The Transfer ✔️

Chapter Forty-Three - Control

ONE YEAR LATER

5 AM

The day shift is my favorite. Light surrounds me from the moment I wake up until the moment I fall asleep. It never gets dark here, really. Unlike Marchwood which darkened with the arrival of the moon every night, this camp always has light. If it comes from fire or from the blistering sun, darkness never arrives. It's easier to spot enemies and we're not worried about them knowing our position.

I wait for darkness during the nightshifts. Whilst I listen to more gunshots in a watchtower or from a hideout. Look up at the sky after I've killed someone, anticipating the inevitable darkness to settle over me. Never arriving, never consuming me.

Darkness only arrives in my mind.

It's good there, though. Darkness coats the horror of the killings. The tens of people I've probably killed by now. Maybe hundreds. They're unequipped, we're over-prepared. There's often no fight. The battle between a machine gun and a knife only has one outcome. I always win, but sometimes it doesn't feel like a victory.

Apparently, it is however. Since dragging over two hundred of us here - from the program and the Outside - the other side has been thrown. They weren't prepared for us. Ruthless, trained. Eager for blood after eight years of fighting to earn it. We've received our blood, buckets of it. The thick red stains don't even bother me anymore. It's oozed into my clothes and I've continued walking. As long as doesn't come from me or my team it's not my problem.

What is my problem is getting everyone together. Only a month in I was named leader of a team. There's over ten of us, each of us responsible for a further ten to fifteen people. The people in my team are as empathetic as I am, which is not a lot. There's no need to be. Get in, do the job, get out. We're one of the most successful groups out there and everyone knows it. The targets on our backs only make us work harder.

10 AM

We've walked the perimeter of our designated zone for the day. It stretches on for miles – the war seems to have overtaken the whole country. There's no area left that hasn't been bombed. Barely anyone lives here, only those fighting stayed. Hundreds of them. All of them my enemies. All of them ready to die for a cause they believe in.

I am too, just not without a fight.

My gun strap is heavy. Its metal is almost painful against my skin as it heats up with the sun. It hasn't been used yet, but I know it will be. There hasn't been a day in the past year I haven't shot a gun. Its kickback and loud noise when a bullet is released barely registers anymore – I'm too focused on the target.

The heat is visible, wriggling waves bouncing off the broken pavements. I need to be careful where I step so I don't twist an ankle. I'm too far from base to allow that to happen. Stifling weather doesn't bother me anymore, however. My skin has adapted to it, a golden brown across my skin. My body has adapted to it, running and walking all day with a uniform on under the sun and barely breaking a sweat. My mind has adapted to it, excellent at compartmentalizing my issues and taking any physical discomfort away from the situation.

We're stationed on top of a building, a lookout today to try and figure out where they're getting supplies from. We may be beating the other side but more and more of them are turning up with guns. It feels like a game, each level increasing in difficulty just when you've mastered the previous one.

When do I get to put my name on the leader board? I want the highest score – my mind is starving for it.

2 PM