Welcome to the Prompt! All top-level comments must be a story or poem. Reply here for other comments.

Reminders:

>* Stories at least 100 words. Poems, 30 but include "[Poem]" >* Responses don't have to fulfill every detail >* See Reality Fiction and Simple Prompts for stricter titles >* Be civil in any feedback and follow the rules

🆕 New Here? ✏ Writing Help? 📢 News 💬 Discord

I am a bot, and this action was performed automatically. Please contact the moderators of this subreddit if you have any questions or concerns.

I used to be the best, beyond any other human being. When they managed to replicate the serum that made me, I saw what that meant. The desert is a lonely place for a bleeding man.

After days of travel, I managed to stumble my way into an old gas station. With the lights off, and no traffic in sight, I broke protocol. Chips were shoved into my mouth as I grabbed whatever water I could. It took me what felt like hours to move on.

The heat of the sun failed to loosen, and at least half of my water ended up poured onto my head. I stumbled along the only road I could see. Nobody would appear to save me; that was never how this sort of operation worked.

Days passed, before I made it to the nearest city. My patrol had managed to get there before me, army cars spread across the vast expanse. The town was in ruins, bodies strewn in every direction.

"Am I glad to see you," My commanding officer whistled, "The Supersoldier Initiative went awry, we need you to clean up the mess,"

All I could do was stare towards him blankly. The wound in my side, from the shot he had fired was barely patched.

"You're on your own," I replied with the smallest of smiles.

Nice story man.

Thanks!

"I don't get it, why are they using normal grunts like us on patrol when they've got the genetically enhanced soldiers now?" The plainclothes private asked the other guard as they approached my position. They had no idea I was close enough to hear them.

"Those guys get to go on black ops missions, real hush hush spy like shit. We do our jobs and one day we could get into the program. Gotta pay our dues first. This beats being in a war zone." The two undercover soldiers sauntered past me on the sidewalk of the cul de sac, the cookie cutter houses hiding dark secrets.

I silently crept out of the tall bushes behind them. The flip of a switchblade was the last sound the solider on my left heard as I sliced his throat. His brother in arms didn't have time to react. I disarmed him and dragged him into the bushes. I flipped the safety off and put the barrel of the M27 to his forehead, my knee pressing down on his neck.

"Where's Faust?" I growled at him.

"Like....like I would tell you that." The soldier choked out.

I covered his mouth to stop him from screaming as I stabbed him in the hip. I drug the knife slowly across his stomach. "Stop screaming. I'm gonna tear down this entire operation anyways, how about you make it easier for me? Your fate is already sealed."

The soldier followed orders and pointed across the street. I sliced his throat to dispose of him silently and hid the two in the bushes. "Botan come in. Over." A burst of static fizzled in my earpiece, hopefully Botan had done her job. After a few seconds her voice came over the line.

"I read ya Grimm. Sorry about the interference, should be fixed now. What's the sitch? Over."

"Located Faust's field lab. Beginning approach. Once I blow the door, you cut the power. Can you handle that on your end?" I asked even though I knew Botan knew what she was doing.

"Already backdoored into the security system, they'll be defenseless and in the dark. I'm just waiting for the drop. Over."

"Once I gain entry it's radio silence, I'll be at the rendezvous in one hour. Moving out. Over." I adjusted my night vision goggles and stalked across the well manicured lawns of the suburban neighborhood. Botan came over the line as I reached the door to the field lab.

"One last thing before you go silent Grimm. Take that bastard down. Over." Botan coldly said. The radio went dead. I set the C4 charge on the window and took cover. I took a deep breath before blowing the charge. Time to take this fucker down.

Really cool.

Isnt this kind of the plot for the movie "soldier"?

I haven't heard of that movie

"I'm sorry."

I heard the voice foggily through my drug addled mind, a feminine one, familiar. It roused me enough for my own biochemistry to kick in, flushing the drowsiness away in a flood of endocrines. In less than a second, I was fully aware and without opening my eyes, I knew by smell that it was my nurse. I listened to her movements, the clink of a glass bottle being placed on the side, the squeak of plastic as a syringe was inserted into my IV bag and the minute increase of her breathing rate. Not only was this act unusual but the timing was odd too, my body clock informed me that it was just gone three in the morning and the night shift did not usually administer medications.

