For the Fair, the Better, and the Worst: Chapter 1 (2nd half) & Chapter 2

I'd suggest that if you haven't already, to go back and read the first half of Chapter One so that you can understand the story from the beginning. The chapters have been separated, simply on how I edited it after I had already posted it. That is my fault, and I apologize. Without further ado, please enjoy the 2nd half of Chapter One, and Chapter Two <3

~Taost

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I've never seen a room fall so quiet so quickly before. I eased myself down onto the couch gestured and I stared at that lady. I was well aware of the fact that the girl next to me tensed up the moment I sat down. I felt her eyes trailing over each and every one of my daggers . . . I didn't bother to look over at her.

The woman with red hair walked closer, her heels clacking on the wooden floor as she leaned against the arm of the couch next to the one who seemed to be in control. And I waited. Words were unnecessary in this moment. Well, they were until the man started talking again.

"So, is this all we have?" He had asked, rather loudly too. I grimaced at his tone.

The curly haired woman smiled. "I only asked for four files. All of you are here." She said. The girl next to her, the quiet one, finally looked at me . . . and she gave me a look of disgust.

"Are we too good for you that you have to hide your face?" She questioned. I snapped my attention to her.

"Is this an interrogation? I wasn't aware that stupid questions were going to be asked." I retorted. The red haired girl raised a brow while the curly haired woman chuckled.

"Now, let's calm down. I don't need my soldiers going after each others throats." Her attempt to defuse the situation worked . . . briefly.

Because as the quiet woman looked away, I kept my eyes on her. When she caught my gaze, she shivered. I knew that expression anywhere, and I loved seeing my opponents tremble with fear from a single look. Though, she didn't shift her gaze. Even after her ego stumbled, she picked herself up and covered her tracks with a scowl.

"What are you looking at?" She asked in a rather harsh tone. I tilted my head, the move predatory.

"I'm hoping you'll spontaneously combust, so I won't have to get my hands dirty." I hummed.

I watched her tense up, bite her lip and then look away, not bothering to say another word. The woman next to me scooted away subtly. Though the man on the floor laughed.

"You're cold. I like you." He expressed. I glanced down at him.

"Well, I don't like you. Shut up." I commanded. The curly haired woman shot a glare at me.

"Relax, soldier. They aren't here to harm you, and you know it. These are your teammates. You will deal with it." Her voice was sharp. A contrast to how she sounded just moments before. I brought my eyes up to her . . . and then I leaned back, silent and observant.

She sighed before continuing. "You four have been brought here to serve a purpose. Do the dirty work that HQ doesn't. I've read all of your files, I know what all of you can do, and I know that none of those other bastards could handle what you all are about to."

All of us paid close attention, the man on the floor grinning wide.

"If the world was ending, you'd be expected to stop it. That's the kind of orders you all need to be prepared to take. If I hear anything about quitting, you're out. I'll find you a replacement, so you can go back to that hell hole I took you from. If you want to be coddled, exit now." None of us did. She paused a moment, then kept going.
"Good. Now, this is a new unit. You are a family, regardless of authority. This also means new ranks, new quarters, new weapons," she stopped to smirk. "And new play things for you all to test out. I am your colonel, Khailen Caesar. You all will report to me."

She stood and turned slightly, gesturing a hand at the red haired woman. "This is Raylene Snow. Your station chief. She'll handle the paperwork, mission assigning and the lame crap I don't plan on doing." A few chuckles rippled around. Khailen again, pointing a finger at the girl on the couch, who glared up at her.
"Dásee Durolo. Your file says you work on mechanics and engineering." Another smirk from the colonel. "And I also hear you play with electronics. We have a workshop for you set up in the base we'll be moving to. You can tinker all you wish, but remember, your projects will be used to help us."

I watched as Dásee remained silent. She didn't say a word. She didn't even smile. She just nodded her head. Khailen gestured a hand at the darker woman beside me.

"Hope, I hear they call you. Not even your file held your birth name. HQ doesn't even know your ethnic origins. You were an interesting one to get intel on." The girl beside me, Hope, shifted and looked away. I couldn't tell if it was out of guilt or embarrassment. "You've been trained in medicines, biology and anything else a medic might need. We'll have an infirmary set up for you, we'll need you if we wanna stay alive." A small smile formed on the girl's face. Khailen shifted once more, not to me, but to the man. I guess I'll be last.

