Famer's Story-writing debate tournament Round#1 Muted VS Zaradi

As the Killers piled out of their ships and began advancing towards him, he realized immediately that he was in a losing proposition. The six killers held long, leaf-shaped blades and held meter-high shields that, as he unfortunately found out earlier, were impervious to bullet penetration. The pistol at his hip wasn't going to do him any sort of good. His knife would be massively outranged by their blades. His throwing disks would do even less than the gun would, and his grenades were, sadly, of the non-lethal variety. If he stayed and tried to fight them, he probably wouldn't even be able to kill one of them. He had to go somewhere else to get the battle to be a bit more even, maybe even tilted in his favor.Unfortunately, the Killers had planned their approach well. They had pinned the poor human into a rocky alcove of boulders that had a single opening: the opening currently occupied by the beasts hunting Omega. If he wanted to escape, it would have to be through them. Which brought him back to his "How the f*ck do I kill them" dilemna. An idea sprang into his head, bat-sh*t crazy, but that was the only probable variety of plan to work anyway. He dropped his hands to his hips and left them there, feeling at the four stun grenades resting there. As the Killers approached closer and closer, he began trying to visually measure the distance between them, and estimated his throwing arm. Once the Killers were within a certain range, they let out a blood-curdling scream and charged, swords held high and shields in front. That's when Omega kicked his plan into action.He grabbed two stun grenades and fingered the firing switches on each. Once that was done, he had about five second to chunk the things as far away from him as possible before electromagnetic pulses erupted from the canisters and massively disoriented anything within it's range of around fifty feet. Unfortunately for him, his throwing arm was around the thirty foot range, and he waited for them to get to fourty before hurling them, crouching into a ball, closing his eyes, covering his ears, and waiting for the blast.Even with everything he did to protect himself from the blasts, the stun grenades still did a number to him. He was knocked off-balance by the shockwave and fell onto his rear. A blaring ring eminated throughout his subconsious, drowning out any thoughts he could possibly be making. His vision, although still see-able, was wavery and unclear. But compared to the Killers, he was well off. Each of the six vicious monsters, before lethal and cunning, lay writhing on the ground, clutching their heads with their paws and screeching in misery. This was his moment. Omega got up, unsteadily, and began sprinting past them. Every ten or so feet he stumbled due to the disorientation, but he picked himself up again and pushed himself forward. He had to keep moving. He couldn't stay there. It was run or die, and Omega certainly didn't want to die. Of course, Murphy's Law wouldn't let him make a clean escape, and behind him he could faintly hear through the ringing the enraged cries of the beasts as they picked themselves up and charged after him. Apparently they had a better resistence to it than he did. He spurred his legs to pump faster, and began sprinting further and further ahead to his ultimate goal: the transport ships.A free hand reached down to his pumping thigh and drew his sidearm, firing blindly behind him in the general direction of his pursuers. He didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of hitting them, much less severely wounding them or killing them outright, but it was enough of a distraction to force them to raise their shields up, causing their speed to decrease, and giving Omega the distance advantage he needed to escape to the ladders. He began scaling the nearest one as quickly as possible, hand over hand and foot over foot as he moved up and up. By the time he was pulling himself into the hull of the ship, the others were approaching the ladder themselves. He pulled a third stun grenade out of it's pouch, thumbed the switch and dropped it down before closing the hatch. More pained cries emerged. He bought the time he needed.He quickly made his way to the cockpit and sat down in the pilot's seat. It only took him a few moments to identify everything he needed to fly the bird: stick, clutch, throttle control, elevation control, as well as other various readings and measurements. He began reversing the ship in a jerkish manner -- it was touchier than any other ship he was used to flying -- and shot away.Of course, that would be too easy of an escape, as the radar indicated that five other ships were in hot pursuit, obviously the same party that was hunting him in the first place. projectile lasers whizzed past him as the hunting craft opened fire. The left wing was the first thing to get hit, tearing a chunk out of it. The bottom-center engine was the next to go, bursting into flames and causing two surrounding engines to fail. After that his craft just began to plummet, as the other craft swarmed overhead like vultures over a kill.One lone killer disembarked into the crash site of Omega's ship. It didn't take the Killer long to track him down, as Omega had a chunk of debris stuck through his abdomen, pinning him to the pilot's seat. He was toast. The sword rose. The sword fell --Alex Omega awoke from his nightmare with a scream, in a cold sweat and his wits lost. The spy scrambled for his sidearm under his pillow instinctually, but soon relaxed enough to realize it was just a bad dream. After a few deep breaths, he finally became aware of a faint buzzing noise coming from his left, his bedside table. He grabbed his communication device and tabbed the screen to show the incoming call. It was from Eamon Trent, a friend of his. He tabbed the "accept" button and held it to his ear. "Eamon, it's too damm early for this. What do you nee--" Alex began, but was quickly cut off."Alex, you gotta get the f*ck out of there. Up top just sent down a memo saying you're in the cold, and any associates of yours are to be detained, which includes me. I'm high-tailing it out of here. But you gotta move brotha'!" Eamon yelled, and the thrum of an engine could be heard over the device."Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down. What are you saying?" Alex asked, trying to wrap his mind around what his friend just told him. "I'll try to explain later! Last I heard they were sending an EX-Team to each of our last known coordinates. You gotta get out of there!"Alex cursed and began throwing on clothes and packing what little he had and could carry. EX-Teams were the elite of the elite, only sent to mop up internal disputes and to keep everyone in line. He must have somehow gotten himself into really deep sh*t if he was getting one of those sent after him. "And Alex, you gotta listen to me. I'm pretty sure the people up top have been compromised. Remember those things I was having you help me with? I was compiling data on internal corruption, and I had enough to really put the fork in almost everyone at the top of the chain. I'm pretty sure they flipped on us because of it!"Alex just sighed. Just like Eamon to get himself and anyone around him into a deep pile of sh*t."Listen, let's reandevous at Post-Plan Sierra and figure out our next move. I'll try to contact you in another hou--" Eamon started to say, but was cut off by the whizz of something, then a scream, then an explosion. Then the line cut off."Eamon!? Eamon!?" Alex screamed uselessly into the com, but he knew what had happened: the EX-Teams caught up with him, and shot him out of the sky. He was toast. As was he if he didn't get moving.Alex slung his bag over his shoulder, strapped his sidearm to his thigh, and started running out the door away from his hideout, just as a guided missile slammed into it, blowing the house into pieces.He was blown by the very people who employed him. They betrayed him. And now they had to die.Continued by Muted