Capt. Brian W. Manchester, No. 002

13 August 2030
23:50 QCT

"Sabul got hit hard again. Mateo recorded five dead down there. Their bodies were found floating in a canal with their throats slit and," He breaks off. "You aren't even listening to me, are you?"

My calloused fingers trace the level, flint plates linked to an abraded chain around my neck. This habitual practice has made the carvings on both tags fade into nothing. The words are only legible if you hold it centimeters from your eye. One sheet has my name in full, with my class and rank on the flip side. My birth date is printed beneath my name, as well as which region I belong to.

"For fuck's sake, Brian. You probably didn't hear a word I just said, did you? Working with you is such a waste of my time, I swear." James' head crumples into his hands, streaking through his plentiful, umber hair. "There are days when I wonder why I'm still friends with you."

I drop my tags down my shirt, feeling the warm metal bounce off my chest. "Because I'm your only friend, dipshit."

Today, James dragged me to a meeting between the Colonels at HQ. They had to have their weekly discussion on the murders, which was such a thick topic that they talked for five hours about only that. Arthur Jameson had more than enough to say, practically scolding the Queen's City Colonel for not taking any future precautions or firing any kind of state of emergency. That must come from the General's approval, and Gill hasn't even mentioned it. If you ask me, Arthur is trying to get under James' skin. Typically, some sort of hostility between those two is initiated by James, but this time, it was all Arthur.

Their hatred for one another stems from one source, and everyone knows it. The vicinity of both regions worsens things, but that's not the reason. Arthur hates James because of his affinity for debate. Three years ago, the two were in an argument, and Arthur made a personal remark under his breath in his native tongue. What he didn't know was that James understood every word, and took offense to what he said. James lashed out at Arthur, and two bruised faces later, they were seated at opposite sides of the room from each other. Like a couple of kindergartners.

Following their conference regarding the state of the killings, they introduced the new Colonel from Sever into their pentagon of officers. His name is Kirill Orlov, and the poor guy looked flustered the whole time. I would, too, if I saw James and Arthur arguing for hours on end for the first time. The tongue of Queen's is his second language, so it was difficult for him to comprehend everything that was happening at the meeting. Arthur's impatience didn't assist the new Colonel in his first real congregation.

Afterwards, before James and I dispersed to our offices, we stayed back to welcome Kirill ourselves. Despite not totally understanding the ways of Queen's, he is an amiable and soft-spoken man. He's a bit older than I am and is the father of five children. Silvolk is a minute village located in the barren, icy wasteland known as Usto, and it is also where he calls home. He informed us that no one in his family, not his parents, his siblings, nor his children, have ever left Sever. He is the first person who has ever made it to the big city. Kirill admitted that he was overwhelmed upon his arrival early this morning, yet the feeling could not be matched.

James and I have established that my house is the meeting place after work. Does it make more sense that we talk at his house, considering it's in Bluefield and only twenty blocks east of HQ? You bet it does. He insists, though, that we go to my place instead because it's quieter, he says. He has a twelve-year-old, Daniel, and an eight-year-old, Lily, and they aren't as rambunctious as he perceives them. His wife, Amelia, doesn't bother us, either. He's the one that chooses to drive out of the city limits just to speak with me, so it's not my issue.

"Please, for the love of God, just focus. I don't want to be forced to stay the night again." James strips a sheet of his notes out from the bottom of the pile. He tosses it on top of the map on the kitchen table.

I rub my temple, pressing down to the bone. "I am focusing. And you were the one who brought the whiskey, not me. Don't rope me into your alcoholism."

He pokes five pins into the map, shaking his head at me. "Shut the fuck up. I didn't come here to be insulted."

There were only five murders today, and they were all in Sabul, in the south. When Sabul is attacked like this, there's a significant number that accompanies it. Yesterday was the only exception, with only one death, otherwise, the pattern is constant. This happens once a week, normally on Monday or Tuesday. Colonel Gomez attempted to employ the state of emergency that Jameson suggested in the past few days, yet his efforts were futile. Nothing prevents these murderers from getting what they want.

That all being said, there is no design on the map that reveals the identity of the criminals. No M. Sure, it wasn't going to show up two days in a row, but it's strange that these monsters have set this up to be in such a constellation. Their methods are questionable, and I don't like it. Come to think of it, I don't like anything these people do.

"All the victims in Sabul had their necks cut open by the same kind of dagger." I sift through my pile of paper to find a gray photograph of the murder weapon. "Whoever killed them left hastily enough to forget the knife at the canal. Look at it, James; the blade is the size of my hand. These kinds of knives are only manufactured and distributed one place in the Empire, and it's in Sever."

