Story [Issue 35] The Story Behind the Colors: Tiger

[Kevred 1,586]

 

 

England, London, 2032, 12th year of the Tal Ourouk war, Battle of London

 

“Go! Run! Leave your affairs and run!” Jonathan Lox screamed at the top of his lungs, the sound of his voice accompanying his  frantically gesturing arms. Men and women scrambled out of the collapsing building as fast as their tired legs permitted. Like a wave, except this one was heading not towards, but away from the city, and was composed of crying, scared, and confused people.

 

The brutal attack on the jewel of Britain was a slap in the face to the Eurasian generals. Tal Ourouk parachuted all around the city, whilst secret troops hidden inside the city itself came out of hiding and aided their outside comrades. Eurasians scrambled their defenses, but the Eurasian armies were stretched thin across hundreds of kilometers, all around London. Piercing this line was as easy as cutting through butter.

 

The General assigned another soldier to help evacuate the people as he decided to prepare his own men for evac. Hunching to evade the streaks of bullets sent his way, he swiftly jumped and dodged his way across the Eurasian’s temporary evacuation camp and to the front line. A young soldier was crouched behind sandbags, mowing down the Tals with a machine gun.

 

“Connor! Where’s Angela?” The General squatted next to the soldier manning the machine gun.

 

“Inchide the daycare down the chreet! She chaid she wanted to chave the kids inchide!” Connor managed to pronounce between two breaths, as he used his teeth to pull out another case of ammo.

 

Jonathan gave a quick, reassuring tap on the teen's shoulder, and, without further ado, he sprinted across the cratered street, skirting around the massive flaming holes in the tarmac. He was forced to elbow his way through the human swarm going the opposite way. The violent stench of human decrepitation hit him as brutally as a gust of wind. His determination and sanity struggled to stand as he witnessed the deepest corners of the human nature, arbored by this crowd of living debris. Some women were still clinging onto their dead children, dragging the tiny corpses through the stampede; others, less numerous perhaps, willingly abandoned their child, forcefully unclenching the small fist and flinging them into the crowd. The General could not tell which was worse.

 

He continued through the mass of flesh and blood, occasionally falling flat onto the ground when he heard the whistling of a bomb. He used this stand up-lay down stand up-lay down technique the entire way, heading towards the entrance of the playground. The complex was huge, and it took him much pushing and stumbling before finally making it to the tree which marked the daycare entrance. Once tall and proud, the mighty oak was nothing but a small stake of charred wood, destroyed by the flash bombings.

 

A young woman suddenly burst out from an adjacent door, followed by a group of terrorized kids, clinging to her legs. Their tears dripped down the ragged dress, running down the blood-stained folds.

 

“Angela!” The General sighed in relief, “Quick, this way, follow me.” He was about the head back the way he came when he realized his daughter hadn’t moved.

 

“Angie?” The General put a hand on his gun handle, a gesture he had learnt to do almost instinctively.

 

“Dad! Please, get the kids off me. Tell them I’m a monster, that I will eat them, anything, but get them off me!” She stood, unmoving except for her hands which were uselessly trying to tear the little ones' grips away, her breaths quick and shallow. Angela tried to push them away, but the small ones clinged on as if energized by an invisible force.

 

“Angie, what's the problem?” The General asked.

 

“Too many questions! Father, get them off me! Now!” She pushed and shoved the children aside, but they kept getting back up and running back to her.

 

“Angela. I’m not doing anything until you explain what’s happening,” Lox said as he unconsciously pulled out and charged his handgun. The only reply he had from Angie was a slow, sad shaking of his head.

 

“Father...why couldn't you listen to me,” Angela looked straight into his eyes, and slowly, turned around. There was a small box attached to her back, with wires sprouting out of it and inserted into a small metal object. Jonathan immediately recognized it from the one he used during his trainings.

 

A timer.

 

It was a bomb.

 

A flash suddenly originated from the roof of the daycare, creating a quick clang as it hit the metal box. The General's leg muscles flexed as he threw himself onto the ground. His head banged onto the hardened earth, as a wave of heat scorched the top of his head. A rain of debris and ashes then ensued, followed by stinging smoke. Slowly, he put one arm in front of the other, his biceps prominent as he tried to get away from the explosion's origin. His half-closed eyes then caught a glimpse of a quick trail in the air. Despite the constant ringing in his ears caused by the shockwave, he heard nearly inaudible human voices, deep and pronounced in an somewhat familiar language.

