THE QUICK AND THE DEAD:
With the final element of the SPECIAL compound under his draconian jurisdiction, Dmitri Zaytsev's preparations to overwhelm his steadfast adversaries were now in full motion. His erratic ambition of forging an army of proficient, versatile super-soldiers had at long last borne fruition with the critical delivery a fortnight prior, and with that, a pestilence-ridden cloud of terror had deeply swathed Yeltsin's Loyalist forces.
Word of Fallouts sudden and radical variation of alignment had transmitted itself from person to person like an anfractuous, contagious epidemic, for the strength of strenuous speculation was more potent to the Loyalist forces than any physical weapon. Little time had elapsed before Oleg Yeltsin heard of his gladiator's abrupt mendacity, and he commanded Fallout to conference with him at once to justify his reckless and impeding actions. It was mortification that weighed upon Yeltsin's burdened mind more than anything else, as he expressed strong repentance in over-estimating the capabilities of his ultimate weapon.
When in fact, he was in fact depreciating Fallout's value.
Fallout was cognizant that at the time of his methodical intervention that the Loyalists would have no feasible measure of snatching leverage unless a great risk was made. Had Fallout sabotaged the insurgency's shipment as ordered, Zaytsev would have simply established another courier system more efficient than the last, and it would only delay the beckoning inevitable. By allowing Zaytsev to inaugurate a substantial stronghold in the civil war, it allowed Fallout to craft his course to exterminate Zaytsev and his revolution once and for all with a swift sucker punch offensive.
But as time progressed undeviatingly, even Fallout detected that his plan was in jeopardy. Only time stood between Zaytsev's unrelenting devastation that awaited with significant vigilance, and time had wrestled itself from Fallout's resolute grasp after granting Zaytsev access to his bounty. Fallout meanwhile stood at an allegorical crossroad, two consequential options before him.
To be quick or be dead.
***
Running his fingertips across the rusty, chrome doorknob to Oleg Yeltsin's office, Fallout momentarily paused before entering the frigid facility, and began to adjudicate the predicament he was in. His solidified position as the wildcard of the war was never less in doubt, for his subsequent actions would set the course for the history of conflict itself. Deadlier than the most volatile bomb, the most virulent toxin or the most cataclysmic projectile, Fallout's versatile role as the ultimate weapon would set to liquidating all that opposed his iron fist, no matter their allegiance nor aptitude in the field of combat.
But Fallout also understood that strength was located in numbers, and that even the apex predator could be repulsed by the unity of an abundant swarm. A one man army could be conquered by two armies of equal fortitude and skill, and it was the mercy of two ravenous armies that the deadlocked conqueror would find himself at. Alone and prone to subjugation from all conceivable angles, an uncommon emotion had began to manifest itself through Fallout's palpitating body: Solitude.
Distinguishing these thoughts expeditiously, Fallout eradicated the feeling of apprehension from his conscience just as quickly, thus emancipating his despairing thoughts from his cranium, and his eyesight fell upon his Elite X Championship perched on his battle-hardened shoulder blade. The last thing a monumental and vigorous warrior should allow to influence his attention is fear, especially approaching the home stretch of his transcendent gauntlet with the Elite X Championship. Deliberating over his record-severing slaughter of Ilapa, the omnipotent Fallout now only had two more victories to transpire before he could at long last collect his prize from the hapless, impuissant human that held it and begin his elongated, domineering reign as the champion of warfare, and the harvester of sorrow.
The impulsive Frank Mortlock was Fallout's penultimate opponent, and contrary to the common belief that a detective possesses great perception, no human could truly interpret the consternation of the super-soldier until much too late. Yet, this was not where the detective's true weakness lay. This was instead inhibited in his physical and mental agility, for Mortlock's occupation was heavily dependant on decisions, which captured him in Catch-22 whilst combating the unknown. Should he procrastinate, Fallout would outspeed and outmatch him. Should he rely on precipitence, human error would plague him. Regardless of the audacious inspector's choice, Fallout would maintain the offensive as Mortlock's traumatized mind would only whittle in processing power, before eventually succumbing to the dexterous and nimble champion, another name placed in the statistical list of fallen humans who attempted to defy the supreme sentinel.
"What confuses me though is this;" Fallout snarled rigidly to himself as he repeatedly pulled his fingers into his palm, applying a noticeable amount of pressure each time.
"you have no sense of your trajectory. A detective should not be rushing to the harbinger of annihilation to be slaughtered. Regardless, it does not matter whether you meet me in chrysalis or not, for I shall blitz you and your intent to take this championship from me."
Promptly returning his attention to the entrance of Yeltsin's congested office. Fallout promptly turned the knob, and shunted the chiffon, wooden door open before bursting into the chilled room. The pale concrete walls assisted in allowing Oleg Yeltsin's turbulent, crimson face to dynamically stand out, as he began to stare daggers at Fallout.
