Equilibrium Fan Fiction by Judas Austin Taking Sides 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 Well. So I was right about Halls all along. He is on the dose. No wonder he agreed to go with me into Old Libria! The man's a fucking traitor!! They should have listened to me. I admit, he almost had me fooled. The whole Klondike thing was a nice touch, as was his taking down those sweepers, although perhaps that was a little too well done. Nobody who was off the dose could just...murder someone like that. I'm sure of it. What I'm not too sure of is how Halls was able to convince Jurgen he was an offender, but given he supposedly joined the Resistance ten or eleven years ago, perhaps they didn't have a polygraph then. I'd be a hell of a lot more gratified if there was a chance I could go to Jurgen with this, now I've got some solid evidence against him (Halls, not Jurgen, that is). But if I'm honest, I doubt I'll get out of here alive. I'm sorry, Lisa. -John Preston, Grammaton Cleric First Class There was a long, long silence. "You bastard," Preston said hoarsely, finding his voice again from what seemed like a long way off. "You lying bastard!" Halls raised his eyebrows. "Temper, temper," he drawled. "You tricked me!" "Trick?" Halls spread his hands out to the side, smirking slightly. "You said you wanted to go to the Tetra Grammaton and I helped you to do so. Where's the trick?" "You know damn well that when I said I wanted to get inside the Tetra Grammaton, this was not what I had in mind!" "Hey, you didn't specify," Halls said with a careless shrug. "I trusted you," Preston spat. This last statement wasn't entirely accurate, but it was close enough as made no odds. "Then you're a bigger fool than I thought," Halls answered implacably, no longer smirking. "But that's not what this is really about, is it, Preston? No, what's needling you is that you can't go running back to New Libria and tell everyone how right you were about me...not that Jurgen would believe you if you could." Halls glanced around. "And speaking of needles..." The same medic who had tested him and Preston handed him a syringe filled with a golden-yellow liquid. Preston didn't need to read the label to know what was inside. "Thank you." Halls took the syringe and slid it into his neck with the ease of long practice, then injected the Prozium and tossed the needle in one of the waste receptacles mounted on the walls. "I'm going to kill you, you son of a bitch," Preston said tightly. "You'll find that difficult," Halls answered, clearly unfazed. "If you so much as twitch, you'll be shot." "Liar," Preston answered coldly. "You need me for something. Else I'd be dead already." "Yes, that much is true. But tell me something, Preston." Halls moved around to stand directly in front of the other Cleric, while being careful to keep well out of arm's reach. "How do you expect to perform Gun-Kata with optimum efficiency when you have a bullet in both legs?" "Come a little closer and I'll show you," Preston offered. "Ah...no thanks," Halls answered, the barest hint of a smirk back on his face. "I know you thought I was a traitor, Preston, but I didn't know you thought I was stupid as well." "Live and learn," Preston spat. At that moment, he would have given anything he owned for five minutes alone with Halls. "Not in your case," Halls answered, still prudently keeping out of reach. "You walked right into a trap last time you came in here, and you did exactly the same thing this time." A cold smile appeared on his face. "They say third time's the charm, but I'm sure you'll understand if we choose not to release you in order to test this theory." "Do you want him put down, sir?" one of the sweepers asked. Halls blinked. "Are you insane? No, I don't!" He met Preston's baleful stare coolly. "Take him to one of the cells. Preferably one as far away from any other rebels as possible. I don't want him getting any cute ideas about a jailbreak." "You low-down piece of shit," Preston grated. The smirk on Halls' face was, suddenly, too much to bear. White-hot anger exploded in him like a supernova, fuelling his movements, consuming his very senses, causing him to lunge for the other Cleric. There was a sensation of movement, followed by sudden, blinding pain, then the whole world went dark. Hunger nudged Preston out of the groggy sleep of unconsciousness several hours later. He forced his eyes open, then somehow managed to pull himself to his feet. Checking his chronometer, he discovered it was five past six, although whether that was AM or PM was slightly