"So the murderer had to have traveled from Sever to Sabul by train at some point. When this journey occurred is the issue. We could check train records, but who knows how long we'd have to go back to find our killer. It could have been years ago, Brian, and we don't have the time to go through all that."

"Check all trips to Sabul from Sever. It could either a round trip from Sabul to Sever and back, or-"

James yawns. "Don't look too far into it. Just let Kirill worry about it. Tell him your plan and let him figure out the rest."

I softly fling the picture of the knife onto the top of the map, where the snowy north is. "I wouldn't want to burden him with something so demanding this early. I want him to ease into this."

"You know what? Tough shit. That's what he signed up for. He knew that he was going to have to do some heavy work if he became Colonel."

He gets like this. Under normal circumstances, he's not this short-tempered. He understands people, empathizes, and is willing to speak. James transforms into this uncharacteristic guise of himself when he's around two people; Colonel Jameson and myself. As his friend, this phase is worse than when it's toward Jameson. At least with Arthur, you know he hates him for a reason, so the animosity is understood. Toward me, on the other hand, there is no background. It's just how he is.

"It's not fair to him that he has to inherit such a mess from Fitz. You wouldn't have wanted Gill to hand you all this bullshit and say "good luck," would you?"

James chuckles, shading his eyes for a brief second. "My God, when did you turn soft? I would much rather you be a hardass like you always are instead of this invertebrate. Use your brain here, or did you lose that too?"

I pick one of the pins out from the group in Sabul from the map. Pressing my heels on the floor, I slide my chair closer to him until our opposite knees are up against each other. I bring the pin up under his chin, with the point just barely poking a short hair. He holds his breath, peering down at my hand.

"What's wrong with you?" I mutter, tight-lipped. "You've been here for an hour and you haven't said anything of positive substance. You've been berating me this whole time, and I'm sick of it."

He blinks, slowly raising the sides of his mouth. "A blunt pin doesn't scare me. Try a knife, if you want me to pay attention to you."

The end of the pin penetrates through the surface of the skin. "I guess that could be arranged." I catch the pin, rising out of my seat. I'm not playing around. He needs to get his act together and stop being such a prick.

"All right, all right, I was kidding. Jesus." James throws his hands up, gliding his finger where the bubble of blood is spouting under his chin. "Knowing you, you probably would've stabbed me the next time I opened my mouth."

I observe him as he makes a blockade with his finger. I spread my hands out on top of the map, with my one thumb covering Etolunia in Ciella. The map has a leathery texture from its life of sitting in the archives of HQ collecting dust. Similar to us.

"This search is fucking pointless. How long have we been wasting hours, days, in our offices trying to solve the world's greatest mystery? This is a case that is never meant to be solved. This is the third week that we have been stuck with this and we've come up empty-handed. Nothing. There's no traces to follow, and every lead that we open up crumbles within minutes. People are counting on us to stop this before it reaches them, and we know nothing. We know just as much as the average civilian, and that's disturbing." He tugs his own chain out from under his white button-down, through the opening left by two unlatched. "For the first time since I've been Colonel, I feel truly powerless. And that scares me."

I have known James for twenty years. All this time, people in the offices say that there is something within him that sets him apart from the others. It's the absence of fear. There was no dare, challenge, or trial too menacing for him to manage. Never in these decades have I seen him tuck into a turtle shell like this. It's unnatural for him to be afraid, and he doesn't like it. He knows that he has to be strong for those that can't be. If he can't protect the people that he cares about most, it worries him. He gets antsy. It's how he is.

I allow the initial pin to roll across the map, the point crimson. "I understand. It's hard for all of us, but I can't imagine all that weight being on my shoulders. I'm sorry, James."

He exhales, weaving his fingers between his two tags on the necklace. "And sometimes I think about the kids, and Amy, and the baby, and," He pauses. The light from the ceiling gleams off one tag onto the clear mask over his eyes. "I think about them getting hurt while I'm not home and I'm not there to protect them. I know it's fucked up to think that way but you do it too, right? You worry about Celeste, don't you?"

I hate the thought of it. I admit that the concept did cross my mind once. Before Slater was taken in, I urged Celeste to stay inside during the night. Don't go anywhere alone. She would be annoyed by how short-leashed I was being, but I couldn't help it. I didn't want anything bad to happen to her. Last night, she stormed out of the house after getting mad at James and I. I haven't heard from her since. I'm sure she's okay, but there is a thorn that keeps the bad thought circulating throughout my head.

In my life, I have lost too much. The idea of losing her hurts me more than anything in the world.

