A weary-looking middle-aged man occupied the chair behind a desk with an imposing mountain of documents stacked before him. Strands of white, stark against the raven black of his hair, betrayed his stress far more than his years alone should have allowed.
The Fourth World War was over.
This monumental victory, while a cause for global celebration, failed to light even the faintest spark of joy in Lark's eyes. As the commander of the Allied Forces, he knew best the sacrifices were needed to win the war.
Picking up a now cold cup of coffee Lark muttered.
"Give me back my youth…"
Knock Knock.
"Come in."
A moment later, a dignified young lady with shoulder length auburn hair walked into his office. She wore her uniform to the utmost perfection with numerous medals pinned to her vest. This was Lark's secretary appointed to him three years ago.
"Commander Lark, when will those documents be ready?"
Lark coughed awkwardly.
"Hopefully before my flight."
She gave him a deadpan stare.
He raised his hands in mock defense.
"Hey, cut me some slack! I've been working for over six hours already!"
There was no change on the young lady's stern face.
"Would it kill you to give me a hand?"
"These documents require your stamp of approval. I do not have the permission to assist you."
She stated as a matter of fact.
"Screw the rules. I'll take responsibility for any trouble you run into."
Lark smirked. Afterall who would come to find trouble with him? He was the highest ranked military officer in his country!
His secretary sighed.
"Understood. The press also contacted me requesting an interview when we dock. How should I respond?"
Lark waved his hand dismissively, the thought of facing the media filled him with dread.
"Decline their requests. I do not wish to entertain the press at the moment."
Then he added:
"Make sure to call a cab for me though. I don't want to sit in a crowd of overeager reporters for too long."
Lark halved a stack of documents passing it towards the end of his desk before gesturing at a nearby chair.
The young lady sat down and promptly began to scan through the papers.
Lark drummed his fingers softly while resting his cheek on his other hand.
It has been 15 years since the beginning of the war. Lark, drafted at the young age of 18 was now in his early thirties. It was the deadliest war in human history, casualties surpassing all three previous world wars combined.
Nuclear weapons were deployed early on in the beginning of the war before all nations swiftly banned the use of such deadly weapons to prevent human extinction. Warfare then shifted back to conventional means, although less catastrophic it forced the war to go on for 15 years.
Lark had climbed the ranks from the lowliest of soldiers to the imposing Commander he is now.
Quite alright for an orphan like himself.
Gone was the frail young boy he once was, replaced by a battle-hardened veteran.
'I wonder how the orphanage is doing now?' Lark wondered wistfully.
Was it still the same? Or maybe it no longer existed anymore. The old caretaker was the closest thing Lark had to a mother. Just recalling the memory brought a nostalgic smile to his face.
"Sir, are you even working? You haven't even touched your pile since I've started!"
An irked voice echoed across the desk snapping Lark out of his thoughts.
"I'm just thinking about what the fastest way to tackle this task is."
Lark's secretary raised her brow and stared at her superior officer suspiciously.
"Sure."
Lark ignored her.
***
3 hours later…
"Finally!"
The duo stretched their arms as they neatly stacked the pile of finished documents on the end of Lark's desk.
"How long until we dock?"
Lark stood up straightening his uniform.
"If we're on schedule, in an hour."
After straightening his slightly haggard appearance, Lark made his way out of his office, his secretary following closely behind.
The originally shiny steel floors were now dull, worn down from the frantic mobilization of soldiers. The purified air now had a tinge of metallic scent imbued into the aging infrastructure.
As Lark passes by, each soldier gives a respectful salute before moving along their way. Lark noticed they were walking at an unusually brisk pace. Then again, it was the end of the war. They must've been excited to see their families again.
"If you don't mind me asking, where are you heading sir?"
Lark glanced behind him.
"I'm going to be heading onto the flight deck. You don't need to feel obligated to follow me, you know."
"I know," she replied simply.
Although she didn't need to, she still followed Lark anyway.
After making their way up a flight of stairs they arrived upon the deck of the flagship Harmonie: An aircraft carrier of the United Federation of Liberty.
The emergence of the United Federation of Liberty (UFL) marked a significant turning point in the tumultuous aftermath of the third world war. This new sovereign entity spanned the vast lands of North America, including the remnants of the United States, Canada, and Mexico. The once dominant western powers found themselves grappling with the relentless rise of China, their main opposing force. Various events led to the unification of the three nations, however the fact was that this heralded a revival of western supremacy, a resurgence that solidified their sphere of influence for a solid two decades.
