The sun is slowly setting rising from the content arms of dawn; the rays of light setting fire to the edges of the sky. What was once a royal purple blending seamlessly with the darkness of night becomes a slow building inferno of oranges and yellows. Frost, accumulating from last evening's drop in temperature decorates the countryside. Given time, the fragile ice will melt and make way for the grass that lies beneath. It is still too far early for winter to fully set in.
As the sun rises even higher, time moves faster still.
A young man walks out of the barracks, hat kept low and hands stuck deep in his pockets.
"Rough night, U-4989?"
For a moment, the young man falters in his footsteps before nodding his colleague an amiable nod.
"Yeah," he breathes unsteadily. "Yeah, it was kind of a rough night. H-how about you, U-2626?"
His friend, a bit concerned, looks him over and catches his shoulder. For a moment, the young man flinches underneath his touch before smiling again—albeit, shakily and with averted eyes. The air around them, already crisp and tense, has become even more so, as if there is a rubber band being pulled taut to immeasurable lengths.
"Look, I can cover for you—"
"No!" The shout is loud and abrupt. A few soldiers that have also ventured out look curiously in the duo's direction. Quietly, U-4989 murmurs, "I'm fine. I'm just getting over the fact that I completed my first mission, ya know?"
The lie is there and it swallows him whole, but his friend takes the bait.
"If you say so."
U-4989 moves as if to leave, but a gloved hand grasps his shoulder again.
In warning.
"Remember your duty to your nation, U-4989."
U-4989 walks fast—almost fleeing into the barracks.
"You did well yesterday."
U-4989 says nothing but nods dumbly in his superior officer's general direction.
"You haven't been speaking at all today. Is something the matter?"
There shouldn't be something wrong. Everything should be fine. More than fine, actually! After all, he was the one to have completed the mission, to take the reigns and fulfill his duty. The duty to the nation that he gladly served. And yet…
And yet…
"No, nothing's wrong!" A grimace masquerading as a smile settles across his face. "Just a bit tired, is all." He tries to divert the subject to anything, anything that has nothing to do with the mission yesterday. "Am I being assigned anything tonight?"
His superior officer grins—a display that U-4989 would have killed to see once, a long time ago.
Relieved, his superior tells him that he should rest easy; battles should be savored and planned in advance instead of pursued. In fact, if he remembers correctly, he was supposed to be assigned to the prisoner. An interrogator if you will. Can he handle that?
No, U-4989 can't handle that for the simple reason that he doesn't want to. He simply doesn't.
But his superior officer doesn't know that.
His colleagues don't know that.
And U-4989 simply doesn't want to show weakness.
What use was a soldier that didn't do what was required of his duty?
So, instead of refusing, U-4989 snaps into position and stalks off towards his destination.
The door barely clangs shut before the prisoner lists her rank and serial number.
No name.
Back when the war was young and casualties were almost nonexistent, it had been decided that prisoners of war were only required to give only their rank and serial number. It was a rule backed by honor, but it was made out of the foolish hope that the war would end soon without any further bloodshed. It was made to ensure that there was a sense of honor and grudging cooperation could be met between both prisoner of war and captor.
The rule did not anticipate how far one would go to retrieve information.
As U-4989 slowly walks into the interrogation room, he can see that the prisoner looks mildly ruffled. There are almost unnoticeable bloodstains marring the dark maroon of her military fatigues, but the ghastly stench of iron more than makes up for it. Her hair, brilliant flaming red, is cropped close to her head. Only a single unruly strand stands up in defiance.
He prays that she is not like that stubborn curl.
She will last longer if she were compliant.
He makes no introduction.
Instead he drops a sheaf of documents in front of her and hopes to see her break.
Instantly, the young man knows that this prisoner in front of him is young. Unbearably so. Most worn veterans of the war would have kept their expressions neutral. Even those with little experience with the battle would have steeled themselves. Instead, he sees a young frightened little girl who doesn't look the part of a combatant.
"You were a messenger for them." He steels himself, tries to pretend that this prisoner of war is only just that. Two and two make four; she is an enemy and they are at war.
She makes no sound.
He sighs.
This time, his voice doesn't have to mask the disgust, the sheer amount of hatred that he has for her kind as he breathes out, "The Erythros."
She tries to hide it, but his eyesight is a tad bit sharper than most—or at least, that's what he likes to brag about to his fellow soldiers. A small upturn of the lips an already, he's capitalizing on it as if he were an owl descending open a rodent midflight.
He bangs his hands against the table and for a moment, true fear enters the redhead's eyes.
For a moment, bile rises up in his throat. He shouldn't be doing this, he thinks. He should be treating her with respect and with kindness. What kind of monster is he to treat her as if she were so…so?
But his sworn duty to his people holds him close—like cast iron shackles that he himself had put on.
"What do these documents mean? What are you hiding?"
The redhead turns away.
Irritation immediately transforms into a mounting rage that must have been budding with the bloodlust that he had been battling ever since he had first enlisted in the war. With actions that would have shocked him if he were in a right state of mind, he rounds the table that she is seated behind and towers over her. With one swift motion, he grabs her by the lapels of her coat (too red, too much blood, so much pain) and pulls her out of the chair.
She's shorter than he thought.
And he's far closer to her than he ever thought he would get.
Up close, he could see that freckles dot the landscape of the bridge of her nose and across the expanse of her lightly tanned cheeks. Sweat beads across her hairline as her military issued beret slips backward and falls to the dank ground. Her limbs tremble under his hold. Thin, he thinks. Not yet malnourished, but will be if his superiors ordered for her to be left to rot. And finally, as his eyes rove across her dirtied face, he catches sight of her eyes.
They're golden hued, but with warm brown undertones that help stop the brightness of the gold. It is naturally unnatural.
"Tell me where your rebels are hiding and I assure you," he lessens the hold on her lapels to emphasize his meaning, "you will be treated accordingly."
For a second, she purses her lips and her eyes glaze over.
Was this it? Would she give the information? Barely older than most who have enlisted, he would not be surprised if she was not yet briefed on the art of interrogation and how to evade questioning.
Or maybe she understands that he didn't want to abuse her like a limp ragdoll and that this would be a waste of time if neither side gave way.
Or maybe—
She shakes her head.
He drops her roughly back to her seat and without being fully conscious of his actions, pulls his right arm back, palm open forward, and then quickly, ever so quickly he—
He stops himself.
