Purr
Kaerri's Man. =)
(Spoiler contains mood music.)
About 24 hours ago...
It was almost like an ordinary Florida afternoon on Eglin ASC base. To the east, the sky was crystal clear, blue and bright with the heavenly sun in the sky making for a breath-taking picturesque scene. To the west, the same skies held a raging tornado complete with angry-looking clouds and winds that threatened to darken and bring chaos to whatever stood before them. This was sometimes the way of Floridian skies. This was also sometimes the way of life.
So it was for A.T.A.C. Corporal Hercules Papadopolis. On one hand, because of the weather, the Greek-born giant had the kitchen of the A.T.A.C. mess hall nearly all to himself while he stood over the stove. This was a first. The sunny side of Herc was probably alive as he followed the idea of cooking Psaria Tiganita with Florida's native striped mullet since Greece's red mullet seemed impossible to come by. He had a glass of Floridian San Sebastian white wine nearby, but no baklava in sight.
The lack of honey and chocolate, however, was not the real ammunition that fed Herc's unhappier side. For like the storm outside, there was a part of Herc that probably felt very alone here at Eglin ASC. Even as his fellow military soldiers passed through the kitchen, they did not stop to say hello or start a conversation. Though they had worked together before, Herc just had not broken the ice with anyone here yet. Usually, he was too busy training in his Veritech Hover Tank or performing mechanical tasks suited for someone of his immense strength. Earlier, Herc had used that very power to help ready things against the tornado and in doing so, one of the cooks placed this fresh fish into Herc's hands with permission to use the stove with her gratitude.
So all there was to do now was cook, which was usually a sure-fire way of taking Herc's mind off of his troubles.
And yet those troubles nagged at him like a foul-tempered grandmother full of gripes. Herc had been at Eglin base for a month. An entire month! And not one word from Legend Squadron in Greece! They promised they would send their love through letters and packages filled with Greek-gotten goodies of all kinds. Promised! It was easy enough for Herc's mother and father to settle far to the south of Eglin in Tampa Bay where they could make these things in their own home, but here in the military life where hardly anyone knew you, it was difficult to keep one's spirit up when worry knocked at your door like an impatient salesman.
Still, Herc knew he had to keep his kefi alive. While his parea might not be present here in Florida with him, he knew, he just knew they could not have forgotten him! And one day, he would come into his own parea here in Florida. But... his mind asked... what if his friends in Greece had met some untimely end? What if they couldn't reply? He had worried for weeks. Being a corporal in the Army of the Southern Cross meant that poor Herc lacked the means to call them. Plus, the papers here were few and far between and none of them had any news of Europe, much less Greece.
(Spoiler contains translations from Greek)
How technology had changed since the Rain of Death all those years ago! Such a call, even between military channels in war-time, would have been far easier prior to the near-destruction of the planet Earth.
The crackling of his striped mullet on the skillet was singing a melody of sorts to his ears while the delicious smell sent missives of its own to Herc's nose. The sensation brought him back to the present and away from his worries. Beside the skillet, his fresh-cut lemon waited patiently. People, strangers mostly, passed by his stove if only to glance at his work. Even this striped mullet had been troublesome to come by, for Herc's many duties as a tanker kept him busy and away from the markets that sold these things. Still, he had his wine beside his stove and his thoughts.
That's about the time the lights in the mess hall flickered and died. All went dark. People gasped and some cursed. A few were near Herc and his stove. Moments later, electricity was restored. Two soldiers were right beside him as the lights came back on. They walked past him and enjoyed the aroma of the fish.
As the soldiers left, Herc was truly alone. He tried this Floridian striped mullet. Oh, it was delectable! The recipe, while different, still worked quite well! Another page to add to his mental cookbook! The white wine would go well with this! He had a deep gulp and went back to distracting himself with his cooking, except that he noticed the wine tasted a little differently.
That was the last thing Herc remembered thinking before he slowly and gently passed out on the mess hall floor...
*
(More GM mood music.)