This newfound dominance acted as a catalyst for the eastern giants, particularly China and Russia, to embark on a path of unparalleled scientific pursuit. Recognizing their shortcomings in traditional metrics of power: financial prowess and geopolitical influence; these nations delved deep into the realm of genetic enhancement. The crux of their rationale lay in the quest for superior human specimens, individuals endowed not only with physical prowess, but with an elevated intellectual acumen.
The corridors of the research facilities echoed with the ambition to craft a populace of unparalleled brilliance; a genetic elite poised to outstrip their rivals in every domain.
Yet, the pursuit of this scientific frontier did not come without a cost. Human experiments were carried out en masse to acquire the largest gene pool possible. Human rights were bypassed with moral and ethical laws sidelined. Once this knowledge was leaked, the global population was horrified. Pandora's box had been flung open, fueled by the insatiable thirst for supremacy.
As the current world's dominant force, the United Federation of Liberty issued an ultimatum demanding the immediate cessation of the abhorrent experiments and the surrender of all research pertaining to human gene modification.
However, the response from the proponents of genetic enhancement was one of defiance. They viewed the UFL's demands as an effort to stunt their ambitions. Thus, the stage was set for a conflict of unimaginable magnitude, a clash of ideologies and ideals that would come to be known as the Fourth World War.
***
The sky was clear, the gentle rays of the sun illuminated the worn deck. All operations were currently halted, so aside from the few aircraft tied down, not a single soul was in sight.
Lark took a deep breath of the salty ocean air as a melancholic smile spread across his lips. It was a bittersweet moment, the weight of the war finally lifted from his shoulders, yet it was replaced with a different kind of emptiness.
It was truly over.
The once thundering roar of fighter jets had been replaced by an eerie silence. The deck, once bustling with activity, now lay still and quiet. The only sound was the gentle waves crashing against the hull of the ship.
Lark walked to the edge of the deck, his eyes scanning the horizon. For a moment, he allowed himself to simply stand there as his eyes grew misty.
His secretary stood beside him, her presence a silent comfort for him.
"We did it," she said softly, breaking the silence.
Lark nodded, his gaze still fixed on the horizon.
"Yes, we did."
"What are you planning to do after the war sir?"
Lark opened his mouth before closing it again.
"I'm not sure. Maybe I'll settle down and live out the rest of my life in peace."
His secretary gave him a surprised look.
"You don't plan on staying in the military?"
Most would expect someone of Lark's calibur and age to remain in the military for at least another few decades.
Lark shook his head.
"I've had enough of the battlefield to last me a lifetime. Maybe in another life I would consider it."
Normally the more a soldier is promoted, the less combat they see. They spend more time on the backlines planning out operations and keeping everything in order. Although it was the same for Lark as well, he still participated directly in operations whenever possible. That resulted in him possessing the highest amount of combat experience out of active troops.
But now, as the war drew to a close, Lark found himself yearning for something more. The endless cycle of killing and tragedy had taken its toll on him, leaving him with a haggardness that seemed to seep deep into his bones.
As the duo stood on the deck of Harmonie, Lark was longing for a life beyond the military. He had grown used to killing to the point where it no longer bothered him. It wasn't killing that he was against. On the battlefield there was no right or wrong. Just mindless killing under orders from your country.
As a soldier it was his job to protect his country. Yet in the process, everything that bound him to fight was simply lost in the war. So why was he fighting?
"It's selfish, isn't it?" Lark murmured, more to himself than to his secretary.
She shook her head softly, "It's not selfish to want peace, sir. After everything you've been through, you deserve some semblance of normalcy."
Lark couldn't bring himself to refute her impression of him.
An hour passed by swiftly as the ship began docking procedures. Lark watched the sea of reporters surrounding the dock waiting to write today's headline.
"You did remember to call a cab for me, right?" Lark tentatively asked, his eyes scanning the chaotic scene before him.
His secretary, ever efficient, pointed to the shiny vehicle hidden behind a crowd of eager reporters. "That should be your ride, sir. Do you want me to escort you?"
"You have family waiting for you. Go see them."
"But–"
Lark cut her off his voice firm, "I'll be fine. I'll see you again before I resign."