"Of course I worry about her. She's my daughter." I take my seat beside him again, sliding away to my original spot. "I don't think about it often. It's best not to."

"Sometimes I see them in my dreams. The victims. They're typical people, except for that mark on their arm. I see their faces, bloodied and beaten in, their body, mutilated, and their family arriving at their local station to receive the news." He clasps his hand over his tags, juggling them. He bites his lip. "Last Friday, Lily woke up in the middle of the night, screaming. She saw them, too." His eyes find his feet. "None of this is fair, Brian. None of it."

"You got that right," I agree. "It's weird how everything plays out these days. Innocent people are having these flashes of images like this, yet Slater even has the mark himself and knows nothing. It's all so strange."

James picks his head up, loosening his grip on his Imperial Guard tags. "What did you just say?"

"People who don't deserve to see these things, kids like Lily-"

He lunges his upper body forward, nearly hopping out of his seat. "No, no. About Slater. He... he has the mark?"

Oh, God. What have I done?

This fact has been common knowledge for the past two weeks. Slater bears the Medo's insignia on his arm, the same one that is found on the victims. I believe I made this clear to the rest of the Imperial Guard when Alfred Jennings was killed in the Meadowlands. Slater and I fought the day before because he had this thing on him and he didn't know what it meant. Well, now we know. I told Arthur about this so-called burden, and I assumed he would stand on top of the Castle and tell the whole world.

I guess he didn't. Why would he tell his rival anything?

It baffles me to think that this is the first time James has heard this.

"How long has he had it for?" His azure gaze pierces through me, mouth agape.

"Your guess is as good as mine. I saw it when I was debriefing with him after his arrest. At the time, I didn't see much significance in it, but now it seems-"

"Invaluable," he intones. If nobody has found Slater's mark to be of any importance, then what could James possibly be implying here? It is quite peculiar, but I don't recognize how it could lead us to some kind of breakthrough. We've been at a standstill for two weeks, and Slater's imprint hasn't done anything for us. At this point, we'll take whatever kind of evidence we can get our hands on.

I raise my shoulders at him, fluttering my head. "Before you go off on some sort of tirade, Slater doesn't know anything. I asked him as much as I could and I got nothing out. He doesn't remember getting it or what it stands for. Trust me, I wish he had something."

"He must have acquired it during his time on the run. He could've been a victim of one of the attacks and survived. The criminals didn't check their target before carving him."

"It's a fair theory, but you're missing a couple details," I judge. "There's no way to tell if this could've happened to him because he conveniently doesn't remember anything that happened when he was a fugitive. He has claimed that time and time again, and I believe him. I brought light to it during the debrief, and he insisted that he never knew he had it.

"Second, you mentioned that he could've been attacked by them and left to die. The likelihood that that happened is low. You and I both know these criminals are professionals at what they do, and they are thorough with their actions. They would not assume he was dead and give him their mark. Slater did not tell me of any experiences like this, again, because he didn't remember anything. He didn't have any other wounds to indicate any other attack occurred. Also, I highly doubt that if he were truly assaulted by these people, he would not have survived. We wouldn't be talking about this right now if these guys got to him before we did."

James fidgets with the silver tag with the eagle impression. The complement to the identity plate. "There's no way he knows nothing. It can't just be a coincidence."

"I know, it's very inconvenient. Slater is just a frustrating individual in general. I'd hate to experience what he's going through." I pull myself toward the edge of the table, studying the map like we're supposed to be doing. "Now, what was Keira saying earlier about the sweep? Does she want to send out troops? Do you know what she meant by that?"

He releases the two tags down his button-down and inspects the heap of notes and coffee-colored map. "She wants us to consider running through places where the criminals could be hiding out. West Forest, Arkti Mountains in the Meadowlands, and the caves off the coast of Ciella, to be more specific. It's too risky, though. We don't know what we will be walking into; it could be a trap."

I drum on the table beside the small sack of pins. "You're worried about some criminals, James? Is it that bad of an idea to do a sweep?"

"I don't say something unless I mean it. These guys are clearly the most dangerous people in the Empire, and the only thing we know about them besides that is their mark. We don't know where they're located. For all we know, they could be armed to the teeth, and our young kids would get fucked up if we hunted them down. A terrible waste of human life." James scratches his forehead, tousling his hair. "If we were to go through with this, we'd have to wait until the ranking is over. If this new class is as good as they seem, we could use them out in the field. Plus-"

His voice dies to nearly mute.

Commander Ferreman lays face-down in the dirt. His glassy eyes reflect the garnet hue from the puddle under his head. The eagle is rested, beak pointed to the black sky. My entire body grows stiff, staring. Minimally shaking.