A tickle of unease ran down my spine and I immediately acted; I hadn't survived this many years by ignoring those instincts. I shifted noisily and groaned, drawing attention away from my nearside hand which surreptitiously located and squeezed my iv line, shutting it tight between thumb and forefinger. The nurse drew the syringe out and dropped it with a clatter into a sharps bin before placing her hand on my chest, almost caringly, comfortingly. I could hear the crack in her voice as she whispered once more, "Sorry", then the hand was gone and she turned away with a sniffle and a snarl.

The moment the door was shut behind her, I opened my eyes and yanked the IV line out with a sharp tug. I reached out for the empty glass bottle on the side and brought it up to my eye, reading the label, sodium pentobarbital. If she'd used the entire bottle, that was fifteen times a regular human's lethal dose. Even I'm not sure if my body could have resisted that, especially considering the drugs already running through my weakened system. It was more than likely that I'd have simply never woken up.

No time to ruminate or question, I needed to secure myself. Answers would come later or, at least, I hoped they would. I levered myself out of the bed, ignoring the pain in my chest and willfully suppressing a cough as I rose to my feet in a single smooth motion. I glanced at a dressing mirror to assess myself before scanning the room for tools or any sign of my gear or weapons. It was obvious that none of my equipment was present and that my condition, whilst serious, was manageable; my chest was entirely bandaged around and taped up but I could see no leaking of blood through them and the bruising was limited in scope. There was a faint hint of iron on my breath, from what I would suppose as residual blood in my lung, which meant I had to avoid nonessential strenuous activity but all in all, I'd come off rather well considering.

I wasted no more time and was out the door, closing it behind me with barely a click before I launched myself down the corridor, each barefoot stride padding down silently despite my bulk. The rushing air from my passage felt cooling on my skin and carried with it the scent of the nurse and many other unknown individuals mixed with the smell of oil, sweat and ozone from charge packs. The aroma was growing stronger as I vectored towards the stairs, bypassing dozens of rooms, the lit ones casting dim glows into the darkened hall.

As I pushed open the exit hatch to the stairs, I gripped onto the handle and applied some strength to lift it up and towards the hinges to help prevent any potential squeals. The crack of a suppressed weapon caused me to tense instinctively, eyes instantly locking on the double set of doors from whence it had come. The sign said operating theatre three. I paused. Two seconds, three. Then I heard her voice, the nurse's, saddened and sickened. "You didn't need to do that. I had already given him the shot.".

Another woman's voice responded, sharper, authoritative, certain, "This way is safer. These bastards are tough.".

"That's right." A third voice, male, responded. "Look, lady, trust us...".

I left, the voices first muffling beyond understanding and then out of audible hearing range altogether as I leapt down each flight of stairs. Every second of their conversation would buy me time to escape.

Descending to street level and then beyond, I followed the faint fragrance of recaf until I arrived at parking sublevel three and saw two soldiers standing by an armoured personnel carrier. One held a cup in his hand, the other the flask as he poured out some of the hot liquid. Their weapons were slung at their shoulders. Sloppy. They would be easy prey but the risks outweighed the potential gains; their vehicle was too obvious and trackable to be useful and they could miss a call-in at any moment which would give the game away sooner rather than later.

Watching their head and eyes movements, I carefully chose my moments to move, darting between parked vehicles and columns in short bursts as I skirted along the wall. Once I had made enough distance in the dark, I followed the exit signs to the underpass motorway and lost myself in the noise, traffic and smells.

Many years later.

Even our memorials had been purged. Intellectually, I had already known this before I set off but seeing this affront personally, it made an impact which I hadn't predicted. My lip curled in anger as I stared up at the monolithic plinth where the statue of one of our best generals had once stood. In his place, they had erected a sculpture of one of the new breeds of supersoldier. I didn't know or care which. I would not read the replacement plaques.

I shuddered as a series of wet coughs momentarily overwhelmed me, forcing me to hunch over as blood cascaded from between by teeth. Pulling out a rag from within the folds of my robes, I wiped the crimson liquid away and grimaced. Taking in a deep breath, I suddenly froze, the scent unmistakable. She was here.

