Chapter 71: The Next Layer of Hell
Wet. Everything is wet. What the fuck is this? Can I not even die in peace?
I wiggled my fingers and toes before realizing that ghosts don't have fingers and toes. Or do they? Ah, who cares. Eyes! Open SESAME!
My eyes heeded my command, slowly revealing a white washed room before me. It looked slightly distorted, however. Aside from everything looking blurry, it was pretty obvious that I was in a hospital.
I blinked a few times, my vision clearing slightly as a result. Was this a bacta tank? Oooooh, maybe I could drink some. Hehehe.
Before I could feed my addiction, I noticed movement to my right. A man quickly came over with an excited look on his face. He then tapped a few buttons on a panel attached to the tank I was in, causing the bacta to start draining.
NO! MY PRECIOUS!
If I was fully capable of moving, I'd probably be ripping my oxygen mask off and attempting to scoop as much bacta into my mouth as possible. I wonder, does bacta taste good? Guess that will have to wait for another day.
"MMmmmMMMm. Smnymnnmmmmmm! Sornmnm! SORYN!"
My eyes widened as I heard him clearly. I nodded as I couldn't really speak with this mask on. He quickly unlatched the tank, exposing me to the world. I quickly felt a cold breeze tickling me in places I prefer the wind to not fondle.
Several minutes later, I was laying on a reclining bed in a partially upright position. There was an IV in my arm and a vital monitor wrapped around my wrist.
Then came the questions. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you some questions to test for brain damage."
I tilted my head. "Brain damage?"
The man nodded. "Your pulse stopped for 8 minutes and 37 seconds. In other words, you were dead for more than 8 minutes."
I shrugged, not thinking much of it. Dead or not, I was still here.
[Quest Completed]
I quickly dismissed the notification. I didn't care about it right now. "Alright. Ask away."
The man nodded. "Let's start with your name, age, and occupation."
I sighed. "Soryn Brenko, 22, Jedi Padawan."
He nodded, jotting some stuff down. What do these people even write? "What year is it?"
I shrugged. "Don't know, don't care."
He chuckled but continued on. "Can you summarize what happened on Kashyyyk?"
I sighed, shaking my head. "Crash landing, lot's of dead Imperials, and one very special wookiee. Tell me, what kind of clearance do you have?"
He sighed, nodding his head. "Alright, it seems that aside from being somewhat uncooperative, you are perfectly fine up there. All that remains is your physical recovery."
I glanced down at the stump where my left hand used to be. It was currently wrapped in bandages. "What are we gonna do about that?"
He thought for a moment before replying. "Since you're young, I would recommend getting a military grade prosthetic so you can continue as a padawan. Would you like to proceed?"
I nodded. "Yeah…"
Everything suddenly started to turn gray and red text appeared in the center of my vision.
[EMERGENCY LOGOUT SEQUENCE INITIATED]
[DAMAGE TO CAPSULE: CRITICAL]
The gray quickly faded to black as a peculiar sound entered my ears. Was that running water? SHIT! DID THE TANK SPRING A LEAK?
I quickly raised my hands to take off my headset but was stopped. "NYET! Do not move."
My heart rate skyrocketed. What was a Russian doing in my house?
The voice spoke again. It was deep and masculine with a thick Russian accent. "Lift headset very slow."
Having no idea what was on the other side of the headset, I could only comply. Reaching up slowly, I removed the headset, keeping my eyes closed to not irritate them as I did so.
By the time the headset was removed, the water level in the tank had receded to my ankles. The air was flowing in from the outside and made my wet body shiver. I was getting a feeling of deja vu.
Now, all that was left was to open my eyes. I did so, very slowly. Upon doing so my concern only grew.
There were four men in the room with me, one of them lying on the floor. With just a glance I identified the man on the floor as my father. He was unconscious.
I then swept my eyes across the other three men. The leftmost man had very short hair and tattoos all over his face and hands. I was sure he had more but they were covered by a yellow tracksuit.
The man on the right had a similar appearance with less tattoos and longer hair. His tracksuit was gray. Both men had burly features that were quite intimidating.
Lastly, the man in the middle was wearing what appeared to be an extremely expensive suit. While he didn't have a tie on, he honestly looked quite good. His hair was long and black, flowing off the sides of his head like water and a large tattoo was visible through the part in his collar.
All three men were holding what I guessed to be submachine guns.
The man in the suit waved his gun. "Leave tank. Now!"
I didn't hesitate to follow the man's orders. "What is going on? Why are you in my house?"
Every molecule of my being was attempting to freak out by I wrestled with the urge. Once again, but this time for real, my life was on the line. There was no room for fuck ups.
The man laughed heartily. "HAHAHA! Stupid American. What does it look like? Keep hands in air. Anatoly, skhvati khalat, chtoby on mog prikryt' svoy chlen."
I did exactly as he asked. I wiggled my fingers, stretching them to see what kind of motion I had after being in the tank for so long. I had been in it for a few days.
Upon feeling that I was surprisingly limber, my eyes went cold. All I needed was an opening. Those were in short supply due to the machine guns pointed at me.
*BANG*
Suddenly, the sound of wood snapping and a door slamming into the wall came from the back of the house.
None of them looked away from me. "Dmitri, Anatoly, idi prover' eto."
The man in the gray tracksuit, presumably Dmitri, walked straight through what used to be our dining room and towards the back door.
*TUK* *Thud*
Not even five seconds had passed before a single gunshot roared through the house.
A voice yelled soon thereafter. "IDI NAHUI!"
*TUK* *TTTTTTTTTTTTTU* *Thud*
The man in the suit instantly looked away with genuine concern painted on his face. Whoever it was, he was not expecting them. However, this was my opening.
I quickly lowered my hands, holding them towards him and then urged with every fiber of my being. Then, a miracle happened.
He was suddenly flung off the ground and began flying towards me. With a grin on my face, I cocked my arm and balled my hand into a fist.
*DOOF* *Thud*
He was out cold in one punch and dropped his SMG on the floor. Before I could even pick it up, I heard footsteps rapidly approaching the dining room. I snapped my head towards the source and knew there was no way out now. Hopefully they were friendly?
A white male wearing a baby blue button down, navy blue slacks, and brown leather dress shoes rounded the corner. He was holding a very intimidating looking assault rifle that looked the same as what the US military uses. Over his shirt, he was wearing a tactical vest with several magazines strapped down with velcro.
His light brown hair was very short on the sides and long but combed over on the top. A few locks of hair dangled down over his forehead. He flicked his head back and forth, seemingly scanning the room with his bright blue eyes.
After a few seconds, he removed his left hand from the rifle and pressed on his left ear. "Principal is secure. More hostiles inbound, unknown number. Requesting exfil."
The tensions quickly left my body as I heard him speak without a Russian accent. He was American! Well, I still don't know if that's a good thing but it's better than the other option!
He then turned to me and looked me up and down. "Kyle, are you okay?"
I nodded. "Ummm, yeah… Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck are they?"
He chuckled and gestured towards the man in the suit on the ground. "Them? Bratva, Russian mafia. Me? I'm Tucker. I was assigned to protect you and your father by Mr. DeMinio."
Weekly Power Status
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