I put the rifle on my back again, and walked towards the entrance. There were two guards beside it. Looking closely, I realized they were both holding AS50 sniper rifles and had holsters with M1911 pistols in them. I gulped, since they looked intimidating, but I also kind of expected this anyway.

"Who are you? What's your name? Identify yourself!" one of them said in a strong voice. It surprised me a little, but I kept my composure.

"T-Trevor Castle...Sniper Monkey in training. Mentored by Captain Churchill," I responded.

They looked at each other for a moment, and the same guy that asked me who I am nodded slightly. I'm guessing they were expecting me. I don't know if this made it reassuring or scarier, but it must mean Captain Churchill spread the word.

"You can enter," the other guard said. "There's a conference going on in the second floor. Captain Churchill wants you to head over immediately."

I gave a single nod and walked in. I looked beside me, and there were lots of soldiers training, while receiving orders from big and commanding monkeys. Most of them had a straight face, and the dartling gunners laughed while they made it rain with darts. I wasted no time, however, and went upstairs.

The stairs led to an immediate hallway where there was a single door in front of me that said "Conference Room." Before entering, I suddenly heard Captain Churchill's voice.

"Everyone, this new recruit may sound unlikely or incompetent, but I can assure you he's not. Let me explain," he said. "His name is Trevor Castle and he's currently 17 years old. He suffers from autism spectrum disorder. But please, let me finish! You remember Mason Castle? One of the best snipers we ever had during this battle? Trevor is his younger brother! He inspired him to become a sniper monkey."

Hearing those words reminded me of my wish, and I slowly opened the door and entered the room.

"Ah, perfect timing!" Churchill said. I walked towards him and stood beside him while he continued. "This is Trevor. Not only is he autistic, but he also has the fortune to possess something called savant syndrome. Despite his difficulties in social aspects, his intelligence far outclasses average. He is very well educated on the composition of bloons, allowing him to shoot weak points more often than not. He can even shoot bloons with such amazing precision and bullet choice that they lose one child bloon! On top of that, he can detect camo bloons without wearing night-vision goggles."

Some of the monkeys looked impressed, while others still had a skeptical face.

"I taught him everything he knows today," Churchill continued. "He is very good at physics, to the point where he calculates complex projectile motion and mathematical operations quickly off the top of his head. This combines well with his extensive knowledge of firearms and bullet ballistics. I saw him once read a book I gave him about the different types of bullets, their ballistic performance, their calibers, etc. In just one month, at the age of 12, he was able to memorize the names of every bullet in the book, from 9mm and .45 ACP to even more specific measurements in rifle cartridges, such as 5.56x45mm NATO. This reached a level where he could draw them exactly from memory alone, and he can almost instantly calculate bullet drop and wind influence; two important variables for a sniper."

"All of this sounds well and good, but it still doesn't change the fact that he's autistic," one monkey said. "This place is not a rehabilitation center. It's not! If there's anyone who should decide this, it should be General Brickell. What do you think?"

General Brickell was at the center. I saw in television that through her huge contribution in the war on bloons and her hard work, she was able to rise from Admiral to General of the Monkeyopolis Army. Through her leadership, she changed the Monkeyopolis Army to accept anyone on the battle maps that had even a little bit of expertise in popping bloons regardless of age, powers, or weaponry. This is why there are so many dart monkeys, boomerang monkeys, ninja monkeys, wizard and alchemist monkeys, even super monkeys, which everyone thought was just a comic book fantasy. Apparently a bunch of alchemists and wizards got together and made a bunch of experiments to create something of the sort, since it would be a powerful asset in the war. Engineers and farmers contributed with tack shooters, spike factories, and banana farms. Even the government established mini monkey villages. However, in order to be recruited, you needed to pass a test organized by General Brickell herself.

"What motivated you to come here, Trevor?" General Brickell asked after a pause. "What made you want to become a sniper?"

It was time for me to speak. Being autistic, it was natural that I had an extremely severe case of glossophobia (fear of public speaking). However, my mind temporarily wandered off to that moment. That one moment that would change my life and bring me here.

