Sci-Fi Showdown Round 2.0 - Dystopian Quotes (Quotes Highlighted in Bold)
Fisher - The Future is Mine
The moments right before a kill are always the worst.
That short period of time is the most terrifying experience a sane person can ever have. It's during those painful seconds that human fallacy, the pure fragility of physical existence, seems the most clear. The fact that you might be breathing your last breath, that your life may have reached its end, that all your preparations and study might have been for naught, is impossible to ignore.
There is nothing else that fills the body with as much power and adrenaline as knowing that you hold the end of another being's life in your hands and the adrenaline momentary clouds the functioning of your moral compass. Although this is the closest you can get to death, there is never a moment you feel more alive - it is a sensation unlike any other.
Thankfully, the regret wouldn't show up until later.
Wes Fisher took a long, calming breath, eyeing his target through the scope of his sniper rifle. He had waited so long for this moment. Many years of painful sacrifice had gotten him here and many lives had been lost along the way. But all of that hard work was finally coming to a culmination. Today he would show them that he was more than just a slave.
Today he would change the world.
He just needed to do his job.
He wiped the rain water off his scope and cleared his throat. The night was freezing cold; the heavy summer rain had chilled him to the bone and the wind was constantly threatening to throw him off this roof and into oblivion. But his own health was the least of his worries. He had a mission. Failure was not an option. It was time to get to work.
He slowly panned the crosshairs over the outline of the gigantic skyscraper, gliding past the rows of slick, moonlit windows. He counted them out one by one, searching for the only room that mattered to him: the room where the enemy was hiding.
"Target is in Room 89-B?"
"Affirmative," replied Kyrsha, the red haired, twenty-two year old Private that was lying on the rooftop beside him, logging their location into a computer.
Fisher nodded and settled his aim on the appropriate window. He imagined the man that was sitting inside that room, imagined how safe he must feel behind that bulletproof glass, those reinforced walls, that sophisticated security system. But no amount of tinting would be enough to protect him from the greatest Commander the military had ever seen. The Army had placed that man's head on a platter and now his reign of terror was finally coming to an end - Fisher was here to make sure of that. The target only had a few more minutes to live and death by gunshot wounds was a fitting end to his infamous existence. Fisher's target wouldn't harm anyone else ever again.
Pill Dodgers all deserved to die.
He shook his head at the irony of that thought. He had been sent to kill the Pill Dodger, when he was no better than a Pill Dodger himself.
Fisher activated his gun's infrared sensors and the adjacent room sprang to vibrant, orange and blue light. He could now see every heat source, human or otherwise, that was inside. There was a single orange colored outline, pacing back and forth with his hand up to his head like he was holding a cell phone. Wes centered his sights over where the target's head should be, stretched his neck and steeled himself. It was time.
"Got a bead on the target?" Kyrsha asked.
"Yeah, I got him," Fisher replied.
He squeezed the handle of the rifle hard and took a deep breath to keep from shaking. This shot had to be perfect. He would have to compensate for the speed of the wind, the interference by the rain, the thinness of the air caused by their altitude - everything. But he could pull it off, and he wouldn't need the help of the gun's automated aim assist either. He was much too good for that.
"Wes, I'm moving into position," said a his subordinate, over his com-link.
"Roger that," Fisher replied. "Any sign of hostiles?"
"Negative, sir. All clear."
"When you get a shot, you take it," said the Field Commander in his ear.
Fisher nodded silently. Despite all the things the target had done to this country, regardless of all the ways he had terrorized humanity, Fisher almost didn't want to shoot the gun. Nothing would ever get him used to the idea of being the catalyst that removed another being from this world. But he shook his head, made that thought flee from his consciousness. He had been given a job and he knew what had to be done. He was ready - no more waiting. It was time. He took one last deep breath and said a brief prayer.
And then he pulled the trigger.
The sound of the gunshot smacked into Fisher's ears loud and pungently, and his rifle snapped backwards into his shoulder. A razor thin line of pure energy shot out of the muzzle and rocketed through the air, leaving steaming drops of rain floating up in its wake. Fisher followed the beam with his eyes and watched as it passed through the steel wall, smacked into the man's head, and sent him spiraling to the ground.
"Do we have a confirmed kill?" Wes asked, keeping his eye on the target's body.
"I'm scanning the room now," Kyrsha replied, tapping away at her computer. The next few seconds were tense. No one so much as uttered a word as the entire Squadron waited for the results. But Fisher didn't need to hold his breath. There was only one way that something like that could end. No one could survive something like that, and he never, ever missed.
