< < < 19/8/2004 - Unknown military facility > > >

  < < < DAY 6: 07:45 AM > > >

  < TOMMI-PETROVA >

  The light of the morning sun peeked through the curtains. Stinging my eyes. But all I did was stare. Not wavering, an inch. I would’ve stayed looking at the sun if a knock hadn’t taken my attention.

  I got up as the knocking became louder and louder. I opened the door and saw a man in white uniform, similar to a doctor's uniform, entered my room with 2 military dressed escorts.

  “Good morning Tommi.” The Doctor said robotically. Something sounded dead inside the doctor's eyes as he took a quick look at my body, checking for any wounds still visible. He whispered something to his two escorts. Both of them nod and leave the room, not before closing the door.

  “I’m here to run a check up on you if it’s fine.” I nodded as he pointed to a small chair and patted it, signaling for me to sit down. I sat gingerly onto the seat as he knelt down on eye level with me as he started his routine checkup.

  “Have you eaten breakfast yet?” He asked, flashing a quick smile at me. I shook my head in response, and the Doctor frowned with genuine concern. “You should eat, a kid for your age really needs to.”

  He pulled out a flashlight. “Now open your mouth and say ah.” I opened my mouth slowly. “Good. You’re still in perfect condition. You just need to eat more.” He pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket and handed it to me with a wink. “Keep this a secret.” My eyes lit up as I took it.

  “You better enjoy that. It’s not easy to smuggle in,” he chuckled, settling beside me. “Have you seen Dr Matthew’s for your voice exercise yet?” I shook my head.

  “I don’t blame you. Just take your time with it. It’ll come eventually.” The doctor got up and left. leaving me in thought.

  < Years later - 16/8/2031 - Capital of Dragovska >

  The flowers bloomed in beautiful shades of, Red, Blue, and multiple other colors. I brushed my hand around the soft petals of the flower. They felt so soft, almost like a blanket.

  “I’ll take these 4 bouquets.” I told the Cashier, She nodded and scanned the 4 bouquets of flowers. “That will be $24,99, sir.” I nod and take out 50 Dollars out of my wallet.

  I gave her the cash and before she gave me my change, I shook my head. “No need, keep the change.” “Oh, thank you so much.” She flashed a wide smile which caused me to smile too.

  I took the bouquets, and walked out. I took out another 50 Dollars and put it inside the tip jar next to the door on a small table. I walked out of the small flower shop with 2 of my bodyguards on each side of the door, holding their guns.

  “Ready to go sir?” The guard on the left asked. “Yes, let’s get going.” The guard nods and turns on his radio. “Jorge, to Norman. We’re moving to the cougar, get the convoy ready.”

  Jorge, the guard on the left, walks beside me as we walk over to the armored car he called the Cougar. I step in the car, Jorge right behind me as the car roars as it starts up. “Relax a little, Jorge.”

  I chuckle. “You’ve been working with me for 3 years. Lighten up a little.” I added. Jorge flashes a smile before setting his weapon down. Jorge lets out a content sigh, stretching. “I have to stick to the resume, sir.” I shook my head, smiling.

  I grab a bottle and offer, “Want a drink?” Jorge, grabs a small shot glass. “I’d love one.” I pour some into his cup and he swigs it. “What is it?” Jorge asked, and I inspected the bottle,

  “Some good old Smirnoff by yours truly.” Jorge, sets the shot glass down. “Hits the spot, everytime.” We turn a corner and stop, “Hey what's the hold up?” Jorge radioed to the driver.

  “I don’t know, I think we have civilians crossing the road. Should be over in a minute or two.” I looked out onto the road through the blackened thick window of the car.

  I could see the city bustling with life, children running on the sidewalk, holding toy guns, street vendors offering food to homeless people, and I could see an art mural on a brick wall.

  TO OUR BELOVED HERO! It was a graffiti drawing of me, and 4 USMC soldiers. I smiled as I looked and recognized the faces of each 4 of them, they all had their signature red bands on the side of their shoulders.

  The car jerked forward, and drove by. We passed through the endless sea of shops, tailors and many more till we finally stopped. “Right, we’re here sir.” I get out of the car, and Jorge right behind me.

  “You want me to come with you sir?” I shook my head, “No. Just stay at the entrance with Rosenburg.” Jorge nodded. I took the 4 bouquets of flowers with me as I walked into the entrance. I passed the entrance to graves, in many shapes and sizes, different shades of grey and black.

