Randov was unsure what to feel.

Anger?

Hatred?

Vengeance?

Despair?

The man who had killed his parents was sitting right in front of him - and yet he felt none of these things.

"Why?"

Glaring at the man with a fierce determination, the boy felt an emotion which surpassed anything else.

Intrigue.

Who were his parents?

Why had he never met them?

For what reason had this man killed them?

"Long story, kid. But I don't really know everything, so I'll tell you what I do know."

With a smile, the man took a sip of the coffee, fiddling with the rifle without any particular reason.

"Your parents wanted to leave the country. Instead of doing it legally, they took the risk of doing it without permission. I happened to be on the side of the law, and I was ordered to kill them since they tried to break it. That's about the end of my part in this little scenario. But where did that leave you?"

From the case at his side, the man took out a set of cleaning equipment as he began to disassemble the rifle.

"It left you without parents. Nowhere to go, no home left to return to. Which is why you got really damn lucky."

Blowing off a piece before brushing it, the man continued his speech.

"Lucky that the old man was there to take you. Lucky that he didn't get killed as well. Lucky that our Commander sought him out and negotiated with him. And most importantly..."

Clicking back a cartridge as he reassembled the weapon, the man grinned as he held it, testing its feel as he aimed at the boy.

"Lucky that I happened to target your parents first."

Slinging the weapon onto his back, the man stood up.

"It wasn't anything like honor. If you were the primary target, then I would have targeted you without a question, child or not. The fact of the matter was that if I took out the other two, you wouldn't have anywhere to run. You were a little baby at that point, so I didn't think anyone would be able to get away with you. But lucky for you, my shot wasn't clear, and that gave the old man time to get you out of there. Before I could hunt the two of you down, the Commander returned and gave the order to stop the hunt, so I did."

Heading towards the door, the man walked off as the boy watched him.

"Where are you going?", Randov asked quietly.

"Hah? Where am I going? Where are WE going, you mean. Get up. The old man is dead, your parents are dead, you don't have anyone left-"

"You didn't answer my question."

Cut off quickly, the sniper froze in his spot as he turned around with a grin.

"You're a snarky one, aren't you?"

"I asked why. But you didn't tell me why the old man is dead."

His eyes reddened and his face filled with stress, the boy looked to the sniper with a deadly glare.

"Ah... the old man. It wasn't me who killed him. He was actually a colleague of mine. We worked together after the Commander negotiated your life with him, in exchange for some work in this nation. And that work... Well, it was dangerous work. He lived this long, but it looks like he finally got caught up in something nasty."

"So who killed the old man?"

Looking at the boy, the sniper was filled with surprise as their glares met.

'This kid... even though I'm the one who killed his parents... he doesn't hate me at all... yet...'

With a chuckle, the man called him with his finger, motioning for the boy to follow.

'He hasn't decided. He needs more information to decide who it is he should hate.'

"Come with me. I'll talk along the way. I'm taking you to your new home. It's not anywhere special, but it's the least we can do in honor of the services that Nerokov provided to the Royal Army."

----

Randov ended up getting into a car, and driving with the sniper for quite a while.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to the City. I've got a little place there, so we should be good for now. Although at some point I might need to return to Joraten... but for now I'm on assignment here."

"Tell me everything."

With these words, the boy spoke in a straightforward manner, looking at the roads before them as he rode in the passenger's seat.

"There's a lot to tell. Well, I suppose I'll start with a little backstory. This place is Stronvardia, but you go to school so you should know that much. It's the land of Capitalism and greed... or so the revolutionaries in our country call it. Although... I wouldn't say they're exactly wrong."

"The revolutionaries... who are they?"

"Ah... I guess I'll have to explain a whole lot to you, boy. Alright. From the beginning. The King of Joraten did a pretty bad job at ruling and ended up pissing a lot of the people off. Ruling is pretty hard, you know. So people gathered together and started rebelling against the King. Those are the rebels. I'm a member of the Royal Army. We work for the King and protect him."

"Why would you protect a King who does a bad job?", the boy inquired.

With a laugh, the man bit his tongue as he stopped himself from saying anything rash.

