The Dagger in the Jungle

Metal creaks around me, stirring me from the edge of sleep I nearly caught myself in. I shake my head a bit, my navy blue mane getting in my eyes a bit as I blow it away with a puff of breath. I suddenly clutch the seat, following another disturbance, the aircraft I was riding in making a violent sway. I let out a frustrated breath, looking at my hands, the bottom of the palm exposed from the dark, metal grey fur of my body.

I hated Helicopter rides, I hated the way they flew, how the sounds of the propellers spinning made me tired, and how flimsy the entire vessel was. At any moment, the wrong move, the wrong wind, and she would tilt over and send me and it careening to the ground, where I would most likely try and ride out, since my supplies were on board. At the thought, I quickly look straight above me, looking past the silver colored netting to my saddle pack, a somewhat well made survival pack, full of basic needs, mostly empty. What I had in it was up to me to find out on the ground, as I hadn't packed it personally, and I was busy trying not to currently have a panic attack from a third shudder.

"Drop in five! Ear piece!" the pilot says, holding up his five fingers. I grunt, suddenly reaching up to my pack, unzipping a pocket and pulling out a small cord, attached to an ear piece. I roll it around in my fingers, warming it up, before placing it in my right ear.

"Dagger here, lets do this," I say to the pony on the other side, reaching for my pack, unzipping the netting and letting the pouch drop into my lap. I unzip it, beginning to unpack some items out of the front pouch, a High Altitude Re-breather, so I wouldn't suffocate while falling, and the strange little brick that was described as a "Intel Processor". To me, this device looked like a phone. And for what I knew, it was, and the government just wanted to feel special.

"Dagger, this is Echo, I will be your Handler here," the nicely feminine voice says from the ear piece.

"I'm reading you clear, Echo."

"Good, your jump is coming up, I'll debrief you on the flight down."

I nod, un-clipping my straps, watching them zip back into the holes the straps came out of, picking myself up off the seat, throwing the pack onto my back, and shoving the odd little Y shaped Rebreather into my muzzle. I take a test breath in, tasting the almost metallic clean air.

I grab the door, shoving it open, the wind roaring through the opening, moving my pack straps and mane in the wind, the rest of me held down by the black leather armor that I was given. I take a deep breath, and then jump.

I nearly throw up my lunch, my stomach flying upwards as I sail downwards, a spinning ball of fur and cloth hurtling and tumbling through the thin air. I straighten my back out, and throw out my limbs, righting out, looking down at the sea of green below me. It was a pretty sight, the Zebra Tribeland was an expansive, mountain and hill speckled jungle, with rocks and stone jutting out as grey dots and arches along the most green canvas. To my right, I saw a looping river, which snaked down, lined with small villages, leading to some rather big civilization that I could barely make out from the crater like natural structure that surrounded it.

"That, the spot your looking at, is where our target is. He calls himself Skullhead, he's a Zebra Warlord with a obsession with collecting the skulls of powerful warriors, which he wears to intimidate his enemies. Mean, tough, and a generally powerful stallion," Echo explains, make me look at it closer.

The positioning of his city was... admirable. It was set in a crater, as I already mentioned, but the sides of the crater were lined with small brown streaks, which were most likely defensive structures. They fired down, and the Zebras who try to get in had to climb up it. I also notice another grey and brown color, more towards the river, which I could see was a large, stone gate that would cut off the river, and anyone in or outside of that gate, which seemed to impress me.

"This guy isfent kiffing" I slur past the Rebreather in my maw, which was like having a metal tube shoved into your mouth.

"Skullface and his posse are very war focused," Echo explains, her voice a neutral calm, "instead of focusing on farming, or artisan work, he opts to steal it from the other tribes by force. And, to some degree, that plan has worked. Look left."

I swivel my head left, as instructed. I spot a giant, multicolored Windmill, turning gently in the breeze of the jungle, surrounded by a clear village. I could tell it was a village because I was most likely going to land inside of it. I had a ways to go, thankfully, but it was alarming.

"That is the Village of the Inkia Tribe, the ones who sent the letter for help. We are putting you down in there f-"

Suddenly, the whole world went quiet and dark, and I felt my body tumble through the air limply. I felt my chest burn as I took a sharp, deep breath through the Rebreather, a ringing deafening my ears. I blink my eyes, my vision returning, revealing that my armor had a smoldering hole knocked through it.

I was suddenly jerked from my self assessment, the bright light of a red firework exploding next to me making me instinctively tumble leftward to avoid it, watching as the searing hot metal making the light burn out on the sunset twilight next to me. I look down, my eyes widening.

Ground, close, chute, now!

My fist grips the rip cord, yanking it outwards, and my chest nearly caves from the suddenly jerk up. I had managed to deploy the chute about 720 feet from the ground. To put into layman's terms, 700 is the height that a safe landing can be achieved. I was scraping my luck, or whatever I had left of it.