There was a brief moment of hesitation in her eyes before she nodded.
Quickly leaving the flight deck, the two returned to his office packing their belongings. His secretary gave him another nod before stepping out leaving Lark alone.
With a deep breath Lark muttered to himself, "I suppose it's time I leave as well."
As he made his way towards the exit, the ship seemed to come alive with activity. Soldiers moved purposefully, their faces a mix of exhaustion and excitement. Lark couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia each time he passed by a familiar face.
Finally reaching the gangway, Lark emerged onto the dock, the blinding lights and clamor of the reports hitting him full force. Microphones were thrust towards him, questions shouted over one another, but Lark remained silent, his expressions stoic as he pushed his way through the crowd.
"That's Commander Lark! Commander, can we get a statement?"
"Commander, how does it feel to finally end the war?"
Ignoring the persistent press, Lark took one last deep look at the ship he had once called home before finally settling into the backseat of the cab.
The driver glanced at Lark through the rearview mirror and asked, "Where to?"
"Miami International Airport."
The engine roared to life as the cab began its journey. Lark gazed out the window watching the endless rows of palm trees that lined the roadside. The sky overhead was a flawless canvas of azure, devoid of any traces of clouds. The streets were pristine, as if untouched by the turmoil of war.
The ride was quiet, the hum of the engine a soothing backdrop to Lark's thoughts.
Around an hour later, the cab pulled up to the terminal as Lark began to reach for his bags preparing to leave.
"Here we are sir," the driver said, pulling to a stop.
Lark paid the fare, as he bid his driver farewell.
After entering the airport, the normal procedures would be to check-in and go through security. However, as a military personnel Lark was able to bypass the long wait of standing in line through a separate line.
Lark's flight today was back to an apartment he bought in the state of Texas, his fourth year serving. It wasn't much of a home, rather simply a place to stay the night.
After finishing the security check-in, Lark soon arrived in front of his flight's gate. People were already forming a line preparing to board the plane. Once again, there was a separate line for military personnel that he conveniently took advantage of.
"Have a safe flight sir thank you for serving our country." The attendant gave Lark a slight bow as she spoke her long prepared lines.
Giving her a simple nod in response, Lark boarded the plane taking his assigned seat.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to direct your attention to the television monitors. We will be showing our safety demonstration and would like the next few minutes of your complete attention."
Yawning, Lark reclined his seat, closing his eyes.
***
The plane's cabin was filled with the hum of the plane's engines, yet the relentless sounds of gunshots, distant explosions, and disorganized voices shouting over one another echoed in the back of Lark's head. The deepest memories of the war began to resurface as Lark's face twitched in reflex.
"Lark, I'll cover our retreat. Forget about the operation, it's too far gone now."
Lark stared at the man in front of him. He was only a few years older than himself, but his expression seemed to show a sense of reliability that everything would turn out okay. They were currently on the coastline of Hawaii on an operation to reclaim the state.
The operation was a cruel joke. Intel originally led the allied forces to believe the bulk of the Chinese fleet was preparing for a European assault, however China had somehow managed to intercept communications of an operation to siege Hawaii, an unexpected complication which led to the current situation.
"What about you! You can't seriously think you are enough to stall the Chinese! I'll stay back with you!"
Lark wanted to close his eyes. He has seen this flashback enough times to know it was a dream.
The older soldier's hand was trembling slightly, a detail Lark failed to notice before.
'So even you were scared huh Edward.' Lark cursed at himself for failing to realize sooner.
Edward gave a small smile.
"Let your best friend at least act cool before he goes out."
Lark couldn't speak. He reached out his hand only for his body to reject his action. It was merely a dream.
Edward placed his hand on Lark's shoulder.
"You are the best soldier out of the rest of us. Stay alive Lark. As long as you do, at least someone will remember our names."
Lark stared at his best friend again through his past self's eyes.
'In the end you were pretty cool.' he thought bitterly.
The scene shifted, and for a moment, the world seemed incongruously beautiful. The sun, unimpeded by clouds, cast its bright rays upon the battlefield, highlighting pools of blood and fallen soldiers, a stark contrast against the once-pristine landscape of Poland's borders.
Lark found himself on the unforgiving eastern front of the European continent, where drone swarms rendered tanks nearly obsolete in the open fields. Soldiers, stripped of their armored vehicles, charged forward on foot, armed with feeble weapons against the onslaught of Russian defenses.
