Chapter 4

I suppose I found the situation mildly funny at the time. For all the panic happening, my emotional state remained fairly calm. There were no strange tugs threatening to reclaim the body that I had—in fact, I felt nothing toward the men that were my allies even as they fled for the lives as the meal warbirds came near.

I looked on to see them trample over their comrades as they fled for a chance at continuing their selfishly-driven lives. I could imagine how the men in the helicopters would shift anxiously, overexcited at the prospect of putting down rabid animals that had strayed too far with their actions. Blame couldn't be put on the Commander's men for their choices—I mean how could it since no reasonable path to victory existed before us. We had no chance at winning against whoever these people were. Better equipped, formally trained, and disciplined unlike any other…all who stayed were as good as dead. Our time as a group was coming to an abrupt end at the hands of an unknown foreign force.

The Commander's men were selfish people who placed their desires before all others, masquerading as obedient men in order to avoid the Commander's ire. In all fairness, they played the part well but when accompanying them through the missions it was easy to see the truth. How many times had I caught them casually satisfying their urges when we had orders to advance further into a village? How many times had I been witness to them stuffing their torn pockets with valuables meant for our leader?

Though they dabbled in the extremes, they recognized their own shiftiness and often took pride in it. They knew, accepted, and even reveled in the type of person they were, fully taking advantage of the perks and benefits that entailed from living a life of murder. After all, it didn't make any sense to admonish those that had the courage to willfully discard their humanity and idealistic morals in favor of having the chance to make it past the early years of their lives. Were they suppose to take the high road and refuse the Commander's invitation to his band of merry troops? It was only right to reward such stupidity with a bullet to the head.

Grabbing my things, I jogged at a steady pace to the woman's tent fully intent on accomplishing my last task for the Commander. Regardless of whether or not the man was alive, I still had orders and a debt to repay.

Coming up on the doctor's tent, my eyes narrowed when catching sight of a considerably large-sized gash on the front cover of the tent. The woman wouldn't dare go out on her own and escape into the darkness in a land unknown to her. Nothing pleasant awaited her with that choice, especially if she found herself in the company of the remnants of our little group. I took a breath, feeling the sudden intake of cold, dry air filling my chest and sped forward to the tent.

Jumping into the gap of the tent's tear, my sight latched on to a blond-haired figure cowering the in a corner. With the tentative stability broken with my arrival, it seemed that one of the smitten men decided to act out his wishes of making the woman his.

Hey, I could respect that. Kudos to him adhering to his selfish nature just as many of the others had. Instead of putting his survival as the top priority, he decided one last fuck would be worth more than the remainder of his life.

Things would've been fine, just a standard get in and get out even with the slight delay of disposing of my "comrade". The whole event shouldn't have taken any more than a good chunk of seconds. A few sprayed bullets in the man's direction and the woman's problem would have been solved. No point in trying the stealthy approach when a few loud bangs of gunfire wouldn't have made much of a difference in alerting my position when the camp was embroiled in a firefight. It should've been simple—but it wasn't.

I thought I could keep down my urges given the years of experience I had under my belt but when we locked eyes, my control began to slip. This wasn't normal. This was new. She provided something different from the norm, something stimulating for once.

Her eyes felt different, fear intermixed with… hope? No one looks at me like that. Its usually just constant begging going on and on, with some hysterical sobbing that's sprinkled in when the final act of their life comes to a close. Raw emotion rages within those ocean-colored eyes of her's and spills onto mine. It feels so good. Complex? No. Simplistic—her eyes asked a question. I'm the answer. Terror grips her body, rocketing her chest with each erratic respiration and yet she believes me to be her savior even though I hold a similar face to her attacker. What did I do to deserve such tender treatment from a woman far above my age?

OooOo…its getting worse, I can already tell with the sounds starting to get more pronounced. Huddled several feet away yet I hear her sporadic panting as if she were next to me. I hear the man twisting his shoes into the ground as he readied himself for a pounce and the eager smacking of his tongue against his lips. Even though Commander saved me from the void, the temptation to go back is still with me. I want to be smothered, embraced, and pretend things were different.

I'm weak. I thought you knew this by now Commander. Where are you? Commander, where are you? Where are you? I need you.

I'm getting sidetracked. Yes, that's it. What stage am I in? Eyes rolled back already, pleasurable sensation went down back and expanded quite some time ago, and fingers currently gripping the upper part of my arms. Oh, that's right, only two more to go.

"?#%*!".

