Terra and Sarah are already making their way across the plain, heading for the forest. You are left behind, watching impotently as the super soldier and the leader of your unit stride off to rescue Boris. Nobody checks to see if you are doing as you are told. They are too busy to pay attention to you, the third wheel in their rescue mission. Well, the joke is on them because three wheels can be really useful sometimes.
If you’re going to follow after them, you’re going to need to be prepared. You don’t have any weaponry of your own, but you’re guessing Terra bought spares. You start going through the bag she bought, which is sitting at the end of the bed. It’s technically wrong to be doing this, but you’re doing it for a good reason, so that probably makes it okay. Your butt is still aching from Terra’s attempt to ‘make you feel better’. Next time she offers to make something better, you’ll remember not to take her up on it. You have learned something from the ordeal over her lap, though it’s probably not what she intended for you to learn.
Her bag doesn’t seem to contain anything in the way of weaponry, which is an irritant. How are you supposed to help Boris? How are you supposed to do anything at all? You keep going through everything in the tent. There are a few crates which contain rations, but you can’t exactly hurl freeze dried food at outraged protesters and kidnappers. Just as you’re about to give up entirely and do as Terra told you, you see something underneath the bed. A long box is sitting at the back, right up against the tent wall. It blends with the ground so well you barely noticed it. Now you’ve seen it, you pull it out and flip the latches open.
What you see inside makes you draw a sharp breath. You were hoping for a gun or something. Not that you want to shoot anyone, but it’s much easier to be taken seriously when you have one. This isn’t a gun. This is a very long, very shiny sword. It doesn’t have a scabbard. It has a blade which looks as though it could slice through anything. Metal. Flesh. The breath of a butterfly. Time, maybe. Even though it is shadowy in the tent, the sword seems to be glowing somehow. The scabbard is detailed in blue sapphire and gold, serpents winding their way over the grip, the head of a cobra carved into the pommel. It looks old, and it looks important. You get the feeling that you are really, really not supposed to touch this.
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