My PoV
I stared at the gates, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. Ever since the reporters caught wind of Andy's situation, they've been swarming like vultures at our boot camp, desperate for a story. I could practically hear their cameras clicking, waiting for a moment of weakness to exploit. With a growl, I snatched my Olympia, the weight of the shotgun familiar and reassuring in my hands. I loaded two blanks into the chamber, the satisfying click echoing in the otherwise tense atmosphere. Snapping it closed, I strode toward the gate, my footsteps silent against the gravel.
As I approached, I could see the throng of reporters milling about, their eager faces lit with anticipation. A smirk tugged at my lips; they had no idea who they were dealing with. Without a second thought, I aimed the shotgun into the air and pulled the trigger. The deafening blast sent a shockwave through the crowd, scattering most of them like leaves in a storm. A few brave souls, however, remained, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and awe.
"Will you fuckers piss off!?" I shouted, my voice cutting through the chaos like a knife. Most of the reporters scrambled away, but one stood firm, a look of recognition dawning on his face.
"Wait, I know you! You're Alex Orr, from the American National Railway Central Academy. You're the best of the best. Why are you here?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying his bravado as he held his microphone like a shield.
I sighed, the weight of their curiosity grating on my nerves. Leaning the shotgun against my shoulder, I considered how to frame my answer. "I've joined Eastwood to support my little brother," I replied, my tone dripping with sarcasm.
The mention of my brother sent the reporters into a frenzy, their questions tumbling over one another like a pack of wild dogs. "And who is your little brother? From the records, you only have a little sister, Kylie Orr, who's in high school!"
I snorted, shaking my head at their pathetic attempts to dig deeper. "Andy Yan. That's my little brother, in everything but blood." I emphasized the last part with a pointed glare, watching as their expressions shifted from curiosity to confusion.
The bravest reporter pressed on, his eyes narrowing. "But—"
I cut him off, my voice steely. "I am what a true brother is supposed to be. Caring, loyal, helpful, guiding. I don't care about things like my last name or the image of my family. Unlike his cock-sucking piece of shit biological brother." Each word dripped with contempt, the weight of my conviction hanging in the air like a storm cloud.
The crowd fell silent, the gravity of my declaration settling in. This wasn't just about family ties; it was about loyalty, about standing up for someone who deserved better. I wasn't just some hotshot from an academy; I was a brother willing to take on the world for Andy. And I'd be damned if I let anyone—reporters or otherwise—get in my way.
———————
I watched as the reporters exchanged nervous glances, clearly torn between their desire for a story and their instinct for self-preservation. The tension in the air was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife. I could feel my patience wearing thin with each passing second.
"Look," I growled, my grip tightening on the Olympia, "I've said my piece. Andy Yan is my brother in every way that matters, and I'm here to support him. End of story. Now, are you lot gonna scram, or do I need to give you a more... persuasive argument?"
One of the braver reporters, a young woman with fiery red hair, stepped forward. Her eyes glinted with determination, even as her voice quavered slightly. "Mr. Orr, please. The public has a right to know about the inner workings of Rail Wars, especially given the recent controversies. Surely you can understand our position?"
I barked out a laugh, the sound harsh and humorless. "Understand your position? Lady, the only thing I understand is that you vultures are here to exploit my brother's pain for your own gain. You don't give a damn about the truth or about Rail Wars. You just want your sensational headline."