"We have to retreat! Where's the air support for fuck's sake! I thought they were supposed to cripple the enemy artillery before our assault!" A blond soldier's voice cut through the chaos, his frustration evident.
"Charlie, I've just got notice from command. Enemy air defense is too tight. We need to siege their defense lines and cripple their artillery alone."
Charlie stared at Lark blankly.
"Do they expect us to kill ourselves?" he hissed.
Lark could only shrug helplessly.
"It's our own fault for having a good track record. They expect us to do the impossible now."
"Damn straight," Charlie muttered, a savage grin slowly forming on his face, "What's the plan now, captain?"
"Don't die."
"Good idea," Charlie chuckled dryly.
And so they ran. They ran as if their lives depended on it, which, in this hellish landscape, they did. Their boots pounded against the blood-soaked earth, the stench of death and smoke filling their nostrils. Around them, fellow soldiers fell, their screams merging with the roar of artillery fire.
"Keep running! We're almost in the woods now!" Lark wheezed tiredly.
"Right behind you!"
What was mere minutes seemed to last for hours. Finally Lark made it out of immediate artillery fire.
"Charlie, we made it! Now all we need to do is flank the Russian forces!"
There was no response from his friend amidst the chaos around him. Growing increasingly worried, Lark called out again, the sound of his voice covered by the explosions and gunfire.
"Charlie, where are you!"
Silence greeted him, a chilling realization creeping up.
"Charlie!" Lark's voice cracked, raw with emotion.
Lark stood still as he watched his body move.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips, "How could I forget. I'm dreaming again."
The scene shifted once more, this time not to the chaos of the battlefield, but back to the familiar confines of Lark's office aboard the Harmonie. The worn-down metal walls, the torn couch in the corner, and the occasional flicker of the ceiling lights created a sense of weary familiarity. The scent of alcohol wafted through the air, emanating from a freshly opened beer drifting towards Lark as he sat behind his desk.
"Leo, you're drinking again? What did I say about drinking on the job?"
Lark's voice held a hint of exasperation.
Leo, lounging lazily on the worn couch, revealed a mischievous grin. "What's wrong with de-stressing, Lark? You know we won't last if we can't have even a little bit of fun."
Lark shook his head, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his lips despite himself. Leo was always the one to inject a bit of levity into their somber atmosphere. Slightly younger than Lark, with short, messy chestnut-colored hair and a rumpled uniform that reflected his easygoing attitude, Leo was a constant source of both amusement and sometimes frustration.
"Reyna, stop him," Lark called out to the athletic-looking lady with fiery hair who stood nearby.
Immediately she landed a kick onto Leo's skin with practiced precision.
"Reyna, you bitch! You didn't need to kick me that hard!" Leo yelped as he began to rub the spot Reyna kicked.
Reyna raised a brow unimpressed by Leo's theatrics.
"Maybe next time you'll think twice before drinking on duty," she chided, her voice carrying a note of sterness softened by a hint of amusement.
Leo grumbled something unintelligible under his breath, shooting a mock glare at Reyna before settling back into the couch with a dramatic sigh.
Lark couldn't help but chuckle at the familiar banter, a warm feeling settling in his chest.
"Hey Lark, after the war we should buy a house for all of us to live in!" Leo groaned, his voice muffled as he was suddenly caught in a swift leglock by Reyna.
"That's a good idea coming from you Leo!" Reyna grunted as she tightened her hold, Leo's protests turning into a mix of laughter and desperate gasps for air.
Lark watched Leo's expression shift from playful resistance to a genuine struggle to escape.
"I give, I give!" Leo yelped, his hand tapping out against Reyna's leg as he surrendered to her superior technique.
She quickly released him with a playful grin as Leo collapsed panting in exhaustion.
In the next moment, Lark was alone. His office was quiet and desolate as if it was deprived of its life.
'What happened to buying a house together after the war? What am I supposed to do, all alone now.'
Lark jolted awake, the sudden transition from dream to reality disorientating. The cabin lights were dim with passengers cramming the aircraft full to the brim. Most of the windows were closed creating a dark atmosphere.
Nightmares.
Nearly every time Lark closed his eyes to get some rest, memories of the war would replay itself repeatedly like a broken record.
If there was a higher being out there, it really was quite tasteless of them to torment him like this.
Lark gestured towards the flight attendant closest to him.
