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Fiction for my Guard. Enjoy. sA

What a burning pain – the stinging, almost freezing heat of the las-charge seared worse than a Nitrogen Refrigeration Block. Kabel stumbled, rolling up the torn sleeve of his olive fatigues, the black hole plainly visible. He let out a little sigh of pain, eyes squinting. On the other side of the smelter he sought hospice; behind the battle continued unaware of his wound: that was the way war worked. Dropping his rifle to the ground, he groped around behind his waist for his inevitable medikit. Acknowledging its equally inevitable absence, he rolled his eyes and exhaled harshly from in between gritted teeth. feth, this hurt. The acute pain was typical of the flashlights, but somehow it lingered: it was not normal. With an overclocked rifle like the one that must have hit him, the Rebels couldn’t fight for much longer before their own weapons overheated and fried their hands, but this was no consul to Kabel. With his free hand he reached beneath his collar, drawing out the dogtags that were his only identification. Along with a tiny aquila, and a las-etched prayer disc, the only other charm occupying the chain was a tiny capsule of Morphinone.

“Emperor be praised.” he muttered under his breath, as he bit into the foul tasting lozenge, feeling a warm oblivion invade his senses. The pain ebbed, and he picked up his rifle again, hefting it into his shoulder. Strafing out from the smelter, he let off a double tap into the fortified redoubt the Rebels had retreated to in the Sorgesk Smeltery. It had no effect – the action was only to get his back into the fight.

A hundred yards away, brown shirted rebels squatted behind a makeshift redoubt of torn metal plates and the components of the ancient presses and furnaces that had compromised the old Smeltery. The unreal, almost white ore littered the floor – spread from the titanic storage silos after they were bombed almost a decade ago by terrorists, spreading discontent and fear amongst the working populace. Alpha, people whispered behind their hands and amongst closed tavern halls. Nobody knew, but only four years later, after a season of poor imports from storms and lack of governance, Chaos had struck. Sweet whisperings in the ear of those who were disheartened by the governance. Such sweet whisperings.

Good starting point,will there be more?

Yeah, this was just a little exhalation of ideas.

sA

this was great i would like to see more

nice details (like the overheating weapons)