Liberation

This is another Mikayla Bloodmoore story in the Fallen Earth setting.

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An excerpt from The Clone Wars, by Martin Nobliques


It's only been four years since the clones first started to emerge from the LifeNet Pods, however they're already quickly becoming a force to be reckoned with. Many people, who are starting to be known as Natural Births or Nabis (derogatory) to keep them separate from the Clones, believe that the Clones will threaten to overpopulate the area if they keep pouring out as steadily as they have been. Extremists have even begun to suggest destroying the LifeNet Pods and rounding up the Clones.


One group of extremists is known as the Purists, believing that Clones are impure and an affront to God. They believe that man shouldn't attempt to play God and that their creation of Clones is blasphemy. The Purists proclaim that the Fall was brought to Man by God as punishment for this blasphemy and that the path of redemption lies through a Culling.


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There are times to fight and there are times to run. Generally speaking, at least. Mikayla tended to lean almost exclusively towards the prior. While running was good and all, she had no reason to. Running was for those afraid to die, for those who could die. This, however, was not the case for her. She was a clone, a product of man built to defy the one constant in an ever-changing world: Death.


Mikayla did run at times, however. Convenience was the main factor in those decisions. She may not be able to die but if someone shot her down it might take a long time to travel back to that spot from a Pod. Who knew where the target or enemy might've gone by then. Efficiency had its price. Most of the time she ran, though, she ran straight at her opponent.


The full moon irradiated the urban scene with its light, it penetrated the blanket of darkness that claimed the shells of civilization past and revealed what the night tried to hide. Suburbia U.S.A. used to be one of the most common cookie-cutter templates used to develop real estate pre-Fall. Every suburban area had a downtown of some sort or another. This particular one had tried to bring the big city out to a little town with vaguely gothic architecture, alley ways, and a grid-pathed street system.


As was common with most other towns, this one had been looted so many times that even most of the street lights were missing. Windows had been broken in long ago, dust and dirt left a thick carpet upon the cement, carpeting, and what remained of tile-work inside the buildings. Grays and browns dominated the scene with the occasional blue, black, and off-white to try and maintain balance. The hollowed out husks of old cars littered the streets, one hanging out of a street-side building and covered in the debris of the crash.


She kept her back to a drab gray stone wall and gave the barrel of her FN FAL a quick kiss. Stalin had always had her back. It looked like he was going to get a chance to do so again tonight if the hushed sounds of footsteps and whispered words were any indication. From the sound of it she'd have to move soon, cover only lasted so long when you gave the enemy the freedom to maneuver. She'd given them enough time to get into position, now it was time for her to do some herding.


Dropping a pair of polarized, wire framed sunglasses down over her eyes, Mikayla burst out of the alleyway and into the bright moonlight with the battle rifle lowered and ready. With a little urging from her finger, Stalin began to bark fire in immensely bright muzzle flashes. She had the weapon's stock clicked back and nestled against her shoulder but even then she only let off a single shot at a time. The recoil was enough to relocate your shoulder and the volume of each shot would've drowned out her music if she'd bothered to have brought any. The first two shots trailed a man as he made for the cover of a car, the misses calling up showers of pulverized stone and mortar from the building behind him. The third shot caught his thigh and knocked his legs out from under him. With each gunshot, Mikayla's irises adjusted to the bright light before readjusting to the darkness with a hint of blue electricity around them.


She got three shots off before the others began to return fire, gouts of dirt, dust, and sparks erupting around her as Mikayla took off for some cover of her own. Instinct swept her feet out from under her just before she slid into the alleyway across from where she exited as if she were trying to steal home. As she dropped, a bullet found its home in the wall where her shoulder had been, a second where her head would've been just before she disappeared behind the wall.


The shouts of her opponents rang out in the night as the bullets died off, orders to follow her, others to cut her off. She rolled her eyes at the telegraphing of their movements as she climbed to her feet and jogged down the alley to the other side. It was pretty clear that they were going to do it anyways but shouting it for the whole world to hear was just unprofessional. She doubted the leader was Enforcer, if any of them were.


As she exited the alley she cut a hard left, her elbow lashing out violently at the expected ambush. Bone met cartilage as she found home and broke the sneak's nose. She spun around as he stumbled back and emptied two rounds into the other ambusher's chest just as he shook himself out of the surprise and raised his AK model. Turned back to the sneak who'd stumbled away a few steps while clutching their face, she dropped Stalin knowing the sling would catch him and charged forward the few steps, drawing a knife from the inside of her coat as she moved. The blade flashed as she brought it down at the base of the sneak's neck, a second swing of her other elbow catching them across the temple to knock them out. Bleeding out was a bad way to go, but she couldn't take the time to speed it up.


