Worms In A Hamster Cage

Chapter Three: How We Met

The Dead Zone

Sixty seasons ago during the Flag Missions

The Dead Zone flag waved at the roof of the small brick shack atop the empty, decrepit, ten-story apartment block. Its pale cloth, held by a wooden iron pole, had a red ambiguous symbol bordered by thin red lines. From the floor, it stood approximately ten to twelve feet. Climbing up the shack in a hurry would've been a piece of cake for any catface of my type if this wasn't a violent competition largely dominated by packs of ill-bred mutts like the Autocrats.

Twelve newbie Autocrats went after me, probably on Phantom's command, and I didn't hesitate to flee. I still couldn't risk dying and losing my record of being an individual who had never been killed since our creation. The low-levels chased me away from my group. I had no destination in mind; I just knew I had to save myself. But then, as I pushed deeper into the place, I discovered the building where the flag was. I went up, and so did the Autocrats, still keen on killing me with a new goal.

With all the years of experience I possessed, besides being lightly equipped, I was faster and more flexible than the Autocrats. It took them longer than I'd expected to reach the top of the building. I was already taking the flag off its stand the moment they burst in, enraged and exhausted. One of them fired a gun at my head, but since I moved about, the bullet struck me in the left forearm about an inch or two before the elbow. The hot agony felt like a shock wave that threw me off the roof. I fell from quite a height, landed on my right side, and heard a loud crack or pop in me, though I knew I broke no bone. My body ached everywhere.

I didn't know if I was going to yell, cry, hiss, or silently withstand the pain and the shame of defeat. As footsteps approached, I sat up and kicked the dirt, clutching my forearm, backing away till I leaned against the shack.

The Autocrats, savoring their triumph, crowded around me as I cowered against the shack, cradling my bleeding arm. They all took their combat knives and brandished them in front of me, except for one: the guy who shot me. He pushed between his men and growled, "What do you think you're doing? Phantom said he's going to finish her off himself."

Though complaining, they obeyed and backed away.

"Take both the flag and the cat," he said as he moved toward our prize. Then, with a forced laugh: "Autocrats win."

Four men yanked me up. I wouldn't let them get their hands on me. I jerked myself each time they got too close. They slammed a rifle butt into my stomach, sending an overwhelming wave of breath-shortening pain that forced me to my knees. A tangy, metallic taste sprang from my throat in the form of a gob; I didn't spit it out.

The lead newbie grabbed the flag. "Got it," he crowed. "Let's head back to base." Facing me: "Get going."

My injured body complied with their demand. I walked slower than I wanted to. I limped, but that's no excuse for them. They pushed me around, confiscated my harness and tactical belt, both of which contained my weapons, and wouldn't stop shoving me even when I was already quickening my pace till we got to the stairs.

One Autocrat made for his earpiece. I heard static. "Phantom, sir. We got the flag and the cat."

"You have Checkers?" Phantom chuckled. "At last. Do what you wish with that flag as long as I can get my hands on that cat. Let me have her now."

Hearing the pride and triumph in Phantom's voice chilled my spine. I halted. Only to be shoved again in the back. I climbed down the steps in a dejected manner.

It was the end of the world for me. Phantom would finally get what he wanted. He'd torment me in a dark room and use every firearm, blade, and explosive on me. Each step I took toward the stairwell was a stab in the chest. I was breathless once we reached the ground floor. As soon as I stepped out of the block, a pair of headlights flashed in our eyes from the mist. Approaching engines roared in the distance.