Blackbow Read online

  “I love it.” He replied, impressed. In the background Sergeant Hanzo watched with a look of proud amazement. The bow had everything any hunter would need, all things he’d never used, but the vault had tons of it and Spirit was happy to show him every last part.

  “What about guns? Your armour already has a recess that can perfectly accommodate a government standard SGF 1198 sidearm.” Hanzo informed him while somewhat suddenly showing him how to open a module at his hip in his armour and magnetize the gun to it.

  “Can they be silenced?” Bruce enquired.

  “No, only the 1199s can and only I have one from the war days. Was cheaper to produce them for rifles, so sidearms were seen as applicable to Holdfast defense rather than hunting...” Hanzo admitted with an air of disappointment. With some careful wiggling, Bruce dislodged the gun, replaced the dirty magnet cover, and returned the gun.

  “Thanks, but ever since dad fired that rifle of his, I’ve been averse to gun noise. Besides, we’ll be more effective sticking to the hunter/guerrilla tactics and stealth we know.” Bruce finished, hefting his island bow in his main hand out of habit.

  “You aren’t gonna forget your new one are ya Sergeant?” Spirit bugged him.

  “Never Sergeant, else you’d kick my ass.”

  “Damn right.” Spirit agreed with a smile. Bruce hung his new bow on his shoulder just in case.

  “Sergeant eh?” Hanzo enquired playfully.

  “You missed a lot Sergeant Hanzo.” Bruce replied politely.

  “Apparently, from what I heard you’re probably far above my ability which is nice, I’m getting old anyway.”

  “Nonsense, I’m sure you could nag some Mots into submission... I hear detainment in the Box is highly effective on them.” Bruce joked with a wink.

  “Ha Ha.” Hanzo responded sarcastically.

  “Thanks for the gear, if people get too... depressed by Spetsnaz training please be sure they at least have basic gun training with whatever guns you have. Can’t start my first day as their begrudging political figurehead without giving a shit so they can whine that I don’t...” Bruce said sarcastically.

  “Yes sir.” Hanzo said with a smirk.

  “Off to war I go.” Bruce stated nonchalantly, flanked by his happily upgraded entourage.

  “Wait. Your girlfriends should get armour too!” Hanzo exclaimed while popping some locked crates open.

  “Aren’t they custom built per soldier?” Bruce enquired confused.

  “Yes, but none of the ladies they were meant for are around... Rangers. Worth trying on right?”

  “Yes. Thanks.” Spirit and Savage both said curtly before stripping off their rags and quickly donning the under-armour.

  Hanzo coughed awkwardly having quickly looked away, Bruce gave him a quizzical look. Ultimately with some careful tooling, the armour ended up working out.

  “I feel like a doll trapped in plastic...You sure we can’t just shock em with our girly parts and shoot em down brutally?” Savage whined.

  “You could, but trust me, this gear’s saved me tons of times. Now that I have the skill to fill it out I can say it only gets better.” Bruce informed her.

  “Sergeant Hanzo, can I have a couple of them sticky guns?” Savage asked.

  “Absolutely.” Hanzo said, then showed her how to holster, draw, fire and reload them, even revealing built-in compartments for ammo.

  “Nice, thanks.”

  Bruce didn’t comment, but wasn’t exactly surprised when she also strapped a sword to her back diagonally under the quiver.

  “Alright now that we’re nigh indestructible death machines, shall we go do what we were trained to do?!” Bruce enquired with an inspiring tone.

  “Yes Sergeant!” They all exclaimed in unison before marching out of the vault to meet up with Monster’s team. Having regrouped, they tried to carry on but Bruce was intercepted by an eager little boy. Clutching a well-loved action figure with a cape the boy stared up at him in awe.

  “Pime Mistor guy... are you a superhero?!” The boy asked energetically with a hopeful look on his face. “What’s your name, son?”

  “Dave...” “No, Dave, I’m not a superhero, I’m just Bruce.” Dave took in every detail, then noticed his striking new bow.

  “No, you’re a superhero! You just need a name... hmm... Blackbow!” Dave burst out the two words as one then stared up at a stone-faced Bruce hopefully. Utterly lost and unsure how to handle a child beyond the anger and violence he grew up with, Bruce had to think seriously.