unclear; he couldn't make out the smaller numbers in the faint light. Either way, he'd been down here for at least six or seven hours, or longer. Trying to ignore the stabbing pains in his stomach, Preston glanced around, taking stock of his surroundings. One four by four cell, bare. That was about it. To his surprise, he hadn't been handcuffed, although both his sidearms had gone. Confiscated, his mind informed him. Just like before, only this time there's no Brandt around to take the fall for me. I can probably take down a couple of people who come in, if I didn't know full well they'd be expecting such a thing, and if I wasn't being watched. As if on springs, his head swivelled around to look at the red dot that was the security camera in that cell. It didn't transmit sound; the Tetra Grammaton had got tired of hearing insults screamed at them by the inmates twenty-four seven and deactivated all the microphones. Preston wasn't sure-it had happened before his time-but he didn't think the devices themselves had ever been removed. Whether they were still operational was another matter, of course. Preston closed his eyes, sensing. He didn't know what difference it would make whether his cell was bugged or not, since there was probably sod all he could do about it, but it gave him something to help pass the time. Nothing. Good. Now to do something about disconnecting that camera. Preston studied the surrounding walls closely. The Monastery didn't spend much time teaching cadets how to climb; window entrances weren't usually the way things were done, not when you could blast the door down and walk right in, or smash through one of the walls. Clerics picked up many attributes and traits during their training at the Monastery, but subtlety had never been among them. Still, resourcefulness was pretty high on the Tetra Grammaton's agenda. Preston looked at the walls, then at the camera. Perhaps he could...lever himself up, or...or something. His Cleric-sense offered up an idea at this point and Preston acted on it before his mind weighed in with the report that it was crazy and moreover impossible. Pushing his back as hard as he could against the wall, he walked his feet six inches up the opposite one. It wasn't hard exactly, at least, not in the physical sense, but it did require intense concentration. Back and legs protesting slightly at this unusual exertion, Preston continued up. The walls were dry, but well cleaned, making it harder to get a grip on it. Still, he persevered, getting higher and higher. Another two or three feet and I'll be close enough to disconnect the damn thing. It wasn't until he was almost level with the damn thing in question that he realised the small flaw in his plan; namely that disconnecting the camera would require him to have his hands directly underneath it, not four feet away supporting his body. Preston considered. Well. As the ancient pre-Librian saying ran, there was more than one way to flay a feline. Something like that, anyway. "What's he doing?" The man who spoke, Vice-Council Hagon, was genuinely bemused, or as close as he could get on Prozium. Halls' face remained impassive. "Couldn't say, sir." "It looks like he's about to hang himself." "Hang himself, sir?" Halls said, who had learned very early on that a good way to come out on top in a meeting with superiors was to repeat their own ideas back to them, since this didn't require him doing any actual thinking. The look Hagon shot him said that the Vice-Council wasn't entirely unaware of this fact. "Yes, Cleric. Hang himself." "With what, sir? Clerics don't wear belts, and there's no rope in there." "A Cleric could do it with the straps on his wrist holsters, if he was really determined. You know that." "Yes sir," Halls said in a tone that was perhaps slightly too patient and gave no indication of what was passing through his mind; namely his third partner who had 'committed suicide' in the exact same manner the Vice-Council was describing. "That's why I had the sweepers confiscate them." "The man's dangerous." "I agree, sir," Halls said with one hundred percent conviction. "Is it worth his undergoing the treatment, do you think?" "Clinical interrogation, do you mean, sir?" "No, Cleric, I do not. I mean the other treatment." "Could be, sir," Halls said, somewhat unhelpfully. Hagon sighed. "Halls, tell me something. Is there any reason you're still alive?" Halls blinked. "I...don't fully understand the question, sir." "You are on the dose, that much is plain. You have brought several Resistance fighters to