 

His mind, still under shock, connected the dots in a flash and his legs automatically sprung him straight up and sprinted for the nearest cover, which turned out to be the entrance to the hallway he came from. His mind directed his steps like an automaton. Left, right, left, right, don't think of anything else, left, right, left, keep going. He finally found his way back to the entrance of the complex, but his eyes were met with an unexpected sight when he stepped outside into the open road.

 

The first to hit him was the smoke. Blinding, suffocating, it was everywhere. The sun glowed red through the millions of tiny particles of ashes. He could hear the sound of screaming, muffled by the cracking, chaotic hissing and trembling as the buildings around him gradually crumbled to dust. Dark silhouettes ran amongst this apocalyptic sight, some falling down before his eyes. He saw without seeing, walked without direction, as his mind refused to process this overcharge of thoughts and emotions.

 

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over him as an unrecognizable figure tackled him to the ground. The assailant was about to pierce the General with a switchblade when all of a sudden a gap in the smoke unveiled his face.

 

“Connor?”

 

“Jon! Am I glad to see you!” Connor helped his old friend up as they clasped their hands together. They supported each other as they looked for somewhere to rest.

 

“Connor! Why are you still here? Where are the others?” He asked after both of them had taken refuge behind a few ruins.

 

“Damn Tals’ fault. Heavy bombing followed by a spearhead assault on all four fronts. According to the latest intel, London has fallen. I-I didn't find anyone else. We are the last of our team. Where's your daughter?” His eyes looked around them, as if expecting Angela to suddenly jump out of a bush and scream "surprise!".

 

Lox collapsed onto the floor. “Angela? She's everywhere. In my mind, in my conscience, in my memory, in the tears dripping down my cheeks, and she always will be", he paused as the smoke provoked violent coughing, "I will never be able to look at a child again without the memory of Angela burning itself through my eyes."

 

Connor opened his mouth, but swallowed his words back as he seemed to change his mind. The silence between them prolonged for several minutes, strangely obvious despite the intermittent screams and explosions.

 

The General still hadn't moved a muscle when Connor suddenly jumped. "Sir, my father! He's a newscaster working in the skyscraper over there! He may still be alive!"

 

He made a movement to get up, but the General put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

 

"Connor, its too risky. We have to get out of here."

 

"But sir! He's my father! I have to! I'll do it no matter what, and you can't stop me!"

 

The General sighed, as he finally stood up, putting a hand on the teen's shoulder.

 

"Together?"

 

Connor's eyes sparkled. He nodded. "Together."

 

 

-

 

 

 

They both smashed onto the floor of the tower's main lobby, eating a pile of rubble by the same occasion.

 

“Tals. Bunch of ‘em. Up ahead,” Connor whispered, “you distract them while I go get my father.” He was on the verge of getting up when the General put a hand on his broad shoulders and forced him back onto the hot and burning floor.

 

“No, you distract them, I’ll go fetch your father. Don’t want both of you dead.”

 

“But-” The General shot him a look which meant he would not change his decision. “Fine. But please, make it quick. This building will collapse any minute. Go.” Connor primed and threw a grenade over his head, towards the audible Talish voices.

 

Jonathan sprinted towards the nearby stairs as the explosion set his vision on fire. The incendiary grenade scorched his bare legs and arms, like the sting of a million bees. He tripped and fell face first on the first step, but got up, ignoring the pain in his ankle. He continued to stagger up the uneven staircase, falling and tripping at the occasional but violent and worrying shakings, causing ash to slither through the cracks everywhere. No matter the pain, he kept moving upwards, determined to get Connor's father back alive. Perhaps it was to make up for the death of Carl. It didn't matter.

 

Connor’s father, a news caster, would most likely be at the fourth floor. He was one set of stairs away from said floor when a gunshot was heard. The General’s blood froze at the same time as his muscles. Immobile, he listened for further indications of a potential danger, but his ears were met with nothing but the now-normal shaking, explosions and snake-like hissing caused by the ashes.

 

He moved like a cat towards the door. Slowly, holding out a knife, his last weapon, he pushed the rugged piece of wood of the open. Nothing was to be seen. A camera on a tripod, a few knocked down chairs,  a bench and a body.

 

A body.