The girl in the chair trembles and holds her handcuffed hands in front of her face to block the blow that never intended to hit home.
A choked gasp leaves his lips.
"I—" What should he say? Can he say anything? You can't exactly apologize to a prisoner of war. That was as insane as turning yourself into the enemy willingly. It just wasn't done.
He needs to do something, to amend his previous actions and look like a good guy—he is a good guy. "Tell me me something. Please." He kneels by her side and looks up at her face; it is a face that has now steeled itself into a fierce sort of determination that he usually only associates with his closest of comrades.
She looks down in surprise at his change of position and says—
"Rank: Messenger. Serial number: AE-3803."
No name.
Just a pair of warm eyes that remind him of a dying sunset and a broken smile that tells him that she understands his plight.
He flees.
As he rushes to the outside of the barracks, he is bombarded with heavy gusts of wind and the steady onslaught of snowflakes. As the cold seeps onto the exposed areas of his skin and blends into the smooth jacket of his pristine white uniform, he feels a gloved hand grasp the top of his left shoulder. Automatically, he flinches, but stops himself from making a scene when he sees his mentor looking at him with something akin to worry in his usually unfathomable dark eyes.
There it is again.
That worry that plagues him from all fronts as if he were the enemy and his colleagues were trying to attack him—to breach at his defenses and see what secrets and weaknesses he's hiding. The analogy hits far too close to home as he steadies his shaky breaths and brightly smiles at his fellow servant of the nation—the biggest lie of the day.
Awkwardly he laughs. "Miss me, U-1146? I hope you weren't too jealous that they had you sitting this one mission out!" Suddenly, U-4989 sobers at what he said and tries to backtrack, hoping that he hadn't caused his mentor to bestow his lethal look of impassiveness at him. Even though it's been quite some time since their early days at the training academy, he still hasn't quite lost his respect for his fellow soldier.
Instead, 1146 merely shakes his head.
"I've heard you've completed your first mission."
For a moment, U-4989 feels his chest swell with pride. He has finally done it. After years of training, of shadowing his elders, he had finally become someone worth the praise of his dearest mentor. He is pleased. All the worries that had plagued him for the entire day have gone and disappeared like the frost that had succumbed to the heat of day.
If only this moment could last forever.
"Thank y—"
U-1146 grasps his shoulder again and looks him in the eye.
The unshakable warrior is back.
"No need for thanks. Just remember your duty is to your nation, not to pleasing others."
U-1146 leaves.
U-4989 feels himself go cold before he runs out into the countryside, the dead undergrowth under his soles crunching.
Night is falling and with it comes the expectation of the next batch of soldiers to fulfill their next assignment. The night before, they were assigned to ambush the enemy troops. The capture of a soldier (U-4989's doing) was an added bonus. Tonight, it is trying to decode the messages that are hidden within the sheaf of documents that the Erythros soldier was carrying on her person.
A gloved hand slams the table in frustration, causing U-4989 to jerk from his half asleep stupor.
"Wha—" U-4989 manages to utter out groggily.
"Those Red idiots think that they can be so clever and tongue in cheek? Well, they've got another thing coming for them, because—"
"2048," a smooth voice murmurs with the grace of a well-seasoned diplomat, "relax. You've only looked at the documents for only a few hours. And besides, the Erythros we've got is gonna crack under the pressure real soon. Right, 4989?"
It takes a brief second before the young man recovers from his fatigued state to utter a hasty, "Of course."
Still, U-2048 still doesn't look convinced as he stabs at one of his notebooks with a stubby pencil.
"Besides," U-2626 continues as if nothing had occurred, "from the looks of things, she's pretty low ranking, even for a Messenger. If anything, these documents could just be some trivial things we already know about."
"Like what?" U-4989 can't help but ask.
"Strategic vantage points, high ranking generals, the who's-hot-and-who's-not list…that sort of thing."
"Pssh, all of those Reds are so lame. Their strategies are so primitive and easy to out-maneuver, it's kind of pitiful to see them try." U-2048 leans back in his chair before once again focusing on the documents. "At least their code is somewhat challenging."
U-2626 smirks at his fellow colleague.
"See? That's the spirit! Although, given the fact that they're not as militaristically attuned as we are, it's kind of a miracle that this war is still ongoing. It's impressive."
U-2048 gasps and points dramatically in U-2626's direction.
"Traitor! The traitor to the nation of Humani Corporis!"
U-4989 finds himself laughing as he watches his colleagues bicker and bet whether or not this civil war was going to end soon. U-2626 is far more hopeful that the war will end within a few years while U-2048 states that with the way both sides were stagnating, it might as well end when he grew old.
As for him? He's not a betting man so he takes his leave and makes for his cot in one of the barracks.
It's the dawning of a new day, but U-4989 doesn't feel that refreshed.
The frost that had accumulated and subsequently melted the day before has come back full force, one inch thicker. As his boots crunch through the frost, U-4989 thinks for a second before he runs to one of the barracks.
It's a split second decision, but he finds himself in front of the prisoner. Like last time, the young woman is still seated in that chair, hands still cuffed, and her coat still stained with blood. She looks up from her clasped hands and again, states her rank and serial number.
U-4989 rushes forward before she finishes the last syllable and kneels down beside her.
"Information. Give it to me."
There's a split second of confusion before it gives way to that fierce determination that reminds him of U-1146. For some odd reason, knowing that she's exactly like him makes U-4989 want to ask—no, demand—why she's like this. So silent. So unmoving in the middle of enemy territory.
Was she like him? Eager to serve her own nation to the best of her ability?
He pushes those thoughts out of his head before it consumes him whole. He's not here for philosophical debate. He wants that information.
He'll try to connect with her again.
He needs this information.
"You want to know why I'm insistent? I'm not only doing this for my nation, but I'm also doing this to prove myself among my most senior peers. All my life, I've been coddled and held back because I was the youngest in my squadron. Only a few days ago, I was assigned a mission that would have consolidated my ranking and boost morale in this camp. As expected of me, I succeeded. Mostly." U-4989 leans down and murmurs, "I was the one to personally bring you into this cell. If you tell me what you know, I'll free you."
Her eyes widen at the sudden admission of truth, before they harden in newfound resolve.
"Rank: Messenger. Serial number: AE-3803."
No name.
He tries another tactic to get her to respond.
