Redemptions Revolution

(Inside a dimly lit tent he sits on the ground, hands secured behind his back, bare feet bound to a metal shipping container. Sitting up he can barely see a person sitting cross legged on the shipping container. As the form dismounts it is noticeable that the dreaded purple and gray uniform fit nicely on a tough yet feminine female soldier.)

“So I see you have quite a few confirmed here. And your methods have been less than legal as set by the accords last year. Are you aware of the penalty you face for such indiscretions private? Private? Seems your record indicates at least three battlefield commissions. Why do you not wear the rank assigned to you?” she asks in a very clinical fashion. Removing her felt beret the noticeable blonde hair beneath seems clean and out of character for a grunt.

Looking up his slightly dark skin shines with small beads of sweat. Hair loose and missing in places it hangs low below his shoulders.

“Allen, Private, 934712.” he growls in her direction. Staring beyond the person that sits in front of him she retreats slightly back toward the container.

Reaching for the top of the shipping container she retrieves a handgun.

“Funny. This archaic design and the purpose for it haven’t changed in what, six hundred years. You choose to live as a primitive instead of embracing what is the greatest society known to man.” She shakes it in her hand as if the weight is much more than it actually is. “What burden have you placed on this object that you could have carried yourself? It seems your record indicated physical brutalities no man should be capable of. Unless of course you aren’t a man at all. What kind of primitive mysticism have you placed on your service to this less than pitiful rebellion?”

“Allen, Private, 934712.” The tone of his voice has not changed but the intensity of his stare has.

“They call you Ghostrider. Seems they put some special stock in your abilities yet here you sit bound and completely surrounded by your enemy. Since we have you it seems as good a time as any to see what you can tell us. You seem to have crossed the front constantly since arriving here in Serenity Valley. Obviously you know positions of your enemy but lets see how well you know your allies.” Lifting the container lid she pulls out the field radio captured from the radio man of some unfortunate squad. Next she pulls out a small rucksack usually used for carrying spare batteries and maps for the same radio. “I’m sure you know what these things are. I’d have planned better if I knew we could catch someone held in such high regard with the lower echelon.” Grinning she pulls a spare battery pack from the rucksack. “I’m sure you’d never compromise your fellow Independents, and it would definitely be beneath you to communicate misinformation,” sheepishly she pulls the cap from the spare battery pack, “But let’s see how good your propaganda abilities are.”

The female Alliance soldier turns on the radio and keys the microphone on a general transmission channel.

“So who are you again?” She asks holding the microphone facing him.

“Allen, Private, 934712.” He says with gritted teeth.

As he finishes speaking the Alliance soldier sets the uncapped end of the spare battery pack on the metal shipping container. Allen’s body tenses instantly, he coughs slightly before grinding his teeth hard. Convulsing he lays straight as electrical charge zaps through him. As she pulls the battery from the container Allen screams with his teeth still clenched hard. He coughs more before trying to regain his composure. Sitting up the Alliance soldier seems a bit scared as the spare battery pack shakes in her hand.

As if trying to regain and reaffirm her courageous action she lets off of the microphone key. “I want you to tell your comrades that they need to push on. Something…inspiring. Or tell them that you love your wife and child. Better yet, a prayer in your primitive tongue.”

Looking down Allen nods his head in approval and looks back at the female soldier holding the microphone toward him.

“Allen, Private, 934712.” Smiling briefly his face turns to a grimace and he convulses backward hitting his head hard on the ground behind him. Shaking hard he stops a moment later and again screams, this time out loud. The primal edge of his voice rings hard into the microphone. Fighting to sit up his hair rests in his face but his eyes lock hard on the female soldier in front of him. She lets off of the transmission key before speaking.

“I was sure you’d be more cooperative seeing as these things really hold a nasty charge. You really should say something to those you love, this may be your last chance.”

As she holds up the microphone up for him again she keys the transmission button and jumps at the horrible electronic screeching it spits out.

“What the gao-se is that?” She asks with a surprised look.

Allen, smiling again, “Feedback.”

POPSMACK POPSMACK

She falls straight down after being hit in the chest twice by a very quiet firearm. Leading in with the muzzle end of a silenced pistol like Allen’s, a tan clad form rushes straight into the tent past Allen and to the Alliance soldier lying on the ground.

POP