I can't say I'm surprised when the bullet pings off against his clothes.
"You ruined my uniform," The General says with a small frown, putting a finger through the new hole in his camo, "What a pity. I rather liked the fit. Thought it made me look good, right, Julius?"
But 204, you're probably saying by now. Bulletproof vests don't work like that! The bullet flattens against the vest and doesn't make the bullet bounce off of it.
May I remind you that this is the General we're talking about.
I'm not surprised if he's wearing some sort of new armor tech they concocted in the lab.
"Julius, do you mind handing me a new jacket from the closet? Can't go to the meeting with a bullet hole in my shirt."
Mamba dutifully hands him a jacket. The General puts it on.
"You're not bad, 204," He says with a soft chuckle, adjusting the collar of the jacket.
"I told you sir," Julius says, fixing the three dog tags around his neck. He looks down at his dog tags and frown– probably spotting a small crumb on it.
"I- I'm confused," I finally admit, raising the gun in my hands and scratching my chin with it. "Was this a test of some sort, or is this all just a load of bullshit and you guys decided to scare me shitless?"
The General lets out a load snort and takes a lifesaver from his small bowl of sweet and tosses it up at me. I instinctively catch it.
"If anybody comes in here, there's another gun with ammo in the bottom desk drawer. It's hidden underneath a wooden compartment. Shoot on site– nobody can know that you're here."
My mind races. What the fuck is going on? Where am I, and what sort of situation am I caught up in?
More importantly, why is everybody acting like this is normal?
I am not normal. I am the exact opposite of normal.
I was genetically modified from birth– from every dimple to every strand of deep red hair on my head. The only thing that wasn't changed about me was the fact that I'm a big dick.
As my sister used to say.
Anger blinds me. I see red as bright as blood.
Suddenly, I'm pinning the General against the wall with my forearm to his neck and my gun to the side of his forehead.
"I assume you don't have bullet proof armor hidden on your forehead somewhere," I say slowly and calmly. His steel gaze returns my lilac one and he seems strangely calm for somebody with a fucking gun to his head.
"We're not to that technology yet, 204," he says with, slowly raising his arm to scratch his nose. Mamba coughs in the corner. I don't think he's sure of what to do.
I growl and press my forearm against his thick neck harder, digging the barrel of my gun into his forehead so hard that I can guarantee you that it'll leave a bruise for the next couple of days.
"You've killed so many innocent people," I hiss, my finger itching to pull the trigger. I can barely control myself.
"Haven't you?" The General asks with a pitiful smile, like he was sending me off to boarding school for being a bad kid.
I heard quiet footsteps behind my back. I turn around sharply and point the gun to Mamba's chest, but my hands start shaking and the gun falls. Everything around me is foggy, and my mind slowly drifts to unconsciousness.
The last thing I remember is Mamba taking the needle out of my arm and sighing.
"This'll be a lot harder than we thought it would be."
"Good," says the General.
"It'll be easier for everybody else."
YOU ARE READING
Sharpshooter
AçãoA twisted government full of propoganda and lies, a soldier who discovers his job is a lie and is forced to choose a future- in a cruel world with his family or a better one without.