Surprise is lost. Thinking isn't good. Must surrender and give in. The Commander would understand. I'm doing this for him. Accomplish mission, yes? Things were different back when Commander found me; I was inexperienced. I have enough control now over my tendencies. Just letting loose a little bit won't be bad right? Right? riGht? RIgHT? Time is ticking. To go against the words of the Commander is death. Example must be made out of him. No gun—can't be quick and easy.

The chains are unlocking—no, they are breaking, stressed under the influence of Alisa. Cracks. Cracks. Cracks everywhere. It's calling me—not my name, of course not, but something more instinctual. My heart? No. My soul? No. My nature? Yes.

They break.

The chains go and my chest fills with air. It's a good time. Yes, a very good time to be me. I wanna play. Who I play with? The man or woman? Doesn't matter—yes it does. Who lets me feel? Who lets me play? Source does. Protect. Will feel again one day. Must.

I yell.

—

I could hear it even in the darkness. That meek little voice struggling against the mounting, suffocating pressure.

I never liked the aftermath of my episodes.

I'm always left alone with my thoughts. The act I've built over the years unravel in a moment of clarity reminding me of my pitiful self.

Who am I kidding—a ruthless child soldier—don't make me laugh. I go on and on about this nonexistent debt that I "cherish", but it's all a lie. I don't stay with the Commander out of loyalty or even admiration, I follow him because he's the only person that gives me a sense of purpose. I was nothing when I was a wandering kid who stole left and right just to survive.

Hell, I wasn't even a fucking orphan! That's just some sort of sob story I came up on the fly to avoid the real reason why I was moving through the crumbled ruins of the city I grew up in alone. Bit embarrassing to mention that my own parents just decided to abandon me on day one of the war because they figured that their own flesh and blood wasn't worth the trouble. But that wasn't the worst part, oh no, what killed me the most was that they didn't even have the decency to crush my hope. They just left in the dead of the night, seemingly ashamed of their choice, and let me continue to believe, for years, that something unfortunate had happened that separated us. Even still, I believed that one day we would be reunited. I struggled constantly, unused to life on the streets, all for the sake of reaching for my happily ever-after.

"A child's dream is their parent's dream"—I guess that little tidbit of theirs was just empty words of love.

Why am I even thinking about these things? I thought I managed to get past it by fooling myself into thinking that everything is alright. Why couldn't I just have kept pretending that I'm some sort of unapologetic killer that doesn't mind all the blood I've spilled? Slowly, I had lost hope in ever making it out of here. Instead of being driven mad, I accepted it in my own way and made myself be who I am not. It's my story isn't it—so why was it so wrong for me to rewrite my pathetic existence?

Everything, my pain and troubles, is all her fault. If she only hadn't come, I'd still be living and dying in my beautiful lie. If only she hadn't reminded me of myself.

"He's just a boy. Please!"

Even now she's taunting me. A weak woman like herself, cowering just a few minutes ago, stands in front with her arms spread out protecting me from those unruly invaders. Guns are pointed at her, lights burning her sight, and despite that, she stands her ground. What changed? What gave her the right to blossom when I stayed the same? I hate her for becoming strong. I hate her for being more than I ever could be. I hate her for stealing who I ought to be.

And yet, I love her for it.

Those rare, beautiful moments in which someone blooms is truly magnificent—to tear skin and bone and become something greater than what you were. What a strange, comforting sensation brought up by two warring emotions within my chest. It's a bit regrettable that I wasn't ever able to experience the transformation but being able to see it is certainly a high-mark in my eventful life.

Against all odds, she managed to bloom; I'm happy for her.

For the first time in a long time, my head wasn't clouded with doubt. The anger of being reminded of weakness bubbling beneath my expression began to dissipate. I didn't have the strength to protect Alisa, not now with only a few inches of steel at my disposal. Alisa shouldn't die protecting someone as worthless as me.

Huh,… guess there's no need to hang onto my trusty knife anymore. A little beat up and bloody from the ordeal but it served me well enough.

No more fighting.

No more killing.

No more pretending.

So, I tossed the knife to the side and shakily stood up. Hardly a sound rang out, just the smallest of thuds as the metal blade skidded across the earth and slid to a sudden halt. The sudden action drew a few twitches but their sight held fast on Alisa.

Giving no chance for the stubborn woman to object, I walk past her with arms raised and into the blinding beams of light. It's a little disorienting but things finally felt right for once.

Clothed hands reached out and grabbed the back of my neck, driving me face-first into the ground. My vision swims and I can taste a bit of blood and dirt in my mouth. It makes for a strange combination.

I can hear her high-pitch yelping in the background as my vision slowly gets darker as other masked figures swarm me.

We're both the same, or at least we were when she first came here. Maybe if things were different, I could have bloomed too.

Don't worry, Alisa. You're gonna be alright.