My name is Patryk. One of the many Red Soldiers that were under Tord's command. I'm one of the two soldiers who weren't brainwashed into doing his bidding. After months of planning and using both our wits against the other 'soldiers' that had tried to stop us, we finally got a chance. The plan to kill someone with corrupt power over everyone here.

Today was the only chance we had at this. Both me and Paul and managed to smuggle silencers for our pistols, which were to be used for the assassination of Tord Larsson. The Red Leader. Ever since the incident with his said 'friends,' he had lost his right arm and eye, leaving him with multiple burn marks and scars on his face. A robotic arm had replaced his right arm, whilst an eye patch concealed a dull, grey eye. Blind in one eye, but still as sharp as ever. I still remember the bloodcurdling screams of pain when we had amputated the Norski's arm . . . God, there was so much blood on the table when he had been carried out of the room.

It had been months for this opportunity to come around, to say the least. The last 'mission' both me and Paul had been on was when we crashed into that damn cloudberg in the sky. We were in a fucking plane, that shit doesn't happen like that out of nowhere. Whatever, that's in the past and that doesn't matter at the moment. The problem at hand is how we're having our asses handed to us by the enemy. Gunfire and explosions had deafened most of the soldiers on the field, but they still fought for their will to live, despite they don't realize they're only pawns in Tord's massive game of chess; ordering them all to fight to their inevitable defeat, allowing them to die with no purpose of knowing what they really were fighting for.

War was a cruel game in this world.

We both were taking cover behind a solid wall of dirt in a trench, avoiding the imminent threat from the other side. Next to us was a man that was called 'Harriet,' who had been shot in his shoulder and chest. He had screamed out, "HELP ME PLEASE, I'M BLE–" But the cry had been silenced by a blow from an assault rifle due to the rounds whistling through the air and hitting the ground, the wall, and the once living man. I had a pretty good idea of what he was to say. The corpse slid down the trench wall and to the ground, joining several others. I wrinkled my face in disgust at the horrible stench that wafted over to my nose, coughing slightly as gunpowder and smoke entered my lungs. Trying my best as to not vomit at the smell of death, I grabbed a grenade and pulled the clip, tossing the explosive onto the battlefield.

You either join willingly or are forced into the fight.

I heard the small bomb explode as well as multiple screams of the enemy. I felt both guilt and fear, but I had also felt triumph that my grenade had killed a few men. Paul had been at my side as I threw the handheld explosive and read my facial expression, giving me a slight smile in return. "Patryk, I know this is a bad time, but, I think we should probably be paying attention to the current fight going on." Paul had said loud enough for me to barely hear him, watching him cautiously stand back up with a rifle in his hands and placing his arms over the trench wall, lining up the sights and firing at the enemy line.

I didn't want to play, but here I am. Fighting a fight I never wanted.

I peered over the dirt wall and saw more bodies of soldiers on the ground, their clothing tattered and bloodied from the amount of violence they had caused so recklessly. I could see our men up there in blue and red with some white, shouting and firing their weapons as they desperately tried to take cover, only to fail and result in being executed on the spot with multiple shots to their chest or head. The opposing forces were wearing several shades of green and black, but their numbers seemed to be slowly dwindling to nearly gone. At least twenty or so members of the opposite force were left and could be seen running back to where they had came from, leaving us with the victory over the battle.

I've been trained to do what had to be done, and it wasn't easy.

Multiple casualties were normal business, but that didn't matter.

All that mattered was victory.

Winning.

Cheers had rang out into the air, however I didn't care about everyone else here. They were not like me or Paul. We were different from the rest of the army of brainwashed soldiers. Neither of us were 'educated' on the ways of War. Both of us already knew the subject very well from the moment we arrived here. Paul had retreated from his spot on the trench and turned to face me with a soft smile, giving me a slight nod. "It's over," he had said quietly with a weak smile, "for now at least." I gave a heavy sigh and nodded as we both had walked side-by-side back to the base, silently marching with the slightly smaller band of soldiers than from which we had started with.

If you managed to rank up to a certain position, more work meant more respect.

But not all respect is good.

More respect, the more powerful you become among the troops as an example to what they should be like. The 'examples' were always chosen for public demonstrations of what would happen if you had disobeyed the Red Leader's orders. Paul was one at one point, in which he had gotten the bandage that covered his right eye from view. Minus the scar and bruises barely peeking under the linen cloth used for medical purposes, he seemed to be fine on the surface. This was never the case, as we had both broken down with one another and acted if it had never occurred to us countless times. Emotions were always problems, rather than being emotionless like the mindless slaves that were sent out to the field to meet their timely demise.

'Hide your emotions, and hide them well. Keep them like that until you, yourself have been hidden to release that pent up energy in a quiet place, alone.'

Is what both me and Paul told each other, but we always ignored that last part. Alone. We never left each other's side, even in the worst of times. Either of us get separated, we always find a way to each other somehow. Call it what you will: fate, luck, etcetera, etcetera.

I prefer the term 'trust' or possibly 'love,' if you will. Determination had been our guide to one another in numerous ways, and I don't want to think of what will happen if one day . . .

That's the game of War.

Play along with the fight, or die trying to run away.

Either of us leave one another.

Permanently.