The situation didn't look very pleasant for Pakko. A normal person in his position would have been shitting their pants. But he wasn't normal. Proper training could turn anyone into a perfect killing machine. He had six such training sessions under his belt. That's why he kept his cool, even at that moment.
It was a hot, extremely humid night. One of the first rules of Polish Army Special Forces soldiers was to avoid offensive operations in such conditions. Of course, Pakko didn't care, not only because he had long despised those rules, but also because he had no other choice. He blindly checked the number of bullets in his magazine. After the last firefight, he had no more. From now on, knowing how many bullets he had left could decide his life. So he repeated the operation to be one hundred percent sure. His hands trembled at irregular intervals. It was the effect of the SRh-3. He'd administered five ampoules of the drug before entering the jungle. It was supposed to help, to sharpen his senses, to improve his reaction time. He hadn't expected to spend so much time here. SRh-3 was an experimental drug that stimulated the human nervous system. Unfortunately, in the long run, it posed a threat to his life. It was at this moment that Pakko felt the effects of this "threat." He checked one last time where the bullet slipped from the magazine, thus protecting himself from a possible jam. He released the safety and switched to POP—single-shot mode. He did everything blindly, but his intimate knowledge of the weapon made it easier. Before rising, he glanced around a few more times to make sure the road was clear. It was at this moment that he silently thanked himself for the fact that his remaining visor was a heat detector. On the other hand, he'd prefer his good old biological eyes. Then at least he wouldn't lose 90% of his capabilities after a small fluro flash. [A 'fluro flash' is a type of double stun gun. It completely destroys all optical mechanical devices aimed in the direction of the flash. Where it's fired (usually as a grenade), a mist of nanobots remains, which additionally affects any camera that is subsequently pointed at it – a sort of camouflage.]
Fortunately, Pakko, in addition to several state-of-the-art cameras mounted in place of eyes, had a built-in innovative heat-detecting sensor system. Located on his face under the skin, they were unnoticeable, but they worked perfectly. Of course, they had a fundamental flaw that was supposed to be their advantage – they were heat-detecting sensors. Identifying weapon details with them was impossible.
After much preparation, Pakko finally decided to leave. Carefully leaning against a tree he had felt earlier, he lifted the aching body, only half of which was biological. Then, taking small steps, trying not to lose too much blood and the fluids necessary for maintaining the mechanics and electronics, he headed north. Reinforcements were expected there. Unfortunately, he was still in an area with which Poland had a peace treaty. Hence, help was unlikely to arrive. Still looking around, he slowly moved forward, though it wasn't easy. He kept stumbling, fell to lower ground several times, and once collided with a tree. But that didn't stop him.
Suddenly, a figure appeared several hundred meters to the west. After a first reading, it was clear it was a woman. Moreover, it didn't look armed, though Pakko couldn't be entirely sure. A dog, or perhaps a wolf, appeared beside her after a few seconds. At this point, a truly difficult decision had to be made. Hide or kill the woman, after all, she might have had a weapon and ammunition on her. Besides, any additional equipment could help him now. After a moment's hesitation, Pakko slowly moved toward her. A blinded, yet perfectly sighted soldier versus an ordinary village girl with a dog. For a moment, such a scenario flashed through his mind. Then he amended it to: "a killing machine versus a heavily armed member of the pursuit." Yes, that definitely suited him better.
His hearing was still good, so as soon as he heard the young girl's cries, he realized that the first option was closer to the truth.
"Kisu! Kisu! Where are you?" she repeated every now and then.
It wasn't hard to understand that she was looking for someone. But how could he be sure this wasn't just a cover to lure him out of hiding? Slightly schizophrenic thoughts—the effect of the SRh-3—that's how Pakko commented to himself. Now there was no turning back anyway. He was too close to her to back down.
"Kisu! Kisu! What's the matter, Bark, where are you going?"
