“Silence!”
Max stood on a visible platform of metal. Lit by the lights thrown at all angles from the arching dome of that military base. He was observed by thousands of soldiers, of variegated rankings. Looking up, right to his furrowed face.
“That was fun was for citizens, you idiots. Your life has to be hell if we want to live. Do you understand?”
He pointed at his charcoal black mask, looking like those old, baby cat masks which used to be on every stall one or two decades ago.
“I wish I could cover both of these eyes, seeing this pathetic state of yours.”
He pulled his leg up, and pushed it down to the metal grills of the platform which snapped from their core in an instant, and zoomed down, squashing the tough floor of its firmness, as the soldiers sidestepped in a hurried run.
“If you laze around thinking this is just a new, 19 year old, Ghost-6 and doesn’t know shit, then you are dying. And if you wanna live, then show me work. Do you understand?”
“Yes sir!”
They all responded as all the soldiers tapped their raw, leather boots together for a powerful stamp. Didn't matter fearful, admiring, expectant or dismissive, they all hovered under his hands.
The silent observation from Max gave the room a silence like none as the soldiers kept their hands tucked to their temples, forming a salute.
Max observed the shivering subservience. Genuine, yet childish. Not understanding, and inherent, yet flowing in the environment. Possibly, from genuine hearts.
“Guys,” He addressed the soldiers again, with a weird sigh, of acceptance to their struggle, but hiding something, mature, for coaxing.
“You are suffering, so don’t. Follow me, and I’ll lead you.”
He took a step at that platform as he looked before him, where a grill used to be.
“Geez, the things I do.” He voiced himself out, like a personal talk, yet his words are carried throughout the room, via his position and prowess.
“Deputy head.” He calls out.
Standing before the plethora of lined troops, wearing a black, formal jacket, and similar pants. A cap painted with a badge of “space troops” was worn over his stubble-filled face.
His jacket was laced with many medals, and epaulettes were carrying 5 stars.
“Yes, sir.” The deputy head responded.
Max listened to the words, and waved his right hand up, in an exaggerated twist as the broken grill completed itself. Not like the former, but with a purple cushiony surface, contrasting every inch of the base.
Max leans his tall figure on this, and proceeds.
“We have to move in one week. Can you do it?”
The deputy head, watched the new leading figure with a lifted head, and answered, “Yes, sir, but I don’t think we should.”
As Max let out an unforced, small laugh, he focused his gaze further on the soldier, raising his eyes in an amused expression.
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“Oh! Why do you think so, Ghost-5, deputy head, a veteran who has worked with the previous leader for…”
“79 years sir.”
“Ahhh… seventy-nine years. And what is your advice for the junior, only in age, here?”
The Deputy head swallowed the hints in the words — catching the subtlety. Ghost-6s are always the most nonsense, and somehow sensible in their talks.
But one thing he knew was that the team couldn’t go anywhere without him, and everywhere with him.
“I didn’t mean to overrule you, Sir.”
“But you did though.”
“Sorry sir.”
In a moment of tension, breaking it swiftly, Max burst into a laugh, and the scene was beautifully horrific.
This young Ghost-6, the one who just set the highest record ever achieved, had a pleasing beauty like a divine snake. Wise, cunning, venomous, yet somehow convincing and beautiful.
“You are funny, Deputy head. What’s your name?”
He spoke, letting words out as his laughter was dying, still bursting in some, small genuine packets.
“It is Dante General.”
“A Ghost-5? What was your evaluation?”
He spoke, resting his face over his palm, cushioned over the plump cushion-grill he created, on his elbow.
“It was 739, Sir.”
“Hmm.” He gives him a facial nod of appreciation.
“Almost a Ghost-6. I can see why you are a Deputy Head.”
He lifted his leaning body, and jumped out of the platform, as a new platform, connecting to the previous one emerged from his creation.
“How much is the difference between this 19 year old junior, and this veteran Deputy head, can you answer me?”
“It’s 251 points sir.”
“Then only do one thing.”
He halted, and so did the platform forming under him, risen above all of the soldiers, who mostly kept their eyes low, from fear, contempt or perhaps admiration, and only some dared to set their eyes straight.
“Listen to my order, and prepare for the troops to move for the exploration. I have other works too. I need to talk to the transportation sector. I have to solve this issue of communication. I have to work on creating an environment for space explorations where most of you can come alive out of. ”
“So just prepare. I know what I am doing, Mr. Veteran Deputy head.”
“Ye—”
Max displayed a hand towards the Deputy head, from his high stance, and Dante stopped.
“I know you are going to do it. So just do it. Wake up all these sleeping heads, and bring them all tomorrow at the headquarters to my room. I want a clear report from all of them.”
With these orders, he flew zapping down to the exit, as the soldiers at the gate bow, seeing him appear, and he proceeded to exit in an inherently expected manner.
“Captain.”
He called, standing in the marvel of a road stretching over a vast, open, barren military land.
Buildings, innumerable to count, were set up for the troops readying for the imminent mission of Space exploration.
“Take me to Porsel. I want to visit the Communication headquarters first.”
“Yes, sir. Should I take the First Military truck or the second?”
“Whichever moves faster.”
The captain nodded at the command, and proceeded to lower his head, contacting for the transporting, pushing the procedure.
“Alpha-T1, the order is from Supreme head to bring your ML-1 to the Central base.”
“In a moment.”
“It’s arriving sir.”
The captain forwarded the message, which Max acknowledged with a nod.
“Thnx, but don’t speak from now, unless necessary.”
“Yes, sir.”
The conversation ends in complete silence, as Max proceeds to fix his only-watching, right eye, at the clouds, or perhaps something behind them. Ghost-6s were always uncanny out of them all.