[Mercy] Failure To Communicate

[John Doe]

The cargo ship landed on Mercy, right on schedule. A few militia troops huddled near the doors of the ship, ready to gather the much needed supplies to support the war effort. About half a dozen soldiers impatiently waited for the ship's doors to open, as several more freight ships began to appear in the distance.

As the doors slowly unlatched themselves, the soldiers began to sense an uncomfortable smell. They began to look around as they sniffed the air, attempting to identify the smell. After the door's final lock was open, the militia turned back to the ship. It was quiet for a few seconds as the door stayed unmoving. One of the soldiers turned towards his comrades and broke that silence. "Does that smell like... smoke?"

As if on cue, a large crashing sound came from the inside of the cargo room. "Fuck!" The militia immediately stepped back and readied their riffles, aimed at the cargo doors. Another crash came again, rocking the entire ship. "Fucking fuck!" The militia took another step back as they kept their weapons steady. A third crash. "God fucking damnit!" With a final crash, the cargo doors flung open. Doe tripped out of the ship and fell face first onto the ground below. "Motherfucking!"

With their weapons fixed on Doe, the militia squad inched towards the facedown stowaway. Doe turned himself over on his back, and put his fist on his forehead. His shades were still intact, though slightly uneven from his tumble earlier. Both his suit and overcoat had various stains scattered about, smudged and reeking of alcohol. With his other hand, Doe ran his fingers through his short black hair, disheveled and having the slightest hint of women's perfume. "God damn, I feel like shit right now." John lurched forward, now sitting up as the militia moved closer.

"Freeze!" the largest of the soldiers yelled out. His deep voice boomed over the incoming ships that began to dock around them. He took another step towards Doe. "Put your hands up!"

Doe chuckled before asking "Well which is it?" His grin quickly returned to a grimace as he stood up on his knees, patting the dust off his suit. "Listen, pal, I've got a big headache right now, so I'd appreciate it if you shut the fuck up." Doe stood up completely and rubbed his forehead with his hand. He turned to look at one of the militiamen that was in front of him. "Ya got any smokes?"

The large soldier yelled again. "Sir, I told you to put your hands up!" He made a small jabbing motion with his riffle, trying to relay a sense of haste in his order. "Now!"

Doe turned around to directly face the man shouting at him. "Geez, you guys are like a broken record with that shit." He started walking towards the man, balling his hands into fists. "What's next? 'You're under arrest?' Fucking clichés." Then Doe leapt at the man before hearing a loud bang.

A shot zipped past his head as Doe stopped midstride. "He said to put your hands in the air, asshole!" This voice was much softer than the large militiaman. Doe turned to his side to see a small soldier. This militiaman was certainly a pipsqueak, if he ever saw one. Couldn't be an inch over 5' 2". The small soldier readied her weapon again. "The next one's going through your head!"

"Holy shit." Doe remarked, lowering his hands back to his sides. "Is that a woman?"

"Fuck you!" responded the small soldier. She shifted uncomfortably for a second before repositioning her rifle. "What if I am?! Hands up!" Doe grinned before obeying her orders, slowly raising both arms into the air and then placing them behind his head.

Doe looked back over to the large militia. "Tell ya what, you can arrest me, as long as she's the one to put on my cuffs."