Carson's feet pounded the leaves and dirt as he sped back through the line of trees, conscious of the<i>fwip</i>of near misses. He could hear the smaller gun firing in full auto, and heard numerous snaps and cracks as the rounds settled in tree trunks and shredded leaves in their passing. He heard four deep booming coughs--Letto's shotguns--and then another wail from the mutant. Yes, Letto had been the right choice after all. His abilities were invaluable for this fight. One of the three had split away from the others, the one clutching the shorter rifle, and as Carson slid into cover behind another tree he opened fire again.<br/><br/>Bullets whizzed past him as he stayed rooted, carefully checking his rifle to ensure there was another round in the chamber. His pulse hammered in his ears as he systematically cut away every other sound and scent, honing his awareness to only the whir of the rounds in the air and the sound they made hitting his tree. Time seemed to slow down around him,<i>thud-thud, thud-thud, thud-thud,</i>and he took a steadying breath before he spun out of cover. The rifle snapped up, canted so he could peer down the iron sights, and he fired a single round. The Vanguard's head snapped back violently, blood and bone and brain spraying from the exit wound on his skull, and Carson slung his weapon back over his shoulder.<br/><br/>"MALIA!" he roared, turning to peer through the trees. He saw a flash of color, pale skin on the dark earth, and his heart seized. He rushed toward her, toward the red leaves stained with her, to the ground wet with her life. "Malia?" he whispered as he reached her. The Strider dropped to his knees and touched her face, her hand, the rag she had pressed over the wound in her stomach. Still bleeding? He couldn't tell. He couldn't figure out if she were breathing or not. His mind was screaming, blurry and violent and angry and scared, he couldn't think straight--<br/><br/>Only reflexes saved him as the gigantic armored Vanguard struck, Carson dropping flat to his back as the sword whistled through where his throat had been seconds before. He rolled and kicked off the ground to stagger forward and upright, reaching for the pistol on his hip.<i>Save her now, do it, hurry.</i>He turned and fired, the heavy slug slamming square into the armored shoulder. The figure flinched, but didn't go down, a deep dent in the plate. Instead he took his sword up in two hands and rushed Carson, roaring under his metal mask. Carson seized his hatchet and drew it in time to parry the blow, teeth bared. Fury, mindless and white-hot, rose in his entire being. Malia was right there, she was<i>right there</i>, and this metal bastard dared to stand in his way.<br/><br/>Distantly he heard Letto scream again, and more gunshots, but he was focused entirely on the armored foe before him. When the sword came back around, diagonal and upward, Carson twisted away and slashed with his own hatchet, scoring the plate across his chest deeply. "COME ON!" he roared, eyes burning with fury. The Vanguard stabbed at him, but Carson stepped into it and used the hatchet to cut between the plates, scoring a hit. Blood gushed down the otherwise clear metal, mixing with the paint and oil as the Vanguard's left arm curled and he hissed in pain. "You sons of bitches betrayed ALL OF US!" Carson bellowed again, smashing his pistol's grip against the armored temple.<br/><br/>The Vanguard staggered backward, gasping and blinking as the blow dazed him. Carson came at him like a thunderstorm, hatchet held tight. "Get on your goddamn feet you backstabbing fuck. I'm gonna make you earn your end." There was a<i>snap</i>and Carson spun in a half-circle, grunting as pain flared in his right shoulder. His pistol dropped to the dirt and he looked around to see the Van with the long rifle aiming for a second shot. He looked back at the armored man and jerked backward in time to avoid another swing of the sword, but not entirely. The tip caught flesh, and with a blinding sear Carson fell back onto the ground, a scream of agony ripping from his throat before he could help it.<br/><br/>How he stayed conscious, he never knew. He turned and clawed his way across the forest floor, back toward Malia. He could see her hand through the pulsing red that his vision had become. "Hey," he whispered. "Hey, wake up." He heard other voices, distant ones, but they sounded like they were underwater. His hand closed on hers, and he pressed two awkward fingers over her pulse. "Malia, baby, wake up, we gotta go," he told her. There was nothing under his fingers. Nothing but smooth, pale skin. Nothing but emptiness.<br/><br/>"Malia?" he whispered. A noise began to build in his ears. "Lia?" First like a roar, drowning out the world around him, but it grew higher and louder, more and more intense. It sounded like a scream, like a tea kettle, like wind screaming through the cracks in what was left of his heart.<br/><br/>"I love you."<br/><br/>The noise broke like a thunderstorm and he moved, forgetting pain and injury and safety. He rolled onto his back and grabbed his rifle one-handed, lifting and aiming to fire at the Vanguard with the long rifle. His thumb switched from semi to full auto, and he held down the trigger and watched as the man's throat turned into a red mess. He snapped the rifle around through the air and smashed aside the armored Vanguard's strike, then let the weapon go and surged upright to slam shoulder-first into his larger foe. His shoulder ached, and a metal fist slammed into his side, but he didn't care. They couldn't hurt him. They couldn't kill him. They couldn't fucking touch him because his heart lay dead on the forest floor behind him and if they could not take his heart away they could not stop him.<br/><br/>He stayed in close to the armored one, ripping and tearing until his fingertips bled, until he found the straps that secured the armor in place, until he ripped them free. He was too close for the sword to be used and the punches that slammed against his back and sides and arms did nothing to deter him. He ripped away the chestplate and shoved the man back, staggering him, then knelt to pick up his hatchet again. Carson buried it in the Vanguard's chest then ripped it free and slammed it into his stomach, and then again, and again, and again and again and again and again as the scream grew in his ears again, and he kept swinging until he felt someone grab his arm and force him to stop, until Letto had to scream and stun Carson, because Carson was gone. There was no Carson in that moment. Just a beast, a feral, heartless monster coated in blood and paint and bleeding from half a dozen wounds he didn't care that he had.<br/><br/>The scream shocked him out of that stupor, though, and as all of the feeling rushed back into his battered and bloodied body he realized two very simple things.<br/><br/>The war had begun.<br/><br/>And he had no reason to fight it anymore.