 

The impending silence made his footsteps sound a thousand times louder as he neared the form lying on the ground. The outside crimson light created a shaft of red fairy dust, lighting spots of the room with streaks of vermilion. The surroundings seemed to be stained with freckles of blood, further increasing the sentiment of dread rising inside the General.

 

He heard a sound just as his knees bended to kneel down next to the body. Turning around, his eyes caught a glimpse of a fist moving at lightspeed towards his face. The shock sent him to the ground.

 

“Die!” His attacker cried as he leaped onto the General’s body and pounded it with punches. He then pulled out a gun, which was still smoking from the previous shot, most probably the one which had reached the General's ears.

 

The building could collapse at any moment; he was walking on thin ice. Devoid of any other option and running out of time, Jonathan thrusted his hand into his aggressor’s chest. The blood-stained tip of the blade protruding from the other side glinted in the red sunlight.

 

Pushing the now limp body of the attacker aside, he made his way back to the middle of the room, where the first body was lying on its back. He flipped him over, and his brain cringed with incomprehension.

 

It was a Tal.

 

“But then...but then…” He went back the way he came, and knelt down , this time next to the second body, the one of the man who attacked him. Fearing what he would see, he turned the limp head so he could see the visage.

 

 

White hair, old wrinkles, blue eyes, and most important of all, a pelt of an indonesian tiger worn on the shoulders. The same one the General himself had given to the father of Connor., on the occasion of Christmas.

 

“No...this...this…” Frantically, he moved between the two bodies, looking at one another, and eventually came to the dreaded conclusion. He had killed the wrong man. His conscience was now burdened with not one, but two deaths. The pain of that was so strong, it felt like his mind was empty. Gently, he removed the tiger skin coat from under the nearly weightless body. He closed the old man's eyes, before serenely walking out of the room.

 

The way back down was not unlike a dream. The world shushed in a moment of silence as he put one foot in front of the other. But when he made it to the main hall, he immediately sensed something had gone terribly wrong.

 

There was nothing moving, nothing breathing, nothing shooting at all, as if time had frozen in this specific area. Staggering not because of physical, but emotional injuries, he walked across the room when suddenly Connor emerged out of nowhere.

 

“Connor!”

 

He was about to lunge towards his friend when the head of a Tal Ourouk soldier popped out behind Connor, and he realized the latter had a knife on his throat.

 

"Jonathan Lox! How honored I am to be in your presence. As for I, I am Vincent, former double agent for the Tals. I've served them well...even if I was punished for not being successful in acquiring the Prodigi paint," he said as he looked at his left arm, which stopped at the elbow into a stump, "No matter. Killing you will make up for it."

 

"I was wondering how people came to know about this classified paint...good, now I know who to blame."

 

"You think I fear you? I've heard much of you...savior of Paris, the French call you. Stupid fools don't know you're no better than us."

 

The spoken-to narrowed his eyes. "We're better than you in every way. We-"

 

"What, you're going to feed me the 'we fight for what's right' again? Oh please. It would make no difference to the population whether the country's government is Eurasian or Tal Ourouk." 

 

"No difference? You would forcefully incorporate your own traditions upon them, force women down to a position of slavery!"

 

"Are you saying you don't force the population to adopt your culture? Don't make me laugh. Are the men and women of France allowed to decide whether they want to follow your laws?"

 

"Our laws are there for justice. They're what's right."

 

The Tal soldier pushed the tip of his knife further into Connor's neck. A trickle of blood slithered down the metal edging. "I thought I told you to not feed me those lies! Everyone thinks their own laws are right. But really, you're just like us. Pretending to be fighting for justice and freedom when actually the only thing compelling you to fight is selfishness...what freedom do you have to offer? None. The world is a mess. There is no good. There is only two powers. Plain evil, and evil disguising themselves as good."

 

"You're right, the world is a mess. And you won't be a part of it." With that, he pulled out his gun with unseen dexterity and sent a bullet straight into the Tal's head.

 

"Connor!"

 

“Jon...my father....is my father alive? Tell me he's alive!” He embraced the General, his head buried in his strong shoulders. He raised his head and smiled, but said expectant smile suddenly disappeared, as red spots appeared all over his body. Connor, total surprise displayed on his face, collapsed to the ground.  This revealed Vincent, holding a steaming gun. He pointed a bulletproof-padded helmet. He then stabbed himself with his knife, exhibiting a devilish smile.

