A little over two weeks later, precisely fifteen days after the official training started, the students had been going from one training to another. From regular, early-morning exercise and breathing drills in the morning, to late morning history classes that they took place alongside their breakfast.
That morning, along with their breakfast, they were being taught about a revolutionary group known only as 'The Saints'.
"The Saints are a relatively small group of terrorists who call themselves Revolutionaries." Officer Bridgestone started. His scowling face showed his unfriendliness to the group. "Their agenda, as frequently said by them, is to make the whole world worship their god.
"They preach of Peace and Love and Unity. They preach of a paradise and a beautiful world where there is no pain or sickness or war or strife."
Officer Bridgestone sneered.
"But that is a lie. A blatant, irritating lie. They rape, pillage, kidnap and kill indiscriminately. That small, stupid group of demented people cause more destruction and fear in our country than any war with any of the countries has ever managed to. They claim that they are bringers of peace but are the harbingers of strife.
"And you want to know what makes them even worse. They would, after each disgusting operation, they would still have the guts to claim that there has to be war for there to be peace. And that for as long as the world refuses to accept their god, they will continue to be the horrible people that they are. Instead of simply agreeing that they are psychos, they choose to return the blame to some inexistent supernatural being. F*cking Hypocrites!" He spat and angrily paced up and down the temporary, makeshift podium while cursing under his breath. He paced to and fro for a while, engrossed in his thoughts and curses, before recollecting himself and returning to the middle of the podium.
The students stole glances at one another and a few whispered among themselves. What Officer Bridgestone just did was so uncharacteristic of him. Not to mention, very unprofessional.
Officer Bridgestone blazed at them as he spoke his next words.
"Those bastards are all horrible people. Adults and children. The poor kids are brainwashed from birth to believe the bullsh*t of the adults. They are all just f*cked up upstairs."
The Officer suddenly grinned. A sinister, devilish, toothy grin that spoke of great mischief, suddenly appeared on his face, shocking and scaring many. He continued speaking.
"That is why, the governments of each country, from A to F, have collectively set out an international bounty for the heads of the leaders that they have come to identify over the years.
"I have taken great pains to send these pictures to each of your rooms. You will look at each face and memorize them all. They have been tagged as international threats and are to be killed on sight. It does not matter where you find them, on the streets, in the market, on the internet, place of worship, it doesn't matter where you find them, with whom you find them or what you find them doing. If you see them, you must do everything in your power to kill them. As long as there is no more than five innocent casualties, you are in the safe. Do you understand?"
There was absolutely no response. Five innocent casualties? Did that not mean five whole uninvolved lives? So, carelessly killing people in the name of catching one criminal was allowed? It did not sit well with them.
Immediately, the near-sacred perception of the military that had been slowly budding in them, began to change in most of their minds.
Officer Bridgestone's eyes blazed like fire. The lack of response was more than displeasing. He growled in a voice so loud that it shook the large cafeteria, picking his words one at a time,
"I… said, do… you… understand?"
It scared their judgmental thoughts out of their mind.
"Yes, Sir!" They responded instinctively. All except Wood.
Wood remained adamant. There was a lot going through his mind at that point in time.
He felt more disturbed than the rest. He recollected an event from his childhood that had hurt him for years and even though time eventually healed it, had left him scarred for life.
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"I am the great Mount! Son of Freemont, grandson of Treemount!" A thin, young boy of about six years, who was quite tall for his age, said with a serious look on his face. He held a pointy wooden stick and pointed it at a beautiful, older woman who must have been in her mid-thirties.
The woman was laughing her heart out. What the hell was a Treemount?
The boy grunted.
"Mom!" HE called, his cute face frowning. He looked hurt.
"I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" She apologized. "It's just…. Why is the grandfather's name Treemount?"
"Mom!" The six year old called again.
"Okay. Fine. I've laughed enough. I'll be serious this time, okay?"
"Promise?"
"Promise!"
"I am the great Mont…"
"Wait! Hold on! I know I promised to be serious and I promise I am, but since we are in the woods, why don't you call yourself, um… Let's use a name that has 'wood' in it. Is that okay?"
"Hmmm…" The boy thought about it for barely two seconds. "Okay. I will be Greenwood."'
"Sounds lovely." His mother beamed.
He beamed back at her, showing his two missing upper incisors.
"I will start again. I am the great Greenwood…."
Crack!
The sound of a twig cracking sounded about a quarter of a kilometer away from them.