justice; indeed, almost as many as the traitor Preston himself at the peak of his career. At least thirty percent of these escaped." "It's my job to get them here, sir. The sweepers are the ones who are supposed to keep them here. I don't see how I can be held responsible for someone else's dereliction of duty." "You have a somewhat unique record, Cleric." "Thank you, sir." "It wasn't a compliment. I was referring to your...partners." "There is...an unfortunate trend there, sir, yes." "Any thoughts on that?" "Sir?" "None of these men were careless, Halls." Halls stared him down, eyes unreadable behind his dark glasses. "The record suggests otherwise, sir." "Are you arguing with me, Cleric?" You could have frozen oxygen with Hagon's tone. "Merely pointing out a statement of fact, sir." Halls turned his head slightly. "And I believe you're about to lose Preston." Hagon followed his gaze. There was the briefest hint of what might have been a foot, seen at extremely close quarters, then the image of Preston's cell was replaced by static. "Bring him to the medical wing," Hagon said impassively. "Yes, sir." Back in the cell, Preston was having difficulties. Like most inexperienced climbers, he'd discovered too late that getting up was usually a lot easier than getting down again. If he'd been outside, he could have jumped, but there wasn't nearly enough room to break his fall, and he'd most probably end up snapping an ankle. He'd already had one close call when he'd kicked in the camera; the recoil had shot up his body and almost caused him to slip. As it was, he'd managed to catch himself, but couldn't get his footing back. There was the sound of footsteps outside. A grim smile touched Preston's lips. So they'd finally come for him, had they? Well, those boys would soon find that he was no ordinary sense offender... ...that is, as soon as he got down onto the ground again. The door was suddenly kicked open to admit the first of a group of sweepers, complete with guns. They hesitated on the threshold-they'd been prepared for several scenarios, but an empty cell wasn't one of them-then took a few cautious steps in. As the lead sweeper passed underneath the Cleric, Preston dropped on top of him. This wasn't actually intentional-his one remaining foot still on the wall had chosen that moment to give up and drag the rest of his body down with it-but it did mean that Preston managed to drop the entire ten feet to the ground without serious injury, a feat that would have been almost impossible in the confined space, even for a Cleric. "Thank you," Preston told the now recumbent sweeper, then looked up and his gaze took in the others standing there. A cold smile touched his lips. "So they finally got around to sending someone down here for me, did they?" He shook his head. "Too bad. I hope there's nobody around who's going to miss you," he added, in the measured tones of someone who's decided they're going to go out in style. The cell wasn't exactly large enough to lend itself to optimum Gun-Kata. But that was no reason not to go out fighting. He spun around, bringing a foot whistling through the air to connect with a sweeper's temple. The man dropped to the ground, insensible, and one of his comrades stepped forward to take his place. The set of this one's muscles told the Cleric that he'd be expecting something similar. Preston considered his options for the barest fraction of a second, then took half a step forward and kicked the other man squarely in the groin in a move that had absolutely nothing to do with Gun-Kata and everything to do with self-preservation. The man's eyes crossed slightly and he dropped to his knees, helpless. There was a ripple of movement in the doorway, the kind that indicates a mass of people trying to retreat without doing anything so vulgar as actually moving. "You're doing more damage to yourself than to us with your actions, Cleric," the foremost sweeper said. Preston looked at the two unconscious sweepers, then at the one lost in his own private world of pain, then at his own unmarked body, then back at the sweeper. "No," he said in a reflective tone that didn't fool anyone for an instant, himself least of all, "I believe you're mistaken there." "This is ridiculous," a dry voice said from behind the sweepers. "Stand aside." There was a shuffling of feet as the sweepers backed out of the door and split seamlessly down the middle, forming a kind of corridor. Preston caught sight of the man at the end of that corridor and his fist clenched. "I was hoping I'd see you again," he said tightly. "Were