…

I was 12 years old, and this was a few months before I met Captain Churchill. I was in my room, and a wound was on my left pec. My father opened the wound with enough punches. I don't remember why he was angry, but again, I think it's best that I don't. At that moment, Mom wasn't home and she had to run some errands. Though I didn't want her to leave me with this excuse of a father, I understood her. She probably wanted to leave the house to escape him, but didn't take me because it was all adult things she wouldn't want me to be bored with. Furthermore, there was the risk that my autistic brain would make me blurt out something at an inopportune moment, and she knew I went to Mason's private firing range a lot. Though she was initially concerned for my safety, she eventually supported it. I remembered what Mason did with his med-kit years ago with my forehead, so I was able to disinfect the wound on my pec myself.

I decided to leave the house even if I was alone. I did this lots of times now, and mostly it was just me going to Mason's firing range to vent out some stress and shoot things. He only taught me the basics, but it was more than enough, at least at the time.

All of a sudden, however, as I went deeper into the jungle to head over there, I heard a whole lot of shooting and explosions. My curiosity got the best of me and I changed course, following the sound. This time, I climbed a tree and moved from the top of one tree to another to try and stay undetected. I then finally found an open space, and what I saw was one of the most brutal and terrifying things I've ever seen.

There was a track of limestone with a lot of straight lines and a few tight turns here and there. Besides the track, monkeys were everywhere on the grass, throwing everything you can think of at hordes of bloons and a bunch of MOAB-class bloons packed in tight clusters. It was a total war zone, and I would have went back if I hadn't caught something in the corner of my eye.

There were some medic monkeys surrounding something, or rather, someone. I slowly walked toward them, and I saw who they were surrounding. I was never more horrified then.

It was Mason. Blood was all over his lower torso. A huge cut was in his stomach, and two or three parts of the small intestine were cut and exposed to the air. A portion of the liver was also in plain sight. The medics were rubbing all kinds of things over him, but I could tell by his face he was in agonizing pain. I was twitching all over as I walked closer and closer, until I finally was close enough to him. I knelt down beside him, and he looked at me.

"Little bro," he said. His voice was faint, almost like he had a popcorn kernel in his throat. "I should've…known that…you would come to a place like this eventually. I'm…not in the best condition, aren't I?"

He chuckled, but then coughed out some blood. It ran down his chin, and the medics picked up the pace. It was then that I realized his rifle was on the floor to my right. He told me its name before, but that was it. The rest I learned from research and Captain Churchill's tutelage.

"Trevor, take my rifle," he managed to say. "Take it home. Don't tell our father. Promise me that you will keep practicing."

"I…promise," I said. My voice was quivering. A lump was forming in my throat. While I grabbed Mason's rifle with one hand, he extended his hand and clasped my other hand firmly.

"Promise me...that you will become a sniper monkey. Promise me…that you will move on and live a happy life. No matter what people tell you, no matter what comes down your way, promise me…you will get back up again. Please." His voice was getting weaker by the second. He knew me well. He knew I enjoyed it. He wanted me to enjoy myself and be the best I can be.

"I promise," I replied.

"…Thank you," he said. "Don't forget, Trevor. No matter what, I will always be by your side. Always. I love you…so much…little bro." Those were his last words, as I felt his grip loosen, his hand getting colder, and while smiling, he dropped his hand to the ground and exhaled one last dying breath.

I knew a monkey's anatomy, and the damage was too profound for him to be saved. The medics must have known that too, because they all left with crestfallen faces and went over to report to someone. I didn't bother looking anywhere else. By now, the sound of the explosions was gone in my ears.

I buried my face in his chest, as I softly whined. My fist repeatedly but gently banged against his lifeless body. Blood was all over my hands, but it didn't matter to me.

"Mason…don't go," was all I could say.

…

I later learned that Mason was injured by a MOAB that went off course to perform a surprise attack. It used its engines on its back to slice up Mason's belly.

The funeral was well organized, but I was far away from my parents. 21 monkeys each shot once into the sky, as trumpets played a somber tune. While this was happening, Captain Churchill took off his hat and laid down some roses on Mason's coffin. He then performed a military hand salute, while all other soldiers followed suit. I was the only monkey that wasn't a soldier that did the same, though almost no one noticed. Some soldiers then took the coffin away to be buried elsewhere.

