A/N--An update to get me back on schedule. Enjoy!
~~~
Three years later
Central Artema
1200 hours
Luke's feet kicked up dirt as he ran deeper into the forest. He panted heavily, his steps quick and frantic, as though he was trying to outrun a dangerous pursuer.
Behind him, he heard the shouts of the infantry. They had caught onto his trail.
But why was a whole infantry unit—composed of fifty soldiers—chasing one lone person through uninhabited terrain?
Believe it or not, this situation was pretty standard in the war-torn battlefield of Central Artema—where a stranger was an enemy.
Even worse, Luke was carrying the bare essentials: camouflage gear, a half-empty bottle of water, a rifle, and two magazines—one of which was empty.
In other words, he couldn't fight the soldiers head-on. But that was never the plan.
A voice crackled over his radio. "Zero, this is Captain Goat. What's the sitrep?"
"This is Zero. The infantry has caught wind of me. ETA is three minutes," Luke said calmly as he jumped over a root.
"Roger that. Oh, and when the time comes, it's best to duck." The radio went dead.
What is he going to do? Luke wondered. He was no longer in the position to ask for an explanation, though. That had been forfeited when he had left the Agency.
Luke began hearing rustling from his sides. Flashes of camo gear alerted him the infantry was beginning to catch up—and trap him in their net. He tried to speed up, but the soldiers matched his pace.
Within a moment, half of them dropped back. Then Luke heard the stomping of dozens of footsteps. They must've realized I'm acting alone.
Any average person would be terrified for their life; Luke wasn't expecting to receive noble treatment from the soldiers—and on top of that, he was carrying a gun. But Luke wasn't normal.
The scouts began to pull ahead of him. Anxiousness was pumped from his heart. If they managed to block him . . . well, he would die. Luke pushed through the dense foliage, panting for breath—and found himself at the edge of a cliff at a thousand-foot drop.
There was no warning; the trees and foliage grew all the way to the cliff's edge. Luke didn't know he was at the edge until it was too late. He windmilled his arms desperately, his face staring into the abyss of his death. For a moment, he hung there—and then a gust of wind knocked him off balance.
Astonished, Luke could only stare numbly at the sky as the wind wooshed past him. His eyes smarted, and his muscles locked up. He couldn't believe that this was how he would die . . .
A hand grabbed the collar of his shirt. The threads of his shirt began to tear as Luke began choking. In the blink of an eye, the mysterious person hoisted Luke back onto land.
At first, Luke fervently thanked whoever was above the clouds for saving his life; the chances of a stranger who would risk their safety to help another journeying in the woods right when Luke fell were slim to none.
And that's when he realized the man was wearing a military uniform.
Luke began cursing whoever was above the clouds. Do they want my death to be worse?!
"Calm down!" the scout admonished Luke as he attempted to slip out of the man's grip. "I'm not here to hurt you!"
Luke listened. Given that the man had muscles everywhere a human possibly could and his failed attempt to escape, it was clear that the scout had all the power in the situation. "I'm calm now. You can let me go now."
The man looked at him suspiciously. "You sure you won't run away?"
"Of course not," Luke lied and wondered how the man had read his mind.
Luke immediately distanced himself from the man when he was freed. Once he ensured the man hadn't harmed him, Luke looked up and studied him.
He didn't look like your ordinary infantry scout. His camouflage shirt had been ripped at the sleeves, revealing his bulging biceps, while the golden nametag at his breast pocket read Roger Collins. Even though his behavior towards Luke had been that of kindness, his body was tense, as though he was watching every movement Luke made.
Luke couldn't blame him; dropping your guard in Central Artema was asking to die.
"What's your name, kid?" Collins asked.
Luke broke out of his thoughts and stared at the scout suspiciously. There was no way the man didn't know who he was. Was he attempting to make Luke slip up—and then kill him on the pretense that he was lying?
Or he could've idiotically chased a stranger into the dark woods without assessing the danger, Liam thought. There was a slim chance—but a chance nonetheless. If this was true, and Luke gave the scout his mercenary name, he wouldn't get out alive.
Because Mercenary Zero—Luke—was infamously known for working for West Artema, the enemy of the Eastern Artenian scout.
"My name is L," Luke finally said.
"It's nice to meet you, L," Collins greeted. "Now, if you don't mind me asking, why are you in the woods all alone, never mind diving off a cliff?"
He idiotically chased a stranger into the dark woods without assessing the danger, Luke concluded drily. I should've expected as much from East Artenians.
Before Luke could muster a response, though, the foliage around them rustled. And then Collins and Luke found fifteen soldiers surrounding them, pointing the business end of fifteen assault rifles toward . . .
. . . Luke.
"Get away from our captain!" the leader shouted at Luke. He was a short and balding man, his army helmet giving him the height of all of his other men. His nametag labeled him as Zeke Laption.
But Luke wasn't paying attention to him; the words had much more meaning. He pointed at Collins. "He's your captain?" Luke asked incredulously.
Laption nodded. "And you'd do best to get away from him before we shoot you full of holes," he threatened, his finger on the trigger tightening.
You're telling me that the CAPTAIN of this infantry unit—a rank that takes years to ascend to—risked his life to idiotically chase a stranger into the dark woods without assessing the danger?! Luke exclaimed in his mind. Even if I didn't interfere, these guys would die of stupidity!
"There's no need for threats," Collins said, stepping forward. "We're all friends here, aren't we, Lieutenant Laption?"
"Captain, don't show your back to him," Laption warned. "Only a dangerous man can survive in these woods alone."
The soldiers behind him murmured in agreement.
"All I see here is a poor boy living off the land, who I, unfortunately, had to save from toppling off a cliff," Collins said, "and you will do best to see that as well."
