Why Zoocross Is Delayed (A ZF Fan Fic)

It was supposed to be a week-long trip.

But now, as he sat in a log cabin somewhere dark and cold in Siberia, he knew he would not be coming home soon.

He had gone there seeking answers, assuring his friends that he would be back soon. There was going to be a race, and he was just as excited as any fan to see who would win it.

He took a plane to Ukraine after saying his goodbyes. For a while, all seemed well. He met up with his contact, learned what he needed to know, and was preparing to leave later that night. While listening to music and drinking the local brew in his rented cabin, things took a turn for the worse.

The sound of gunfire drowned out his music and sent him tumbling from his seat. He turned over a table, putting the heavy oak piece between him and the door. But the sounds of gunfire were not from nearby. Over a nearby hill, an insurgency of Russian troops had just arrived and were opening fire on the locals. Unprepared civilians were shot as they ran for safety, and others died in their sleep as tanks blew apart entire building.

He dared to come out from behind the table and looked out a window. Fires lit up the otherwise pitch black night. If it wasn't for the fact his lodgings were so far on the outskirts of town, he might have not even heard the troops before he died. He could not discern a reason why they would attack. Is Putin trying to build a new Soviet Union? Did Ukraine breaks some treaty? Or is everyone still pissy over that whole oil fiasco? Either way, he was not going to sit here and wait for some Russian grunts to blast him to pieces.

Shutting of his music and lights, he opened up one of his suitcases. A substantial bribe to the airlines allowed him to slip past a case of deadly essentials he never went anywhere without.  His half-empty brews were now converted into molotovs. His belt was now weighed down with grenades and ammo. On his back, a sledge hammer was slung in case things got up close and personal. But of course, he had a few knives on his person in case a quick kill was necessary.

He hefted up a machine gun and a grenade launcher. If he hadn't been so used to dual-wielding the two weapons, this might have made him incredibly inaccurate. But this man had faced tougher before, and by no means would he let some scruffy band of Russian soldiers be the ones to take him down.

He stepped out into the cold night. The wind was unforgiving to say the least, but his person was covered with so many weapons he hardly had room for the cold to seep in. Staying low and out of the light of the burning buildings, he did his best to work his way around the back of the group of soldiers. They were distracted as a ragtag militia did their best to take out some front line infantry.

Just as he was about to reach the back, gunfire shot across his path. One of the tank gunners had spotted him. The gunner's shots danced all around, but none of them could find its target in the dark of the night. Before the gunner could locate his target once more, the feeling of sharp steel slid across his neck.

The other men in the tank began to shout up at the now deceased comrade. One man popped the hatch of the tank to investigate, and as soon as he saw his comrade, he screamed. Not because of the dead body, but because of the weapon-laden warrior who was right in front of him. The Russian's scream was muffled as a grenade was jammed into his open jaw, and soon the men within the tank found out what their buddy looked like without his head.

The tankmen were quick to react, but none of them could get out of the tank before two molotov cocktails fell down to join them. He closed the tank hatch to silence the screams of the burning soldiers. That took out the heavy weaponry, but there were many soldiers in the city, as well as jeeps with mounted machine guns.

He slowly worked his way towards the burning city, but he would not be able to enter it without giving up stealth. Instead, he stood just out of sight, waiting for a troop of passing soldiers to get into just the right position...

The troop of soldier's were blown sky high as he opened fire with his grenade launcher. The rest of the soldiers quickly shifted their attention from terrorizing citizens to killing their mystery assailant. The jeeps roared to the scene, their gunners firing erratically out into the darkness.

He cursed as on of the bullets hit his hand. He was forced to drop his grenade launcher and switch to his machine gun. Diving out of cover, he aimed for the drivers of the jeeps. In a quick sweep, the jeeps' occupants were dwindled down to just a group of gunners screaming as their rides careened into fires they had helped create.

The regular infantry proved to be the most difficult surprisingly. The group had split, and as he mowed down a few easily, he had a sneaking suspicion some where sneaking up on him. This proved to be correct, and as soon as gunfire began to shoot out from behind him, he turned around to face his assailants... only to find his machine gun was already empty. He reached for his ammo in his belt, but another soldier had managed to sneak up on him. He was quickly disarmed, but he was able to escape thanks to a headbutt to his attacker's throat. He pulled his sledgehammer off his back, and with a quick swing, he brained his still choking assailant.

His sledgehammer swung wildly between the soldiers who had snuck up on him. Bones were cracked and brains were squished, but not all of the soldiers were slow enough to be hit by the heavy weapon. One brave Russian leaped forward, snapping the wrist of the hammer-wielding hero. Before that Russian could do anything else, a knife had just got acquainted with his guts.

The last few soldiers pulled out their pistols, firing at the man as his available weapons dwindled down to nothing. He would not be able to take them out with his knife, so he reached around his person for any available weapon he could find. All he could find was one grenade. He pulled the ring and pressed the plunger, tossing it towards the Russians. The group tried to back away, but the grenade was quick to explode.

The Russians were blasted to bits, but he was knocked back something awful as well. His front was now scorched and shrapnel stuck out of a few places, but he would survive. Retrieving his lost hammer, machine gun, and grenade launcher, he began to walk towards his cabin. He would nurse his fractured wrist, reload his weaponry, and take the next flight out of this hellhole. At least that is what he would have done if he had not heard the mortar fire.

Turning around, he saw long range weaponry tearing into the already obliterated town. He dashed up towards the hill that the Russians had arrived over. Once he reached the top, he could not believe his eyes. As far as he could see, a convoy of Russian soldiers, tanks, and other weaponry was making its way towards the town.

He did not curse. He did not cower or step back. He stood on top of that hill, reloaded his weapons, and spat onto the ground below.

"This is going to take a bit longer than I thought," said Major Failure as he opened fire on the invading army.