Rebellion

He's Not Invincible

He's Not Invincible

It wasn't real. He'd heard the screams, the shouts. He heard the crying and the begging but it wasn't real. It was just a hallucination. All a hallucination from the drugs he'd taken. There had been nothing before this. This was how it had been all along. He turned his head slowly and felt something in him seize up before he shuddered and returned to a normal stature. His eyesight flickered for a moment before returning to normal. He took a step forward and glanced at himself in the window. His brown hair was shaved on both sides and grown out in the middle for a mohawk. His bangs hung into his face and he pushed them aside slowly to get a clear view at his emerald eyes. They'd always been like that. He'd never changed them.

"Easy buddy, easy."

He blinked his eyes open and stared up at a bright ceiling. A man stood over him. He gasped and felt his muscles seize up.

"Deep breaths, everything's fine. Everything is how it is supposed to be."

"What happened?"

"You took a hard fall and got yourself a bit of amnesia. The Rebels are using guns with some sort of poison. You really don't remember me?"

"No.....should I?"

"Do you remember anything?"

"No."

"My name is Mark Wakefield, I'm the president of the nation. Well, what used to be the nation. Ever since the rebels destroyed everything. They've been trying to assassinate me."

"Why am I here?"

"You're one of my elites, Mr. Bennington. You work with me."

"Oh."

"Yes. Now I would love to give you a tour but I'm going to have to cut that short. You need to get dressed and get ready to go."

"My sons," Chester said suddenly, "I had two sons. I remember them. Are they alright?"

Mark gave him a sad smile as he knelt next to him, "I'm sorry Chester. They were killed by the rebels in California, where you used to live."

His heart ached. He didn't remember much about his boys and now he never would.

"Get me what I need."

"Are you sure you're ready?"

"Yes. Get me what I need and I'll go. I want them all dead."

This was how the world would always be because this is how it had always been. People who killed for no reason deserved to die. They deserved to be killed because they took the lives of others and he wouldn't stop until every rebel he knew was dead. Until every rebellion was shut down. His emerald eyes narrowed and he put his hands on the guns in his holsters. His jacket was tucked into his black belt and his black pants were tucked into his black boots. He looked out the window and saw the patrols guarding the walls. The city was deadly quiet and burnt, just like it had always been. Just like it would always be.

"I need you to go to California on the next shipment."

"Yes sir."

"That means now."

"Yes sir."

Chester turned and walked out of the room. He boarded the helicopter and sat on the edge, dangling his feet out of the copter. Their air transportation had gotten even faster and soon they were dropping into California. He stepped out of the helicopter and tapped a button on his gauntlet. The directions of his mission were displayed. Get to Bunker 19 and kill the intruding rebels. He motioned for his group of elites to follow him and soon they were running down the streets. The bunker was only about a mile away and he could hear the siren going off already. He ran up the hill to the doors and inside.

"You don't want to deal with me! Show yourself," he yelled.

A figure stepped out of the shadows. He smiled slightly. He remembered this one. This was the one he'd enjoy killing eventually.

"Take one more step and I'll kill you."

Chester tilted his head sideways and the rest of the elites scattered, going around to the other side of the bunker. He held his hands up.

"You're going to kill me?" Chester asked softly as he took a step forward.

"I will."

"Then do it," Chester growled, "Kill me. I know you want to."

The man in front of him shifted slightly but continued to glare at him. Chester smiled and walked forward until the barrel of the shotgun nudged against his chest.

"I remember you, you know? Your parents begged me to stop. They begged me to spare your brother. I would've too if he didn't have a mouth on him. If he wasn't such a smart-ass. I was so glad that you came home to see me kill him."

"I tried," the young man said as tears ran down his face, "I tried to give you a chance like they said. But they were wrong. They're all wrong and I knew it. You're a cold-hearted, bastard."

He saw the man's finger tighten on the trigger and Chester smiled before grabbing the shotgun with the hand he wore the gauntlet on and bent the barrel of it up to the ceiling. The gun went off and the man dropped it in surprise. Chester flung the gun across the room.

