Year 2032.
...
The sky was covered by a gray layer. It felt as if the clouds shared the burden of what was happening on earth. That, added to a destroyed city and lifeless bodies strewn in the streets, made everything look even worse than it already was.
Under the sad sky and the scorched earth lay a man no older than twenty-one with a tired look and a sad smile. What was once familiar and joyful had now become a wasteland of piled corpses. It was not a rare sight for him. It was assumed that, after years in the army, they had forged him for this type of event. As he looked down, he came across a familiar face.
"Mia". A sigh escaped his mouth. He had forgotten the number of sighs he had given since arriving here. This town that had welcomed him with hope and excitement lay destroyed at his feet. Only bodies and rubble could be seen for meters. As he looked at the terrain, a thought that had been running through his mind returned once more.
His gaze relaxed while a few drops of water began to fall slowly until touching the ground. "Why am I fighting?"
"Recognition? Love for the country? Family? A sense of duty?" He did not even remember why he had been doing it for a long time now. Feeling how the cold drops of water fell on his face, he remembered.
…Flashback…
From the beginning, he never had any of that. He was an orphan and grew up on the streets. He lived through everything from violence to abuse for as long as he could remember. On any given day, an army poster flew through the air and landed at his feet. He thought it was fate and that it would bring him recognition. Perhaps, among a group of people with his same sense of duty, he would find a place to belong. His only problem was being sixteen years old. He went with hope anyway and, surprisingly, he was rewarded. He was accepted.
He went through all kinds of difficulties, from heavy training to handling dangerous weapons. He was praised for having a natural talent with the equipment and for learning quickly. He was called a prodigy and a genius. But, at the end of it all, he still felt empty. ´Maybe I haven't done enough´ ,he said to himself with that feeling in his chest.
Three years passed in the blink of an eye. The young man, once thin and malnourished, became an imposing figure six feet three inches tall, with broad shoulders, a relaxed face, and light blue eyes that made him look like the clear sky itself.
Everything changed one day. Everything seemed calm until the superiors gave the order to mobilize. They did not have much information, only to fight against the enemy and wait for orders. And so it was. He fought until exhaustion, until his arms could not hold a weapon and he had to use a knife. Until the knife felt heavy and he had to use his hands, then his feet, and he even killed by delivering blows with his head.
The first death felt strange. He saw the fear in that person's eyes. Their hands trembled while aiming at him, almost crying. Then, with a quick decision, he pulled the trigger. ´It was him or me´. He reminded himself while watching him fall to the ground with a hole in his head. He waited, waited, and waited. Nothing, no feeling passed through his head. ´I'm doing it for my country´. He reminded himself as he calmed his shaking hands.
After that, strangely, killing became less complex. He still felt a strange sensation, but he attributed it to mixed feelings from seeing dead people on the ground by his own hand.
A few months later, he finally discovered the reason for this war. Territory. Had he been in an endless massacre simply for territory? He simply could not believe it. Those people were not evil, they were just defending what was theirs? An immense sense of disgust ran through his body.
Was he fighting for the greed of other people?
In that camp, he understood that everything he had fought for did not exist. All this fighting and massacre were for nothing. But, even so, he kept fighting. Not because he wanted to or liked it, but for his own survival. He understood that it was not so easy to leave the army, especially in a war of such great interests. He knew it was not like in the movies, where one can just disappear and that's it. If the system wanted to find you, it would. That was undeniable. So he fought with the hope of getting out when it was all over.
Thus, three years passed between fight after fight until ending up in the place where he was now. But everything did not end as badly as he had thought. Did he kill? Yes. But he also killed very bad people, from mafia bosses to human traffickers. That was why he was in this town in the first place, hunting the biggest drug lord in the area on a covert mission. It turned out that, outside of that same drug lord, the town was very cheerful despite the war.
This was supposed to be his last day to finish the mission to kill the target. The guy was truly very elusive. Almost a year and a half later, he was finally able to agree on a meeting with him for -business-, but due to some extra missions, he had to leave town.
Upon returning four days later, he learned that the superiors had decided to attack the area out of desperation and impatience with the mission. That ended in this state of the town. Still looking at the rainy sky, he felt strange.
...End of Flashback...
He did not know if it was out of respect or something else, but he had returned to the town. It was then that he noticed something strange. Shadows from the houses and sounds of silent footsteps. He only had time to throw himself inside a nearly collapsed house while shots rained down on him. Looking through a small mirror in the corner, he saw more or less who was trying to kill him. Although he could not distinguish very well, he could still see an evident seal on those people's clothes.
They wore soldier's clothing with a red X embroidered on the right side of the uniform, along with a black outline. It was the clear sign of the allies of the drug lord he was hunting.
"Shit, where the hell did these bastards come from?" They shouldn't have been here in the first place. The squad that destroyed the town was supposed to have left nothing alive. Now they were gone and forty-five people appeared out of nowhere.
He gripped his weapon tightly while shots rained down on him like drops of water. He concentrated his mind and took a deep breath. Seeing the positions through the reflection, he began to fire. Measuring the position and the wind strength perfectly, he hit four out of every five shots to the head. Seeing that their group was falling rapidly, the leader gave orders to change positions. While some fired, others moved, making it difficult for his shots to hit correctly.
To his bad luck, and to the luck of the drug lord's allies, the mirror he had been using to watch broke. That left him totally blind regarding the position of his enemies.
