Per 
…but once you've been freed from It, it's more like noise. Loud, disgusting, noise. But still noise. There's no words, obviously, it's thoughts, feelings all around you. From the few specks of iron in the walls that were once someone's blood, to the proteins in my brain recycled through the generations, over and over again. All shouting at me. 'Make it stop!' 'I can't take it anymore!' 'Please! Please! Please! I can't breathe!' 'Someone! Anyone! Anything! Anything but this! I want out!'
'Get us out!'
'Get us out!'
'Get us out!'
Yes! We're working on it! Now shut the fuck up already.
"I asked you a question!"
Hm? Oh, right.
I looked to the towering man in front of me. His stained and battered blue uniform bearing the familiar insignia. His face was a suitable reflection of the state of his organization. The Coalition had seen better days. Tends to happen after a year of fighting psychotic monsters and killing machines bent on total destruction. Sorry about that…
Just kidding.
"What happened to you!?" The soldier with the name-patch 'Geralds' asked. "You Foundation freaks were normal one day, the next you're… this! What happened!? Why did you stop being human!?"
I exchanged a look with Pat, handcuffed to the chair next to me. Our eyes said the same thing: Can you believe this guy?
We laughed.
The other Coalition Soldier, the one whose patch read 'Jose', punched the wall of the trailer.
"The fuck, man! Let's just kill these sickos already!"
"You know that won't get us anywhere!" Geralds snapped back at him, "You've seen it yourself."
"And this will?" Jose said.
I'll admit, when they first caught us, I was surprised. When they walked us into the back of their small support truck with 'enhanced interrogation' in mind, I was at least expecting something interesting. This was just pathetic.
While the two bozos argued, I glanced again at Pat. Staring absentmindedly at nothing, only her hands seemed to be at work. Her fingers feeling around the rim of her cuffs. Ah, so that was her plan…
Geralds sighed. A faint ding came from his laptop, which he decided was a better use of his time than exchanging more anger with his partner. Can't blame him.
Jose continued to pace across the small space that housed the four of us. Giving us a look of disgust and shaking his head. It didn't make me feel anything, I doubt it even would have back before my mind was freed. Ever since that night last December, it didn't feel like anything could get me to care about the opinions of others again. Felt amazing.
"Here we go!" Geralds said, apparently scrolling something on his computer. "Facial match came back."
"Alright," Jose said. "Who do we got?"
"One Patricia Zhang," Geralds said, looking to my right, "and Harrison Teach." He locked eyes with me.
"Foundation operatives since 2004 and 1998, respectively," He continued. "Both are MTF Tau-51 ('Urban Brawl'). They've been seen deployed across the midwest, undermining relief efforts in small and mid-sized towns through espionage."
Jeez, want my phone number too?
"How many have we lost to them?" Jose asked.
"Doesn't matter," Geralds sighed. "They're too valuable to kill now. We'll just have to make them talk."
Pat was still working her cuffs, but Gerald's attention seemed stuck on me.
"Mr. Teach," he said. "Says here you were born in Henderson, Iowa."
You mean the town you just caught me sneaking into? The one whose road this truck is sitting on right now? What a coincidence.
When was Pat going to make her move? This guy was getting annoying.
"You lived here with your father, until he died when you were, let's see… fourteen?"
Cancer. The second most parasitic thing within us.
"That must've been hard for you."
The trauma card? Really? I suppose I could have opened my mouth, I could've told him all about it. My father's hand gripping mine and my mother's, my eyes sore and salty from the wiping. His last words to us before we turned in for the night…
'Don't be afraid, son. I'll be in a better place soon.'
Guess I took that first suggestion too literally. As for the "better place"…
Well, even if we lost, I could proudly count myself one of the lucky few who wouldn't be facing that particular forever. Good career move if I do say so myself.
"I lost my father," Geralds said. "Was living in New York when you hit it with your bioweapon. Every night I pray he was one of the causalities, and not the infected."
Oh my god. Who the hell cares.
But still, near the edge of my vision I could see the movement of Pat's hand, trying to get leverage under the metal. I couldn't let the attention fall on her. I needed to say something, something that could make them stop and think for a moment.
"Have you ever read Lord of the Flies?" I asked.
"Excuse me?"
"Really?" I rolled my eyes. "I get it, you're a G.O.C. soldier. You dropped out of your nerdy high school to justify your need to shoot things with an army career, and that led you here."
"Excuse me!?" He said again.
"Lord-of-the-Fucking-Flies." I said, banging my cuffed wrists against the chair. "It's a book they made us nerds read-"
"Yes!" Geralds yelled. "I know what it is!"
