Barclay and the entire academy stood in front of their seats in the mess hall, as the trumpets sounded outside, and the American flag was raised to half staff.
"AT EASE!" Shelton yelled, and everyone placed their hands behind their back with their arms pointed outwards, and their legs spread apart.
"We will now take a moment of silence to honor Colonel Cochrane. He was a fine man, and he will be sorely missed."
"Bow your heads for prayer." Ellis ordered, and everyone in the mess hall did so. After several long minutes, Shelton commanded, "Take… seats!", prompting everyone to sit down and begin eating their breakfast.
While everyone ate their meals, Sergeant Botnick walked through the aisles, inspecting everyone's hair.
"It's getting shaggy Carlson. I want to see you on Friday."
"Monday, Febriefio."
Finally, the barber reached Whitehurst, and grabbed him by the hair.
"Look at you Whitehurst. You're a disgrace! When's the last time you had a shave?"
"Uh, two weeks ago, Sergeant?"
"You think? You think?!" Botnick shouted. "I wanna see you right after breakfast."
"Yes Sergeant!"
"Oh, and Barclay- Wednesday."
With that, Botnick left, just as Andy stood up and left the table, despite Whitehurst and De Silva's protests. Before Andy exited the end of the table, someone stuck their leg out and tripped him, causing Barclay to come crashing to the floor and spilling his food everywhere.
The entire mess hall erupted into guffaws of laughter, save for Whitehurst and De Silva. Even her friend Ivers started cracking up from the sight.
"Hey, the fuck's wrong with you?" De Silva asked, lightly punching her.
"What, it was funny!" Ivers told her friend.
"Seriously, knock it off." De Silva glared, then looked at Andy with sympathy.
"AT EASE!"
The command came from Ellis, as Shelton was too busy laughing at Andy's misfortune. The mess hall quickly became as quiet as a mouse, and Andy quickly got up, put the food back on his tray, and continued walking to his destination: the little kid's table.
Andy sat down right next to Tyler, who seemed to have his face buried in his Game Boy Color.
"Hey, Tyler."
"Oh hi, Barclay, what's up?" Tyler asked, barely looking up, as he was playing a game about killing Nazis.
"I gotta talk to you about Chucky."
"Oh, you mean Charles?"
Andy got fed up from the video game's noises, and ripped the handheld device out of Tyler's hands and set it face first on the table, shutting it off first.
"No fair, Barclay!" Tyler shouted in annoyance. "I was just about to beat Hans Grosse!"
"Have you seen him?" Barclay asked, ignoring the child's outburst.
"Not since last night." Tyler shrugged.
"He's hiding." Andy realized. "He's going to lay low, until you're alone, and then he's going to come after you."
"He just wants to play-" Tyler was about to say, but Andy cut him off.
"No he doesn't. Listen to me Tyler." Andy looked him dead in the eyes. "No matter what he says, no matter what he promises you, you have to stay away from him. Don't let him fool you, he's bad. Trust me, I should know."
"Charles isn't bad, he's a Good Guy!" Tyler protested. "It says so on his shirt!"
"He lies, Tyler!" Andy said, getting frustrated. He never remembered being this thick headed when he was Tyler's age. "Believe me, he's bad news. He's hurt a lot of people, some of whom I've cared about. And I think Colonel Cochrane was one of them."
"You're just jealous that he's my best friend now instead of yours." Tyler accused, before picking up his Game Boy and playing more of Wolfenstein. Andy sighed in frustration. He knew he was naive back when he first got Chucky in 1988, but never to this extent.
"Look, you better keep this at least." Andy said, taking his pocket knife out of his pants and setting it in front of Tyler. It hurt for him to give it away, but he saw no other way he could help Tyler at the moment. Once he made sure Tyler kept the knife, Andy stood up and walked back to his table, only to find that Whitehurst and De Silva were gone.
"Whitehurst, you are without a doubt the sorriest excuse of a soldier to ever disgrace these walls." Sergeant Botnick mocked, while shaving Whitehurst's head in his barber room. "Face it, you're not cut out for this life. So why don't you do yourself a favor and get the Hell out of Kent?"
"Well, if I had any say in the matter, I would." Whitehurst grumbled, through gritted teeth. All that got him was a jab in the ear with the trimmer, causing him to flinch.
"Smart ass. Presto, you're bald."
Whitehurst rolled his eyes, and got up from the chair. While Botnick turned towards the mirror, chuckling, the cadet quickly left the barber room, just as the Sergeant opened the cabinet under the sink to find a red haired doll inside.
"What the Hell?" Botnick stammered, holding up the doll. A few seconds later, he smirked, seeing the doll's shaggy mane of fiery red hair.
"That haircut ain't regulation, soldier." Botnick smirked, looking around to make sure no one was looking. "When's the last time you had a trim?"