"Excuse me, may I have a bottle of water?"
"Yes, of course. Wait just a moment."
After receiving the bottle of water, Lark quickly opened it gulping down the cool liquid.
'Much better.'
He slid open the window panel partially, the faint light of dawn filtering through the gap before he quickly closed it again. Lark glanced around the cabin, the dimness punctuated by the soft glow of reading lights above the heads of several sleeping passengers. A few flight attendants moved gracefully through the aisles, their faces calm as they passed out snacks and drinks. Everything appeared normal, the hum of the engines a steady background noise.
But then, without warning, the world exploded into chaos.
Boom.
A deafening explosion ripped through the air, the plane shuddering violently beneath them as it began to tilt to the right.
'What the hell is going on!'
Instantly, the cabin was alive with screams of fear and confusion. Passengers were jolted awake from their sleep, their panicked voices mingling with the shrill sound of alarms.
Lark's mind was racing as he removed his seatbelt to better assess the situation. He stood up, bracing himself against the tilting of the plane, his eyes scanning down the entirety of the aisle looking for holes. Bodies shifted and tumbled in the chaos, but after a few moments, Lark confirmed there was no hole on the main body of the plane. This meant the explosion had taken place outside much to his relief.
'I must be crazy to be relieved at an explosion,' Lark grimaced.
The plane continued to shake and shudder, but it didn't completely lose control. The fact that it was still flying, albeit erratically, led Lark to believe that only an engine had blown out rather than the entire wing.
Could this simply be an unfortunate accident?
Boom.
Another explosion erupted, this time the plane tilted to the left. If this really was a mechanical error Lark would be damned. But deep down, he knew this felt different. It was deliberate, calculated.
'I'm gonna die.'
The plane continued to sway and lurch, its movements growing more violent with each passing second. Lark felt his heart lurch in his chest as the aircraft continuously lost altitude.
'I have to do something.'
Lark glanced towards the front of the plane eyeing down the doors to the cockpit of the plane.
'If I could somehow get my hands on the controls, could I stabilize the plane?'
But then doubt crept in. The pilots should have already known what to do in this situation, yet there had been no sign of action from the cockpit. A cold realization settled over him like a dark cloud.
Lark attempted to step into the aisle to make his way up to the front of the plane yet at that moment he felt a hand on his shoulder pushing him back into his seat.
'Who?!'
Lark reacted instantly, but his aggressor reacted even quicker. Lark froze as he felt something cold and metallic press against the back of his head.
"Commander Lark, I presume?" The voice was cold and emotionless, sending a chill down Lark's spine. This confirmed his earlier suspicions.
Lark's voice was cold as he slowly closed his eyes.
"Who sent you?"
"Who do you think?"
At this moment Lark already knew there was no getting out of this. He had been cornered. The hand holding the barrel to his head was steady, signifying someone extremely well trained. The second Lark moves, his aggressor will pull the trigger. Part of him felt proud at how much preparation that went into the goal of killing him.
"Those greedy bastards sitting at the top of this country I presume?" Lark's voice was laced with an obvious sarcasm.
"So, you were aware."
'After all I've done for this country, this is what I get paid in return? Laughable.'
The faceless voice continued, "You are a threat. The war has taken its toll on the people, as they've grown weary. The people have lost their support for their leaders. They would rather place their support with a young and popular commander who returned home victoriously."
Lark remained silent.
Victory, if it could be called that, did not come without a cost. The aftermath of the war was a harsh reality. Fresh goods were rationed, the shelves of stores empty as the majority of supplies were shipped to the frontlines to sustain morale. Families were torn apart, with no idea whether a loved one was safe. Several major cities on the mainland lay in ruins, their once bustling streets now silent and empty. The process of rebuilding and salvaging what remained was a colossal task that would take years, if not decades, to complete. Inflation was at an all time high, where it was difficult for the ordinary citizen to get by.
The people had long reached their breaking point. Their leaders, once held in high regard were now viewed with suspicion and fear. Their original promises of a better future all turned out to be hollow promises.
'Then again, I no longer had anything to live for. Maybe going out like this isn't so bad.' Lark let out a heavy sigh. He then thought about what he told his secretary.
'I guess that really was the last time we got to talk.'
"My apologies sir. I had no choice."
A gunshot rang out.
Commander Lark, hero of the Fourth World War, dead.