It hurt to breath.

He could feel the gun smoke saturated air sear his lungs with each panicked breath as his heart raced like mad in his chest. He had run away from pursuers many times before, more times than he could count, but that had been different; he could run for a short distance and then find a hiding place to rest while his captors sped by.

There was no escaping from the individuals currently pursuing him.

They weren't like the shop-owners or the downtrodden police officers he was used to dealing with – they were men who were trained to kill and would hunt him relentlessly, like loyal hounds chasing a helpless young boar on orders from their master.

He couldn't remember how long he had been running from the men, from their weapons, from the angry shouts where words could not be discerned but their dripping hatred rang clear in his ears; he was pretty sure it had been hours. It felt like at any moment, both his lungs and heart would collapse into a useless pile and he would finally be able to rest.

Rest; it was a tantalizing word that Oliver couldn't help but mentally repeat to himself over and over. The word itself quickly lost meaning, but the intoxicatingly hopeful feeling it stirred in his chest continued on long after the meaning was gone.

It would be so nice to just stop.

But that would mean certain death.

CRACK!

The sound was deafeningly close, and Oliver couldn't help but flinch as a nearby tree's bark exploded from the impact, causing splinters of wood to shoot into the air. He felt a slight sting on his cheeks but he didn't allow the discomfort to slow him. Vaguely, he was aware of the fact that having splinters in his face should have hurt a lot more than it did, but he couldn't allow his mind to dwell on the thought as his feet continued to pound like a frantic war-drum.

He had to escape! He had to get away!

Another bullet flew by and struck the ground near his foot, sending dirt painfully into his eyes. Momentarily blinded, he felt his footing go out from underneath him, causing him to come crashing to the ground. He gave an involuntary yelp of pain as he bit down on his tongue and felt the distinctive taste of blood flood his taste buds.

His head hurt, his eyes stung, his vision swam with exhaustion, his mouth tasted like iron, his lungs were burning; he could have conjured a million more reasons to just remain lying on the ground. Instead, he laboriously hauled himself from the ground and continued running in a raged and unsteady line.

At this point, he could discern a few words of the angry shouting that accompanied the never-ending sound of bullets raining down all around him. He wanted to look back to see just how close his pursuers had gotten, but that would require him to slow down and he wasn't willing to risk making himself an easier target.

Another bullet flew dangerously close to his face and Oliver reflexively closed his eyes and willed the knot of fear in his stomach to disappear. Fear made him weak; fear gave the opponent something to use against him; fear made his head hazy and his lung constrict in his chest. If only he could get rid of it.

But as his feet continued to lead him in a direction that he could only hope was away from his pursuers, the knot of fear simply seemed to grow more restrictive, more powerful. He was going to die; they were going to kill him.

Lungs burning, head pounding, entire body aching, he continued to run forward with almost maniac abandon. His mind had long ago discarded the white hope he had desperately clung to before. In its place, there stood a gnawing, all-encompassing fear. In the face of death, there was no bravery or bravado; he was terrified.

His thought continued to swirl with the blankness of fear, but a vague recess of his mind that was somehow untouched recalled the conversation he had with Leon the night before. The memory was faint and vague – little more than a phantom – but he remembered. He remembered Leon staring at him seriously as he outlined the training regime Oliver was about to be subjected to.

The days, laid out so methodically and precisely, stood as markers to catalog the time it would take for him to become the perfect weapon; the time it would take till the child once known as "Oliver" would be replaced with an obedient machine that followed that grand will of whatever powers had manufactured the war. As the sounds of his pursuers drew closer behind him, the only thing he could envision was Leon's face as he relayed the directive for the first day of training.

Day 1: Survival

"…Survival?" He had echoed back as he looked up at the older boy. Before the word came out of Leon's mouth, Oliver had doubted his grip on reality, but now he knew for a fact that Leon was clinically insane. The Child Sweepers had captured him off the street to make him into a perfect soldier and to teach him how to survive? If Leon's expression wasn't so deadly serious, Oliver would have likely laughed out loud.