  “OK...well how about you keep an eye on everyone for me, I have to go to work.” Bruce said, trying to sound gentle.

  “Sure thing, Blackbow!” Dave exclaimed proudly like he'd been vindicated then ran back to his parents gushing happily.

  “Aww.” Spirit exclaimed, overjoyed with Bruce’s irritated side glance.

  Nodding acknowledgment to Dave’s mother upon noticing her surprised semi-apologetic expression on the other side of the room, Bruce gestured to his team and finally left the Holdfast bristling for war. The last thing Bruce heard was Hollywood drilling into prospective honourary Spetsnaz before the vault-like door sealed once more.

  “You even gonna use those guns?” Bruce asked an overly-proud looking Savage when she started playing with a pistol.

  “Maybe. Probably not, I just thought they looked cool. Why, do I not have your permission, boyyyfriend?” She trilled annoyingly.

  “Oh fuck off. You should’ve just left them behind; the Holdfast citizens will need them more.” Bruce argued seriously.

  “No they won’t; I’ll show up, kill everything that seems somewhat grumpy, and carry on looking cool long before your glorified bullies are threatened.” She replied, cockily assured.

  Way to go Hanzo, you made the crazy lady even more dangerous... Bruce thought.

  “We should get you a black helmet, your bright white face sticks out even more what with your new black equipment.” Monster joked.

  “All this time in the sun, I think my tan will suffice, thank you. Though if it makes you feel better, we could always cover your ugly mug in foliage to fit the puke-green of your skin.” Bruce joked.

  “That’d be an improvement!” Savage added.

  “Whatever.” Monster grumbled with a grin.

  “Why pick on just him, I’m white too!” Spirit piped up.

  “Yes, we know, white as a ... Spirit.” Savage said, trying to sound witty and failing.

  “Shall I get all lovey-dovey with boyfriend Bruce? That might make your face a little green so Monster has something to get off to.” Spirit joked.

  “Please don’t.” Bruce interjected coldly.

  “You’re no fun.” Spirit retorted.

  “Good! enough yapping and focus, Mots could be just ahead.” Bruce ordered. “Sure thing, Prime Minister Blackbow!” Savage whispered mockingly with a big empty smile.

  Spirit merely gave him a dirty look then they all fell silent. Jeezus... Bruce bemoaned the new titles silently, keenly aware he’d come to regret them. The group finally drew near to Master’s Mecha, the hub city that had doomed them all to death. Massive Mots patrolled up and down worn dirt alleyways formed by even more improvised sale huts. On a first glance, it looked more like they were preparing to greet a foreign dignity, rather than fight a war.

  A Mot trader called out to them, ensuring a stealth strike was out of the question. Bruce’s team rushed into Master's Mecha like a living blitzkrieg and a murder-fest of slaver Mots ensued.

  “Tell everyone you know Blackbow is coming for any slavers and human haters!” Savage yelled repeatedly to all spared Mots and humans alike between bouts of gleeful murderous laughter.

  Sighing, Bruce quickly found his new bow to be beautifully lethal, big or small every Mot shot dropped dead. Occasionally, he tried crippling limbs or going for the previously impossible centre-mass kills, which both work out perfectly. After killing or scaring off many of the slavers unused to trained opposition, only a few cowardly
traders remained. Mots lay around them in circles from trying to surround them, outlined by their dropped weapons. Bruce marched up to a cowering trader.

  “Where’s the rest of you?” Bruce demanded frighteningly.

  “Spare me, Blackbow!” The trader begged, hoping that adopting Savage’s announced name would help. “WHERE?!”

  “Royal mighty warriors are escorting King Bonerend on his latest political glorious overtaking. They’ll soon return, sure to buy our great wares... or all mine now... hehe... Then you will all be enslaved for sale.” The trader exclaimed with soft sliminess, petting his makeshift counter like he loved it. With deft brutality Bruce put an arrow through his hand that pinned him fast to his beloved rotting trade shack.

  “Where does Bonrend rule from?” Between screams and groveling, the trader pointed to a familiar skyscraper bolstered with makeshift walls and supports.

  “The...top...” “Of course.” Bruce said then walked away.

  “What’s the plan?” Spirit enquired.

  “Take the tower, make him come to us.” Bruce replied.

