Chase Hatter's Origin of Pangaea

Chapter Six

Five years is a long time.

Five years is a long time when you're out dragging people from their homes.

Five years is a long time when you're out setting bombs off in office buildings.

Five years is a long time when you're out placing armed grenades in the hands of kindergartners.

Five years is a long time when you're out putting bullets in parents while their children watch.

Five years is a long time when you're out hanging entire families from trees.

Five years is a long time when you're out doing all of these things and claiming to only be following orders.

Being a soldier was one thing and being a monster was another. Jack Richards made it clear to all of his soldiers that if they spent too much time trying to place themselves in either category then they'd end up putting a bullet through their own head and dead soldiers were no good to him. It wasn't worth thinking about, so Jack gave his soldiers full permission to blame all of their actions on him by uttering a simple phrase. So, when soldiers were out doing things they'd regret, things they'd hate themselves for, it was not uncommon to hear someone whispering to themselves softly, "Just following orders." And that's what they were doing; following orders.

The first lesson that Cole Ryan learned while spending time with Jack Richards was to numb his heart. Cole never thought about the first life that he took. It wasn't worth his recollection. He was just following orders. He never lost sleep over the bloodlines that he ended. It wasn't worth his eight hours. He was just following orders. He never judged himself for the sobbing that rang out in nearly empty cities. There was no judgement to be made. He was just following orders.

Even now, as he loaded a pistol and looked down the line of blindfolded civilians whose lives had just minutes left on them, he didn't reconsider. What was there to reconsider? This wasn't his decision. He was just following orders.

In front of Cole, six people sat on their knees in the mud, their hands tied behind their backs, their eyes blindfolded by pieces of their clothes that had been torn away by the Pangaean soldiers that found them. In front of them sat Jack Richards. He lit a cigarette and watched Cole load his gun. The whimpering and pleading of the civilians fell on deaf, order-taking ears. Cole wasn't listening. Jack was, but he was the one who gave the order. When the gun was loaded Cole wasted no time. He pulled the trigger and just like that, a civilian was dead. The rest screamed in horror. Cole wasn't listening.

The sound of the first shot prompted Jack to speak as Cole continued.

"We're almost done, y'know." Jack said.

"Done with what?"

"This war." Jack explained. "Waylon Brose contacted Axel. He tells us that he's ready to sign the treaty. If he signs it then we'll get North America to back down and leave us alone. Then we'll own Maine and we can start building Pangaea. We won't have to do this shit anymore."

"When's he signing it?"

"When we drive it over to him."

"Why not mail it?"

"It won't get across the country fast enough." Jack said. "It'll take six months to get there, six to get back. And there's no telling if it'll ever make it back to us. Axel says that driving would be faster. He radioed some of our barriers to see which route was the safest and he put together a map. First Baltimore. Then, Cincinnati, Las Vegas, and San Francisco. After Waylon signs it, we can send word back to start building Pangaea. It would only take us a few months. Hell of a lot better than the alternative."