"Do you know what they're going to do to you if you don't talk?" He waits a second, his dark eyes searching for any sort of give, of weakness that he can use to his advantage. When the only movement is the steady rise and fall of her chest, he answers his own question. "They're going to start depriving you of nutrition. When that doesn't work, they'll result to physical abuse. And when that doesn't work..." He trails off, eyes still searching.
As he watches, he can see that her breath is becoming erratic. It is no longer the melodic, on-time rhythm that one could associate with a metronome. Instead, her breaths are becoming shorter, her hairline is becoming matted and slightly wet with budding sweat. Her eyes, a golden warm sort of brown, glazes over with anxiety.
This is good.
It has to be good.
He's close.
(The bile in his throat says otherwise, but his duty that he has latched onto him says otherwise).
"Will you tell me now, Little Miss Red?"
The nickname shocks her out of what stupor has taken over. Astounded by the sudden change in demeanor, U-4989 doesn't detect the tensing of her muscles or her handcuffed limbs dropping onto his head like a bag of bricks. The pain is minute, but her strength is characteristic of those who are employed in the Erythros army. Whereas the Leukos depended on strategy, communication, and swiftness, the Erythros opted for brutal strength in numbers. Years after the war had started, the Leukos numbers began to steadily increase while the members of the Erythros began to gradually dwindle.
He grabs both wrists with one hand; his grip is bruising.
He hums a little as he watches the glazed look in her eyes have brightened with a fire that once again reminds him of his mentor. Honestly, it's kind of cute to see her so fired up like this. He wonders what her voice sounds like when he finally gets her to talk...
He mentally shakes himself before he pointedly places her handcuffed limbs back onto the table before moving from his kneeling position to one that towered over her.
"I take it you don't like that name, huh? Well, you're gonna have to endure it...unless you tell me what those documents are hiding?" In a calculated move, he lets a tone of hope enter his voice. Maybe he can connect to her that way? "The key to the code would also be great."
She turns her head back to her handcuffed hands.
"Guess that's a no then."
He thinks that maybe he should take his leave, that it would be be far better to ask that she be deprived of a meal or two in order to get her talk. However, a sudden thought of what U-2626 said earlier strikes him in that very moment. Perhaps...perhaps he could prey on a weakness that only those not considered competent enough would understand. If there was anything the Leukos and the Erythros could agree on, it was that precision, accuracy, and efficiency were the best ways to go about their problems.
He could use that to his advantage.
"Or maybe you just don't know anything. Maybe the documents you were holding were actually nothing." He notices that her fists are clenched and that her knuckles were practically glowing an unnatural white against the dirtied tan of her skin. He continues forth, a dark light glittering in his eyes. "Maybe you don't know the key to your secret code because they don't trust you. I mean, it makes sense since you're nothing but a messenger. A low rung on the totem pole. Or maybe," he leans close to her ear and fingers the ragged uniform that hangs off her body.
This close to her, he sees that her body wasn't as skinny as he thought she was. Sure, she's slim, but her body is relatively healthy compared to those who were part of the war. Part of the war...hmmm...The uniform is ill-fitting and hangs off her. While the Erythros had a larger population, they could still afford to give their pitiful soldiers uniforms that wouldn't appear unseemly.
Instantly, his suspicions increased tenfold.
"Maybe, just maybe, you're lower than a messenger. Maybe you're not even supposed to be part of the war and—"
"Shut up! I-it's not like that!" Her face is flushed with a dark red that covers most of her fetching freckles while erratic breaths stutter throughout her shouted exclamation. Anger clouds her eyes before a sudden look of shock overcomes her features.
Finally.
A break through.
"I see." He looks at her. So much younger than he initially thought she was. What were the age requirements for the Erythros again? Eighteen? Damn those Reds. Sadness and guilt gnaw at him before he pushes those emotions aside. Now was not the time to entertain such sentiments. The girl had to have known what she was getting into when she had donned on the military jacket and held those documents. Still though...this changes everything. "We can't just let you go because you're technically a civilian—"
"You can't tell anyone that I'm a civilian!"
He raises an eyebrow at that.
"I owe you nothing. In three days' time, after I inform my superior officer of how useless you are," here, she flinches at this, "you will be sent to the Iecur by our allies from the Nodorum Lymphaticorum."
She jumps from her seat, a surprising feat since she had little to eat and was a small thing.
"Please, just let me go! You already know that I'm a civilian, why send me to th-that place!"
"You know what the Iecur is."
"It's where the Eryrthros go to die."
"Could be worse," he muttered darkly. "You could be killed by one of the Leukos, left to die in one of the disease ridden villages of the Medulla Ossis. Consider yourself lucky."
He turns to the door.
But before he leaves, he deigns her one last parting phrase of respect.
"Best of luck to you, Messenger AE-3803."
Once the door to the prisoner's cell has clanged shut, he runs outside to the snow laden countryside before the bile could reach his throat.
"Why?"
For the first since he had visited her, she doens't say her rank or her serial number.
She asks a question.
"Why, what?" He crosses the cell and sits in front of her with a passive look in his eyes.
"Why are you here?"
He says nothing.
She falls silent before speaking up again.
"The Iecur," she mumbles. "Will..." She seems to think better about her question before asking, "How long will I live?"
"You seemed to hold up well to interrogation...but I'm not well versed in the art. By all means, we went easy on you." At her despondent expression, he thinks to comfort her. He probably shouldn't—she's the enemy, he can't help but think savagely—but she's nothing but a little girl who happened to get caught up in a war that neither of them wanted to be part of. "Just...keep your head down. You'll last longer."
"So it's been decided." The withered tone of voice has changed yet again to someone far more stronger than she actually is. "I'll be escorted by your allies in two days."
"Yes."
She looks down again.
"You must think I'm stupid for joining the war too early. That I wasn't wanted because I'm-I'm—" She shudders in her seat before a sob wracks through her chest and she slams her head against the wooden material of the table.
U-4989 is silent at her show of vulnerability. She is neither the first prisoner to break down in tears, nor is she the last, but she is the first prisoner to break down in front of him. It's because of him that she is now crying like she has her death warrant signed.
Technically, he has.
Guilt swallows him whole and before he could stop himself, he places a hand on her arm. She flinches and he belatedly realizes that he has accidentally touched the area where he had grasped her harshly scarcely only a day before. Had it only been that long? He retracts his hand so that it touches the top of her hand instead.