you?" Halls answered composedly. "Oh yes," Preston answered icily. "I've been wanting to do to you what I should have done back in New Libria." He nodded towards the sweepers but kept his eyes firmly on the other Cleric. "You know I'm a master of the Gun-Kata. Did you honestly expect to put me down with bullets?" "I wasn't planning to put you down at all," Halls replied. He raised his weapon to Preston's chest and pulled the trigger. The Cleric's body reacted automatically, moving him out of the range of fire. Almost immediately, he felt a stinging pain in his arm. That's impossible...I executed the correct move...I know I did... "You see, Preston," Halls said, still just visible in Preston's rapidly dimming vision, "the thing about Gun-Kata is that, by and large, it relies on your opponent firing bullets." He slid the gun easily into a wrist holster. Preston, looking down at the tranquillizer dart projecting from his arm, just had time to realise what had happened before he passed out. When he came to again, he was back in the medical wing. He'd been sat in a chair; hell, probably the same one he'd been in for that damn blood test. The only difference was that this time he couldn't move. Steel alloy restraints, made of the same material as the handcuffs used by the Tetra Grammaton, had been fastened around both wrists and ankles, his waist and his head, although Preston didn't fully understand the reasoning behind that last one. The restraints weren't painful, but they were tight enough to let him know that escape was not an option. Movement wasn't an option. He could breathe, blink, speak and that was about it. "Awake, are you?" Halls said calmly. "You're dead fucking meat, Halls," Preston said, somewhat clumsily. His tongue felt unaccountably too large for his mouth. "A simple yes would have sufficed." The Cleric glanced over his shoulder to where a medic was approaching with a Prozium canister. "Thank you." Halls intercepted the medic, took the canister and slid it into his neck, injecting the Prozium in one fluid motion. The medic looked somewhat taken aback. "Sir...that was for Cleric Preston." "What do you mean?" Halls said, after a short pause. "Standard procedure, sir," the medic answered. "All prisoners are to be summarily injected with Prozium." Terror froze Preston rigid. It wasn't so much terror of the Prozium, but of what it would mean. Once the soothing liquid entered his veins, he would have no compunction about destroying the whole of the First Resistance. And as Jurgen's...well, partner, he supposed, not to mention the head of security and law enforcement, he'd be able to instruct the Tetra Grammaton exactly where and when to attack. "Injected?" Halls said. "Is that wise?" Preston shot him a sharp look. Where was he going with this? "It's orders from the Vice-Council, sir," the medic answered, retrieving another canister and advancing on Preston with it. "You are not sticking that shit anywhere near me," Preston said in a deadly tone, although even as he spoke, he wondered how on earth he was supposed to prevent it. "It'll be over in a matter of seconds, sir." "'Sir'," Preston muttered. "He knocks me out, takes my sidearms, straps me in a chair, attempts to drug me into joining his team and he still calls me sir!" He glanced around, considering. If he made a suitably impressive attempt to free himself, there was a chance they might put him down. Hardly ideal, whichever way you looked at it, but it was a hell of a lot better than betraying his home. As if reading his mind, the sweepers simultaneously shifted their weapons down to point at the lower part of his body as the medic brought the canister around. Preston's eyes narrowed, understanding. They didn't need him to lead the attack. They just needed the information in his mind, and he was quite capable of giving them that without his legs. "Stop," Halls said levelly. The medic glanced up at him, his action momentarily arrested. "Sir, my orders are-" "Withdraw the canister and that's an order." The man shook his head. "I can't do that, sir. I'm sorry." Halls slid the setting on one of his guns from Auto to Single. "Leave," he said in a steely voice. "Now." "My orders are clear, sir." While respectful, the medic clearly wasn't about to risk disobeying the Vice-Council. Halls shrugged. "Your choice," he said, and fired six times. The first bullet went through the back of the medic's neck. The second, third and fourth put down three of the sweepers standing guard over Preston. The fifth bullet went into the face of a medical student, but that