Keera [1]

10. EMK for life

Life is unfair. It can be unjust at times. It's frustrating when you get unfairly blamed for the wrongdoings of others.

~

Day 25, May 27th

TROY'S POV:

The contrast in the atmosphere was stark. Troy had become accustomed to the breathtakingly lush landscape of Congo, with its vibrant trees and the invigorating scent of fresh grass.

Each morning, the cheerful chirping of birds provided Troy with a sense of security. But now, everything was different.

He found himself completely alone and apprehensive. Without his companions, the grass, or the verdant trees, he felt adrift.

Troy was taken to the other side of the Democratic Republic of Congo by helicopter, only to find a landscape dominated by sand and a smattering of rocks.

It was a desolate desert, with just a single camp that looked like a prison, standing amid absolute isolation.

The helicopter gently touched down on the rooftop helipad, situated atop a towering building emblazoned with a bold 'H'.

The building was nestled within the expansive confines of a sprawling compound, replete with numerous houses, prison facilities, and a multitude of vehicles.

The oppressive sun beat down mercilessly, casting an unforgiving glare over the entire camp, which was encircled by a formidable iron fence, tall and razor-sharp.

As Troy observed his new surroundings, it became evident that the FOG community was immense and exuded an unmistakably perilous aura.

Two members of the FOG army firmly guided Troy forward, their strong hands pressing into his back as they led him towards a nondescript building nestled within the camp.

As they traversed the bustling camp, they passed numerous individuals who donned the distinctive grey uniforms of the FOG, each carrying various weapons.

The trio continued across the sandy terrain until they reached a shadowy enclave housing the entrance to a mysterious location.

"Where are you taking me?" inquired Troy, his voice betraying a hint of trepidation, as the camp's inhabitants, the FOG workers, observed the captive's passage.

"We're taking you to a place that all newcomers to our country must visit," replied one of the soldiers cryptically.

With this enigmatic response, Troy lapsed into an uneasy silence, apprehensive about the fate that awaited him within those foreboding walls.

From the depths of the dimly lit building, emerged a robust and imposing figure, seemingly materializing out of thin air.

Clenched between his lips was a smoldering cigar, emanating wisps of smoke that twisted and curled in the still air.

His bulk was adorned with a tapestry of intricate tattoos that seemed to tell stories of their own, and his jet-black mustache bristled assertively.

At that moment, Troy couldn't shake the feeling that this big man was the sentry, the guardian of whatever lay concealed within.

The mysterious man noticed Troy and the two soldiers approaching, and immediately declared, "Oh, black one! You caught African."

"He is American, EMK," both soldiers quickly clarified.

The tattooed man then asked, "Infected?"

"No, we conducted a blood test," they firmly replied.

The burly man looked around with a furrowed brow, his deep voice booming through the air.