 

"No better than us." Those were his last words, as the General pounded his body with bullets. He then crouched next to Connor and desperately tried to quench the steady stream of blood flowing out of the dying teen's body.

 

"My father...where's my father?" He managed to utter.

 

The General miraculously managed to keep his face emotionless. “Don’t worry, he’s waiting for you. You’ll see him soon.”

 

A content smile appeared over the dying boy’s face. "Thank you, sir."

 

"Connor...maybe the Tal was right. Maybe we're really no better than the Tal Ourouk. They killed innocent people, we killed innocent people. I killed innocent children. They fight for what they believe is right. We fight for what we believe is right. And really, who benefits in this war? And now..." He said, fully conscient that his young friend hadn't breathed or moved for too long.

 

Too dehydrated for any tears, he flung the tiger’s coat over his old comrade, and collapsed besides him. He closed his eyes, wishing a Tal would discover him, and send him to total peace.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

The Hornet, covered with the tiger coat, stood at the edge of the cliff. Fire covered the tank as lines of soldiers fired a ceremonious salvo of bullets into the sky. The flames extended and touched the stars of the night, sending Connor to finally, finally, reunite with his father.

 

 

Storm

 

Sakura

 

Prodigi

 

Edited July 30, 2017 by Hexed

[deadtoyou 2,502]

*sniff* Gr-great art-article, K-Kev.... *sniff* :(

[hogree 4,179]

Edited May 29, 2015 by hogree

[asghar-1 15]

Nice :D

[beaku 2,656]

Beautifully written. Amazing storyline.

[Darren4Turbo 4,913]

 

“Connor! Where’s Angela?” The General squatted next to the soldier manning the machine gun.

 

Vulcan?  :P

Edited May 30, 2015 by Darren4Turbo

[Darren4Turbo 4,913]

Amazing Story  :) 

[dilsharox 2,395]

amazing but boring

[liverpoolaum 811]

nice

[Quarks 2,255]

Why did I read this before school, now I am sad. Great story though.

[1stsuperwhitedragon 408]

*sniff* Gr-great art-article, K-Kev.... *sniff* :(

yeah it was sad :( :( :(

[applications_tanki 129]

:huh:  I don't get this so some little boy dies of Ebola or something then some dude puts a tiger coat on another dude and that's why the tiger paint is in the game... :mellow:

[Kevred 1,586]

:huh:  I don't get this 

You can only blame yourself.

[applications_tanki 129]

You can only blame yourself.

                 :mellow: 

[youngMcasH 3]

Nice writing *sniffs

[1stsuperwhitedragon 408]

Next time I'll no longer read sad stories

Edited June 4, 2015 by 1stsuperwhitedragon

[TriNitroToIuene 4,765]

Speechless. Just. Speechless.

[scarecrow2014 10]

:huh:  I don't get this so some little boy dies of Ebola or something then some dude puts a tiger coat on another dude and that's why the tiger paint is in the game... :mellow:

And what was you expecting??? ... The way how developer opened his program and started with making a paint :huh: ? This aint  interview with a developer that made it, its a story.

[PenguinNEWexp 11]

Nice job. Kevin.

[sobaka-ima-muhtar 0]

 

 

 

England, London, 2032, 12th year of the Tal Ourouk war, Battle of London

 

“Go! Run! Leave your affairs and run!” Jonathan Lox screamed at the top of his lungs, the sound of his voice accompanying his  frantically gesturing arms. Men and women scrambled out of the collapsing building as fast as their tired legs permitted. Like a wave, except this one was heading not towards, but away from the city, and was composed of crying, scared, and confused people.

 

The brutal attack on the jewel of Britain was a slap in the face to the Eurasian generals. Tal Ourouk parachuted all around the city, whilst secret troops hidden inside the city itself came out of hiding and aided their outside comrades. Eurasians scrambled their defenses, but the Eurasian armies were stretched thin across hundreds of kilometers, all around London. Piercing this line was as easy as cutting through butter.

 

The General assigned another soldier to help evacuate the people as he decided to prepare his own men for evac. Hunching to evade the streaks of bullets sent his way, he swiftly jumped and dodged his way across the Eurasian’s temporary evacuation camp and to the front line. A young soldier was crouched behind sandbags, mowing down the Tals with a machine gun.

 

“Connor! Where’s Angela?” The General squatted next to the soldier manning the machine gun.