When Herc came to, he was groggy. Very groggy. It wasn't like being drunk-groggy; this was worse. Weirder. It was like someone had put a big translucent rubber sack around his head, for he couldn't see right, couldn't hear right. All his senses were muddled like in a faraway dream. The white lights he was staring at, the various blurry shapes in the room, the distant muffled voices of two people talking, one younger, one older.
And Herc couldn't move a single muscle.
When he tried, he realized his muscles were groggy too and not responding to his mental commands. That was all right, something told him. Herc's Greek ancestors, of whom he had every right to be proud of, had survived much longer bouts of endurance than this - like evening-long parties and orgies and... well, this was unfortunately neither of those.
Herc found himself examining his body in an effort to learn more information. His sense of being restrained came from the notion that something was holding different parts of his body firmly against the chair. As the room slowly began to get a little clearer, Herc began to realize that not only was he not in the mess hall anymore, but he was in some sort of medical room, sitting upright in some strange chair like those in a dentist's office. Or perhaps those big chairs used in executions...
The light came from a trio of ceiling lamps. Herc saw various medical instruments all about him - a few computers with lively readouts, IV bag on its stand, a tray table, three small and strangely-marked bottles with their caps on. Unfortunately, some of the instruments were of the sharp variety; three syringes each of differing sizes and two scalpels also lay on an aluminum tray on that table. They appeared unused. Or... maybe they were used and someone thought to clean them mighty well using that sink on the wall.
Whatever the case, Herc found himself bound to this chair. The straps were made of sturdy leather and locked together using metal clamps and buckles, six straps in all, starting from his ankles and working their way up to his massive chest. Apparently someone out there actually made chairs not only large enough to hold rare huge people like Herc, but also went to great lengths to make certain Herc-sized people did not just get up and walk around without some kind of permission.
By this time, Herc realized that he was truly alone in the room. No passer-bys. Just him. The two voices he was hearing came from another room to which he could see through a window connecting the two rooms. Herc had seen windows like this before and his brain told him that the window looked very much like a one-way mirror and he was on the good end. While he could not see anyone, he could definitely hear. Someone male and caucasian-sounding was shouting in that bare-looking room. Shouting angrily. Even threateningly.
Whatever was going on was far from good.
Anyone who knew Greek history knew that at one time slavery was a reality in ancient Greece. To be strapped to a chair like this, unable to move or act, well, it went against everything passionate and fiery that laid inside every Greek soul. Including Herc's. To stay in this chair and do nothing was a travesty against his very blood, his very spirit. Bad enough he had been worried for weeks for his parea, worse still to hear something horrible going on to someone else in the next room, but to suddenly have his own body bound up like a helpless slave of old brought forth his very kefi.
When those feelings hit him, something deep and awe-inspiring in Herc flared brightly to life. The Greek began to struggle and struggle with all that was inside of him as if he were fighting against the very powers of Hades. Like the heroes of old, Herc wrestled against those solid, brown straps to win the one thing all Greek-blooded people valued - freedom!
His thrashing caused him to knock against the tray table. Helpless to do anything but watch and knowing full well the alarming cacophony that would certainly gain the attention of the angry man in the next room, Herc saw the metal and plastic contents fall toward the tile floor. There, they crashed in a chaotic symphony of skidding utensils and banging bottles. It seemed that the aluminum tray would not stop its mad clattering across the floor.
Herc found himself staring out of the one-way mirror. The fierce shouting had continued without pause. Nothing had changed. The man had not heard him. It was as if this room were soundproofed from the room he was looking into. And all that meant one thing...
...Hercules could struggle to his great heart's delight!
Herc fought and thrashed so passionately and violently that the chair came right out of its mounting on the floor. One by one, those leather straps strained and cracked from stress until, finally, finally one of Herc's huge arms burst free! Heatedly, but not incoherently, Herc began to grab at the buckles that held him in.
One by one, they loosed until the Greek giant stood over the toppled chair that was his prison like a Pankration warrior looming over a fallen foe. He had certainly exerted himself as if he had been in a terrific battle, for the parts of his body that the straps held against were sore. Yet, as any Greek would likely agree, this was a small price to pay for the freedom Herc had won.