The dog had clearly caught his scent, as it ran closer and aimed its muzzle at Pakko. The fact that it didn't lunge at him with the intent to bite might have been a convincing enough reason to try negotiating.
"If you move even a meter forward, I'll shoot you through the knees." It wasn't the best way to greet her, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
"Please don't shoot!" she shouted.
"I'm not going to. Listen to me carefully," he said, pulling himself together as best he could; his voice was a bit hoarse, but that was another side effect of the SRh-3. "I'm not your enemy. My being here is a coincidence, and I want to get out of here as quickly as you want to get rid of me. But there are few options," he fell silent. He was sure he heard a human scream in the distance. Not one, not two, but a dozen. It left no doubt. Pursuit!
"One is that you'll help me and I'll go far away and never see you again. The other is that you won't help me, but then I'll waste one... two bullets. And I wouldn't want that, probably neither would you.
" "Do you?... Do you want me to help you?"
Pakko didn't answer immediately. At that moment, he was fighting the pain that had erupted in his hernia. When he had overcome himself, he took a few steps forward.
Only now did the girl see who she was talking to. The body of a tall soldier, dressed in green and black, slowly emerged from behind the dark bushes. The beam of her flashlight began to timidly move toward him. When she finally saw him fully, she moaned softly. Pakko realized the sound was caused by his appearance, but he didn't let on—though it terrified him as much as it terrified her.
"Did you?
" "I had a bad accident… with a bear.
" "A bear wouldn't do that to you.
" "Well, it was a big bear."
Before he knew it, he was being led by a girl and a dog. Although it certainly wasn't easy, as he was well aware. He tried to make this ordeal easier for them, but he wasn't very successful. His mechanized body weighed 140 kilograms. Much heavier than the average human. And he couldn't forget his combat gear and weapons. Another 20 in total.
"Where are we going?
" "You need medical attention. My father knows a thing or two about this; he used to serve in the Red Crescent."
Only now did Pakko realize the girl's strange accent. It seemed Asian, so what was she doing in Uruguay, and why did she speak English so perfectly? But he didn't have time to dwell on trivial matters now. For now, he saw a glimmer of hope in her. And, more importantly, a glimmer of hope in the form of her father.
They walked for about thirty minutes. Quite fast, too. Much, much faster than he could have walked on his own. He was willing to bet he'd covered more ground in that half hour than he had in the entire night. Still, he didn't want to risk it. Finally, more people appeared in the distance, along with several campfires.
"A village?
" "Yes. Not far. How did you know?"
"Instinct," he joked. He knew the girl wouldn't understand, but it relieved the tension building inside him. His mind was starting to show strange time lapses, a sign that the SRh-3 was increasingly damaging his body. A moment of positive emotion was therefore most welcome. When he recovered, he was, to his surprise, already in the village. Surrounded. He immediately noticed that the people around him had weapons in their hands. He tried to reach for his own, but his hand refused to obey. Besides, there were more of them than bullets in the magazine.
"What have you done, Nika! You were only supposed to find Kisu, and you brought back a dead body!
" "He's still alive! We have to help him!
" "You must be crazy," someone spoke in Mexican. Pakko had a dozen languages and dialects in his database, so he could continue listening to the conversation. "The troops will be looking for him. They'll come here and kill us!"
"He's right! Let's throw him into the forest before they find him here."
"But listen. He's not—
" "Silence!" a very loud voice suddenly spoke. Although Pakko had trouble identifying the man, he realized the man's rank. Everyone froze. For a moment, the soldier heard only the panting of a dog.
"Nika, put him down and go to your room?
" "But Dad!
" "Do as I say!" It was undoubtedly the voice of someone born to be a leader. Pakko had always respected such people, having learned this from the military hierarchy. His captain, colonel, and general—everyone spoke similarly. Perhaps that was why he felt a little safer.
"Okay, now someone help me carry him to my laboratory.
" "But Mr. Fesienhar—
" "Don't talk, just help."