  “Not a good plan,.In close quarters, he has a major advantage. Bonerend used to be a pit fighter who practiced against the first awakened human warriors 'til he got bored and broke them.” Monster informed them.

  “My first time out of the Holdfast, I encountered some of his guards had guns from overtaken Holdfasts, range may be against us also.” Bruce admitted. Shit. “Alright, short of other options let’s take over the king’s tower and wait!” Bruce exclaimed just loudly enough the trader could hear, then they marched dutifully away out of view. Rounding the outside of the tower, just out of view, Spirit stopped him.

  “What’s the real plan?” she enquired, unsurprised by his trick.

  “Night stealth takeover. Bonerend will rush in to clear the tower thanks to our trader friend, looking in every dark nook and cranny for us. Once we eliminate the possible exterior sentries, assuming he’s smart enough to post any, we sneak in unexpectedly from behind and wipe them all out.” Bruce explained.

  “Reasonable enough, but you’re neglecting something important: simply killing Bonerend won’t be enough. you have to take his position or some other ‘glorious ruler’ will just keep the slave trade going.” Monster informed him. So, what now I’ve gotta be King Prime Minister Blackbow? Fuck that...

  “Well, let’s deal with that once we get there.” Bruce decided commandingly, ignoring his cynical thoughts.

  Quick scouting revealed just enough natural tree cover or dilapidated buildings that they were able to wait the day away, eagerly waiting for Bonerend’s return. The breeze carried the occasional wisp of dust and trader’s moan, otherwise, all they could do was sit with increasing anticipation. One of Monster’s Mot teammates went around retrieving most of their arrows.

  Chapter 9 – Terrorist Coup

  Night slowly fell on the desolate landscape. What was once an optimistic market now only offered the bodies of its creators. Tremors shook the dust on the ground, preceding a sizable army of about fifty stone faced Mots, flanked by torch-bearers. At their head was Bonerend himself, clearly already incensed by something. Wonder if he got my message? Bruce hoped spitefully.

  If not he will soon... The trader he’d pinned cried for aid to the approaching army. Bruce’s team watched from their hidden positions seriously. Bonerend’s forces stopped by the tower while their king stomped over to the trader with a torch in hand. Illuminated by harsh firelight his expression seemed to depict offence that the trader dared to exist.

  “Speak, meat.” He seethed.

  “My liege please... the Blackbow will kill me!”

  “Blackbow?” “A white human in a black warsuit, very violent, very scary. He did this to my hand!”

  “Bruce Knight...” Bonerend growled intimidatingly. The trader looked shocked a moment then seized what he felt was an opportunity.

  “Yes. Yes, your greatness. He and his soldiers killed everyone and took your tower!” Bonerend gave the trader a murderous look before ripping the arrow from his hand.

  “Ahhh...” The trader cried in pain. Suddenly Bonerend seized the trader by his neck.

  “In reward for your loyalty I won’t float you, weakling.”

  “Thank you my King, your grace’s greatness is limitless!”

  Violently Bonerend slammed the arrow through the trader’s skull bare-handed, then threw the body away disgusted.

  “Indeed.” Bonerend agreed as he stomped over to his tower, gesturing to his men.

  “Slaves once more need to know their place. BRING ME THIS BLACKBOW SO I CAN RIP HIS HEAD FROM HIS SHOULDERS!” Bonerend commanded in a rage.

  The bulk of the arm, with Bonerend at the head, filed into the skyscraper like gestapo eager to clear the tower of the human infestation. At Bonerend’s aggressive gestures a few of his gunmen and other elite muscle flanked the tower to keep watch. Bruce signaled to Spirit with hand gestures three guns, two melee fighters. She nodded confirmation, passing the improvised communication to those watching her. Seizing the brief opportunity their ruse created, the archers on Bruce’s squad carefully flanked their patrol patterns.

  In well executed unison, they dropped the sentries with head or neck shots, leaving their bodies to rot in the darkness. Monster took the lead when they met up to breach the tower, further adding to the sentries’ shock when he brutally beat them, combining Mot muscle with improvised Spetsnaz training. The sheer force of his well-placed blows combined with the occasional arrow ensured no one cried out. Remaining drywall on the skyscraper’s dilapidated walls cracked apart like dried dirt under the force of their attacks. They had to alternate between advancing deeper into torch-lit blackness and taking cover behind moldy concrete support beams to avoid the occasional torch bearer.