"Men," Kyrsha said, "target is terminated."
Fisher was nearly deafened by the shouts of excitement that came across his radio link. They had a right to be happy, a right to be proud. Months of collective hard work and dedication had finally come to a close. They had hunted that scum for months and he was now going to go down in history. Wes Fisher had just become a hero.
Wes Fisher was now a legend.
He just didn't feel like one.
"Nice shot, Commander Fisher," Kyrsha said, slapping him on the shoulder. "Congratulations."
"You did it, Commander!"
"Nice job, son!"
"Yeah!" McCoy screamed in their ears. "Let's go fry some more, let's go hunting!"
"Now, now, calm down, we're not finished yet," Fisher said. "McCoy, get in there with the extraction team. We need to get out of here before civilians get wind of what's going on."
"On it sir! Nice job!"
Fisher nodded and took a moment to take his eyes off of the sniper scope. The adrenaline was still running through him and he had to breathe deeply to bring himself back down. He stared out over the dark buildings of the sleeping city, taking in the dripping skyscrapers and blazing advertisements. One more Pill Dodger had been taken off the streets.
Today was a good day wasn't it?
If it was, why didn't he feel better about himself?
"That was quite a shot, Commander."
Fisher smiled and glanced at Kyrsha, watched as her hair swam wildly through the high altitude winds.
"Impressed, are ya'?" He replied.
She nodded.
"That was alright. The Supreme Commander actually has some skills I guess."
Fisher chuckled.
"You know I hate being called that."
"And that's why I say it."
"You're a jerk."
"Am I?" Kyrsha said, flashing him a smile.
"You better watch out Commander, don't want to tick her off. You would'nt like her when she's angry," McCoy said over the Contact Line.
Kyrsha rolled her eyes.
"How do you think the Sergeant is going to feel about all this?" She said, this time making sure to put her palm over her microphone.
"I don't know, I just know that he's going to be very appreciative. Hopefully good things come out of this for all of us..."
"Commander, I'm entering the target zone."
"Roger that," Fisher said, turning back to his scope and eyeing the room across the street. "Officer Smith, check the room for any Bio-Signatures."
Kyrsha nodded.
"All clear guys, move in on the target."
"Roger that," said McCoy over voice-link.
Fisher watched through his scope as McCoy's heat signature walked into the room. He watched the man scan the area, cautiously leading with his gun and checking every corner, every crevice for hostiles and attackers, just like he had been taught.
"Looking good so far McCoy," Fisher said. "Smith, its time to get going."
"Got it sir," Kyrsha replied.
"See anything McCoy?"
"Everything's clear, Commander. Place is a bit of a mess though. Target had a lot of loot up here, a bunch of ViewScreens and TeleModules. You think we can pocket some of this stuff, sir?"
"Stay professional, McCoy, leave it for CSI."
"I know, sir, I know, I'm just saying..."
"Do you have eyes in the body?"
"Intercepting it now."
Fisher turned back to Kyrsha.
"How much longer do we have Smith?"
"Three minutes."
"Got it."
Fisher stripped his shoulder pack off his back, ripped open the zipper, and started tossing his supplies inside. There were only a few minutes until the drop ship would arrive and pilots hated being kept waiting. They were cutting it close. He didn't want to have to force the drop ship to stall...
"Sir, McCoy has stopped moving."
"He did what?"
Fisher dropped down to the rooftop and brought his scope up to his eye. McCoy had indeed fact stopped moving and was standing in the middle of the floor, totally still.
"McCoy, what are you doing, what is the status of the mission?"
"Sir, I hear something."
"You hear what?"
"It's...it's ticking sir."
"McCoy, grab the body and get out of there."
But McCoy disobeyed. He ran to the opposite side of the room, away from the dead terrorist, and started grabbing at the wood paneling. He pulled handfuls of the things off and tossed them over his back and onto the floor with reckless abandon.
"Officer, what are you doing!"
"Sir...there's a bomb"
Fisher felt his heart drop to his feet.
"What?"
"There's a bomb, it's live!"
Fisher shook his head. He should have expected this - the mission had gone too easily. The terrorist had been expecting them and had laid a trap, and they had fallen right into it. He swore. Something had to be done about this, but just because they through a wrench into things didn't mean that they would fail. He needed this mission to go well, he had too much riding on it for it all to be screwed up. Fisher made a snap decision. That body had to be taken back to base and buried - it was mission protocol. That meant that there was still a job to be done.
"Grab the body and get out of there," Fisher said.
"But sir, I need to get out of he..."
"I said get the body and go!"