There were two doors leading out of this room. One door, behind him, seemed secured only with a doorknob. As for the other, Herc saw the sliding door that led into the bare room where the shouting was coming from, but he also spied the keycard device that likely activated that door. His eyes did not spot any sort of card in the room here that might fit the slot. However, now that he had changed his position in the room, his eyes did find the angry man and his hapless victim...
(Spoiler contains picture of the hapless victim)
Herc could see a thin young man sitting down on a cheap plastic chair in the middle of the room. Dressed in sharp black corduroy pants and a handsome blue dress shirt, his head was low and he looked confused and afraid. He appeared unharmed, physically. He did not seem bound, but still he clutched the chair with both hands tightly.
Opposite him was an average-sized man in military fatigues with Eglin ASC base patches except that something about the fellow didn't seem right. For one thing, his hair was a tad too long for someone in active duty. Then it hit Herc. The Greek recognized this guy as one of the men from the mess hall. He had been watching Herc cook when the lights went out.
The man had cruel eyes and an expression to match. On his belt, Herc could see a knife and a handheld radio. Between them was a chrome and black wheelchair with the logo of the Army of the Southern Cross proudly emblazoned on its back cushion as if specially designed that way. The chair seemed a little flimsy and though it was far from new, it appeared to be very well-kept.
Until the man reared back his booted foot and kicked it hard. The kid winced as if he had been the one kicked.
"Please, sir," he pleaded. "I need my chair. It's my life."
The man screamed back with such hate that it defied reason. It was the kind of scream that made one think that he was used to screaming. His shrieks boomed in the small room. "You still don't get it, do you? And you're supposed to be so damned smart!"
He struck the wheelchair again and again. The back cushion tore. The arm support bent.
"See? This is what you get when your father helps Zentraedi scum! This is what you get when your fucking father turns his back on all of humanity!!"
"Please, sir! My father didn't betray humanity!"
"Yes he did! YES, he did!" He pointed his fist in the kid's face. The kid fell back and cringed fearfully. "We caught him! Those RDF Zentraedi here at base who are supposedly here to help us against the Malcontents! Well, guess what? The only good Zeek is a dead Zeek!"
"But... but..."
The man reared his hand back. "It's like this! The Anti-Unification League is the only force left on Earth that can stop those alien bastards! Only we can save Earth! Don't you get it, kid? It wasn't enough for those alien sons of bitches to nearly destroy us, now they wanna mate with us! They wanna make those damned abominations! Then they wanna put 'em in our cities, in our army, in our very schools! Just what do you think is going to happen to humanity when that happens?!"
The cruel man bashed and stomped the chair in his fury. First the right wheel bent in. Then the left caved in. Then the left side of the chair bent in badly. He drew his knife and stabbed and slashed the cushions until there was padding floating miserably through the air. All the while the kid sat there helpless, unable to do anything but cry. And cry he did. Silently.
The man brandished his knife proudly. "We're Earth's only hope! Only when the AUL kills every last Zeek-blooded bastard on Earth will humanity ever have a chance at being truly free again! Like we were before they came! But until then, they won't rest until they have infiltrated our hearts, our minds, our very genes! When you see your father again, you get to tell him everything! Oh! And you know the best part?"
The kid looked up, astonished that there was more.
The man spoke slowly. "He's in the next room!" He pointed at the one-way mirror. "That code you heard earlier? The other cell told me they just put his big, bad self into my favorite chair. That means you'll get to tell him about how he and people like him betrayed Earth! Maybe he'll listen to you! When he sees we have you.... Ohh.... Then we can get him to work for us!" The man sheathed his knife and stared at the door leading into the room where Herc watched all of this. He took a few steps away from the kid. "I can't wait to meet him..."
"But first..."
The man turned toward the wheelchair. With a running start, he leaped into the air and came down with all of his weight into a full-strength double-footed stomp onto the wheelchair. The wheelchair bent horribly and broke under his weight with a metal squeal. The chair was destroyed. Utterly useless. The man stared at the kid for a long moment and then walked toward the door and, underneath his handheld radio, he produced a keycard.
