“Sergeant Kyle, Pikeman,”

  “Present for duty Sir,”

  “Lieutenant Arvek, Torin,”

  “Present for duty Sir,”

  “Captain Lira Wehn,”

  “Present for duty Sir,”

  The Cadets wore their white dress uniforms, and popped to attention as they reported in the place of the dead. Every so often, a family member, or a uniformed soldier did the same. The Major was at the back, and waited as the names were called, and there many.

  “Lieutenant Williams, Rennan,”

  The Major came to attention, and reported in his place, some of the non-uniformed bodies looked at him. He sat back down and waited for the ceremony to finish.

  After about 120 names, finally they were called for the final report. The first cadet in line came forward to the clerk, the salute was slow, ceremonious, he had clearly practiced his drill as he walked out. The wooden heels of his dress shoes echoed throughout the chapel.

  Eventually the Major found himself outside awaiting the Corporal to pick him up.

  The two school friends spoke after the ceremony, the Colonel didn’t seem too emotional as the pair walked down the hallway to his office, but then again he never did, he wasn’t sure if it was because of the enclosed helmet, or if he genuinely had no sympathy. After all, he was apart of the inner circle, no one came out of that normal. The Major spoke, “I wanted to speak on my latest assignment,” the Colonel did not wait for him to finish, “Right, the nuke silo, don’t mind yourself with that, just focus on the girl,”

  “I was already there, I found something strange,” the Major said in a rushed manner, “We’re you?” He stopped walking to turn the entirety of his visor towards the Major, “I’m sure whatever you saw was a just a maintenance crew, don’t bother yourself with it,” he opened the door to his office and entered, the Major closed it before speaking, “Sir-”

  “Drop it Chasseur,” He said, not facing him, “I don’t want to be your enemy too, I’ve got well to damn many of those, sit down.” He stroked his blue handled and silver plated scimitar.

  “Ah, so what did I see in the silo,” he asked, “There are things I don’t quite like dealing with, but circumstances forced me to.” he sat down, locking the door remotely as he did so. “This war started because we lost the lynch pin of stability in the region. No one else knew what to do, so the next guy in line decided to deploy the troops,”

  “I don’t understand, what are those things in the silo?” the Colonel hit another button on his desk display, “A backup plan, one that only works if no one fucks with em.” The Major’s face bore a horrified expression, and Colonel continued, “The two of us have quite a lot to say, and if the established way of doing things remains, we will never say it. The academy taught us, all of us, how to go about being a leader. They just didn’t realize what they were teaching, you know this.”

  The Major thought about all the rumors back in battalion. “You could be an upcoming sure shot sniper, or a brilliant chemist, with brilliant brass and mirror shined boots, but you’ll still be beat by someone who out-did you before either of you could walk,”

  The Major was silent still, of all his classmates, Bleechire always related to him the most. “Your physical fitness score doesn’t mean shit when the competition fucked the guy behind the decision, and unless you are willing to adopt a similar mindset you won’t get far within the ranks. Only difference was that I realised too late, it pissed me off seeing that woman talk down to you like she had any right, feeling awfully good in her dress whites.”

  The Major attention was grabbed, “But Avenelle works the dust company now?”

  “No. Avenelle’s dead,”

  He paused for a moment, trying to structure a sentence, he spoke all that he could manage, “Sir?” it was more of a whisper, and he slightly tilted his head.

  “The entire family was blown up at a ball in one of the last retaliatory attacks,”

  He leaned back in his chair,“Your work?”

  “Of course it was, her brother was my old battalion commander, she was just a lucky bonus. How the hell’d you think I became a Colonel?” He looked downward, “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but you’d be better off if you’d known this sooner too.”

  The Major thought for a second, “Tell me you didn’t start the war?” “I didn’t, I fired a couple well aimed shots within a bombardment, war was assured when they handed control over to the Major General, speaking of which…he’s adopted the mindset that he needs to be the one to end the war, apparently it's all waiting on him, which doesn’t do well for promotions,”

  Knowing what he was going to ask, the Major spoke, “So you want me to take him out of action?”

  “You are the best sniper on this side of the war, and after what he did to you I think he’s got it coming. Do that, and I’ll make you a general, you’ll be known as the man who bested Ruby Rose.”

  “She’s just a kid, I don’t know if I can or even want to.”

  “That may be, but even if that is the case I’ll still want that rank,”

  “So take out the guy above you, you get promoted, and promote me in turn.”

  “You’ll finally get recognized for your efforts, which is the least anyone could do. I’m not trying to fuck you like all the other assholes, its us against them.”

  “Well then, if that is what we're doing,” He stood up, “You know I was always the curious type.”

  The Colonel responded “Be as curious as you want, just make sure it stays us against them.”