"You will be fine," he awkwardly. There was nothing, absolutely nothing that could have guided him in how to deal with this situation. Was there any way to sanely deal with this mess? "I mean...there's a strong chance that you could get killed, yeah, but like...you can still um...try to survive?"
For a second, they let that horrendously bad sentence sink into the air between them before the redhead starts laughing. Her laugh is obnoxious—heavy with snorts and gasps of squealed breath—and infectious. Pretty soon, he starts laughing as well. Damn propriety and the proper way to act with the enemy.
He was getting tired of the stilted conversations and barely veiled threats.
"Why," he asks this time, "why are we laughing?"
She stifles her laughter and sputters out, "Your voice cracked!" And that in itself is also laughable as well and they laugh and laugh and laugh.
For the first time in days, the taste of bile doesn't distract as he walks outside.
Someone tips the Erythros off.
That is the only reasonable explanation for why last night was such a disaster. U-4989 and a select few of the most competent soldiers were sent out to scout in foreign area while some of the newer recruits were asked to keep their base guarded. However, once U-4989 and his band arrive back to the base at dawn, they find that their soldiers were drugged or knocked unconcious. Their stores of supplies were ransacked and prisoner taken.
But most importantly, the documents that the prisoner had on her person had also gone.
Strange, yet not so strange.
"DAMN IT," U-2048 can't help but yell as he pounds his fist against a wall. U-4989 doesn't know if he should feel sorry for the wall or for U-2048's bare hands. Surely, that blow must have smarted, right? "Those stupid Reds managed to catch us off guard!"
Again, U-2626 is the reasonable one in this situation.
"Calm down, geeze. I think you're giving some of the newbies a good reason to get some new pants...if you get my drift."
"2626, it is only out of the years of friendship that we have forged in the Medulla Ossis and what little respect I have for you that I don't end up shanking you through the liver."
"Hey, man, I'm just trying to lighten the mood."
"Well you're doing a crap job of it! What do you think our superior officer is going to say when—"
"And what, pray tell, do you think I'm going to say, Lieutenant U-2048?"
As one, U-4989 amd the rest of his crew stood up and snapped picture perfect salutes in front of their superior officer. U-2001, a straitlaced gentleman, always took it upon himself to review the newest recruits and discipline those who disobeyed orders personally. He upheld the law as if he were the nation's leader and his prowess in battle was unmatched by anyone—that is, except for U-1146, who was quickly moving up through the ranks to equal, or perhaps, surpass him.
Like his subordinates, U-2001 wears the standard uniform: white combat fatigues, a cap that rests on his head, and a nametag that is placed on the left side over the brim. However, whereas most of the soldiers had deigned to give themselves distinguishing hairstyles to give them a bit of something to make them seem different, U-2001 had opted for the look that was the standard. When one looked upon him, they didn't see a human being, they saw a warrior from the Leukos. For them, he was a war hero who braved many a battle to later teach the newest recruits to do the same. For the Erythros, he was a scourge meant to be purged.
"Nothing, Commander U-2001, sir!"
"Last night was only a stroke of luck for the Reds. The prisoner we held was nothing more than a runaway and last night's mission only a simple raid and rescue. If nothing else, let's be glad that the Reds were merciful." The rest of them nodded, satisfied at their leader's judgment. "Regardless of what happened last night, we have sent scouts ahead to alert the Nodorum Lymphaticorum that we will be joining at their base."
"We're leaving?" U-4989 cries out incredulously. After so many months of espionage and battles, they had managed to secure this area of countryside. True, it was not a major stronghold that the Nodorum Lymphaticorum boasted of, but it was another piece of land that the Reds didn't have under their control. It just didn't make sense. "Like you said, last night was only a lucky strike for those guys. If nothing else, this could teach the recruits how to be better at their jobs! And, we can also use this as an opportunity to retaliate!"
Right as he said that, U-4989 suddenly finds himself faced with the image of the girl who had sat in that prison cell for only three mere days. Although stupid, she had been brave and strong. To recapture or worse, kill her when she had only recently attained the freedom that she been denied...it seemed ruthless. It just didn't seem moral to bring her down like that. The other Reds, maybe, but not her.
Didn't he say that everything was going to be okay?
Before U-4989 can ponder the matter further, U-2001 addresses them again.
"I am under the suspicion that one of us is a traitor. This move is only so that we can consolidate our power and isolate the one who ratted us out. Each and every one of you will be under surveillance. Pray that you will be cleared of any suspicion before we reach the Nodorum Lymphaticorum."
It didn't need to be said.
If any of them stepped out of line, U-2001 wouldn't be the one to discipline them.
The Nodorum Lymphaticorum would.
"1146," U-4989 calls out in equal parts confusion and happiness. "What brings you so far out of the base?"
The young soldier had been traipsing over the countryside that surrounds the base in an attempt to record everything in his memory. His breath is literally taken away as he memorizes the way the sunlight glints off the frost, how the ground beneath his feet crunches and makes harsh imprints against the lightness of the snow. The air is crisp and cool; the wind nips often at the tip of his nose as he inhales the scent of wintry stillness.
His mentor inclines his head in a show of appreciation before pointing at the frost that decorates the bark of a nearby tree.
"I'm appreciating the finer things in nature."
U-4989 bites his lip, but that does not stop him from letting a good-natured chuckle leave his mouth. The thought that his mentor, the most esteemed of the soldiers of Leukos, particular of their division, was outside enjoying the scenery was so laughable! Seriously, what was his mentor doing? Scouting the area for threats? That seemed far more likely given the situation.
Mildly affronted, the older Leukos soldier flicks his mentee on the nose.
"If you must know," U-1146 couldn't help but stress, "I was having a walk and...thinking about the war."
"Uh-huh."
"If I may speak freely," U-4989 starts at that requestion. He had not expected U-1146 to say that, no matter the circumstances. "I don't think that this war is worth it." At U-4989's astounded expression, U-1146 hurries forward with a rational explanation, "I don't mean that fighting for a free Humani Corporis isn't a noble ideal, I fullheartedly support that goal, but...wouldn't it be easier to negotiate with the Erythros? After all, before this civil war, they were naught but civilians."
The younger man shrugs.
