Excellent Was the bounty worth it? Killdozer by Macsween Bounty Hunter writing prompt entry

The combox rings and I let it go to answer machine. I never pick up the phone, gives your location away and in my line of work I need to be careful. "Hey, we need to talk. Meet me at Weird's Bar and Grill in Sector Seven, you know what time. I'll be alone. You better be. He arrives right on queue. I've been here for three hours, checking out each and every face I see, listening to as many conversations as I can, looking for that one sign which tells me that this is a trap. The two pistols strapped underneath my armpits feel comforting, as does the knife down my boot. My knee touches the magnetic grenade I've stuck to the underside of the table. Any trouble and this little lady goes off. The bastards can come with me for all care. The waitress, a pretty little thing, comes over and says, "Drink sugar?" "Sure honey pie, get us a nice cold glass of water." "Oh, you're a big spender; special occasion?" "Play your cards right honey and it could be." I give her a wink and she goes off with a giggle and a sexy little swish of her rump. Customers, mostly off duty soldiers and administrators- the only people who have any sort of money these days- come and go. One of the soldiers face is horribly burned. The patrons, used to such horrors, don't bat an eyelid and they sit, sipping on expensive mufti-coloured vitamin shakes. Outside the bar the world walks on by. Hundreds of people scurry about like ants underneath the massive domed roof of the city. It's organised chaos and I'm glad I'm in here and not out there. The waitress brings over my water. "Here you go sweet pea," she says placing my water on the table. She's good, doesn't spill a drop, knows she'll get exterminated for loosing even just a drop. I pick up the glass and take a sip. Boy, its delicious, cool, crisp, refreshing just how fresh water should be and much better that the recycled crap the residents of Pod City 285 have to put up with. I see my contact before he sees me. I've disguised myself and he doesn't recognise me. He walks about, going from table to table, staring inquisitively at each of the customers. He walks past my table and as he does he throws a casual glance in my direction. I'm starring straight ahead, but I've seen him in my peripheral vision. He takes a second look at the table and sits down. "Sorry, didn't recognise you there." That's the plan. "Can I get you a drink?" I say. He pauses. I know what's going through his mind. He's seen the water and he wants some. I signal the waitress over. "Beer," he says to her. She walks off and I call her back. "Get him the same as me." "Sure thing," she says and she goes over to the bar and tells the bartender, a behemoth of a man- ex- Trooper probably- what our order is. He grumbles something and trudges off. "So, Droon, what's this all about?" I say. He shuffles nervously and his eyes dart nervously around the bar. He looks kind of like a rodent out in the open, you know, like the way squirrels scurry about-always twitchy, always on their nerves, always looking for that big bad hawk to swoop down and take them to lunch. His eyes dart about for one last time and he slides me a note- he's taken out of his pocket-across the table. I pick it up and read. SALENGA. I fold the note and slide it back across the table. He grabs it and stuffs it in his pocket. "Why not he says?" "Is this a joke?" I answer back. "No, why?" "Do you know who Salenga is?" "Of course I do, everybody does." "Well you, as much as anybody, should know that guy is untouchable. They sent two divisions in after him the last time and look what happened then: five thousand men and women wiped out in four hours. What makes you think that I could do any better?" The waitress brings his drink over and hovers just a little. I'm in no mood for pleasantries and I tell her to get lost. She looks dejected and tells the gorilla behind the bar. I'll have to deal with that fool now. "Why can't they deal with him?" I ask. "They don't have the numbers at the moment. Separatists have taken over eight Pod Cities; they're threatening to burn the grain stores and to contaminate the aquifers. Also, Our Leader has opened up a new front in Africa. The Confederation of Socialist Russian States has sent troops to the region to protect their allies and resources and Southern Britain is threatening nuclear strikes unless we get out. The army can't spare any more bodies and there isn't time to train new Troopers." "What do the Separatists want this time?" "The usual: the war to end, all arms and munitions to be destroyed and want the people freed from slavery and tyranny." "So they don't want much then?" "This is no laughing matter." So where does Salenga, and I, fit into this?" "He's taken over a Pod and grows more powerful and richer each day. More and more citizens are turning to the poison he peddles. The