"Dakota Ramirez. I've heard stories about you, too." She started. The man chuckled.

"All good?" He asked with a raised brow.

She laughed. "Albeit a few." Her smile stayed as she continued. "I've heard you fly. Planes, Jets, Helo's, the whole nine yards. You'll be our aerial advantage. If I have it right, the hangar will be next to the workshop. Better get on Dásee's good side if you want her to tinker with your machinery." Another soft laugh, from the others in the room too. Then she turned to me.

"Carmon Black. The 'Legend', so to speak." I scowled at the nickname. One I received on the field after that botched task. Her smile softened. "A sniper. That's all your file would share. I'm curious as to why nearly seventy percent of your file is redacted." She didn't stop to see the curiosity flash in my eyes. "I'm sure whatever other skills you have will be useful to us, but you are feared, Carmon. Feared and a monster on the field. No one on the enemy squads have lived to tell the tale of an encounter with you. I'd be shaking in my boots if I ever fell on your bad side."

I let a smirk slip, though I know the gas mask covered it. Khailen shifted, still smiling as she sat back down, crossing an ankle over a knee. My gaze stayed on her for a moment. These people would be a home for me. For all of us. If she wanted me to be feared, then so be it. I'll be feared.

Raylene cleared her throat as she stepped forth, glancing down at her clipboard. "Ranking has already been predetermined by Caesar as of yesterday. These rankings will remain in place until otherwise stated. Regardless of your old placement, you will be required to treat those who rank above you with the same respect as you would any other.

"Starting off strong, Carmon Black. Ranked, 1st Lieutenant. Dásee Derulo, ranked 1st Sergeant, followed by Dakota Ramirez as 2nd and Hope as 3rd. These could be changed and adjusted as time goes on. Do not expect to remain ranked this way forever." She gazed at us from over her glasses. Then she continued. "A handful of privates is expected to arrive by 6 a.m. sharp. You all are expected to be in the field, ready to train by then. Be late and face the consequences."

Khailen nodded before standing up again and stretching. She spoke calmly, her focus on none of us specifically. "You all are dismissed. Your names are on your doors to your barracks. Go wash. You all stink."

As the colonel exited the room, all of us stood as well. Hope and Dásee started to talk, walking down the room and taking a left. At least they would get along. I ignored them though, bending down to grab my duffel bag before a large hand snatched it instead and it was hoisted up. I tensed and looked up, seeing Dakota staring down at me with a smile.

"If Dásee and Hope went that way, then we're probably on the right." He said. My eyes narrowed.

"I don't need help carrying my bag." I mentioned, my tone bitter. He laughed softly.

"I know, but I don't really care." He responded.

He turned, walking towards the right hall. I tried to hide the shock in my eyes. No one has ever really ignored my command or retorts like that before. As I soon realized I was still standing there, I shook my head and walked after him. I took the turn and glanced at the two doors. My duffel bag was sat in front of my open door at the end of the hall, acting as a doorstop. His own door was cracked open next to mine. I huffed and entered my room, dragging my duffel bag in and shut the door with a soft click.

I observed the room. The walls were painted a soft, grayish-blue. The shade was dark but . . . calming. I took note of the dark, wooden desk off to the side, a small window above it. There was a bed on the opposite wall, its sheets white, comforter a dark blue to match the walls. There was no carpet on the wooden floor. I took a few steps in, dropping my duffel bag on the bed. If we were going to be here temporarily, then there was no need to unpack. Not yet.

I unzipped the bag, simply to pull out some files and my laptop. I set those things down on the desk before I sat down in the small chair. I opened my laptop, slid out a file from its manilla folder and I got to work.

🃲
I wasn't aware of how much time went by until my door had creaked open. I instantly jumped, my hand instinctively flying for my gun as I turned and . . .

"Easy, chica. Just me." Dakota said. I released a breath I didn't know I was holding.