At that moment, he lost track of time again. He began to wonder if he would ever get his favorite rifle back, and before he knew it, he was on a comfortable bed. Instead of pain, his biological part felt like a soft mattress. He didn't know if he'd gone mad or died. He tried to lift one of his hands, but it didn't work. He calmed down as soon as the first panicky thoughts of being permanently grounded subsided. A moment later, he began checking all the electronic circuits. Little had changed since the last time. Most functions seemed to be working just to get him going. The only messages that appeared in his head were that the connection attempt to a given module had failed, or, even worse, that the module was destroyed. After presenting the entire list, he resignedly tried to activate the cameras in emergency mode. But the fluorescent effect was still active.
"I think I can fix your eyes," someone spoke. Pakko immediately activated his heat-sensing sensor system and saw a human head leaning over him.
"However, I don't think I'll be able to do it today. So that's out of the question. I'll hook up a mini camera from my microscope instead. The image will be... uninteresting, but it's better than nothing, don't you think.
" "Who are you?
" "I'm Dr. Fesienhar. It's my daughter you met.
" "Oh yes...
" "If it weren't for her, you'd have been dead for three or four hours. There was so much toxin in your body that I thought I wouldn't have enough antidote.
" "Antidote for SRh-3?"
"What? SR species... hmm, and a new one at that. It's good I kept the samples. But I thought it was some kind of stimulant. They might prove interesting. Maybe not so much the antidote, dear soldier, but something that expelled it from your system.
" "I understand.
" "If I hook up this camera, will you leave?
" "Yes.
" "Can you handle that big bear by yourself?
" "Yes.
" "Good. I don't want to have a Polish soldier on my conscience.
" "I understand."
"Don't worry about the locals. I'll sort it out with them.
" "What time is it?
" "It's been eight hours since you arrived in the village. Yours are still waiting?
" "They should be. How long will it take to install this equipment?
" "About half an hour. But I had to wait until you woke up. In that case, I'll start."
He knew he couldn't have chosen a better place. The man he was talking to not only knew a little about electronics, but also turned out to be a real expert. No unnecessary beating around the bush. A quick joke, and goodbye. Pakko felt most comfortable with people like that. Interaction wasn't a problem for him back then. Someone who had spent most of his life in special schools for future soldiers. Someone who had lived in a semi-mechanical body since his ninth birthday. And someone who knew no other feeling than the urge to kill. Simplicity—that's what he loved.
A scream tore him from his subsequent—so rare in his daily life—considerations. The shots that followed left him with no illusions. They'd found him!
"How many?"
"You won't have depth perception.
" "That's enough." With that, he activated all the body control systems he'd regained control of some time ago. He stood up, jerking to his feet. Several cables still attached to his body broke free from the control console, but that didn't stop him. He crouched down, simultaneously activating the heat sensors. Meanwhile, he thrust his hand forward, checking the extent of his vision. Just as the doctor had said, he struggled to see and recognize anything more than a meter away. But that was enough. He was, after all, a perfect killing machine. He stood and turned to face the doctor. It was the first time he'd seen his face, but it seemed incredibly familiar.
"The weapon's here." Fesienhar tossed the rifle toward Pakko. "You're lucky. I happened to have NATO-grade ammunition."
"Great."
Without hesitation or waiting a moment longer for any further explanation, he ran out of the room into the corridor. Before he woke up, the doctor had managed to dress his wounds, which had healed somewhat. He had reassembled some of the mechanical components so they held together. The earlier lack of signals during the checkup was caused by the main circuits being disabled – something Fesienhar had done for safety.
In this state, he could fight. And the lack of depth of vision wasn't a problem. What's more, he almost immediately adjusted to the different viewing angle caused by the camera being mounted on the top of his head. Running through the corridor, he noticed the figure of a girl emerging from the fog. Only now could he see her face. Accompanied by screams and more rifle fire, he ran past her, not even stopping for a moment. He didn't have time; he had to get rid of the soldiers as quickly as possible. Not to save the village, but to make his escape easier. A direct pursuit, which would have followed him immediately, would have caught up with him. If he killed them, he would easily reduce the number of enemies on his tail and significantly delay the entire operation.
