There is no man alive, on Earth or Rigel 5, who could take even a graze from a laser bullet without screaming in pain. Less a method of execution (though the highest settings were assuredly lethal), and more a method of disarmament, laser bullets were a long range taser shot designed not only to inflict damage as necessary, but to trick the nervous system into believing that it is being consumed by overwhelming sensations, from white hot fire, to sub zero freezes, and any number of painful mind tricks in between. In Sam’s case, or, more appropriately, in the case of the Rigel Shipping standard issue sidearms, the sensation was closer to having nails or heavy splinters driven into ones skin.
Sam had yet to adjust the damage settings on his sidearm; they were set to their lowest point, and the damage to his shin from the laser bullet was slightly short of sunburn. He could possibly count on a few bruises as well from his fall into the ditch – the same fall Annabelle herself had taken only a few days earlier. But the mind trick levels had been set to max.
Sam howled in pain from the bottom of the shallow ditch, a barely human noise that escaped him helplessly as the imaginary splinters and nails shoved under his skin, into his leg. Fred’s eyes widened and he stepped back, holding out his console to illuminate Sam’s fall, trying to assess of the scope of the damage.
Sam shook his head, trying to breathe through it as he looked down – or up, really – to his leg. No blood. No broken bones. No vague scent of bacon. He could tell he was fine, but still his mind reeled with the sharp pain. He struggled, trying to rise to his feet, but the effort forced another sharp cry from his lips as he stood.
Annabelle had heard the sharp buzz, and dropped the Buffalo wing she was eating. Having tired of the diagnostic game, she had put the screwdriver away and retired to the sofa for pizza and TiVo. She had assumed, however, that the electric shock noise was a sound on television, and went about finding the upholstery spray for the orange stain the sauce made on the couch. It wasn’t until Sam’s scream of pain cut clearly through the evening’s silence that she realized there was someone outside. Beyond the realm of rational thought – where normal humans might call the police or otherwise avoid becoming involved in someone else’s suffering – Annabelle pulled her hoodie on over her pajamas and wandered outside to investigate.
Fred reached for Sam, on his knees next to the trench where Sam had fallen. “Someone’s gonna hear, Sam! We’ve got to get out of here!”
“We can’t!” Sam gritted his teeth and grasped both of Fred’s arm’s, wincing and letting the tears rush from his eyes as the pain continued to cut through his leg. “If we come back without that thing, you know they might burn down this entire forest just to get it back…”
“So what if they do?” Fred groaned as Sam released him, letting his friend fall to the ground and helping him to rise to his knees.
“Because they…” Sam stammered, stuck on the thought, mostly thinking of Annabelle, the thought of fire reminding him of the strange scarlet streaks that ran through her hair, and became nauseated at the thought of Corporate taking anything into their own hands. “They’ll kill her…”
“Kill who?” Fred blinked, looking at Sam curiously as they knelt, pausing as he began helping him to his feet.
“Yeah, who?” Sam and Fred looked up, blinking at the flashlight that Annabelle shone over them.