I look around, dazed, deafened, and confused. I suddenly spot another firework hurtling towards me, the sparks flying off the little mortar shell, the smoking coming from the Inkia Village, fired off one of the walls. I hold my breath once more as my Rebreather drops out of my mouth and into the jungle below as the firework explodes again, throwing hot sparks into me and my parachute.

I grunt, pulling on the straps, trying to fill my parachute with air to slow my fall, watching as the flames get a healthy dose of air, fueling them to burn a hole through the cloth. I yell, pulling my knife from my waist, cutting the cord to my left, which suddenly swings me right, letting my body dangle as the parachute folds above me, no longer stopping my fall.

The second strap snaps, and I tumble in a circle. I pull my reserve cord, and wait for whatever came next.

My whole world was pain. The reserve had shot out, slowing me enough to not turn into a pile of bones, meat and fur. But that didn't mean I was fine, not by any stretch of the imagination. My left arm, hanging limply by my currently face down body, was dislocated, throbbing with a dull pain. I take a sharp breath in, feeling my chest burn as I finally gave them a healthy dose of air to wake me up. I could feel clicking in there too, broken ribs most likely. I hiss a bit, using my right appendage to move myself onto my back, taking an enormous amount of energy, anger and willpower to even commit to it.

I lay there, my body wanting to shut down and die. I look up at the foliage above me, seeing the pinkish purple clouds of evening passing through the dark leaves. I notice, at this moment, I was laying flat. I grunt, turning my head, spotting why. My bag was laying in a puddle nearby, the front pocket ripped open, and the straps ripped off with a blade. I lay my head back down.

Pack. Medical supplies. Got to get over there.

I will the power within me, summoning every scrap of energy to move up. I scoop back onto my stomach, my bare left shoulder caking in jungle mud, which burned the cut I had so generously received there. I pick myself up with my right arm, getting onto my knees, looking at my gash. I hiss a bit, holding it. Boot, then up!

I was on my feet now, and the world swayed and rumbled in ways they never had before. My head boomed to try and get me to sit down, and to rest, but I disregarded my instincts, and took a shaky, uncoordinated step forward towards my pack. Then another, then another.

I fall to my knee beside it, grabbing the pack, noticing the flash of the Intel Processor in the mud. I scoop it out, amazed it functioned at all. I then noticed that the front pouch had missing items. I had my IP (Intel Processor), but the other items in there were my gun, and ammo. I look around, looking for any sign of the missing items.

"Fuck. Fucking fuck fuck!" I scream, smacking my fist into the mud out of frustration, leaving a fist imprint in it. I look at my arm, groaning as I clutched it, the loose appendage having moved in my outburst. I unzip the main pouch, sighing in relief, seeing my rations and water inside, alongside two Healing Potions. I grab one, uncork it with my teeth, and drink it. Immediately, my body feels better.

I run a few fingers over where the gash was, finding the wound had closed. Gash is gone, but the arm is out of place. I need to fix it. I look around, anything to cradle it in, before my eyes fall on the broken strap of my pack. One side hung loose, unusable. The other side had stayed intact! What luck! Or... kind of luck? This felt like shit luck generally.

I grab my knife, slicing off the strap, then uncoil the tightening straps, tying them into a brace. Or... I tried. I found it hard to do with one arm. So this meant I had to do the hard part first...

I stand, looking for a vine. I discovered a low hanging one, where I used my good arm to fling my dislocated on onto. I grip it with my left, then tug, praying to the Princesses that the vine wouldn't snap. And it didn't. And then I hear the crunch of my bone sliding back into its proper place, followed by my voice automatically giving a pained cry. I fall to my knees, holding my arm, which still felt weak, and flimsy. I find the strap, and begin tying, hissing as a dull pain pulsed through my arm.

Finally, after much struggle, I threw the strap on, letting my arm rest in it comfortably, panting from the pain I went through to make it. I scoop up my bag, and look at my IP. The IP had three main functions, one of which I was quietly going over. The first, was the status of me. I look at myself, on a little caricature of my body. Left arm is crippled, but healing, I have a concussion, splendid, and I'm in no condition to fight without a firearm.

I roll my eyes at my misfortune, flicking to my map, which was currently fogged up, with a message saying "cannot communicate with tower". I slid the device into my pocket, moving in the only direction I had. Forward.

I was angry. I was very angry. This job wasn't supposed to start as a fend for my life, yet, here I was, cutting through the jungle brush like some sort of hat wearing hero. Except, in my case, I was severely under armed, and had little to no chance of survival should I not find civilization in the near future.

My eyes suddenly glide upwards, towards a red light in the sky. A flare. I perk my ears up, listening, but only heard the wind as I suddenly come to a clearing. There, a triangular slab of granite jutted out the side of the hill I sat on, which went out in the direction of the Windmill I saw earlier. This was good, this was what I needed. I set my pack down, unzipping it like a cripple, and uncapped a bottle of water, drinking a fourth of the bottle to stay awake.

I had about five days worth of food. I need to get to that town.

Suddenly, a second, bright red flare appears, coming from a road in the wilderness. I squint.

That was not a friendly group of zebras.