While changing positions, he heard the whistle of a bullet and, seconds later, felt a sharp pain in his lower abdomen. "Shit, how do they have so much ammo? This is pay to win, it's not fair."
A small hint of a laugh tried to slip onto his lips, but in the end, nothing came out. He had neither the strength nor was it the right time to laugh. Watching how the bullets rained down on him, he could only sigh in exhaustion. "If this keeps up, I'm really going to die." Looking through a small bullet hole, he saw his enemies slowly approaching from the front. They looked confident.
They had been in a confrontation for more than twenty minutes and he had barely killed twenty-three of the enemies. Besides, he was running out of ammunition. He made a mental calculation of how many men he had taken down and the bullets he had left, added to the fact that he had several wounds on his body from impacts that made his mobility difficult. But, while reflecting, a crazy idea crossed his mind. ´Umm, this could work´, he told himself while watching the attackers close the distance.
"Carlos, go in with groups three, five, and six. And kill that bastard, I don't want to see even a speck of his hair before the day is over," the mercenary leader shouted while ordering the group to enter quickly.
Everyone took their positions, nervous. With a loud bang, the door fell. They raised their weapons while looking everywhere. They checked room by room until, finally, they arrived at the last door to open.
There were heavy breaths, trembling hands, and sweat dripping from foreheads. They knew that, if they were lucky, a clean shot to the forehead would be the best thing that could happen to them. "Jorge, go in." Carlos signaled his subordinate to move forward.
Jorge looked at the leader with an expression of betrayal before standing in front of the entrance. Clearing his mind and with a sigh to relax the nervousness, he shook off the tension. ´Okay, Jorge, you got this. Once you open the door, you move and dodge the bullet´, he told himself confidently, or at least that's what he wanted to believe.
When he had reassured himself a couple more times, under the threat of a gun at his neck, Jorge kicked the door hard while letting out a scream. A few seconds passed and nothing. The room was empty. The men seemed confused. They saw the window, but it was madness; they were on the top floor of a three-story house. No one would jump from that height with the wounds he had.
They could not think much more when a small sound was heard and something fell to the floor. Jorge, who was the closest one, looked down in confusion. Upon noticing what it was, an expression of pure terror crossed his face.
"Holy shi!" When they turned to try to see Jorge scream, the last thing they perceived was a blinding light from the hallway before everything went dark.
Two rooms on the third level exploded outward, causing those outside the house to throw themselves chest-first to the ground from the shockwave. Meanwhile, elsewhere, a body could be seen being shot out by the explosion toward a nearby dwelling.
...
He lay in a pile of rubble. Everything hurt, from his face to his bones. He was burned everywhere and had pieces of wood embedded all over his body. Additionally, he was sure he had broken more than just a bone when he fell.
"Fuck, it hurts even to breathe. But that was fucking great." A small, bloody smile came from his mouth as he remembered how he had planned everything.
Luckily, he had a bunch of grenades in his soldier's backpack, thinking about going out -with a bang- if he were ever cornered one day. Measuring the distance and speed of the enemies, he quickly went up to the second floor and placed grenades on the ceiling and the hallway. Afterward, he tied everything with a fishing line, hooked himself to the window outside the house, and held on with all his strength. When he heard the footsteps entering and checking the room, he did a five-second countdown and pulled the string, causing the grenades to explode in succession.
Although he had planned to land on the soft part of the other house, not everything went as planned and he landed on a harder area, which caused his ribs to break. "Damn, that was extreme." He tried to stand up, but the only result was spitting a stream of blood from his mouth and nose. He possibly had multiple internal fractures. This time, however, he crawled toward a small wall of rubble he had at his side to lean back.
Before even being able to clear his mind, he heard some voices behind his back that put him on immediate alert. While gripping his pistol with the little strength he had left, he prepared himself.
"I heard something fell around here, boss. Are you sure he's still alive?"
Carlos looked at the man, a bit pensive. "I don't think he survived, honestly, but it doesn't hurt to finish him off, right?"
The subordinate looked at Carlos in surprise. He now understood a little better why this boss of his had survived so long in this type of business. A loud laugh came from his mouth. "Hahaha. You have great instinct, boss. When we finish here, I'll buy everyone a drink so you can teach me more."
"Hohoho. You don't have to be so formal, little José. Just call me Boss Carlos," he said while scratching his beard.
Still waiting for the right moment to fire from behind the rubble, a laugh almost escaped him. ´Why did this guy start acting like a second generation rich kid right now?´ Listening to the voices and murmurs of his enemies, he did a quick count. There were approximately four, with the possibility that there were more wounded or hidden. This was his last chance. All or nothing.
With no time to lose, he tied the helmet to his backpack and threw it out from the right side. Carlos and his group did not think twice and fired at the decoy as soon as it appeared. But, while they were firing, he made sure and came out from the left side. They never had a chance. Four bullets took four lives.
Watching how his enemies finally fell, he could only sigh. Everything hurt and he was not sure if help would arrive in the end. After all, he had always been alone. From the time he was a child to the place where he was now.
He lay back on the damp ground, face up, while looking at the rainy sky again. ´What a shitty game, man. 6/10, at least it had good graphics´.
With that thought, he closed his eyes for the last time in this life.
...
So here we are, a rather unusual HODT story. I'm still working on my grammar since English isn't my first language, so I've used some AI tools to help polish the text. Please support the story with power stones.
I hope you enjoyed chapter one. See you next time
Ciao~