Free Sabotage: Beginnings by LS Silverii Page B

the chassis. His ears buzzed from straining hard to listen for an aerial device. He felt the familiar deep ache in the base of his skull from the stress.
    Ben hated not knowing, so he decided to do something. He crawled out from under the closed space, and after brushing his duds off, he looked up into the ink of night and shot a big middle finger just in case there was a drone.
    “Fuck off, if you think I’m going to go down like that.” He wiggled his thigh and pulled the light cotton pants away from where dried semen had stuck the cloth to skin.
    “You tell ’em bad boy.” Ben cackled.
    “No shit, huh? Lets get going. We gotta know what they’re planning to do to us.”
    Ben took off toward the outpost, but stopped suddenly. Both hands sandpapered across his face and he growled in agitation, “Stop doing that shit.” He chuckled at the irony.
    Anger pumped his muscles full of stiffness, but he still managed to maneuver quick and silent across the open range. The absence of exterior guards caused him to be extra cautious, but he had seen a large crowd dump into the outpost earlier. His eyes narrowed while thoughts of Justice’s betrayal bombarded his psyche.
    Ben avoided the dim open-air patio but voices inside captured his attention. He struggled to settle his heavy breathing—it’d be a dead giveaway if a guard heard him panting like a dog.
    Windowless, the building’s only door looked feeble. The place was a shithole where the Afghani and United Nation’s Coalition forces assigned crooked and questionable local police. Ben became even more curious as to why Justice would affiliate himself with a band of questionable characters.
    “Fuck this, lets get out of here,” Ben whispered.
    He punched himself in the left temple. “Stop talking to me.”
    “Okay, but mommy would want us to be safe,” he pleaded.
    Ben leaned into the darkness and flattened himself against the wall. He was dying to know what plans Justice and his bitch female partner had to capture and kill him. The interior voices became clearer. His interest was maxed out, but the sounds he overheard didn’t reconcile with a briefing or operation planning.
    His palms scorched as he touched the mud building that still held most of the day’s heat in the walls. Ben pursed his lips at the sting of his cheek against the mud stucco, but it was the only way to eavesdrop.
    He smacked in disgust. “And to think I just jacked off thinking good thoughts about that bastard.” A grin curled his mouth as the memory of his orgasm seeped into his thoughts.
    A loud, booming roar sounded like a wild beast, but he recognized the voice as Justice Boudreaux. Ben’s body tensed to flee but his rigid frame wouldn’t bend to run. That didn’t add up—why would Justice be screaming while the others enjoyed such a clatter?
    Maybe his female companion is entertaining the troops.
    “Jabar, I’m going to kill you, motherfucker!” Justice’s voice.
    Those words shook Ben. Justice was in peril. He was a fellow American after all. But Justice could take care of himself—right?
    “Fuck off, American.” Ben heard a Middle Eastern accent say.
    Fury bubbled just beneath Ben’s surface. No way in hell was some terrorist going to curse America or a brother citizen. He and Justice had both served in the Army, and despite their differing missions, they both bled for the red, white and blue.
    “Ben, get a fucking grip, idiot. That dude wants to kill you. Fuck him—you’re home free, sucka.” He mocked himself.
    He pressed his palms into the mud exterior and chewed the inside of his cheek, debating.
    “Maybe so, what can we do? Oh heck, what can I do?”
    “You had it right the first time, idiot.”
    “Enough out of you,” Ben chastised.
    Suddenly, the situation worsened, demanded his attention. His body readied for an attack or ambush. He was too close to have still been unnoticed but it made no difference. He was a machine that killed for his country. There was