The Revolution

His back slams against the broken cement, harsh wind whipping at the yellow and red scarf around his neck.

“WHERE THE HELL DID SHE GET A GODDAMN RPG?!?” he screams, poking the barrel of the Galil out and snapping off a few rounds.

His shout is directed at the brown haired boy across the street, crouched next to a burning car, Dragunov nestled in the empty window.

“Fuck if I know! We just gotta put her down bef-“

The explosion is bright, so much so that he can see it through clenched eyes.

Another brother in arms… lost to the Feminists.

Screaming a cry for the fallen, he breaks from cover, Galil spitting out hot death as he rushes the girl’s position. He manages to make it a few yards before she reloads, kneeling both to avoid the haphazard shooting, and for better aim at her target.

Those thick STUPID frames…

Not today, he thinks, diving forward into an alley to avoid the rocket. Fortunately it misses, leaving a swirling trail of smoke as it zooms upwards.

“D-Damnit…” she curses, fumbling for the USP on her hip.

Pulling the pistol free, she eases her way to the alley, intent on taking the man by surprise. Flattening herself against a wall, she makes careful steps to avoid knocking anything loose and betraying her position. As she gets closer, her heart begins to pound in her chest, and nerves start to get to her.

What if he’s waiting?

What if he’s faster?

What if I choke?

She stops for a second, shaking her head side to side in an attempt to clear the vile thoughts from her head. She’s a soldier for the Feminist movement, one of the best they have, no goddamn Chauvinist was going to put her down, not even their leader.

Finally she reaches the alley, and she takes a deep breath before whipping around and drawing a bead on…
On nothing…

He’s not there?

He’s not there?!?

Her frustration is expressed with an angry grunt, and she’s distracted enough that she doesn’t hear him drop from the mangled fire escape over her.

They both tumble to the ground, and it takes him a mere second to drive the smooth edge of the knife home.

He waits until her death rattle sounds before climbing off her, wiping the blood off the knife, and returning it to its sheath.

Another battle won, but the war still rages onward.