'Who. Are. You. Working. For?' I can practically hear my ribs cracking as the masked HIVE soldier whacks me again with the metal crowbar. I wince, some blood oozing out between my teeth, dropping like red tears onto the dismal, gritty stone floor. Jarrod's coughing and the soldier's demands are muffled as my ears ring from the crowbar suddenly striking me in the head, my vision blurs as black borders form around my eyes, my clenched fists loosening as my body begins to give in to the immense pain. I lie in the chair, hunched forward, my eyes involuntarily fixed on my interrogator's boots in front of me; black with yellow laces, each cut and tied to a perfect length, the bunny ears of the knot tucked neatly inside the boot itself, which appears shining most likely due to repeated, religious scrubbing as well as a lack of combat. The ringing in my ears worsens as the HIVE soldier yells in my ear, grabbing ahold of my face and jerking my head upwards in the process, his gasmask despite hiding most of his identity does reveal a pair of brown, frustrated eyes. The ringing finally ceases, allowing me to somewhat clearly hear again.
The soldier is audibly out of breath, his shallow gasps for air muffled and softened by his respirator. 'Kurat, ma ei saa piisavalt palka, et neid värdjaid peksta.' He tosses aside the crowbar, letting it clang up and down on the floor as he cracks his knuckles. I brace for another round of torture, only for him to click his heels and stand aside, revealing a seemingly more senior officer at the door of our cell. If the soldier's uniform was pristine, this officer's uniform was the epitome of military royalty; the tall, lanky man stood upright, chest puffed out slightly, emphasising the collection of medals and brass on his chest that gleamed so bright it seemed like it was its independent light source. The officer donned a maroon cap instead of the standard-issue metal helmet most HIVE infantry wore, the edges of the cap are trimmed with a golden yellow that was reminiscent of colours that Chinese Emperors wore. The officer, too, wore a gasmask that concealed his face, which only further drew attention to the pearl-encrusted pistol that was holstered at his left hip, kept in place by the brown leather strap that coddled the pistol.
'Sergeant Kirliko, you've done more than enough, thank you.' The masked officer strolled down the few stone steps further into our cell, nodding towards the exasperated Sergeant who is doing his best to stand upright. 'It would be a shame for a prisoner to die in such... circumstances." I can practically envision the twisted, arrogant smirk on the officer's face as he steps towards my bloodied, slightly more awake self. Jarrod scoffs, looking in the opposite direction of the officer, clearly uninterested. The officer begins to circle me, his leather-gloved hands clasped behind his back. 'It has come to my attention that you and your little posse has become a gradually larger distraction to the HIVE's goals.' The officer paused while he observed the Claeson's pale, Scandinavian complexion, his circular lensed eyes fixed on Claeson's baby blue pair. He clear his throat and continues to circle my corpse-like state. 'To prevent me from unleashing Sergeant Kirliko onto you any further,' he stops infront of me, leaning down slightly, 'would you be so kind as to tell me who you are working for?' I stare up at his cold, meanacing demeanour, blood slightly interfering with my vision. I spit on his boot, the red liquid ball landing bang-on the centre, causing him to recoil slightly out of pure surprise. Kirliko begins to strut towards us but is stopped by the officer, who stretches out his hand infront of him. The officer flicks off some of the liquid with his other boot and clears his throat, clearly taking offence to this.
'Now,' the officer reprimands, in a tone almost parental-like, 'is that any way to thank a host for his kind hospitality?' He tuts, using his other foot to scrape off the ball of sputum that has pooled on his polished leather boots. He stares me down up, almost condescendingly, before turning to Jarrod, who sees somewhat bemused with my actions. The officer's boots clack across the stone floor, his steps both calculated and crisp as he stands before Jarrod, hands clasped behind his back. His head swivels to me, smirking, 'I think I should teach you a lesson.' In a flash, the officer whips his pistol from his belt, and with a single motion lines up the barrel with Jarrod's head. My eyes widen as my breath suddenly stiffens, I can feel myself almost clenching my fists behind my back as he cocks his pistol, not breaking his gaze with Jarrod. Jarrod's eyes widen too, as he leans back slightly in an attempt to misalign himself with the gun, his wooden chair creaking under the sudden pressure. 'Last chance,' the officer tells me, tilting his head slightly, his voice laced with venom and a sick joy, 'Who are you working for?' The officer presses the cold, silver weapon against Jarrod's temple, prompting Jarrod to wince as sweat slides down my face. Jarrod's panic reaches me, his pleading gaze shifting to me. I bite my lip. '3... 2... 1...'
***
As I stare out the tinted glass plane window into the evening sky, I hear the door swing open behind me followed by a refined, Estonian accent. 'Sir, we have cracked them. He broke like you said he would.' A smile creeps across my face as I switch my gaze from the dark forest scenery in front of me to Officer Lucius' concealed face, my gloved hands still clasped behind my back. 'Very good, Lucius,' I say as I stroll towards him, passing by my office desk and walking down a few steps to reach his level, Lucius still standing upright with his chest puffed out. 'They are working for the General under a task force called "Emerald squad."' I scoff at the ridiculous name. 'Emerald squad?' Lucius nods. I shake my head in disbelief. 'Everything must have some sort of deep meaning these days, always so convoluted.' Lucius nods. 'Indeed, sir.'
'Are the men ready?' Lucius nods, his visor's gaze not breaking mine. 'Yes sir, we have 16 platoons ready on your command, including 3 shock units and 4 armoured regiments.' I breathe in, internally filled with a cool excitement, almost a schoolgirl's glee as I clasp one hand on my subordinate's shoulder. Lucius flinches slightly, but nonetheless remains firm in his stance. 'Tell the men to move out in 3 hours,' It's a good thing I'm wearing a mask myself, otherwise Lucius would see the massive grin spreading across my face as I'm filled with a sudden schoolgirl glee. Lucius salutes, clicks his heels and exits the room briskly, leaving a slight breeze trail behind him. I breathe out.
'Today is the day,' I announce aloud to myself, 'The world is finally remade.'
YOU ARE READING
My Classmate is a Killer
Teen FictionSecrets are the root of lies and deceit. But what if the secret meant life or death? Jordan McDuff bears one of these secrets, being the youngest killer in the country. A former SAS Operative at 17, Jordan struggles to move on from his past life, be...
