The sun has reached its zenith, but even then its rays can barely penetrate through the thick haze. Thicker than usual days.

I find that a campground has been set up near me. A small mob of humans. Their ragged equipment and worn blades are unlike that of the gleam of the Soldiers'. They look like mercenaries, so they’ll be Mercenaries.

“Damn, who’d ever want to be in these desolate plains?” A lanky one groans, speaking in a foreign, yet familiar tongue.

“Yeah, those undead were simply deplorable,”

“Hmm, well you’d better suck it up, there’ll be loads more ‘till we get to Lectern,”

There are six Mercenaries encamped here on this flat ground. They light a campfire to stave the pervasive cold that most certainly gnaws at them despite the light of day.

“Yo, guys, lookie here!” One of them finds their way over to me. Their steel capped boots depress the already saddened earth. The Mercenary had short hair, but it was red, red like the hair of the Enemy.

I didn’t like them.

The Soldiers usually varied from brown, blonde and grey hair, never red. Only the Enemy had red hair.

Though as the others approach, it’s a surprise that they have brown and black hair. Not all of them are Enemy. Or perhaps none of them are Enemy. Is this Enemy not Enemy because they’re also Mercenary?

I don’t know. A Brick wouldn't understand such strange human geopolitics.

“Guys, can you believe that this brick got a damned ribbon on it? Who’d you think wasted silk on a dirty brick?” He reaches over to me, or rather, Ribbon.

So in the end, he is Enemy isn’t he? I knew it.

The Masons do not lie.

Enemy’s hand reaches over, groping little Ribbon. Defiling Ribbon with its sordid digits. It angers me.

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

I want to murder Enemy, but I am powerless to do so. Ultimately, I am Brick. Brick cannot fight.

Though the feeling grows. Want.

Possibly the first time I’ve ever wanted something not of Brick nature.

“Goddamn, how tight is this bow?” It sighs in exasperation.

But that’s when it comes back to me. I remember this tongue. It is the tongue of the Enemy! There is no doubt to be had.

Enemy picks me up and I glare back defiantly, unable to fight back in my Brick state.

Bricks cannot kill…

No, that’s wrong. Bricks can kill. I’ve seen Sentinels throw fellow compatriots at the Enemy before. Hard Brick met the squishy face of Enemy, and it was Brick that came out on top, vaunting over the cold dead cadaver that was once Enemy.

Brick was superior. The Enemy was weak, but they were numerous. They were inexhaustible, counting multitudes more than even the Bricks that made Wall. So we lost.

But I digress, Bricks can kill… But only in the right circumstances.

This isn’t the right circumstance, but even if it isn't, I’ll make the vectors align.

“Hey, seriously, Gemini, what the hell are you doing with that brick?”

“Hmm? I’m just tryn— Arg!”

A direct impact with the Enemy’s forehead. It feels like slamming into another Brick, except this gives way more easily, allowing me to bathe in the viscous fluid and mushy grey flesh of the Enemy. I’ve lodged half of myself into the Enemy, and even Ribbon is neck deep in the rancid fluid, but I’ve eliminated the Enemy. They should be honoured to beholden BRICK POWA!

Ahem, though even in death, their hands still grip me tight, like a vice.

“What the hell?!”

“Holy shit, d-did that cunt just kill ‘imself?”

The others are perplexed at the Enemy’s sudden passing. They don’t dare approach this sickly carcass. They stay away, avoiding it like it's wretched carrion.

I can understand them. Enemy only knows to break and steal. To rape and pillage. It is only right for an Enemy to be killed. And even more right for Enemy to be avoided.

“You guys, d’you think that brick’s cursed?” A young Mercenary observes, pointing a gaudy stave at me.

“These are the Lulling Plains, I wouldn’t be surprised if that brick was actually the bedevilled tombstone of some centuries old ghost,”

“Shit, does that mean we’re next?!”

The Mercenaries discuss with each other possible cases as to the death of the Enemy. Though they really flatter me. I am not cursed, nor am I a Tombstone. Nor am I a Ghost. I am Brick. Just Brick.

On this point however, I am quite proud of myself. Not many Bricks are known to snag kills on the battlefield, and especially not by themselves. Though, I guess I didn’t kill the Enemy unaided. Ribbon was also here.

Ribbon and Brick.