Green scenery is often seen from behind the glass of a running car. It's not an electric train but a classic train with steam driving it. The sound of the rails with the train tires rubbing together caused a distinctive sound when the steam was removed from the dump. Sounds nice. It sounds like guns and bombs out there. One of the passengers sitting in the third row of the train chose to rest his head on the glass. His hand checked the CLR camera hanging around his neck. Images of peace sought by warring men. No one can stop the war between them unless they stop it themselves. When will they come to their senses to restore the world that was so peaceful before? The man was just a student. Yeah... he wrote several peace books. He started with 'Tomorrow' and 'The Better World' to his latest work,' Stupid War,' which has been withdrawn from circulation. The ugliness of the government and the rulers of war is written according to the facts there, considering how much he loves peace to throw his lectures in search of facts about yes—peace that he and the people of this world have always dreamed of. "That's bullshit. During the war, this gave an advantage to the trash of the world." Halbert Rafael Moonstone —Cambridge students who chose to take a break in the second year recalled the words of one of the lecturers.
He sighed, massaging his temples. "Is there really no way to achieve peace?" He murmured, enjoying the breeze blowing on his black hair. Again, he cursed. When will they see his books not as a student's argument but as a fact that must be considered? Isn't he much better than an anarchist student who can only demonstrate? He gives works and solutions in his works, not just empty, useless protests.
BIIP!
Halbert rummaged in his pocket and took out his smartphone from there.
From: Prof. Rustorf.
I think you should return and stay in Cambridge. Nobody there wants to hear from you, son. I know what the problem is.
Halbert smiled grimly. Yeah... he was planning to return but didn't want to give up. He felt that patience would soon help him find a better way to get the peace they wanted.
~G.0.D~
Loud thumping music sounds. A man with a beautiful face contorted his body on a stage with a pole in the middle. Long blond hair until it reaches the waist. Seductive red lips, an exotic-looking high nose, and beautiful blue eyeballs.
"She's the perfect woman," whispered some men, looking at her in amazement. His tall body adds to the extraordinary criteria; his long legs are wrapped in high heels, contrasting with his white skin.
Like an angel, he is too beautiful to describe. Too perfect. And wouldn't he be too dirty if hired as an entertainer in a nightclub in a city that can be said to be the largest entertainment city in the world?
He shook his hair and smiled for the last time as the music stopped. He waved his hand and walked gracefully to the back of the stage. "Good job! You are always perfect, Fint". The boss applauded him personally.
"Did I get more money this time?"
"It's been transferred to your account," said the boss.
Fint Rosvelt pulled firmly at his hair, making the blonde hair fall out of her head and replaced with slightly wavy black hair. He took off his dress and changed into a V-neck T-shirt and trousers, in the quick removal of makeup that perfectly covers his disguise as a comfort woman. He was wearing his blazer and sunglasses.
"Oh," he breathed. Tired of what he does every day. His fingers were playing on his iPad. Seeing one by one articles about World Wars, deaths here and there, such and such bombs that sometimes disgust him.
"Peace is still far from this World," the boss gives Fint a cup of coffee.
The beautiful man lifted his glasses. "What's wrong with hope, boss? It's more fun than dreaming and then waking up."
"Then what are your expectations? Isn't my dream of being rich and having a beautiful wife not too grandiose?"
Fint laughed disparagingly. "Then it'll disappear when you wake up, right? My hope, huh? I just want to tear down this fortress of the entertainment city where I was born. I want to see the outside world and not just live as a sleazy gigolo." Then Fint laughed after hearing laughed after hearing his joking.
"Believe me Fint, your work is nobler than those who sit and watch people die one by one from weapons of their own making."
"God bless me, it's your mean?"
"Yeah... of course."
"But I don't believe it, I dont believe the God."
~G.0.D~
The room was all white, with only a tiny window and bars covering it. A man hugged his knees, looking at the empty floor above his bed. He sang songs appropriate for his age.
London Bridge is falling down
Falling down, falling down
London Bridge is falling down
My fair lady
His sweet voice sounded. The eleven-year-old boy seemed to be enjoying his singing, with tears streaming down his cheeks, but a terrible Tingle was visible on his lips. It looks like three years in that mental institution never healed him.
"My dear, Noah..."
The little boy stopped singing, "Did mama and papa come to pick up Noah?" he asked. The nurse shook her head slowly, knowing full well that Noah sometimes forgot that his parents had died three years ago as a result of an army attack on his London residence.
Noah nodded, then went back to fiddling with the song on his iPod. Please repair the headset to his ear.
