Steve made a meager living. Food was scarce and low quality, the only well-fed people were the teenagers with their directors, who would camp farms, working the farm with twice as many guards as workers. Children were segregated into groups, teenagers were the top of the food chain, the directors were always surrounded by at least five of their favorites. Little children on the other hand were the bottom, many of them dying from starvation and disease.
Children would be built into groups, perhaps two or three teenagers at the top, some ten to twelve year olds, and the best seven year olds. Nobody picked any six year olds, they would only slow down the group, weaken it. If someone was a loner like Steve, he better be fit, smart, and flexible. All the mediocre loners would be killed, claimed as enemies of the revolution, or unfit for the gene pool.
Those who did survive were legendary, they became the heroes of the age. Steve himself had heard about his own adventure, where he had tricked three teenagers and slaughtered them one by one, despite their assault rifles. Of course it was really a fourteen year old and two ten year olds with a pair of magnums. But they were hungry and saw him as prey, being a loner. Some loners would loan their services to the directors, obviously being of smart breed and considerable power upon the young ones with their heroic deeds.
That's what Steve did, he was a hunter. For one months food he would kill a hard target, perhaps a rival director or another loner free agent. Steve had to be good, because it was always possible to get more, less proficient people and have the same effect. He, interested his clients with the promise of anonymity, unfortunately times were lean and he was a luxury.
Right now he was out to kill a big director, Steve's commission was about a year of rations, very valuable. It was dangerous being a hunter, because he was the villain, since they didn't know the client.
Like most hunters, Steve knew to study his prey before the killing took place. This director was followed by a lot of children, some said he was a prophet, religiously those children brought him his food as he declared mantra after mantra. He called himself a messenger of peace, draping himself in only a large white robe
to cover his body.
This would throw off most hunters, thinking it was a easy kill they could walk in and shoot him. How sorely they were wrong. Steve attempted this once, only with his excellent eyesight was able to see the minuscule detonator slipped inside the folds of the robe, with its lining filled with explosive.
This night it was different, he would sneak into the directors room while he was unwary, getting a clear point-blank shot to his head. Perhaps then he could salvage the detonator and explosives for traps for his hide out, an abandoned apartment complex.
It was easy to sneak in, for how zealous the children were they were quite ignorant to anything but their teachings. He simply walked past, with a copy of the mantras murmuring something alike one of the directors prayers. It was not uncommon for a child to walk up to the director and beg forgiveness and repentance.
"I seek the one of peace", said Steve to the door guards, ferocious eighteen year olds with ritualistically shaved heads.
"Weapons, guns, blades", grunted one, while the other kept a trained hand upon his pistol.
"In gods eyes, we are all harmless" pleaded Steve, trying to make up a mantra on the spot.
"But in my eyes, you have a 9 millimeter in your back pocket, and a blade on your belt" laughed the talking one.
"I guess you're right" said Steve, as he removed and dropped both sidearm and knife. At this they nodded and opened the door for entry, Steve could see the inside was dark. Walking through slowly, he pulled two thin blades from under his arm and wrist. Walking back to the guards, facing the other direction, he jammed one blade into each of the guard's necks.
This was where Steve's luck came in, as he hit the nerve and one fell down silently. The other began to spasm on the floor, rather loudly in comparison. Panic'd Steve began to step on his face with muffled stomps, until he was silent.
Silence, once again ensued. Being calm, Steve grabbed his weapons and walked inside the door.
"I know why you came" said the director, hearing Steve's footsteps.
"For repentance, as all children need" replied Steve monotonously.
"No, to kill me" whispered the director, giving a short laugh at the end.
"My guards certainly weren't tactful, but you don't get clever children like you anymore, concealed weapons, most children try running in with their guns blazing, but I guess thats the trade we have for their simplicity" lectured the director.
"You know how us directors began our crusade against world eaters? We did it with convincing, our points were all valid, we were trying to save the world, but peace didn't work, neh?" asked the director, not bothering to stop to let Steve answer.
"So we turned to the children, as intellectuals would not accept the idea of violence as the cure, we expected children to, our young prodigies, the future, how wonderfully they've done. Can a adult kill their own child, no, they cannot and with that weakness we won. How can you fight the innocent and seem good? We directors have saved humanity, in the words of Machiavelli, the end justifies the means"
"It seems heartless of us, but no one would listen, the air we breathed would be gone for our children's children if it did not stop, we taught the children of their plight and with their golden hearts unsullied by time and others. Our world seems like an anarchy, but it is only given to human desires and wants that will be eliminated by time. We shall once again live as animals, to be free of intelligence"
"The world was slowly reaching apocalypse, humans were out growing ourselves, and destroying nature along with it. But the public did not care, for all they wanted was more cars, more luxuries, more carnal desires of flesh. The earth could wait. Us teachers were taught by one, he who showed us humanity should live as civilized animals, not barbaric humans"
"You will try to kill me, but don't you see how enthralling I am? My genius here can teach you the world, become my pupil, my apprentice and I can enlighten you to the tragedies of our world, and our mission of nature"
"My god sir, I will become your pupil...I never knew..." replied Steve in a awed voice.
