Wanderer 2.0, Book 1 Of The Wanderer Series

5• Have Mercy on My Soul

I have a feeling, today will be one of those days.

Paw looks down at me with his arms behind his back. His eyes, identical to my own, are hardened over - impossible to read. " I've started your journey into this world. I have to deal with the burdens that'll bring me by myself. I cannot hand you a gun and send you into the field without any bullets. It makes everything we've trained you for pointless if I leave out important lessons. This is my cross to bear, not yours. I've given you the gun."

He looks back at the stainless steel table so I do the same. His voice echoes eerily as he finishes with, " Today, I'm giving you the ammunition."

I furrow my brow and twist my lips at the photos, " But you haven't given me a gun yet. You said we need to wait another year."
His chuckle shatters the somberness from before. We look back at one another - me in irritation and him in amusement.
With a naughty grin, he mumbles, " Remind me to have a talk with your English teacher about the importance of metaphors."

I snort, making a mental note to do the exact opposite. Last time he found out I was having problems with fractions in math and that our teacher barely spent a week on them, Paw stormed into our classroom and humiliated me by lecturing her on how elite education should differ from public schooling.

My classmates still tease me about his grand punchline that miserable September day, " And let that be a lesson to you about incompetence!"

It's March.

Paw becomes serious once more, eyes narrowing on the photos as if they're evil masterminds he's yet to snatch off the streets. "Before us are three very real people with very real stories. Today, we will discuss Death or Mercy, and in turn how each gifts regret of their own special flavor.  I have taught you many things my sweet Vandrare. I have taught you to fight, to defend, to dissect human nature and predict it through our baser instincts. However, I have failed to approach the subject that will become a factor in every decision you make on the field - whether that be with the Syndicate or through other organizations you may wish to be a part of."

I study the photos with my own narrowed icy eyes, determined to get a jumpstart on whatever test comes next.

" This decision will always be just before victory - who do you kill and who do you spare?"

I gulp, feeling a pressure I've never experienced before, not even the first time I performed with Mama at the brothel. There's this sudden weight in my chest, this burden on my shoulders I don't really understand yet.

"The objective is always to choose life." Paw sighs heavily, that same weight I'm currently feeling pushing down on his usually postured shoulders. " However, some individuals leave us no choice. Between your life or theirs, or between their life and an innocent's, there will come a day where you must make the decision to pull the trigger or to let them go. Death or mercy. It will define your very existence one day. It will be a heavy decision that always comes with its own set of consequences, no matter which one you decide on."

I look back at the photos, feeling suddenly queasy. The first photo is of a blonde woman in her twenties. Her eyes are unburdened, uncynical, happy. The second photo is of a ragged man in his fifties, presumably from the Orient. He looks gruff and world worn, tired of waking up and tired of existing. The last is of a businessman in his thirties, sleek and polished and debonair. He instantly reminds me of Paw with that twinkle of wit in his eyes and that cunning lift at the corner of his lips.