"He could have a loaded weapon, sir!" one of the soldiers protested.
All this time, Luke was observing the conversation in shock. He had never seen subordinates argue against their superior. They're not united—a fatal weakness.
"Would you survive in his place without a gun?" Collins shot back. "If there's any other opposition, see me later. Until then, we'll treat this boy as one of our own. He would never betray us."
And then the West Artenian soldiers appeared.
There were fifty of them. One moment, the Eastern Artenian soldiers were pointing their weapons at Luke, and the next, they were swinging their weapons to face the enemy.
The Western soldiers were clothed in all black, armed to the teeth with weapons. They looked more like a professional assassination squad than a standard infantry unit they were. Despite the masks covering their faces, Luke could recognize each one. He relaxed.
Because they'd worked together hundreds of times in the past.
Their leader—a hulking brute with a goatee reaching his hips nicknamed 'Goat'—was holding two guns, one in each hand. He caught Luke's gaze and mouthed, Now.
Liam remembered what the captain had told him over the radio—and dove to the ground. Then the West Artenians started firing.
Bullets zinged past Liam's head as he curled up into a ball. Bodies thumped into the grass, but he wasn't concerned. Despite the Eastern soldiers being the enemy, he was relieved that Captain Goat had gone with his suggestion to use rubber bullets instead of real bullets.
That way, the Agency could torture the soldiers for information.
The gunfire suddenly stopped. Liam waited for five more seconds, then peeked his head up.
Every single one of the East Artenian soldiers was on the ground, unconscious. Surprisingly, several West Artenian soldiers had also collapsed—nursing wounds made by real bullets. Despite their stupidity, Luke had to hand it to Collins' infantry; Captain Goat had twice as many in numbers, but Collins' men had done damage.
Then he realized Captain Collins was still standing. He was covered in blue bruises, and his left arm hung limply at his side—but he made it to Luke in the time the mercenary jumped to his feet.
"I thought I made it clear from the starting: I'm not here to hurt you," Collins said, his eyes glimmering with disappointment when Luke and the West Artenian soldiers raised their weapons toward him.
"Why?" Liam had to ask. "I led your soldiers into an ambush, and you don't want to take revenge?"
"Oh, don't worry. I'm furious," Collins told him. "But not at you. I'm livid at him." He pointed to Captain Goat.
The captain merely laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender. "I'm only here for the cleanup. The kid orchestrated everything."
"That's even worse," Collins replied, then turned to Luke. "Why are you wasting your talent like this?"
"He's serving his country," Captain Goat retorted before Luke could speak. "He couldn't be doing anything more honorable than this."
"That's the kind of crap they're feeding you?" Collins asked Luke. "Take a look at this"—gun barrels went up again as Collins dug into his pocket with his good hand, but he only handed a leather object to Luke—"and maybe you'll change your mind. You don't have to—"
He couldn't finish his sentence. A shot rang out—and Captain Collins crumpled to the ground next to his men, a red welt on the back of his head.
Captain Goat was standing right behind him. "Man, how long can he talk?" the captain grumbled. He looked to Luke. "I've already wired you your funds. Get out of here and get checked up. Who knows what those Western scum would've done to you had we waited a bit longer. And give that thing to Forensics while you're at it. It's evidence." He signaled to his men to start the cleanup.
As the Western Artenian soldiers swarmed around the scene, Luke could not move. He'd been in many situations like this in the past—betrayals, long talks, and Captain Goat raging—but he'd never actually been interested in what his enemy had to say. Luke had to wonder: If Collins had one more second to speak, what would he have said to change Luke's mind?
The answer lay in his hands. Or, more specifically, the object. At first, Luke thought the object was a leather-wrapped bomb, but as he inspected it closer, it was actually a black leather bifold wallet. It was well used, the material having ripped in some places and micro indents in others. Luke opened it.
Inside weren't credit cards or cash—but a picture. It was taken during a wedding. All the men wore one-piece tuxedos, while the women wore dresses made of authentic silk. In the middle was the newly-married couple. Luke couldn't recognize the black-haired bride nor the groom, so he shifted his attention to the best man . . .
It was Captain Collins.
He was younger, but there was no mistaking him; he was locked in a group hug with all the other supporting figures there, but it couldn't hide his muscles and short-cropped brown hair. His face was glowing with happiness, which Luke could barely match with the battle-hardened expression of present-day Collins. With a flash of horror, he realized that he could identify many of the other men.
They were from Captain Collins' infantry—the very people Luke had condemned to torture and then death.
Luke didn't realize his hands were shaking until the wallet slipped out of his fingers. I-I'm destroying families, he realized, on the brink of hyperventilating. This isn't honorable. I should be put to death for this!
In front of him, Captain Goat spotted Luke. "You're still here?" he asked, approaching Liam. He didn't seem to know the unstable state Luke was in. "I suppose you're not hurt, then. Want to grab a drink with me, my friend? We've deserved it."
"Y-your not my friend," Luke said, still aghast at what he had done. "You're a criminal."
Finally, Captain Goat realized Luke was staring at the wallet. Understanding flooded his face—followed by anger. "What falsehoods were in that thing!?" he roared. Forget what you just learned, Zero. I can explain everything."
For a moment, Luke felt like listening. But then he realized that, on a silent command, Goat's soldiers were stealthily encircling him.
"Enough of your lies," Luke snarled. He pushed his rifle into Captain Goat's arms. "I'm done with doing your dirty work, you monster. The next time we meet, it will be on opposite sides of the battlefield."
Captain Goat and his soldiers could only watch helplessly as Luke stormed into the forest and disappeared.