 

“Inchide the daycare down the chreet! She chaid she wanted to chave the kids inchide!” Connor managed to pronounce between two breaths, as he used his teeth to pull out another case of ammo.

 

Jonathan gave a quick, reassuring tap on the teen's shoulder, and, without further ado, he sprinted across the cratered street, skirting around the massive flaming holes in the tarmac. He was forced to elbow his way through the human swarm going the opposite way. The violent stench of human decrepitation hit him as brutally as a gust of wind. His determination and sanity struggled to stand as he witnessed the deepest corners of the human nature, arbored by this crowd of living debris. Some women were still clinging onto their dead children, dragging the tiny corpses through the stampede; others, less numerous perhaps, willingly abandoned their child, forcefully unclenching the small fist and flinging them into the crowd. The General could not tell which was worse.

 

He continued through the mass of flesh and blood, occasionally falling flat onto the ground when he heard the whistling of a bomb. He used this stand up-lay down stand up-lay down technique the entire way, heading towards the entrance of the playground. The complex was huge, and it took him much pushing and stumbling before finally making it to the tree which marked the daycare entrance. Once tall and proud, the mighty oak was nothing but a small stake of charred wood, destroyed by the flash bombings.

 

A young woman suddenly burst out from an adjacent door, followed by a group of terrorized kids, clinging to her legs. Their tears dripped down the ragged dress, running down the blood-stained folds.

 

“Angela!” The General sighed in relief, “Quick, this way, follow me.” He was about the head back the way he came when he realized his daughter hadn’t moved.

 

“Angie?” The General put a hand on his gun handle, a gesture he had learnt to do almost instinctively.

 

“Dad! Please, get the kids off me. Tell them I’m a monster, that I will eat them, anything, but get them off me!” She stood, unmoving except for her hands which were uselessly trying to tear the little ones' grips away, her breaths quick and shallow. Angela tried to push them away, but the small ones clinged on as if energized by an invisible force.

 

“Angie, what's the problem?” The General asked.

 

“Too many questions! Father, get them off me! Now!” She pushed and shoved the children aside, but they kept getting back up and running back to her.

 

“Angela. I’m not doing anything until you explain what’s happening,” Lox said as he unconsciously pulled out and charged his handgun. The only reply he had from Angie was a slow, sad shaking of his head.

 

“Father...why couldn't you listen to me,” Angela looked straight into his eyes, and slowly, turned around. There was a small box attached to her back, with wires sprouting out of it and inserted into a small metal object. Jonathan immediately recognized it from the one he used during his trainings.

 

A timer.

 

It was a bomb.

 

A flash suddenly originated from the roof of the daycare, creating a quick clang as it hit the metal box. The General's leg muscles flexed as he threw himself onto the ground. His head banged onto the hardened earth, as a wave of heat scorched the top of his head. A rain of debris and ashes then ensued, followed by stinging smoke. Slowly, he put one arm in front of the other, his biceps prominent as he tried to get away from the explosion's origin. His half-closed eyes then caught a glimpse of a quick trail in the air. Despite the constant ringing in his ears caused by the shockwave, he heard nearly inaudible human voices, deep and pronounced in an somewhat familiar language.

 

His mind, still under shock, connected the dots in a flash and his legs automatically sprung him straight up and sprinted for the nearest cover, which turned out to be the entrance to the hallway he came from. His mind directed his steps like an automaton. Left, right, left, right, don't think of anything else, left, right, left, keep going. He finally found his way back to the entrance of the complex, but his eyes were met with an unexpected sight when he stepped outside into the open road.

 

The first to hit him was the smoke. Blinding, suffocating, it was everywhere. The sun glowed red through the millions of tiny particles of ashes. He could hear the sound of screaming, muffled by the cracking, chaotic hissing and trembling as the buildings around him gradually crumbled to dust. Dark silhouettes ran amongst this apocalyptic sight, some falling down before his eyes. He saw without seeing, walked without direction, as his mind refused to process this overcharge of thoughts and emotions.

 

Suddenly, a shadow loomed over him as an unrecognizable figure tackled him to the ground. The assailant was about to pierce the General with a switchblade when all of a sudden a gap in the smoke unveiled his face.

 

“Connor?”

 

“Jon! Am I glad to see you!” Connor helped his old friend up as they clasped their hands together. They supported each other as they looked for somewhere to rest.