Steve noticed something at that moment, something he hadn't noticed for a long time.
He had forgotten to reload all week, silly him.
Once that was complete the bullet went easily through the director's head. The silly man thought he could convince him to change with the same bull crap he heard from everyone else.
"Damn animal-loving hippies" said Steve, spitting on the man's deceased face.
Taking the man's robe, Steve ran out of the base, sprinting easily declaring bloody murder as he ran out. The children all ran the opposite direction into the previous home of their religious director. That was successful, as he ran towards his hideout.
Once he got there, safe and sound with nobody following him, he stripped the C4 from the robe, and the detonator too. Planning its usage he left it in a pile in open site on the floor of his apartment, next to his sleeping pallet. Yawning, he grabbed up the robe and decided for one final trip of the day.
"Ah yes, you have it, I see you do!" exclaimed a fat bouncing man, a director, with thinning hair and a group of guards, all aged fifteen armed with short swords and hand guns. All his guards wore salvaged SWAT helmets, partially uniform and partially protective.
Steve held up the robe with one hand, his pistol hand resting on his gun. Smiling at the man he nodded.
"Where's my pay Titus?" asked Steve, standing and moving his shoe on its side.
"Over there my good boy, ah I can just imagine how much more store I will gain once I amass poor Thames farm, wonderful, simply wonderful" bubbled the man.
Where the man pointed was a large bag about the size of the fat man himself. Opening the bag he found military iron rations, not exactly the best tasting but it kept people alive. Nodding at the man he thanked him, and began to walk away.
"Oh by the way, Steve my young sir, there's a bonus" said the man's voice, suddenly insidious.
Spinning around with his gun pulled out he saw the fat man pointing to a young girl, dirty and looking down, wearing a simple cloth tunic and skirt. The fat
man was positively jumping with glee, eyes glazed over with greed as his hands rubbed together.
"You don't mean to kill the poor girl? I've been keeping her for a while, a trophy really but she is such a drain upon my resources, one pound of wasted food a week, I can't accept that... So you really must take her, she's quite pretty, no?"
Nodding, Steve motioned with his gun for the girl to follow him, and heard her dainty footsteps run towards him in a slightly limping fashion. Putting the gun back in his pocket he heard the relieved sighs behind him of the director's guards.
Walking back to his apartment, the girl in trail, he considered eating her. Cannibalism wasn't as abhorred as it was back in the days of adults, and highly justified. Hunger was enough to make children eat grass, and it was a great way for getting rid of the weak people of society, what the teachers called "Unfit for the revolution's gene pool".
It crossed his mind, but he decided no, not only was he squeamish at the thought of eating people, but she really was quite pretty and could probably be used in a trade. He slowed down and allowed her to catch up to him, hopeful of some enlightening information on her former leader.
"That bag isn't full with food" were her first words, in a clear voice.
"Ah, I knew it wasn't, of course, I work with con artists, not honorable men, I requested two years of food, and he gave me one, both me and Titus know I would kill him if he ever short changed me more than once" said Steve, confident of his ego.
"I mean the bag is half full with dirt"
Steve decided at this moment to check. In it she was right, it was half full with dirt, so his somewhat pleasurable vacation planned out was suddenly ended,
or at least cut in half. Grumbling he walked her back to the apartment, laid his knife down and told her to use it if anyone came in. He also told her not to eat and rations and that he had counted them, despite that being a lie.
Then he picked up the pile of c4 on his floor with the remote detonator.
Running out the door, making sure he had his bullets and his gun and walked back, for possibly his final trip of his life. Pride was a motivation, as was revenge. It was still night when he arrived back at the "Titus Farm", hand on a pistol, cocked and ready to go.
He walked in through the entrance, with his familiar face the child guard let him in, and talked into a walkie talkie announcing his presence. Walkie talkie's were rare but no defense was too costly in the case of Director Titus.
"Back again my young friend" yelled Titus, smiling, his guard of children doubled.
"Ah, Titus, titus, I'm a child, and I am in need of your help" replied Steve.
"That girl?"
"No, I wish to become one of your men, a legion of the great director Titus, perhaps your one of your elite guards!" replied Steve, feverently smiling.
"Finally my boy, I knew you'd see the light, with you on my side, oh what fun we'll have" bobbled Titus, perhaps imaging the re-ownership of food already given.
"Here, a gift, like a dowry for a bride I shall give you a gift for my allegiance, and talk to you tomorrow" said Steve, giving him a paper-bag-wrapped object.
"Ah! I must hurry, my pretty bonus you gave me is quite feisty" said Steve once again, plastering a fake smile onto his face, as he ran out.