London Bridge is falling down
Falling down, falling down
London Bridge is falling down
My fair lady
He sings back. Holding a white paper in his hand. Scaramouche, he wrote. Scaramouche is coming to get me. Say Welcome to me.
But he never knew that he had caught a Lucifer.
~G.0.D~
A nine-year-old boy gently stroked a shaggy black Persian cat on his lap. The boy looked into the eyes of the silver-colored cat, impressed black. So flat and expressionless. He held his breath for a moment. "They're coming," he whispered so softly.
PRAAAANG!
"DAMN YOU! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!"
A woman's voice sounded higher. The sound of screams breaking my heart grew louder.
"I'LL GO IF I CAN CHANGE THE POSITION OF MY LAB!" replied The Man.
A slap sounded.
The boy sighed again. "Man... how long will you be with me?" the cat asked.
"Hmm.. it seems we also need something so you can talk," he continued.
"WHY DID YOU SLAP ME?" The woman's voice sounded muffled.
"LOWER YOUR VOICE BITCH! DEXMON can wake up."
"let him wake up, let him know how a bastard like you behaves."
"Meoow" seemed to understand the master's feelings. The little cat sniffed Dexmon's face but still looked down at the floor.
"I hate the commotion"
"Meoow... Meooww.."
"Hmm... you're right Timmy, we'll finish it later" The boy entered his father's abandoned laboratory. Turn on the advanced computer in the middle of the room. He then raised one eyebrow as the password appeared on the screen. He glanced at his cat for a moment. What should he fill it with? He giggled then, his genius brain working and searching for thousands of possibilities.
Shallow.. shallow... shallow...
The keyboard sounds audible, and sure enough. Dexmon found his father's password. He grinned later.
~G.0.D~
Once again, the teenager was crying inconsolably. Sob after sob escaped his lips. "Shoot right," one man shouted, prompting the teenager to pull the trigger of his rifle.
BAANG!
"Where Are You shooting, Fool!" another scream was heard, coupled with a lash on his body.
"My fingers hurt," the boy said.
"Shoot a hundred more times Spencer Rowan!"
"But, Dad…" Spencer tried to be pitiful with reddened eyes. His hand even felt trembling while he was holding the long-barreled weapon continuously.
"200 meters! You must be able to shoot a human's left eye from 200 meters away!"
BAAANG! BAAANG!
~G.0.D~
The sound of Mines hitting each other. Gunfights seem to be the Daily Devourment of teenagers hiding behind a large stone in the border camp. Some of them were crying and wanted to be returned. They are not elite troops. They are just prisoners of war who escaped from a war prison in the enemy army base.
"No one will help us," a teenager of short stature with an AK 47 in his hand peeked out from behind a bush. Aim for anyone if they get close. "There is still hope," a large teenager with another AK 47 rifle in his hands smiled tenderly.
"Ahh... when Will you stop raving about Pablo's hope?" said teenagers in the bushes. "Until I die or my wish comes true."
"Maybe you'll die soon."
Pablo shrugged his shoulders. Don't really want to care. He looked at several girls and boys younger than his age. They cried and hugged each other.
The boy from inside the Bush signaled that someone was approaching. The east wind blew his horn. It's the first time he's held a gun; maybe it's just a matter of luck. He had to protect the small family that formed in the prison cell of the prisoner of war. It was enough that he lost his family. Enough, he saw his father, mother, and sister killed when shot by soldiers—whether it was an enemy or a friend.
The wind blows, the branches ring, and the forest smells fresh. "Brother," a whisper came from one of the children. Pablo looked at the beautiful blue-eyed girl who had called him. "We're going to save Cristina," Pablo assured.
"They're an elite team."
"What?!" Pablo rounded his eyes as his friend inside the Bush told him. "What Battalion?"
"Fist32, it seems."
The East is cursed. They really won't make it. That's an excellent Battalion.
BANG! BAANG! BAAANG!
Gunfire rained down. "Come out naughty children! I know you're there," a short-haired woman licked her lips.
"RUN! I'll cover here!" the teenager hiding in the bushes was shooting blindly.
"YOURE STUPID FERNANDO!" Pablo shouted to help his friend shoot their enemies one by one.
"ARGHH!"
"MARIAA!"
Squealing East.
BAAANG!
The daughter died.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
One by one, the family he had just woken up left. Shot and executed for it.
"No! No! FERNANDO!" Pablo focused the shot. He hit some people. Pretty good for someone who's never held a gun like that. BANG! The bullet missed Pablo's forehead, however. The eyes of the East are rounded. His family is the only one in the world. "FERNANDO!" he squealed.