"I don't exactly know myself... but if I had to give a reason, it would be that there is no good solution to anything."

Looking up to the man with confusion, the boy seemed to have question marks above his head as the man continued.

"If a bad King steps up to the plate, then everything goes bad. If a good King steps up, everything goes well and everyone is happy. It's a risk. But the other ways of ruling a nation... well, they're all even worse."

"How?"

The boy pressed the man, to which he continued.

"Well, take this country for example. You've got four main groups that control everything. Elected officials, Police, the Corporations, and the Mafia. The elected officials get voted in by the people, but only after lying to deceive everyone and bribing those who have enough influence to change the vote in their favor. Of course... rigging of elections is pretty common as well. And how do these elections get rigged? Well, by the people who have power of course."

As the man turned onto an interstate highway, the two entered an area of darkness as they entered the rural freeway.

"The Police have the power to arrest those who piss off any of the other three groups. If a government official doesn't like someone, or if someone is threatening the power of one of the Big Shots, they can be easily taken care of by the police or the mafia. Likewise, the crimes of the Mafia can go unchecked if they have the right connections within the police."

Shifting gears as he accelerated into the darkness, the man continued his lecture to the boy.

"The Big Shots use their massive corporations and connections to maintain their power. With access to the best lawyers and control over the majority of the above ground economy, they can easily influence the politicians and the police to work in their favor. Laws can be bent and written to their liking, promoting their businesses even more - and everyone within the circle benefits."

Every once in a while they would pass a street light, however for the most part the horizon before the two was pitch black - the headlights being the only thing that lit the path.

"The Mafia takes care of the underground world. While the gangs do fight among themselves for control, those with powerful mafia connections have the physical power to do whatever they want. Assassinations, illegal money laundering, scamming and fraud, high stakes gambling, prostitution, even human trafficking. All these things are very profitable, and if the Mafia offers their services to the other three groups, then they all become unstoppable both above and below."

The boy patiently listened, his expression stiff as the man taught him everything about the cruel world which he was living in.

"And finally, there are the politicians. As I said before, they pretend to support the people, but really they're just buttering everyone up to get into office in the first place. Once they're in, they fix the laws to benefit the Corporations and the Mafia, and they control the Police indirectly. There's also the Military, though the military can't be used in any way that would be seen in a negative light. That's why the Mafia is so important. If the military is used in the wrong way, then the people will rise up against the government... much like the rebellion happening in Joraten right now. But if it's hidden and covered up, then nobody will bat an eye. And those Mafiosos tend to be real good at silencing people."

"So how do you beat such an enemy?", the boy asked.

Switching lanes, the man entered the fast lane as he once more increased the speed, now going well over 100 miles per hour.

"You don't.", the man replied as he pulled out a phone, checking to see if there were any cops on the freeway. "Either you join them... or you get eaten by them."

The two became silent for just a few moments, the treading of the tires on the pavement and the wind being the only sounds between the two.

"And what if you join them in order to become more powerful than all of them... and eat the entire system up yourself?"

However, with this question, the boy broke the silence.

"Haha... it's not a bad idea. But wouldn't the entire system remain the same then? The only difference would be who is at the top."

Once more, the two became silent.

In the distance, peeking across the horizon, some lights began to poke out.

"But you know... even if it wouldn't make a difference who is at the top... it would make a lot of a difference to that person, wouldn't it?", the boy stated as he glanced into the distance.

The lights of the bustling City.

On seeing these lights, the vehicle approached the City as the skyscrapers towered above them, slowly but surely taking up more of the horizon ahead.

"Therefore... I'll do it."

Stopped in his thoughts by the words of the boy, the sniper felt the urge to take his eyes off the road - for the words with which the boy spoke were filled with a vast ambition unlike anything he had ever seen.

Soon enough, the two were traveling across a massive suspension bridge, and the City towered around them.

Looking around with a grin, the boy glanced at the scenery with a gluttonous smile, as if such a place would one day be his for the taking.

"I'll become the one on top."

----

"Even if you say that, I think you have a few things to learn, kid."

