Reporting For Duty
By: larkpzanuck

"Get more guards down here now!"

"You are authorized to shoot to kill!"

"Find them! Get them before they kill anyone else!!!"

These are the words the Krimzon Guards would scream as they fought by the metal heads. Lark had always been a good leader of his team, but now that metal heads had killed two innocent men he had been struggling to keep a steady stream of control. His arms ached, his neck was sore, and his legs were on fire from fighting for so long. His helmet gave him a metallic tone as he ordered a group of guards, "Get over to the exits, make sure they can't get out!" The guards followed his order immediately. He aimed his gun and fired once before his gun jammed due to overuse. He slammed the barrel desperately, "Shit!" he cursed before throwing it to the side and drawing his hunting knife. A metal head lunged for one of the guards that had been injured, it's claws extended to kill. Lark leaped into the air and tackled it, grabbing hold of it's neck. He pulled the knife across the creature's throat, leaving it to bleed to death. Little did he know that when he stood he would be take down himself.

A metal head tackled him and slashed it's claws on his armor. he held his knife up and swung it randomly, trying to hit anything he could. It seemed that all he could think about was his family, how much he missed his mother, and how much he would kill to see her again...

The Water Slums were horrible, you could even go outside without getting the strong scent of sewer water. Not even the fish that once thrived could survive any longer. Lark never spent much time there as a child, but he found himself spending more and more time with his father as the years passed. His father had always been bed ridden, ill and weak. His mother slaved over the food and house all day, only to have to take care of him on top of it all. Lark was trapped in the house helping her, trying to help his father in and out of the bathroom with the time called for it. He loved his father dearly, but he hated the scent of illness. He was seventeen when he discovered-...

"Dad...?" Lark stood at the foot of the bed, staring down at the pale man under the blanket. He walked to the side of the bed and leaned forward, his long red hair falling over his shoulders, "D-...Dad." he called again. He reached out and tapped the man's face, pulling back quickly and stiffly. The man was cold, and his body was locked stiff. Lark's amber eyes filled with tears, "No... no no no no..." He hated running away from things, but he felt no other instinct but to.

His eyes read the poster over, "Join the Krimzon Guard! Your family will be safe! Your home will be clean and healthy! Protect your city!" He had thought about it before, and many of his friends had taken the same path, but he had never really looked into it. Now was the time. He was eighteen, his mother was going blind, and their home was getting worse and worse everyday. This was his only choice.

"This is not some walk in the park. You are mine now! You are my soldiers. You are my slaves!" the commander monologued. Lark, unlike many of the others there, was standing at full attention. He was very good with authority, but it didn't seem to get him anywhere, because he was ordered to fulfill a year's worth of patrol duty. It did get him and his mother out of the slums, however, and he was thankful for that.

It had been a year. Lark had fulfilled his patrol duties, now it was time to be assigned to a squadron. He walked into the room of his new team's bunks, seeing a group of men in nothing but their boxer and undershirts playing poker. They all looked back at him as he closed the door. He had most of his armor off, hanging in a duffel bag over his shoulder. Only his body suit, gloves, and boots remained on him. His ears dropped a little bit out of shyness as he raised his hand, "Um, hello."

Most of the men turned back, other than one who stood, his red dreadlocks dangling just over his shoulders, "You the new recruit?" he asked sternly, crossing his arms.

"Yes." he nodded and looked around the room, "Do you know where my bunk is?"

"Right over there." The young man directed. Lark threw his bag onto the bed carelessly, "Be careful. The last guy in there was kicked out because of his hidden weapons."

Lark paused before backing away, a small group of chuckles escaping the others as he walked over, "So... Which on of you is the captain?"

The standing man raised his hand, "The name's Torn." he held out his hand, "Don't take anything these guys do to seriously, they're a bunch of idiots."

Lark gave a small smile as he took hold of the man's hand, shaking it gently, "Yes, sir."

"We're off duty, kid. Call me Torn."

"Oh. Right." Lark nodded.

"Sit over there, play some poker with us." Torn guided him to a seat.

Lark was truly accepted by the squad until he was nearly broke because of how horrible he was at poker. It was enough to even make Torn break out into chuckles. That hardly helped them take him seriously for the next five months, until he proved himself.

Torn fell to the ground, trying to hold a metal head off of himself. Several of the guards had already fled behind the city's new gate, while only Torn's men remained. Lark turned away fromt he now dead metal head he had just fought, "Sir!" he ran toward the man, throwing the knife from his forearm and stabbing the metal head in the base of it's skull.

It fell limply against Torn's chest. Torn threw the body off and got up, looking to Lark with a smirk under his mask, "Thanks, kid."

Lark nodded, "Not a problem, sir." he pulled the knife from the body and stood up straight, "Sir, we need to fall back! Our men are injured. One of them is close to dead!"

Torn looked down, "I'm well aware of that." He shook his head, "Let's go."

Lark nodded and looked over his shoulder, "Look out!!" he grabbed Torn by the sash on his chest and pulled him out of the way of a pouncing metal head.

Torn turned and aimed his gun, firing at the metal head and killing it, "That twice, kid. Now let's go."

End... For now.