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Hello, Tiger here!

 

There is a story that I have been working on and posting on the SAMB, and I have decided to post it on here also:

 

Mission: Hardcore

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prologue:

 


July 4th, 2019

 


The snow was everywhere. It blanketed almost everything he could see, as if dust in an old, unused basement. Soon, the ground will be stained, no not stained, painted with red. And when a sad, lonely rain comes crashing down into the everlasting whiteness, light, turquoise blue reflecting the color of the sky, the colors of the American flag will be painted. But it wouldn’t be celebrated, it would be despised, separated from, like the Declaration of Independence, but more sudden, impulsive, strategic.

From this day, July 4th will mean more than independence from Britain, it will be;

 


“The day of the mutiny of the Antarctic 10th Defense Battalion,” said Captain Johny Rark. 

 


Captain Johny Rark, of the 10th Defense Battalion, whose battalion was categorized for mastery of arms and fighting, looked out into the whiteness.

 


“Sir, Commander Herek would like to see you,” said a lower class soldier.

 


“Tell him I am training my private soldiers,” Johny turned. “But sir, you aren’t doing that, you will be accused of lying,” nervously said the short soldier. 

 


“I demand silence!” Shouted Johny, “Today, the US Antarctic Base will perish, and all of the bases in the Frozen Continent will be united under my control!” The other man scampered away, terrified and sneaking glances at Johny. 

 


“Start the broadcast,” whispered the Captain into his com link. There was a barely audible mumble, understood as yes sir.

 


Everywhere, on all of the radios and TVs in the US Antarctic base, only Captain Rark could be heard. 

 


“Hello, my dear battallion. Today, you have a simple choice, either join me in my conquest to be ruler of the frozen continent, or oppose me and be eliminated. Simple enough.” The Captain rubbed his hands in anticipation. 

 


He listened to cries of “Traitor!” and other forms of slander. 

 


“My soldiers, oppose them it is, get to the armory!” he said through the com link.

 


Captain Rark, who barely participated in the fighting worked on finding Commander Braker. He heard soldiers running and throwing grenades, shooting and cries of pain. He smirked, “Today I will show them who is the boss, am I right?”

 


He was almost to Commander Braker’s private quarters when the last defenders blocked him. He fired a couple of quick shots and the soldiers fell to the floor. One of the soldiers, the strongest rose up from the floor. “I finally have more supporters,” thought Rark.

 


The man crossed his arms over his chest and said solemnly, “For justice.”

 


The burly man charged at Rark, only to die from a fatal bullet. “That wasn’t a fitting death for a soldier like you,” said Rark quietly. The Captain charged and rammed the Commander’s door. The solid, metal door wouldn’t budge. He rammed it again, and it still wouldn’t budge, even an inch. He finally threw a melter, a type of grenade that can melt almost any type of metal.

 


He watched the door glow orange-red and it suddenly started melting away, he watched molten metal drip from the edges of the door frame and onto the cold, emotionless metal floor.

 


Captain Rark walked into the Commander’s quarters. It was empty, except for a few unfinished maps on his desk. Johny suddenly turned around to a sound of loud footsteps. 

 


Commander Braker stood there, his private soldiers holding Rark’s at bay.

“Broadcast this to the whole US,” said Rark over the com link, “Let the whole US see one of their greatest commanders defeated.”

 


“You,” said Commander Braker, pointing his finger, “Are accused of treason.” “You can be sentenced to prison, or die fighting for the wrong purpose, Johny Rark.

 


“Excuse me sir,” said Rark with a smirk, “But I think you, Jack Tom Braker, is the one not willing to accept the revolution! Attack!”

 


A skirmish broke out in the hallway, and while Rark’s forces were being pushed to the freezing whiteness outside, he gave a mischievous smile as it was all under his plan. When the door was opened and they stepped outside into the whiteness, the rebellion opened fire on their captain’s command.

 


Commander Braker, not expecting this stood there, trying to save everything he had worked for and the justice he had preserved, leaped forward into the gunfire, grappling with Rark, in the marsh-like, melting whiteness, accidently dropping his trusty pistol. Suddenly, there was an extemely loud shot, and Braker, rolled away, painting the snow with blood, and the sad rain painted it blue, turquoise blue like the color the droplets reflected.

 

 

 

 


While this all happened:

 


A couple, Fred Braker, Commander Braker’s son and Samantha Braker, his wife, watched TV, never expecting what would happen next. 

 


Everyone’s TV set in the US, whose channel’s were hacked and turned, almost as if turning and viewing something new, viewed the same thing. Commander Braker’s defeat and death, fighting against the mutiny.

 


Fred, who previously had his hand over his pregnant wife’s belly, sat there in shock, his eyeballs begging to turn away but his mind, not wanting to believe, made them stay. 

 


He watched his father roll over, painting the snow with blood, and Rark’s manic-like laughter, and…and the whiteness, melting away slowly after the cold rain, like how his father’s life was drained away by the mutiny Rark led, and the single, fatal bullet that delivered his murder.