Administration's had enough. They want him dead." "Why don't they nuke him? "They'd lose too many resources, wood, concrete, valuable metals. They want him out of the picture. He's created thousands of addicts. They steal and have gotten lazy. They can't work in the fields, production is down and it's all his fault." It's the Administrations fault. They created these damn cities; thousands of people encased in concrete pods out in the middle of nowhere. Citizens forced to toil in the fields. Labouring until they break; no wonder they need a little escape. But what do I care? "How much?" "Three million." "It can't be done, he's got his own private army." "It can." "How?" "There is an attachment of troopers and militia just outside the city. They are heavily armed and have air support. They are going to engage his soldiers whilst you sneak in and do what you do best." I think about it. Its suicide, but he's offering more money that I have or could make in a lifetime. If I pull this off I can retire somewhere quiet; a place where there's no people and no pollution. A place where there is no conflict, no endless war, a place where I don't have to pay sixty dollars for a small glass of water, a place where resources are plenty and the population is low. A place where people can worship and follow who they want to follow and not have images of the Leader rammed down their throats at every instant, a place where that Leader cannot have his minions watch our every move or influence our every decision. Its suicide, but I'd be mad to turn it down, after all I do have the skills: I've been hunting for years now and they don't come much better than me. "I'll do it. How much up front?" "None." "None?" "That's what I said. The deal is all monies on completion, no advances. Think hard, because there are others like you- youngers- and I've got their number." Two days later the mission goes ahead. I watch as wave after wave of trooper's assault the Pod. Explosions and small arms fire sound, the planes buzz overhead dropping small incendiaries. Part of the dome collapses and troopers, on lines, descend from assault helicopters. From inside the Pod Salenga's men fire back. A group of descending troopers get caught in the salvo and I watch as they're cut to pieces. Limbs and equipment fall from the sky. On the ground, at the main gates, a Devastator Trooper steps forward. Rockets fire from its arms and the doors are obliterated. The lighter armed Shock Troopers- soldiers who make up the bulk of the Leader's army- storm the building. I check my equipment for the last time: two pistols, CW1 assault rifle (equipped with 40 calibre shells), bayonet, fire mortar, two Big Boom grenades-to be used when all else has failed- CP 400 high powered sniper rifle and one magnetic cluster bomb make me feel alive. I let the battle rage. Salenga, who I know is a complete fearless psychopath won't want to miss this fight. He'll be inside somewhere, directing his troops and revelling in kills. I wait thirty minutes then enter the ravaged pod. The devastation inside does not shock me: I've seen worse. I was a trooper for fifteen years, reached the rank of Field Captain. I would have made major if I hadn't of gotten my lower leg blown off at the Battle of Detroit. They shipped me off with a thank you and twenty dollars. Luckily, for me, I was an excellent trooper. For three years in a row I was top sharpshooter in my battalion; got three medals. I sold them for scrap and drank the profits. I wander through the destroyed pod. This Pod City has had its day. Hundreds of civilians lie dead and in bits at my feet. Scattered in amongst the bodies are dead troopers and Salenga's men. I check the bodies for weapons, but find none better than my own. Behind me I hear voices and I take cover. I hide behind rubble and watch as three Shock Troopers- a corporal and two privates- scavenge amongst the dead. The corporal orders them to take their helmets off and they do. They look like they're going to be there for a while. I don't have time to wait. I stand up. Three bullets later I'm alone. Seconds later I'm up and away. I have no idea where Salenga is and Pod Cities are big places so I do the only thing I can: I follow the trail of his dead. As I walk I pass the dead and wounded I hear some of them moan, but don't listen to them. The trail of bodies leads down to the lower levels, the industrial zone. I tread with caution, using my wits instead of a tracker. I'm all for giving up when I hear voices. Crouching down I follow them. My heart beats in my mouth, and I've got a layer of sweat on my back so slick I can feel my armour move like a tectonic plate on lava. Using debris as cover I slink my way to the sound. I reach what looks like a huge store room and hunker down behind metal fatigue. Salenga's there, as is about a dozen of his men. They've captured two troopers, a sergeant and a private. The sergeant's orange