The stiffness of age and degradation washed away as adrenaline flooded through my system once more. I straightened to my full height, standing head and shoulders above the people around me who at first recoiled in surprise at my stature and then simply gave me weird looks and then a wide berth. I scanned the crowd, turning a full circle before my eyes locked on the target I was looking for.

In less than a dozen strides, I had her by the throat. People in the area screamed and yelled but that all faded into background noise as I focused my whole being on her. She was much older now, hair entirely white, shrunken in form and with a blind right eye. So fragile, I could snap her neck entirely by accident. It would almost be a mercy, to spare her this decrepitude. I looked into her good eye and saw recognition there.

"You remember me." A statement, not a question.

She looked me up and down as best she could in my grip and her look of fear slowly morphed into one of pity and sadness. "Yes, I remember what you were.".

That cut me deep and maybe she knew it would but I ignored it anyway. I went to the heart of the matter. The question that I had wanted answered for all these decades. The one she might be able to answer before both her time and mine was up. "Why?".

Her look became one of confusion. "Why?". She lifted a frail arm and gestured with a trembling hand in the general direction of the Sanctum Imperialis. "The Emperor ordered it.".

Left upon the fields of that bloody battle field my legs and arms ripped from my body, bullets fired at point blank range into my spine. Left to rot among the destroyed warforms and equipment left to rust. Days maybe weeks later foe turns to friend, as scavengers dig through the rubble. Found am I? I close my eyes and await the fatal shot, but come it does not. I am dragged from the rubble and brought back from the brink of death. They teach me about their god, teach me right from wrong. The only thought I can hear is “I must make penance for my endless number of sins” and “I must pay these people back for all they have done for me”

I like it, good intruige with some good potential, I personally like feedback from my submissions even if I never get any, so I added a few things, if you could care less about my opinions then, by all means, ignore the rest of this long-winded comment.

Add more detail to combat, a quick kill is great in a movie but in reading it's far more gripping if you add as much detail as possible, within reason. It helps a reader visualize and even better if you write it with the emotion behind it, its hard to visualize an emotionless kill.

Dialogue is important but it more important to explain, or even better, to show the inner workings of a persons thought process. When you have the guard that just realized he was going to die no matter what he did, he just have in and told the protagonist what he needed to know. Why? Was he afraid he would be tortured further or did he feel morally conflicted about the situation? Did he feel he was redeeming himself at the end of maybe a not-so-honest career?

You have potential as a writer so I hope these don't come off as demeaning, try rewriting what you have here with those points in mind and I hope you'll see what I mean. Regardless of what I've said you still have some good work here and I hope you'll continue writing in the future.

2 quick notes if you care about realism; there's no benefit to using c4 on glass, it won't even fragment and turn the room beyond into a blender, it will just briefly and lightly sand blast the entire room, enough to blind someone staring straight at it but little else. Also, radio silence is only of value if it's imposed well outside the op zone for initial detection, for escape it would only be helpful if you made a quiet entrance and I can assure you they dont make silencers for plastics.

Again, sorry for the long post, feel free to message me if you have any questions or would like some more input, I really do like what you did.

Upon the war torn field, blood and viscera lay scattered. Painting the landscape red, a deep burning crimson alighting the night sky as the hellfire of napalm continued to burn on and on. That choking heat, awakening my lungs as gasp for air, choking on the smoke of still burning flesh. A sweet acrid odor that I had not once noticed before. The toxic fumes sting and burn my throat and lungs, driving needles into me as I go back into shock.

Every cell in my body screaming at me, burning with pain as I could feel the slow trickling blood escape my already clotting wound. A sharp sensation, the torn nerve endings still howling with pain, demanding for relief as the knife wound continues to throb. The muscles in my body spasm, and twist and contort, until that little bit of air inside me was forced out in one powerful gasp.

I could feel my lungs briefly collapse, and even as I choked for air...nothing would come. For the first time, I understood what it meant to be alone...to be dying with not a single comfort near me. No squad mate to keep me calm, no doctor applying antiseptic and morphine, no cries from the battlefield, not even my own voice could escape me, nothing to disturb the still sounds of the smoldering fire.

