Minutes dragged on as Messimah's desperate fight against the Federation Officer continued. He had been beaten down so many times he had lost count, the desert sand becoming an unwelcome taste he ingested with almost every fall.
The sun had risen, casting its harsh light on the brutal scene, illuminating the blood-stained sand beneath Messimah's battered body.
Broken bones and several cuts caused by blunt force adorned him like a brutal testament to his struggle, his blood seeping into the earth in rivulets.
"I must commend your tenacity. You seem more a beast than a man now," The Federation Officer remarked, his voice dripping with mockery. "But this… this is all you're good for. Just give up and accept your fate."
His tone carried an unsettling mix of amusement and disdain, a sick contradiction.
Though he clearly held the power to end Messimah's life at any moment, he refrained, allowing the battle to drag on, as though savoring the spectacle of Messimah's relentless struggle.
It was a twisted game, one that enraged Messimah further with every mocking word.
Messimah's anger was consuming him, obliterating rational thought. Pain became a muffled echo, drowned out by the feral drive surging through him.
Messimah roared like a cornered beast, charging at the Federation Officer with reckless abandon. Each assault only added to his growing list of injuries.
Bloodied and broken pieces of his skeletal bionic suit littered the ground, scattered like fallen hopes.
For the umpteenth time, Messimah spat out a mouthful of blood, his body betraying him as it finally began to succumb to its injuries.
The adrenaline that had kept him moving could no longer mask the brutal truth—he had lost too much blood, his bones shattered, and his strength was fading fast.
His trembling hands released the javelin, blood dripping from his palms as he struggled to command his body to act.
Move!
He screamed inwardly, watching helplessly as his knees buckled. Sharp pain radiated from his femur, making him gasp sharply. His muscles and ligaments felt as if they had been torn apart, yet he refused to surrender.
Move, you useless body! Your friends are dead, and you're still alive. How can you not move?
He ground his teeth, rage, and anguish mixing with sheer determination. If not for anything, move for them.
MOVE!
"Arrghh!" Messimah let out a guttural cry, forcing his battered body to rise once again.
Messimah's entire frame trembled violently, the sound of his bones popping and ligaments straining to fill the air.
Veins bulged across his neck and forehead, pulsating with the effort, as if threatening to burst at any moment.
Tears streamed down his bloodied face, unbidden and uncontrollable, a projection of his body's exhaustion and the unbearable grief weighing down on his mind.
Even as his body screamed in pain and defiance, Messimah pushed forward with just willpower.
Messimah was so consumed by his struggle to move that he didn't notice the Federation Officer approaching until the man's sickening voice cut through the haze.
"I suppose this is the dying embers of a once-bright flame," The Federation Officer muttered, his tone now devoid of the amusement it once held.
It seemed that the sight of Messimah, broken and barely able to move, no longer interested him.
Messimah, unable to speak, lifted his gaze to meet the officer's helmeted visage.
His bloodshot eyes burned with pure, unfiltered rage, as though they could pierce through the darkness obscuring the man's face.
If looks could kill, Messimah's glare would have ended the Federation Officer many times over.
Fueled by sheer determination, Messimah began to push himself upright, his battered frame rising slowly.
Finally, he stood tall, his figure straighter than before.
It was then he noticed something peculiar—he was taller than the Federation Officer. The oppressive aura the man exuded, in the beginning, had distorted Messimah's perception, making him seem towering and invincible.
Now, standing face-to-face, Messimah saw him for what he was.
Inferior, Short bastard.
Before Messimah could revel in this feeling, the Federation Officer lashed out.
A swift kick struck the outside of Messimah's knee, shattering his kneecap and sending him crashing back to the ground.
"Argh!" Messimah cried out, the pain searing through him like fire.
"I saw the mockery in your eyes," The officer sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "A peasant like you has no right to look down on me."
With that, he stepped on Messimah's wrist, applying just enough pressure to snap the fragile bones beneath his boot.
The sickening crack echoed in the air, and Messimah's veins bulged as he suppressed a scream, refusing to grant the officer the satisfaction of hearing his pain.
Realizing he had struck a nerve, Messimah, like a defiant child, seized upon the one thing that seemed to elicit an emotional reaction from the officer.
The rage in his eyes faded, replaced by a condescending glare that belied his broken state.
"Short basta—"
Before he could finish, the Federation Officer grabbed his jaw with an iron grip, silencing him.
"I should rip your tongue out for that," The officer growled, his other hand moving toward Messimah's face as if to make good on the threat.
Yet, even as the officer loomed over him, Messimah's defiant gaze remained unbroken, the condescension in his eyes unwavering.
This seemed to irritate the officer further.
Changing tactics, he released Messimah's jaw and instead wrapped his hand tightly around Messimah's neck. With a single motion, he lifted Messimah off the ground, holding him aloft as though he weighed nothing.
