Soldier of Fortune

The young armadillo wiped the sweat from his forehead, crawling out from under the old car and nodded over at the cat standing above the open hood.

"Checks out. Transmission's at fault." The year was 1968. The place was Mobius, and the armadillo's name was John. In a small country, near the Dragon Kingdom, war had broken out between Mobian forces and the native people, three years ago. The Mobian government had backed a neighboring country's attempts to regain territories in the area, and war had broken out. All while the war was beginning, certain groups began forming and preparing for what was to come. But, all that was for away from the young armadillo. He was simply worried about making enough cash from his job at the garage to live in semi-comfort. Crawling out from under the car, he wiped the grease and oil from his face, washing his hands quickly. Walking out of the garage, he waved at the cat, continuing on. Eventually, he made his way to the rusted bike he drove around. Hopping on, he forced the wheels to move, peddling slowly, until he entered a faster state. Grunting with the effort, he stopped the bike, getting off and chaining it. He walked into the small apartment, tossing the key to the bike lock onto a table, littered with newspapers and old food containers. Collapsing on the mattress, he groaned. Laying there, his mind drifted back to older memories….

The young child was cowering in fear, his father holding a belt. As he grabbed him by the shirt, pulling him up, he dropped the belt, swinging his fist at his face, hitting hard enough to break the young child's nose. As he dropped the bleeding child, he walked back to the kitchen, cursing at the child. Downing a beer, he let the child crawl off, crying to himself. Making his way to his room, the young armadillo grabbed a roll of toilet paper, trying to stop the bleeding from his nose. Hearing the door open, he snuck to the banister, watching as his mother and father began their daily argument.

Shaking his head, John got up, heading to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, which leaked, he undressed and got in, savoring the feel of the hot water against his skin. He had not been able to pay for hot water for a while, but now that he could, it felt like a luxury. Walking out of the shower, he turned the hot water off, so as not to waste it. Toweling off, he got dressed again, looking around for anything to eat. Opening the old cupboard, he looked around, finding a half-empty box of stale cereal. Shrugging, he opened it, pouring it into the dirty coffee mug he used as a bowl. Looking for milk, he opened the fridge. There were a few moldy pieces of bread left over, some expired orange juice and a carton of creamer which had curdled. Closing the fridge, he grabbed the cleanest spoon he could find, and eat the stale cereal quietly. Chewing it well, so as to try and keep the taste down, he swallowed and finished off the rest. Standing again, he walked outside of the apartment, seeing Ray walking up the stairs.

"Ray, the hell are you doing here?" The yellow squirrel walked over, stopping in front of the apartment.

"Well, I came by to see if you needed any help with the food situation."As John reflected on his meal of stale, milk-less cereal, he unknowingly nodded.

"Yeah, not much money for food, these days. Half of what I've got goes to the rent, and the fucking hot water, which I've finally got. The rest goes either to what food I can get, or to taxes. Can't tell you how little I'm really making these days."

"Late teens not turning out how you pictured, eh? Well, guess that crap about responsibility piling up on us when we turned eighteen was true." Ray chuckled, leaning against the wall.

"Yeah, maybe so. Either way, least the rest of the guys got enough smarts to land them some better jobs. Speaking of, we heading over to Vec's place as planned?

"Yeah, he had a bit of a time picking up the beers, though. Small place over around downtown that didn't card sold him a few cases."

"Good, Espio bringing the cards?"

"No, tonight Charmy's bringin' 'em. Espio's busy moving, remember? Decided to get a better apartment, so he doesn't know where anything of his is anymore, still unpacking."

"Eh, never could make up his mind on housing, could he? Can't say I'm doing much better myself, God knows this place is a shithole."

"Well, come on. Vec's place isn't as bad. Besides, there'll be food."

"Damn it, Ray. You know how to drag me into these things, I'll give you that. You got a ride?"

"Red convertible, got it a few months back."

"Never took you for the convertible type. How'd you get the cash for it?"

"Saved up, what else?" John shrugged, closing the door behind him and walking off with Ray to the parking lot outside, getting in the vibrant, red convertible as Ray inserted the key into the ignition. The car kept to life, and the two raced down the street, John enjoying the feeling of acceleration. As Ray pulled the convertible into the space, he pressed and held the roof button, sitting back as the roof unfolded from the back of the car, stretching itself over the open canopy of the car, falling into place as it latched with the car, the windows rising. Getting out, Ray grabbed a few bags from the trunk, John joining him as they walked to the elevator, pressing the button for the third floor. Stepping out of the elevator, the pair made their way to the correct apartment. Knocking twice, Ray waited, the door opening a second later. The green crocodile stood there for a second, smiling and waving the two of them inside. Once inside, they saw the rest of the group gathered around a table, cards layer out around them, beers and a bowl of chips the only other decorations. Setting the bags down, Ray pulled out a chair, sitting down as Espio dealt hims hand of cards. John grabbed a seat as well, grabbing his hand.