As everyone left, Captain Churchill noticed me. He walked towards me and got down to my level. All I did was look down.

"Your brother…was one of the best men I ever met. His service and benevolent nature will never be forgotten, not only by the Monkeyopolis Army, but by everyone else," he told me. He then raised his arms to hug me, but I nervously took a step back. Noticing this, he understood, smiled, and instead he crossed his arms and tapped his shoulders with the palms of his hands. I identified him as someone I could trust, and did the same.

"I…w-want to b-be…a s-s-sniper…monkey," I nervously said.

"Say again?" Churchill asked.

"I…want to be a sniper monkey. I…made a promise to Mason before he…died," I repeated as I lifted my head.

"Oh. But…do you enjoy it? Are you even that sure? This isn't child's play."

"…Yes, I'm sure. Mason…showed me. He helped me…practice. He knows I love it. I…trust him."

Churchill nodded in understanding and smiled once again. "I'll see what I can do." He then left. I stayed there for about one more minute before I left too.

At the age of 22, Mason Castle passed away.

…

Present Day.

A lump started to form in my throat again, but in this place, it's crucial to keep your composure. My memories with Mason gave me the final confidence boost I needed, and I started:

"Five years ago, my brother, Mason Castle, died. When I was a child, he was the only one who loved me despite who I am. He was the one that motivated me to keep living. He wanted me to have fun. He wanted me to have friends. However, my childhood was not a good one. I once told him 'I don't need friends. I only need you.'"

There was a short pause. That comment showed how much I trusted him, and how much I missed him.

"He showed me the ways of sniping, and even though the gunshots were loud as hell, I grew used to it, and took a huge liking to it quickly. Every few days, Mason would teach me the basics. I couldn't think of anything more fun I did in my childhood other than target practice. When he died, he made me promise I would continue practicing. He made me promise I would become a sniper monkey. He made me promise I would move on, regardless of whatever anyone else said. He knew I loved it, and he wanted me to continue. He wanted me to enjoy life, with or without him, but mostly with him, because he's always on my side."

I paused, then grabbed my rifle from my back and showed it to everyone.

"This is my weapon, a Dragunov SVU-A. It's the same rifle I used to practice with when I was a child. This was Mason's rifle. He…gave it to me…right before he died. I pasted two photos each on one side of the grip. That way…every time I shoot…he will be closer to me. I wouldn't give this away for the world. …That's all."

I put away the rifle on my back. Most of the monkeys still kept a straight face. However, even though General Brickell appeared emotionless, I saw a single tear roll down her cheek.

"I can only imagine what you went through," she finally said. Surprisingly, despite that tear, her voice remained strong. "However, although I'm more than willing to accept you even with your condition, I will not let you in on the team out of pity. You will still need to prove your skills in training and a test run." She then smiled. "Still, I have faith in you. I look forward to having you here, Trevor."

I thought I was dreaming, but I wasn't. I couldn't contain my joy as I smiled ecstatically and made my body go up and down like a little kid. Looking at Captain Churchill; he was happy for me too. A couple monkeys in the room seemed annoyed, but it didn't bother me. I had a chance, and that's all that mattered.

"Speaking of a test run," General Brickell continued, "how about we do that right now? Come with me, I'll show you our testing site."

"Of course!" I replied. She stood up, and Captain Churchill and I followed. After exiting the conference room, we went downstairs and headed right. Way down the end, there was a door to the testing site. We entered and I immediately noticed there was no one there except us. The place was big. It was roofed by a giant glass dome, and the terrain looked similar to the Monkey Meadow battle map, the same map where Mason died. On one corner were all sorts of weapons and ammo for all kinds of monkeys. Some monkeys didn't need any, since they had magical powers.

"This is the Bloon simulator," General Brickell said as we walked to that corner. "It was created by Dr. Monkey, and we use it to test out new recruits on their bloon popping skills. First of all, these are the weapons available to you. Since you want to be a sniper monkey, you have the option to choose a sniper rifle or use the one you're carrying right now. You will then have to choose a cartridge and use it to fill the magazine of your choice. So go ahead. Pick your poison."