"You've earned more from," The Federation Officer said, holding Messimah aloft by the neck. His tone carried a cold finality. "As you die, I will grant you clarity—a chance to witness how your friends met their end."
As the officer spoke, a faint mechanical hum began emanating from his helmet. The sound of internal mechanisms shifting filled the air as the helmet smoothly unfolded, its components retracting and melding seamlessly into the neck of his Nano-tech suit.
The face beneath was revealed—a middle-aged man with fair, freckled skin marred by the uneven stubble along his jaw. His tired, dark eyes sat beneath faintly brown brows, framed by deep bags that hinted at countless sleepless nights. Sparse ginger hair crowned his head, thinning to reveal a shiny expanse along the sides.
"Ugly," Messimah croaked, defiance lacing his strained voice.
The officer's expression darkened, and his grip tightened around Messimah's neck, cutting off what little air remained.
Suddenly, as though time itself was unraveling, the light of the morning sun began to recede. The sky shifted, reversing into the hues of dawn as though the day were retreating.
Messimah's eyes widened in disbelief, the pain momentarily forgotten. The distant roar of motorbikes echoed through the desert, growing louder with each passing second.
He stared in shock as the surreal scene unfolded before him. In the distance, he saw his friends, alive and riding on their bikes. And there he was too—himself, from a time just before everything had gone wrong.
Messimah's mind reeled. His body hung limp, yet his thoughts raced.
What is this?
He watched from an impossible vantage point, an observer outside of time, forced to relive the events that had brought him to this point.
"What is this?" Messimah rasped, blood trickling from his nose as he struggled to comprehend what was unfolding.
He had just witnessed the accident again—but this time, from a detached, observer's perspective. The scene rewound itself before his eyes, only to replay from the Federation Officer's point of view.
It began shortly after they had evaded the shuttles. The officer had been tailing them all along, waiting for the opportune moment. He overtook them once they left the city, positioning himself to intercept their path.
The same javelin Messimah had wielded in this grueling fight was revealed to be the instrument of his friends' demise. The Federation Officer had thrown it with lethal precision.
Through the officer's eyes, Messimah saw it all—Gola was the target.
But Trumm, ever perceptive, noticed the attack.
Though he tried to intervene, he was neither strong nor fast enough to block the javelin. In his desperate attempt to save Gola, he made the reckless decision to pull him aside.
The result was catastrophic. The javelin struck one of their bikes, triggering an explosion that consumed them both.
As the horrific scene replayed, tears streamed down Messimah's bloodied face—not from the pain of his battered body but from the crushing grief of reliving his friends' deaths. The truth, unbearable and raw, pierced him more deeply than any physical wound.
The rage that had fueled him began to sputter, unable to reignite. His battered body sagged, and the fight drained from his spirit.
With grief weighing on his chest, Messimah let out a choked sob. His trembling hand reached out feebly toward the site of the crash.
Was I so blind? So distracted that I couldn't see him?
It should have been me. They relied on me, trusted me... brothers, the only family I had left. Were we too reckless?
The Federation Officer's voice cut through his thoughts like a blade. "Finally, you break down. You're more of a soldier than most—not because of your pain, but because your tears are for your friends. You don't fear death, do you?"
The officer's words were laced with malice, each syllable pressing salt into Messimah's open wounds.
Death?
Messimah mused bitterly.
I've never feared it.
I mocked those who clung to life despite their suffering. Why should I fear it now?
If anything, death might bring me closer to them.
Fine then.
Do it.
Kill me.
The last embers of his will dimmed, and as the life drained from him, the world darkened. Memories flashed before his eyes, a cruel slideshow of moments he would never relive.
Have you ever wondered, if the world has feelings? Not the animals, not the trees, not the monsters disguised as people, but the world itself.
His mind wandered, even as his body faltered.
I frequent this thought many times…
It rarely rains over here, but when it does, it is as though the clouds had witnessed a tragic scene and expressed their feeling through rainfall.
Well, crying…
Just like I am.
When they witness something vexing or blasphemous, they express their rage with thunderstorms, hurricanes, and whatnot.
When they're happy, well, they let you experience the beautiful side of the scorching sun.
A touch of warmth in this freezing ruins.
And when they become nonchalant, the clouds open the way for the sun's violent rays to do their numbers on you.
If it does have feelings, then why didn't it do all it could to get rid of humankind?
Why didn't it do all it could to kill bastards like this rat!?
Messimah dangled lifelessly in the officer's grip, his thoughts turning venomous.
You killed Trumm.
You killed Gola.
And now you're about to kill me.
If I die, who will avenge us?
A flicker of will surged in his chest.
Move, Simah!
If you die here, it ends with you!
Somehow, through sheer force of desperation, Messimah managed a feeble kick at the officer. His broken wrist clawed at the hand gripping his neck but slipped off weakly.
Move!
Please…
That was his final plea as his consciousness ebbed.
[Genesis System initiating awakening.]
A crisp voice echoed in Messimah's mind, cutting through the darkness like a beacon.