  As I make my way, I pass through mourning families, grieving widows, cleaners, dusting it and up the gravestones. I reached the other gate and passed through and the gravestones are big white crosses. I walked but not for long until I reached my stop. I set down one of the bouquets and wiped on the nameplate.

  Norman “Rhea” Polar. MEDAL OF HONOR, Specialist of RED COMPANY. I breathed a sigh before walking to the other. I walked a couple of feet away, probably 13. And set down one more bouquet on the grave, I wiped the nameplate.

  Jordan Ramirez. MEDAL OF HONOR, First Lieutenant of RED COMPANY. I got up and got to my feet. “Thank you.”

  I moved to the next grave, setting down a bouquet. Wiping the nameplate, I smiled—Kaden “Slip” Tribbel. MEDAL OF HONOR, Second Lieutenant, RED COMPANY.

  From my pocket, I pulled a single cigarette and placed it on the grave. “Figured you’d like this brand,” I chuckled before moving to the last grave.

  I walked to the last point, and walked a couple of more feet before setting down the last bouquet. I wiped the name plate and tears slowly stinged my eyes. Finnius Fern. MEDAL OF HONOR, Lance corporal of RED COMPANY.

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  “Thank you. I’m truly thankful.” I walked back slumpily back to the entrance, the weather now cloudy and hazy as rain slowly poured down. Jorge escorted me back to the car and got in.

  The car roared with life as it jerked forward. The car was following the lead of 2 lead cougars in the front, and a squad of police on motorcycles. Behind was 2 more cougars and an additional armored van filled with a toughened SWAT Team.

  We took a turn under a highway. I had just closed my eyes when the car suddenly stopped, the brakes screeching, and stretching to a halt. I heard a loud crash and looked through the window and the squad of motorcycles were all knocked to the ground by the armored cougar on the right.

  All the troopers inside the cougar got out, with their SR-16’s, and shot the downed policemen on the motorcycles. “Shit!” Jorge yelled quickly drawing his pistol.

  The cougar on the left also screeched to a halt and the occupants got out with their rifles and shot at us. I could hear the glass shattering in the driver side of the car and dove for cover.

  “Let’s get outta here!” Jorge yelled, quickly opening the door beside him and pulling me out. The convoy behind us stopped and gave us covering fire. The firefight incited a panic attack in me.

  My vision began getting foggy and distant, My heart rate quickening, my breathing quickened till the point I couldn’t grasp the air for my lungs, sweat became prominent as I felt Jorge pulled me behind the car door for cover.

  The SWAT Team got to my position and quickly pulled me away with Jorge. “We’re heading away from the street!” The captain of the team yelled to Jorge, who nodded. I looked back and saw the firefight of men who worked under me for years, fighting and shooting at the troopers protecting me.

  We took a left into an alley and the SWAT Team of 10 troopers cluttered up the tight space. The captain led the front, and began leading us through the alleys until we passed through an apartment building which had a window looking into the alley.

  I saw a rifle in the window and before I could respond, it fired off with a resounding bang. The glass shattered and the ping of the captain’s helmet rang out. The captain crumpled to the ground with a thud.

  Panic ensued as a SWAT trooper stacked up to the wall and threw in a flashbang. As it popped inside he leaned into the window and popped off 3 rounds before saying it was clear.

  One SWAT trooper checked on the captain. “Dead. Absolutely no pulse.” He said quietly. The SWAT trooper behind me got to the front. I could see his rank, Lieutenant.

  “Alright, listen up. I’m taking command. We’re gonna link up with a police station not far from here.” He pointed down the alley. “Probably 10 blocks down there.” He cocked his rifle back. “Let's get a move on.”

  Just as we got moving, gunfire erupted from a building in front of us. I dove for cover with Jorge and one SWAT trooper behind a dumpster. “Get down!” Jorge yelled, returning fire.

  In the crossfire I could see 3 SWAT troopers gunned down. “Lieutenant!” One trooper yelled before a bullet pierced through his cheek, coming through the other side.

  He fell to the ground with a thud into a small puddle that quickly stained red “Return fire!” Jorge yelled, firing off round after round. I saw a dropped SR-16 Rifle and I quickly picked it up.

  The rifle was covered in blood as it was dropped by the dead Lieutenant. I switched to semi-auto, spotting muzzle flashes in a blood puddle’s reflection. They came from the building ahead—the one pinning us down.

  Gritting my teeth, I aimed up and fired, stopping only when a scream cut through the chaos. “Cease fire!” Jorge yelled. The surviving SWAT troopers emerged from cover, checking bodies for survivors or supplies.

  “Lieutenant’s dead. So are Klein, Decker, and Logan.” I glanced at the trooper I’d seen go down, his name barely visible on his bloodied helmet—Klein.