Steve pressed the detonator a few times to be sure.
"Rifles out, eyes on the target, aim a tad higher than your target, lets go" said Matthew, nodding to his fellow riflemen. Wearing a uniform Matthew was a member of the army of angels. Being a commander, one of ten he was the fourth most powerful soldier in the army. Along with him were five of his best recruits, all of them older than him but excellent shots, and they all were trained to follow orders, despite age.
The army of angels was a large group of children, lead by a selection of 10 leaders, all chosen by majority vote of the group. They were the only non-director led group that had survived long enough to stick together, the commanders taught the children different ideals than the directors. The army was not only large, but it was at least twice the size of the largest director group, making it a formidable enemy for all. Being a part time quartermaster Matthew was assigned to collection of guns and ammo, a very essential part to the army's survival.
Matthew's main problem was the suppliers of the guns had no ammo, whilst the ammo suppliers would hoard and refuse to sell it. It was his job to solve the problem between trade, jumpstarting it with precise brutality. His group right now was going to raid a well-known gang, a sub-group developed within a directorship, led by a child named Argus. Supposedly they had mediocre explosives and three hundred 9mm parabellum bullets, the mission was almost not even worth it.
There on the cliff he pointed to two guards, who lay down and trained their guns upon the gang's camp. The other three soldiers followed Matthew as he climbed down the cliff, careful to mimic his exact movements. Matthew dropped down, and checked his gun while his peers slowly one by one arrived.
"You two, go west, you Charlie, come with follow me, shoot anything that moves, return here in fifteen minutes" ordered Matthew, delegating a guerrilla plan. The group split apart as they assumed their positions.
Matthew pulled out a torch, lit it with a precious match and threw it in the air, signalling his
cliff-snipers. Children ran out of the camp to see what the light was, and the guns roared.
The first child who ran out, was about the age of 12, was shot in the leg and the chest, he dropped immediately. Matthew was careful and kept a trained aim on any other members who would run out into the open. Seven children died that way, most were incapacitated from the waist down.
Whistling he signaled to his two opposite men to charge in. Running in he reloaded his weapon, flipped on the safety, strung the rifle on his back, and pulled out two pistols from their holsters. He ran in shooting the children in the head, some of his shots were off to the side and punctured an eyeball, or sometimes he'd get it directly into the mouth, if he was really inaccurate it would leave a bullet smoking through a neck.
It was a massacre, and finished in about a minute, there lay bleeding a mass of dead bodies, his guards stared about, unfeeling searching for potential salvaged items. Each child he kicked on his way, to check if they were still alive. When a child moaned and he put a bullet through their head, a mercy killing he thought.
"You guys find anything?" he asked his men, a direct order.
"No, I checked the tent, nothing but a bit of rotting food, this was a failure sir" replied one of them.
"Okay, salvage all that you can, take half of what you find, the rest goes to the army. Go home and report to your other superiors" said Matthew, curt and stern.
"Yes sir" they all replied in unison, ran off into the night.
Once they had left, Matthew settled himself down inside the gang's former home. He stared at those red bodies, and cried into his hands. He wanted it to end, this violence, how he wished for his home when he could once again live life at school, then college, then work. He lowered his hands to reveal a shocked four year olds face, partially disfigured by a bullet, the undamaged eye still open like the child's mouth. He stretched his trembling finger tips, and closed the one eye with two fingers, feeling the already cold flesh.
He should've been happy, he was a very distinguished figure, one of the most powerful children in his region, but he wasn't. The familiar stench of blood began to muster, his nosed caught the scent of death. Reality once again matched his fantasy, he licked at the tear on the brink of his lip, it was salty, much like the blood that splashed across his face.
Those ideals the directors taught, Matthew thought if it was really fair that he suffer the pain of their parents. Matthew would've lived fine, in a perfect world,
even if it was going to end in less than one hundred years, he didn't have to think of the next day’s meal back then. Matthew knew he was selfish, and cried more, after every time he killed, he would hurt himself, it was a path to redemption.
The image of a perfect family, two parents a daughter and a son. Matt could leave all this present enjoyment, lack of parents, free will to raid and kill, for that one dream, the dream of a family. It helped the environment, it helped mankind, this method allowed for the unneeded to die, people to sustain themselves upon wit rather than upon other family members. But it made Matt so lonely, he couldn't love anyone, he had to view everyone as a potential threat, loyalties within children withered in a matter of hours.
Nobody knew what Matthew felt, the depression, the fearless commander of AA, they congratulated him, slapped him on the back, thought of his great strategies and brilliance, ignoring the fact that he was a mass murderer. Matthew knew though, and each time he thought about his life, his former life, and the people he killed it was a tidal wave of sadness. He was able to contain it though, around others, but alone it overwhelmed him.
"I'm just a child", whispered Matthew, staring at the cold embers of the camp's fire. |
Submission Name: The following continued