He stopped in front of the door, then raised his weapon and placed it to his shoulder. He waited a moment and opened fire. Now it was clear he was in the village. But that didn't matter. One way or another, he intended to deal with the enemy. With a powerful kick, he forced the door open and, running over the corpses, found himself in a larger square. He immediately headed left. There were relatively few enemies there. So he decided to start with them. He reached the end of the doctor's house and suddenly leaned out, completely surprising the soldier rushing towards him. Two bursts in PULL mode [three rounds in a burst] were enough to dispatch him. He immediately leaped towards the falling body, still crouching slightly. He checked with his new mechanical sense of sight to make sure he had killed the right person, then reached for spare ammunition. Unfortunately, the bullets were AME2 class. Completely useless to him. Nevertheless, he pocketed a magazine, just in case. At that moment, amidst the gunfire, he heard a door open to his left. He immediately turned in that direction. The figure's appearance left no doubt – a soldier! He switched to PUSH mode and pulled the trigger, completely emptying the magazine. He killed not only the man who was leaving, but also, just in case, the person two meters to his left, most likely inside. Hence the irrational use of so many rounds. The huts, while wooden, were solidly constructed.
While Pakko was changing magazines, one of the soldiers approached him from behind. Fortunately for the Pole, he was an ordinary soldier, incompetent in his duties and drafted into the army under duress. Shooting had never been his forte, especially when they held old PEPs, or AK-63s. It was an incredibly reliable and sturdy weapon that, if used and cared for properly, could prove a better asset in the jungle than anything else. Unfortunately, the kid, for this soldier didn't look much older than 22, had no clue. To him, a rifle was a rifle. Something with which he could spread chaos. Something with which he could be perceived as a figure of authority. But now, according to him, something was about to change; he was going to kill one of those European assholes invading their country. He was going to be a hero. He was sorely mistaken. When he pulled the trigger, the bullets went everywhere but at Pakko.
The sound of pulling the trigger of the Pepesha was so deeply etched in his memory that he could recognize it even in his sleep. He also knew precisely that in most cases, this weapon, uncleaned, has about a second of lag [the difference in time between pulling the trigger and the moment the hammer nose strikes the first bullet in the barrel chamber]. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make him lean to the side. The rest went like the training sessions Pakko had undergone so much. Fall, roll, rotate his upper body, push off with his feet, and stabilize the weapon on his forearm. Then a short, three-shot burst in PULL mode. Changing modes is a basic trick, taught during the first shooting range session. It not only confuses those who are listening, but it's incredibly helpful in ammunition rationing. Although, in the heat of battle, it's easy to make mistakes.
The situation looked good enough. He'd already eliminated four soldiers. No more than six remained. The groups were always a maximum of ten men. Eight young, untrained rookies, someone responsible for radio and communications, and a commander. The latter was the problem; commanders were usually recruited from among former mercenaries. They hadn't raised Pakko in terms of tactical training, but they had been raised around war and weapons. They knew killing just as well as he did. Those were the ones to watch out for the most. The Pole raised his body slightly so he could run comfortably, then, placing his rifle to his shoulder, began moving along the wall. From what he observed with his heat detector, the rest of the soldiers were in one place. The gunfire had stopped, so they were gathering to assess the situation. He might not have a better opportunity. He checked his magazine again. A second full one was attached to the currently loaded one. A third was also attached to the stock. For six soldiers, that was more than enough. He moved as quietly as he could, wanting to remain undetected for as long as possible. Ideally, until the shot itself. While he wasn't worried about being detected, he preferred not to take any chances. The camera on his head was starting to bother him, as he had become increasingly reliant on it. Weaving between buildings, he somehow managed to avoid unnecessary noise and get close enough to hear voices. So far, they hadn't noticed anyone missing. They only spoke of finding no one but the villagers. There were six of them, as he'd predicted. They stood in the middle of a cluster of bodies—probably locals. He switched to PUSH and leaned out from behind the wall, pulling the trigger. Wanting to waste as little time as possible, even at the cost of wasted ammunition, he decided to take them all out in one fell swoop. Aiming for their heads and the surrounding areas, he was sure they would die quickly enough to avoid a reaction. Initially, the bullets flew past them, but when the first one hit someone, Pakko had a point of reference. He dispatched the others without any problems. When the bullets ran out, the last of the soldiers fell to the ground. Hiding back behind the wall, he changed the magazine. He waited a second, then leaned out again, still with his weapon ready. He didn't want to take any chances. True, he saw that each of them had been shot in the skull, but this wasn't what he'd seen. Finding himself among the bodies, he used the camera to make sure there was no longer any danger.
