KZ's and Dragoln's Short Stories [2022 EDITION]

One Step Ahead

19.10.22

He wanted her job and it would be easy enough to discredit her.

But there was a problem.

Other people were also competing for her spot by playing the same dirty tricks the man was thinking of executing on her; she was already on the verge of getting fired. That meant he was on a battlefield, brawling for the position, neither an asset nor liability to the squad. If he was to simply report a false slip-up and get her out of the picture, there was only a slim chance that he'd be promoted.

So he had a plan.

At noon, all the patrolmen in the orange sector would be called for break time, the red taking over. The general would present a pitch about how their shift went if anyone was slacking off, late or absent. Worst of all, if anyone was talking to or engaging with a prisoner out of turn, they'd receive a terrible punishment that no one knew of. Not until they experienced it themselves.

It was going to be difficult. After all, a patrolman, especially a representative general, with two strikes would most likely be on edge by now - one more and they'd be dead. Literally. The man regretted taking that dumb oath of loyalty to the king. He didn't feel like dying due to minor disobedience.

He slapped the bottom of his rifle and the sound replicated, a hundred or so men and women doing it along with him. The loud crackle set on routine commences the end of the orange sector's shift. Patrolmen scatter from their organized lines and shove their way through the throng, trying to earn a few extra minutes of break. 

The man was less experienced, meaning he was one of the last to leave out of the seasoned professionals. But that didn't matter. All he had to do was wait. Patience would soon gift him one of the highest positions.

Taking a turn down the cavernous network of the underground prison, he removed his mask with much relief. At last, he could let the looming adrenaline in his vessels rest a little. No more hearing the cries of the prisoners. No more being screamed at by higher-ranked patrolmen. As optimism flushed through his body, he picked up his walking pace. 

Finally, he reached the stretch of the safe zone. Hundreds of people were littered around, the majority occupying rickety benches and chairs battered with age. Some were too late and had no choice but to sit on the floors.

All attention was drawn to the pedestal where the target stood. The man realized that he had never seen her face before. For some reason, her mask would remain on and she'd never unveil herself, even during breaks or when someone else asked her to. Pushing this back into the recesses of his mind, he shook his focus into the sabotaged pitch that she was about to give to the king.

Here it was.

The patrolman was smirking now, stationing himself by the entrance of the safe zone to avoid as much second-hand embarrassment as possible.

A massive hologram blipped in front of the unsuspecting general. Everyone swivelled to face the image of the king.

"General I. Reports for today, please. Make sure you were not afraid to call out anyone over there." His voice was gruff even after clearing his throat. Frequent glitches occurred in the hologram and it wavered in mid-air.

The general presented a piece of paper. A replica of the real pitch.

After briefly scanning the paper, she made a virtual copy of it and sent it off to the figure of authority. 

She didn't notice.

So when the king was done skim-reading every detail, he shook his head in abrupt fury and closed the hologram which left everyone else to carry on with their usual business. That was until the speakers boomed, calling out the name of the man to meet with the ruler due to 'confidential' circumstances.

This is it.

It had taken months and endless planning just to get where he was now.

He could picture it at that moment. General of the orange sector and one of the highest-ranking members of the patrolman hierarchy. The entire prison would be under his command and he'd no longer have to fear anyone or anything.

Except for losing his job. That was kind of ironic.

—-

Luxury was the only thing allowed in the office. Wealth spindled like jungle vines all over the room.

Met with the stern face of the nation and the orange sector's masked general, the man gave a bow and listened attentively to what the king had to say.

Instead, the rich yet sweet voice spoke. 

"You did it," the general plainly announced, and the young patrolman blinked in confusion. Her tone was unchanged. Perhaps she didn't want to appear like a wimp in front of this rookie. Was this how they promoted people? Was this how they appointed new generals?

Silence reigned for a moment or two before the woman. reached up to her mask to uncover her face, beauty woven into her honey eyes and golden hair.

Disbelief squirms its way into the man's eyes. To stop his lip from quivering, he bit down on it firmly. 

It was Princess Isabella, the daughter of the king. And she had the power to know everything about everyone in the patrol.

General I. Now it made sense.

"You want my job," she stated bluntly, "and this was your third attempt to steal it from me."

She was not going to get fired. He was.

~