"Be lucky I don't do it to you, kid!"
Herc saw his chance. The man was about to use his key to open the sliding door leading out of the bare room and into the one Herc hid in. Herc's body, having just freed himself from his own chair through great efforts, was pumping with every ounce of vitality in him. He knew that once the man opened the door, he would likely be surprised. In that moment, Herc could attempt many things...
Unarmed but with the element of surprise, Herc has the following options:
1. Haul off and deck this jerk with everything Herc's got (power punch - knock this guy into next week; possibly "one-shot" him)!
2. Go for the man's radio so that he cannot use it.
3. Attempt to leave through the other door in Herc's room (this does not seem to require a keycard, only the turning of a doorknob).
4. Pick up a syringe and stab the man with it.
5. Anything else Herc can think of...
Because Nikos Vertis can make some good music and the song title fits the scene in its own strange fashion. =)
"De me skefttesai" ("You Don't Think of Me") by Nikos Vertis
"De me skefttesai" ("You Don't Think of Me") by Nikos Vertis
About 24 hours ago...
It was almost like an ordinary Florida afternoon on Eglin ASC base. To the east, the sky was crystal clear, blue and bright with the heavenly sun in the sky making for a breath-taking picturesque scene. To the west, the same skies held a raging tornado complete with angry-looking clouds and winds that threatened to darken and bring chaos to whatever stood before them. This was sometimes the way of Floridian skies. This was also sometimes the way of life.
So it was for A.T.A.C. Corporal Hercules Papadopolis. On one hand, because of the weather, the Greek-born giant had the kitchen of the A.T.A.C. mess hall nearly all to himself while he stood over the stove. This was a first. The sunny side of Herc was probably alive as he followed the idea of cooking Psaria Tiganita with Florida's native striped mullet since Greece's red mullet seemed impossible to come by. He had a glass of Floridian San Sebastian white wine nearby, but no baklava in sight.
The lack of honey and chocolate, however, was not the real ammunition that fed Herc's unhappier side. For like the storm outside, there was a part of Herc that probably felt very alone here at Eglin ASC. Even as his fellow military soldiers passed through the kitchen, they did not stop to say hello or start a conversation. Though they had worked together before, Herc just had not broken the ice with anyone here yet. Usually, he was too busy training in his Veritech Hover Tank or performing mechanical tasks suited for someone of his immense strength. Earlier, Herc had used that very power to help ready things against the tornado and in doing so, one of the cooks placed this fresh fish into Herc's hands with permission to use the stove with her gratitude.
So all there was to do now was cook, which was usually a sure-fire way of taking Herc's mind off of his troubles.
And yet those troubles nagged at him like a foul-tempered grandmother full of gripes. Herc had been at Eglin base for a month. An entire month! And not one word from Legend Squadron in Greece! They promised they would send their love through letters and packages filled with Greek-gotten goodies of all kinds. Promised! It was easy enough for Herc's mother and father to settle far to the south of Eglin in Tampa Bay where they could make these things in their own home, but here in the military life where hardly anyone knew you, it was difficult to keep one's spirit up when worry knocked at your door like an impatient salesman.
Still, Herc knew he had to keep his kefi alive. While his parea might not be present here in Florida with him, he knew, he just knew they could not have forgotten him! And one day, he would come into his own parea here in Florida. But... his mind asked... what if his friends in Greece had met some untimely end? What if they couldn't reply? He had worried for weeks. Being a corporal in the Army of the Southern Cross meant that poor Herc lacked the means to call them. Plus, the papers here were few and far between and none of them had any news of Europe, much less Greece.
(Spoiler contains translations from Greek)
Kefi is a hard-to-translate word which has been described by various Greeks as meaning the spirit of joy, passion, enthusiasm, high spirits, overpowering emotion or frenzy. Kefi takes many forms, but is usually, but not always, associated with the expression of positive emotion.