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

As the two drove through the City, the concrete landscape began to show itself.

The structures became less extravagant and more unkempt, and soon enough trash and litter filled the streets.

The asphalt pavement below the vehicle became crummy and cracked, to the point where the two felt as if they were traveling on a line of speed bumps.

The lights of the streets became dimmer and less frequent, and the number of people lurking in the shadows increased.

"Anyone can dream. But it's exactly those dreams that will prevent you from reaching the top."

"Why is that?"

Jerking up and down as the two pulled into a parking garage, the vehicle finally came to a stop as the man put it into park. '

Sitting back in his seat, the man blew the hair out of the way of his forehead as he spoke with a laugh.

"Heh... well, it's simple. When you're a kid, you're allowed to dream exactly because everything is so out of your reach that you can't even comprehend it. But the closer you get to being able to reach something..."

Grabbing the rifle beside him, the man stepped out of the car, not waiting for the boy as he walked off.

"The more you realize how impossible it was to obtain from the start."

"And what if I give up everything?"

However even as the man walked forth without waiting, he looked to see the boy standing by his side.

Without even noticing, the child had stealthily exited the car, closing his door without a sound and walking around to walk beside the man.

'Wha... am I starting to lose my touch?'

As a professional - and a sniper at that - keeping his eye on the enemy was something which this man was trained to do.

His life was in danger if he allowed his enemy to get close, therefore it was the one thing which he must absolutely prevent at all costs.

And yet, here this child was, standing right next to him.

"What if... instead of focusing on the things that all the normal kids would focus on... if I were to redirect my focus completely on that one thing?"

As the boy said this, the sniper stopped in his tracks - for the moment he looked into the eyes of the boy, he was unable to move any further.

'How... ah... I see.'

With a smile, the man gripped his weapon tightly as he led the boy once more.

'Those are the eyes of a child who has lost everything... the eyes of someone who has nothing... and wants to redirect everything about their life... from losing... to gaining.'

"Maybe... just maybe, if you sacrifice everything that you would consider normal... you'd be able to reach it. But kid, let me tell you one thing."

Taking a deep breath, the man ran his hand through his hair with a strange excitement.

"No matter how much you sacrifice... no matter how little you have to lose... there is always the chance for failure. Because there is always someone else who's lost even more."

----

"This is our new home, kid. Welcome, welcome. Make yourself comfy, because this is where we start."

A project.

The walls were ripped and torn, the concrete underneath them cracked and worn, the paint peeling and the roof rusted - it appeared to be a place straight out of a zombie apocalypse.

"This is what we call the hood. It isn't anything like those immigrant suburbs that you lived in with Nerokov."

Unlocking the door, the man wiped his feet off on the doormat before strolling inside, at which the boy followed with caution.

It was empty.

No, to say it would have been incorrect.

Various cooking supplies were strung about the kitchen here and there, and some dishes had been left out to dry.

Random necessities lined the apartment, proving that someone was living here - yet they were so far and few between that one might think someone did not actually live here, and rather that someone had merely left their home, forgetting whatever cheap things which had been left.

"My home is your home. Haha... I wonder if I sound like a communist? They sure do love sharing everything... except for whatever was theirs in the first place."

Throwing his rifle onto the couch, the man took a seat as he closed his eyes, facing the ceiling as he rested.

"Your room is the one that has nothing in it. Not that my room has much more, but hey. Commander is holed up right now in the Royal Palace, and funds don't tend to make it very far from there."

"You're living in poverty, despite the fact that you're working for the Royal Army?"

The boy's words hit the man with a sting, however he merely laughed them off.

"Yeah, that's right. But lemme tell you something else, kid."

Standing up, the man headed over to the kitchen.

Opening the cupboard, he pulled out a loaf of bread.

As the man unwrapped it, the boy could hear the crunch, suggesting that it had been in that cupboard long enough to go stale.

Taking out a pocket knife, the man sliced it bit by bit, then heading over to the refrigerator he opened it as he looked inside.

"There's a lot to learn from poverty. Don't underestimate the poor. Because the second you do..."