was an accident; the kid had just picked the wrong moment to open the door. The sixth and final bullet hit the locking mechanism on Preston's restraints, causing them to spring open. Instinct took over and Preston leapt to his feet, slamming an elbow into the fourth and last sweeper's face and snatching the man's gun, then spinning it around and bringing the butt down on a medical orderly who'd been stupid enough to attempt to sneak up from behind. There was a brief lull in the firing, caused by pure shock. Sweepers and medics alike stared at Halls, unable to comprehend what they were seeing. Preston could sympathise. He didn't have a damn clue what was going on either. But one thing he did know was that this was the perfect time to leave. He ran, and the spell was broken. A shower of bullets flashed past him, barely missing. The Cleric actually felt the wind from one graze his cheek. He hadn't bothered with Gun-Kata; the sweepers had been torn between shooting him and shooting Halls, and their aim had suffered accordingly. A new series of bullets whistled past him from the opposite direction and two sweepers dropped to the ground. Preston dodged sideways to the table, grabbed his guns and turned, not sure whether to shoot at Halls or the sweepers. "Don't be a damn fool!" Halls yelled at him. "Get out of here! Go!" He spun around, firing on another sweeper, taking the man down in a rain of bullets. "Damn you, Preston; will you get out while you can! I can't hold them off forever!" Preston hesitated. "But-" he began. "Go!" Preston snapped the safety off one of his guns, pointed it at the fuse box and fired. The light above him and most of the ones in the corridor flickered out, plunging the room into darkness. Taking advantage of his enemies' momentary confusion, Preston ran for the exit at the far end of the room, Halls close behind him. The door slammed shut behind him and Preston whirled to confront the other Cleric, one gun pointing directly at his face while the other covered the hallway ahead. "Oh, that's alright," Halls said acidly, his hands up (although still holding his guns). "Don't bother to thank me." "I wasn't going to," Preston retorted, too thrown by the sudden turn of events to soften the blow. "What the hell was that? You're on the dose!" "Yes," Halls answered. "And...no." "Which?" Preston demanded. "I saw you stick that thing into your neck! If you'd ejected it behind you or something, the sweepers would have shot you!" "Very good. Keep going; you're almost there." "You must have switched it," Preston reasoned. Halls sighed. "Well, you were almost there. Take your gun out of my face, Preston. If you're that keen on bloodshed, there should be a load of sweepers and Clerics along any second for you to play with. I'm sure you'll understand if I decide not to join you." Preston shook his head. "I don't believe in unnecessary violence." "While being one hundred percent behind the necessary sort, is that it?" Halls smirked slightly. "You and me, Preston, we're not so different after all." The muzzle of the other Cleric's pistol ground suddenly into Halls' forehead. "I am nothing like you," Preston all but snarled at him. If Halls had attempted to argue, if he'd repeated the statement, Preston would have shot him. As it was, he did nothing but smile, a cold, mirthless expression. "Will killing me kill the truth, Cleric? The only real difference between us is that I don't bother trying to justify my actions. I don't try and convince other people that the people I kill deserved to die." "And do they?" "Some do. Some don't. But look at it this way, Preston; if I don't kill them, they'll kill me, it's as simple as that." Taken off guard, Preston removed the gun warily, ready to replace it at a second's notice. "And you don't feel guilty." It wasn't a question. Halls shook his head. "About them?" He jerked a thumb back in the direction of the medical wing. "No. I might have done if they'd tried to run, or surrender. But people on Prozium don't do that, do they?" He shrugged. "Maybe there was a better way. We'll never know now. But I'm alive and they're not, and that's good enough for me." "Do you care or think about anything besides yourself?" Preston demanded. "Rarely," Halls said with disarming candour. A slightly bitter smile appeared on his face as he added, "I've been doing this for far, far too long to worry about things like that, Preston. Caring only gets you hurt." "You think so?" Halls raised his eyebrows. "Well, look where it got you." There was a silence. "Why should I trust you?" Preston