McCoy hesitated for just a millisecond, and then he obeyed. He ran towards the downed body and draped the dead man over his shoulder, not even bothering to clean the blood that had been splattered everywhere.
"Good, now carry him out of there. You're going to make it McCoy. You're gonna make it."
Fisher watched him through his scope, feeling like his forehead was on fire, constantly having to wipe the rain and the sweat from out of his eyes. He could feel the seconds flashing by, hoping that somehow McCoy could do the impossible.
But the impossible was impossible for a reason.
McCoy, in his haste, stumbled and fell to the ground. Kyrsha screamed.
"McCoy, are you alright? Are you hurt?"
"No, I'm alright - ah, oh my God!"
And then came the explosion. There was an ear shattering blast that shook the ground, blew out all of the windows in the adjacent floor and threw Fisher and Kyrsha into their backs. Fisher's head smacked into the slick roof and it took him a second to regain consciousness, but when he did, he jumped to his feet to see what had happened. The entire floor of the skyscraper had been totally wiped out. All that remained was a mass if smoldering steel and wood. Burning gases and thick, acrid smoke wafted up into the night time air. Fisher grabbed handfuls of his hair and swore. McCoy hadn't stood a chance.
What had he done?
Kyrsha rose to her feet and stared at the burnt out remains of the hotel floor where their comrade had been standing moments before.
"My God."
"My sentiments exactly," Fisher said.
"Is there any way...?"
"No. He's gone."
"Shouldn't we check..."
"We need to go."
They stood there in silence, letting the wind whip around their faces. Fisher took his helmet off his head, pressed it against his chest, and said a short prayer. But then he shook himself, and all was forgotten.
"Drop ship, we are clear for lift," he said in to into his microphone.
There was a whoosh sound overhead, and a small, grey steel hovercraft floated down out of the clouds and hung in the air above them. A pair of slender lines of rope streaked from the hull of the ship and Fisher and Kyrsha both grabbed one of them and attached them to their waist harnesses.
"Aerial, we are good to go."
The hovercraft's engine whined and it floated up into the air, dragging the two soldiers along with it. Then they were plucked up into the air and drawn up into the ship and the flew off into the clouds, leaving the destruction and death behind.
...
Three days later
Every man has to decide for themselves which side they are on.
"Every man has to decide for themselves which side they are on," the crowd repeated.
We have chosen the side of righteousness.
"We have chosen the side of righteousness."
We have chosen to evolve.
"We have chosen to evolve."
The voices of the chanting soldiers reverberated through the War Room, the gigantic auditorium where the soldiers met to discuss important matters, and to be scanned. Their voices lined up exactly with the voice of the President, whose face was displayed on giant screens dotted across the rooms walls and ceiling. No one so much as stumbled of their lines; they made sure that every syllable was pronounced fluently and clearly. The Powers that Be would be watching and none of them wanted to be suspected of disloyalty, of being up off their meds, or, worse if all, of treason.
Fisher stuck his hands in his pockets, standing one of the dozens of lines of soldiers waiting to have their subconscious analyzed. He wished he was anywhere but here. He hated standing in this gigantic room, half blinded by the sun streaming in through the gigantic windows, voice dry from chanting the same four lines all morning. He understood that the Leaders wanted to make sure that all of their members were completely and totally loyal, but did they really need to scan them each and everyday? Wasn't it enough to have their word, didn't they have any faith in all the security measures that they constantly shoved down their throats?
But Fisher knew better than anyone that their security measures deserved no faith. He cheated them each and every day.
He shook his head, forcing that thought as far away from his mind as possible. He couldn't have any thought of his crimes in his mind when his brain was scanned, lest the machines catch on to his residual thought patterns and he be punished severely. He forced himself to out his mind to other things, to think about something happy, and his mind wondered to Kyrsha. He imagined her beautiful smile, the way her hair swept in the wind and bounced when she walked. What was she doing right now? Was she in line, waiting to be scanned just as he was? Or was she with Johnson, that new recruit she had been talking to recently? Fisher frowned. He hadn't spoken with her since the mission.
He would need to change that.
"Commander Fisher!"
Fisher forced on a plastic smile, slowly turned, and came face to face with Sergeant Wilcolm. He spotted his grey hair as the man pushed his way through the lines of soldiers and approached him, moving men to the side with his barrel sized arms.
"How are you feeling, Commander," Wilcolm said, his smile bright and his features disfigured by the lumpy scar across his face and artificial eye.
"I'm feeling well, and yourself?"
"I'm great, Commander," he said in his typical growl. "I heard about the loss of your squad member. Have you been holding up well, son?"
