AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is something that took shape over the course of a couple weeks. It's a first draft of an idea, and nowhere near complete. Opinions and constructive criticism are always welcome. Let me know what you all think.

A loud explosion erupted just outside the shelter, shaking the hollowed out building to its foundations and filling the air with chunks of concrete and dust. This particular shelter was one of the few left standing outside the resistance camp that covered a ten kilometer radius from what was left of City Hall. All the rest had been obliterated; completely leveled over the many years of conflict.

Nobody could remember precisely how long the war had been going on. It didn't matter anymore. All people knew or cared to know was that war was upon them, and they were being forced to fight back; to survive however they could.

No resistance leaders wanted to admit it out loud, but they were losing the war. They talking about it in hushed tones, behind closed doors; but the rumours were beginning to spread. When it's something so important, so mind-numbing, it's hard for people to just keep quiet. The Council of Twelve was beginning to seize larger pockets of unclaimed land, capture and interrogate more and more resistance members. They were beginning to prevail.

The Council…the illusion of democracy.

The bitter, scathing thought came from the mind of the slight, Caucasian male huddled against the wall of the shelter, adjacent to the cracked and broken entryway, shielding a smaller form from the raining debris. His clothes, a light white shirt rolled up to the elbows and dark green camo pants, were stained and grimy; torn from excessive use. Through the tears in the chest of his shirt, the dull grey-coloured material of a Kevlar vest could be faintly seen. A well-worn bandolier ran from right shoulder to left hip, carrying spare clips for the automatic pistol in the holster on his right hip. His sandy brown hair, which ran to the nape of his neck, was in disarray; stray strands of it obscuring part of his steel blue eyes.

The form, blond haired and female, shivered in his arms, sending a subtle shockwave up his back. He tightened his hold on her, one arm around her waist and the other about her shoulders, as he waited patiently for her anxiety to ease.

"Simon…" Her voice was almost inaudible, hardly above a whisper; her body had ceased its shaking.

"Yeah?" he replied, gently brushing strands of golden hair away from her forehead.

"…I'm scared." Simon looked down into the girl's teal eyes, at a face streaked with blood and grime.

"I know, Rachel," he said softly. "I'm here. You don't have to be frightened anymore."

"You're lying." The matter-of-factness of the statement took him aback slightly.

"I can't lie to you. I'm your big brother. It's not in my job description."

A fearful smile crept up on her as another nearby explosion rocked the building. Her body began to shake again as Simon held on, his eyes darting about the immediate vicinity as he struggled to get a hold on the situation.

Shellings were commonplace in the Council's new world order. They kept insurgents and other resistance factions on the move, leaving them unable to coordinate a proper attack and instead forcing a reliance on hit-and-run, guerrilla warfare tactics. Typical shelling operations used 120 calibre, HE shells fired from stationary artillery installations along the border of the demilitarized zone. They were highly destructive, and typically lasted anywhere from two to ten minutes. The siblings had been taking cover in the shelted for close to twenty.

Simon cursed himself for his stupidity. He had been dispatched to corroborate reports of an intact storage facility located in the approximate centre of the Zone. Foolishly believing that it would be safe, he gave into Rachel's persistent requests to accompany him on one of his assignments.

Look how well that one turned out. She's scared half to death.

He rose to his feet, pulling his sister up with him. He lifted her chin so that he could meet her gaze. Her eyes were beginning to swim; he could make out the formation of tears in their corners.

"We've gotta go, and we've gotta go now." Rachel's lower lip quivered.

"But the shelling—"

"This isn't just a normal shelling. It's been going on for too long." The crack of another artillery shell being fired resounded loudly. He tenderly wiped the tears from her eyes with his thumb. "We'll be alright; we just have to make a run for it." Rachel swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded once. Simon returned the nod, adding a smile of reassurance for her benefit.

He snaked his head around the door frame to glance out upon the damaged area. His eyes focused upon the artillery; upon the soldiers firing shells at them, appearing so small in the distance. His mind resolved in its action, Simon rose to his feet, pulling his sister up with him. He pointed her chin up so that he could meet her gaze.

"We've got to go, and we've got to go now. You know the way. Run as fast as you can."

"But what about you?"

"I'll be right behind you, now go." Rachel's eyes held a steely resolve that belied her emotional state, and she nodded once at her brother's words. Simon returned the nod, squeezing her arm gently in reassurance. His body tensed. Another shell fired. He took Rachel by the waist and began to move.

They took off at a sprint, moving as quickly as they could across the cracked, uneven concrete. As they ran, their boots trying and succeeding in finding purchase on terrain of varying elevations, Simon could make out the faint sound of approaching gunfire. It grew louder as they went, and he was startled when a loud pop echoed from the chunk of street they had just passed. Fuck, they've spotted us.

The bullets began to whiz by at a startling speed, preceded only briefly by the muffled crack of a muzzle brake. A sound akin to glass shattering accompanied the projectiles' impact against the brittle, exposed slabs of road.

"Get down!" Simon yelled, forcing his sister to take cover behind an old jalopy lined with scorch marks and holes. Rachel instinctively brought her arms over her head, huddling against the car's frame; her breathing was coming in short, ragged gasps from the combination of adrenaline and fear pumping through her veins. After making sure she was alright, Simon took a steadying breath and slid his weapon free of its holster, quickly bringing the slide back to chamber the first round. The spring-loaded piece easily snapped back into place with a click. The artillery fired again as he moved, turning so that his chest was towards the battered husk of a car. He raised his head just enough to peer over the frame of the door and through the window.