 


Samantha, who was defined by her actions as a weird, but beautiful woman, wanting to take Fred’s eyes away from the horror, slowly said;

 


“What are we going to name our son?” 

 


“Tom,” the father’s head turned, “Tom Braker.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Forum Bros with Arl!

 

“In times of darkness, conjure Lumos. - Tiger

 

Founder and Editor of the SAMB Forum Newspaper.

 

Sebastian, Camelia, Resha, Markus.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 1: Potential

 


16 years after the events of the prologue:

 


Tom Braker clutched his hopper, or paintball gun and shot a glance, leaning his body slightly out of the tree, his temporary cover. He saw an enemy player, who didn’t see him yet.

 


“The perfect targets are always those who don’t notice you,” thought Tom.  

 


He clutched the hopper, started firing paintballs and rushed the player. He was splatted with paint and looked around, still not knowing how he got hit. 

 


“Ugh, it fires to slow for my skills,” said Tom over the walkie-talkie system his team uses to communicate, their own com link.

 


“Be quiet Braker,” said the team captain, Gerald Metting, then he yelled, “Braker, I can see two players flanking you!” 

 


Tom made short work of the two, he considered himself to be a ninja, no, a samurai because of his skills.

 


One of the most aggressive players on Tom’s team, Joe Anderson yelled something over the com link that Tom understood as:

 


“I’m rushing one of their snipers, they don’t seem me yet, get me cover Gerald!” 

 


“Braker, you are up,” 

 


“What? For what?” Tom asked. 

 


“Nevermind that, just cover Joe!” Tom turned and ran to provide Joe cover, while a firing squad of 2 started ganging up on him. He heard firing in his direction as a teammate covered him. 

 


“Focus,” Tom told himself, “Your job is to provide cover to Joe.” 

 


He heard the man covering him yelp and a bit of paint splashed on Tom’s leg. At least his cover provider managed to splat the firing squad with paint, but there was last enemy player, a sniper, the one that Joe rushed and went into hiding.

 


Now there was firing at him. Tom ran away, looking back every few moments and diving behind covers. He heard Joe get shot, yelp and raise his hands up, stepping out of the arena. It was only him and Gerald left fighting.

 


“Wow, this sniper is incredibly annoying,” sighed Gerald over the com link. 

 


“Totally not,” Tom said sarcastically. “Let’s just get this game done with and leave with another win,” Gerald said. “Duh!” yelled Tom.

 


The sniper, taking advantage of the distraction started firing. They came whizzing by like arrows shot by a crossbow, but faster and more superior.

 


Gerald was shot thrice by the sudden rapid-fire, twice in the chest and once on his right leg, and fell to the floor from the combined impact of all 3 paintballs.

 


“Braker, you are alone,” said Gerald over the com link once he was out of the arena, “Remember to be smart and not impulsive.” “I think I know you all are out, and I am alone.” said Tom.

 


The same style of rapid-fire came again, and Tom dived behind a large oak tree, it’s dense, old, gnarled trunk blocked the paintballs from him, while it received a blue paint job.

 


“I have to be careful,” thought Tom, “And I have to find out where the sniper is hiding.”

 


The rapid-fire came as soon as Tom leaned slightly out of his cover and shot a glance in the sniper’s general direction. Tom got the sniper to fire his usual barrage, but instead of waiting behind the tree, he ran forward and dived behind another cover. He used the same pattern to advance forward again.

 


He looked out and saw the enemy player scamper to another cover, and Tom finally pulled the trigger on his hopper after not using it for a while, closed his eyes, and listened to the paintball fire out of the hopper and splatter the paint it held on something.

 


When he opened his eyes, he saw the enemy player with his arms raised and red paint splatter on his chest.

 


Team Samurai-Ninjas cheered for Tom, as he walked out of the arena, victorious. He felt great as his team celebrated him and he shook hands with the opposite team’s captain, Mark Toman of the Vikings.

 


His own team patted him on his back and he listened to them saying things like, “Great job Braker!”, “You totally Broke through their lines!” While smiling.

 


When Braker got home, instead of being showered with praise, he just heard his dad, Fred Braker hollering across the house, 

 


“Go shower and change, then do your chores!” 

“Dad, I think I know this stuff, I am already 15 and 3 quarters years old!” Tom hollered back.

 


When no reply was heard, Tom just sighed, grabbed a pair of clothes and walked to the shower. While showering, he just thought, “Why? Why does it have to be like this?” He sighed again, “If only my parents knew I was doing this for them, if only they could hear me out…”

 


Two hours later, at the dining table with his parents, he tried to persuade them again. “Mom, dad, can you please listen to me this one time?” 

 


“If it is about the Falcon Fighter T-50, then it is a no,” said his mom, Samantha Braker. 

 


“But if I get a better gun and win the 2035 Wisconsin National Championship with my team, then I will give all of the money I won to you guys, I know our finance is bad right now, but I am trying to help us all, the family!” he suddenly started yelling.

