non-lucid

"Nicholai....
Nicholai..." A soft voice melded with the background of the kitchen, over sized by the perception of an infant.
"Nicholai..." This was his name. Who was calling him? Suddenly he thought, suddenly he existed. Now his sole purpose was to discover the one calling him. The voice, the tone, the timber... He knew it. His mother. His mother was the one calling to him. Muscles on his face moved, shaped, morphed themselves collectively to form a smile. He was fond of his mother, he loved her. What child didn't? This new form of ability allowed him to move, to walk, to turn in order to face a hallway where the sound originated. There was the shadowed face of his mother, hidden by forces unknown to him.
"Nicholai..." His mouth was dry and staled with the taste of sand, his eyes burning of salt. The sound of heavy breathing pervaded his sense, it was him. It was his own lungs gasping for air.
"Nicholai..."

Nicholai's eyes opened only to stare down at a moving wall of sand. Immediately he was concerned for his own safety, worried about the sudden disorientated amnesia that faced him. He was being dragged unconsciously. The muscles of his neck screamed for reprieve, but he must look to face the world before him, to know. City blocks lay before him, buildings worn with decades of decaying sand. They were taking him through a ghost town. Who were they? Ignoring the second barrage of messages from his nervous system, he looked to his left to face a large man, heavy built, face covered by a bone mask. The rebels. Memories came back to him slowly. He was now an outcast, meant only to face a short, empty life. Why were they taking him here? Casting as many glances around as he could manage, he noticed one thing, or, one lack of thing: life. The small group of five armed men, not including him, were the only visible inhabitants of this large desert city. Where was everyone?

Feeling came to his ankles suddenly, they were turning. Gaze turned once before him, he noticed they had begun heading towards a small home. Why this one? Five minutes of consciousness and he was already riddled by the complexities he now faced in life. The leading soldier, presumably an officer, dusted off the sand-caked pad to the left of the doorway to reveal a home interface, still gleaming in the sunlight. Pressing his palm to it, a wall of clay fell to the ground in a cloud of puff to reveal a siding door, now open. The group continued onward, carrying their unwilling prisoner inside. There was a damp, pungent smell to the building, only detectable by those who spent large amounts of time out in the dry, desert air. It was the smell of humidity. Nicholai assumed that the building had kept in the water that had evaporated, due to the fact that almost all of the dwellings on this planet were airtight. Oxygen and water were fed in and recycled through a series of underground pipes, smarter than relying on the harsh atmosphere outside.

A soldier on corner duty spoke up quickly, mentioning something about 'them'. Niko turned just enough to see him out of the corner of his eye, catching the movement of the holographic scanner in his hand. An opaque, green-tinted replica of the city floated in mid air, covered in a small portion by red blobs. Niko had seen these portable interfaces before, even used and repaired them, this much he could remember. One fact in particular stuck out in his recollection: red almost always meant bad. Before he could gather more information, screaming sounds of engines rang throughout the home. An aircraft of some kind was outside, and close. Several of the soldiers began speaking at once, and all of them brought their weapons of choice to bear. The leader began giving hand motions to his squads, followed by commands. The group politely ended their jabbering to listen, then did exactly as they were ordered, even the part about dropping Niko, who fell to his knees only to realize he wasn't bound as he had first assumed.

As he shifted his weight in order to run, the door began to creep open. One soldier of a lower rank pointed out the obvious.
"They're here!" Just as the first shot was fired, Niko was on his way to the second room. Scrambling to find a weapon of some sort, he vaguely noted the stove to his left. A kitchen, kitchens meant knives. Quickly coming to the conclusion that they'd be stored, he systematically began ripping drawers from their grottoes, but the dying sounds of the gunfight only a door away meant that he'd run out of time. He turned to face a soldier in the doorway, rifle at the ready. Quickly putting his hands up, Niko did his best to look out of place, which wasn't too difficult.
"I'm not with them, they took me! They beat me!" In his current state, he looked ragged enough for the story to be true. The soldier stepped toward him, still not entirely sure.
"Are you injured?"
"Yes, yes! I need medical attention!" It was working well so far. Niko dared to step towards the soldier, lowering his hands. The man didn't seem to notice.
"You don't look too beat up, I'll need your help. My friend is hurt back there." The soldier turned for just a moment to gesture towards the other room, but it was enough time for him. With a quick step, he had on had under the shoulder of the soldier, pushing him off balance while the other was retrieving the knife on the shoulder-pad of his armor. Within a second, it had been done, but the soldier was fast. By the time Niko managed to get the knife at the ready, the soldier was coming at him.

Niko side-stepped a blow from the butt of the soldier's rifle, only to make a failed lunge at the man's exposed jugular. The knife glanced off of the hardened armor, and his wrist was caught in the man's grasp. Had to give up the knife already. He put his foot between the two of them, pushing off as hard as he could manage with one foot. It sent the soldier tumbling into the other room with the knife, just enough time for one move. Turning to survey his options, the first glance caught a gamble: the last kitchen drawer. Rushing to it, he jerked it open to reveal a full stock of knives. Jackpot. They weren't combat knives, of course, but they would kill all the same. Niko grabbed two at first instinct, both sharp and non-serrated. He faced the door only to experience a bit of deja-vu, the soldier was coming back for more. Niko was on him before he could act, however, reversed blade in his right hand, and the second blade for blocking. The man had given Niko more time earlier, for he had searched and found his ill-used combat knife, and was using it as a deterrent for close-range combat. As Niko neared, the man swiped at him, just grazing his left bicep. Niko punished him for it, though, as he drove the first knife into the left side of the soldier's neck, then the second knife entered under the protection of the armor and the ribcage, puncturing a lung.

After several moments of stillness, as if they were locked in an embrace, the soldier crumpled into a heap, blood leaking slowly onto the floor. Niko went over his weapons, deciding it would be better to take the combat knife and leave the others. It would be hard to carry a trooper's rifle inconspicuously. Niko took a long stare at the still-glowing eyes of the soldier's armor, feeling the rush of adrenaline slip away. Before he began to feel remorseful, he turned and exited the kitchen. Now for the second trooper. Niko wasted no time searching the house for him, he had, without a doubt, attempted to escape the city on foot after seeing his comrade attacked. He guessed that the rebels that had brought him here hadn't survived the initial firefight, and that just made his life a little easier. One last sigh left Niko following a set of footprints, made large by the scout's boots. It wouldn't be difficult to track him down, and maybe he could get to civilization by doing so. He gave one last look at the city, behind him now, before he slid the knife into his boot and carried onward.