Area 22
Docs Detective Agency
291087 Crown Royal Street
Sector 9, Area 18, ArcTech
27.10.2951
File # 100011101
For Office Use Only
Area 22
The sun was rising and the air was still.
The morning was quiet and cold, and Doc Orion looked at the caked, baked, taped, semi functional P4-AR riffle in his hands and felt disgusted. He was cold and tired and had been up all night. He had spent the last several hours with his head buried in a trench, trying to keep his blood from freezing.
He stood up and walked over to the trench and reflected on his desolate surroundings. The trench was a deep one and the cold had seeped into his bones. He had always hated NT-999-XX with its dystopian, curious carnage. Like blanket of pigeons carrying disease at a tea party. A collection of outworlders dancing to dub trance country music eating cheesy rocks between rotten polymer teeth… It was a place that encouraged him to feel disgusted and cold.
He had been up all night with his head buried in the trench. He had tried to sleep but couldn’t. He was tired. His head hurt.
He walked over to his trench and pulled out his flask. He had a few drops left and he needed to warm up.
He unscrewed the cap and took a long swig.
The cold and fatigue made his mind fuzzy and he could feel his thoughts drifting. He knew that if he didn’t warm up soon he’d be in for some serious problems. He thought about how much he hated this moon and its people.
He knew he was a terrible soldier and that he was a terrible medic. He knew that he was a drunk, and a liar, but he didn’t care.
Doc was a Disciplined whisky drinker with a barely functioning liver, a rusty riffle, and little ammo. He also packed a coda pistol as backup but questioned if it would even work in these extreme temperatures.
He had heard of the Trauma Team’s combat prowess in the trenches of Yela, and he was sure those mercs would be formidable foes.
Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Lt. Unlucky Seven. Unlucky Seven was an experienced soldier with agile strength and a great sense of humor and comradery . Doc and Unlucky had been close during their time together in the trenches of Yela. Doc and Seven had become good friends during the war, spending there time together huddled in foxholes, telling each other old hurston labour slave jokes and stories to pass the time and playing hands of Orison Hold’um. Time passed slowly in those foxholes…. Doc sighed. He knew he would be dead before the sun set.
He put the flask away and went back to his trench. He sat down and fumbled with his riffle, flipping the power switch and flicking the selector switch to full auto. He had just finished setting the weapon when he noticed his friends were looking at him. He felt his heart sink.
They were staring at him, waiting. He glanced at his medipens© . His friends saw him glance at the medipens© and frowned .
Interesting note about medipens, Doc had once used a medipen© to try and revive a dying, wounded soldier with an ion blast crater hole the size of Lorvile-Scottish golf pucks in what remained of his chest, like a sadistic funk twerk performed by moon strippers on a hungover yela skunk, on sunday….. it was bad….. Not even a soldier named Doc could revive that dying soldier in that god forsaken frozen place they started calling fur hill (for no apparent reason).
Doc had been given a medal for that act of mercy and bravery, and it was the first time he had ever received such an honor. It felt so useless Doc got up and walked over to the foxhole. He had been in there for a few hours now. It was the best place to be when the moon’s sun was low and the cold was at its most intense.
Doc stood in front of the foxhole, feeling the cold, and the dark, and the silence, and the darkness was at its deepest. Doc shivered.
“Hey, Doc.” Lt. Unlucky Seven called out. “How is it down there?”
“I dont know. I dont think I can last much longer in this place,” Doc said.
“You will,” Lt. Unlucky Seven said.
“Because you are a hero. You saved my life, Doc.”
“Thanks, Lt.,” Doc said.
“No problem, Doc.”
The nuclear snow teased like running super ion treated plasma on sandy beachs, making the local wild life more violent then it already was. Like a purple ice pangolin toasting a party of savage retirees at a chocolate pudding party. As Doc stepped outside of the foxhole, Lt. Unlucky came closer, he could see the important smile on his face.
“Everyone is getting ready for the final push,” Lt. Unlucky bellowed, in a battlehardend tone. He offered Doc a Smoke from his pack and lit one himself. “I frigging love this place” he said.
Doc looked back, even more disgusted and still fingering and inspecting the barely functional P4-AR riffle in his lap. “Lt, your crazy, i dont think we are going to live long in this place” he replied. They looked at each other with crooked smiles on their face, like two buddies, dying at a very unlikeable war, they had heavy metal music playing in the background and shells dropping all around them exploding to the beat. Doc studied Lt. Unlucky. Eventually, he took a deep breath. “Lt, I dont want to die down here,” Doc said. “I’m sorry, but I cant die here today,” he explained, in pathetic tones.
Lt. Unlucky smiled. “I’m going to die in battle, on the battlefield, with my men, on a planet I love, and for my country.”
Lt. Unlucky looked grumpy, his face raw with anger like a space badger landing in a pile of thundergeese eating french fries at a tween birthday party.
“What do you mean?” Doc asked.
“I dont know,” Lt. Unlucky replied.
“Well, what about me?”
“You are my buddy. I’ll never leave you behind.”
Doc was touched by his words. “But you are a hero. I can’t be a hero.”
And then it happend……..a thud….a flash of light……. Doc could actually hear Lt’s body shatter into 2672 pieces or there abouts. and then Darkness….The experience of that battle remains with him to this day. some say when everything is silent, he can still hear the sound of his friend being blown away into the distance. Not even a drink of whisky would calm Doc’s nerves on those nights. But something else did help… As well as drinking whisky… He began talking out loud again as though he had never stopped…. then one night… something changed Doc Orions mind…. it might have been Lt’s last thing to say while atop Yela… Or it was just him putting food in his mouth… but one thing is for sure… Doc Orion decided that night that when he wins or looses this war… he will win by exactly 1-1/2 ft., because being average isn’t going to cut it anymore…. and he doesn’t care if he has a mouthful of baked beans while doing it.”
That night in the darkness… Doc Orion had nightmares. He dreamed about being absorbed into an alien Well-being enhancer trying to give him super powers before it sucked his brain out… That was when Doc realized that maybe he should start thinking about the future and not his past and his wounds… He cut his hair before morning and left his guns on land for safe keeping or as Lt Unlucky would say “insurance”… After the battle he was captured by some Yeller naval reffies who were chassing Dutchman for having an eagles head painted on his hull.. Eventually another ship found Doc Orion and took him off the smoking planet .. When Doc Orion awoke… He found himself on an alien ship larger than any other ship he had seen before during his career.. One way or another he was falling into something bigger than anything he had ever imagined…
wow thats some heavy shit…
And well thats it folks…..
what happens next?!
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