably containing weapons. The road was very bumpy as they rode along a bushy road. At some points the vehicles stopped to eliminate some roaming zombies.
The convoy stopped when they arrived at a clearing indicating the presence of a shelter nearby and judging by the scale of the clearing it was a medium sized shelter. All the elites got down and formed a neat formation. A squad moved to the one of the trucks unloading heavy cannons and wheeling them towards the perimeter.
After the cannons were set up, they fired towards the shelter. Seeing the sight of that, Brock was reminded of the time his shelter was attacked by them. He was not going to watch another shelter be reduced to ashes. Without hesitation, he attacked the nearest guard closest to him and three all the explosives in his tactical bag at the ammunition of the cannon squad causing a massive explosion at their side. Whether there were any survivors no one could tell. But by that time the guard was able to come back to their senses and focused fire at him. Brock activated his magnetic shield to deflect the bullets and ran to the cannon squad firing line to take cover behind the cannon ruins. He began to fire at them to keep them at bay. But it was 1 against 50 scenario. The guards inched closer and closer. Seeing this Brock was put at an edge he started to look around for a leeway, he saw that one of the cannons was still intact and was loaded he went to it and swiveled the massive barrel toward the troop formation. He fired, the recoil threw him backward, but the shell found it mark erupting at the center of the formation. Using the chance created he ran towards the shelter. The 20 meter wide clearing felt like an eternity. The guards regained their footing and chased firing at the same time. Bullets grazed in many places; shoulders, thighs, rib side the pain was excruciating but not too much. He pulled through continued but without a doubt he had been slowed down significantly.
…
A few moments earlier, inside the shelter's command center, the atmosphere was thick with anxiety.
"Shelter Head, when will the main forces arrive?" an aide-de-camp asked, his voice tight. "The scouts have discovered traces of HETRAM activity in this sector. We need to strengthen our defenses."
The Shelter Head, a blonde-haired man in his fifties with a well-kept beard, turned toward him with a calm smile. "They will arrive around daybreak."
The aide-de-camp paled. "But sir... the garrison left behind won't survive medium-scale attack. We'll be slaughtered."
The leader's smile didn't fade, but his eyes sharpened. "I see. So, I look like a mere decoration to you?"
Before the aide could stammer an apology, a guard burst into the room, gasping for air. "They're here! The HETRAMS! They've reached the edge of the clearing!"
The Shelter Head didn't waste a second. He followed the guard to the sentry towers overlooking the perimeter. He braced himself for a coordinated siege, but what he saw left him stunned. Instead of a bombardment, a massive explosion tore through the HETRAM ranks, followed by the chaotic sounds of a fierce crossfire.
"Internal conflict?" the leader muttered, leaning over the stone battlement.
He grabbed a pair of binoculars and adjusted the focus, scanning the smoke and fire. His lens locked onto a single, blood-stained figure. The figure was sprinting toward the shelter walls, staggering under the weight of his injuries but refusing to stop as bullets kicked up the dirt at his heels.
"hmmm who is that," the leader whispered, watching Brock's desperate charge. "is he the one who turned their own cannons against them."
The aide de camp asked the shelter leader whether to send people to help him. The shelter leader gave no response and watched as Brock approach his shelter. Brock was captured soon by the elites that were chasing after him. They hauled his bloodied body back to the outer perimeter of the shelter where the HETRAMS had se up a camp. He was thrown into a makeshift cell.