Young Writers Society

Quint slowly walked towards the compound of T.R.. He had walked from Norway’s capitol which was hundreds of kilometres away, and was exhausted. Yet there was still an important job he must complete before he got some rest.

Quint’s mind was fuzzy and he could hardly concentrate as he walked into the large ceramic dome. Its purple lights faded as night became day. His muscles were aching and he was irritated by all the Tronlin’s walking around him, beeping away on their little gadgets, while whispering small remarks to their companions.

Quint was extremely annoyed at their lack of focus on the task at hand. Yet he wasn’t as angry at them, as he was so often extremely angry at his commanders, the twin leaders of their so called rebel movement. They were not only slow at completing their work but they were also cruel.Making Quint walk back, while letting his commander teleport, hardly seemed fair.

Quint was furious at their behaviours, and infuriated that he wasn’t allowed to retire to his quarters.Instead he had hours of meetings ahead to explain what had happened during his “important” mission. And he had medical appointments and fitness check-ups.

This was all to make sure that their knight in shining armour would be fit to fight another day, and would remain their little pawn. He didn’t complain though, that would unproductive to the important task ahead.

Quint walked into to his commander’s office with a blank expression on his face. His mind was filled with many thoughts, his mind was much too busy for him to start talking.

“How was your travel home, officer Quint?” his large commander asked him, while straightening his cap over his mess of curly orange hair. He opened his second mouth and started gnawing on a large green and purple fruit.

“Hardly interrupted, Sir!” said Quint saluting. “Though on my way out of the city I was attacked. An intergalactic stealth squad took an interest in me; I eliminated them, and they are now nothing but a pile of rubble.”

“As they should be” the officer said, smirking to the black shaded window. “Well I already know how your mission went; it was a success” smiled the commander. Quint had another thought, and interrupted his commander’s contemplation.

“How many dead?” Quint asked with a stern look on his face.

“That is not important my soldier, your task is finished. Now report to the medial centre” said the commander flatly. Quint took a step forward and slammed his hand down on the large brown oak desk, “How many dead?” he asked with a firm and menacing look at his commander.

“How dare yo-“he was cut off half way through the sentence, by Quint. “How many?” he shouted, spraying spittle into the commander’s already sweating face. He didn’t answer his question, so Quint quickly moved forward, and leaning over the desk he grasped his commander’s throat, and slowly start to crush it. “How many dead?” he asked calmly as he strangled his commander. “Th…th…three th…thousand” said his officer, struggling for breath. Quint looked at him in horror, his hand loosened as he stumbled back, his hands reaching to his head. Breathing heavily, he felt his soul draining from his body, not wanting to be part of such a horrible machine.

He didn’t know what to do. Was it his fault, that so many were dead? What was his path now? One for three-thousand hardly seemed fair, but it was a step towards forgiveness. Maybe he should kill himself? Maybe he should go to the front line?

His commander slowly started to regain his footing.He started to pull out a hand gun, and releasing the safety he brought it up level with Quint’s face. “Ho-how dare you attack me?” he yelped at Quint.

Quint wasn’t scared of his commander, and now he must act. There was time for sorrow later, but first his survival instincts kicked in, no matter how he wanted to give up.

Quint lurched forward slamming the gun out of his commander’s hand.With his other hand he grabbed him by the throat and he held him up in the air.He shoved the claw of his free hand into his mouth, ripping it, splattering blood over his own face. “You did this, you were the one who completed the task. Not me!” his commander struggled to say out of his second mouth.

Quint threw him forward slamming him against the wall, snapping his neck. He elbowed him in the guts and stabbed him through the neck, just to make sure he was dead.

He turned around and walked out of the room as he heard the siren start to go off in the distance. The attack had started. “I believe they are retaliating, are they not? They aren’t after me, they are after you.” silently Quint spoke to himself as he walked out.