Instead, he turned his head to look at Miriam and Tonio in an attempt to confirm the absurdity of what Leon had just said. Miriam was making it painfully obvious that she was avoiding Oliver's gaze as she shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Tonio simply stared back with a serious expression that perfectly matched Leon. Finding no one to agree with him, Oliver turned once more to look at Leon.

"…So they're going to turn me into some sort of 'great weapon' and teach me how to survive?" He asked incredulously, "Do you realize how idiotic that sounds?"

"Trust me, I had the same reaction," Tonio stated, "But it's not a joke. Starting tomorrow, you will be subjected to a hell you can't even imagine."

"But-But why would they need a child to be the perfect weapon? Can't they just invent a weapon or something! Why was I involved in this stupid project!"

As Oliver continued to speak his voice grew in both volume and desperation. He could feel the tell-tale prick of tears beginning at the back of his eyes. Previously, adrenaline and the shock of a new surrounding had numbed him to what was happening around him, but as both these phenomenon were beginning to wear off, reality came back with a defining crash. Panic was beginning to set in.

"You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time," Leon replied with a sad shake of his head.

"The wrong place at the wrong time?" Oliver roared back as he leapt forward and grabbed the front of Leon's shirt, "I wasn't in the wrong place! I was in front of a church! I should have been safe! They should have opened the door! If they had, Ryuto would…Ryuto would…"

Oliver felt suddenly drained as the memory of Ryuto clinging weakly to his back came rushing back. He remembered the shallow, dying breaths of the young boy on his back and his thin voice whispering apologies until he was taken from him. He could still hear the angelic voices of the boys' choir ringing out in crystal clear perfection, oblivious to the fact that his life was being forcibly ripped from him.

With a heavy thud, Oliver's knees hit the floor and his vision began to blur as the tears he had managed to repress so far rushed over him like a tidal wave.

It just wasn't fair! It just wasn't fair! He couldn't be stuck in this situation with these people! He had to help Ryuto and Yuki! They needed him! They needed him!

"Why? Why? WHY!" Oliver chanted over and over again, driven by a insatiable desire to have the question answered. Some part of his mind hoped that by finding the answer to this question, he would be able to escape his current predicament.

No answer was given to him.

In fact, no one in the room made a sound as Oliver cried loudly to himself. He could hear the sound of slight shifting of position, but no one moved to approach him and he didn't feel a consoling hand placed on his shoulder. But he could feel their eyes; he could feel their eyes staring at him as he displayed just how much of a child he was.

As his sobs gradually subsided and eventually reached their conclusion, he heard two sets of footsteps. He lifted his eyes to find both Leon and Tonio heading for the door. When Leon noticed his gaze, he gave a comforting smile.

"Don't worry; Tonio and I are just going to go find Lola and Sonika because it's getting late," He said, as a way of answering Oliver's unvoiced question, "We'll be back soon."

With a carefree wave from Tonio, the duo headed out the door and Oliver could do nothing but look at their retreating backs. The sickening feeling of drowning in uncertainty came unexpectedly back as he watched the two of them turn the corner and disappear.

"Don't worry, t-they'll be back before night and they'll bring Sonika and Lola back with them; I-I'm s-sure of it."

Oliver turned at the sound of the unexpected voice to find Miriam standing not far behind him with a weak smile plastered on her face. Her face was an unhealthy chalky white and she kept nervously wringing her hands; if anyone looked like they needed reassurance that everyone would be coming back, it was her.

"Sonika can go die for all I care," Oliver shot back bitterly, his voice still quivering slightly from the sobbing that had just concluded. He didn't really mean it, but he would choose appearing angry and collected rather than appearing like a sniveling child.

"P-Please don't say that!" Miriam squeaked as her eyes spread in terror, "I know she's wasn't very nice when you first met her, b-but we all have to stick together or we're not going to survive."

