This Life is Mine

24

TWs: Weapons/Guns (used for training), and Arthur and Larry living their best life (/sar). Stay safe :)

"Your timing is off, Clay; they're gonna shoot you before you get the chance to pull the trigger," Tord spoke, pressing a button to send the targets back to their places.

"Right!" Clay got up, going back to the start of the course. He did a few stretches before adjusting his white cap to be angled backward, "Okay."

"Ready..." Tord peered down at the digital timer adorned on his tablet, "and go!"

Clay rushed forward, raising his pistol as he shot the target above, hitting it on the white ring. He ducked behind a crate, watching as a target peeked out from across the way. He took aim and fired, barely noticing the bullet pierced the center. Using the crate to leap over, Clay ran forward, watching as a few targets popped out. These targets were different as they had Nerf darts shooting from the middle. Tord wanted to make it as realistic as possible.

The brunette dodged the oncoming barrage of bullets, using the scattered items across the Testing Field to his advantage. He grabbed a metallic garbage can lid, the bullets ricocheting off of it. Taking his gun, Clay used the metal lid to take out some of the targets and used his gun to take out the rest. He panted as he knelt on the ground after shooting the last target.

There was a low whistle behind him as Tord stepped into the kill zone, "Now that's what I call skill. You almost beat my record time."

"Really?" Clay stood up, putting the metallic lid aside, "Do you think I'm ready now?"

"Pfft, of course not." Tord nearly laughed at his little brother's haste, "You still haven't done the parkour course."

"There's a... parkour course?" Clay frowned.

"Yep." The leader nodded, "You need that agility just in case."

Clay huffed, "Fine."

He had managed to complete target practice after 15 tries; how hard could the parkour course be?

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

"It tastes like wet socks..." Larry muttered, picking at the slop on his trey.

"And you know what wet socks taste like?" Arthur asked from across the room, digging into the slop like there was no tomorrow.

"How can you eat that stuff? It tastes horrible."

"You know my taste buds are shit."

"You're just old."

"I'm 63."

"And? You're old."

CREEEAAAAKK

"Someone's coming down?" Arthur perked up, "They already gave us our food."

"If you can call it that." Larry quipped.

Footsteps resounded in the dungeon's halls, making the duo quiet. The footsteps seemed fast, almost as if they were in a hurry. They sounded like they knew where they were going.

The culprit walked into Larry's point of view. They were sporting a black army uniform, a ventilator mask to hide their identity, and using their hood to cover their head. Once the person noticed them, they perked up, walking towards them, "Arthur! Larry!"

Larry glanced at Arthur, who seemed to be doing the same thing. The black army never referred to them by their names; usually, it was 'hostages' or 'rebels.' The person seemed to notice their confusion and pulled their hood and mask down, "Guys, it's me!"