Segmented

Subject: R swung his club, narrowly missing Pedaf's head and slamming it into the glass wall, spinning away into a defensive crouch, compensating for his loss of balance.
Pedaf tries to fire his 460 while back-pedaling but the shots go wide, glass shatters and rains down on R's head, a crescendo of violence.
R hefts his club like a baseball bat, a long sleek trunk with some mess of metal on the business end, "HATE" carved crudely into the shaft. He spits a gob of blood into the dirt and approaches again.

When Pedaf had finally tracked down the Gaw Brothers to a probable location, he had not expected to engage in combat, nor be face to face with another of the four subjects who had escaped quarantine from VChicago. Though he now regretted leaving the sword behind, he was lucky he even had a weapon at all; he had considered leaving it before he approached the brothers so he wasn't perceived as a threat. But here, in what appeared to be some abandoned greenhouse, Subject: R had seemingly been waiting for him, and now he was swinging something that looked like a fucked-up axle at him. How did this happen?

R slashed the tip of his club in a downward swing, making Pedaf back up again, save his face from being crushed. Pedaf saw his chance as the end of the club bit into the dirt, it was so heavy R had to plant his feet to get it back up- Pedaf leveled the weapon and squeezed off a clean shot that slammed into R's chest, shoving him back into the dirt.
The club dropped to the floor with a hollow pang as Pedaf stepped past it, lining his sights up again. R was holding his wound, the skin crisping away; the internal damage the 460 inflicted was incredibly savage for a weapon so advanced.

Subject: R could have had the drop on Pedaf, but had chosen to fight him in the open, and with some crude club at that. Had he been trying to prove something? Was he going mad without the memory suppression?

Now that Pedaf was standing over him, he could see the wires stemming from his ears, the same thing Subject: J had been using. He now wondered why he had felt compelled to give the device he had taken off Subject: J to Captain Davis. Maybe because he hadn't trusted Controller Gustav with it, hadn't trusted him to get it back to VChicago to see what it did. But it looked like Pedaf was about to have access to that very same device again, once he plucked it off R's dead body; this time he'd keep it, to see for himself why the subjects had been wearing them.

From the ground R brought his foot up into Pedaf's groin and rolled away from the ensuing blaster shots, dirt and grit exploded from the ground as Pedaf slunk to his knees, white-hot pain screaming through his body.

As R brought the club down on him, Pedaf finally realized how it had come that Subject: R had been waiting for him: the Gaw set him up. That plaid-wearing son-of-a-bitch had walked him straight into a trap.




When the man woke up, he was in some sort of abandoned greenhouse. His head was sticky with dried blood that had pooled around his face, and his head was pounding. He tried to sit up, but could only manage to roll onto his back. Instinctively, he reached into his pocket and sighed with relief as his hands closed around the crumpled card inside. He couldn't remember why, but he somehow knew the card in his pocket would have the answers, tell him everything he needed to know.

But when he pulled it out, it was blank.