He'd miscalculated, however. As soon as he straightened up, he felt the cold barrel of a pistol against his temple. He couldn't tell what model it was, but from the sound of the safety being cocked, he guessed it was a Berreta.
"Hand over the rifle and put your hands up."
A moment later, when the shot rang out, he wanted to close his eyes. Naturally, he couldn't do that, as he hadn't been able to control them for several days. However, the urge remained.
"Don't just stand there like a stick. Three more patrols are coming," the doctor shouted, appearing right in front of Pakko. The brand new Glock he held in his hands proved not only that Fesienhar was familiar with weapons, but also that he was picky about them. The Pole turned and grabbed spare ammunition from the bodies, just in case. Before rising, he glanced at the man who had aimed at him a few seconds ago. A clean shot, just above the temple. Excellent work, completely unbecoming of a doctor working for the Red Crescent. But this was no time for speculation. In the distance, Pakko could hear the sound of roaring engines.
"Here," Fesienhar called, "we'll use their jeep. It's 10 miles to the border from this village.
" "That'll be about 17 kilometers," Nika added.
"Exactly. So, a short walk.
" "Not so easy with them chasing us."
"Don't worry," the doctor handed the pistol to his daughter and picked up one of the rifles left in the vehicle. "If they catch up with us, we'll defend ourselves."
"So let's go," Pakko said, jumping into the back of the jeep. He fastened his seat belt and turned his body so he could more easily shoot at the enemies approaching from behind.
"Should I drive?" the girl asked suddenly.
"You can drive. So what's the problem?
" "Well, Dad… Okay." After a moment of silence and staring at her father's face, she gave up further objections. She turned the key, fastened her seat belt, and floored the gas pedal, shifting into second gear.
A good five minutes of absolute silence passed, during which Nike tried to drive quickly and smoothly to the border. There was a road, but the last time anyone had driven it had been several years ago. Hence the fallen tree fragments and deep puddles that were everywhere.
"Can't you speed up a bit?" – Pakko finally spoke, glancing at the girl with his head-mounted camera.
– It's difficult.
– Because they're catching up to us.
– How do you know? Apparently you don't have eyes! – Nike was very irritated that the Pole was rushing her.
– I have different senses.
– After the bear, huh?