 


“Who even said you were going to the National Championship?” asked his dad.

 


“And if you go, who said you will win?” asked his mom with a raised eyebrow.

 


“How do you think you will make time for earning the money that you need to enter the Championship if you make such a big deal about getting ready for your weekly games?” his dad said.

 


“I am done!” shouted Tom, “Who needs Grandpa Jack’s old, rusty hopper that he used since he was a child, when I could work hard for a couple months, earn some money and buy the Falcon Fighter T-50, I could sell Grandpa Jack’s hopper on Ebay, and enter the National Championship next year!” 

 


Tom got up and walked to his room, slamming the door behind him and locking it. 

 


His mom knocked on the door, “It’s not like what you think,” she pleaded to her son. 

 


“Then what is it? You don’t want me to use anything else but Grandpa Jack’s hopper, just because he died in a car accident!” yelled Tom from inside the room.

 


“Tom Jack Braker,” yelled his dad, “It really isn’t what it seems like, Grandpa Jack didn’t die in a car accident!”

 


“Fred, why are you telling him now? When we have kept it from him for almost 16 years? I was going to tell him when he was 18, right before he left the house?” 

 


“It’s going to be more traumatizing the later you tell him, the longer you wait!”

 


“Wait, mom, dad, what are you hiding from me?” he asked. 

 


“The fact that your Grandpa Jack died-“ his dad was interrupted by a female voice, “The fact that we bought the Falcon Fighter T-50 and we were waiting to give it to you on your 16th birthday, in-time for the National Championship.”

 


“Wait, I want to listen to what dad was saying,” said Tom, opening up to the idea a little more.

 


“Son, your Grandpa Jack died during the Antarctic Mutiny of the 10th Defense Battallion when Captain Johny Rark led his private group of soldiers against your grandpa and his fellow defenders,” said Fred, while holding his hand over Samantha’s mouth.

 


“So, you guys, my parents were hiding this from the whole time!” Tom yelled, “If you told me earlier, I would have understood everything, I wouldn’t have argued, I would have accepted it and gratefully used the hopper Grandpa Jack left behind!” Tears started welling up in his eyes,

“But you kept it from me, and I suffered even more that way!”

 


“Tom,” his mom’s sweet voice said, “Tom, I was the one who didn’t let Fred, your father tell you because I thought you wouldn’t suffer as much if you never knew, and now I realize I am wrong, so please don’t blame your dad.”

 


Tom, who was overwhelmed with all of this, locked himself in his room until the next morning…

 

 

 

He heard a beeping sound. Tom groaned and rolled over, shutting off his alarm clock. He forced himself to get up, despite it was only 4:30, the new time he set for himself to avoid his parents completely. He did 50 sit-ups, then 40 push-ups, before making himself an omelette for breakfast. 

 


He grabbed his backpack and his review papers, and biked to school. 

When he arrived, he saw George Quainsworth, his best friend talking to a girl wearing a Wonder Woman costume to school, the only dialogue he heard was:

 


“Hi, I am George Quainsworth,” his best friend said that was considered mentally-weird by many others.

 


“Hi, I am Wonder Woman,” smirked Clara Osweld, in a Wonder Woman costume.

 


“Oh, we are using our fake names I guess, then I am Howard Quainsworth,” said George.

 


“Why are you using the name of your brother?” asked Clara.

 


“Oh, because my parents are on the slightly older side-“ “George, your mom is 86 and your dad is 92,” interrupted Tom as he pedaled in-between the pair.

 


“To continue, my parents are very old, have amnesia and call me Howard because they only remember my brother who died in a car accident.” said George.

 


“They told me that I have amnesia and that’s why I can’t always exactly remember their ages, and plus Howard is my middle name,” added George.

 


“Oh, that’s nice,” said Clara, not knowing what to say.

 


“Oh and by the way, I feel Principal Yan will catch you in that outfit and have you put in detention…” said Tom as a finishing line.

 

 

 

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Forum Bros with Arl!

 

“In times of darkness, conjure Lumos. - Tiger

 

Founder and Editor of the SAMB Forum Newspaper.

 

Sebastian, Camelia, Resha, Markus.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tomie all the way

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              ʀʊռɛ

          She Her Timelord

➻ Triplet with Time and Tiger

➻ Definitely not Swampy

➻ Creator of CC

 

Technically, good times don't ever end. We'll always remember them, and they'll take a special place in our hearts.

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- Lahash -

Also known as Samurai

Est. January 2014

 

Black Belt

Super Saiyan

Author of the Path of Legends series - coming 2020!

 

Here with Jaguar and Tarik.

 

Thx guys!!!

  • Posted at:

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↰↱!Gə

 

Forum Bros with Arl!

 

“In times of darkness, conjure Lumos. - Tiger

 

Founder and Editor of the SAMB Forum Newspaper.

 

Sebastian, Camelia, Resha, Markus.