  The street was in absolute chaos. A massive gunfight erupted between local police and what seems to be mercenaries in police uniform. “That’s odd.” I muttered before getting ushered by Jorge.

  We had made staggering progress—the police HQ was in sight. Craig and Hudson sprinted ahead to scout but were cut down by gunfire from the street. “No!” Jericho shouted, peeking over the wall and firing back.

  Gunfire ripped through Jericho, dropping him instantly. Murray grabbed my shoulder. “We gotta move now!” he yelled, turning toward the alley. Then came a gunshot, snapping me back to reality.

  Murray dropped dead and his body slumped in front of me. A hole in his face, where blood seeped out onto the stone floor. I turned to my side.

  Jorge

  “What the—!” I shouted, cut off as Jorge shot me in the foot. “Gah!” I collapsed onto the wet stone, blood streaking from the wound. Before I could aim, he fired again—this time into my arm.

  The SR fell out of my grip and Jorge kicked it out of my reach. Jorge reloaded his pistol and cocked it back. “Sorry sir.” He knelt down in front of me. “Nothin personal. They just pay me better.” He whispered to my ear.

  A shiver ran through my spine “wait..Wait.” and he reversed his grip on his pistol, holding it by the barrel “Wait!” I pleaded before he whacked me on the head. My vision darkened and it felt like I was going distant from the world.

  It felt like I was floating in a void of darkness. I could see fragments of my childhood. Playing with my late father, running around the flowery fields with my mother, and eating the most delicious of foods.

  I smiled, but the fragments started getting. Darker. More grim. I would see the memories I tried to forget and move on. The Zlayan forces break down my bedroom door, grabbing my Mother and Father, and forcing me to watch as they shoot them individually.

  They made me run through the forest as they chased me with dogs, like a hunt. One memory was me, huddling in an abandoned cafe crying before hearing helicopter noises and I ran out into a skyscraper.

  One memory of me looking at the street with a telescope watching a white truck with a light machine gun mounted, with soldiers on top with Red Bands.

  While floating through the void I suddenly felt a splash of water to my face, and I quickly returned back to the real world. I panted and heaved for air, I could feel my arms tied up behind a chair.

  I couldn’t see much. The room is only being illuminated by a single lamp above me. I looked to my right, a chair with a person on it. I couldn't see their head but I couldn’t only see their legs. I looked to my left and the same.

  There were more, and more seats. They each were arranged in a circle. I could hear a faint cough and gasp. “H-hello?..” I asked. My voice is raspy, and gruff.

  “Hello?!” I shouted. A flash blinded me, and I quickly shut my eyes. I could hear voices. Russian. Voices I hoped to never hear ever again. Once I slowly opened my eyes, adjusting to the new light I saw what was splayed in front of me.

  The bodies on the chair had no heads. Nothing past the neck, only a stump. A total of 15 bodies surrounded me in a circle. My mouth laid agape, my throat dried up. I recognized some of the bodies.

  Chief Engineer of the Department of Defense Rowe. His body looked more beaten and cut up. Next was Colonel Varn. A portion of his neck still had little bits of his neck left.

  The last body I recognized was the Deputy Secretary of Defense, “Eto posledniy?”. One of the many Russian voices said. “Da. Slava bogu. Mne uzhe nadoyelo ikh obezglavlivat' samomu.” One other voice said in response.

  A door opens behind me, and I hear a gun cock. I could feel the cold barrel of his pistol in the back of my skull. The coldness, driving through my spine.

  “I’m guessing you’re Tommi Petrova, Yes?” This startled me, seeing that it’s in perfect English. “Piss off,” I said. A burning, seething anger grew inside me as I grit my teeth.

  He laughed, his voice hoarse and had a slight rasp to it. “You’re a funny one.” I felt a burst of pain at the back of my head, as I felt him thwacking me with the pistol.

  My vision blurred, as I coughed up spit out of my mouth. “Disgusting.” He whispered. Wiping his pistol on my shoulder. I saw him throwing the pistol to the center of the ring. “That’s the easy way out.” He whispered.

  “Do you know what I like about winter?” His voice was calm, almost sounded scripted. “It doesn’t strike like a storm.” “No. It creeps in, quiet and patient. It settles, smothers, and when you finally realize you’re freezing—”

  I could hear the scraping of the blade being unsheathed.

  “It’s too late.”

  The last thing I could feel was the cold, metal blade slicing clean through my neck. In a clean, practiced slice. My head thumped down on the floor. Finally, rest.