I had been told this story so many times.  It was, during the night, in Nevada that a man in a black trench coat had wandered by a young lady’s homestead. It’s been explained to me, that this man was dangerous. It’s been explained to me, that this man was one of those guys; one of those guys you’d never want to run into alone in an empty street. 

This man, in the trench coat, had come for the young lady who lived in that house. He had come in pursuit of money—money that she owed him. To this day, I don’t know why she owed him money… just that she did.

He tapped on the front door, upon the little porch the lady had always loved. She answered the door quickly. As if she’s been expecting someone. But, she hadn’t been expecting him. 

He growled out his words, and she knew she was in for some trouble. I heard she tried telling him to give her just a little more time.

He didn’t like that.

I never found what happened to the young lady in the story, just that it was a moral my mother always reminded me of. Don’t trust strange men.

…Sigh.

May 23rd, 1968, I’m a senior at River Birch High School. And I’m known as the kid who always throws in the punches. Literally. The principal knows, and my mom. And so does all of the other students of River Birch. I had recently gotten into another fight: only my first offenses this semester. It takes two to get out of prom; three to get completely kicked out of River Birch High School.

The principal was chatting endlessly with my mother. Probably something about how bad of a student I was.

Oh well.

“Yes, I can understand that,” my mother’s voice travels through the brick wall of the principal’s office. “But frankly, I can guarantee that he won’t get into any more fights, ok?”

The response of the replier was too quiet to hear, so I just assume my mother was denied.

I can’t always get everything…

“Thank you! You’re a really generous man,” my mother opens the door with a smile. Though, she turns to me with little expression. “Come on, let’s go.”

It’s only a ten or so minute’s trip back home, but as long as the silence lasts, the longer the minutes feel. I can tell I’m in for it when we get home. She pulls abruptly into the driveway.

Inside now, my mother shakes her head with obvious disappointment.

“This semester too? I thought you said you wouldn’t get into any more fights,” she glares at me, one hand resting on her cheek.

“I-I’m sorry… I just-” I hardly get in a few words.

“No, no. I don’t want to turn into your father,” she begins, and my heart jumps a beat.

“What?! No, I’m not going to turn into him! I-I-I-”

“Let me finish,” she coldly cuts me off, and I instantly shut up.

 “Now. I know you know that I used to be a Marine, and I trained hard, and I was disciplined to LISTEN to ORDERS GIVEN. Because of that, and your lack of respect, I have found a spot for you in boot camp. There, you will be trained to use your fighting instincts in the correct display and manner …” as soon as my mother stopped speaking, I threw out my own advice.

“Wait, wait! Please! Ju-Just give me one more chance! I-I mean think of this logically… schools almost over, and I… kind of… want to go to prom! And anyway, after I pass senior year, I’ll be off of your time!” I plead and throw in a smile (or at least try to).

My mother stares at me for several seconds, before finally sighing.

“Ok. But this is your last chance.”

School is a different story. Now that (somehow) people are realizing that I’m going to prom, it seems as if girls are practically jumping on me. I ignore all of them.

At lunch, I’m eating with my best girlfriend, and she seems equally amazed at my sudden change of perspective.

“So, you’ve finally decided to do something related to school?” she says jokingly.

“Yeah,” I mutter dumbly. I toy with the corn on my plate. Stress really likes to mess with me.

“You… Have you chosen anyone to go with?” she looks at her own food with a certain level of intensity. She’s blushing.

“Er, no…” I respond rather pathetically. Honestly, I hadn’t wanted to go with anyone, but I suppose I didn’t have much of a choice.

“Do- Do you want to come with me?” I ask curiously and look up from the corn.

“You’d take me?!” she asks rather rapidly and covers her face instantly. “Um… sure I guess I’ll go with you…”

We exchange a smile. 

Yes, yes, but hours pass by, maybe a few weeks. I’m honestly one to not care for the way time works.

Prom day (or as all the girls would say: Toooonight!!!) was tonight. Filled with dancing couples, and I’d have to pick up my girl, drive her to the school. I wasn’t really looking forward to it. But, she’d be in a beautiful dress, and I’d be in a glorious tuxedo. And the night would ‘perfect’, right?

I don’t like tuxedos either.

Actually, I really don’t like a lot of things.

Well, anyways, Sophie and I got only a few good hours’ worths of time together until my well-known bullies were able to stalk me down.

“Weh-heh-hell! It isn’t Chris the loser himself. And showing up at prom with a DATE!”

The man talking is one of those guys who loved to bark, but don’t know how to bite to save their life. I decide not to respond.