The soldiers overseeing the artillery barrage still appeared intent on its continuation, and had not drawn their weapons. They weren't the ones firing at them, as Simon had originally suspected. It was a trio of soldiers, far nearer than the artillery troops, approximately 9 or 10 metres from the siblings' location. Two had taken up stationary positions on either flank, laying down continuous bursts from their assault rifles, whilst the other stayed mobile, drawing closer to the automobile. Simon smiled dourly. Looks like a scouting party thinks they got lucky. His index finger moved to the switch located just above the trigger as his thumb removed the safety. The soldiers' attire served to confirm his previous observation. As apposed to the lightweight, full-body armor seen on the artillery troops, the only protective garment the scouts had overtop their uniforms were light flak vests.

Simon flicked the switch above the trigger, changing it to single-shot mode as automatic fire continued to pellet their cover, sending small bits of shrapnel ricocheting past him. He inched his way to the front end of the jalopy, a plan already formulating in his mind. I'm only going to get one shot to take out all three before they can get a clean shot at me. I've got to make it count.

"Damn it, Jenkins, you're in my line of fire!" one of the soldiers yelled as the automatic fire abruptly stopped. The soldier nearest to the siblings' position was now footsteps away from the car, effectively eradicating any chance, however slim, of his comrades getting a clear shot. Simon swiftly spun, squeezing off two shots before taking cover once more.

Thin wisps of smoke floated free of the muzzle as the spent shells clattered to the ground. The now deceased soldier crumpled, falling to his knees as crimson droplets of blood dribbled from twin holes in his forehead. Twin yelps of surprise, incomprehensible to Simon's ears, escaped the throats of the dead soldier's comrades, followed by their opening fire again in earnest.

A loud shriek fled from the confines of Rachel's mouth as stray bullets shattered the window in the door she was leaning against, located behind and over her head. Simon moved to her side, brushing tiny shards of glass from her hair as he placed his other hand on her shoulder.

"I'm going to draw there fire. When they notice me, you need to go. You need to run and not look back."

"I'm not—"

"Rachel!"

Her eyes widened in shock. Simon had never raised his voice to her. Ever. Simon closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

"I need to make sure you're safe." The edge in his voice was gone. "I'll make it back. I promise." He pulled her into a hug; she squeezed him tightly, nearly taking the breath from him. They parted. Simon gave a gentle nod, and stood up, flipping his weapon back to full automatic.

Rachel began to run. She could hear the distinctive echo of her brother's gun firing behind her. She made it a handful of metres when she heard a loud grunt. She whirled to see Simon falling forward, almost in slow motion; his gun slipped out of his hand and fell to the ground, useless.

"No!" She ran headlong back the way she came, towards her brother's fallen body. She was almost within arm's length when a pair of arms grabbed her from behind. She struggled fiercely, trying to squirm free; trying to get to her brother. She clawed, scratched, kicked; anything she could. The sharp blow to the back of her head stopped her cold, sending her hurtling into unconsciousness.

Simon awoke slowly, his mind swimming to the surface in a sea of fog and confusion. He attempted to sit up as his faculties returned to him, but found himself restricted, the cold feel of metal providing a chill to his skin. His shirt had been removed, and he was clamped down to a wide gurney by his arms and chest. His eyes narrowed; he began to struggle against his restraints as a man in a pristine, navy blue suit approached.

"Ahh, you're awake. Good."

"Who the hell are you?"

"I have gone by many names over the course of my term, but at present, you may call me 'councilman'." The knowledge began to set into Simon's mind as a shock of electricity coursed through his body, sending him into spasms. When his eyes regained their focus, he saw a small remote in the man's hand.

"As you can see, I do not play games."

"What do you want?"

"More cooperative now, are we? Good. What I want from you is very simple, Mister Canton: the location of your resistance's military installations, command core and back-up system's modules." Simon spat, narrowly missing the man.

"Even if I did know all of that, I'd be a dead man if I told you. You won't get anything from me." The man considered this for a moment, tapping the remote lightly against his palm.

"Pity. Very well, then, I shall leave these gentlemen to their jobs." A trio of men entered, wheeling carts carrying a variety of pain-inducing devices. It was obvious what they were employed to do. Simon's eyes widened as the realization of his situation dawned on him. He began to struggle anew as each man drew an item from their respective carts, and moved to him. The navy suited man began to walk out of the room.

"Do let me know if you change your mind." His hand moved to the control on the wall, and the door slid shut as Simon began to scream. The man walked to the room directly across from that of Simon's. He keyed the controls; the door opened with a hiss of steam. He took a step inward, and crouched down; his pants bunched in layers behind his kneecaps.

"Do you know why Simon is screaming? He's in agony, because he chose not to cooperate. He chose to stay silent." He moved closer. "You have a chance to avoid such unpleasantness. If you tell me what I need to know, you will not be harmed, and I can halt his…interrogation." He rose, brushing the dust off of his pants, and moved back to the doorway. He looked back over his shoulder. "Do consider it, my dear."

Rachel, huddled in a corner of the room, was quiet, eyes full of hatred as the door sealed shut, enclosing her in the room, with naught but her brother's screams to keep her company. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she buried her head in her knees. I'm sorry, Simon…