I looked at everything for a minute or two. I was most definitely going to stay with my rifle, because I want Mason to see this. Usually, a sniper rifle's clip size is low. Nonetheless, before coming to this place, I extensively modified the rifle to fit my needs while practicing. One of the things I did was modify the interior of the rifle's action, allowing it to hold bigger magazines with bigger capacities. This was a necessity, since switching to full-auto was something I would definitely do because I was alone in this test.

"I have made my decision," I declared. "I'm staying with the rifle I have now. I'll go for that 50-round magazine over there…and I will fill it with .50 BMG rounds."

"Going for the big hitters, huh? Good choice," Brickell told me. "This is how it's going to work. You have to choose one spot and not move from there. Give a thumbs up once you're ready. Churchill and I are going to leave the room, and I will operate a control panel outside to make bloons come in. You will not know which bloons and bloon types are coming; this is intentional for the test. The rules are simple: keep popping bloons until I come back in the room. If you let even a single bloon past the exit, it's bye-bye, get out of here. Otherwise, you are in! Good luck, Trevor. You're gonna need it, and I don't believe in luck."

That confirmed my suspicions. This wasn't going to be easy, but knowing my brother is shooting alongside me reassured me. After grabbing the ammo and loading the mags, I picked a set of tight trees and climbed one of them, trying to stay as hidden as possible. When I was ready, I gave a thumbs up. General Brickell gave a single nod and went out of the room. Captain Churchill did the same, but not before doing the remote hug at me and mouthing "You got this!" I smiled, nodded, and grabbed my rifle, ready for whatever that was coming.

Then it started. I aimed towards the entrance, keeping the gun steady, and saw a few red bloons coming in. My finger pulled the trigger, and the bullet had enough pierce to pop 3 of them at once. As they kept coming, I kept shooting. Then, there was a small pause, and some black, white, and pink bloons came in. The black and white ones were smaller and the pink ones were much faster, which caught me slightly off guard, but I managed to only let them a little later in the track while shooting them all down. I switched to 3-round burst fire to make the job easier. Recoil was minimized by the muzzle brake I put in the barrel and the folding grip. Occasionally I had to change mags, but that wasn't too much of a big deal. It just let the bloons go a little further, but still not near the exit. Next came camo lead bloons, which I easily popped because of the caliber I chose and their slow speed.

Then, a MOAB came. This was my chance to prove my skill. Projectile motion calculations were circling around in my head. Switching the rifle to single fire again, I fired a single shot to the MOAB. Looking through the reticle, the shot landed exactly where I wanted, even with the windmills on the walls blowing vigorously to try and mess up my aim. My chance was there. I switched the gun to full-auto and bombarded the MOAB with bullet hell. Once it popped, only 3 ceramic bloons came out instead of 4. My shot did the trick! They did cover about half of the track, but cleaning up the rest of the bloons was much easier now. I reloaded and cleaned up the track. One bloon could make all the difference, and I got rid of it.

For the rest of the test, the difficulty was randomly fluctuating. Sometimes there would be red bloons in tight bunches, other times there would be fortified camo ceramic bloons. One time a BFB came and I was able to repeat what I did with the MOAB to make it drop 3 MOABs instead of 4. After much reloading and fire mode switching, the test was finally done.

General Brickell and Captain Churchill came in. I put the rifle on my back, slid down the tree, and walked towards them. She was smiling happily.

"Those were some impressive strategies you had! Amazing job, Trevor. You are now a sniper monkey of Monkeyopolis Army!" she declared. An immense grin came on my face.

"I did it. I did it. I did it," I repeated to myself fuck knows how many times, as I walked around fast. They both seemed happy to see me like this. "I did it, Mason! I did it."

"Now that we're done, we have somewhere else to go. Go on to your duties, Churchill," General Brickell said. Captain Churchill performed a hand salute and went out of the room. We two followed a different path until we reached a door close to many others.

"Where are we going now?" I asked General Brickell.

"Now that you're one of us, it's time that you meet your team."

Welp, school is going easy on us since we are returning from mid-year vacation. I was able to write this chapter during my free periods, and I had a LOT of fun writing it. It was also longer this time, so yeah. That was a thing. Hopefully the next one isn't too far away, but until then, I hope you guys enjoyed it. See you next time!