My hand eased off my gun as I finally got a good look at him. He had short hair, just a few shades darker than his skin. He was fit, to say the least, but to call him small would be a major understatement. The man had the build of a warrior. As he strode in, I glanced at his olive green t-shirt and his black sweatpants. He seemed rather relaxed out of uniform. I decided not to comment on his lack of formality.

He walked over to my desk, gently setting a plate of food next to me, though the steam of it didn't catch my eye. The scars all along his hands did. He set down a glass of water, too, before stepping back and leaning against my closet door. His voice was soft.

"What are you working on?" He asked, gesturing to my files with a fork of his own.

"That's classified." I said, glancing up at his eyes before looking back at the plate. "What is this?"

"Food." He smirked, leaning in a little. "You eat it."

I scowled. "I'm not an idiot, I can tell it's food." I retorted. He leaned back again, poking at something on his own plate.

"Then why the stupid question?" He answered. I scoffed. A part of me was grateful that he cared enough to bring me anything at all, but . . .

I simply pushed the plate away a few inches, returning to my work. I didn't even see him step closer until his hand gently pushed the plate back, its edge touching my wrist lightly.

"Eat." He ordered this time. I didn't respond, my movements frozen. "You need it. You've been in here for hours."

"I can't." I mumbled, my voice softer than I intended it to be.

"Lieutenant."

I dared to look up at him. His eyes were filled with concern. Why was he concerned?

"Take the mask off, and eat." He ordered again.

I didn't.

"Are you afraid?" He pressed. My brows furrowed.

"No—" I started.

"Then eat." He finished.

A pause settled between us, though there was no tension in the air. I wondered what his problem was. Wondered why I was letting him get to me. Why I was allowing him to order me around. Then I remembered that he can't. And he won't. I glanced up at him again and I knew from the way he flinched slightly, that my eyes were as cold as ice. My voice remained firm. Strong.

"Get out." Was all I said. He stared at me for a moment, examining what was visible of my face. Then he nodded and turned, walking out and closing the door with a soft thud.

I sighed, leaning back in my chair before glaring at the plate of food. I hated having to act so bitter. So sour. I knew it only pushed people away, but that's why I do it, I thought to myself. There was no reason for me to try and make friends here. They're all going to end up dead anyways. So what's the point? Why even bother?

But still, as I stared at the steaming plate of food, I couldn't help but think of him. That concerned look in his eyes. I groaned in annoyance, trying to shake the thought away, but he was right. I hate admitting that, but he was right.

I leaned forward, pressing my elbows into the desk's top as I reached up with delicate hands. I gently pressed two triggers on the far corners of my mask and the mechanisms clicked and whirled, hissing as it released the pressure it had been using to remain against my face. White steam slowly rose from where the mask disconnected and I pulled the thing away. I turned the tool in my pale hands, gently tracing over the details and the mechanical gears. My face felt sore. Damp.

I set the mask down gently, staring at my reflection in my laptop's screen. I stared at that face . . . The scars that trailed my cheeks, neck and the bridge of my nose. Not all of them were burns. It was mostly scars from difficult fights. It didn't make the sight any prettier. I sighed, shifting my attention to the food. And as much as I wanted to toss it in the trash and then go strangle Dakota, I shoved down my guilt and ego, lifted the fork he sat down, and started to eat in silence.


Chapter Two
˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖⋆˚࿔𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ ⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ

Blood was everywhere. Blood and fire and absolute chaos. Through the screams, I held my sniper up, laying flat on my stomach on a hill. I didn't bother to look around me, though the cold air stung my exposed index finger that rested on the cold, metal trigger.

The scope was useful as I used it to peer down at those running around the gore filled field. Bodies were piled up, guns and bullets thrown. I took a steady breath in, searching and searching. What was I searching for?, I thought. What is this game I'm playing? No answers were given. A soft glint of light in my peripheral vision took my attention instead.

I shifted, aiming the barrel of my sniper for that glint of light. I almost instantly recognized that building. Don't shoot that, I wanted to beg. Anything but there. But I didn't seem to have any control over my body as I peered into the scope . . . as I took aim at that gas filled bomb.