Grabbing a container of cream cheese, the man turned it around to check the date.

'Tch... well, I guess two months overdue isn't that much.'

Opening the container, the only thing which remained was a putrid yellow liquid.

With the bread in one hand and the cheese in the other, the man once more took a seat as he began to dip the bread into the liquid, soaking it before taking a bite.

"They'll rise up against you with more power than you would ever think they could show."

----

"Did the old man have any last wish?"

A few hours had passed.

Randov had found that his room was nothing more than a mattress spread out in an empty room.

Of course, it was not like he had many possessions otherwise.

Everything in his previous home was the old man's, though now he was in a place far from the small town which he once called home.

"A last wish, eh? Well, his death... it wasn't exactly unexpected. He was in a dangerous position, so he did give us a memo in case he were to die. Although, I don't have it on me. In order to obtain that you'd have to talk to the Commander. But right now, the Commander is held up in a dangerous spot as well, so reaching him is impossible."

Just as soon as the thought crossed his mind, the idea of a will or even hearing some last words became unreachable.

The old man may not have been present all too often, yet as this hope was cut off the boy felt a sting in his heart.

"I see... that... when will I be able to get into contact with this Commander?"

The boy asked this question, looking up to the red haired man with a firm intent, however he was met with the nodding head of the man as he closed his eyes.

"That won't be possible anytime in the near future. Hell... I would be surprised if you lived long enough for the nightmare that's going on to end."

"I see. So... I probably won't ever know?"

"That's right."

"And yet... you're here. And you seem to know so much about everything. About the old man... about Joraten, and about that Commander of yours..."

"The Commander is a good man... well... maybe... but he's strange."

Looking to the ceiling, the sniper began to go off on a rant as he spoke with a sense of awe in his tone.

"He always seems to know and understand things that we don't. He always orders us to do things that we don't understand, or that seem completely backwards. For example, he told me to watch Nerokov - yet he told me to never assist him. To remain in this nation until the day Nerokov died... and when he did, to introduce myself to you... as the murderer of your parents."

"Why would he do such a thing?"

The boy looked at the man in a curious fashion, completely confused at the orders which the man had been given.

"Was he trying to make an enemy of me?"

"The fact that you haven't become angry with me would suggest something else. Don't you think, boy?"

Silence overcame the two.

It was true.

The boy was not angered in the least at the fact that this man had killed his parents.

While he had always wondered why he did not have parents, the thought was a distant one.

"When you don't have something in the first place, it's hard to be angry that you don't have it. And even if you learn that someone took it away from you... you don't really feel like you've lost anything.", Randov stated calmly.

"What are you to him?"

Whispering these words under his breath, the sniper caught the attention of the boy as he gazed upon him with interest.

"If he knew that you would work with me... and even ordered me to take you in and raise you... then I wonder just what he has planned for you?"

"Don't you think you're overestimating him?"

With a raised eyebrow, the boy looked up to the man with a strange gaze.

Of course, this was only natural.

The sniper knew without doubt that if the Commander were a normal man, or even if he were a great man, that such intricate planning would never bear any fruit.

Such planning which involved so many people and events that were so far out of his control would be impossible for any normal human.

'Yet... if it was the Commander... then without a doubt.... he has something planned.'

Standing up, the man left the room.

"I'm going out drinking. I'll be home... well, at some point. Go to school tomorrow. It's just down the road, so you can walk."

Taking his leave, the man shut the door, leaving the boy alone in the home as he walked through the project hallways.

'If he really has planned it... then he should have taken my nature into account as well. I have no intention to raise some brat. And if I start doing things that are... unpredictable... then maybe it would only mess with whatever he has planned.'

Glancing down to the parking lot below the balcony, the man witnessed a couple of drunk men who seemed to be dragging themselves along, merrily spouting nonsense at nobody.

'Ah... but if he knew that I would act in an unpredictable way... then it wouldn't surprise me if he had predicted that as well. After all... that man's mind is a maze. A maze in which all paths lead to the same exit.'

With a grin, the man turned to glance down the street, the lights of a bar entering his vision in the distance.

'His own victory.'

----