1.
CV-01's skull cracked beneath the stomp of Richard's boot. Wiring coiled out, spiraling awkwardly onto the snowy ground, sparks jolting off randomly. His steps were heavy as he trailed off, leaving the bot to bury.
In the distance, a tower hung overhead. It menaced Richard, beckoning him with scorn and mockery. Ice froze to the windows, dripping down to sickles, sharp and long. Its looming height -- high above, shrouded in fog -- was a taxing mental barricade. The interior an even more mysteriously frightening foe.
"Rich, what the hell we doin' here, man?" Asked Tom to Richard, who led their squad. Dave and Connor followed along, motioning approval toward him.
"We're gonna get Cheryl. You know this." Responded Richard, still trudging through the thickening blanket. Their trail took a sudden angle upward from there on.
"I know that. I knew what we was gettin' into. But I ain't sure she's still alive. I don't mean to upset ya' by any means, though." Tom's mouth drooped, a depressing anguish washing over him as he admitted his uncertainty.
Richard refused to reply, continuing the trek quicker than before. He was feeling desperate, losing the faith of everyone. It weighed on him, like a boulder upon his shoulders. The emotional distress brought only a staggering lack of performance. He shrugged depression's grip away.
Rich's men began to drag behind. It was clear they weren't sure of any of this, of nothing to come. Perhaps they would run off, to escape, leaving Rich alone. In spite, he kept his quickened pace.
Minutes of heavy stepping passed, bringing the long journey closer to its end. Rich knew what awaited, what would happen; why his going was an inevitable falling-through. In his twisting thoughts, he stumbled. Slipping on a patch of ice, right leg sliding outward.
He fell forward, the weight of his pack propelling him, catching on his hands. As he situated himself to rise again, to continue his walking, Tom, Dave and Connor were at his side. Grabbing under his arms, stabilizing him on his feet.
"Thanks." The toughened exterior was melting away. A sunlight cracking the layers of his cloak, showing some grateful sensitivity. His friends hadn't gone, as even he had expected. It wasn't a bother to him if they had, but their staying made him proud. More proud and eager than he had been since the beginning.
They were less than a mile away. With Rich back to his feet, they marched head on. In a line, straight along, the four of them shoulder-to-shoulder.
"Shit!" A whiz brushed by the men. A curse muttered from each as they dove to all sides, hurrying to the cover of rocks a short distance away.
"Anyone hit!" Rich's voice was barely clear through the screaming blizzard.
"No."
"No, no one!" Dave gave a look over Connor, replying for the both of them. Connor was always quiet, even in warfare. Back at home, he preferred a reading experience to any other. A calm solitude. He was damn good in combat, despite this.
"Connor, can ya' tag 'em?" Tom took initiative, huddling to the side of Rich. They were both on the right, crouched behind some large rocks. Connor and Dave were across, to the left, laying below some smaller, but effective rocking.
Connor nodded at Tom, while Dave picked up their camouflage hooding -- specific to winter -- and threw it over Connor's upper body and head. To the far-off tower, he was invisible.
The four men's minds were racing. They knew this was the first to come. An initial, minor encounter. This was chapter one, following their expansive prologue.
After two hours of silent hiding, the opposition was killed.
"Clear!" Connor yelled, the first word he had said since they arrived.
Richard motioned his hand ahead, aiming onward. The four men rose and continued.