Both of them knew the story. The Leukos, the military faction of the Humani Corporis, managed to outnumber the civilians of the Erythros. Usually, this would not have been a cause of concern, but there was already civil unrest, what with the tensions that occured between the two groups. Suddenly, villages in the Medulla Ossis were razed to the ground. The only things left behind were disease ridden animals and barren land. At first, it seemed like it was the doing of the Bacterium tribes, but Erythros began to point fingers, which escalated to fighting on the streets, to public lynching, and finally, the Erythros consolidated their population and requested independence.
The following weeks after, war.
Nobody, especially the Leukos, thought that the war waged would take so long. True, the Erythros had enormous numbers from the start, but their strategies were basically a beginner's course to war that was taught within the militaristic/political factions that were normally reserved for the Leukos. It was madness to think that the war would last more than a few days, much less for almost a decade.
"Should it matter, 1146? The Erythros had no right to suspect the Leukos, our predecessors. They were foolish and cowardly and one day, they will pay the price."
"Both sides are paying the price, 4989. Don't you see? A military faction is needed to fend off invaders, but too have a surplus of soldiers...doesn't it bother you that we inspire fear instead of admiration from the Reds? We were trained to protect, not to threaten. Yet, here we are."
The younger of the two nods, "I agree, civilians are needed to maintian balance, but remember, they were the ones to incite this whole incident. If anything, this war will teach them how necessary we are to keep the natural balance of the Humani Corporis. Didn't you hear from their side of the territory that they have been getting attacked by the Sporozoa? They're helpless without us."
"But they managed to survive this long without us."
"Well, yeah."
The both of them remain silent for a while as the wind blows through the trees.
U-1146 approaches his mentee and places hand on his shoulder—the grip a reminder of how they were brothers not by blood, but by experience.
"If there was any other way to end this war, to stop it immediately, would you take it?"
U-4989 slowly nods.
What is going inside of U-1146's mind?
"Hmmph, shoulda known that you guys were getting soft in the head. Look at you, you can't keep up with the rest of us!" A tall, buff blond man yelled at the top of his lungs; he is a dictator in the works. "Put your muscles to good use! Five more laps to the runt of the litter!"
U-4989 watches with widened eyes as he sees that this army drill sergeant is quite literally the definition of a hellish nightmare. On the battlefield, he is nothing more than a blur of skillfully placed fists and jabs at the enemy. At the homefront, he is the one who pushed the newbies to their limits. If it were not for these specialized soldiers from the Nodorum Lymphaticorum, however few and far between they were, the war would have been lost a long time ago.
"Is he always like this," he muttered to a recently upgraded newbie.
The young recruit in question nodded.
"He's worse whenever one of the higher ups decides to observe, though. They say that he needs to chill out while he says that they're too laidback."
"And what do you think?"
"I think they're both making this a hell on earth."
Both of the soldiers of the Leukos shared a laugh before one of his closest comrades calls out to him. As he jogs back to his squadron, a stark white ensemble against the blacks and forest greens of the specialized forces from the Nodorum Lymphaticorum, U-4989 sees that they appeared troubled by something.
"What's up? We get in trouble or something?"
U-2048 turns to answer him.
"Not exactly, but out of the rest of the members from our base, our squadron was the one that was singled out."
That...that was not good.
"But we're like...I don't know...we're basically the role models for the newbies! The poster children for all those who enlist in the war!" U-4989 can't believe what he was hearing. Sure his squad didn't always have a perfect track record, especially back in the first few days of training, but come on! Did the higher ups really think that his squadron could be deemed the culprit for an information leak? There was no way that anyone would have the audacity to actually subvert the very cause that brought them all together.
The idea is just too absurd.
U-4989 wants to laugh.
U-2048 and U-2626 looks too somber for the occasion.
"You guys don't honestly think we'll get incriminated for this, right? I mean, none of us have ever been shown to have thoughts about dissenting or—"
One of his friends, U-2048, raised his hand to stop U-4989's steadily nervous rambling.
"They're accusing U-1146 of collaborating with his brother, U-1117."
By all rights, U-1117 should be a name—no, not even that, it's nothing more than a serial number—that should have been lost in the annals of history. No one dared speak of that one Leukos soldier who had decided that one day, enough was enough and willingly joined the Erythros. That in itself doesn't sound like it was too much, but it was how he had done so.
The then young recruit of the Leukos faction had captured an entire military base of Red soldiers with nothing but wit and charm. The takeover had taken less than half an hour and within that timeframe, U-1117 was an overnight warhero who everyone wanted to emulate. Unfortunately, after two months of questioning the prisoners, that very same charismatic soldier had turned his back on his own kind and joined with the rebels.
No one knows why, but as time passed, everyone who knew of that cursed number 1117 thought that he had been either brainwashed or bribed into letting those Red idiots go.
That was the general theory.
Anyhow, the one person who knew everything from start to finish, who knew fact from fiction, was U-1117's younger brother. They held simple temperaments and a stubborn streak a mile long. However, while U-1117 didn't rise to prominence until the Red base capture and subsequent treachery, U-1146 made sure to never step one toe out of line by rising through the ranks as if he were steadily climbing up a short flight of stairs.
U-1146 never talked of his connection to his brother and those who knew him best refrained from asking.
Was that the reason why U-4989's squadron was getting singled out? Just because U-1146's familial relation had a reputation for flying so below the radar that his true agenda had gone unnoticed? If that was the case, 1146 was doing a bad job of emulating his elder.
...which was definitely not the case since U-1146 was definitely on their side.
Definitely.
U-4989 finds himself nervously playing with a long abandoned stick that he had found while he was outside of the parameters of the base. While it was strongly discouraged that the newer members be found outside, U-4989 couldn't help but wander. Being inside where the rules were strictly enforced and where big blonds could easily overpower him without even trying just caused his stomach to go up in knots and his brain to go mushy with boredom.
"You shouldn't be out here. Our squadron is already suspicious on unreliable grounds; this will be only adding more weight to the camel's back."
"I've always wanted to ride a camel. You think their humps are soft to touch?"
"U-4989," U-1146 can't help but admonish lightly, "be serious about this."
"Oh, I will...if you'll be honest with me." U-4989 threw down the stick that he bad been playing with a surprising amount of force. "Did you have...anything to do with the Red's ambush all those weeks ago?"
U-1146, if he is surprised, doesn't let his face show any sort of expression.
Slowly, he shakes his head.
"Not at all."
