Rise of a Rebel Part 2

 The family is a haven in a heartless world.  -Christopher Lasch


Part 2

Amongst crush of humanity a single figure lay still.  Sprawled on the deck, the slack of his chains taken up by those around him.

The figure lay unheeded, between groups, yet still linked to one.  Passed for dead by the people around him.  Fresh injuries clouded his face, the bridge of his nose crushed in, his torn shirt showing some of his ribs a deep black color indicating some internal bleeding, bruising spreading over his chest.

Briefly his eyes fluttered open for just one second before snapping closed again, contorted in pain.  Weakly, the figure attempted to move, arms and legs pinned to the side by the chains binding him to those around him.  His movements, so weak, failed to disturb those around him.

A few moments later he opened his eyes again, forced to confront the press of people, slaves, all around him.  Bewildered he tried moving his arms again, pulling hard enough on his uninjured side to attract the attention of a old man squatting close to him.  A slight shift of those around him granted the young man enough room to move.

Over the soft drone of conversations around them the old man spoke.  "We thought you dead boy."  Anger glinted in the eyes of the injured man.  "We had to carry you down here," the man gestured to the other men around him, a Brutor and two tall Siebestor.  "Chained and all.  What is your name?"  He offered his hand to help him into the group. Even with his age the elderly Brutor was able to help pull the injured Siebestor to an awkward squat.

Squatting now, he was still defiant despite his obvious pain, "I'm no boy, grandfather!  My name's Logan."  Logan coughed, after the outburst, blackened blood speckling his lips.  The older Brutor shook his head slowly, dropping Logan's hand with sudden anger.

"We are all boys in the eyes of god!"  Logan drew back, bearing his teeth, the other Brutor groaned, sliding his imposing arm between the two.  The older Brutor slid back a bit, grumbling to himself, inaudible over the sounds of the cargo bay.

The voice of the younger Brutor was low and deep, on the edge of being inaudible over the surrounding noise.  "Logan, now you've done it, gotten old Bulkar talking about religion again.  His family spent too much time with the Amarr before his current situation if you take my meaning."  The Brutor shot Logan a warning glance, shaking his head to forget the perceived insult.  "My name is Rozor, stay relaxed, the guards said you suffered greatly while trying to attack a pilot, they gave you some repair, stopped some bleeding, but be still," he pointed to the two Siebestor males to Logan's right.  "These are Uldrik and Klolf.  We are your new family so you had best get used to us.  Quickly."  Logan attempted to interrupt, pain flaring in his side.  Rozor continued on without notice.  "Before you ask, no we do not know where we are headed, where we are, or any of that.  Bulkar and I were born slaves, I have been sold more than once, Uldrik and Klolf don't talk much, but from what I can make out, rather, from what little they have said.  They were only captured a few months ago.  By the looks of you, your capture was more," Rozor gave a long pause, as if searching for the best way to put it.  "More recent."

Logan's body tensed radiating anger, and then pain.  Looking around as if to strike out at his captors.  Logan, for the first time, noticed the hundreds, if not thousands of others pressed around them.  Not all in sight were of Minmatar descent, but each cluster of slaves seemed to have only one nation represented.  Logan turned back to his new family, briefly sobered by the sight.  His voice on the edge of breaking, recounting his story.  "I was working late, fixing some drainage issues, when I returned to our town, there were men all around..."  Logan tensed again, eyes wild, surging to his feet, looking around him.  "Where is my family?"  He screamed, looking for a familiar face in the crowd.  He found none.  The weight of the realization and pain was too much.  He stood for a brief second longer, his eyes rolling up into his head, falling limply into the arms of his new brothers.

Rise of a Rebel Part 1

"The depth of darkness to which you can descend and still live is an exact measure of the height to which you can aspire to reach."- Laurens Van du Post

Part 1

The stars against the sky let me make out man-sized shapes against the darkness of the ground.  Amongst them struggled other shapes, invaders had come to my home!

My teeth bared, why would they come here?  Why now?  We had been free for so long.  I was screaming internally, pushing my body's reaction, hoping there was still time.

I ran forward, cool air blasted over my clammy skin, hurling me towards the men.  NO, they were not men, they were scum, SLAVERS!  Anger warped my mind, clouded my vision.  I reached down, wrapping my hand around the hilt of my cold knife, freeing it as I moved.  The deadly weight of it pressing into my palm.

There was a sudden quiet of purpose in my mind , a far cry from the choas that raged in it just moments before.  My body became distant, as if acting without my input. . .

Only a few meters away now, my body tensed.  I calculated the remaning distance between us indifferently, my anger still in control.  My growl reached my ears, it sounded strange, disconnected from me and inhuman.  The man turned towards the sound, but he was slow, too slow!  The glee filled me as I lept into the air, bearing down on him.  I thought his fate sealed.

Starlight bounced off his glasses, or goggles?  I was comitted in the air, anyone else would have realized my folly.  He was free to move.  With trained, practiced speed, his body propelled his arm up and out, his forarm striking at my wrist.  The pain of his blow shot up and down my arm, my hand spasming around the the knife.  Stars glinted off the deadly curve of the knife as it spun uselessly away over his shoulder.  His arm slid as it struck, hand twisting, strong fingers sliding down my arm, allowing him to circle slightly, using my forward momentum to twist me in the air.

The ground raced under my eyes as he flipped me.  I landed hard on my shoulders and back, legs snapping over my head for a brief second.  The force of my body landed on my shoulders forced the air from my lungs, blackness closing in on my vision.  The weight of my body briefly threatening to crush my neck, only to be suddenly released as my back and legs followed my fall, landing me painfully flat on the ground.  How had he moved so quickly, so effortlessly.  Fear consumed me, tears welling in my eyes.

I was caught exposed, attempting to protect myself.  I twisted on the ground, arms pulling up to cover my face in defense, while trying to catch another sight of the man. My ears warned me first, his footsteps echoing in my ears, spelling my fate.  I could tell he was moving quickly around to my unprotected sides.  I tucked, trying to curl into a ball on the ground to protect my ribs, but I was too slow again.  The force of his kick drove the remaining air from my lungs as if popping a baloon.  I heard something crunch with the impact and pain flooded my body.

I half rolled and was half tossed to my hands and knee's.  I attempted to gain my feet once again, struggling with my balance, the tang of blood filling my mouth.  My lungs screamed for air, pulling it in over the blood welling from the back of my throat, the pain of my ribs stealing each gasp.  The wait was mercifully short.  I was trying to see the next attack, unprepared I turned my head...  The tip of his shoe filled my vision...