[Mercy] Failure To Communicate

[John Doe]

"What? Is there something on my face?"

Doe continued to stand over the shocked Mary, who was still taken aback from her former prisoner's shocking revelation. It didn't help that Doe kept rubbing his hands across his face with his own blood. The young woman covered her mouth and turned away from the immortal, making a soft gagging noice. Doe stopped his horror show and let out a short chortle. "I have to say, it never gets old." He leaned his head down and eyed the outside of his overcoat. Doe scanned it front to back, poking a spot here and there before happily sighing. "At least I didn't get any grey matter on it. That shit takes weeks to come out." He looked back down at Mary, and offered her a bloody hand with a tooth filled grin. "Need some help?"

The soldier swatted his hand away and scrambled away from Doe on all fours. Mary reached the corner of the tiny basement and turned herself around to keep Doe in her sights. All sorts of thoughts turned around in her mind. What is he? He could melt a cage with his hands, what should I do? I can't kill him, what do I do? What the fuck am I supposed to do!?

Doe continued to stand on the foot of the stairway, scratching the back of his head. He seemed almost as confused as Mary was. "Ya know, I could have sworn that there would be more guards showing up right about now." He then jumped in place and swirled around towards the door, mimicking a martial arts stance as he jumped. His smile beamed with anticipation. Doe couldn't wait to deal with the huge horde of...

Nothing.

"How disappointing." Doe sighed, lifelessly returning his arms to his sides and then plugging them into his overcoat pockets. He turned his attention back to Mary, still shuffling about in the corner. She made an audible squeak. Doe couldn't help but laugh. "Underneath all that false bravado is just another timid little girl huh?" He rubbed his face again, removing most of the crimson juice from his visage. "Well, I don't mind at all. We can still screw."

As if timed perfectly, a small squad of militiamen burst down the door to the basement, aiming their guns at Doe. He turned back towards the doorway, which was now swiftly being blocked from an increasing mass of soldiers. "Fucking hell, guys! Can't you see I'm busy?"

"Freeze asshole!" a familiar voice rang out. The large militiaman from the cargo ship stood at the point of his men, all staring down Doe with rifles at the ready. "Just give me a reason to shoot, comeon!"

Doe breathed in and out slowly and gave a small shurg. He turned his head around back towards the cowering young woman. "Tell ya what, Mary. You can sit tight right there. Once I'm done with these guys, we can have some fun together, alright?" With that, Doe pulled out two large pistols from his overcoat pockets. The soldiers and stowaway both took their aim at one another. A short cackle escaped from Doe before being drowned out by the sounds of gunfire.


***

The militia had set up their command center inside the spaceport's control tower. Several dozen soldiers were crowded within the hub, operating consoles that controlled the flow of supplies and troops that were arriving every few minutes. Even more militiamen started to pile into the already cramped control room, shoving into idle soldiers as they past them.

Amidst the hectic state of the militia stood one calm and unmoving figure. This figure was dressed with a highly decorated camouflaged uniform, three stars resting on both shoulders. The general stood tall, nearly seven feet, and loomed over his subordinates. His grey hair was combed back neatly, hidden underneath his helmet. He stared at his men with dark blue eyes, which had seen the deaths of thousands of men. The general reached into his pocket and pulled out a pair cigars. He broke both of them in half, and placed each of the four halves into his mustached mouth. He lit all four cigars before returning to his stern and stoic state. Across his breast was his nameplate, which simply read "Fightmaster."

In that moment, several more militiamen forced their way into the control room. They each ran up towards General Fightmaster and gave a quick salute with a "Sir!" The old general turned his head towards the men before returning his attention to the consoles, simply acknowledging their presence. One on the soldiers stepped forward to deliver his message. "General, there has been reports of gunshots within the D sector, and several men have been found wounded or dead." The soldier took a moment to take a breath before continuing. "We believe this was caused by a prisoner we had captured earlier. What are your orders?"

Fightmaster plucked each of his cigars from his mouth between his index and middle fingers. He exhaled, filling the air around him with a plume of smoke, then turned around towards his men. They stood at the ready, anxious for a command to be given. The general laughed with a deep, throaty voice. He then placed his cigars back into his mouth before stepping towards his subordinates. "Sound the alarms, gentlemen!"

Instantly, the militia around him activated the alarm systems. The intercoms had erupted into a loud wail, invigorating men all across the spaceport into action. Soldiers poured out of their bunkers and began to ready their weapons. As the siren continued its screech, the general sauntered over towards one of the consoles around him. He reached down and pulled up a microphone to his face, inches away from the hot cigars. "Alright boys, there's a rat who got out of his cage. Dead or alive, boys. Dead or alive."