Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 32156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32156 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
The stores of drugs are kept in another building, where a contingent has been tasked to load what they find into the semi while the other battalions stick to their tasks as I instructed in our early morning meeting.
“Gathred!” Ragned bellows as he swings his ax, sending the battered corpse of a human across the floor. “Go!”
I’m on the stairs, taking them three at a time. My primary target, Erving Petrova, the scientist and leader of this, the largest smikkaan and ivee manufacturing and distribution organization in all of the occupied territory.
I have no concern for his fate one way or the other, or the fate of the thousands of orcs that are addicted to his mind-numbing chemical. The fact is, I do not identify nor feel emotion. Thanks to the Moban, or to the explosion that half smashed my skull in the first Earth wars, I don’t know or care which.
Argoth, the leader of our clan and the man that is my only family, follows at my heels. Two other human males fire our way, but I drop them in quick succession with my custom designed 50 caliber Desert Eagle. We ascend the last stairs to the hallway where, according to our scouts, Erving spends every morning in his office.
A sweep of my arm sends another human over the handrail, landing in a broken heap below. For almost five years I’ve served my clan as their strategic intelligence, as well as an emotionless killing machine. I have no memory of my life besides my name, Gathred.
Argoth, who told me after I woke that he is my uncle, took me in, healed me, and over the years has filled in some of the gaps in the blank slate of my past. I have no other family from his accounts. We were separated on Iriaza, and he found me broken and dying from an explosion shortly after our return to Earth.
My loyalty to him and our clan is unwavering. Killing is nothing more to me than honing an ax or hunting for food.
Blood slicks my hands from two more bare-handed kills by the time we approach the office door. I secure my pistol. Killing with my hands, or the sword strapped to my back, is my preference and a small human male will require little effort.
My mission is to kill Erving Petrova. I have the mind to understand the chemical processes of his formulas and factory, unlike the majority of orcs, and I will not fail in my duty.
A band of workers in white jumpsuits emerge at the end of the hall, faces filled with fear, then spin and return from where they came, disappearing as quickly as they appeared.
The metal door to the office is closed but with one kick, it breaks from its hinges, landing six feet inside as I storm through the opening, eyes scanning the large space, noting two large desks and tables full of glass jars and bubbling beakers.
“He’s not here,” Argoth grunts from behind me, sweeping through the room, throwing glass to the floor, crunching under my feet as I move around, tearing open closet doors.
There’s a pinging sound from my right. I turn just in time for the arrow to cut into my shoulder then glance off and clatter against a large metal cabinet, finally skittering across the floor.
My vision tunnels, my well-ordered plan spins into chaos inside my head. The first crushing pain comes with the speed of a supernova. I roar, not from the slice of the arrow but from the bolts of lightning flashing behind my forehead.
Not now. Not fucking now.
Rage and shame well up inside me. These waking, painful dreams make me weak. They have plagued me since I awoke in the room after I was injured in the wars, but they are getting worse.
The blaring alarm sirens disappear behind the screaming red pain inside my head. White light flashes behind my eyes as images of orcs I do not know assault me in dark visions.
“Gathred!” Argoth’s voice is distant as I battle the blinding pain between my ears.
Not now. Not now.
The visions come more and more often these last months as I planned this raid. Weakness is not tolerated, not by myself or Argoth. But, when the flashes come, I am paralyzed. It is the only pain I have ever felt that registered, and it nearly drops me to my knees.
I roar to the ceiling, clamping my hands to my head, struggling to stay upright as I spin, the flaps of leather on my kilt spinning outward as my vision blurs. The images of orcs that seem familiar yet unknown to me blink on and off, making it impossible to focus.
When the second arrow pierces my thigh, it is enough to break the grip of the visions. Argoth narrows his eyes my way as I regain my center, knowing if I fail at my mission because of my weakness, he or Ragned will not hesitate to rend my head from my body without remorse.