"Hey, Charmy, toss me a cold one, will ya?" Charmy nodded, opening up the refrigerator and grabbing a beer from its cardboard holder, tossing it to John. He caught it, using a bottle opener nearby to open it, taking a quick swig. Setting it down on the table, he looked at his hand, the center of the table adorned with a mix of poker chips and cash. Tossing in a few dollars, John glanced once again across the table, reading the faces of each player.

"I fold."

"You just got in, the hell do you mean you fold?" Vector asked, a questioning glance on his face.

"I mean I fold." Vector sighed, as the game continued. The next hand was dealt, and John folded again. Charmy opened another bottle, grabbing a handful of chips, eating a few immediately. Reading the faces of the group gathered around the table, John raised five dollars, keeping his expression neutral. Charmy was trying to hide his anger, obviously having been dealt a bad hand. Vector was smiling slightly, unable to contain the fact that he had what he thought to be a winning hand. Espio was calm, but an undercurrent of disappointment was visible. John raised another fifteen dollars, as Charmy and Espio folded as expected. Vector raised, and John followed suit. Finally, all bets had been made.

"Let's see 'em, Johnny." Vector said, displaying his three-of-a-kind. John set down his cards, displaying his straight. Vector cursed slightly, drinking from his beer, as John took the pot, smiling slightly as he collected the fifty-three dollars accumulated in the center of the table. Ray stood up, turning on the black and white TV Vector had, changing the channels as he stopped, mid-commercial.

"What's on, Ray?", called Charmy, taking a drink from his beer, eating another few chips.

"Should be the news, once the commercial's over."

"The news, come on Ray, we're trying to have a good time here, that stuff's nothing but war and death these days." Vector was visibly agitated, cleaning up the cards.

"Hey, it's interesting, man. Maybe the war's over."

"Even if it is, no one wants to hear about how many men have died to get there." Vector nursed his beer, opening the fridge to grab some cheese.

"Yeah, but we've got to be up-to-date. I mean, what if there's been an attack on-" He was cut off by Vector's violent response.

"NO! Damn it Ray, I don't want to hear about any of it, and that's final! I don't care what's going on, get that death coverage OFF MY DAMN TV!" Everyone stared, silenced by his outburst. John looked up, still picking up the cash from the pot, and Espio dropped his calm expression, glancing over at Vector in mystification. Charmy set down his beer, watching with everyone else as Vector walked over calmly, and turned off the TV.

"I don't want to hear about all that death and violence. It sickens me. Poker night's over, guys. Head on home. I'll… I'll clean up." As he walked to pick up the empty bottles, the stunned group dispersed, picking up their things and heading back to the door, walking out quietly.

"Damn, Ray. You really upset him."

"I didn't know he'd take it that way. I wonder why he's so upset over it… He's not exactly the squeamish type. Way he's acting, its almost like he's afraid of it." John shrugged, as they waved farewell to Espio and Charmy, getting back into the red convertible, as Ray turned the key, starting the car. Backing out of the driveway, John finished another sip from his beer, setting the bottle into the cup-holder, relaxing in the seat. Ray stopped at a light, resting his hand on the wheel, an air of melancholy in his movement.

"Feeling bad about what happened with Vector, huh?"

"Yeah… I mean, I just like knowing how the war's going, you know? See if we're winning."

"Look, I understand, man. I don't think you're responsible for what happened, but now we know, I guess." Ray nodded, as he pulled up to John's apartment building. Opening the trunk, he grabbed a few bags, as John stepped out, walking over.

"There, should be enough food to last you a few days."

"Thanks, man. Can't believe you keep going out of your way for me on this."

"Hey, what can I say? I mean, we've known each other since high school".

"Fair enough. I'll catch you later, Ray. I've got to see if my paycheck arrived today." Ray nodded, getting back into the car, driving off as John grabbed the key to his apartment, getting onto the elevator. Stopping on his floor, he opened the door. Setting the bags on the table, he cloud the door behind him, walking to the mail room. Grabbing his mail, he walked back to his apartment, closing the door again, flipping through it. He stopped, looking at a letter. It wasn't the paycheck he was waiting for. It wasn't the electric bill, the water bill, or the heating bill. It wasn't from a friend or relative. It was marked, "MOBIAN GOVERNMENT, NOTICE OF CONSCRIPTION". It was a draft notice. And it was addressed to him.