The Brave, the Few, the Warped ch. 1

HN402, also known as HaNnah, crouched hidden in the mud, her heart beating rapidly. In front of her, OWen, or OW893, crouched behind an overturned newsstand. He motioned for her to move up. Glancing around one last time, HaNnah ran the short distance to OWen’s hiding place, her gun jostling on her back. OWen handed her his water container.

            “Thanks,” HaNnah whispered, then ducked as a bomb went off not far from them. Trampled newspapers blew past them from the explosion, but OWen and HaNnah were unharmed. HaNnah took a quick swig of water, then handed the container back to OWen.

            “How much farther?” OWen asked

            “Not much,” HaNnah said, “just another quarter-mile.”

            “Excellent. Let me see your path.” HaNnah punched a few buttons on her wristband. Metal sheets sprang from the sides of the watch face, blocking the map that appeared from any unknown onlookers’ view. The platted plan directed HaNnah to swing to the East in a few yards.

            “That’s too bad, I’m heading west,” OWen said.

            “Have you seen PG738 anywhere? I was supposed to meet up with her back there, but she wasn’t around.” OWen thought for a moment.

            “No. She probably didn’t make it this far, whoever it was,” OWen said. HaNnah was silent for a moment, a small lump in her throat.

            “How many do you think are gone by now?” she asks, her voice quiet.

            “I don’t know, HaNnah, and I don’t want to think about it. But if this ED245 doesn’t get here in the next five minutes, I’m supposed to go on without him, and he’ll be stranded without me.” HaNnah bit her lip and took a deep breath.

            “What an honourable way to die,” she murmured, bowing her head slightly, “on the battle field, fighting for others’ freedom.”

            “Don’t start the Death-Speech yet, HaNnah; they’ve still got four minutes.”

            “Right.” They wait in silence, glancing down at their watches every now and then. The seconds click by, each one seeming to narrow the chances the others are still alive. The only sound besides their poised breathing, ready to flight and the beating of their nervous hearts is the occasional bomb.

            Finally, they hear the sound of boots navigating over rubble and a girl appears, dusty face, bleeding lip.

            “PG738,” the girl says, her brown hair falling out of her braid.

            “HN402,” HaNnah says, “call me HaNnah. She smiles at the girl, then shakes her head, “they seem to be getting younger and younger all the time. How old are you?”

            “Ten,” the girl says, “I go by PeGgy.”

            “That’s a nice name,” HaNnah says, relieved to see the girl alive and fairly unscathed, “have you seen anyone by the code of ED245 running around by any chance?” HaNnah glances towards OWen and crosses her fingers. PeGgy pales.

            “What?” OWen asks, putting his arm around HaNnah’s shoulder. PeGgy shakes her head.

            “It can’t be. EDdy can’t fight yet. He’s only eight, he’s not ready,” the girl’s blue eyes were pleading, but HaNnah was in too much shock to answer. What was a ten-year-old doing on a battle field?

            “You know him?” OWen asks, his grey eyes turning almost black with concern. The girl nods.

            “He’s my brother,” she answers. OWen looks down, his light blonde hair falling straight. He swallows.

            “I’m... sorry,” he says, “I’m OWen, by the way.” Neither OWen nor HaNnah were adept at comforting people.

            “He still has half a minute,” HaNnah pointed out, but no one believed he’d get there in such a short amount of time. OWen couldn’t wait any longer than that, he had a mission to carry out, so when time was almost up, he stretched his legs and stood up.

            “See you two back at the base,“ OWen said. PeGgy, trying to look strong, brushed tears from her eyes and nodded.

            “Wait! Wait!” a small voice called out.  A short boy emerged, hair as messy and brown as his sister’s.

            “I-I got lost,” he stammered, shuffling his feet embarrassedly. His sister swept him into a hug.

            “No time,” she said, smoothing his ruffled hair, “go with OWen here and meet me back at the base.” Kissing the top of his head, she pushed the young boy towards OWen, who took his hand and led him on.

            “It’s time for us to get going as well,” HaNnah said, glancing at her wristband. The little girl hesitated.

            “Come on,” HaNnah said, offering her hand. PeGgy took it.

            “Aren’t you a brave girl?” HaNnah cooed. The two girls sought cover behind rubbage pile after rubbage pile through the bombed remains of a huge metropolis. The civilians had been cleared from the area before the bombing, of course. No citizens had lived in the areas surrounding the borders for years; but many Warps had come to an end in the area.

            Warps were humans, basically, but their DNA had been warped a bit, making them stronger, faster, tougher, more suited for battle.  HaNnah and OWen had been preparing since birth to fight in this war for freedom, as had all Warps. HaNnah quickly planted the last of her bombs, which was set to go off in two and a half days, then began to make her way to where the helicopter would pick them up. It arrived just on time, and they climbed on, glancing at the insignia on the side of the plane:

                                                               Warps of Freedomland:

                                                                   The Brave, the Few,

                                                         Fighting for the Many, the Free

            “Code?” a bored looking man with a large nose and a clipboard asked as they stepped on.

            “HN402 and PG738,” HaNnah said, helping the girl into the chopper. The man scribbled something on his papers.

            “Status?”

            “Successful.”

            “Watch?” The girls held out their watches for the man to scan. He nodded.

            “Sit over there, we’ll be picking up several more.” The girls did as they were told and the helicopter flew on. The next person picked up was OWen.

            “Code?” the man asked.

            “OW893,” OWen said, holding his forehead.

            “Mission status?”

            “OW893: injured,” he swallowed, glanced towards PeGgy, then away, “ED245: lost.”