*FEATURED PREVIOUSLY ON WATTPAD PICKS* In a time far off in the future, there are no lands, nor countries, nor strife. Cities hover in the sky. Robots are on every street corner. And life in the great metropolis of New Ramona thrives under the leade...
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THE GENERAL
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General Lincoln had just finishing buttoning up his uniform when there was a knock on the door. Henry popped in. "Sir, the troops are assembled."
He checked himself in the mirror one last time. Every hair in place. Every button polished. Though it'd been a long time back, Lincoln had received a proper military training–unlike the majority of his soldiers.
"Right then. Better be off." He took his sword in hand as he marched off to the courtyard. Henry followed at his heels, taking a skip every step or two to catch up to Lincoln's enormous strides.
His men were lined up in neat rows of ten-by-ten going round and round a raised, square platform. Lincoln paused, resting his eyes across the front line. They were quaking in their boots. He smiled. Perfect.
They feared him. Lincoln closed his eyes and just soaked it in. He squeezed out every drop of fear he could before raising his sword up high. The blade glinted, playing with the sun's reflection. "Broadcast."
Broadcasting now...
"MEN!" His voice echoed in the dead silence. "Today is the your lucky day."
Thousands of eyes focused on him; listening intently to his every word. Lincoln loved being in command. Loved the control he had over these lives. He lived for this moment.
"Today, we march to war."
There were shouts and yells, as the men raised their weapons. They were overjoyed.
"Today, soldiers, some of you will see blood. You'll see pain. And you'll see death. Are you ready?"
"Yes!"
"I said, are you ready?"
"YES!" came the roar from ten thousand mouths. He could see the blood-fever spreading. Eyes red, frothing at the mouth, they were disgustingly joyous at the thought of war.
Lincoln couldn't stand watching it any more. "Lieutenant Strange, Lieutenant Bones, Lieutenant Thorn. Your units will be a part of the first attack. Move out."
The general watched his lieutenants as they organized their men. Lieutenant Strange was a bit–well–strange. He almost never talked, except to grunt. But his skill with a knife was deadly. His men, like him, were silent killers–great scouts for an first attack.
Lieutenant Thorn was one of the few women in camp. She was also one of the deadliest, most cold-hearted people he'd ever met. When Thorn was ten, she'd killed her own parents. Her team of operatives could bring darkness to the brightest day.
Lieutenant Bones was a short man who'd mastered every form of sword fighting that had ever existed. His unit consisted of the most skilled fighters. General Lincoln eyed the men. Anton, the sailor with the scar, was there. He'd fit right in after a few days, just as Lincoln had predicted.