Their conversation was interrupted by gunfire. As Pakko had predicted, enemy vehicles appeared about 30 meters away. He quickly turned and opened fire, switching his weapon to PULL. Short bursts whizzed through the leaves with varying degrees of success. A few hit a car, a few trees. Single shots barely reached the soldiers. The bumpy road and the contortion of his body made aiming difficult. Meanwhile, the doctor was blindly firing his automatic pistol, though it was incredibly effective. Realizing this, Pakko unbuckled the belt that was supposed to prevent him from falling from the jeep in the event of a sudden turn or jump and positioned himself in a better position. The very first burst, with pinpoint accuracy, shattered the radiator of the nearest vehicle. The explosion of smoke saved the fleeing men for a few minutes. This also gave him time to reload. The Pole reached for the last magazine attached to the stock and detached it. At that moment, he felt a slight panic as he felt the telltale scratch he'd carved the previous night on his last magazine. It indicated the ammunition level. Not much had changed since then. The remaining rounds were likely the same. Just to be on the safe side, he tapped the magazine twice against the metal part of the feed tube. The sound was exactly the same as last time. Not empty, but not full either. So he had to rely on those last few shots. He switched the rifle to the POP mode and placed it against his shoulder, trying to stabilize it as much as possible. It wasn't an easy task, as the Nike had accelerated significantly, even though the road hadn't improved. At that moment, the jeep was traveling at about 50 kilometers per hour, leaping like a rodeo bull. The doctor also changed the magazine in the Pepesha and reopened a "dummy" fire. His goal was merely to scare the more timid. It was enough to make a few of the weaker ones afraid to look out of the window. The rest, however, refused to give up. Although it wasn't easy for them either. Their vehicles were traveling equally fast and in equally difficult conditions. Most of these rookies lacked basic knowledge and didn't even bother with stability. They were shooting just to shoot… another example of "dummy fire."
However, even such actions, conducted at the appropriate distance, yielded results. The turning point came when the jeep's windshield shattered, struck by a bullet. Nike screamed, accelerating and ducking her head. Fesienhar looked at his daughter in horror, but when he realized she was okay, he returned to his previous activity. Meanwhile, Pakko had just found his rhythm.
Shooting from a moving car isn't easy. Shooting from a bouncing jeep in the Uruguayan jungle at another bouncing jeep in the Uruguayan jungle was absurd. Still, Pakko was one of those people who didn't care whether anyone thought something was absurd or not. There was a need, and he simply did it. Like a machine.
Once he had positioned himself correctly and settled into a rhythm, he pulled the trigger. The bullet struck the right mirror of the third car. This didn't impress the soldiers, who dismissed it as a coincidence. However, it wasn't. He had been aiming for the driver of the first, but at least now he knew what adjustments he needed to make. So he pulled the trigger a second time, this time shattering one of the second car's headlights. Without a second thought, he switched to PULL and, with complete confidence in his calculations, fired a third time. That was more than enough. The bullets hit the fuel tank of the vehicle in the middle.
The chase subsided for a while, and then seemed like last night's fantasy. As soon as the jeep carrying Pakko, Dr. Fesienhar, and his daughter crossed the border, the atmosphere changed abruptly. Everyone settled back calmly, though they occasionally glanced back to make sure they weren't being followed. They still had a long way to go.
"There's a mercenary camp not far from here. They're incredibly tolerant people. They should help you, so there's no need to fear them. And even if they do, you'll be able to handle them.
" "And what will you do?
" "We," the doctor looked at his daughter, "will emigrate to another country.
" "There are few countries where there isn't a substantial reward for your head and body."
Nika slammed on the brakes, bringing the vehicle to a halt in the middle of the road. She turned and gave the Pole a strange look. (She studied his face for a moment, then glanced at the camera on his head.
"Since when did I know? From the moment I saw your so-called father's face. Then, running past you in the corridor, I just made sure I knew who you were.
) "For an ordinary soldier, that's pretty good. Is everything okay?" Fesienhar asked, seeing Pakko's hand, clenched around the metal pipe, shaking from side to side.
"Yes, Agent Mallock.
" "Hehe, the adrenaline activated the remnants of the SR. You might not be able to handle it, though.
" "How does a CIA agent know so much about chemicals? Especially when he hasn't worked in the profession for a dozen years.
" "Well, I've had my share. Besides, I've learned most of it now, taking care of Nike.
