For the Fair, the Better, and the Worst: Chapter 1 (1st half)

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖⋆˚࿔Black𝜗𝜚˚⋆⋆˚࿔ ⊹ ‧₊˚ ౨ৎ

     The morning was cold. Signs of late fall showed and the grass even had a mist that coated each blade. The sun was just barely rising over the horizon, and the base was barely active. Most of the soldiers were just getting up, a few were doing laps around the exterior of the fence lines. Only a few dwindled inside a field.

     The field along the training grounds was torn up, both from trainees and from target practices that had left it in ruins. With careful hands, I continued to wrap my knuckles with the tape provided by the base trainers. I allowed my thoughts, for once, to run free. To just roam. Ever since the attack a few months ago, I had refused to talk. My appetite vanished and I let go of any connections that I might've held. My motive was clear; at least to me. Relationships were a mistake waiting to happen.

     During that botched mission, I watched my unit die. I still recall it, really. Breaking the window and crawling through. I never really recovered. It doesn't help that whispers have traveled around the base that I was the one who killed them. It's childish, but it's logical. I was the only one who made it out of there. Granted, not in one piece, but I made it out with enough of me together to survive.

     I continued to walk forth, my hands ending the tape off at my wrists. After, I allowed my hands to drop to my sides and I rolled my shoulders. The air was cold against my bare arms. Many questioned why I wore tank-tops over a fitted, long-sleeve shirt in this weather, but I had to ignore them, too. They didn't understand. The gas that poured in that room that day had burned my skin, and that sensation never left. It was always there. It was a constant reminder of what had happened; of what I had lost. Only a part of me managed to ignore it.

     I brushed the thoughts away, reaching over to adjust the bandages that sat on my right shoulder. The very bandages that covered the worst of the chemical burns. It didn't help that all the medbay could do was toss me some ointment and call it a day. I shrugged it off, though. It's not like they cared much anyways. I was alive. They did their job, and I did mine. It was left at that.

     When I finally managed to shake myself out of my thoughts, I stopped myself and stood right in front of a sandbag. The poor, torn up thing hung up on a pole, a silly little rope held it together. I clenched and unclenched my hands, staring at it. When I finally managed to get my feet to move, to shift my position, someone shouted my name. I hate to say that I flinched. I let my guard down and didn't intend to. I mentally cursed myself for being so jumpy, then I leaned back and looked over my shoulder, releasing my stance.

     "Black!" The owner of the voice said again. I narrowed my eyes. A private? This was new.

     I turned fully, the wind blowing against my face. Against my skin. I bit back the urge to wince as it left a few burns on my forearm stinging. I lifted my hands up, however, feigning nonchalance as I adjusted my ponytail and brushed a few black strands out of my face. The private came closer before stopping.

     "Black." The private repeated. I couldn't help but scowl.

     "You've said my name twice, kid. Spit it out." I bit sharply. The private visibly tensed and took a small shuffle back.

     "The commander wants to see you." He managed to choke out. My brows furrowed.

     "For what?" I asked. I needed to know. I wasn't going to leave without knowing.

     The private shuffled on his feet, fidgeting with his hands. I reached out, tapping his palms apart. "Stop that. You look weak." I scolded. I once again mentally slapped myself for even showing that I cared. Though, I couldn't blame the private for it. It wasn't his fault, I recognized that. Or that he was scared. "Speak up. Why does he want to see me?" I pressed.

     "I.. I don't know, he just said to send word to you." The private mumbled. I huffed.

     "Well, that's a stupid ass reason." I said. The private glanced over his shoulder.

     "Please, Black, just go see him." He begged. I scoffed again, raising my chin to look down at him.

     "If he sent you without a reason, then he doesn't really need me." I commented. The private winced.

     "Black.." He started. Already with the whining. I groaned and shoved past him.

     "Fine. Whatever. Get back to work." I grumbled.

     The commander was a cold man. Following his orders was not something I enjoyed doing. Or anyone else on base for that matter. His orders were quite dull and unclear. Then he would get mad whenever you didn't complete the task the way he wanted it done.

     Still, to disregard his order would not only get me in trouble, but also that private and as much as I hate to admit, I'd feel a little bad if he got berated on my behalf.

     As I took a final turn into a hallway, I stopped before a door. The wood was old and most likely fake. I scowled as I read the name on the plaque that was plastered outside of the door. Commander Harris. Such a basic name. Still, I raised a still taped hand up, and rapped my knuckles against the door. The sound came out stiff and hollow. I bit the inside of my cheek as I thought of how easy it would be to drive a blade into the planks and bust it down. However, a voice broke my concentration.

     "Enter." The voice said. Old and gruff. I relaxed my hands as I reached for the handle and pushed the creaky door open. I stepped in.

     I walked to the center of the room, staring down at the man before me. He had brown, graying hair. Freshly shaven. He was well built, and he remained seated as I glanced down at his neat uniform. Black and gray cammo. I brought my eyes back up, meeting his harsh, green ones. He was old. The wrinkles along his cheeks and forehead showed implications of a hard man who had fought many battles. As I went into attention, my hands falling neatly to my sides, chin going up, he folded his hands neatly on his dark wood desk top.

     "Black." He said, his tone so cold, it even sent shivers down my spine. I didn't dare respond. He continued without acknowledging my lack of response.

     "You've received an order from HQ. The big man himself." He chuckled at his words as he stared me down. Examined me like a piece of meat for a trade. I didn't move. Not as he stood up and rounded his desk.

     "You're being transferred." He said simply, shrugging as he leaned against the desk edge, pulling out a cigarette and setting it in his lips. "Some new unit is being formed and the bastard gave the new colonel your file. They've requested for you. I'm letting you go."