"Are you saying that because it's the truth, or it's because I'm asking you the wrong questions?"
A bittersweet smile.
"You know I would also honor my duties to my nation above anything else."
For a moment, U-4989 analyzes him, an unsureness that he is not fully aware of until that moment stirring in his conscious thoughts.
Here was this man, a man that he had so greatly admired while he was growing up. Even when they were nothing more than trainees who had been thrust from their mother's skirts and father's welcoming arms, U-1146 was the impassive one. The one who would always stare straight ahead and do what was asked of him. The one who had sold his personal birth name in exchange for a serial number that would be his nation's unfaltering fetters.
His loyalty is not something to be trifled with.
A memory of a young U-1146 marching down the halls of their training facility is one that U-4989 couldn't help but strongly remember. He had been playing hide and seek with U-2048 and 2626 when he heard his classmate's serial number being called out—never a good sign. Head held high, chin parallel to the ground, the young boy destined to rise through the ranks moved swiftly and without hesitation.
It wasn't until later that everyone found out how dishonorable, how traitorous his brother had been.
For weeks afterward, everyone whispered. Everyone stared.
And some outright asked him of where his true loyalties lay.
A few choice, but even words were spoken. And when worse came to worse, 1146 struck his foes down.
Everyone knew not to speak of his older brother within his presence.
But now...
Now, U-4989 is curious. He may have held himself back, but the fact of the is was that this is no longer a training school. They are both adults. No petty fightining.
Only loyalty. Or perhaps betrayal.
"And what of your brother? U-1117? They say that he was loyal to his nation. But that nation he chose," U-4989 felt his voice drop to that of a lowly whisper, "He chose the Erythros' idea of the Humani Corporis. He chose the enemy."
U-1146 blinked at him, as if confused. Of course, not everyone knew that U-4989 could be just as perceptive and cunning as his elders. After all, what was the use of shadowing if one didn't become just as dark and twisted?
"What nation are you loyal to?"
What nation are you loyal to?
What nation?
What loyalty?
Is any of this right?
Tonight, U-4989 is assigned to be on guard duty along with a few other newbies. Honestly, if he were any other power hungry soldier, he would have been irked to know that once again, he is grouped with the newbies. However, after the events that led up to this evening, he is quite glad that he can revel in the monotony so that he can properly think.
Unfortunately, his thoughts were cut short when he sees something peculiar.
There are two figures, one shorter and the other much taller. They're faces are bent—no, angled—towards each other as if they're whispering. It's not an uncommon sight to see two colleagues talking during their shifts—especially the undisciplined new recruits.
Although the darkness of night camoflauges the coloring and idenities of both of these individuals, it doesn't take a genius to realize that the moonlight easily reflects off the stark white exterior of a Leukos soldier. What really catches 4989's attention is that the other person's colors don't. This easily could have been rectified by the thought that it must have been one of the soldiers under the Nodorum Lymphaticorum,but the smaller soldier's uniform isn't pitch like this dark night.
No.
It's something close.
Like the color of deep blood moments before it has been oxidized to a muddy brown.
It doesn't take 4989 to make up his mind.
No, it only takes a second before he reaches for his transceiver and another second for someone to sneak up behind him and knock him out.
The last thing he sees before the dark abyss swallows him whole is the sound of a gasp and combat boots rushing towards him in ominous thunder.
It's the light of dawn that awakens him.
Ironically, when he was nothing more than a trainee, he wanted nothing more than to sleep another five minutes—even if all of his instructors scolded and revoked any special privileges (if he had any). It was a constant battle to get him awake and stay awake long enough for him to hit the showers and into the mess hall for breakfast. Now that he is no longer surrounded by his squad, he rises with the sun all by himself—a first.
Although, maybe it's not just the early burst of sunlight that awakens him.
Maybe his early rising is the eerie feeling that he's being watched.
"Ah, goodness! You're awake!"
U-4989 sighs to himself a little out of amusement by how cheerful she sounds before sobering up completely. If she is here and he is here with...handcuffs, then...
Well, crap.
"Miss Red, did you kidnap me?"
U-4989 isn't granted information immediately.
In fact, the redhead—AE-3803, she keeps on reminding him—shouldn't have been up so early and in his cell of all places. Indeed, U-4989 shouldn't have been inside of a cell in the first place. Last night, one of the informants from within the Leukos compound was supposed to give information to one of the Reds, however, they were kind of caught off gaurd by his appearance.
It was kind of sad and pathetic. If U-4989, only a recently promoted Lieutenant with a notorious childish personality and laidback aura was able to foil a simple information swap, then what good were the Erythros? Really now, whatever happened to secret meeting places and codes? This was downright amateurish...and insulting.
How were the Leukos at a stalemate with these people?
The only good thing about this situation was that the redhead was notoriously bad at censoring herself and he pretty much put two and two together.
"You were there last night. Right before I was knocked out." Even as AE-3803 stumbles over her words and seems to search for some sort of response—didn't the Reds teach their own to come up with some story or alibi?— "You were talking to someone."
She falls silent, guilt evident on her face.
It's sort of heartwrenching, the young Leukos soldier thinks to himself. He remembers that whenever she isn't trying to uphold her duty to her own kind, she is so lively and entertaining. Even when weighed down by handcuffs, her hands would gesture and move like she is trying to conduct an orchestra. Now, when he tries to gain answers out of her, despite their roles being reversed, she is clamming up and no longer looking at him.
Hmm, was she even supposed to be here?
"You're not good at this whole rebellion thing, are you?"
She slowly shakes her head, shame causing her head to bow foreward. However, as she did so, the Leukos soldier isn't going to let her off the hook so easily. Even if she seemed like an innocent young woman, she is far more than that. Red is her hair and more importantly, the uniform that now fits snugly on her figure. Figures, she probably got herself fully initiated after her escape.
The Reds really needed to vet their members more thoroughly if they thought that she was going to get any information out of him.
Then again, it's not like they needed him in the first place. An informant was already stationed at the Leukos base; all their information was surely up to date and it wasn't like they couldn't leave him in isolation or something.
(Or kill him ouright, but U-4989 rather not entertain that thought any more than he has to).
So, either they wanted to keep him around for ransom or the informant convinced them to keep him alive.
But the Erythros usually refrained from having anything to do with the Leukos necessary—this was true, even before the war.
Which left his latter theory.