  The Major turned to leave the room as the door was unlocked, “One more thing,” said the Colonel, he opened a drawer to his desk. “Someone back in B. co pulled some files from the archives, looks like they’re writing about you. Some type of school project.” he tossed him a package, the Major examined it for a second, “Uhh, thanks.” He said as he retreated from the office. He opened the package as he walked back to his quarters, “ Major Chasseur, a silent hero.”

  Atlas had incurred many casualties, and the toll on some soldiers was much worse then others, as could be seen by security at one of there asylums. The guards rushed into the blok where a silent alarm was sounded, they were covered in thick but soft armor, and backed up by liquidators armed with submachine guns. A doctor spoke, “He got a hold of a knife, we're not sure how,” Onlookers and guards lined the upper balcony, staring down in stiff silence. A bug eyed man stood a few feet back from the railings holding a combat knife, its hollow polymer handle cracked and cutting into his fingers. The security squad lead instructed his men to stay back, it wasn’t the first time they had to deal with the man in question, but his demeanor had certainly worsened.

  The patient stood still, almost at the position of attention. The guard approached, the patient quietly mumbled something to himself.

  “Mister Caf,” the guard offered, to no response, he further approached the man, “Caf, whats going on?”

  He finally addressed him, but he still didn’t move, “Black robed figures….what in Gods name are they doing here?” The guard looked out into the dark, as he continued, “I saw one of their heads in a bowl, no blood, covered with wax. Everything was covered with wax. It watched me.”

  “Where did you see it?” asked the guard, and the patient responded, “Everywhere, they stood on the edge of the trails, judging, taunting,”

  The guard heard the electrical crackle in his headset, and a nurses voice came through, “His condition is called rushing skitz, it effects–”

  “I know of his condition, turn on the floodlights, to the main deck…the street lights too.” After a few minutes, the lights came on, and the patient looked around as if to try to spot something, “There not here,” he said, “I think there gone,”

  The guard sighed, “Alright, well… let's get you back inside, ok?” The man looked at the knife, and handed it over to the guard, who signalled the others to leave the hallway.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The bug eyed man finally let himself be put back in his cell, all the lights were on. A white cake sat in the center of his room, made with the intention of avoiding a clear difference in color. Dark surrounded by light, light surrounded by dark, all was to be avoided.

  The guard exited the cell, catching a comment from a nurse, “Is he insane?”

  “No, he’s just spent too much time in the tundra, it's kinda like prairie madness. It just… does things to people. The art and culture that used to come out of the area were always…horrific.”

  He looked into the man's locker where his belongings were stored when first checked into the asylum, inside was a snake tongue bayonet with an inscription.

  “The wind speaks names I do not know,

  Each drift a path I dare not go.

  Beyond the white, no sound, no clue

  Just steps I cannot prove are true.”

  “You said that knew of his condition, what was he seeing?”

  “Well the eye is like a muscle, for his time in the service he was made to look for the enemy across a snowy haze. He’s been looking for black dots in the distance, if you look hard enough, for long enough, after a while that's all you see.” The nurse looked at the man through the monitor, “By God, what must that do to someone…”

  “What about the wax?” one of the squad mates had joined the conversation,

  “There's these spherical mushrooms in some of the forested areas, they release a kind of clear gel into the air, locals pluck them and drink the stuff, for–some reason. It gets in the air, covers everything, you could go on a run and notice you're not sweating because of the stuff, like you couldn’t scratch yourself. Weird…”

  In a nearby room, a man watching a camera feed downloaded the feed to a local drive, wiping a thumb on his uniform pants.

  The convoy had stopped just outside the treeline, snow still falling in slow, lazy sheets. Engines idling low and steady — the kind of sound that masked vomiting if you weren't listening for it.

  Ruby climbed down from her truck, eyes sweeping the formation. Troop doors clanged open. Boots thudded against packed snow. A few soldiers moved between vehicles under orders. One leaned against a tire, chain-smoking. Another was scratching something into his rifle stock with a boot knife.

  She hopped up into one of the rear trucks. “Charmaine?”

  The First Corporal was hunched in a corner, one hand gripping a metal bar for balance, the other pressed over his mouth. Vomit steamed on the floor. He looked pale — paler than usual. She climbed in, sat beside him, and slipped a black tin out from her belt pouch. She opened it without a word, pulled a paper-wrapped sachet, and dropped it in.

  “Drink.”

  He did. Slowly. Eyes watering. His throat worked like it was still deciding whether to spit it all back out. But he managed to swallow. “Renka’s mix, isn’t it?” she asked softly.

  He nodded once. Then shook his head.

  “You don’t understand.” His voice cracked, but he forced it out anyway. “During the Great War… smaller faunus like me — the ones without claws or muscle — we were pro-Atlas. Not because we loved them. Because they were the only ones who could protect us from the big predators. From our own kind.”

