This is the result of a severe depression I was in about two weeks back. It finally did clear away some 10 days ago. I thought this was still half-way decent enough to be posted.

Anyways, Here we go.

I walked up toward the bend in the road. My pistol was lightly slapping my thigh while my hand was lightly squeezed by the girl of my dreams. She said that there was supposed to be something very valuable here. In the middle of nowhere? Who couldn't pass up that opportunity!

"It's right around the bend in the road." She remarked. I turned my head to face her, gazing at her face for a split second.

"Well then Princess, let's take it out, shall we?" I separated my hand from hers, and pulled out the Glock. Running down the road just a bit I leaned my body mass up against the rock outcropping that shielded the building from the view of the dirt road we had been traipsing on. Sure enough, it looked like a radio broadcasting tower with a small building in front of it to control the operations. The smirk across my face fell though as I noticed five guards, armed with AK-47s and several side arms pacing back and forth, between us and the station.

"The danm place is loaded with guards!" I said, whirling around and not even bothering to look at her this time. As soon as my head swiveled back into place to observe the location, I heard a slamming of a rifle bolt, and two pairs of arms grab me under my arms. Without word, I tried to struggle, but their grip was tight, and I dropped my weapon in the poor tussle I tried to pull off. Whoever had the rifle's barrel pointed at the base of my neck kicked me in the tailbone, not a pleasant feeling as I fell to my knees, the other two holding me up. The two men then dragged me into the open, where the other guards walked up, their weapons now trained on me to.

"The hell?" One of them that was in front of me kicked me in the stomach, and I collapsed even farther, but still, I was held up by the two guys that had a painfully tight grip on my upper arms.

"Job well done." A voice remarked. Looking up as I regained by breath, a sixth person walked out from behind the five guards standing in front of me. His hair was pulled into a ponytail, dark black, and his looks were definitely Mexican or South American in nature. He had just a slight hint of facial hair, and his clothing gave away his rank. District 23 commander. Shit. I had just stumbled onto the most powerful man in this section of North America, and was powerless.

"It was my pleasure." That female voice remarked behind me. In shock my head raised farther up and tilted to my left as Courtney, yes COURTNEY of all people walked right up to him, putting her hands on his shoulders and stared at him with those big, puppy dog eyes that had so confounded me so often. She kicked her left leg into the air as he looked down at her, smiling satisfactorily.

"I do admit that bringing him to my doorstep was an interesting idea."

"Like I said, the pleasure was all mine. Besides, there wasn't any way I could see you sooner." She ran her left fingers across his shirt, snagging it briefly on his badge of rank before replacing it.

"So it would seem Masamita. Boys, take him down to bunker 8. See what he can tell you. Have fun." He cockily remarked as he turned around, and MY GIRL slung her right arm across his shoulder and rubbed her outer thigh against his leg.

"No." I cried through clenched teeth. "NO!" With a jolt of energy I had no idea that I had, I leaped forward, shrugging the two men that had a hold of my arms off of me, diving past the arc of guards when I was met with a shoe in my face.

IT was only a second that I was out, but I came to, spitting sand out of my mouth while shaking some out of my Mowhawk. The two men heaved me up again, as Courtney adjusted her shoe. "Oh Dunny, did I cut your lip?" She sadistically asked, running her index finger right down my bottom lip. Just form that I could tell that she hadn't only cut it, she split the lip and the skin below my mouth. That would take some major stitching.

Now it was 'Major' Alejandro's turn to kneel down in front of me. "You sure are a feisty little bastard." He remarked. He spat some Spanish words, then stood back up. "Rest assured, You'll have extra time to live. Like I said boys, Bunker 8." Once again the two walked off, arms entwined this time while he muttered compliments to her.

"Case 1000778, please rise." The judge slammed a hammer onto the pounder, and I stood up reluctantly and painfully. My arms were chained behind my back, and the bruise on my chest was throbbing with the force of ten-thousand suns coupled with my broken kneecap.

"Does Case 1000778 plead guilty to accounts of Terrorism, Religious Intolerance, Violence, Genocide, and illegal possession of a firearm?" Those weren't my charges! I never terrorized anyone! I attended the same ETR Church that everyone else did! Violence and firearm possession was to be expected as I was a common criminal thief, but Genocide? What does that word even mean!

