GWOT III - Furnace

GWOT III - Furnace


The cell extraction team is back.

I don't resist, but it doesn't matter.

They pay particular attention to the straps on the gurney.

Nice and tight, wide straps.

My body hurts a lot. The drugs are definitely wearing off.

They wheel me to the elevator.

I have a great view of the annunciator.

"B."

Basement. Where the incinerator is.

I think quickly. Do I do this in the elevator, the doorway or on the bottom floor?

If I get free in the elevator, I am then too easily trapped in it.

I have to wait. I have to pretend to remain calm while discreetly stretching my muscles.

A decision has been reached. They're going to cook me.

They are going to cook me. I have no doubt of that.

But they are going to be in one hell of a fight first.

The doors open and they wheel me out.

All you need is the one little window of opportunity.

One of the guards allows his duty belt to get too close to my ruined left hand, clearly discounting it as a threat.

I grab his keys with two damaged fingers and yank at him, while twisting my entire body in that direction as hard as I possibly can.

The gurney goes with and as he lurches away in sudden fright, he actually is helping me topple the damned thing.

Onto another guard's leg. He screams as a few hundred pounds crunches his knee sideways.

My hand is somehow out of the way of the side of the gurney, my arm is touching floor.

The restraint! It popped!

I reach across to the other restraint. Hands free.

Hands free! It's on!

A third guard is stepping forward over the gurney, not quite the right angle to kick me in the head.

Blackhawk high retention holster. Push, pull, lift, twist.

And for the third time since my incarceration, i have momentary control of a firearm.

And start servicing targets from the sideways angle of being strapped waist down.

Twelve rounds. Six team members.

I drop the hot handgun between my upper legs, I do a hard reach and I get my feet loose.

I scramble clear of the stretcher and pick up the gun again.

Do I put on a uniform? That takes time. I don't hear alarms hooting yet. I definitely need to reload, so I use the ruined hand (OW!) to change magazines.

###

I wake up on the concrete bunk.

The cell extraction team is back.

I don't resist, but it doesn't matter.

They pay particular attention to the straps on the gurney.

Nice and tight, wide straps.

My body hurts a lot. The drugs are definitely wearing off.

They wheel me to the elevator.

I have a great view of the annunciator.

"B."

Basement. Where the incinerator is.

Am I dreaming?

Have I done this before?

Or is this pre=death deja vu again?

I don't know.

###

The loop replays at least seven times.

I only get as far as getting my hands on a firearm twice.

Each time, once I am recaptured, I am strapped back to the stretcher and flung into the furnace.

Once they are racing blood loss from my wounds. But their orders are that I burn, and they will see that I do.

###

Bleary-eyed, I wake up.

The cell extraction team is back.

I don't resist, but it doesn't matter.

They pay particular attention to the straps on the gurney.

Nice and tight, wide straps.

My body hurts a lot. The drugs are definitely wearing off.

They wheel me to the elevator.

I have a great view of the annunciator.

"B."

Basement. Where the incinerator is.

This one's for real.

This time I can smell the fear sweat of the guards.

This time they are careful to keep their hands and feet well clear of my last ride.

This time I can hear one chuckling.

And the extraction team lead whispers.

"You're gonna burn."

And so I am.

But.

Not.

Today.