"You guys keep saying that, but I still have no idea what's going on."

"W-Well…I…I could try to explain it…" The young girl responded in a voice that informed Oliver that she wanted the exact opposite, but she was asking out of inescapable social obligations.

"Actually, that would be very helpful," Oliver said as he consciously tried to soften his voice and eliminate the quiver in his words by locking away his sadness. His breakdown was a moment of weakness that he didn't intend to duplicate.

Now wasn't the time to fall to emotions; now was the time to gather information about the situation around him and work with what he had; living on the streets had taught him the importance of this practice. He would get the information he needed and he would get it by any means possible.

"Oh, a-alright then…" The girl responded as her expression quickly became crestfallen. As he looked at the young girl who continued to shift nervously, he couldn't help but notice how frail and sickly she looked. Now that all the older children were gone, he felt the familiar instinct to protect those weaker than him flare up once more.

"How about you sit down? You look really nervous standing up," he said kindly as he indicated a spot near where he was sitting.

"Ah! A-Alright."

She quickly scrambled to the ground. Even though she couldn't shift from foot to foot any longer, she still moved her hands nervously in her lap and kept a safe distance from where Oliver was sitting, choosing to ignore the spot he had indicated.

"…O-Okay…l-l-let's start…" she stated, almost as if she was a teacher calling her class to attention, "S-So…uhm...you've been brought to a training camp and from this day onward you will be trained to be a soldier."

"A soldier?" Oliver echoed.

"Y-Yes, a soldier," She stated with a resolute nod of her head, "Starting tomorrow, there will be daily training exercise in order to prepare you to be able to kill without thinking…you'll learn how to handle weapons, how to survive in the wilderness, and most important, how to pull the trigger when you're told to."

"But why do they need to use kids like u- well, like you, to do that? Can't they just get adults?"

"They could, but Leon says that the war has been going on so long that they're running out of adults. He also says that adults can do more useful things besides be soldiers but we children aren't nearly as useful outside of war. Plus, they can easily find more children if they need them…"

"I…guess that makes sense…how exactly do they train us?"

"It depends on what lesson you're on. Since we have a new recruit, we'll all be starting over from the beginning again. That means they're going to dump us onto a battlefield and pursue us for two days. At the end of that time, they'll blow a horn and if you're still alive, you come back."

"But wouldn't that be the perfect opportunity to escape?"

"No," Miriam answered resolutely, "They have guards around the perimeter and they'll shoot anyone they see on sight. Anyone that's tried it before was killed almost instantly."

Oliver couldn't help but notice that when Miriam spoke about training, she seemed to disappear within herself. Her eyes became lifeless as she stared at an indeterminate spot on the floor. She stopped fidgeting nervously and her stutter vanished as if it had never been there. Oliver could only imagine what horrors Miriam had locked up in her head that caused her to act in this way.

"…So what happens when you finish your training?" Oliver asked as curiosity overtook his desire to not open old wounds in Miriam's heart.

"I-I don't know…" Miriam responded, her stammering returning suddenly as she shifted slightly, "I've been here a long time because I'm so small…I-I've watched a lot of people leave…b-but none of them come back…"

The young girl's voice tapered off into silence as her eyes began to fill with tears.

She reminded Oliver of Yuki.

Responding to an impulse he wasn't even aware was there, he pulled the young girl into a quick hug. When he released her, her eyes were wide with surprise, but the tears had also dried from the corner of her eyes.

"Don't worry," Oliver said, filling his voice with false confidence, "I'm sure they're all fine. After all, you've been hoping for the best for them, right?"

The surprise melted from her face, but she still couldn't find her voice. Instead, she chose to give a shaky nod of her head.

"I'm sure that your hope reached them and they're perfectly fine."

"B-But…what if I never see any of them again?"

"I'll make a promise with you; when we both finish our training, and when we both survive through the war, let's meet back here, alright?"

"We'll…meet back here? Do you…really, really, promise?"

"Of course. If you want, we could even make it a pinky promise."

