25 years earlier

He was on the front line when the message came through. Beyond exhausted, he'd spent the last thirty-six hours in this hell hole and his right shoulder burned with pain from a bullet that has ricocheted off the metal barrier. It had been a through and through, luckily missing the main arteries, but all the medic could do was pack the wound with Sloflo, a clotting powder and give him a shot. It hurt like hell.

The line was holding, just. The battle, if you could call it that, had taken the army by surprise. Until resupply the next day, they were outgunned and outnumbered. Whispers of trouble had been heard for weeks, but no one of any importance had paid heed to them. These were supposed to be a dirty, hungry, broken people, incapable of an uprising; how wrong they were. The insurgent's first calculated move was to take over the weapons dump in the old isolated warehouse district. From what Mickey heard, they had achieved this with the use of pitch forks, pick axes and an assortment of homemade weapons. They were also surprisingly organised, with plenty of manpower including women and teenage children- all hell bent on bringing down the State. It had started here in Charm, but the insurgency was spreading across Bellisa and rumours had begun to suggest that this was going nationwide. The wheels of homeland defence always seemed to move so slowly and the government's lengthy consultation process meant that by the time Mickey and the troops had arrived they were at a significant disadvantage.

To top it all the weather was foul and had been the trigger for their action. The power had been out for over a week, coal was in short supply and the patience of the Flawed masses had finally eroded away. The rain had been near continuous for days. Everything was sodden and their weapons didn't much like the damp. Ironically the older weapons that the insurgents stole from the dump were working well. Too well.

"Hey Mickey, I think I spotted a sniper," Vic shouted above the brutal noise of battle. He had just moved toward the wall to recce the area when Vic fell backwards, blasted off the pallet he had been standing on. Mickey looked down at his friend and saw a neat two centimetre diameter hole in the centre of his forehead. Blood poured out of the back of his head and mixed with the oily detritus that ran like a stream through the middle of their harbour.

"No, Vic, no, " he cried out, bending over to the body of his departed friend. Another pinging sound, of bullet on metal, brought him back to his senses. The sniper was still there. His emotions conflicted, he didn't want to leave his friend's side, but he had the desperate urge to fight back. Mickey lowered Vic's eyelids, not wanting to look into the dulling orbs, forever fixed in a death, a moment longer and took up position on the pallet. Dusk was near, the fading light perfect cover for those lying in wait. Carefully, he scanned the area using the telescopic sight from his rifle.

"Mickey!" A voice called out to him; he ignored it.

"Corporal Briggs." the voice had a more serious tone, "You need to come with me.".

Mickey reluctantly looked away from the battle field that was once a supermarket car park.

"What is it, Lemmy?" he shouted back.

"Sarge wants a word."

Mickey took a last look out, then climbed off the pallet and slowly walked back to the field headquarters stepping over the bodies of once friends and colleagues. After ten minutes they had journeyed back into the safe zone and they approached the Comms tent. It was a large shelter made from a sagging, weathered canvas.

"So sorry mate," Lemmy said, then patted him on the back and sloped off in the direction of the mess tent. Mickey wondered how he was going to tell Vic's family.

"Corporal Briggs, come in," instructed a voice.

Mickey entered and saluted Sergeant Ellis. He stood attention.

"At ease, solider. I'm sorry to say I have some grave news for you, son." Sarge Ellis was a large impressive man, not known for tea and sympathy. His manner right now was a little too soft for Mikey's liking. It made him nervous.

The Comms tent was warm, warmer than outside and exhaustion threatened to crash over him like a wave. All he wanted was sleep; he didn't need to hear any more bad news of spiralling body counts or new, more dangerous assignments.

"Your folks have been murdered by the insurgents."

Mickey looked at Ellis like he was speaking in tongues.

"Did you hear me lad? Your parents have been killed." Not bothering to spare him any of the gruesome facts, Ellis continued. "They were dragged from their home and beaten to death."

Mickey heard it this time and stumbled back, falling hard into a chair. He couldn't comprehend the thought of his dear parents suffering in such a way. If only he had been there... Then a voice at the back of his brain shouted at him. He listened to the voice and heard it call a name- Amy. He jumped off the seat and loomed towards Ellis.

"Amy, where is Amy, my sister, Amy?" he shouted, his voice broken with emotion.

"Sorry son. Seems they took her and badly assaulted her. She is currently in the hospital in a coma. They don't think she is going to make it."