I wanted to scream, but all of my thoughts went into the abyss. No one could hear me as I flicked the safety off. No one noticed as my gaze locked on the window, pointed right at the bomb as the door busted open. I watched my old teammates pile in, their guns lowering in confusion . . . and then my finger pressed on the trigger, sending a bullet right into the canister.

I listened to their distant screams as gas started to flood the building.. and just before it could explode, there was a crash, followed by a sharp thud, and I jolted up.

With a sharp gasp, I had opened my eyes again, my pupils trying to adjust to the sudden assault of light from my desk lamp. My hands were gripping the edge of the desk, my chest rising and falling heavily. I was panting. Panicked. I stood up, shoving my chair back. It toppled and fell to the floor with a loud thud.

I paced for a moment, hands shaking and running through my black hair. I wanted to puke. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. But I didn't. I couldn't. Stay strong, I told myself. Stay strong, I repeated. I found my lungs burning, aching for the oxygen that I wasn't getting in with each strangled gasp of nothing. I was desperate as I reached over to my desk, grasping for my mask. I needed my mask. Yet, no matter how much I clawed and yanked at my desk, I couldn't grab the one item I needed.

My ears were ringing loud, and I slid to my knees, tears slowly forming from my panic and blurring my vision. There was another flash of light behind me, and then there were hands. Two large hands grabbing my shoulders, pulling me back to sit on the ground rather than my knees. Then the hands reached around, encasing me in a soothing embrace. Something hard and solid rested against my spine. The tears slowly fell.

I pawed at the hands that cupped my shoulder and stomach. Pawed at the arms that held me still. When those arms gave me a gentle squeeze, I let out a choked sob. A weight pressed against my shoulder blade, and a voice sounded.

"You're okay." The voice sounded solid. Masculine. Smooth. "You're just fine, cariña."

My tears slipped still, falling on the forearm that was resting over my chest, the one that held me tighter. The hand on my shoulder gently moved down. Slowly. Predictable. When it reached my elbow, it moved back up. Each calloused edge scratching at my skin. My eyes dropped to the hand and I recognized the scars. Dakota.

We stayed there on my floor for minutes. He stayed until my breathing evened out and my shaking ceased. Only the tears remained. I realized he was pressing his head against my shoulder, looking down. He didn't look at my face. He knew not to look. His grip slowly loosened and I leaned back against him subconsciously. I didn't know what else to do. He had become a pillar in this moment.

He continued to whisper soothing words to me. Words that consisted of empty promises. Empty guidance. When his hands left their position, they slid to my hips instead. He spoke.

"If you want your mask, my eyes are closed. You can go get it."

But I didn't. I didn't take his offer. I wasn't sure if I wanted to take it or not, but I knew deep down that I couldn't sit in his arms all night. That would make me weak. And I couldn't be weak. So I stood, pushing myself up and out from between his legs. I turned and looked at him. Sure enough, his head was down, eyes squeezed shut. I let my own expression soften.

Rather than going to my desk for my mask, I went over to my bed. I shoved my duffle bag to the end of it and then I crawled up and into the covers. I rested my head on the pillow, facing the wall.

"Just . . ." I started, my voice so small. "Leave."

He sat there on my floor for a solid second before I heard him shuffle up. His footsteps were light before he stopped in my doorway. He kept his back to me.

"Remember to change your clothes tomorrow night." He said. He tilted his head to the side, just a little. "Seeing you in a uniform twenty-four, seven is not a comforting sight to me."

I laughed lightly at the joke before he shut my door so gently that I didn't even hear it click. Then I rolled onto my back and I stared at the ceiling until my clock read 5:00 a.m.🃲

The morning air was brisk and chilling. For the first time since the attack, I wore something besides a tank top. I wore a black hoodie, paired with leggings and my combat boots. My hands had fingerless gloves, my hair tied up and out of my face. I had the mask on.

Dásee, Hope and Khailen were dressed similarly. Except Hope. Who seemed to have cut her hair really short since last night. Regardless, all of us stood by the front gates, watching as around 20 to 30ish recruits piled out of the buses. Each was dressed in the normal, olive green and cammo uniforms and as they formed blocks of lines, they stood at attention. A brief memory of when I was once in that same position flashed through my mind. I blocked it out.