 

“Connor! Why are you still here? Where are the others?” He asked after both of them had taken refuge behind a few ruins.

 

“Damn Tals’ fault. Heavy bombing followed by a spearhead assault on all four fronts. According to the latest intel, London has fallen. I-I didn't find anyone else. We are the last of our team. Where's your daughter?” His eyes looked around them, as if expecting Angela to suddenly jump out of a bush and scream "surprise!".

 

Lox collapsed onto the floor. “Angela? She's everywhere. In my mind, in my conscience, in my memory, in the tears dripping down my cheeks, and she always will be", he paused as the smoke provoked violent coughing, "I will never be able to look at a child again without the memory of Angela burning itself through my eyes."

 

Connor opened his mouth, but swallowed his words back as he seemed to change his mind. The silence between them prolonged for several minutes, strangely obvious despite the intermittent screams and explosions.

 

The General still hadn't moved a muscle when Connor suddenly jumped. "Sir, my father! He's a newscaster working in the skyscraper over there! He may still be alive!"

 

He made a movement to get up, but the General put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

 

"Connor, its too risky. We have to get out of here."

 

"But sir! He's my father! I have to! I'll do it no matter what, and you can't stop me!"

 

The General sighed, as he finally stood up, putting a hand on the teen's shoulder.

 

"Together?"

 

Connor's eyes sparkled. He nodded. "Together."

 

 

-

 

 

 

They both smashed onto the floor of the tower's main lobby, eating a pile of rubble by the same occasion.

 

“Tals. Bunch of ‘em. Up ahead,” Connor whispered, “you distract them while I go get my father.” He was on the verge of getting up when the General put a hand on his broad shoulders and forced him back onto the hot and burning floor.

 

“No, you distract them, I’ll go fetch your father. Don’t want both of you dead.”

 

“But-” The General shot him a look which meant he would not change his decision. “Fine. But please, make it quick. This building will collapse any minute. Go.” Connor primed and threw a grenade over his head, towards the audible Talish voices.

 

Jonathan sprinted towards the nearby stairs as the explosion set his vision on fire. The incendiary grenade scorched his bare legs and arms, like the sting of a million bees. He tripped and fell face first on the first step, but got up, ignoring the pain in his ankle. He continued to stagger up the uneven staircase, falling and tripping at the occasional but violent and worrying shakings, causing ash to slither through the cracks everywhere. No matter the pain, he kept moving upwards, determined to get Connor's father back alive. Perhaps it was to make up for the death of Carl. It didn't matter.

 

Connor’s father, a news caster, would most likely be at the fourth floor. He was one set of stairs away from said floor when a gunshot was heard. The General’s blood froze at the same time as his muscles. Immobile, he listened for further indications of a potential danger, but his ears were met with nothing but the now-normal shaking, explosions and snake-like hissing caused by the ashes.

 

He moved like a cat towards the door. Slowly, holding out a knife, his last weapon, he pushed the rugged piece of wood of the open. Nothing was to be seen. A camera on a tripod, a few knocked down chairs,  a bench and a body.

 

A body.

 

The impending silence made his footsteps sound a thousand times louder as he neared the form lying on the ground. The outside crimson light created a shaft of red fairy dust, lighting spots of the room with streaks of vermilion. The surroundings seemed to be stained with freckles of blood, further increasing the sentiment of dread rising inside the General.

 

He heard a sound just as his knees bended to kneel down next to the body. Turning around, his eyes caught a glimpse of a fist moving at lightspeed towards his face. The shock sent him to the ground.

 

“Die!” His attacker cried as he leaped onto the General’s body and pounded it with punches. He then pulled out a gun, which was still smoking from the previous shot, most probably the one which had reached the General's ears.

 

The building could collapse at any moment; he was walking on thin ice. Devoid of any other option and running out of time, Jonathan thrusted his hand into his aggressor’s chest. The blood-stained tip of the blade protruding from the other side glinted in the red sunlight.

 

Pushing the now limp body of the attacker aside, he made his way back to the middle of the room, where the first body was lying on its back. He flipped him over, and his brain cringed with incomprehension.

 

It was a Tal.

 

“But then...but then…” He went back the way he came, and knelt down , this time next to the second body, the one of the man who attacked him. Fearing what he would see, he turned the limp head so he could see the visage.

