Chapter 3 - The Archangel
Two more members of the military squad entered the room. The first person was a female medic, easily identified by her blood red cross. The second man seemed to be the heavy weapons operative, as he had a large cannon slung on his shoulder. Both people semed oblivious to Charity's existance, more focused on scanning the room for more hostile opponents than her.
The soldier who had saved her lifted her up off of the floor, keeping a firm grip on her arm as he adressed her.
"Evenin' ma'am..." the man said, grinning as he spoke.
Charity wondered what there was to grin about amid the carnage of this room.
Suddenly is grip on her arm became more vice-like, squeezing her until she felt as if her arm would snap like a twig. His face became a grim scowl.
"Now listen carefully, lass, cause I'm only gonna say this once. Me and my troops here have been through Hell and back, and we want some answers from ya. Is that clear?"
Charity shook her head.
"I don't know anything..." she sobbed quietly, trying to slip her arm out of his grasp.
His grip grew even tighter.
"I find that hard to believe, missy."
He swung Charity against the wall like a ragdoll, sending her sprawling to the floor.
"Now I'm gonna ask some questions, and I want answers. Good answers, none of this 'I don't know' crap. You understand me, lass?"
She looked up at him, fresh blood dripping down her face.
"I swear I don't know anything..."
"Well then, I guess I'll just have to help you remember," he said.
He pumped his shotgun. The shell that had been unloaded into Samuel Pearman flew out of the weapon as a fresh one slid into the breech. He levelled the barrel of the gun to Charity's forehead.
"Enough, Morrison. Stand down."
As the barrel of the weapon was lowered, Charity could no longer keep herself together. She passed out in the pile of debris without seeing the second man to save her that day.