Khailen smiled warmly at the recruits, though her eyes flashed with a mix of disgust and disappointment. I could see why. From examining the recruits, they sent us all the skimpy nobody's who would most likely get shot and killed before their first mission. No surprise. I scoffed, but Dakota, who stood next to me, simply grinned wildly. A few recruits before us were eyeing him like street candy, and a few others were sizing him up.

Raylene came outside, wearing a tanktop and shorts, paired with black running shoes. Despite the cold weather, she appeared to be completely fine. Not a single tremble left that girl. She walked up, stopping just before the blocks of recruits, her clipboard in hand. She started to read, her pen tapping certain points on the paper or pointing at recruits. Counting. When she was done, she frowned. She turned and walked up to Khailen, who bent down to her height as Raylene whispered something to her. Khailen's smile fell.

She stood up straight, hands resting on her hips. "Looks like HQ has done a very lousy job at sending us valuable pawns to complete our numbers." She commented. A few recruits scowled. Some tensed up. She smirked. "But we can fix that." She added.

I watched as Khailen and Dásee began to break off the recruits into pairs, setting them in sparring rings. I watched them train, arms crossed. Raylene walked over to me and Dakota scoffed at her before walking off to go pick on some recruit who "looked at him wrong". Raylene smiled up at him and I glanced down at her.

"Did you sleep well?" She asked, her voice as smooth as water.

"Slept fine." I muttered in response, letting my eyes drift to the recruits.

Raylene saw my gaze shift, and she looked away. Back down at her clipboard I assumed. We were quiet for a moment. And in that moment, I started to think that maybe I enjoyed the silence and the comfort of it. I quickly shoved the feeling down. It's temporary, I thought. They'll all be dead in a month. I kept my eyes up, watching each form of the recruits. They were awfully sloppy. Like they only made it halfway through Basic before being shipped over to us.

As I kept my eyes up, I barely noticed Raylene move. I barely noticed her lift her hand and lay it on my bicep. As soon as contact was made, a burning pain seared through the muscle. My eyes widened and I slapped her hand away. I watched shock follow suit in her own eyes.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-" She started. She sounded like a tiny mouse, caught in a trap.

"Don't touch me." I said sternly, my tone sharp and cold. I didn't want to hear her sorry excuses. I didn't want to be touched.

She stared up at me, her hand hovering in the air before slowly lowering. She looked back down at her clipboard and nodded. I huffed, turning and storming out. I didn't care if Khailen would berate me later for disregarding her order to stay and observe or train. I needed out of there.

So I kept walking, right into a bathroom just outside my and Dakota's barracks. I slammed that door shut behind me, my breathing heavier than I wanted it to be. The mask on my face whirred louder, trying to keep the rush of oxygen going as my breath quickened. I felt hot. My skin felt hot. I pried the hoodie off and stared at myself in the mirror. I braced my hands on the sink before me, watching every heavy rise and fall of my chest from beneath my sports bra. Examined every scar and torn piece of flesh that was from the old and the new battles. I didn't even feel the hot, sticky mess that started to drip down my arm until I glanced over at my right bicep, where her hand had touched.

Blood. That's all I saw. And it burned. I watched steam rise and spin from where the contact was made, pieces of lint caught in the scabs of the burn. I lifted my left hand, gingerly probing around it, only for it to gush more blood and ooze something beige. I winced from the pain. I debated going to Hope, though I shook the thought off just like all the others. You're fine, I told myself.

I turned on the faucet, wetting my hand and slowly wiping the blood away. Then I grab some tissue, gently tapping at the burn. The wound hissed and squelched with each tap, more steam rising. When it was clear, I examined it. The wound was bubbled up and blistered, a yellowish-green hue to each bubbled point. I sighed in relief when I realized it hadn't yet reached muscle. But I knew, this wasn't an infection. Because I knew what had created the wound. I brought my gaze back to the mirror. The chemicals were working faster.

🃲
I didn't know there was a large station behind the halls of our barracks made for the recruits and for a chow hall until now. Mostly because I'm standing in it with Dakota next to me, watching the recruits eat. I had started to notice that Dakota was following me. Much like a lost puppy with no home. Or at least, that's what he reminds me of.

