Chapter 3

Days Gone By

Shura couldn't bring himself to move any further. Staring at the black monolith before him, Shura began to break down. Tears fell uncontrollably from his eyes. His feet became sore, his knees buckled, and his thighs became heavy.

The facade of Shura's former home had been mostly unscathed. It was almost as it was when Shura first arrived in the small town, but all the glass windows had shattered. From the outside, Shura was able to clearly see inside each room on the east side of the twenty story-tall building.

He pinpointed the rooms of his acquaintances, his school mates, his friends. He was able to peer into the apartments that once belonged to his neighbors. However, his eyes could not see his own room. Subconsciously, Shura prevented himself from shifting his focus.

Shura looked down at his feet, which had become numb. His breathing intensified. Becoming heavy. His heart seemed to ache, his stomach nauseous, and he became light headed.

"Private Mihaylov!" Boomed an agitated voice, echoing through the ruined town.

Shura's eyes widened, recognizing the voice as his captain.

"What did I say about visiting the ghetto?" Artemovik's voice pierced through as if he were to have been Shura's mother.

Shura didn't reply.

Artemovik's voice got angrier. "Private, I asked you a question."

"Not to do it." Shura mumbled between his teeth.

"Face your commanding officer when speaking to him!" He commanded.

Shura's fists tightened as he turned in Artemovik's direction. He was surrounded by the other 14 members of Squad 67. "Not to do it," Shura mumbled again.

"Speak up when addressing your captain!" He yelled.

Shura loosely raised his hand to his brow. "Not to do it." He waited a few seconds as Artemovik continued to stare him down. "Sir." He disrespectfully added.

"Shura, I'm deeply disappointed in you. Disobeying your captain is a serious offense." He said, "Now fall back in line with the rest of your squad." Artemovik's eyes glared at Shura's, and Shura glared back at Artemovik's. His eyes still bloodshot and wet from his tears. Shura let out an exasperated sigh and walked past captain Artemovik. Artemovik grabbed Shura by the back of his shirt and stared at Shura. He spoke nothing, almost telepathically commanding Shura.

"Yes," Shura stopped for a brief moment that was still too long, "sir." Captain Artemovik let Shura return to his squad. Shura adjusted his collar and walked to the back of the group. Keeping his head down, Shura did his best not to draw any more attention to himself. But his best efforts were futile, as every eye was locked on him. Singling him out, each member whispered to themselves, condescendingly.

Captain Artemovik's lieutenant, Titania Maklakiva walked to him and discretely whispered in his ear. Aremovik sighed and turned to face his squad. He closed his eyes, deep in thought. He opened and began to address his soldiers. "Men," he said, "We leave now for Sector 8!" Each individual soldier saluted him. "At ease." He commanded.

Captain Artemovik began the troops march. He spoke with Lieutenant Maklakiva the whole time. Silently discussing their plans for Sector Eight.

Shura stood marching fifteen feet behind the slowest stragglers of the squadron. Keeping his head down, Shura slowly followed behind. He kept his hands inside his pant pockets, futilely trying to keep them warm in the cold Russian environment.

Walking just ten feet ahead of him was Maks Fedim. He was a short and plump boy with short, curly hair. He waddled behind the rest of the group, trying to keep up. But his attempts weren't very successful.

His breathing was raspy and heavy. He wasn't cut out for the role of a soldier, and Shura had known this since he first saw the boy in boot camp. It was a miracle that Maks was able to survive through basic training.

Shura vividly remembered his first encounter with Maks. It was just over a year since. On the first day of training he was yelled at for smuggling food into the barracks.

When Maks first joined he was incredibly fat. During the initial physical exams, he was weighed at 90 kilograms. On average, between all the machines in the camp, Maks could only lift about 9 kilograms. It was amazing to think that a boy like that would go to war in FINR. Even the instructors thought he would've been better off working for Sumeragi.

Not only did he lack the physique of a soldier, but Maks lacked the stomach of one too. Even the younger kids at the camp considered him to be a pansy. One time early into training, the soldiers were tasked with dissecting live birds. Some kids did it without asking questions. Some kids were skeptic. Some kids needed to be persuaded. But Maks, Maks refused to pick up his knife.

Maks was detained for two weeks after that. Every night he had to run laps while the other soldiers slept. And every night, Shura sat and watched him. He didn't quite understand his affinity for Maks, but regardless, he would sit and watch.

Shura saw him get faster, and he saw him drastically lose weight too. One night, Shura ran laps with him. Matching Maks' pace, he talked with him. Maks didn't say much except for the occasional, "Yeah." And Shura understood why, the boy was exhausted from his running. But regardless of Maks' lack of conversation, Shura ran with him the next day. And the day after that.

The two gained a certain friendship. Even after Maks' punishment was over, the two would still sneak out to run more laps. Eventually they were caught doing this. Seeing as they were caught running laps, the instructors punished them with the task of cleaning the mens bathroom everyday.

While it wasn't the physical labor Shura hoped for, it did open Maks up to be able to talk a lot more. And in those circumstances, Shura and Maks were able to become best friends inside the FINR boot camp located twenty miles outside of Moscow. Shura helped Maks get in better shape, while Maks provided Shura with the company he'd been deprived of for far too long. By the end of Shura and Maks' time in the camp, Maks had lost thirty-two kilograms of weight, making him only fifty-eight kilograms.

But ever since Shura and Maks had left that camp, they seemed to have ceased their friendship. Maks made new friends, while Shura was alone. Generally, he thought himself sociable, but when faced with a stranger, Shura failed to make lasting conversation. Perhaps this is what made him lose touch with his entire squad.

Time moved forward. Shura's boots seemed to sink further down into the snow with every step, and before he knew it, he and his squad had reached Sector Eight, belonging to the former country known as Russia.