shoulder guards are stained with blood. The private has an ear missing and rocks back and forth in a trance. Salenga nods to one of his men and I watch as he exterminates the soldiers like vermin. This is it: time to earn my keep. I prime a grenade, hold onto it for fifteen seconds and then toss it. I time my throw well and three seconds later the grenade explodes at waist height amongst Salenga and his men. Using the smoke from the explosion as cover I jump up and unload a clip. I hear screams of pain and then silence. When the smoke clears seven men lay dead. Three are groaning. Using my bayonet, mainly to preserve my ammo, I silence the men. They make no quarrel or argument; I admire them for their acceptance. Behind me, the wall explodes. I'm showered in rubble and go down. I feel a sharp pain in my shoulder, but have no time to dwell. Some sort of ungodly machine- like a giant bulldozer encased in reinforced steel and concrete- breaks through a wall. It trundles very slowly past me and I hear gunshot. I can't see where it's coming from and then realise that the firings coming from inside the dozer and I run for cover. Emerging, periodically from behind my cover, I fire back but the armour is too thick. The dozer drives on, over the bodies of the fallen. I feel nothing because I have seen worse. I find a couple of grenades on a dead trooper. I prime and throw them, but they have no effect. Being unable to think of anything else, I run and jump on the back of the machine. The dozer drives on, but its going too slow to throw me off and I have time to think. I probe the armour for weakness but find none. I have a small blow torch with me. It's only good for cutting padlocks and thin fences. I'd run out of gas before I've even burnt the paint off. The dozer trundles on, breaking through walls and scattering civilians from their hiding places. Finding no weak spot on the roof I peer from the top down over the front of the machine. The only weak spot I can see is a window which the occupants can look out of. I take out my pistol and fire off a couple of rounds. The bullets bounce off the glass leaving nothing but a faint scratch. The pain in my shoulder gets worse and I feel my arm starts tingling. I can feel wetness underneath my shoulder guard and I know that it's a mixture of blood and sweat. Shaking off the dizziness and with adrenaline powering me on I scan the dozer. At the rear, sticking out of the roof is an exhaust pipe. It's encased in a reinforced steel box I know that there's no point in trying to shoot it off. I take out my magnetic bomb and attach it to the box. The explosion almost knocks me off the top of the dozer. I regain my composure and crawl to the remains of the pipe. I've blown open a small hole, too small to fit a grenade through, in the roof. I peer in and almost get my face blown off for my efforts. I pause and decide to gamble. I stand up, go over to the hole, stick the muzzle of my rifle in the hole and give it everything I have. Eventually, the dozer trundles to a stop. Exhausted, I lie back against the metal roof of the dozer. Darkness takes me. I wake up in a fresh smelling bed with crisp, clean sheets. My head's woozy and I can't feel my body. "How you feeling?" A voice beside me says. I turn around and see Droon. He's wearing an Administrator's suit complete with tie pin in the Leader's likeness. "Nice suit," I say through the fluffy headedness. "Thank you. I've earned it. Salenga is dead and no more of our citizens will be poisoned by his toxins." "What about my money?" "Oh that. You'll not be getting that." "Why?" "Because, my friend, you didn't kill him." "The hell I didn't." I shot him, shot him through the roof of his machine." "I'm afraid you didn't my friend. We've had the bullets which killed him checked. They didn't come from your gun." I'm confused, maybe I'm dreaming. "As you know, Salenga had one of his lieutenants with him. It turns out that the bullet which killed him came from his lieutenant's gun. Seems like old Salenga copped an unfortunate ricochet." "But I..." "No buts, my friend a deals a deal. You did not kill him his man did. The deal was that you kill him." "You dirty bastard," I say through gritted teeth. "Shh, relax," he says in a faux-soothing voice, "you're going to need all your strength for your next job." I turn away, I don't want to listen. "Rest well my friend. You're off to Africa to fight for Our Leader once you're fit. Nurse, get him a drink." He smiles and walks out of the room flanked by two troopers I've just noticed where there. The nurse hands me a cup and I thirstily gulp the contents down. Recycled water is nowhere near as nice as fresh. Writing Prompt The topic for this contest is: BOUNTY HUNTER Author Notes Something different, won't be to everybody's taste. Part of my on going dystopian soldier series. Artwork by danjaavoo.

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