The seconds feeling like hours as I fought on, machines and tools of war had always been so easy to me. Point, click, bang, recoil and move on. The sound of rushing bullets, of defeating grenades silencing all but the ringing in my ears, the feeling of dirt and blood spray on my face...all of those were familiar to me. They were my home, I had been shot, I had been stabbed, but when the adrenaline kicked in, it was the battlefield that saved me, that kept me going. But this struggle, there was no comfort from the need to move on, there was no force for me to fight, no enemy to kill...just me, and me alone.

Summoning my will, and whatever strength I had inside me I craw up on the bleeding landscape. My hand digging into the soaked earth as blood rised and spread through my fingers. And finally with a painful gasp I could finally feel my salvation. The necrotic air rushed in, and even as it twisted my insides, and churned my stomach, the air was a sweet to me as the spring breeze on my home world.

My heart thumped on, restored to it's vigor with this fresh air, and I heave for more as I can finally begin to take in my surroundings. It's then when I feel it, my hand and arms across the body of a young boy, or whatever was left of him. His legs where no longer attached, the exposed pearly bone and viscera laid bare. His chest riddled with fragmented metal, and singed from the fires of a mortar shell and his face...his white eyes were starting at me as I felt his chest begin to move. Adrenaline poured through my body, as my muscles charged with fear and launched from him skirting across the ground as his eyes followed me...and it was there they would stay forever more.

The light in his eyes finally snuffed out. Whatever potential he had, whatever accomplishments he could have made, were gone. And I don't know why, but...I could feel the tears stream down and burn my face. Never had I considered the lives of those I was fighting before, they were targets, subhuman. To think otherwise would only destroy a man, and yet...I couldn't help but feel a kinship to this child, my own enemy...two creatures barely alive...and yet still I remained. Why? Why was it, that we were fighting? And why did we need to die? For what cause?

My mind and heart race, as the silent tears continue to fall. Reaching to wipe them away I finally begin to know why they burned, and my heart dropped in utter hopelessness. Gone was my hand, and in it's place a mangled soup of burned flesh. Beating a pulling with blood, the muscles exposed along with the blisters of heat burns. Burning! Every burned, the clothes melted a fused to my body, the tears up on my face... I was not alive, there is no way I could be. This...this unmistakable heat, the burned flesh...this was hell...this was my torment.

But even my panic, I could feel my training begin to kick in as I heard gunshots the distance. The familiar echo of mk60 rifles... The standard issue of my army...and I knew their tactics...they were cleaning off the dead...making sure that not even the medics would have anyone to save. My pain suppressed as the raw need to survive, kicked alive. Shocking muscles I never even know I had into action, as I lept to my feet and started to run. The only light in this abyssal sky from the glow of hellfire, there was no thought there was no plan, and even as the knife wound continued to scream in agony, my burnt flesh couldn't to move.

A forest lied a head, and just between it and me a river...if I could cross it...get away from this battlefield...I might survive. And that was my only instinct, survival. It didn't matter anymore what my training told me, it didn't matter what my brain was screaming at me...my consciousness couldn't even register the cries out in the distance. Or the alarm of the troops as shots buzzed and whipped past me. Striking the dead bodies around me with meaty pops, slapping them around as impact drove deep into their flesh. And I continued to run, to stride... Like a feral animal, trapped in a cage I sacrificed my own body just for the chance of survival.

And with my body almost at the river, I could see the glow of spotlight illuminating me, and I dove down grabbing the nearest body and turning it over me. Not a moment too soon as the machine gun fire roared and screamed through the otherwise silent night. Each bullet making the body behind me pop and white striking at me and at the last remains of our armored plates.

I waited, until I could hear the rounds start as I made a leap of faith. Driving myself toward the river, but it was all of it a ruse, a trap I was too shocked to even notice as I felt the bullet piercing my skin. Burning as it burrows through my chest and exits out the front and soon...I felt nothing as my body submitted itself to cold abyss of the river...being swept away by the current.

(Part 2 in the comments)

An old Thunder Warrior on Terra would certainly make for an interesting book. Well done.