(Source: gogreece.about.com/cs/glossary/g/kefi.htm)
Parea: (Gr.) A Parea in Greek culture is a group of friends who regularly gather together to share their experiences about life, their philosophies, values and ideas. The Parea is really a venue for the growth of the human spirit, the development of friendships and the exploration of ideas to enrich our quality of life that is all too brief in time. In Greece, the Parea is a long-lasting circle and cycle of life nourished by the people who participate.
(Source: www.constantinealexander.net/2010/11/definition-of-a-parea.html)
(Source: gogreece.about.com/cs/glossary/g/kefi.htm)
Parea: (Gr.) A Parea in Greek culture is a group of friends who regularly gather together to share their experiences about life, their philosophies, values and ideas. The Parea is really a venue for the growth of the human spirit, the development of friendships and the exploration of ideas to enrich our quality of life that is all too brief in time. In Greece, the Parea is a long-lasting circle and cycle of life nourished by the people who participate.
(Source: www.constantinealexander.net/2010/11/definition-of-a-parea.html)
How technology had changed since the Rain of Death all those years ago! Such a call, even between military channels in war-time, would have been far easier prior to the near-destruction of the planet Earth.
The crackling of his striped mullet on the skillet was singing a melody of sorts to his ears while the delicious smell sent missives of its own to Herc's nose. The sensation brought him back to the present and away from his worries. Beside the skillet, his fresh-cut lemon waited patiently. People, strangers mostly, passed by his stove if only to glance at his work. Even this striped mullet had been troublesome to come by, for Herc's many duties as a tanker kept him busy and away from the markets that sold these things. Still, he had his wine beside his stove and his thoughts.
That's about the time the lights in the mess hall flickered and died. All went dark. People gasped and some cursed. A few were near Herc and his stove. Moments later, electricity was restored. Two soldiers were right beside him as the lights came back on. They walked past him and enjoyed the aroma of the fish.
As the soldiers left, Herc was truly alone. He tried this Floridian striped mullet. Oh, it was delectable! The recipe, while different, still worked quite well! Another page to add to his mental cookbook! The white wine would go well with this! He had a deep gulp and went back to distracting himself with his cooking, except that he noticed the wine tasted a little differently.
That was the last thing Herc remembered thinking before he slowly and gently passed out on the mess hall floor...
*
Alice in Chains. What a shift from Mr. Vertis's music! Still, that bass guitar just brings out this cool and dreadful "coming out of blackness and into a dangerous unknown" feeling. For this scene, it's fitting.
"Angry Chair" by Alice in Chains
"Angry Chair" by Alice in Chains
When Herc came to, he was groggy. Very groggy. It wasn't like being drunk-groggy; this was worse. Weirder. It was like someone had put a big translucent rubber sack around his head, for he couldn't see right, couldn't hear right. All his senses were muddled like in a faraway dream. The white lights he was staring at, the various blurry shapes in the room, the distant muffled voices of two people talking, one younger, one older.
And Herc couldn't move a single muscle.
When he tried, he realized his muscles were groggy too and not responding to his mental commands. That was all right, something told him. Herc's Greek ancestors, of whom he had every right to be proud of, had survived much longer bouts of endurance than this - like evening-long parties and orgies and... well, this was unfortunately neither of those.
Herc found himself examining his body in an effort to learn more information. His sense of being restrained came from the notion that something was holding different parts of his body firmly against the chair. As the room slowly began to get a little clearer, Herc began to realize that not only was he not in the mess hall anymore, but he was in some sort of medical room, sitting upright in some strange chair like those in a dentist's office. Or perhaps those big chairs used in executions...
The light came from a trio of ceiling lamps. Herc saw various medical instruments all about him - a few computers with lively readouts, IV bag on its stand, a tray table, three small and strangely-marked bottles with their caps on. Unfortunately, some of the instruments were of the sharp variety; three syringes each of differing sizes and two scalpels also lay on an aluminum tray on that table. They appeared unused. Or... maybe they were used and someone thought to clean them mighty well using that sink on the wall.