  He stopped. Breathed. The tea kicked in slowly — enough for him to lift his shirt and show her the small brand below his ribs it was faint, but still there.

  “We were tolerated. If we stayed small. If we stayed useful.”

  Ruby didn’t speak. She just looked at the mark for a long second before her eyes rose to his face.

  Charmaine reached into his coat and pulled out a small black data drive, wrapped once in cloth, like it might bleed.

  “Got this from the Rabbit,” he said, voice steadier now. “New intel. Someone’s been sent to kill you. Sniper. Real good one. Ran a sniper course back east before things collapsed.”

  Ruby took it. Scanned it through her scroll.

  Then her expression changed — only slightly. But Charmaine noticed.

  Her eyes locked on the image.

  “You know him?”

  She nodded. Slowly. Too slowly.

  “Yeah,” she said, voice low. “I saw him near the nuke silo. Didn’t realize who it was… not at the time.”

  She tapped the scroll once to bring up the next slide — service records, a shot group from a sniper competition, academy photograph.

  “Major Chasseur.”

  Charmaine stayed quiet. He understood enough to know that the name mattered.

  Ruby closed the file.

  “We trained in different places,” she said. “But I’ve heard about his unit, heavy infantry. A sniper could go years in there without being noticed.”

  “How good is he?” Charmaine asked.

  Ruby didn’t answer right away.

  “Hard to say, heavy infantry is considered the worst for officers, either he didn’t do too well at the academy, or he pissed someone off. Considering his placement at the sniper school, I’m willing to consider the latter.”

  The Major and his Corporal walked along the snowy paths back towards the nuke silo, it was early in the morning, requiring specialized optics to see in front of them, they spoke of the current situation. The Major had let him in on some details, “So you're saying these guys are a neutral party?”

  “Maybe, they don’t belong to the other side, that's all I know, but I want to capture one. Bleechires an idiot for telling me.”

  “How's that?” asked the Corporal

  “There was this prestigious club back at the academy, one to two hundred guys would try to join but less than 20 ever made it. We both tried, but only he made it. The shame and curiosity got to me.”

  “But what's that got to do with this?”

  “My point is he should know better than anyone that I would investigate, that club had a lot of secrets, maybe this is one of them.”

  Eventually they hit the same trail as he did the first time, and he took a different path, signaling the Corporal to keep an eye out. He was armed with one of the Major's old rifles, and Cainen admired the woodwork and detail that went into it. It didn’t have a bayonet lug. Instead, a locking mount sat under the barrel — modified to launch grenades using blank rounds. They had plenty. The plan was simple: make some noise, draw out a few of the enemy, take some pictures. If they got into a fire fight they would use smoke and gas to cover a hasty retreat.

  “Why does this rifle have a grenade mount?”

  “It was for flares, I used that rifle while hunting with my dad, if we got injured or lost we’d send a flare. When I tried out for beacon I modified it to take grenades, it made a good pair with my pistol.”

  “If you don’t mind me asking, why didn’t you get accepted.”

  “Well… I participated in a few selection matches, one on ones. I did pretty well until the finals rolled around.” The Major said, and the Corporal responded,

  “What happened at the finals,”

  “Well, I was a pretty decent shot,” he chuckled, almost laughing as he finished, “and then the other guy… controlled fire,” the Corporal could do nothing but laugh with him.

  “This one girl with twin machine pistols got to fight some guy with a hammer… they couldn’t send me against that guy?”

  The large iron and concrete mass of the nuke silo showed itself, the two stopped. They knew what to do, but they didn’t know exactly where to do it. The Major faced a different side of the structure, tubes and tunnels snaked out of the main body. They held an elevated position over the structure, and began looking for an entry, or gathering area. There was no activity in the area, just like before, and yet voices surrounded them. They could hear someone, or something, pulse in a strange and mechanical rhythm.

  Eventually the young fox spotted the emission tower, not configured in the standard way that Atlas regulations dictated, and formed a theory. The two approached, and voices got louder, but not only that, they were much closer, almost right next to him. He put his ear to his rifle, hearing it speak. The Major looked at him, “Are you alright Corp?” His normal human ears could not pick up the sound, and his rifle was talking. He pointed to the tower, “Someone’s modified that emission tower, they probably fucked the voltage, its powerfull enough for me to hear it through anything metal.”

  The Major paused for a moment, “Are you sure?”

  “Positive, if you unhook the feed line on an antenna with shutting of the power, same thing happens, scared the shit outta me the first time.”

  The Major spoke again, “can you make out any words?”

  “Barely, it's clearly some kind of song, slow, chanting like.” The Corporal responded.