I blink, jostling my head. My eyes remain on the cloudy appearance of the West Forest on the map. The tapping of my fingers accelerates along with my pulse below my shirt.

Calvin tugs on my arm, pulling me back into our tent. "Brian, get in here! We're under attack!" Bullets shred through the cloth above our heads. "What are we gonna do?"

I glance down at my footlocker, open ajar. I dive toward it, rummaging around for the only rifle we were allowed to pack. It's nowhere to be found. Calvin's is gone, too.

"Brian, are you okay? Was it something I said?" James extends his arm to my shoulder, tilting his head to examine my face. He knows he did something wrong.

Hot fire ravages the skin of my back. My knees dig into the dirt with the stone ceiling over my head. My wrists burn from the fastened rope binding them to the steel pipe.

I blink again. I unbutton the highest closed part of my shirt. My chest heaves as my eyes bounce around the table. The Colonel shakes me, yelling something.

"How long have you been here, kid?" Sergeant Hayes asks, sitting with his back to the cell wall.

I pause, my jaw clenching. "Four years."

I turn my head to James, who stares back. "We're not sending the kids." That's what comes out of my mouth, but the ringing in my head drowns out the noise. My fingers cease.

I haven't had to think about what happened in 2000 in five years. I've been able to keep it under wraps from myself and those I associate with, for everyone's sake. When I'd relive it, I couldn't control myself and transform into a monster like the one inside my head. When I saw the M on Slater's arm, I remembered. I told him that I had to leave for HQ on the first day, but it wasn't entirely for work. I needed to get away from that thing. I couldn't stand to look at it any longer. Soon, I was unable to escape and had to deal with it.

James expels his hand from my shoulder. "I didn't mean to do that, Brian. I totally forgot. I'm so sorry."

It wasn't his fault. I'm the one with the problem here. Whenever someone brings it up in the slightest fashion, as he did, I do my best to discharge it from my mind for the time being. I do that, knowing that it will always latch onto my brain like an eagle's claws. There's nothing I can to do eradicate the nightmare for good. The eagle squeezes until I bleed.

The first five years after it happened, I wouldn't be able to fall asleep some nights. I would lay awake, fearing the idea of closing my eyes and seeing my past. If I did manage to relax enough, my dreams would warn me to never tread on that unknown territory again. The cycle restarted from there.

The only people that I inform of my inner turmoil are those that I truly trust. Being afflicted with such a strife in the lofty position I have been appointed to is viewed as a weakness by rivals. The top officers, Major Talbot, Lieutenant Hill, and General Hamilton are all aware of what happened to me. James, though, was one of the select few who I notified directly when the memory was still somewhat fresh in my mind. I found it effortless to confide in him, considering his early years in the Imperial Guard had been plagued with similar radical events as mine had.

"All right, then. The kids aren't going anywhere. We'll have to tell Keira that her plan won't work now. If it comes down to it, we'll have to send out 15 through 20. These people need to be dealt with, but not at the expense of our teenagers. They're too valuable." James swirls one of the poised pins in Sabul with his finger.

I seize his wrist. "And the ones in 15 through 20 aren't? Everyone in the Imperial Guard is important, whether you want to believe it or not. They don't deserve to be thrown to the wolves because they aren't young anymore." I swat his arm away from the map. "Think before you say anything. You're lucky you said that in front of me instead of someone under Gill's thumb."

"Okay, then what? If we aren't going to send the kids or the adults, then-"

"We aren't sending anyone. Period."

James rolls his eyes. "Fine. Point taken." He rises out of his seat and maneuvers around the table to the empty space near the hallway. He shuffles his feet into the living room, glancing back at me as he stands in front of the couch behind the room divider. "It's getting late, and I don't feel like going home. Danny likes staying up late these days, and some nights he won't even sleep. I don't want him to see me come home and start asking a billion questions that I can't answer. He-"

"I get it. You can stay the night," I remark, leaning back in the wooden kitchen chair. "Is it really that hard to ask?"

"I guess not." He collapses onto the couch, disappearing from my sight. There is some fidgeting, but soon, silence. I'm sitting alone, staring at the map in my quiet home. No Celeste, no Slater, and now James is checked out for the night. I'm used to it.

But deep down inside me, aside from the grief of what happened to me in my youth, something else stabs at my stomach. The most dangerous man in the Empire now knows of Slater's secret. I can only imagine what he can devise from this new evidence with his brilliant, strategic mind. Whatever he does, it should be with the best intentions.

And whatever it is, I just hope he won't take advantage of him, like what the Imperial Guard did to me.