Mickey's brain couldn't process anymore.

"Go the hospital, Mickey. Let her spend what's left of her time with someone who loves her. Lemmy will drive you."

Mickey had never heard Ellis do anything other than bark orders at people. Someone once joked he was really a robot disguised under camouflage coloured skin. But the concern in his face, made Mickey's loss hit home harder. He couldn't answer Ellis, but nodded his acceptance and lowered his face away to hide the tears that were pouring down his dirty cheeks. He turned to walk out and Ellis put a firm hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

As Mikey left the tent, he came face to face with Lemmy. Mickey was reminded of Lemmy saying sorry just a few minutes ago. They looked at each other and said nothing. They didn't need to; the look in their shared gaze spoke volumes. They made their way to the car and Mickey entered the passenger side. Lemmy turned on the heated seats and as the soft leather warmed up, Mickey felt the irony of it all. For days he had been physically uncomfortable; limbs aching, cold, damp but mentally he had been okay. Yet here he was a few days later, finally pleasantly comfortable and yet his mind and heart were ravaged by pain.

The journey didn't take long. It helped that the temporary private transport ban had freed up the roads for just troops and supplies. Neither of which were in great abundance. Lemmy drove quickly and neither of them spoke. At the hospital Mickey jumped out of the car not waiting for it to come to a complete stop. He flew into the foyer and straight to the receptionist.

"Amy Briggs, where is she?" he demanded.

"One second, sir, I just need to finish this call," replied the receptionist behind the desk.

Mickey towered over him, grabbing his collar and lifting him up with one hand. He then replaced the phone back onto the cradle with the other.

"I asked where Amy Briggs is. Tell me now!"

Whimpering and rubbing his neck, the receptionist scanned a clipboard and then whispered, his throat sore and husky.

"Room 2C2."

Mickey ran off towards the stairs and was stopped by a security guard.

"Please come with me, sir. The hospital does not tolerate abuse on its staff."

Mickey turned and eyeballed the guard and let out what sounded like an animalistic growl. "Get away from me or else," he warned. The guard didn't need a second warning, he backed away nervously and allowed Mickey to climb the two flights of stairs.

A sign hung above saying, Critical Care. As he opened the doors, the fight in him had all but evaporated and he stumbled down the corridor till he reached room, 2C2. He slowly opened the door, revealing someone lying on a trolley bed; he reluctantly moved closer. The unconscious form was attached to a dozen tubes at least. A wall of monitors and other machines to the left of the bed beeped and flashed. Still a good two metres from the bed, he looked away from the machines and down to the bed to see an unrecognisable mess of bloated, purple, lacerated skin. Their body was covered up but blood was seeping through the pristine white sheets in the chest area. The persons head had been brutally shaved. This isn't Amy, he told himself, I would recognise Amy if I saw her. Just then his breath caught in his throat as saw a small black love-heart tattooed on the person's neck.

"Oh god, Amy no," he cried and rushed to be near her side. Although there was a ten- year age gap between them, the two of them were very close. He so clearly remembered clearly the chubby, curly-haired child she used to be. He wanted to touch her, to hold and comfort her as he had when she was little, but he daren't, not wanting to inflict another second of pain on her, even if it wasn't intentional.

"Mr Briggs," a voice asked from behind.

Mickey turned around and looked at the young doctor in the white coat.

"I am so sorry to hear of your loss today."

"Thank you," he just managed to reply, as he turned back to Amy.

"I'm afraid Amy has suffered extensive injuries, both external and internal. At the moment, it is this machine that is keeping her alive. She is non-responsive, her pupils are fixed and dilated and her brain shows no reaction to stimuli at all."

"Is there nothing you can do? My family has...had money. Please doctor, there must be something."

The doctor came closer. "No, sadly not. The damage to her body is just too extensive. It is our opinion that it would be kindest to let her go."

Amy had always been a fire cracker, who fizzed and burned with a passion for life. This wasn't her, this battered piece of flesh and bone. In the space of a few hours Mikey had lost his entire family and nothing would be the same again.

"Turn them off. Turn them all off and let her go." Mikey fell forward and place his head in Amy's lap, saying the word, sorry, over and over.

"Thank you, Mr Briggs. Again, I am so sorry for your loss."

The doctor walked towards the door, and turned back to Mikey. "Please just shout if there is anything I or my team can do further for you. My name is Doctor Eastman."