 

 

White hair, old wrinkles, blue eyes, and most important of all, a pelt of an indonesian tiger worn on the shoulders. The same one the General himself had given to the father of Connor., on the occasion of Christmas.

 

“No...this...this…” Frantically, he moved between the two bodies, looking at one another, and eventually came to the dreaded conclusion. He had killed the wrong man. His conscience was now burdened with not one, but two deaths. The pain of that was so strong, it felt like his mind was empty. Gently, he removed the tiger skin coat from under the nearly weightless body. He closed the old man's eyes, before serenely walking out of the room.

 

The way back down was not unlike a dream. The world shushed in a moment of silence as he put one foot in front of the other. But when he made it to the main hall, he immediately sensed something had gone terribly wrong.

 

There was nothing moving, nothing breathing, nothing shooting at all, as if time had frozen in this specific area. Staggering not because of physical, but emotional injuries, he walked across the room when suddenly Connor emerged out of nowhere.

 

“Connor!”

 

He was about to lunge towards his friend when the head of a Tal Ourouk soldier popped out behind Connor, and he realized the latter had a knife on his throat.

 

"Jonathan Lox! How honored I am to be in your presence. As for I, I am Vincent, former double agent for the Tals. I've served them well...even if I was punished for not being successful in acquiring the Prodigi paint," he said as he looked at his left arm, which stopped at the elbow into a stump, "No matter. Killing you will make up for it."

 

"I was wondering how people came to know about this classified paint...good, now I know who to blame."

 

"You think I fear you? I've heard much of you...savior of Paris, the French call you. Stupid fools don't know you're no better than us."

 

The spoken-to narrowed his eyes. "We're better than you in every way. We-"

 

"What, you're going to feed me the 'we fight for what's right' again? Oh please. It would make no difference to the population whether the country's government is Eurasian or Tal Ourouk." 

 

"No difference? You would forcefully incorporate your own traditions upon them, force women down to a position of slavery!"

 

"Are you saying you don't force the population to adopt your culture? Don't make me laugh. Are the men and women of France allowed to decide whether they want to follow your laws?"

 

"Our laws are there for justice. They're what's right."

 

The Tal soldier pushed the tip of his knife further into Connor's neck. A trickle of blood slithered down the metal edging. "I thought I told you to not feed me those lies! Everyone thinks their own laws are right. But really, you're just like us. Pretending to be fighting for justice and freedom when actually the only thing compelling you to fight is selfishness...what freedom do you have to offer? None. The world is a mess. There is no good. There is only two powers. Plain evil, and evil disguising themselves as good."

 

"You're right, the world is a mess. And you won't be a part of it." With that, he pulled out his gun with unseen dexterity and sent a bullet straight into the Tal's head.

 

"Connor!"

 

“Jon...my father....is my father alive? Tell me he's alive!” He embraced the General, his head buried in his strong shoulders. He raised his head and smiled, but said expectant smile suddenly disappeared, as red spots appeared all over his body. Connor, total surprise displayed on his face, collapsed to the ground.  This revealed Vincent, holding a steaming gun. He pointed a bulletproof-padded helmet. He then stabbed himself with his knife, exhibiting a devilish smile.

 

"No better than us." Those were his last words, as the General pounded his body with bullets. He then crouched next to Connor and desperately tried to quench the steady stream of blood flowing out of the dying teen's body.

 

"My father...where's my father?" He managed to utter.

 

The General miraculously managed to keep his face emotionless. “Don’t worry, he’s waiting for you. You’ll see him soon.”

 

A content smile appeared over the dying boy’s face. "Thank you, sir."

 

"Connor...maybe the Tal was right. Maybe we're really no better than the Tal Ourouk. They killed innocent people, we killed innocent people. I killed innocent children. They fight for what they believe is right. We fight for what we believe is right. And really, who benefits in this war? And now..." He said, fully conscient that his young friend hadn't breathed or moved for too long.

 

Too dehydrated for any tears, he flung the tiger’s coat over his old comrade, and collapsed besides him. He closed his eyes, wishing a Tal would discover him, and send him to total peace.

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

The Hornet, covered with the tiger coat, stood at the edge of the cliff. Fire covered the tank as lines of soldiers fired a ceremonious salvo of bullets into the sky. The flames extended and touched the stars of the night, sending Connor to finally, finally, reunite with his father.

 

 

Storm

 

 

Sakura

 

 

Prodigi

 

well done.

Writer was wonderful