  In the relatively close confines of the structure, it became abundantly clear they were running out of time. Search teams were doubling back from higher floors to relieve the sentries below. Rushing, Bruce took the lead, putting an arrow into any Mots he came across, their bodies falling like sledgehammers.

  “This Blackbow is gone!” Soldiers would call out in frustration from all around them, occasionally meeting an arrow that debunked their claim.

  While Bruce took cover from an approaching sentry, Monster grabbed a table-leg to blindside it upon approach. To his chagrin, the sentry wasn’t rendered unconscious.

  “BLACKBOW IS HE-!” he managed to shout before being brutally beaten to death under Monster’s meaty fists.

  Like dominoes falling, the call ran out to any soldiers within ear-shot on the upper floors, forcing the group into a frantic battle. Bruce led an aggressive charge upwards towards Bonerend, together with his archers, dropping any Mots he saw first. One warrior was taken down just as he rounded the corner, giving advanced warning to the Mot behind him. Attempting to round the corner before more alerts went out, Bruce was knocked back by a hail of bullets from the terrified soldier ahead. Staggered by the strikes against his armour, Bruce quickly forced himself behind the nearest concrete pillar.

  Clutching his bow to his chest, Bruce was pinned down by the screaming Mots suppressive fire. Due to their positions relative to the enemy, none of his teammates could aid him without being spotted. Regardless, Spirit bravely risked exposure, using Bruce as a distraction so she could land a shot right in the Mot’s chest. In that moment, Savage raced ahead, brutally using her bow to disarm and beat the Mot before drawing her sword to finish it off.

  “Monster, take my blade!” she yelled as she ran down the hall toward the stairs.

  “COME AT ME BITCHES!” Savage screamed while mercilessly dropping Mots with lethal precision. Her fear-inducing charge halted only by another gun-toting Mot that was massively built, with improvised metal armour.

  “Shit.” Savage exclaimed, her arrow failing to slow the crazed Mot’s advance or halt the bullets that slammed into her body.

  Thinking it had the upper hand, the Mot advanced to empty its remai
ning magazine into her exposed head. Monster yelled a war cry with her blade in hand, which he brought down hard on the arm holding the gun. The now-amputated Mot screamed before the blade went clean through its throat.

  “You good?” Monster asked as he charged forward into a couple Mots, joined by Bruce.

  “Ya thanks!” Savage yelled back before chasing to catch up.

  Not inclined to be left behind, Spirit caught up to Bruce and, together, they systematically cleared out much of the remaining Mot forces on the following floors, leaving Savage & Monster to finish off those that managed to survive. Their stealthy invasion effort quickly turned into a floor by floor close quarters skirmish where their speed, weapon proficiency, and training gave them a slight edge over the Mot's strength. Splitting into teams of two, they rotated between acting as bait for the few remaining gunmen and eliminating the threat they posed.

  “How many guns you think these freaks have?” Spirit huffed, slightly worn down by the intense fighting.

  “Doesn’t matter, this armour kicks ass!” Savage exclaimed, no less thrilled to be in the heat of battle.

  Bruce kept up his forward momentum, rotating as he advanced to cover every angle, worried he’d neglect a Mot in a dark corner sent there to find him. Thumping of Mot feet on weakening concrete preceded the thumping of bodies with every floor Bruce’s team cleared. Upon finally reaching what must’ve once been a huge conference room supported by four pillars, the team was faced with three imposingly huge armoured Mots wielding clubs with nails sticking out of them.

  “Archers, suppression!” Bruce yelled, as he, Spirit, and Savage rained arrows into the armoured bodies, just barely crippling two.

  With one vengeful swing the final hulk of a Mot sent all three archers reeling. Spirit was caught by Monster enabling her to re-engage the opponent. Unfortunately, it didn’t seem phased by her strikes, its mad eyes bloodshot and ablaze with hatred.

  “You will die MEAT!” The mot screamed while brutally beating Spirit. Roaring powerfully to draw focus, Monster threw Spirit aside and engaged the armoured hulk in purely brutal melee combat.