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The Taurus Conspiracy-flash fiction fridays

Torre’s Fall

Something licks his hand. He smiles because it reminds him of Scamp, the little terrier he had growing up. That is until it bites two of his fingers clean off.
Pew. Pew. Pew.
“Fuckin’ Skraags.”
Concrete, metal, and all other matter of debris digs into his body, and for the first time in a long time, he truly notices how much pain he’s in. The ringing in his head, the bruising down his side, the dried blood that had leaked from his ears, and the freshly missing fingers; pinky and ring on the left.
A bass-filled siren blasts through the sky and he looks up. Blinded by the searchlight, he brings an arm up to stop the burning in his eyes. Blood flows down his arm.
He lies back down, ignoring a particularly sharp piece of debris that found its home between his shoulder blades. Grabbing a wrap from one of his many pockets of scavenged supplies he wraps the bleeding appendage, muttering curses under his breath.
The light finally lands on him, almost burning his skin. A muffled voice projects through a crackling speaker, and even if his eardrums hadn’t just been blown to shit he couldn’t have heard everything, but he didn’t need to. He just smiled and waited, he was exactly where he wanted to be.
His final memory of the bomb-blasted surroundings would be rough hands hauling him up, knocking him out, and some expendable lackey saying that ‘Mr. Res was waiting for him’.


“Mr. Gunnar. It’s so good to finally meet you.”
Gunnar smirked at the man who claimed to be the top-gun around these parts; ‘has been since Torres first formed’.
“You’ve been causing quite a ruckus out there. And all by yourself?” Res stepped up to the board Gunnar had been restrained to, “Now I just have a hard time believing that.”
Gunnar shrugged, as much as he could, smirk still holding strong on his face, “What can I say? I really am that good.”
Res scoffed, “That I believe even less.”
Out of sight, a small bionic insect of sorts emerged from Gunnar’s back pocket, and immediately went to work on the complex code that held him down.
“I have an offer for you.” Res spoke as though he’d been imbibed with a holier-than-though sort of purpose, and it made Gunnar hate him even more.
“And what’s that?”
“A job.”
Gunnar raised an eyebrow.
“I’ll hire you as my personal merc, and you obey like a good little puppy.”
The whirring of his little bionic friend gave off a distinctive buzz, one that was accompanied by a pop of fresh air; the feeling of his body being disengaged from the board.
“While that sounds like, really, just a top-notch offer,” Sarcasm dancing with anger on his tongue, “I’m gonna have to decline.”
“You’re making a huge mistake.”
“Yeah, maybe. But you see, my schedule just doesn’t look like it can accommodate your offer, especially after my,” Gunnar glanced at the clock, “four-fifteen meeting.”
“Four-fifteen meeting?” Res, not totally aware of his doing so, checked his watch; it read 4:13.
As he looked back up, Res was greeted by the heel of Gunnar’s boot. Swinging his leg up hard, Res fell backward, landing on his rear and grabbing at the pop of blood that spurted from his nose. Res raised his wrist, making to call for security, but was cut off by Gunnar’s other boot. He pulled off a boot and hurled it at Res, hitting the man’s wrist and knocking the comm-wear from it.
Gunnar hopped down from the platform, the bio-buddy scuttled back into one of his pockets, and he scooped his boot back up, pulling it on as he spoke, “Yeah. Four-fifteen I’m booked to kill you, and then four-twenty is, tear your little organization to the ground.”
Res spit out a wad of blood and stood up, favoring the injured wrist, “You won’t-”
“Get away with it? Look around you, I already have.” Gunnar began to circle Res, an intimidation tactic that weak little rats such as Res were particularly susceptible to.
“The Follies were your last-ditch effort to try and get rid of me, but don’t you worry, I only retained a little of their taste for madness. Me, I get, I mean, I know the truth. But Amy, what did she ever do to deserve to die like that, huh?!?” Unshed tears rimmed Gunnar’s eyes, “Tell me, Mr. Res.” His voice significantly lowered, The Follies’ influence was taking over, “Why did you send her up there?”
“Mostly just to see how badly she would suffer.”
The influence took over, Gunnar slammed into Res like a tonne of bricks, knocking him into a nearby wall. Res dropped to his knees, but was soon looking upward as Gunnar’s knee rammed itself under his chin. Res’ head bounced off the wall, landing in his hands. He groaned, lights flashed in his eyes, and the last thing he saw before his neck snapped was the dark influence of The Follies reflected in Gunnar’s eyes.
Gunnar cracked his knuckles then grabbed a mech-pistol from a nearby table. After strapping the bullet track to his wrist Gunnar kicked down the door and open fired on the wall. Within seconds guards came bolting around corners, and within seconds of their respective arrivals, they all fell to the ground. It seemed like hours had passed, but in fact, it had been closer to eighteen minutes, but even still, Gunnar’s wrist was bronze with laser powder and the bullet track was hot with the friction it manipulated to fire its laser-based projectiles.
Torres was dead. Amy was finally avenged. And Gunnar was the only one left standing who knew the truth.
Pew. Pew. Pew.
“Fuckin’ Skraags.”

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