Whatever the case, Herc found himself bound to this chair. The straps were made of sturdy leather and locked together using metal clamps and buckles, six straps in all, starting from his ankles and working their way up to his massive chest. Apparently someone out there actually made chairs not only large enough to hold rare huge people like Herc, but also went to great lengths to make certain Herc-sized people did not just get up and walk around without some kind of permission.
By this time, Herc realized that he was truly alone in the room. No passer-bys. Just him. The two voices he was hearing came from another room to which he could see through a window connecting the two rooms. Herc had seen windows like this before and his brain told him that the window looked very much like a one-way mirror and he was on the good end. While he could not see anyone, he could definitely hear. Someone male and caucasian-sounding was shouting in that bare-looking room. Shouting angrily. Even threateningly.
Whatever was going on was far from good.
Anyone who knew Greek history knew that at one time slavery was a reality in ancient Greece. To be strapped to a chair like this, unable to move or act, well, it went against everything passionate and fiery that laid inside every Greek soul. Including Herc's. To stay in this chair and do nothing was a travesty against his very blood, his very spirit. Bad enough he had been worried for weeks for his parea, worse still to hear something horrible going on to someone else in the next room, but to suddenly have his own body bound up like a helpless slave of old brought forth his very kefi.
When those feelings hit him, something deep and awe-inspiring in Herc flared brightly to life. The Greek began to struggle and struggle with all that was inside of him as if he were fighting against the very powers of Hades. Like the heroes of old, Herc wrestled against those solid, brown straps to win the one thing all Greek-blooded people valued - freedom!
His thrashing caused him to knock against the tray table. Helpless to do anything but watch and knowing full well the alarming cacophony that would certainly gain the attention of the angry man in the next room, Herc saw the metal and plastic contents fall toward the tile floor. There, they crashed in a chaotic symphony of skidding utensils and banging bottles. It seemed that the aluminum tray would not stop its mad clattering across the floor.
Herc found himself staring out of the one-way mirror. The fierce shouting had continued without pause. Nothing had changed. The man had not heard him. It was as if this room were soundproofed from the room he was looking into. And all that meant one thing...
...Hercules could struggle to his great heart's delight!
Herc fought and thrashed so passionately and violently that the chair came right out of its mounting on the floor. One by one, those leather straps strained and cracked from stress until, finally, finally one of Herc's huge arms burst free! Heatedly, but not incoherently, Herc began to grab at the buckles that held him in.
One by one, they loosed until the Greek giant stood over the toppled chair that was his prison like a Pankration warrior looming over a fallen foe. He had certainly exerted himself as if he had been in a terrific battle, for the parts of his body that the straps held against were sore. Yet, as any Greek would likely agree, this was a small price to pay for the freedom Herc had won.
There were two doors leading out of this room. One door, behind him, seemed secured only with a doorknob. As for the other, Herc saw the sliding door that led into the bare room where the shouting was coming from, but he also spied the keycard device that likely activated that door. His eyes did not spot any sort of card in the room here that might fit the slot. However, now that he had changed his position in the room, his eyes did find the angry man and his hapless victim...
(Spoiler contains picture of the hapless victim)
Note: Imagine two major changes, please.
1. Imagine the same person below at about 15 years of age.
2. He has black hair. It's styled a short, flat-top afro. It looks good on him.
I just love this kid's smile! =) )
(Image credit: www.rvmosart.com )
1. Imagine the same person below at about 15 years of age.
2. He has black hair. It's styled a short, flat-top afro. It looks good on him.
I just love this kid's smile! =) )
(Image credit: www.rvmosart.com )
Herc could see a thin young man sitting down on a cheap plastic chair in the middle of the room. Dressed in sharp black corduroy pants and a handsome blue dress shirt, his head was low and he looked confused and afraid. He appeared unharmed, physically. He did not seem bound, but still he clutched the chair with both hands tightly.
Opposite him was an average-sized man in military fatigues with Eglin ASC base patches except that something about the fellow didn't seem right. For one thing, his hair was a tad too long for someone in active duty. Then it hit Herc. The Greek recognized this guy as one of the men from the mess hall. He had been watching Herc cook when the lights went out.