"Yes, sir, thank you for asking."
"Ah no problem, you deserve it. That mission was still a near success, regardless. Your father, God rest his soul, would be very, very proud."
"Thank you, Sergeant, I appreciate that."
"You mind if I stand in line with you? We have some things we need to discuss."
"That's fine," he said, moving aside to give him some space. "What did you want want to talk about?" He started to feel his pulse quicken. This was the moment.
"Well Fisher, like I said, the work you've been doing for the Perfects is very impressive. You're harder on those Outsiders than even I am, at times."
Fisher nodded.
"Well, we wouldn't need to be so hard on those neanderthals if the just took their pills like they are supposed to."
"Exactly my point. You would think that if these people, people like Jason Sullivan that you just took out, are smart enough to design entire networks of crime and smuggling, that they would be wise enough to take their booster pills. It just makes no sense."
"None whatsoever, sir."
"I mean its one thing to want to stay down in the dust of humanity themselves, but trying to drag down other people with them? That's what's down right criminal. If you don't feel comfortable giving your brain over to the bottle, well frankly that's your problem. But creating entire organizations to bring your fellow man down with you! That's what makes those people even worse."
Fisher rolled his eyes to himself. He hated this man and his constant, far-reaching hyperbole.
"Yes sir," Fisher said, "but we can take them out once and for all. We've been making so many inroads on them lately, we can finish them off if we just step on their throats right now, while they're down."
"Well, Commander, that's actually what I wanted to speak about."
Fisher contained the urge to punch the man in his face, instead digging his hands further into his pockets as the line slogged closer and closer to the examination point. He was supposed to be keeping his thought process clear, but Wilcolm was making that unbelievably difficult.
"What do you mean?" Fisher said.
"Look, Fisher," Wilcolm said, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and lowering his voice, "I can't go into much detail at the moment, but we have an opportunity to really tamp down on these pill dodgers."
"What did you have in mind?"
"Well," Wilcolm said, "there's supposed to be this old warehouse on the docks were a lot of these anti-dopers are hiding out. Fresh Intel from one of our sources tells us that are large group of them are going to be holed up in this warehouse, planning an attack on our people. We're going to go in and take them all down."
"Really?" Fisher said.
Wilcolm nodded.
"Affirmative. And I want you to be on that drop team Fisher."
"Sir, that is quite an honor."
"It is. This could really help your country, Commander. And it will make you look very good with the Powers That Be. But I need to know that you are totally into this Wes. We might need to have you go undercover, and that would mean spending some time off of your pills. I need to know that your only alliance is to this society. I know you've passed every exam - you wouldn't be standing here if you hadn't - but I just need to make doubly sure. Can I trust you?"
Fisher nodded. He didn't have much choice but to agree. But he wished they could discussed this later. He had an entire preparation that he needed to go through to prepare his mind for the scan,and the Examination Point loomed closer and closer. This was not going to end well.
"This may be my favorite conversation of all time, sir, I would love to be a part of this," Fisher replied.
Wilcolm nodded.
"I understand your enthusiasm soldier, but I want you to take some to think it through and get back to me once you've thought things over. You know where to find me."
"Will do, Sargent."
They continued forwards in silence, listening too the thin chatter if the others blousing lift the high ceilings. A thin layer of sweat was on Fisher's forehead and he forced himself to breathe. This was not good. As hard as he tried, he couldn't think of anything but pills, pills, pills. He was startong to loose control, the guilt was weighing on him. He had to hope that he could do this. He counted to ten, trued to remember the names of his childhood teachers. He could do this.
But he had already arrived at the front of the scan line. It was his turn. And he was not prepared.
"Hello, Commander," said the cheerful-looking, skirt-wearing scan attendant.
"Good morning, Marlene," Fisher replied, shakily.
'Are you feeling alright, Commander?"
"Yes, I'm fine."
She nodded.
"Ready for your scan? Have you taken your pills today?"
"I have indeed."
"Okay, well this should be quick."
The woman held of a pair of small, circular sensors and Fisher took them from her and pressed them against his temples.
"Repeat after me," the woman said. "My name is Wes Fisher."
"My name is Wes Fisher."
"I have ingested my acceleration drugs."
"I have injected my acceleration drugs."
"I have complete and total faith in the Powers that Be, above everything else."
He repeated her.
She forward, and her computer turned a bright, angry red.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we have a bit of a problem."
"What do you mean."
"I mean you're going to have to be Detained."
Fisher's blood ran cold.
"What? What are you talking about!"
