Children's Games: A Story of Modern Consequence

Prologue

Hello everyone! Thank you so much for showing some interest in my new story. I'm excited to be writing, so I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I will writing :)

Please let me know if you have any interesting thoughts or critiques throughout these chapters so I can work on improving :)

- Rose :)

*** 

The room shook with the rhythmic sway of the plane, yet all passengers were as still as corpses. The space was large enough to fit their team of ten, yet no one could lean far enough away from the commander and their failure bleeding in the corner.

"This isn't right", whispered the soldier in seat number 4. He looked over at the empty seat of Soldier Number 7. "He is only doing this out of spite."

His comment hung in the air unanswered, yet everyone suddenly ignored the failure in the corner. Only seat number 4 remained, observing the commander with guilt building against his chest. He was trained to accept the consequences of war and had been advised by every commander he had served to turn a blind eye to the punishments of disobedience, but this was something else. This made him feel like vomiting, made his chest ache, and made his fists ball.

The failure was being held down with a sack over her head, and her wrists restrained as the commander attacked again and again at her stomach, arms, and legs with fists of restrained hatred. Each blow held a sense of calm aggressiveness as he tried to be precise in his chaos. Another soldier assigned as a medical professional reluctantly secured her in a harness, while softly murmuring warnings about the decision to keep the failure alive.

The commander sighed in defeat and snatched the sack from the failure's head and used it to wipe his bloody knuckles. The woman beneath the mask was unconscious yet seemed to twist within herself as her internal injuries added up... The medic looked reluctant to help as he eyed the second medic in the corner, covered in the blood still under the failure's fingernails.

"Still alive. It should be ok, as long as she is found within the next few hours," he said in a quiet voice.

The commander paced the front of the plane still clutching the sack with taut, white fingers. He stopped and stared at his team with close judgement, while everyone else refused his stare.

It was the soldier in seat number 4 that stared back at him. "This isn't right," he repeated in a stronger voice.

"I didn't ask, boy!" The commander halted in his tracks. "This is the day that she was trained for—months, and probably years of training. So have all of you. We cannot afford to miss this chance. We are so close.... so close to winning this piece... I will not let our nation suffer because you can't do your duty as a member of this Unit."

He strode across the room in record time to approach the soldier in seat 4, to grab him by the collar, by the flag of what he represented and yanked him to his feet. "We are here to fight. If she fucking fails along the way, it is my job to beat that duty back into her. Is that what you need right now, boy?!"

The soldier in seat number 4 looked into the eyes of his commander, and saw nothing but a prideful nationalist, the problem behind every war-related conflict. Nonetheless, he replied with the dutiful "No, sir."

"Are you incapable of continuing this mission?!"

"No, sir," he said, peering at the young, beaten woman.

"Have you forgotten that you are not here to question my orders?!"

"No, sir." She was bound by bandages too thin to stop the bleeding, and so weak that they were already ripping to expose the raw skin underneath. Their efforts to smooth over the damage were pathetic.

"Do you have a problem with the way I'm commanding?!"

The soldier from seat number 4 looked around at the other seats. Ignorance radiated back at him like a bomb about to explode. Seat 7 had been the only one of them that didn't operate like a robot. She had been the only one that had challenged their mission, by challenging their memories. She may not die now, but her mission's success would lead to her death. As do ours.

"No, sir." Because it was not his place to interfere...

The commander, without a word, let go of his collar. "If you speak out of line one more time, I will send you with her. You hear me, soldier?"

The soldier from seat number 4 did not hear. The soldier from seat number 7 was ready for departure, with her bandages and parachute secure and her consciousness diminished. I didn't sign up for this... She was right. Suddenly, he was ready for departure as well.

"You're sick," he spat with as much confidence and disgust as he could muster.

Without a second thought, a powerful force to the stomach sent him to his knees. The commander withdrew his fist and hooked a muscular arm around his neck, preventing him from breathing. Before he knew it, he was over by the door to exit their small plane. He felt he was going to lose consciousness, with his last sights landing on the innocence that was the failure.

The next thing he knew, he was falling into the cool night air as it rushed up either side of him, biting into him like knives of ice. Above, he could see the plane... or maybe a bird... and for a moment it resembled her delicate figure against the moonlight. He closed his eyes, in peace as much as in fear, as he prayed for her safe escape. They both fell, one with the feathers of a parachute and one without.

The cabin of ten was now a cabin of eight.