said finally. "You shouldn't," Halls said matter-of-factly. "You never did before, despite that somewhat dramatic declaration of yours back in the medical wing. But unless I'm much mistaken, you have no choice." "And that's supposed to make me feel better, is it?" "I got you out of there, Preston. I don't expect thanks-your charms and tricks don't seem to extend to me and I don't think I'd fall for any of them anyway-but I did. I think that action alone ought to prove to you that I'm not on the dose." "But the blood test," Preston protested. "You may have switched the canister, but how could you have fooled the machine? Why would you want to?" he added, more to himself than to Halls, then glanced up at the other Cleric as a thought struck him. "Unless...unless you've only recently come off the dose. How long was I down there for?" "Two days," Halls answered composedly. "In that case-" Preston began, then stopped as his brain caught up with his ears. "How long?!" "Two days," Halls repeated. "The medic gave you an injection. Put you out for the count." "Then...no." Preston shook his head. No, that couldn't be it. Halls wasn't acting like a man who'd only just started to feel. He was acting like a man who'd been doing it for a long time. Ten years, if Preston remembered Jurgen's words correctly. "Of course, if you want, we could debate this a little longer," Halls said, a touch of impatience creeping into his tones. "There's no rush. We've got all the time in the world, so let's just hang around here and die, shall we?" Preston's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "I'm still not sure why you're doing this." "That much is obvious," Halls said tartly. "Why shouldn't I?" Preston raised a sarcastic eyebrow. "Oh, I don't know. But at the risk of completely changing the subject, how about you explain that little dose of Prozium you shot into yourself not half an hour ago?" "Yeah, that's a good idea," Halls said, in the tones of one who isn't really listening. "Here's one for you to think about. How about you shut up and get out of here? Or is that too complicated for you to understand?" Preston shook his head flatly. "Not without you." Halls smirked. "Didn't know you cared, Preston." "I don't," Preston said bitingly and with one hundred percent conviction. "But-" "Ah. I see. You just want to arrest me, is that it?" "More or less." "Right, right." There was a slight smile on the other Cleric's face that made Preston's fists itch. They'd been doing that a lot lately, he noticed. "You know you couldn't make it stick," Halls added as they started to make their cautious way down the corridor. "All I have to do is tell Jurgen about the Prozium and-" "Jurgen, Jurgen, Jurgen," Halls said softly. "That's your answer for everything, isn't it Preston?" A sweeper stepped out in front of them, gun raised, and Halls put a bullet neatly through the man's forehead. "First hint of something different," he continued, as if nothing had happened, "and you go running to Jurgen." "Shut up," Preston said tightly, white with anger. "Let me tell you something, Preston. Jurgen and I happen to be old friends, as it happens. There are things he knows about me that you don't, just like there are probably things he knows about you that I don't." A snicker issued from Halls' direction. "Tell him what you bloody like, Cleric; incriminate me all you want to. You'd never get him to believe you in a million years." "I said shut up!" Preston slammed into Halls, one arm across his throat, pinning him to the wall, the other pressing a gun into his temple. "You say one more word on this subject," Preston said, his tone deadly, "and I swear I'll pull this trigger." A smirk appeared on Halls' face. "You're bluffing." "I assure you I'm not." When no immediate answer was forthcoming, Preston went on. "There's only one way to find out, isn't there?" The smirk slowly spread out over Halls' face to become a grin. In spite of himself, Preston moved back slightly so he was holding the gun at arm's length. Very few people in Halls' position grinned like that, unless they were insane. Which would explain a great deal, Preston realised uncomfortably. He didn't know what effect Prozium would have on a madman; as far as he knew, it had never been tested. "Whatever you may think of me, Preston," Halls said, still wearing that unnerving grin, "I can tell you one thing that even you can't dispute." "What's that?" Preston said warily. "That if we don't get out of here as soon as possible, we're both fucked." Preston took another half step back, still