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Focus on the mission

“Oh. We’re here, we need to be quiet,” you whisper and cautiously move forward.

The basement of the school isn’t so much a room, but a series of platforms suspended over a dark abyss of pipes and machinery. There are railings where walls would be, and a fall would mean dropping a kilometer into cold airless and metal darkness.

The central platform holds crates of supplies, a few lockers, and several utility kiosks that allow for power and water flow into the elementary school.  The only ways in from the surface are through a single stair and a small lift.  You, however, have been able to climb through some of the substructure conduits and piping to get a good look into the scene.

The baby eater is a GMO, about your age. Probably pod-kin to you.  You don’t recognize him, but he’s armed with a needler and a boom-stick. He has the kids lined up and sitting against one of the railings, each has their hands bound, then tied with some rope to the next child.  He’s shouting into a communications device, making demands of the Paradise Police.

His voice is monstrous and graveled, and as he shouts the children reel in stark terror.  You draw your gyro-jet pistol and double-blink to lock the reticle right to his temple. The Baby-Eater grabs a young boy and pulls him close, screaming into the communicator, what he is about to do, you look back to Seth-Sagan to let him know you’re going to take the shot.

“Wait,” he whispers.

“I can hit him from here,” you whisper back.

“No, we’re just here to save Juedon’s son. Don’t worry about the others.”

“I got the shot, he’s gonna kill again.”

“KK, the GMO, the baby-eater; That is Juedon’s son. I thought you understood.”

Your breath stops, and your mind shudders. All the things you have done to get to this point, the blood on your hands, the drugs in the street, the conflict with the cops, all this led you here. You are not here to save the kids, not even a single child. You are here to save a monster, but in doing so, you will save kids and you will get your green card. You have constantly traded this for that, calling it survival, and never once looked at what ‘that’ was. Rage builds in you.

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