U-4989 stared at the redhead and in the most detached way possible stated, "U-1146 was the informant."
The trembling of her lip and the wringing of her hands is more of an answer than her empty platitudes.
"Hey, I got you some—"
"Rank: Lieutenant. Serial Number: U-4989."
An awkward laugh.
"Hehehe, aren't we a little bit past that phase already? I mean, you kidnapped me, I kinda kidnapped you, so...erm..." She made a few anxious gestures before she crosses the threshold and carefully places a few pastries in front of him. "I heard that you guys don't really eat sugary things, but I like them and I thought that you would want some?"
U-4989 takes one look at the pastries and another, longer one at the redhead. With a sigh more befitting of U-2001, he nods before succumbing to the call of sweets.
It was very rare for Leukos soldiers to eat sugary things. That was more of an Erythros thing that had transcended cultural differences and the war. The Leukos often thought of the Erythros as haughty, spoiled elitist pricks who had more than their fair share of luxury while the Leukos slaved away at the country's borders to protect them from invastion. To even think of flavors thad had long since evaded his taste buds bordered on treason, but...he is a prisoner and he has to keep up his strength. No other food was made available, but it was a little too early to assume that they were planning to starve him. Still, though, the idea of sugar and sweetness made him curious.
What could one bite hurt?
He fingered one of the pastries—it may or may not have been a cupcake—wincing a little as some of the frosting coated one of his gloves.
Experimentally, he lets his tongue rest on the tuft of frosting before he lets the flavors overtake his senses. And overtake his senses it does. For a moment, all he can process is the scent, flavor, and fluffiness of this concoction before he pulls away in intrigued disgust.
"It's um…erm…sweet?"
He means to say that the taste was something that was completely out of this world. Already, he can feel his taste buds crying out in want for more of this exotic mess of sweetness that he wants to partake in.
For some odd reason, the girl is laughing.
"You look exactly like him when he first tried a cupcake."
Ah, so he is right. It is definitely a cupcake.
U-4989 awkwardly places the confection back onto the table, looking a little worse for wear.
"By him, you mean U-1146."
The Red soldier looks up at him, surprise written all over her features. Intelligence is not something that he has in spades, but observing and picking apart details are. What was so different from constructing new weapons and improvising attacks to figuring out the traitor in the Leukos' midst?
"H-how—"
"I think most of us already knew that the traitor was going to be someone somewhat rising through the ranks and given his personal history…" U-4989 stops. Perhaps it's out of respect that he doesn't speak of the infamous U-1117. Or perhaps he can't—won't—reconcile himself to the fact that his comrade in arms, his mentor, his brother had decided to join the Reds. "Anyway," he mumbles more to the cupcake than to the Red soldier, "it's good."
"Oh!" She squeaks. "Would you like—"
"No." His voice stops her dead in her tracks, there's something chilly and distant with the way he speaks as he swiftly shoves the pastry across the table. His eyes—dark and cold and unfeeling—bore deep into her own.
As she takes hold of the pastry, she tries her damnedest to quell the shaking that has spread from the tips of her fingers down to her forearms. Once again, she is reminded that in comparison to most, she was the newest addition to this never ending feud between once brother nations.
"If you wish to interrogate me, send for someone who has the skill and the experience to do so. You're just wasting everyone's time."
The Red soldier, much to U-4989's bemusement and disappointment, immediately flees, cupcake in tow.
U-4989 awakens.
Again, it is due to the sunlight streaming from an overhead window.
For a moment, he wonders if the frost outside has graduated into a full blown winter wonderland. Are icicles decorating the roofs of the barracks? When the sun's rays hit the frost, would there be an explosion of crystalline fluorescence that was sure to blind the beholder? Or is the outside just as dreary and musty as his cell? He wishes that he could walk and peer out, but the window is far beyond his reach—a sensible precaution that the Reds must have taken note of sometime the past.
Well.
That's one of the reasons why he's awake.
The other reason is that U-1146 is looming over him with only the narrow barrier of a table stopping him from possibly killing him.
Inwardly, U-4989 winces.
Is this them now? Nothing more than enemies after all those years of working side by side? Whatever happened to their good-natured brotherly chats? Or the pranks they would play on their fellow squad members?
Where was his loyalty?
"You were never the most cooperative among us."
U-4989 purses his lips before he internally vows not to talk to his once brother.
U-1146 laughs, but the sound no longer reminds U-4989 the awkward dork that all of their Leukos soldiers have come to know and love. Instead, it sounds rough and bitter. As if he had just swallowed a lemon before coming down to interrogate U-4989.
"But you were also the most chatty. Why are you so quiet?"
Question after question.
Inquiry after inquiry.
For once, their roles are reversed.
Whereas his mentor is the one filling the spaces with inane chatter and flowery prose, U-4989 is staring blankly ahead while biding his time. Both of them wills forged by fire and hardened by steel. Neither of the two want to admit that this is it. This is where the both of them stand.
It sickens U-4989 to his stomach.
After some time, U-1146 realizes that his attempts at explaining himself are useless. Never mind that he has spilled his life story about his elder brother's changing beliefs. Never mind the years of camaraderie and friendship. Never mind that U-4989 used to—still—looks up to him. Never mind. Never mind. Never mind.
U-4989 is not swayed by his elder's platitudes, of this weakness that the Leukos were taught to never show.
Before long, U-1146 tires of this façade. He approaches his mentee and moves as if to place a hand on his shoulder, as if this was nothing more than a trivial conversation and U-4989 is but a child. To no one's surprise, U-4989 jerks back. U-1146's hand is left outstretched in the vastness that is there distance until it drifts back to his side.
A day passes and he is moved to a new room. This time, it is a traditional cell with bars in place of doors and silence instead of company. At this point, U-4989 is relieved that he no longer has to face the weak interrogative tactics that the Erythros have thus employed. Perhaps he is now being used as a bargaining chip between the two warring factions. Or maybe they'll starve him and use his head as a trophy for the rest of their troops.
Or he could be executed.
Honestly, of the three options, he'd rather be executed.
First of all, the Leukos were willing to sacrifice their own to achieve victory—an aspect of the military that was drilled into a young neophyte's head until they were ready to fight on their own. Secondly, the Erythros were too kind-hearted to even think of letting an enemy suffer when a quick culling would achieve the same result.
The third option is time efficient and simple.