"Not guilty." I stated. It was low, but the big, burly black man on the other side of the room took out the whip, and it cracked across the room and hit me in the chest. My shirt tore from the glass that had been sown on it, as did the skin, and half clotted blood began pouring out of my chest as the bruise was split.

"I repeat, Does Case 1000778 plead guilty to accounts of Terrorism, Religious Intolerance, Violence, Genocide, and illegal possession of a firearm?" I took a glance to my right, over my back shoulder. There they were. Major Alejandro and his newest Mistress Courtney side by side, him still wearing the same uniform while she was wearing a dark blue dress that under normal circumstances, I would have torn off of her to get between her legs again. But now the mere thought of that made me sick.

"HE'S NOT GUILTY!" A female voice cried out several rows behind me in the court room.

I whirled my head and body around, ignoring the pain that it caused me to move. "Gwen?" Sure enough, my best friend was standing up, pointing at the judge with tears in her eyes.

"He's not guilty!" She cried out, just a bit softer. Then one of the guards pulled out a pistol, and shot her clean through the head across the room. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and she slumped forward over the pew in front of her, her blood spilling into the seat of the pew and the floor.

"She had nothing to do with this!" I shouted, turning back around. The same guard shot me in the left hand, and I clutched it in pain as blood came form this wound also.

"I repeat, Does Case 1000778 plead guilty to accounts of Terrorism, Religious Intolerance, Violence, Genocide, and illegal possession of a firearm?"

The black guy that I had to spend countless days, maybe even weeks in that cell unrolled the whip again, ready to reprimand me from a wrong answer. The world was starting to spin, and everything sounded like a tunnel. I bit my tongue lightly, contemplating my options. The I remembered what the burly guy 'Mr, Wilson', as he called himself, told me when I was brought out of Bunker 8 today.

"If you don't plead guilty, then boy, you will be in a world of shit creek with those Necros. They'll tear you up so fine, finer then I ever could have, and you'll be begging for that sentence of yours to have come. You know what they do. They fill up your ass end with themselves, then cut you in places you'd never think of placing a knife. And when that's all done and over with, then they pour battery acid right on your head while they ride you like a horse. So consider your options."

"…" With one last glance to my bleeding chest, I made my plea. "Guilty."

"Good. Subject Case 1000778 is to be taken out back and thoroughly purged of form our midst. Case closed." He slammed the hammer down.

"What!" I screamed out, and was hit in my broken knee by the whip man. Once again my arms found their place held by two guards, and as I was dragged out, I was able to catch a final glance of the courtroom. Gwen's body still laid slumped on the floor, her skin paler then ever now with her soul out of it. Across the room, I caught a glance at the traitor. She was smiling widely, and winked saucily at me as she walked out with her new lover. I had lost to much blood to be able to put together any sentence to scream, any witty comeback to make, anything like that, just thoughts. A thousand thoughts rushing through my head screaming their own thing at me. They just pulled me on out, my legs dragging on the floor.

For the first time in weeks I saw the bright sunlight as it beamed down. It's warmth didn't change it though. My head was still screaming. IT took them long enough, but I was positioned in front of a concrete wall. My arms were relieved, but my hands, even my injured hand was put in a binder that was held about stomach high. However I was able to stand was beyond me, but it didn't matter. Now I knew what was coming.

As the realization that I was on a shooting range fully hit me, my thoughts suddenly trimmed way down. Rage, Anger, and the like burned through my veins. Then the noise of the rifle bolt slamming shut could be heard, and all of that melted away like ice in a frying pan.

Only two thoughts took me over now. Grief and Fear. Grief for the injustice done to me, to Gwen, to the countless thousands of others I realized must have gone through this exact same process. Never before had I felt grief before, save for the fake stuff. And that gave way to fear.

The commanding officer shouted "READY!" And even the fear melted away. A flashback occurred to what was me some 16 years ago. I couldn't of been older then twelve.

"You can't even prove there is a god." A younger Duncan spat at the old preacher.

The man just smiled back. "Son, like it or not, at one point in everyone's life, everyone comes to a point where they come face to face with God."

"We'll just see."

"AIM!"

My gaze shifted upward one last time as a trio of birds flew through the air, and the sun beat down on me. "God?" I asked, still not believing in any sort of existence of such a being fully.

"FIRE!"

"Forg-"A loud boom, and all went black and ceased.

Review if you want.