The Assassin

A cut on a baby's arm. As cruel as this tribe was to it's victims, the more cruelty their own people experienced.
Their offspring was to be strong. A scar symbolizing their unison, forever in life.
If the baby bled to death, it would be discarded. Had it survive long enough, it would be a worthy addition to the tribe.

But one did more than survive. He small baby hands grasped the knife's blade that was cutting into him.
At that age, babies barely had any control over their limbs, let alone fingers.
But he somehow knew early on how his body had been put together.

His training during his childhood proved this. Starting from knife training, to spear throwing.
Diamond had shown an aptitude to precision and decision making.
A sharp sense of precision, accompanied by sharp wit.

Anything he couldn't conquer by his lethal skill, he solved by speech.
And when he was ready to escape adolescence, he had already become the right hand of the Tribe's leader.
His mother, just as fierce of nature as he was, was proud. He learned his values from her.
From stories told of the great man his father was. A man long dead before his birth.

A fateful day came, however. Men in Roman armor came to the Tribe.
They sought the leader, seeking their cooperation in leading another tribe named Caesar's Legion.
Saying they had heard of his great leadership, they sought to be taught the lessons toward greatness.

The boy was wary. These men spoke as smooth as he did.
And their leader was nowhere to be found, despite having all these men with their fancy words buttering up the man he himself actually sought to succeed.

The negotiations were peaceful. The tribe was to keep it's own values while lending its wisdom to Caesar, who he had yet to meet.
And with the written agreement, the three representatives raised themselves and greeted.

Had the mojave still retained most of it's preserved history, it would be admirable how well these men mimicked the Roman army.
Except for one detail. The detail being that one of them pulled out a pistol, and shot the leader in the gut.

And as people looked around in shock, so did they see more Legionnaires trickle in.
It was a trap. An elusive plan to insert Caesar's troops in vital locations as the negotiations went on.
Had he not been in such shock, the boy would have found it fascinating.

Everyone who took up arms was swiftly killed.
Any thought of standing up was met with the ruthless execution of not one, but two of the members of the tribe.
Just to make a point.

Everyone who was left was gathered and brought before Caesar himself in his encampment.
His face sneered, looking at all the fearful and shivering lumps of human trash.
All but one, however. One boy just kneeled with the rest of them, making himself as small as possible, but not shivering.
Instead he observed, sizing up the men that kept everyone in check.

Caesar noticed, and ordered the boy to rise. One woman raised her hand, screaming "No!".
His mother was fearful for his life, exposing her connection to him.

"You look like an interesting fellow.
I've seen you look. Sizing up my men as though you could take them."
He didn't speak. But his face betrayed that he indeed thought so.

Caesar pulled a pistol from his holster, and threw it to a guard.
Then he pulled a spear from the ground, and handed it to the small boy beside him.

"Take him out. Or perish."
Caesar commanded.

The boy didn't think twice.
The guard fumbled with the pistol, ready to aim, but a spear had already pierced his arm.

Disarmed, the guard had only the option to see in horror as his head was to be pierced by a slug from the very pistol he was first given.

Caesar clapped his hands, even as the boy turned his aim toward him.
"Good, GOOD." he said "He was weak. A poor excuse for a Praetorian. You winnowed my protective troops, eliminating a soft spot."

His clapping stopped.
"Would you like to keep doing this? Remove the world of it's weak elements?
Reshape it into a better world as I, and surely you, see fit?"

His aim lowered slightly. Caesar hadn't flinched at the barrel pointed at him, and he knew it.
Gaze lowered in thought, he looked up again towards the imposing leader.

"Bring the woman." Caesar commanded to his guard.
"Aim your gun at her." He commanded the boy.
"She is weak. They all are. Prove you are stronger than them, and remove her yourself.
Show me how far you will go to prove your excellence."

The boy's gaze turned towards his mother. Her hands stretched outward, she started to plea for her life.
The once strong mother figure he looked up to had now become a sniveling and groveling zombie, a bag of flesh no longer worth it's place on earth.

A pistol fire heralded his place in the Legion. Caesar raised his fist, and lowers his thumb, signalling the guards to open fire on the other survivors.
It was his practice to merge tribes into his own Legion, but he felt that this boy alone was worth all the trouble.

He had found someone who might prove worthy to be his heir.