By SrgtGreen
Aug 08, 2022
“We observed apprehensively as the USRC personnel approached the lead vehicle. Brendon and I were less than 50 meters behind the car, so I rolled down my window and tried to make out their conversation.
‘Out of the car!’ one of the soldiers commanded. The car door opened and three figures emerged: a man, a woman, and a young child. Even from my distance, I could tell that the child’s face was clearly disfigured from a mutation.
‘Mutants,’ one of the soldiers, distinguished by a crimson shoulder pauldron, spat with disgust, ‘Whole clan of them.’
‘What’s your diagnosis?’ the commander inquired of him.
‘Well, the woman could be saved, transfer her to processing. The male, fit but incurable, is ideal for the labor division. The adolescent is clearly beyond help. It can be dealt with here.’
The commander nodded in concurrence, and motioned his troops forward.
The USRC infantry took hold of the mutants and began to split them up, leading them to the encampment shoulder of the highway. The boy, under the escort of the red-marked guard, was lead the other side, near a ditch of freshly upturned dirt. He resisted his captor, but was kept silent by his wretched mutation. His parents, each restrained by two soldiers, were forced the other way. Once there, the USRC brigand forced the sickly child to his knees, before unslinging his rifle, flicking off the safety, methodically aiming, and releasing a single bullet, dropping the mutant in an instant, without hesitation and without remorse. I was dumbstruck, confused by this ultimate act of violence. But Brendon stared at them, shaking with anger, and reached into the glovebox. He scraped around blindly for the pistol I had stored there. He took hold of the firearm, and reached for the door handle.
‘That’ll never work. You’ll just get yourself killed,’ I commanded, trying to hide my fear, ‘Get in the trunk. Maybe they won’t search us, and I can try to bluff our way through.’
‘But keep the gun,’ I continued.
‘Fine,’ Brendon uttered.
Pushing his anger aside, Brendon obliged, crawling into the trunk. The soldier previously detaining the young mutant had sling his rifle back on his back, and turned to our vehicle. He beckoned for us to pull up to checkpoint, his blood-red pauldron glittering in the early morning sun. I broke into a nervous sweat.
‘If they search the car,’ I warned, ‘Don’t hesitate to…’
Brendon cut me off.
‘I won’t.”
‘Out of the car!’ one of the soldiers commanded. The car door opened and three figures emerged: a man, a woman, and a young child. Even from my distance, I could tell that the child’s face was clearly disfigured from a mutation.
‘Mutants,’ one of the soldiers, distinguished by a crimson shoulder pauldron, spat with disgust, ‘Whole clan of them.’
‘What’s your diagnosis?’ the commander inquired of him.
‘Well, the woman could be saved, transfer her to processing. The male, fit but incurable, is ideal for the labor division. The adolescent is clearly beyond help. It can be dealt with here.’
The commander nodded in concurrence, and motioned his troops forward.
The USRC infantry took hold of the mutants and began to split them up, leading them to the encampment shoulder of the highway. The boy, under the escort of the red-marked guard, was lead the other side, near a ditch of freshly upturned dirt. He resisted his captor, but was kept silent by his wretched mutation. His parents, each restrained by two soldiers, were forced the other way. Once there, the USRC brigand forced the sickly child to his knees, before unslinging his rifle, flicking off the safety, methodically aiming, and releasing a single bullet, dropping the mutant in an instant, without hesitation and without remorse. I was dumbstruck, confused by this ultimate act of violence. But Brendon stared at them, shaking with anger, and reached into the glovebox. He scraped around blindly for the pistol I had stored there. He took hold of the firearm, and reached for the door handle.
‘That’ll never work. You’ll just get yourself killed,’ I commanded, trying to hide my fear, ‘Get in the trunk. Maybe they won’t search us, and I can try to bluff our way through.’
‘But keep the gun,’ I continued.
‘Fine,’ Brendon uttered.
Pushing his anger aside, Brendon obliged, crawling into the trunk. The soldier previously detaining the young mutant had sling his rifle back on his back, and turned to our vehicle. He beckoned for us to pull up to checkpoint, his blood-red pauldron glittering in the early morning sun. I broke into a nervous sweat.
‘If they search the car,’ I warned, ‘Don’t hesitate to…’
Brendon cut me off.
‘I won’t.”