The room was loud, sounds and conversations echoing off of the walls. I leaned back against a pillar, crossing my arms. My mask whirred, though the sound was drowned out. It was stuffy in here, I noticed. The mask only seemed to pull in foul tasting, muggy oxygen, though I made no comment on it. Dakota remained next to me, his gaze, for once, cold. We were silent for several moments before he spoke.

"I saw you run out." He said. I turned my head and looked up at him. I said nothing. His caramel brown eyes fell down to mine. "Did she hurt you?"

I examined his expression, searching for anything that I could use as leeway. I found nothing but concern. My brows furrowed.

"No." I replied, turning my attention back to the recruits.

It was silent for another minute.

"Why do you wear the mask?" He asked, his voice hushing. I scowled.

"Why I wear it is none of your concern. Mind your own business, Ramirez." I retorted, surprised by his blunt question. He raised his hands in mock surrender, but he dropped the subject.

He didn't comment on my mask for the rest of the hour. In fact, he had walked away and I didn't hear from him at all. Raylene hadn't bothered to come near me either. As I leaned back on the table behind me, I let my thoughts go for a while. I felt a little bad for yelling at her the way I did. It wasn't fair to her and while she didn't mean any harm, she had still caused it.

Besides, if she wanted my attention, she should've just said something. I couldn't seem to decide who was in the wrong, though. Whether what she did was not right, or if my reaction wasn't.

My left temple throbbed painfully and I reached up, pressing my middle and ring fingers to it, rubbing in a tender, circular motion. I closed my eyes and sighed. What was the point of thinking about such things when they wouldn't matter in the end? She or I were gonna die anyways, so—

I was jerked out of my thoughts by something wet smacking against my face. I flinched and looked around the room.. food was being tossed all over the place, soldiers on the ground fighting like children, and even Khailen's voice couldn't get them to stop. This was clearly a food fight.

I wiped a gloved hand over my face, glancing down at it to see . . . sauce? I looked up again, seeing Dakota laughing now, pointing at Dásee, who was on the ground, covered in water or soup. Hope was cowering in a corner, unsure of what to do. I pushed off of my table then, staring at the chaos around me.

How long had this been going on? It didn't matter. Not anymore.

"HEY!" I shouted, my voice stone cold. The room suddenly went quiet. I felt a heavy feeling settle in my chest. A feeling I didn't recognize. "That's enough. You're all acting like children. Do we need to send you back to the dump?"

There were several murmurs around the room. Khailen looked over at me, her eyes flashing with some look of respect and gratitude.

"Whoever started this mess," I then said, gesturing around. "Clean it. You have 30 minutes." I dropped my chin, eyes narrowing. "Go."

Almost right after I gave the order, soldiers started to scramble about, grabbing rags, tissues, mops and buckets. I watched each and every one of them. Dakota escorted a few out; probably to go get cleaned up. As the soldiers moved, Khailen came up to me, standing by my side.

"You sure have a power play." She commented. I glanced over at her.

"A what?" I asked.

"You have authority." She explained, raising her arms up to gesture to the group. "They don't listen to me, but they listen to you, Legend. You have power." She looked over at me now, holding her fist up. "You'd do well to keep it."

I stared at her for a moment. Then I glanced down at her fist. I raised my own, brushing the side against hers.

"Power has nothing to do with fear." I countered. She only smirked.

"Power has everything to do with fear, Carmon. One way or another, you will always be in control. You are the Legend." She dropped her hand, turning away. "Cold or not, you hold the reins. No matter how bad it gets. They're scared of you, and always will be. Accept it. It'll benefit you more than you think."

And as she walked away, the door shutting behind her, I stood there and pondered what she said for a moment. A team. A family. Maybe I would do well to let my guard down for a moment. To be kind. Not every relationship is . . . bad. Right? They don't all end in death. Do they?

I turned to look back at the recruits cleaning before me, and I just thought. Avoid relationships. Stay away from connections. Keep the distance. That's what I told myself. But . . . was it necessary? Maybe . . . maybe just once. Maybe for one day, I could let those motives go and try something different. Maybe just once.

And maybe I'd be okay.