“Hey! Knock it off! You’re not pleasing anyone,” Sophie hisses next to me, and I try not to facepalm. Why would you EVER feed the troll?

“Oh, I’m sorry. We’ll just be leaving now,” the main bully responds to Sophie, to my surprise. I blink rapidly as I see him beginning to walk off.

But he smirks.

Before I know it, one of his comrades is on me, and I tense up, preparing for a fight. I never would have expected in a million years what the events were actually going to turn up as. The guy kisses me.

He seriously kisses me.

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No, I don’t comprehend that the person who kissed me was not actually gay. No, I didn’t see Sophie pull off the man, and I couldn’t hear her yelling at them. All I could hear was the same thought bouncing around in my head. 

And I left senior prom as quickly as I could.

I drove home the whole way thinking about what I was going to say to my mother. (I knew she’d be disappointed).

Inside she looked slightly confounded as to why I was home so early.

“Did something happen?” she tried to sound cool. And at that moment I realized I’d never been able to keep this a secret.

“Mother… during the prom, one of those guys I talked about… kissed me-” I don’t get to finish, as my mother is already racing towards me; worry shining brightly in her eyes.

“Oh my god, you’re alright aren’t you? Don’t worry about a thing! I’ll talk to the principal, and he’ll suspend-”

I interrupt my mother for the first time in 12 months. I… I just couldn’t keep to myself.

“Mom, I felt something,” I say as quietly as I could, but my mother goes stone silent.

“I-I mean not for him…” I stammer and begin to feel like a kicked puppy. “But just the kiss, in general, I didn’t… I didn’t… mind it…”

The transformation of my mother’s expression is immediate. Under her breath she seems to mutter a word that starts with an “F”. I begin to cower slightly.

“So. This is how it has to be,” she sounded happy, but I can’t be fooled by that anymore. It’s when she’s happiest that you should be most scared.

“Your father left me because he was gay too. I CAN” T. I CAN NOT deal with this. I am sending you to a boot camp,” her brow furrows in rising anger.

“But-“

“NO!” she cuts me off in a vile rage. “I’m done with you! I got a letter, showing your acceptance. You leave, TOMORROW.”

I had no time, literally no time. I thought of escaping through my bedroom window. But I didn’t want to risk breaking my legs. I also thought of sleeping…

There was no way I was going to sleep with that psycho next to my bedroom. No way in hell.

Morning rolled on by, and she welcomed me up by telling me it was my time to go. I couldn’t bring any clothes or anything, but I managed to hide a necklace of mine, so full of memories, there was no way I wasn’t going to bring it. Its silver color caught the sunlight as my mother and I headed outside, and I was quite glad she didn’t notice it.

In the car, we went and off to the edge of town. She didn’t tell me how far this boot camp was.

“There’s a bus that’s supposed to be here at 8:00 am sharp. You’re to go on that bus, and enjoy yourself,” she says to me, and I leave the car not saying a word. Honestly, I was pretty pissed off.

“Sure, ma,” I mutter sarcastically and turn my back on her. I wanted to make a point. I’m not sure what exactly, but I just wanted to do something meaningful. She drove off without a word.

Could I have run away? Sure, but to be straight, I really couldn’t find a real reason to. I really wanted to get this over with. Maybe even prove myself… or something.

Don’t know what, though.

Before I really had my wits about me, an almost completely black bus pulled to a stop in front of me. A lovely brown haired girl greets me as the bus doors open.

She holds a clipboard and seems to have a permanently quizzical look in her expression. She glances over me tidily.

“You’re Chris Hevan?” she seems surprised, but I’m not sure why.

“Yeah…” I mutter and decide not to meet her gaze.

In the corner of my eye, I see her shrug, and she beckons me to come onto the bus. With one final sigh, I do.

On the bus, there is one other person besides the driver. The girl was currently forced to take a seat. She gingerly hands over some papers for me to sign, and I read over them carelessly. Something about two teams… a battle… blah blah.

When I’m finished, she checks my signatures, and thanks me.

“So you are on the BLU team… Builder’s League United. Everything on your team is… blue,” she proceeds by motioning to the man with a cowboy-like hat behind me. “You are not to begin fighting until you get to the site.”

She looks me over. I realize my enraged feelings are stirring again. Seriously? My mother actually told one of the boot camp authorities that I regularly get into fights at school? It could be the only explanation for why the lady in front of me had just told me that. In my own anger, I vouch not to answer her with anything but a curt nod. She rolls her eyes and leaves the bus. Only the bus driver and whoever-the-hell-the-guy-was-behind-me were left. I glared down at my feet.

The guy behind me tries to get my attention.

