Short story

The distance to the back wall seemed like an eternity but he let himself rest when he reached it. He lifted his plate carrier to feel the warm sticky liquid begin to clot over the small hole in his lower abdomen, there was little doubt in his mind if he felt the converse there wouldnt be a larger partner. He winced as he drew his fingers away, now a rich crimson. He unslung his rifle, the release from the empty and now useless conglomeration of metal and plastic came as a welcome release. He gazed at his new surroundings, what may have been a store room at one point was little more than a collection of dust in a long forgotten corner of the world. Footsteps echoed down the corridor he had traveled in a feeble attempt to escape his pursuers, they slowed as they approached the door way. A team of four men swept the room until their muzzles rested firmly on the man against the wall. The injured man gave a weak chuckle, "No worries boys, the rifle's empty. Might as well call your boss and let him lecture me to death." A man in his early thirties waltzed into the room, his neatly kept hair and cold brown eyes matched his uniform perfectly. The uniformed man lazily surveyed the room before crisply asking "Horrible place to die, is it not?" The man across the room from him locked eyes, "As good a place as any. You wouldn't happen to have a cigarette on you that you could spare a dying man?" Despite his injuries and all he had seen or done his voice still carried a softness that did not survive this new world it found itself in. The uniformed man smirked before reaching into his coat. He withdrew a silver case and a lighter and pulled two cigarettes from the case. He casually strolled to the down man before handing one to the downed man. The dying man thanked the man before pressing it to his lips. As he felt the smoke enter his lungs the injured man leaned back against the wall, the ceramic plates felt a lot heavier than normal. The uniformed man lit his own before returning the case and lighter to their respective homes. "Tell me something, why did you attempt to challenge us? Surely a smart man such as yourself must have known this was the only logical conclusion to your transgressions." The injured man said nothing as he wiped the sweat from his brow, with it he pushed his messy brown hair to the side so his green eyes could shine a bit brighter. The officer shrugged his shoulders, "No matter, its only a matter of time before the rest of your traitorous band of misfits are collected and punished." The injured man broke his silence after a long drag, "I think the word you're looking for is 'exterminated'..." Another long drag, "And to answer your question: because the costume you wear used to mean something to us. It used to symbolize hope and justice, honor and courage. It used to be a source of pride, now all it represents is pain and suffering." The officer raised an eyebrow. He was old enough to remember the times the lame man refered to, the officer had seen such times as unjust and uncaring and only through severe changes could these precevied wrongs be corrected. "You speak of dark times, a time before the benevolents took control." The venom the officers words where almost palpable. The downed man shruged his shoulders as much as his exausted body would allow before taking a final drag. On the exhale the injures man spoke his final words: "It doesnt matter what you think of the past, especially since you dont have a future." The last thing anyone in the building heard was the clack of the remote detonator.