The knife disappeared back into her jacket as she took up Stalin once more and hurried behind the building to the back door. Jacob had told her the prisoners were held on the third floor and that this group was pretty densely populated. He'd wanted to send in Alex and Mike as well but Mikayla had told him she'd do it on her own. After some furious arguing they'd settled on sticking the two as support fire on the roofs of nearby buildings. The briefly silent night was shattered by a sudden crack before another ambusher fell from the shadows of a neighboring alleyway. Mike was in place.


Her thumb flicked Stalin into full auto as she reached the back door and took a step back. She knew she was going to regret this already but certain precautions had to be taken when storming a building. With a grunt Mikayla drove her foot forward into the door, the flat of her foot catching the old wood near the door knob with a heavy thunk. The ancient wood of the door was no match for her violent outburst, the screws on the hinges ripping out of it like staples from wet paper as it crashed to the floor inside. No sooner had the door hit the floor than did Mikayla hold the trigger down and sweep the room twice as she charged in. The percussive force of the recoil on her shoulder promised a stern talking to in the morning if she wasn't gunned down first, but she held the rifle steadfast.


A pair of guards dived for cover at the sound of the door being kicked in, trying to find anything thick enough to hide behind. It didn't particularly irk her at all though. The way she figured it they probably would've been just as safe if they'd stayed completely still. With Stalin's recoil in full auto she felt like a Stormtrooper attempting to gun down a Jedi. She held the trigger only long enough to enter and take cover behind an old counter herself before letting up. Just before she ducked down behind the counter, Stalin clicked on empty.


Tossing the spent magazine aside, she yanked one from inside her jacket and slammed it into place. Two shots from outside followed by another quick two were echoed by the cries of the two guards who'd decided their best cover was right in front of open windows. With Alex having cleared her way, Mikayla stood and bounded through the small room and up the stairs. She slung Stalin over her shoulder and drew her knife again. Battle rifles weren't exactly the best in closed quarters combat, after all.


She paused just before ascending the stairs enough to see through the open doorway. With one hand on the staircase and the other holding the knife ready she strained her ears to pick up any indication that she was charging headlong into a trap. When only silence greeted her, Mikayla climbed the last few steps cautiously and silently, slipping through the doorway and into the long hallway. Jacob's reports said that the building had been an old hotel, so he'd warned to be cautious of the rooms on either side. They gave the defenders excellent places to hide.


Keeping low, Mikayla crept her way down the hallway, pausing every now and again to listen. When she was about halfway down the hallway she heard the sound of comm static approaching her from the other end. A quick glance suggested the only choice for cover was to dive into one of the rooms before the man turned the corner. One of the doors ahead of her was even partially ajar, almost welcomingly so.


Dismissing the idea as quickly as it came to her, Mikayla broke from her crouch at a dead run, attempting to make every footfall as silent as possible. She'd had some training in stealth, but no one had ever bothered to teach her how to sprint and keep silent. Generally it was thought that if you had to break into a run, stealth likely wasn't an option. Sure, she knew how to creep around at a brisk walk, even jog with little noise, but a full sprint was something different.


As the guard rounded the corner, Mikayla pulled back and released. Her knife sailed through the air and narrowly caught the woman in the eye. The guard's head snapped back and she kept running forward, sliding on the moldy carpet and catching the harness crossing the woman's chest. It softened the fall a small amount but the thud was still easily audible. Wrenching the knife out, she quickly wiped both sides off on the woman's jacket and ran upstairs.


Gunshots from outside suggested that reinforcements had been cut off as she barreled through the doorway at the top of the stairs, a second knife drawn and ready. Negotiations were far from possible and she was of the opinion that she'd spoiled her sneaky approach enough to warrant giving it up. The moment she cleared the doorway, she threw herself to the side of the hallway. A pair of guards stationed outside of one of the rooms unloaded quick three round bursts right where she had been.


Continuing down the hall at a dead run, Mikayla silently wished she'd thought to pull Stalin out for this. He would've made it a lot easier, definitely. Sometimes, though, you just had to play with the cards you were dealt. A snap of her wrist sent one of the knives flying towards one of the guards who simply knocked it away with the butt of his rifle. Her other knife went sailing towards the other guard, also easily knocked aside. Fluidly she drew another pair of knives from the back of her jacket in the same motion as she used to throw the last, leaping that last few feet at the guards with knives bared.


The guard in front didn't have time to lower his rifle on her before she connected, the first knife finding a home in his chest while the other caught the side of his neck. She tucked her feet under her and, instead of rolling over him with her momentum she kicked his feet out from under him, using him as a shield as the other guard snapped off another burst in her direction. Her shield's armor caught the brunt of the attack, keeping the bullets from tearing all of the way through. The impact on the vest against her knocked the air out of her as she rolled to the side to knock the body off her and free her blades.


