ZULU SQUAD: DISTRACTION POINT

Zulu Seven was slowly going insane. His squad was trapped. This meant that the only food they had left was the food they'd carried with them. And that meant that he was going to starve to death!

A scream was welling up in his throat. Nothing scared him more than the idea of starving to death, not even the thought of being hideously slaughtered by one of Alma's psychic tantrums. He was poised on the brink of certain doom, about to fall off the lip of the Great Cup of Life and into the Not-So-Great, In-Fact-Rather-Unpleasant Coffee of Death.

Of course, to make such an analogy complete, he needed to think of something that could be represented by doughnut. Yes, a nice, freshly baked doughnut, smothered with pink icing and sprinkles. He'd never been able to try one of the pastries before, and it was only because of extreme luck that he'd been able to find out what they were called. Doughnut. Doooooough-nutttt. Even its name was sweet to his tongue.

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Meanwhile, Zulu One and Zulu Four were having another personality conflict. It stemmed from a matter-of-fact statement from Zulu Four that he was running low on ammunition.

"What do you mean, 'only fifty rounds left?'"

"Sir, if I recall correctly, I used up most of my ammo when we fired at Zulu Nine."

"You expect me to believe that? What kind of an idiot would give such an order?"

"Apparently, an idiot of the Zulu Squad Corporal variety, sir."

"That's just as ridiculous! I'm the only corporal in this squad."

Zulu Four paused, waiting for the revelation to dawn on his squad leader. Neurons fired furiously as Zulu One thought about what the hell Zulu Four was implying. Had some scheming thug impersonated him and ordered his squad to open fire on the REV-6? He didn't seem to recall such a thing. In fact, the only thing he seemed to be able to recall from the incident was himself standing heroically atop the wreckage and firing away at the stubborn armored shape above. But wouldn't that mean that…

His patience waning, Zulu Four decided to drop the bomb. "Sir, I think you just shot your own mouth off."

Zulu One's skin crawled. He slapped his hand against his face mask, expecting there to be tremendous pain, expecting for his hand to come away slippery with blood. When none of that happened, his temper flared.

"What's the meaning of this, Zulu Four? Are you trying to play games with me?"

"No, sir. It was just a figure of spee-…"

"I don't want to hear about it! Don't you ever dare to try that again! Besides, even if I tried to shoot myself, I couldn't—I have the safety on!" He said, waving the submachine gun in front of Zulu Four for him to see.

Pak-pak-pak! The sound of the RPL's signature three-round stutter echoed through the station. Zulu One stared at the small wisp of smoke rising from the muzzle of his firearm, then at Zulu Four's body lying prostrate on the tiled floor. Had he just accidentally killed one of his squad members? Friendly fire was a serious offense under the Armacham regulations. He wondered with a churning stomach about what Genevieve Aristide would say.

Zulu Four groaned wordlessly and began to sit up. Zulu One nearly groaned as well. This was even worse! To verbally admit to Zulu Four that he, a superior ranking Replica, had made a mistake and had nearly killed him was dangerous! So he frantically searched for something else to say, something that would put him on the defensive instead.

"Zulu Four!" He snapped.

"Y-Yes, ssirrr?" Zulu Four said. His speech was badly slurred. The first round from Zulu One's weapon had hit him in his left shoulder pad, the second had just barely been stopped by his ballistic helmet, and the third had gone wild.

"You stupid, clumsy bastard! Why didn't you move out of the way?"

Zulu Four had a vague sense of puzzlement about Zulu One's statement, but was too disoriented to think straight. "I'm not entirely sure, sir. Can I have permission to keep lying down for a little while?"

"Permission granted. It's a courtesy, considering what a stupid move you just made."

"Thank you, sir."

Zulu One felt proud of himself.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream pierced his ears. "NO! NO! I CAN'T DIE LIKE THAT! NO! NOOOOOO!"

He whirled around to see a hysterical Zulu Seven clutching his head and staggering about like some head-clutching staggerer. "DON'T EAT THOSE CHEEZEE POOZ! THEY'RE MINE! MINE, YOU PAIN-LOVING MONSTROSITY! AUGGHH!"

Zulu One quietly stared at the bizarre spectacle as Zulu Seven's speech began to degenerate into uncontrollable shrieks of terror. The delirious soldier's legs went next, slowly buckling beneath him until he collapsed on the floor. Zulu One was aware of Zulu Seven's obsession with eating, but these convulsions were quite novel. Seven's body soon became almost completely motionless and silent, save for some occasional curious twitching movements.