Commander Day sat at the head of the long wooden meeting table. Dozens of lightbulbs hung overhead, casting shadows at odd angles despite lighting the room well.
"It appears the gunfire, explosions and sounds of an opposing force were all audio illusions created by Sergeant Michael Ward. Although he is yet to say a single word, we believe he worked with the civilian teenage girl Diana to free a prisoner - specifically Nathaniel Marshall Torres who claimed to be a member of the FBI. He also appears to be an ability user as he was able to make myself physically incapable of firing my pistol after saying 'Mark of Judgement'." explained Officer Atkinson, also sitting at the meeting table. In total a dozen officers sat in chairs around the meeting table which was covered in local maps and reports.
"Do we have any information regarding any other abilities he may have?" asked Commander Day, drumming his fingers rhythmically on the wooden table.
"No, Sir," answered Officer Atkinson "however given that the name and activation phrase of the ability we have seen is 'Mark of Judgement', it is likely that his patron is associated with judgement or justice. Although this is difficult to confirm."
"Richards, send two patrols after them. If they do not find Nathaniel, send them to work on the wall for a week."
One of the officers at the table with a neatly trimmed blonde beard and equally blonde hair nodded before leaving the room to follow his orders.
"Now," began Commander Day as he drummed his fingers faster against the table, "what is the status on the Birmingham Wall?"
"Construction is unfortunately behind schedule, Sir." answered Officer Day, "given the communication difficulties between other divisions and the requirement of manual transportation of materials, progress has been slower than anticipated. Additionally, many volunteers are working inefficiently or not at all. Many are expressing distaste to only being supplied food and water if they work. Several have attempted to leave but none have managed to escape the guards yet. Civilian morale is low, Sir, they say we've enslaved them."
Commander Day stopped drumming his fingers, leaning forward in his chair and saying "Do you think we're enslaving people, Officer Atkinson?"
"No, Sir. That is just what some civilians are saying. They are a minority at best, nothing to be too concerned about despite the overall low morale" replied Officer Atkinson in a quieter voice.
"Have you explained to this 'minority' that the Birmingham Wall Volunteer Initiative is only temporary? That we have limited supplies and thus non-participants will not be offered any resources? Everyone must do their part for Great Britain to survive. If they were true Britons they would work without complaint. And if they are not British, they are enemies of the state. Do you understand what I am saying, Officer Mary Atkinson?" said Commander Day before leaning back in his chair which creaked in protest.
"I am not quite sure Sir. That is a little unclear. " half-mumbled Officer Atkinson. [Surely Commander Day does not want us to kill civilians, that would be-]
"It would be efficient. If they are not working or are protesting, they are dead weight. Counterproductive. If one's hand gets infected with poison, you cut it off to survive. If you do not cut it off, the poison will spread to your brain and heart. The poison will kill you." began Commander Day before continuing, "Desperate times require desperate measures, Officer Atkinson. If you do not possess the loyalty or tenacity to control the civilians, then you too are dead weight. Kill the protestors. Do so publicly, make it painful and let it set an example. Is that clear, soldier?"
Officer Atkinson nodded, hands shaking underneath the table.
"It is Yes Sir, not a silent nod." reprimanded Commander Day.
"Yes Sir." echoed Officer Atkinson, looking down at her trembling hands.
"Yes Sir what?" asked Commander Day, frowning.
"Yes Sir, I understand my orders." began Officer Atkinson, swallowing heavily before continuing, "And will execute them to the best of my ability."
"Excellent." praised Commander Day as he slowly stood up, "Meeting dismissed."
Immediately all the officers stood up however none of them left the room. They waited until Commander Day had walked out before filing out in order of rank and heading to their assigned tasks. Officer Atkinson walked away with hands in her pockets.
Commander Day silently marched deeper into the 110th Division's compound. He took a crisp alabaster-white packet of cigarettes out of his pocket and lit one. Several soldiers stopped to salute the officer as he walked by them. Finally, after several minutes he had arrived at the interrogation room.
Like most rooms and sections of the compound, it was temporary in design. The room itself was really a repurposed shipping container. [Still extremely effective], thought Commander Day as he gave a small nod to a guard stationed outside the room. The guard nodded back and fished a pair of keys from his jacket. Inserting the key into the padlock that sealed the shipping container shut, the soldier opened the interrogation room's heavy steel door.
It was extremely dark inside the container. It was also exceedingly minimalist, furnished with only a plastic folding chair against the back wall. In the chair sat a shell of a man. Shirtless, his torso was covered in bruises that indicated broken ribs. Several sections of skin had been sliced off his limbs that had been cauterised to stop any bleeding. Fingers jutted out at odd angles - all broken and useless. The man looked up towards Commander Day slowly, eyes bloodshot and hands trembling.
"Hello Sergeant Michael Ward." said Commander Day softly as he stepped into the shipping container, a small stream of smoke billowing from the cigarette between his fingers.
Michael dropped his head down, letting his body slump forward in the chair.
"Now, now," reprimanded between hits of his cigarette Commander Day, his voice echoing throughout the room, "that is no way to greet your superior."
Michael mumbled something inaudible beneath his breath, refusing to lift his head to look at his commander.
"Pardon me, Michael?" asked Commander Day, "Speak up soldier, I am an old man and my hearing has slowly betrayed me throughout the years. Not too dissimilar to how you have betrayed me today."
"Fuck you" spat Michael, grimacing as he attempted a defiant sneering smile.
"That is very disappointing, Sergeant Ward." began Commander Day as he leant forward to meet Michael's eye level, "very disappointing indeed. You were a good soldier. Not a great soldier. There are very few great soldiers and Gods forbid one ever being under my command. Why did you do it, Michael? Do you not understand that if we do not finish construction there will be no safe havens for civilians? Do you not understand this is survival - do or die? Do you not understand that all of this is for the greater good of Britain and her people?"
"You're a monster." croaked Michael in reply, goosebumps forming on his neck.
"Maybe," started Commander Day, "Maybe I am a monster. Perhaps I am also a psychopath. However, that does not matter, does it? I am your commander and you should follow orders until you breathe your last. I am your commander because I get things done and sometimes that can require what many could consider as immoral acts. I simply do not care, Michael. I have my own superiors and am following my own orders. Until you can come to realise that what we are doing here will help save us all, I am afraid I will be forced to keep you locked in the dark."
Several seconds passed as Commander Day waited for a response. However Michael simply sat in silence, not even making eye contact with his captor.
"Suite yourself," sighed Commander Day, standing up straight. Walking out of the dark shipping container he called out, "I'll break you eventually," a second before the heavy steel doors closed shut.
"No," whispered Michael, "no you won't."