     Several thoughts ran through my head, but I schooled my expression to remain complacent. Unmoving. Unreadable. He chuckled lowly. "So bitter, you are. Pack your bags. A bus is coming for you in," he glanced down at his watch. "About 30 minutes."

     I remained still. I knew his tricks. He stood there too, just waiting. Observing. Then he smirked. "Smartass. You're dismissed." He scoffed. Then, and only then, did I dare to turn and leave his office, shutting the door behind me. 30 minutes. That wasn't a lot of time. But as I slipped away from the hall, away from his door, I didn't hide my own smirk. Gone from this base I was. A new home awaited. A new story. A new page. And the lord would be damned if I didn't take it.

🃲

     The new base was cold and barren. It held little compared to the old one that held so many soldiers. This base before me? It was puny. And . . . Depressive.

     The stone walls that I passed through were new. No scrapes or holes from bullets or knives. No graffiti. Nothing. I narrowed my eyes at the sight. This truly was a new unit. Interesting. Despite these details, I kept walking.

     There were no plants on the field, in fact, the grass was rather dead. It crunched under my boots, the brown and yellow of it suggesting that maybe there were chemicals used that damaged the land long before. The field was smaller than the last one. By several feet too, and instead of my old base, the building before looked more like a stone home than a building of command.

     When I stepped up onto the deck of the base, I hesitated. It was eerily quiet here. Quiet and it disturbed me greatly. I held the key I was given in my hands, which now had black, tactical gloves covering them. No weaknesses. That's what I had told myself. I even placed my black, gas mask over my face. I didn't trust the air here. Not with how dead the grass and trees looked. I listened closely. Listened to the soft sound of the mask whirring as it filtered the oxygen to me. My eyes dropped to the lock.. and I inserted the key.

     With a click, the door handle tilted and, to my surprise, it burst open. My eyes widened as I was then face-to-face with a man, who appeared to be at least 6'4" or 6'5". I stared up at him . . . And he stared down at me. I scowled, my brows furrowing, and he smiled so brightly, I swear, my eyes would burn. He jumped forth, as if going for a tackle, and I quickly grabbed his shoulder, turned to the side, and threw him down. He fell and thudded on the hard pavement off of the deck with a soft 'oomph'. I simply stared down at him.

     He laughed as he pushed himself onto his elbows, and for once, I found myself regretting coming here. I felt confused . . . And misled.

     "What is this?" I said, surprised at how harsh my voice sounded.

     He only laughed as he rolled over onto his back, wiping dirt from his cheek. "Jesus. You're strong for a chica." He said, still grinning.

     I recognized his accent as foreign. Not from around here. I simply scoffed.

     "Is this a game to you?" I pressed. He finally looked up at me with caramel brown eyes from where he sat.

     "Game? No, no, you're mistaken." He responded finally.

     I watched him carefully as he stood up, and I myself took several steps back. He looked down at me this time, brushing gravel and dirt from his shirt now.

     "I did not mean to scare you, cariña." He said, softer this time. Someone spoke from behind me.

     "We've come to notice that Ramirez, here, likes a challenge." I glanced over my shoulder, examining the owner of the voice. To say she was pretty is an understatement.

     The girl who stood before me had such vibrant, red hair. Red like rubies. It was tied behind her, paired with a black ribbon that held it back. The black glasses that sat on her face fell to the tip of her nose, showing freckles upon her face. Much like stars. I glanced down at her, noticing her white blouse and black pants. So neat and tidy. She held a clipboard close to her chest, and I brought my gaze back up to her face, taking notice of her sun kissed skin and smiling expression. I did not say a word.

     She continued, her voice smooth and calming. "He's done that to every single person who has walked through the door. Please, disregard his actions and come inside." She looked up from her clipboard, smiling right at me. Her eyes were such a deep blue, they could've been mistaken for black. They reminded me of pools, locked away from the ocean. I watched her as she turned to the side, welcoming us in.

     Reluctantly, I stepped forth and into the doorway. I noticed how small this girl was. She went up to right about my chin. I scoffed again, looking ahead of me instead and I walked into the room. It was cozy inside.

     The room held two couches, both leather and facing in front of each other, a glass coffee table in the middle of them. A few feet away, there was a door that was open, which led to a small kitchen, where coffee was brewing. I looked around. It looked just like a small apartment if anything. I glanced at those sitting on the couches.

     One was laughing warmly, her curly hair tied back in a ponytail, her feet tucked beneath her, boots on the ground in front. She had dark skin, her hair just a few shades darker. Her eyes were bright, a dark emerald green. She looked rather relaxed. Next to her, another girl sat. She looked quiet, her gaze staring off. She had a lighter skin tone, which reminded me of hot chocolate. Her eyes were dark, almost black. They appeared warm and welcoming, despite her uneasy appearance. On the other couch in front was yet again, another girl. She had black hair and dark, dark skin. She was speaking softly to the woman with curly hair, a smile plastered on her almost too-white teeth. As I paused before the coffee table, that man stopped behind, a hand resting on my shoulder. When I tensed, he did not pull away.

     The woman with curly hair paused her conversation and she looked up at me from where she perched. She smiled so gently . . . Like a mother to an orphan. My brows furrowed again, but my eyes softened soon after when she said,

     "Carmon Black. Welcome to the family."

     I looked around at them, before glancing at the short girl with red hair. She simply nodded and added.

     "The Delta Unit. 60-3729. Arranged by Khailen Caesar." I turned to look back at the girl with curly hair, and her smile remained as she waved a hand to the couch before her.

     "Have a seat. We have much to discuss."