"
Take a seat." he barked gruffly with his arms folded, containing within him a fury of unknown proportions and a sharp glint in his manic eyes. Fallout slowly obeyed, strolling to his destination, before cautiously placing himself on a caliginous, leather chair.
"You need to know..." Fallout spelt out, but before he could begin to comprehend his statement, Yeltsin exploded vehemently towards him.
"I need to know nothing!" he screeched impatiently, banging his fist on the table like a jack-hammer.
"What you need to know is that you've put our cause in critical danger by allowing Zaytsev to craft his super-army! We could have been gods Fallout, but instead, you've allowed our greatest enemy to become even greater!"
"Yes." Fallout callously told Yeltsin, the super-soldier reclined in his seat much to the visible dismay of Yeltsin.
"For I shall have no gods nor masters to authorize my will. Only my very own absolute adjudication is needed for my personal crusade, for I am not the lustrous glow in the endless darkness of the world, but rather the darkness that eclipses all else. You are little more than a liability in my campaign, and I wish to sever ties with you at once."
"There will be no campaign, Fallout!" Yeltsin bellowed, launching himself from his own chair.
"You have effectively destroyed us both, along with the entirety of the bona fide Spetsnaz force. In order to salvage this endeavour, you must LISTEN to me! You can do all things through him who strengthens you."
"But your profligate nature is of great hindrance to me." Fallout growled in return, rising from his own comfortable position.
"Your winning streak in WZCW began to extended when you joined my forces." Yeltsin declared, making his way towards Fallout impassively, gazing at the Elite X Championship slumped on his shoulder.
"It was merely coincidence." Fallout stated coldly.
"A gibe is not a rebuttal." Oleg Yeltsin replied, continuing on his path.
"Indeed." Fallout retorted professionally.
"My sincere rebuttal is this: Zaytsev may be a backstabber, but you are little more than a hypocrite, as you have proven in the past. The jaws of vengeance ached for blood, and they shall receive it metaphorically today when I leave you to be destroyed, whilst I raze Zaytsev's forces with a sucker punch. The fact of the matter is that your desire for me to spawn wanton destruction is merely to satisfy your own agendas. I tear the impure humans apart piece by piece not only because I want to, but I need to. You and your loyalist forces restrain me from my goal."
"You were made to obey Fallout!" Yeltsin screeched, nearly speechless and gazing into Fallout's lenses.
"You were made to devastate all opposition to me without any questions, yet you have gone against my just orders twice! But no longer. The Spetsnaz has no need for a radioactive man, encased in a hollow shell till death do you part, like a caged animal. It's time that we put you down like the rabid varmint you are."
"How do you expect to stop me?" Fallout mocked savagely.
"You are dead in the water Yeltsin. Your own greatest asset has turned into your worst nightmare. At least I fight fire with fire whilst conflicting with Zaytsev, but there is nothing to quell my battery of your battalion."
"Incorrect." Yeltsin crooned with joy, withdrawing a small, transparent and plastic syringe housing a lambent emerald concoction within.
"We had Doctor Holender create a kill-switch for any super-soldiers that had the temerity to infiltrate our base of operations. It prevents the flow of SPECIAL fluids through the subject's body, before shutting down the subject's vital organs to create dormancy. A swift and painless process. And it is only fitting that we test our prototypical kill-switch on a prototypical warrior."
With that, Yeltsin violently lunged at Fallout's vulnerable neck with the needle, but before he could complete his arc, he was met by a desolating uppercut from Fallout, which sent Yeltsin's limp, unconscious body crashing to the ground after a brief period of being airborne. Surveying the carnage he had created momentarily, Fallout heard guards rapidly approaching to his position. Before he sped out the room with great velocity, he made sure to scavenge the loaded syringe from the tile beneath him. He would need all the resources that he could get his hands on.
***
Perched on a fragile bench in the WZCW locker room, Fallout closely examined the aqueous substance he had confiscated from his former allies. Fallout professionally evaluated that the syringe only housed enough poison to quell one super-soldier. This did not trouble Fallout however, as his outlined onslaught only involved the elimination of one man: Dmitri Zaytsev. With his super-human agility, Fallout knew he could strike Zaytsev with a sucker punch before he could complete his proposed army. For when the life giver dies, all around is laid to waste.
"But first, I cripple Frank Mortlock limb by limb and end his ascension once and for all." Fallout hissed harshly.
"For he may masquerade as the champion of justice, but when my Elite X Championship is apart of the equation, he is missing a crucial detective element."
Fallout, as always, profoundly savoured his final statement.
"I am the law."
