The Elite

Eight

Julian

"Report to the Launching Area," my communication bracelet chirped, abruptly walking me from sleep.

"Am I going on a mission?" I asked it sleepily.

Elite only went to the Launching Area to prepare for a mission, but we couldn't possibly be going on a mission. There was no way Squad 16 was ready for that sort of thing. We'd be slaughtered.

"Yes," my bracelet replied.

Fear and worry gripped me at that. If we had to undertake a mission that wasn't easy, I strongly felt that it would end badly. My squad just wasn't prepared for such a thing. We hadn't succeeded in a single simulation, so I was very confident we couldn't succeed in real life either.

"Mission details," I commanded, hoping it was something laughably simple.

"A Class 6 Offender that goes by the name Calamity has been located in the ruins of Los Angeles with his many followers. Due to Calamity being a Class 6, and the sheer number of followers, all squads from all locations are being deployed."

That didn't seem like a good idea to me. What were we really supposed to do? If our training sessions were any indication, all we'd do was get ourselves killed if we went on the mission. I didn't want to die, and I didn't want my squadmates to die, but it seemed inevitable.

What if they want to kill you? something inside me whispered.

I shook it off. If what Leon told us was any indication, the Elite would just kill us if they wanted us dead. They didn't need to make an elaborate plan for our deaths that may not even get us killed. Thinking like that was something reserved for pessimistic Tass, not for me.

"Squad 16," Leon's voice drifted over the bracelet. "By now, you've probably realized we're going on a mission we're not ready for. My judgment says we should try to hang back, and not get caught up in the heat of the fighting."

I was surprised to find that Leon actually sounded like he was the captain of this squad for once. It seemed that talking session last night really helped him at least. Hopefully it helped the rest of us in some way too. Maybe having a goal would help the squad push past their problems. Maybe we'd actually be able to do something for once. Perhaps this would be the day we'd finally succeed.

Dressing quickly in my standard Elite uniform, I stood in front of the mirror, observing my reflection. I found that I looked terrible in the uniform. The stripes on my shoulder were yellow, which was for Elites-in-training — Elites in squads, but without any real experience — so it was quite a garish color, and clashed horribly with my black hair and darker complexion. The rest of it was navy, which wasn't so bad, but I thought it would fit better if it was dark black. I liked the fact that the Elite uniform didn't fit me. It meant that I wasn't a perfect Elite, something I didn't want to be, making me grin.

"You're smiling at how bad you look?"

This came from Windslayer, my only other roommate at the moment. He was already fully dressed, ready to leave. Unlike me, he looked good. His shoulders stripes were magenta — fifth highest of eleven ranks — showing his high rank at such a young age (anyone with a lower color rank had to do what he said, even if they weren't in his squad), and the navy seemed a nice contrast to his pale skin and ice-blue eyes. He was impressive.

"I'd think I look better in a different color," I replied. "Maybe black, and then I'd match your soul."

I smirked at Windslayer in the mirror as he gave me a steely-eyed glare. Messing him was one of my favorite things to do since he was the epitome of the sort of superiority my mother despised. She was against those who thought themselves better than everyone else because they could hurt people.