The man had cruel eyes and an expression to match. On his belt, Herc could see a knife and a handheld radio. Between them was a chrome and black wheelchair with the logo of the Army of the Southern Cross proudly emblazoned on its back cushion as if specially designed that way. The chair seemed a little flimsy and though it was far from new, it appeared to be very well-kept.
Until the man reared back his booted foot and kicked it hard. The kid winced as if he had been the one kicked.
"Please, sir," he pleaded. "I need my chair. It's my life."
The man screamed back with such hate that it defied reason. It was the kind of scream that made one think that he was used to screaming. His shrieks boomed in the small room. "You still don't get it, do you? And you're supposed to be so damned smart!"
He struck the wheelchair again and again. The back cushion tore. The arm support bent.
"See? This is what you get when your father helps Zentraedi scum! This is what you get when your fucking father turns his back on all of humanity!!"
"Please, sir! My father didn't betray humanity!"
"Yes he did! YES, he did!" He pointed his fist in the kid's face. The kid fell back and cringed fearfully. "We caught him! Those RDF Zentraedi here at base who are supposedly here to help us against the Malcontents! Well, guess what? The only good Zeek is a dead Zeek!"
"But... but..."
The man reared his hand back. "It's like this! The Anti-Unification League is the only force left on Earth that can stop those alien bastards! Only we can save Earth! Don't you get it, kid? It wasn't enough for those alien sons of bitches to nearly destroy us, now they wanna mate with us! They wanna make those damned abominations! Then they wanna put 'em in our cities, in our army, in our very schools! Just what do you think is going to happen to humanity when that happens?!"
The cruel man bashed and stomped the chair in his fury. First the right wheel bent in. Then the left caved in. Then the left side of the chair bent in badly. He drew his knife and stabbed and slashed the cushions until there was padding floating miserably through the air. All the while the kid sat there helpless, unable to do anything but cry. And cry he did. Silently.
The man brandished his knife proudly. "We're Earth's only hope! Only when the AUL kills every last Zeek-blooded bastard on Earth will humanity ever have a chance at being truly free again! Like we were before they came! But until then, they won't rest until they have infiltrated our hearts, our minds, our very genes! When you see your father again, you get to tell him everything! Oh! And you know the best part?"
The kid looked up, astonished that there was more.
The man spoke slowly. "He's in the next room!" He pointed at the one-way mirror. "That code you heard earlier? The other cell told me they just put his big, bad self into my favorite chair. That means you'll get to tell him about how he and people like him betrayed Earth! Maybe he'll listen to you! When he sees we have you.... Ohh.... Then we can get him to work for us!" The man sheathed his knife and stared at the door leading into the room where Herc watched all of this. He took a few steps away from the kid. "I can't wait to meet him..."
"But first..."
The man turned toward the wheelchair. With a running start, he leaped into the air and came down with all of his weight into a full-strength double-footed stomp onto the wheelchair. The wheelchair bent horribly and broke under his weight with a metal squeal. The chair was destroyed. Utterly useless. The man stared at the kid for a long moment and then walked toward the door and, underneath his handheld radio, he produced a keycard.
"Be lucky I don't do it to you, kid!"
Herc saw his chance. The man was about to use his key to open the sliding door leading out of the bare room and into the one Herc hid in. Herc's body, having just freed himself from his own chair through great efforts, was pumping with every ounce of vitality in him. He knew that once the man opened the door, he would likely be surprised. In that moment, Herc could attempt many things...
Unarmed but with the element of surprise, Herc has the following options:
1. Haul off and deck this jerk with everything Herc's got (power punch - knock this guy into next week; possibly "one-shot" him)!
2. Go for the man's radio so that he cannot use it.
3. Attempt to leave through the other door in Herc's room (this does not seem to require a keycard, only the turning of a doorknob).
4. Pick up a syringe and stab the man with it.
5. Anything else Herc can think of...
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