"Maybe I won't kill your friends, but I'll enjoy killing you."

Chester drew his gun and fired at the other man who jumped out of the way and started running. He fired two more shots at the man and managed to hit his arm before he had to start running. He ran after the man, knowing he'd lead him to the group. Sure enough, he heard fighting ahead of him. He smiled before taking a deep breath and slamming his hand down on the gauntlet. His strides became longer as his body bent. His arms stretched and soon his hands touched the floor but they weren't hands anymore. Huge paws ran underneath him as he charged down the hallway and into the fray, leaping on the first man he saw and tearing his throat out. This was how the world was now. His teeth bared and he growled threateningly at one of the men who was brandishing a sword at him.

"It's Chester!" the young man he'd chased yelled. He smiled. His name brought fear to the rebels. He lunged at the man in front of him but he dodged aside and tried to cut him. He twisted his body and felt something pull. He growled lowly again and then he felt himself start to fall back. A minute later, he was standing on two feet again and holding his gun. He shot at the man who had tried to get him earlier. He dodged another bullet and shot again, pulling his other gun from his holster.
He met with the captain of the rebels in battle. He'd drawn his own blade and rushed him. They clashed in the middle of the fight and he pushed hard. The captain pushed back and they stood, locked together, trying to find a weak point in the other's stance. He saw the captain's foot slide slightly and he smiled before pushing hard, breaking the contact and swinging his blade to end him. Before he could, he felt something he hadn't felt in a long time. He felt the pain of a bullet ripping through his skin. He dropped his sword as he saw blood burst from his hand. The one part he didn't have armored. He gasped as blood gushed from the wound and his sword clattered on the ground.
The battle seemed to freeze around him. People on both sides were all staring at him in shock. He'd never been injured like this before. He hadn't bled in forever. He'd even gotten metal plates installed in his neck so a sword wouldn't kill him instantly if they aimed for his neck. He usually wore a helmet to protect his head. He hadn't even thought about his hand. He turned to see the young man from earlier standing there, holding one of his discarded guns. And then things got bad. He staggered slightly and hit the ground hard. People hovered over him but he didn't know who they were. It was all a mess. But this is what the world was like. It had always been this way. He was lifted off the ground and carried gently out of the bunker. He heard an explosion from behind him and the shouts of celebration from some of the rebels. The same people who killed his boys. Oh he'd kill them alright. They wouldn't see the last of him.

"Wake up. Wake up. Wake up."

He opened his eyes to a bright ceiling and a burning pain in his left hand. He was laying on a table and Mark Wakefield stood above him. He knew what this meant and he closed his eyes instinctively.

"I'm not going to hurt you. You were shot."

"I deserve it sir. I didn't complete the mission."

"I need you in top condition because you're going to go back out there after them."

Chester looked up at him and Mark helped him sit up. He sat there quietly, gently holding his left hand to his chest.

"Can I take a look at it?"

"It's fine sir," Chester said softly, "It'll heal in a few days. Did they get the bunker?"

"I'm afraid so. But that is not a problem. I am sending out patrols to watch for them. They'll most likely make their way towards here. You can kill them on the way."

Chester nodded, "I will sir."

Mark took his arm, "Do you want to see Scott or do you just want to go to your room?"

"Scott please," Chester said softly. Scott was the closest thing he had to family since his sons were dead. He was led to the lab and the doors opened. Scott stood in the middle, moving holograms around with his hands and barking out directions to the other scientists.

"Chester," Scott said as he noticed him. Chester took a hesitant step forward and Mark helped him along. He was just a little dizzy.

"He was hurt in the field. He'll be better soon. He wanted to spend some time with you. When you're done, call someone or take him back to his room," Mark said. Scott nodded and smiled at him.

"You alright?"

"Fine. Not too bad."

"That's not what I heard."

"I'm fine Scott."

"Just making sure. You don't have to be a field worker you know. You could work in here."

"No. I want to be out there. It's where I belong. I....I need to kill them."

"Just be careful out there."

Chester nodded. He didn't know why Scott was always so concerned about him. It's not like this was anything new. The world had always been this way. It wasn't going to change.