Author: Is Friday
Title: Bako Pt. 1
Date: 2010-01-05 20:05:53
Type: Stories
Synopsis: A militia Corporal thinks about her bad decisions in Red Storm.

Bako stared at the dirty stones of the alley lifelessly. It was pure
speculation at this point if she was going to die or not, but she
certainly felt as though she deserved to.

Her blink came at a dead-hang, the slow struggle of a fluttering pair of
eyelids that would just not keep open without a brutal fight. Soldiers that
went to sleep when they were bleeding out did not wake up, and Bako was not
about to become one of them. And speaking of brutal fights, oh how the alley
reflected what had just taken place. She thought she'd fucked those necker
bitches up worse than she had gotten it. They was the dead ones, after all. 
(Or maybe they was just bleeding out where she couldn't see, like she was.)

Bako thought about how stupid she'd been to come to Storm. The fuck was in 
Storm, anyhow? Spice. Shit, spice you can -get- in nak! Just have to ask. But
no, you wanted Sergeant, you stupid shit. You wanted Sergeant so you decided
to "play it safe" by coming to Storm to sniff your good fuckin times,
Corporal. You even -thought- it was a bad idea halfway here, and look, not
trusting your gut got you crammed up the ass like a rinthi whore.

Putting all of her strength into a push against the grimy, reddish mud that
had developed the tinge with compliments of her tattered body, Bako slowly
rolled over onto her back. Shuddering and clumsy hands attempted to unstrap 
her breastplate, missing the clasp several times before finally gripping it
with some certainty, and then expending her easily exhaustable burst of
energy by twisting it unlatched. Instead of pushing the breastplate off of
herself, she slipped her quivering hands beneath it to her gruesomely
impaled abdomen, where a jagged knife had slipped up and under the shell.

Bako clenched her teeth and gripped the hilt of the knife with a whine
growling out from her wheezing throat. She knew what she had to do, but she
fucking hated it. She hated herself, and she hated her weakness to find a
knife in her gut when there was only three neckers. Should have fucking
yanked it out during the scuffle and stabbed that bitch longneck in the
throat with it. Maybe bleed out like a real big fucking hero with some
dignity, instead of this pathetic bullshit.

The wound was torn anew as Bako tightened her grip around the knife and
yanked it from inside her, the small jagged edges along one side of the
blade carving through her like a raptor's teeth. She wailed like it was the
last thing she could do, her voice cracking and strained. Her body buckled
as though it wanted to convulse; to offer one last twitch and give in. 
Vision blurred, darkness crept up, the sky was spinning (without the 
assistance of spice,) and she felt at peace for once in her life.

Fuck that, she thought. Out from her lips poured a whispered incantation 
that might have been the appropriate words, and as though the Suk-Krath had
landed in the pit of her stomach, the hand over her gushing wound ignited in
a ball of furious flame. Bako screamed bloody flaming murder, and at once 
the fire vanished in a plume of smoke around her body, slowly drifting up 
toward the sky where the Suk-Krath might be waiting tomorrow morn--prepared 
to accept some offerings of her burnt flesh.

Exhausted and drained, she probed at the burn with a finger gingerly. She
could not feel it very well, but she assumed the wound had shut. At least
she was no longer taking in any of the dirty necker sand that would be the 
end of her with this wind.

Bako had kept this a secret for entirely too long a time, but that was all
right. She also kept stupid shit like sniffing spice in Storm a secret.
Secrets were easy.