Then why didn't you say so? Was this his interrogation technique? To piss me off until I have a stroke?
"Bunch of boys crash on an island." Geralds said. Both his and Jose's eyes were locked on me. "The older one, Ralph, tries to keep them alive and civilized. But the hunting boy, Jack, takes over and they descend into savagery."
"Yes," I said, smiling. "Once Ralph's followers are all dead or defected, Jack leads his own to try and kill him."
"If I recall, they set fire to the entire island. Then the Naval Captain-"
"Yes, yes. The grown-ups save the day. An almost-happy ending."
"Almost?" Geralds said. "Why is it- why are you even telling me this?"
"It's a metaphor." I told him.
"Okay," he shrugged. "And? All you and your Foundation friends have done, other than kill everyone, is throw out this cryptic shit."
He wasn't wrong.
"What do you expect?" He continued. "We're just going to take it? 'Oh boy your statement answered everything! We won't stop you from killing us anymore! Please come over and fucking kill us!"
Geralds slammed his laptop shut. Did I piss him off? Whoops.
"What even am I in that metaphor!? Jack? Ralph? Fucking Roger? The Navy Man?"
I looked into his eyes, flashing with anger… and a spark of something else.
I chuckled, "There's no Navy man coming to stop us, unfortunately."
"Ah, there it is." He said, "So you guys are Jack and his gang. Okay then, now why's there no Navy Man?"
Smiling, I gave him that one bit that never got old.
"I wasn't talking to you, you guys are the fruit trees. I'm talking to Ralph."
That spark in his eyes returned. That's right, you little parasitic bastard, you heard me.
A loud crack came from the chair next to me. Faster than they could react, Pat threw her twisted hand forward and raked her nails across Jose's face.
I planted my feet in the floor, and pushed myself forward. My head collided with Gerald's gut, pushing him back as he fiddled for his gun.
Pushing myself up was difficult with the weight of the chair on my back. But once 'tired' becomes a message and not a feeling, limits can be pushed further than you ever thought possible.
Landing on his rear as his back hit the wall, I got on him. I slammed my head into his, over and over again. Laughing at him, at his stupidity, at the futility of his effort.
Pulling away, I looked down at Gerald's face. His forehead was bruised and beaten, his eye twitching. He fell over.
Bam!
Jose fell to the ground on the other side of the trailer, blood erupting from a hole in his neck. Pat bent down, Jose's pistol in one hand, the other combing his pockets until she found a key.
"Took you long enough." I threw myself against the floor, and inched my way towards her. "Asshole was about to talk me to death."
Pat pulled the pistol back, sure enough, there was a bullet in the chamber. She lowered the barrel to my face. "I believe you meant to thank me for saving us."
I laughed. "Fuck you."
She smiled, putting the gun between her teeth while she reached for my hands. With a simple click of the key, my left arm was free. She reached down for my right.
BAM!
A spatter of blood shot from her chest, landing on my face. At least shoot her through the brain next time, less mess.
She collapsed. Sure enough, pushing himself up behind her, was Geralds.
Forgot to take his gun… oh well. Get busy fighting or get busy dying.
I flattened myself behind Pat. She was still breathing, so I hope she appreciated the honor of being my shield. With my left hand I grabbed the keys, moving them to my right wrist.
Gerald's thundering steps drew closer.
Click.
With one quick motion, my right hand swiped the pistol from Pat's mouth. I aimed up, firing three rounds into our G.O.C. friend's stomach.
He cried out, stumbling back and hitting the wall. I like it when my enemies give me gifts, like a nice moment of stillness. I thanked him by shooting him in the knee, then the other.
He collapsed on the ground, and I took the final shot. Or I would have, had the magazine not been empty. What's the opposite of a gift? Whatever it is, I hated when my guns gave me that.
Sprinting to Gerald, I swiped the gun from his hand. His trembling fingers tried to grab me. Stubborn until the end, I can appreciate that. All the same, I grabbed his left hand as it gripped my pants.
He responded by grabbing the gun with his right. I think he forgot that hands weren't our only weapons. I kindly reminded him, bending down and slipping my mouth over two of his fingers. I bit down.
With a yell, he let go of my gun, but I wasn't done yet. I pushed my teeth together until I heard a crunch. Geralds pulled his hand away, where his fingers had been there was only erupting blood.
While he kept screaming like some weirdo, I took the opportunity to neutralize his other appendage with a bullet. No more hand days for Mr. Geralds indeed.