They both looked in the direction of the sound. The boy whose alias was 'the great Greenwood' looked up at his mother's face. She was beaming at him again.
"Looks like we will be having some freshly cooked meat for dinner. I hope it's a Bear this time." She said, rubbing her palms together like a housefly.
"But mom! We have not even started." The boy said, not willing to end the role play early.
"I know! I know! We will finish it tomorrow, I promise. Let's just get this meat first, okay?"
The little boy looked at her, searching her face for any signs of falsehood for a little while before nodding his head.
"That's my good boy! Do you want to come with?"
"Yes!" The six-year-old answered enthusiastically.
Together, hand in hand, they walked in the direction of the crack sound.
"It's a man-bear!" The boy gasped. He had never seen a human-like bear.
"That's not a bear." His mother corrected him with a smile on her face. The smile did not reach her eyes. She worriedly watched the struggling man trapped in the hole with thorns covering every inch of his body. He was bleeding profusely.
It worried her to think that her little trap had caused him all those injuries.
"He is so bloody. Will he die?" It was her son's question that finally pushed her to action. With a sense of urgency, she stabbed a wooden stake into the ground, tied a rope around it at one end and tied the other end around her waist.
Then, she went down the hole through a path she had created for herself when she dug the hole.
She got down to the bottom of the hole at an impressive speed. She loosened the rope around her waist and tied the barely conscious man with it. She then bound him to herself and deftly climbed back up. Like a monkey up a tree.
The little boy was wowed. He shrieked excitedly and clapped his hands gleefully.
His mom quickly got him off her back and laid him on the dried, fallen leaves that covered a section of the bare ground.
She winced a little as she looked the unfortunate man over. Those thorns were like little needles of great strength and considerable length. They were the kinds that were hard to break and would penetrate one's skin very easily. After all, she had dared to use the thorns in a trap meant for powerful beasts like bears.
As she pulled out the first thorn from the man's face, another man who was dressed all in black clothing, from the warmer on his head to his shoes, ran out from within the trees, to the clearing.
At the same instant the newcomer arrived, the barely conscious man on the ground sprang to his feet, grabbed the woman by her neck from behind and positioned her to be between him and the man who was dressed all in black.
The six year old was confused. Was this now a hostage situation? He looked at his mother's face for confirmation. She caught his eyes and signalled to him with her eyes, to hide behind the trees.
The little boy did not obey immediately. He first stood still and studied her face for a few seconds. Her face was calm. She looked totally unworried.
Okay. Maybe it's not a big deal and there's no reason for him to get involved. He turned around and went to hide behind the trunk of a large, old tree with bare branches.
"Let her go, Edmund!" The man in black said, taking three steps forward.
"Let me go, you bastard!" The bloody man said, taking three steps backwards. His finger was pointed in his hostage's right ear.
The man in black stared at them quietly for a while. He then responded,
"No!"
"I will kill her!" The bloody man yelled.
The man in black did not say another word.
Abruptly, without a single change in his bland, robot-like facial expression, the man who was fully clad in black, raised his hands and swiped down diagonally, in opposite directions. A visible 'x' flew straight towards the bloody man and the woman he held hostage.
Ruthlessly and at a speed faster than the human eye could follow, the blade-like 'x' went right through them. Both of them. And then dissipated into thin air.
Two seconds later.
Spla-la-la-lat!
Eight equal sections derived from two human bodies dropped on the ground.
The six year-old's eyes widened.
"Mummy!" He screamed and ran towards the part of the mess of body sections that held his mom's face. Even up till her death, she remained calm.
The poor six year old boy, sat down on the bloody, messed-up ground and held his mother's head up, putting it on his lap.
He cried. Tears rolled down his face like waterfalls.
"Mummy! Mummy! Mummy, please wake up. Mummy, you can't die now. You are stronger than the Mont, mummy. Please open your eyes. Mummy, look at me, please. Mummy, you promised we will finish our cosplay. Mummy, you are not a liar, are you?"
The man in black stood still, watching the boy he had just orphaned.
"Mummy, please don't leave me!"
The six-year-old cried for a long time. The sun set and rose to meet him mourning the death of his beautiful mother.
As for the man who had caused the death of two people and the motherlessness of one, he was long gone. His job was done. The crying boy's life had nothing to do with him and as for his split mother, too bad for her. She was merely collateral damage.
"She should blame herself for being at the wrong place at the wrong time."
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