Prone as she was, she was at a distinct disadvantage. On the bright side it freed up her legs and she wasn't going to bother spending the time trying to stand when her opponent only had to correct his aim a small amount before finishing her off. Mikayla pushed off the wall and spun on her back, her heel darting out to sweep the guard's feet out from under him. She twisted on the floor with the spin, curling her other leg under her as she pushed herself up with one hand before launching herself at the now prone guard. The impromptu leap dropped her atop the guard, her right hand holding the dagger high above her head and pulling it down with all she had.


The guard started to raise his rifle to block her attack but she cut it off abruptly with a quick, blind slash deep into his forearm. Her knife sunk through his vest with ease before the hilt ended the weapon's journey abruptly. She spun her other knife in hand and swung at the man's face, punching him in the side of the head with the pummel of her knife. As he went limp she ripped the knife out and climbed to her feet. Jacob hadn't been able to tell her whether there'd be any guards in with the prisoners or not.


She knew she'd made enough of a noise that anyone inside would know she was out there and be ready for her so she didn't take any time to clean up. Kicking the door open just like she did before, Mikayla stood ready with a knife in each hand, each blade dripping with what coated her chest and arms. She was a grizzly sight, her black hair hanging limp behind her, her bright blue eyes sharp with menace, blood covering her. Looking back on it later she felt bad for the prisoners.


The group of men and women huddled in the corner of the hollowed out hotel room trembled in fear, the men attempting to cover the women protectively while still looking meek. One of the women sobbed openly, trying in vain to keep it quiet while one of the others tried to shush her. All six wore rags not even fit to be burned, barely covered at all and dirtier than a Vista gardener. The cleanest pieces of cloth on them were what looked like old bandages wrapped around various limbs; arms and legs, one even around one of the men's forehead and covering an eye. The one thing they all had in common, however, were the collars around their neck, the lights pulsing in unison.


Mikayla entered the room slowly, her eyes scouring the dark room and challenging someone to break from the shadows and attack her. Quietly, she asked, “Is anyone else in here?” The prisoners shook their head meekly, their attitudes practically screaming, We're innocent, please don't kill us! Mikayla glanced over at them and nodded before slipping her knives away. It was going to be hell to clean them later but now just wasn't the time for that. She didn't need to scare them any more than they were already. “Okay, then I'm getting you out of here. My name's Mikayla. You can trust me.” As further emphasis, she tapped the collar around her own neck.


The prisoners glanced at her collar incomprehensibly at first before nodding quickly and rising to their feet. Two of them couldn't stand on their own, so the other four split up into twos and helped carry them, an arm around each shoulder. Mikayla moved over to the window and knocked the old boards out of the way so she could stick her head out and wave to Alex. She then pulled herself back inside and took the radio off her belt, flicking it on. “Songbird to Twidledee, do you read? Over.” Kssh.


“I read you loud an' clear, Songbird. We need new damn names, by the way. Over.” Kssh. Alex's voice sounded just a little annoyed in that amused fashion.


“Save the whining for another time. I've got them. Several are injured, we're going to need some transportation. Over.” Kssh. Mikayla gave the now liberated clones a brief smile which was only returned by cautious ones. Trust came hard to people these days, even after something like this. Especially after something like this.


“Twidledum's already waitin' for you in his truck, Songbird. Over.” Kssh.


“I heard that!,” came Mike's voice over the radio. “Why am I the 'dum' one? Over.” Kssh.


“Ain't it obvious?” Alex asked matter-of-factly as Mikayla clipped her radio back on her belt. She motioned the clones to follow her quickly as she led them out the door and down the hall from where she came. She paused to gather her knives and tuck them away as well before pulling Stalin from over her shoulder and leading the way. “They obviously know you! Over.” Kssh.


Mike replied with a brotherly 'I'm so going to kick your ass when we get home' tone, “Hey. Hey. At least I remember which key starts which truck! Over.” Kssh.


“I took the Jacob's key ring by accident, damn it! Over,” Alex snapped. Kssh.


Mike smugly replied, “Exactly. Over.” Kssh.


The clones shared confused, skeptical looks as Mikayla led them down to the floor level of the hotel and to the back door. She stepped outside first before stepping to the side and gesturing them to follow. “Hop in the back of the truck and lets try to get out of here quickly. I'm sure all the gunfire'll have scavengers down on us anytime now.” She snatched the radio off her belt as she clones started climbing into the back of Mike's truck. “Twidledee,” she said, “we're done here. Lets wrap 'er up. See you back at base. Over.” Kssh.


“Aye, ma'am. Returnin' to base. Still say we need new names, though. Over.” Kssh. Mike snickered and nodded to Mikayla in agreement. As the last of the clones got in the back of the truck, Mikayla joined them and sat on the tailgate, Stalin at the ready. It was finally time to get the hell out of that place.