keeping his gun trained on Halls' forehead. "You're insane," he stated. "I assure you I'm not," Halls mocked. "You are." "Am I?" Halls drawled. "You'd better humour me then, hadn't you, Preston?" "How do I know you're not going to try and kill me?" "I'm a Cleric. I don't try." Preston clicked the safety off. "You can't honestly expect me to trust you. I believe you to be mentally unbalanced and dangerously psychotic." Halls laughed, a harsh, chilling sound that had absolutely nothing to do with humour, but which Preston couldn't help feeling was undeniably sane. "Oh, I've heard that one before! But funnily enough," Halls said lazily, "I'm not the one who's assaulted and made numerous death threats against the same person I asked for help in getting into this hellhole. Take the gun away, Preston. If I was going to shoot you, I'd have done it already." "So I should trust you?" "Again with the trust thing! I can't answer that. But I want to get out of here alive. I'm hardly going to sacrifice myself just to take you down. Separately, we'd end up dead. Together, we may just have a chance." Halls glanced around, decided it was dark enough and reached up and pulled off his shades. That was better. Preston might not be able to see, but Halls wasn't so handicapped. There was a pause. "Alright," Preston said eventually. "Which way?" "Follow me." Halls was away from the wall and down the corridor almost before Preston was aware he'd spoken. The other Cleric took off after him, unable to see him but perfectly capable of following the amount of noise Halls was making, possibly on purpose. "Watch out for the-" "Ow!" "-chair," Halls finished, somewhat exasperatedly. It was the third time Preston had collided with something. "I wish you'd brought some infra-goggles." "Funnily enough," retorted Preston, who was now limping slightly, "I didn't think I'd end up following you through the belly of my enemy's most guarded stronghold." "You've been reading those EC-10 fantasy books again, haven't you?" Without waiting for a reply, Halls clicked a door at the end of the corridor open. Bright sunlight streamed through the crack, dazzling in the blackness. "Go on," Halls said. "Get out of here while you still can." "You-" "I'll follow, don't worry. I need time for my eyes to adjust before I can put the shades back on, else I'll be as blind as you." Still Preston didn't move. "Damn you, Preston, go! I'll catch up to you!" Halls closed his eyes, then roughly shoved the other man out the door. Preston hesitated, then turned and sprinted down the road, expecting at every moment to be cut down from behind. A prickling at the back of Halls' neck warned him of danger and he slammed the door shut abruptly and whirled, ready, then paused. Oh shit. Three Clerics, ten sweepers, and no way out. Halls grimaced. Life just kept getting better and better. "Cleric Kevin Halls," one of the Clerics said coldly, "you are under arrest." Without hesitation, Halls ejected both his sidearms, pointing them in opposite directions. "Drop your weapons," the Cleric ordered, "and get down on the ground." Halls considered. "No," he said easily. "No, I don't think I will, actually." "You're only making this harder on yourself, Cleric." A slight smile appeared on Halls' face. "You're the third group I've met who expected me to just hand over my guns. I'll tell you the same thing I told the first two. Come and get them yourself." "Where's Preston?" "Who? Oh, him. He said something about going to pay Vice-Council Hagon a little visit." Halls shrugged. "I haven't seen him since he left." There was a slight pause. "Give me that thing," the Cleric said abruptly, snatching something off one of the few sweepers still standing. Alarm shot through Halls as he saw what the Cleric was holding and he brought the other gun around, meaning to open fire with both simultaneously. Light-searing, blinding light-exploded in his vision, temporarily blinding him. One of his guns clattered uselessly onto the floor as Halls flung a hand across his eyes with an involuntary cry, twisting away from the beam of the torch which the Cleric held in one hand. Needles of pain pierced his head, shooting through it like lightning and rendering him helpless. His last conscious thought was, I should have worn the damn contact lenses. Then he felt a savage blow to the back of his already throbbing head, and the whole world went mercifully dark. Preston, leaning against a wall half a mile away and gasping for breath, had to admit he was now extremely confused. Chapter 9 >>>  more Equilibrium Fan Fiction