The conversation ended there. The doctor wasn't going to explain anything, and Pakko didn't want to ask any more. He knew he probably wouldn't get an answer anyway. Although now it made a little sense. Nike – the first of the eighth-generation clones. Stolen seven years ago by a CIA agent from a laboratory in Tokyo. They could get fourteen billion dollars for bringing her home safe and sound… Now it was too late anyway. The jeep stopped, and Fesienhar helped the Pole out. He pointed in the direction he should go and, leaving him the Glock, drove off without a word of farewell. The girl turned a few more times, glancing at the soldier standing on the beaten path, but quickly disappeared behind the thicket of leaves.
"Why did you help him?
" "Back then. In Tokyo. It was a certain Polish soldier who helped me get you out. I thought, I'll repay him in this way, at least."
After two hours of slow walking, during which Pakko kept glancing back to check what was happening behind him, he reached a small clearing where several tents had been pitched. His sensors indicated a large crowd, but they didn't look threatening. They were resting, having fun. Mercenaries. He approached them slowly, drawing no attention. Only when he tripped over a wooden crate, which he hadn't noticed in time, was he discovered. It struck him as a bit ironic. During the fight in that village, despite the difficult situation, he hadn't even staggered, and now, walking normally, he tripped over the crate. Several people immediately appeared beside him. They stared at him in surprise. After all, his appearance was anything but normal. Wounded, splattered, and wearing a camera. He must have looked downright comical at that moment. As he rose from the ground, his temporary eye caught the glint of a blade aimed at him. He reacted instinctively. He grabbed the hand holding the knife and twisted it. He lifted the rest of his body, wrenching his weapon free, then jumped back and took a fighting stance.
"Oh, you damned thing! You want to fight?! I'll show you!" shouted one of the larger thugs in the group, lunging at Pakko.
In the shadow of one of the tents stood three men, who had been watching their fighting subordinates for several minutes, being massacred by someone completely unknown. With a single knife, he had already taken the lives of seven good mercenaries. Several others lay with broken limbs, whimpering pitifully. So they weren't just any man, but a veritable killing machine. At that moment, three soldiers lunged at him at once. But he managed to hold them off. Finally, not wanting to lose any more men and to stop the inevitable execution of the seemingly blind warrior, one of the men shouted at the top of his voice.
"Enough!"
The rifles aimed at Pakko were lowered, and everyone retreated to a safe distance. Only the one the Pole was currently dealing with remained staggering. His face was as badly mangled as his tormentor. Blood dripped from him. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore and fell unconscious. Pakko twirled the knife in his hand and regained his fighting stance. Although his entire body was trembling like crazy, he didn't show it. He was slowly losing the camera's vision. The heat sensors, too, seemed to be ceasing to transmit the entire image. The longer he stood still, the worse it felt. He needed movement, needed to fight.
"Easy, boy," someone suddenly spoke. "What's your name?
" "Pakko," he said, as he always did. He no longer had a proper name. Just this nickname, a pseudonym that stood in for his entire life.
"Okay, Pakko. Put down that knife and sit down. We won't hurt you. We have no intention of doing so. We want to help you." You'll see... Trust us. I'm Gou, and this is DoL and Xdeg...
>11/09/2073<
The radio snapped him out of his reverie. Gou, out of the blue, turned it up.
"SSR station, 203 koma 14. Your favorite rush hour hits. Basement Jaxx and their new song, Good Luck. Just for you, my dear."
Pakko smiled, looking at the captain, who was busy driving. Then he discreetly glanced in the mirror at the backseat, where Rear and Nah were sitting. As the vehicle began to overtake a large, red and blue truck, he glanced out the windshield at the oncoming traffic.
"What are you thinking about, Pakko? The captain says you should be happy. Fifteen minutes ago, we sent Xdeg to Antarctica for three months," Gou grinned, a smile meant to be genuine.
"I'm supposed to be happy." However, with him... the original idea seemed to vanish... We lost ourselves in what we had achieved. Lost in our own game of appearances.
After these words, so rarely delivered by the 'greenie', an awkward silence fell in the car. Everyone present realized the extraordinary relevance of what had been said.
"Soon, Pakko. One more thing... one more thing and that's it.
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