"A-Alright…it's a promise," Miriam responded with a tiny smile and a bob of her head as she held out her pinky. Before Oliver had a chance to lock his pinky with hers, she jerked her hand back suddenly as her smile dulled slightly and concern filled her eyes, "Ah…uhm…I know we just made a promise…but what's your name?"

"Sorry, I forgot I never told you; it's Oliver."

"I-It's a very nice name," She responded as her smile returned once more, "I'm pleased to meet you Oliver, I'm Miriam."

"It's nice to meet you too Miriam."

"So…are we…uhm…friends now?"

It was the perfect opportunity; he could gain an advantage in this situation. In that moment, Miriam's role in Oliver's life shifted from a child that he had to protect to a friend that he could use to get ahead in a situation he didn't fully comprehend.

In other words, a pawn…

He shoved away the unbidden, truthful thought as he forced a plastic smile onto his face.

"Sure, we can be friends."

"Okay, friends!" Miriam said, her voice rising above a quite mumble for the first time since Oliver had met her.

That smile made Oliver feel terrible. He knew he was just using the young girl; he knew he only agreed to be her friend so she would be more inclined to help him survive.

It's alright if you use her…she's probably doing the same for you.

No…no she's not using me, he thought as he quickly banished the dark voice from his mind, and I'm becoming friends with her because I want to; I'm doing it because it's the right thing to do…because we need to help each other…

But no matter how many times he repeated that mantra to himself, as he looked at the young girl's smiling, trusting face, he felt nothing but a dark feeling of guilt.

Of course he didn't show his turmoil on the outside. Instead, he smiled back at the young girl as the two of them brought their pinkies together to seal the promise.

"Hey! I think I saw the new meat over here!"

Oliver was pulled forcibly from his memory by the sound of a dangerously clear and dangerously close voice. Muttering whatever profanities he could conjure, he tried his best to pick up his speed, but he knew it was a futile hope. He was almost blinded with exhaustion and his heart was screaming in protest.

He thought vaguely that maybe he should try to find a place to hide, but the voices were too close for him to seriously entertain the thought. Besides, the men chasing him knew the lay of the land far better than him and he was sure they knew of all the hiding places children had used in the past and were quick to search those areas and dispose of any "meat" they found there.

It didn't matter to them how many they killed in training; they could always find more.

It was fear of death alone that drove Oliver to keep running past the point of exhaustion. In this situation, his wit or quick thinking wouldn't save him; primal survival instincts were the only things keeping him alive.

Oliver couldn't help but feel an ironical smile slip onto his face.

Day 1: survival; he had learned the lesson well.

His smile was quickly snatched away by the sound of several dangerously close shots. A few of them were so close he could feel the heat as they ripped through the hazy air. He involuntarily closed his eyes once more and tried his best to keep his breathing at least mildly steady.

"Oliver! Come this way!"

Hearing his name called in a place where he was nothing more than "meat", Oliver flung his eyes open and nearly tripped once more.

He had to be hallucinating; he had died and this was all just a dream. Either that or his oxygen deprived brain was playing cruel tricks on him.

Running right next to him was Miriam. Her light blonde hair trailed behind her, her pale cheeks were colored beat read with exhaustion, and her eyes shown with a mixture of fear and hope. Framed by the haze of battle, she almost appeared to glow like an angelic messenger. Despite being significantly shorter than Oliver, she kept perfectly in stride with him.

Not waiting for a proper response, Miriam went crashing into the woods, leaving Oliver running by himself once more. He hesitated for just a second before he entered the woods in the exact same spot as Miriam.

As he followed the small girl and her flying hair, he heard the voices begin to recede behind him. His mind was shouting at him that he shouldn't trust Miriam – she was probably just using him like he was using her. But he thought about how she had made herself know, how she had willingly put herself at risk in order to help him, and he knew there was no question that he would follow her.

She considered him her friend.

The thought made his stomach knot worse than the running ever would.