But the woman didn't say another word. She pulled a pistol out of the folds of her skirt and pointed it at his head. Before he could so much as blink, she pulled the trigger, and Fisher was thrown into oblivion.
...
The next thing he knew, Fisher was sitting on some sort of chair with a bag on his head and his hands tied behind his back. He screamed, but his voice came out muffled. He leaned back and took a deep breath through his nose, struggling to breath in his oxygen deprived environment. He couldn't move at all, he was restrained by the ankles and the waist, and he felt like he was inches away from falling unconscious again.
Wonderful.
"He's awake," said a voice. "Take that thing off of his face."
A pair of hands grabbed at the bag over Fishers head from behind and the bag was taken away. He was momentarily blinded by some sort of bright light being pointed into his face. He looked around. He seemed to be in some sort if basement. He was in a small room, no more than a dozen feet wide, with crack, dirty concrete walls and an old fashioned naked lightbulb hanging overhead. And he was not alone.
There were a pair of soldiers standing at the front if the room, holding and a pair if assault rifles and armed to the teeth. Beside them was Sergeant Wilcolm and President Alexis Swindon.
"This is quite a surprise, Commander," Swindon said, shaking her head.
Fisher stared at her, and he didn't say a word.
"Do you know why you are here?" She asked him.
Again, he said nothing.
"Are you working with the enemy, Commander?"
Silence.
"Light him up."
Suddenly Fisher's body was filled with an intense, would encompassing, earth-shattering pain. He screamed as the electricity coursed through his body, yelled as the charge took over his mind. He lost control if his limbs and he confused wildly, and for a moment he lost his realization if everything. He knew no time, he knew no space, all he knew was pain, pure and simple.
But then, as quickly as it began the pain receded, and Fisher dropped his head to his chest and breathed hard. Evaporated sweat floated up from his exposed chest, and his eyes rolled in their sockets. That had been the worse moment of his entire life.
"Perhaps now you might be more keen to answer my questions, Commander," Swindon said. 'Now I'm going to ask you one last time. Are you working with the enemy?"
"No,"Fisher muttered.
"The President cannot hear you, Wes," said the Sergeant.
"I said no!"
"Any, looks like you're prepared to talk now, eh?"
Fisher shook his head. He knew how this confrontation was going to end. He was going to die.
"Commander Fisher, I won't waste your time," said the President. "You know exactly what is going to happen to you so I won't sugar coat anything. You will be executed within ten minutes, because I don't feel as though you or your cronies can be allowed to spread your terrorist ideals through the ranks of my fighting force. If you wish to reduce your pain, and the pain of your loved ones, like the beautiful young Ms. Smith for example, you will cooperate with us. Tell me what you know."
Fisher coughed. He didn't want ti deal with this. He just wished that all of this was all over. So he didn't say a thing.
"Wes, just talk to us," Wilcolm pleaded. "We just want to do what's best for the force. Don't you agree with that ideal? Don't you remember some of what your father spent all those years trying to teach you?"
"I'm not a terrorist," Fisher growled, "and don't talk about my father like that. You don't known half the man he was."
"Not a terrorist, eh? Then why haven't you taken the pills Commander!" The president shouted, grabbing Fisher by the shirt collar and bringing her face inches away from his own. "Why didn't you take the boosters!"
"Because," Fisher said, "I wanted to prove that I didn't need them."
"You what?"
"I wanted to show you people that I was the very best, that I didn't need your meds to make me any better than I already am. And you'll forgive me Madame President, if I don't wish to be executed based soley on your gut feeling, or that of your computers"
"Why you little... I'm going to enjoy watching you die," the President said.
"Always a pleasure to entertain."
But then Wilcolm smiled.
"Don't worry Wes, you're not going to die today,"he said.
"What?"
But he never got an answer. Wilcolm stepped forward and jabbed the President in small of the back and she collapsed to the ground. He then pulled a small Taser out of his pocket, aimed it at her leg, and pulled the trigger. The twin prongs shot out the muzzle and buried themselves in her leg. She yelled, frowned in confusion, and fell to the ground, unconscious.
"What are you doing!?"
"Saving your life man. I took a gamble on you and I was right. I knew your heart was in the right place."
"What are you saying?"
That isn't what's important right now, we'll get to those details later. I know your mind must be going crazy, and I can't really say anything that could possibly put you at ease. Just know that you can trust me. So, for right now, my only question is this: are you with me, or not?"
Quotes:(Group #1 - Quote 2, Group #2 -Quote 7, Group #3 - Quote 3, Group #4 - Quote 5, Group #5 - Quote 2)