2.06 - Good Morning
“Is he breathing”
“Yeah but not much”
“You think he’ll make it”
“I don’t know, he’s strong”
“Oh shit they’re kids.”
“We shot some kids.”
“They’re just kids.”
“Efrem, come on, the coast is clear”
“Nah, I need to check on this.”
“You find something”
“...not a damn thing.”
“We have to return fire”
“Do whatever, just keep running.”
“Seargeant”
“Sorry about that, but I told you, I wasn’t going to let you die.”
“Seargeant”
“Hey, how about you take your arm as a souvenir? They might be able to put it back if we’re fast enough.”
“That’s not my arm.”
“Sure, it is, it looks a lot like mine, but it’s yours. Humans are funny that way.”
“Captain, sit down.”
“Oh shit, that is my arm.”
Last night, I dreamed of Xioshaa. Time and time again, I replayed the mission over and over again. Stealthy infiltration, but they saw us coming. They set traps and prepared ambushes. Psionic abilities, poison and hallucinogenics were all part of their plan. When we finally were able to meet them in combat, I shot a kid. They were all child soldiers and that was never something I expected. I saw one of the bodies, I didn’t tell my team. I didn’t want them to carry the burden with me. Only for me to get blown up because some psionic teenager changed the trajectory of a grenade in the air.
I went through weeks of rehabilitation learning to use my prosthetic and trying to get it to sync to my brainwaves. All while I had my first sit downs with a therapist helping me to cope. At least I thought the goal was to help me overcome the PTSD of killing a child and getting my arm blown off. In reality, they were just trying to make sure I could go out there and be the same tool for killing that I was before.
I’m contemplating taking down a casino and dreams of a battle that actually is mine are keeping me awake at night. Martin might be right, but I have to do something. Maybe I can use one to help the other. I’m not sure, but I can try. I grab a dusty glass from the cabinet and give it a rinse in the sink before filling it with tap water and drinking. I know what I have to do now, and I can’t keep putting it off any more. Scrolling through the contacts in my wrist comp, I come across the person I was looking for. A deep breath and I make the call. It doesn’t ring long before a familiar face appears on my screen. I project the image on the wall so we’re looking face to face.
“The prodigal son returns. We must celebrate and be glad,” he begins. “This brother of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”
“I can’t say I’m as glad to see you,” I respond.
“But you need something, and I’m the only one who can give it to you.”
“You’re right.”
“You know what you have to do?”
“Come back, probably spend a little time in jail.”
“Well yes, but we’ve also got a job that still needs to be done. I just need to make sure you’re still enough of a man to take it on.”
“I need something from you too.”
He laughs, “you’re not in a position to bargain.”
“I’m going to do it anyway.”
“Insubordinate as ever.”
“There’s a casino. They sell drugs, offer prostitution and every other vice you can think of. It was funded by drug money and the police are paid off to look the other way.”
“And you want me to come shut it all down.”
“Yeah.”
“I knew you lost your arm, I didn’t know you lost your balls too.”
“What?”
“You lost your balls. It must have been when you were running away from your sworn duty.”
“If you can’t help me, I can’t help you.”
“You think I care? You think I can’t storm that pissant ranch you’re on right now? You think I couldn’t get you whenever I wanted?”
“I think you would have come to get me by now if you really could.”
“How about you prove to me you’re still a man of action and handle the casino yourself, and I’ll come get you when I’m ready.”
I bite my tongue for a moment before adjusting my feet squarely on the ground, “you’re still a piece of trash unfit to wear that uniform.”
“Yet you ran from it the moment things got hard.”
“I didn’t run from it, I ran towards something better.”
“Are you sure,” he mocks me. “Because things seem to have gotten a little hard for you and you’re running right back to my team. Let me put you under my wing again to protect you baby bird.”
“Who said anything about me joining your team?”
“Then we’ve got nothing to talk about,” the call ends without another word.
I pick up the glass of water and stop just short of flinging it against the wall as a few drops of water hit the floor. My morning alarm sounds from my wrist comp, letting me know it’s time to begin my day. A sleepless night into a day fueled by rage. What more could a man ask for?