"Hey." There is a slight pause before she speaks up again, a sort of hopeful determination coloring her tone. "I hope you like your new arrangements! U-1146 and I thought that it must have been uncomfortable sitting all the time while you were handcuffed so we talked to our superiors about it and, well…voila! You get to walk around, stretch your legs a bit…" Anxiety coursed through her veins as she watches the young Leukos soldier stare resolutely at a spot above her shoulder. Why isn't he saying anything? "Um…ah, I'm not here to interrogate you!"
"I thought as much."
U-4989 frowns. He isn't supposed to respond. After all, there is no need to speak if they aren't actively seeking information. Just what is it about this girl, this young little upstart that has him opening him up like he's nothing more than canned goods?
"Do you want some chocolate? I got some in my bag and you seem a little—"
"Why are you doing this? Talking to me, hanging around an enemy soldier? Don't you have better things to do, Miss Red?"
"I just thought—The war is—I don't…" Her golden amber eyes squeezed shut as she tries to wrack her brain for the right thing to say.
"It wasn't what you were expecting, was it?" U-4989 moved towards the bars of his cell, careful to keep his distance. "You're young. You'll get used to all the dirtiness of war."
"No," she agrees with a forlorn sigh. "It's not."
She leans against the bars of the cell, as if she doesn't realize that U-4989 could wrap his fingers against the silkiness of her throat, squeeze her until she relents into opening the door for him—never mind the fact that she more than likely doesn't have the keys.
"I just…I look at you and I'm reminded that you're like the soldiers here. Erythros. You're like 1146. You're like…me. Do you think it would be possible that we would have been friends in another life? If there was no war? If there was no need for this…?" She grips the bars tightly as she could as she stares up at him, sadness underlying her very expression. "You're just like me and you're going to die because of it!"
And there it is.
Guilt.
The Reds are way too kind hearted.
Before she can react, he does what he should have done in the first place—he lunges forward and wraps his left hand around her throat, the other braces the back of her skull. In this position, she has no choice but to look up at him.
Once again, there is a role reversal.
"So, Little Miss Red, will it be by firing squad or by starvation?"
It's…cold.
As U-4989 heads out into the middle of the field, he feels the eyes of the Red soldier assess him, take him in like he's a star attraction of some messed up exhibit. Did they expect him to cower, to trip over his feet?
No, he will not let them have the chance to witness such a wonderful, great soldier demote himself into the status of some sort of weak willed simpleton.
No, he thinks as thoughts of a man too good and too kind and a young woman with a fierceness and impulsiveness that would have caused most seasoned warriors to run for the hills run through his head.
No, he thinks to himself all the more ferociously as his feet stumble over the uneven land, the blindfold over his eyes stretched far too tight over the sensitive skin of his eyelids.
No, he will not even grant the Erythros the chance to see him think and fume over the injustice of it all.
Before too long, he is made to stand still and the blindfold is withdrawn from his eyes.
For a moment, his breath catches.
Frost covers the entirety of the land in a blanket of a white so pure that when the sun hits just right, it looks like he is staring at a mesh of diamonds and crystals. Wind tousles his hair and brings the snow that is still far more like powder than an adhered solid into the air as if it were summoned by magic. Mesmerized, U-4989 can barely discern that the proceedings have already started. It is only when a group of Reds march forward, rifles in hand, he manages to steel himself for one more act of bravery for his country. For his beliefs.
There is no miracle to save him.
The faces of those who are about to execute him are empty and distant. Good, he muses. There is no room for error or emotion. If the Reds were to falter at an execution—an act that would surely boost morale—then all hope would be lost for this side.
He wonders, for only a split second, which side of this war was right before he mentally shrugs his shoulders in defeat and faces forward again. Philosophy was never his forte.
One of the soldiers, perhaps it's the head honcho or something similar, asks him if there were any final words he wanted to impart.
U-4989 declines.
He has already made his peace.
The soldiers have begun their countdown and as he waits for the inevitable, his eyes involuntarily rake over the crowd. He sees them huddled on the outskirts of the party. Both of them are wearing Erythros issued military winter wear. Their jackets are a deep blood red, almost brown against the landscape of harsh white. It's ironic and if U-4989 had the strength, he would have burst into hysterical laughter.
He watches as their eyes lock into his own.
One of them is impassive; the other, guilty.
In one last moment of acknowledgement, he nods his head once and faces the barrels of the rifles.
The countdown stops.
Terms and Definitions
Leukemia is a cancer that starts in the blood-forming cells of the bone marrow. When one of these cells changes and becomes a leukemia cell, it no longer matures the way it should. Often, it divides to make new cells faster than normal. Leukemia cells also don't die when they should. They build up in the bone marrow and crowd out normal cells. At some point, leukemia cells leave the bone marrow and spill into the bloodstream, often causing the number of white blood cells (WBCs) in the blood to increase. Once in the blood, leukemia cells can spread to other organs, where they can keep other cells in the body from working properly.
Chronic myeloid leukemia (CML) is also known as chronic myelogenous leukemia. It's a type of cancer that starts in certain blood-forming cells of the bone marrow. In CML, a genetic change takes place in an early (immature) version of myeloid cells - the cells that make red blood cells, platelets, and most types of white blood cells (except lymphocytes). This change forms an abnormal gene called BCR-ABL, which turns the cell into a CML cell. The leukemia cells grow and divide, building up in the bone marrow and spilling over into the blood. In time, the cells can also settle in other parts of the body, including the spleen. CML is a fairly slow growing leukemia, but it can change into a fast-growing acute leukemia that's hard to treat. CML occurs mostly in adults, but very rarely it occurs in children, too. In general, their treatment is the same as for adults.
Source: https (:) .{org/cancer/chronic-myeloid-leukemia/about/what-is-cml}.html
Erythros: (Greek) red
Humani Corporis: (Latin) the human body
Leukos: (Greek) white
Iecur: (Latin) liver
Nodorum Lymphaticorum: (Latin) lymph nodes
Medulla Ossis: (Latin) bone marrow
Bacterium: a member of a large group of unicellular microorganisms that have cell walls but lack organelles and an organized nucleus, including some that can cause disease.
Sporozoa: a phylum of mainly parasitic spore-forming protozoans that have a complex life cycle with sexual and asexual generations. They include the organisms that cause malaria, babesiosis, coccidiosis, and toxoplasmosis.