NO FUTURE
by Android #17
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A very young man awoke to a world that was not his. It was the same world he awoke to
everyday. A deserted sewer, filled only by the rats and the pitiful creatures called man. Humans
were an endangered species, ever since the arrival.

He did not know much of what happened, the old disks speak of an age of unparalleled
beauty. Space was finally ours, peace reigned throughout the planet, the pollution was gone,
people were happy. In a final gesture of pacifism, we destroyed all weapons on the planet, we left
our race unguarded. They came.

They were a group of star fighters, the quickly dominated the planet. We were taken as
slaves. All the strongest were stuck into fighting camps, where our alien overlords could watch us
kill each other for sport. Others were killed our just left to die on some god-forsaken rock. I'm a
fighter.

We call them Tyranids. Because they are the ultimate tyrant. I am Azreal. I don't
remember my last name, why would I? I don't want to think about anything except the fact that I
need to fight to survive. Within the fighting camps, there are separate clans. We learned the
power of numbers quickly. I belong to the Dragon clan, my chief rival serves the Cross-Bones
clan. There is no escape from these places. We are in massive underwater arenas, at pressures that
would crush any living thing. So we awaken, find whatever we can to eat, then fight.

I see a guy from the Bad Moon clan, drinking muddy water from a puddle which is
probably piss. A guy from the Slayer clan stabbing a rat with his dead father's bone. We survive
as animals.
I know it's my turn to fight now. I have no choice, I don't even care anymore. A Tyranid
gene-stealer, small grunts which form the backbone of the Tyranid army, comes and grabs me and
another guy and throw us into a small room. These are our fighting supplies. A few projectile
guns, some knives, most of a suit of power-armor. The other guy rushes and grabs a gun and suits
up most of the armor, he's too eager.
I wait for him to leave, then I find the crack in the wall. My personal stash. A
chainsword, a power-whip made from scratch, and a simple shield made from old metal, no one
knows about it but me. I grab a gun and follow the other guy out.

He's dressed in the clothes typical of a member of the Survivor clan, the only group to be
around since the beginning of the war. He's looks ready for blood, too ready. He took the power
armor without thinking. At it's state of disrepair, it's probably slow him down if anything.

He moves first. Swinging an armored fist at me, hoping for me to duck, I do. He lands a
shot to my chin. I can feel bone break. He starts to jump. With that added weight he's kill me for
sure. I lash him across the face twice. As he staggers back I tack aim with my pistol. I fire twice
into his arms, he drops his weapon. I bring the chainsword above my head and down. It's moving
chain bisects his body easily. Blood splatters all over my clothes. He's dead. I look up at the
Tyranid watching the match, he's enjoying himself a lot. He likes to see us die. Fuck it. I shot the
guy in the head, and he slumps. I'm done. I get to live another day.


To be continued