Botnick stood up, placing the doll in the barber's chair, and picked up his hair trimmer. Unbeknownst to him, the doll's arm reached down, wrapping its plastic fingers around a straight razor that was hanging off the side of the chair.
Just as Botnick was close enough with the trimmer, the doll swung his arm out, cleanly slicing through the barber's throat and causing blood to splash everywhere.
"Presto… you're dead!" Chucky cackled, as Sergeant Botnick stumbled around, attempting to clot the inevitable. "It's definitely you!"
Chucky continued laughing, while Botnick slowly fell back in the chair, bleeding to death.
"I must've forgotten my… hat…"
Chucky turned around, seeing Whitehurst return, gripping the army hat that was hanging off a hook. For several seconds, they both seemed to stare at each other, with Whitehurst at a loss for words. Finally, it was Chucky who broke the silence.
"Boo!"
Chucky kept giggling, as Whitehurst fled the scene, scared out of his wits that he just saw a killer doll. It wasn't until he reached outside, did he realize that Barclay was right from the very beginning.
"The annual war games have been an unbroken tradition at Kent for over fifty years!" Sergeant Clark announced. "Colonel Cochrane was a man who believed in tradition, and he would have ordered us to go on. Therefore, the war games will proceed as scheduled."
While Whitehurst slowly stumbled outside and held onto a wall for support, Clark kept speaking.
"Lieutenant Colonel Shelton will command the blue team, while Major Rawlings will command the reds. The objective is simple; to capture the other team's flag, and to bring it back here safely to base. Rawlings-" Major Rawlings handed Clark his rifle. "You will pick up your modified rifles and your protective gear from the armory before moving out. They are standard paintball guns, and have been modelled after the standard Springfield rifle. They will be indicated with either red or blue tape on the ends, according to which team."
The whole time, Chucky watched and listened from the armory's basement window, eyeing Tyler and seeing he was on the red team.
"Your ammo!" Clark loaded the Springfield and pointed it at a nearby white door, pulling the trigger. Both teams watched, as the door was splattered with red paint, not unlike blood.
"Shelton."
Clark handed Rawlings his rifle back, and took Shelton's, before firing a paintball round at the same door.
"If you are hit, you are dead." Clark stated bluntly. "Hike back to base. Commanders… take charge of your teams. May the best team win!"
Whitehurst quickly sprinted back to his position, where he came to a stop next to De Silva.
"Looks like Botnick was in a bad mood today." De Silva remarked, handing Whitehurst his cap with a blue patch, then noticed he was breathing heavily. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." Whitehurst denied, putting his hat back on. "You wouldn't believe me anyway."
Andy stared at his room mate curiously, wondering what had gotten into him. Then, it hit him: he must have seen Chucky.
Back in the armory, Chucky had just finished running around and carefully peeling off the red tape of the paintball rifles, before applying them to the real weapons. It had taken some time, but now, no one would be able to tell the difference.
"This outta slow the pricks down." Chucky smirked, and he began cackling.
Half an hour later, the two teams were all geared up and armed, and began walking down the trail away from Kent. Along the way, the teams went their separate ways, but sang the same cadence.
"Left! Left! Left, right, left!"
"He-ere we go again!" (He-ere we go again!)
"Same old shit again!" (Same old shit again!)
"Marching down the avenue!" (Marching down the avenue!)
"Two more miles and we'll be through!" (Two more miles and we'll be through!)
"I won't have to look at you!" (I won't have to look at you!)
"Ugly, ugly, ugly you!" (Ugly ugly ugly you!)
"You won't have to look at me!" (You won't have to look at me!)
"Pretty, pretty, pretty me!" (Pretty, pretty, pretty me!)
"Am I right or wrong?" (You're right!)
"Are we weak or strong?" (We're strong!)
"Sound off!" (One, two!)
"Sound off!" (Three, four!)
"Break it on down now!" (One, two, three, four, one, two… three four!)
As the red team departed to set up their camp, Andy turned to Whitehurst, who was still visibly shaken.
"What's going on, Whitehurst?" Andy asked, though his voice was muffled by the face mask he wore. When his room mate didn't respond right away, he pressed on. "You saw something back at Botnick's didn't you? Did you see Chucky?"
"Y-yeah…" Whitehurst stammered.
"Whitehurst, you gotta help me." Andy begged. "Tyler needs our help."
"I don't want to get involved, Barclay." Whitehurst mumbled, and kept his mouth shut for the rest of the march.
"Your left, right, your left!" (Your left, right, your left!)
"Your military left!" (Your military left!)
"Your left, right, your left!" (Your left, right, your left!)
"Now stay in step!" (Now stay in step!)
A/N: So, this chapter, and the next two were originally just gonna be combined as one, but I felt it would've gone on for too long.
Oh, and for anyone who didn't catch it, the game that Tyler was playing was supposed to be Wolfenstein 3D.