“Uh… mate? Mate… BLOODY HELL, stop ignorin’ me kid!” he increases volume rather quickly, so I decided to give him a piece of my terrible time.

“…What?” I mutter, turning to him. The bus was already leaving the edge of town.

“Aren’t you a little… young?” he asks looking me over while he talks, making me extremely self-conscious.

“No,” I answer a little too quickly. I roughly add-in, “Aren’t you a little too… old?”

He scratches his head in obvious confusion, yet seems to decide not to answer me. He takes quite a few moments before speaking again to me.

“So you’re on the BLU team, are ya?” he asks a slightly rhetorical question, but at the time, I was too jumpy to ignore anything that came my way.

“Yeah, I guess. And you’re on the… R…RED team…?” I’m sure I sounded most outwardly stupid, but he laughed good-naturedly at my slight enthusiasm.

“Yeah, mate. I suppose so… I suppose so.”

It was an extremely long drive down to the boot camp. From what I’ve learned from the “Sniper” (as that was what the guy called himself), the RED and BLU teams were in an extremely isolated area in New Mexico. I was from Utah! 

Anyways, the bus pulled in alongside two massive cooperate-looking buildings, one red and one blue. Between the two buildings was about (or at least from what I could tell) a good half of a mile or so of what I could guess “training” ground.

I didn’t even know how long I would be trained here… but I really didn’t want to go off to war or anything suicidal like that.

With a goodbye to the Sniper, I headed off to my team. In front of the doors, I hesitated for a second.

No drill sergeants? No lieutenants? What type of boot camp was this? With a breath, I open the doors only to discover several long hallways and white walls. The entire place was both claustrophobic and bright. 

Slowly, I began to wander the halls. I begin to think I’m going insane as the halls seem to have no end. Were there actually multiple floors to this thing?

After minutes of getting lost, someone finally finds me. He wears a very nice looking tie and suit, true to the blue of the BLU. That’s catchy, ain’t it? Most catching, though, was the fact that he was wearing a ski mask. 

“W-W-Who are you?” he demands stammering, and I try not to sound too offended by his disconcerting tone. I nervously shuffle my feet.

“I’m the uh, new BLU team member…?” I prepare for a series of harsh correcting words, like what you’d see in a movie from a drill sergeant.

Instead, the well-groomed man has a glint of worry in his eyes. He almost drags his feet as he gets closer to me, giving a complete presentation of how far from the top of the food chain he must be.

When he talks again, his voice sounds unnaturally quiet.

“H-How young are you?” he murmurs, and once again I take offense.

“Young enough! WHY do you care?” 

The anger was clear in my voice, and he flinches.

“Hmm?” the well-dressed man hesitates for a second before continuing. “A-And you know how to use a g-gun?” his frown and anxiety increase as his voice gets even quieter.

I sigh unhappily. “No… Or at least barely. But that’s what I came here for, right? Anyways… someone sort of forced me here.”

The fine-attired man blinks nervously in response, and slowly summons his next words.

“We-well… w-whoever sent you here must h-have a de-dea-deathw-wi-wi-sh with y-you…” he stares at his feet. I couldn’t believe a man older than me could be so timid.

“What are you talking about?” I ask, and for once I felt more curiosity than just rage. “This is a… boot camp, isn’t it?”

The man looks at me with such intensity that I force myself to back away from him. And he begins to shake his head and doesn’t stop.

“Y-Yo-You don- don’t k-know…? Th-this is- is- i-sn’t a-a b-bootc-camp…” he talks almost so quietly now, I have to lean towards him to hear him correctly.

“What? What is it then?” I venture my thoughts to open air. I can’t believe my mother signed me up for something other than a boot camp. She wanted me to be disciplined, didn’t she?

“It’s a-a-a w-w-w-wa-war z-zo-zone…” he barely states his words correctly, and I can suddenly tell how nervous he had gotten. But not nearly as horrified as I was about to be.

“B-bas-basically e-every-everyone h-here is… we-well t-trained a-at g-gun ex-ex-exp-expertise… w-whoe-ev-ever s-sent you h-here m-must have-have n-no-no-n-n…” the man had given up trying to talk, but I was nearly freaking out. 

The man steadily introduced himself as the “Spy” and tried his best to explain that there were two teams (RED and BLU, of course) with nine players. Apparently, I was signed up as the “Scout” class. An extremely faced paced offensive attacker who was basically supposed to do almost all the capturing of “intelligence” (yeah and apparently there was intel to capture…) to win the individual rounds of battle. 

Yes, I was scared. Sure I could run fast, but fast enough to dodge a speeding bullet? Yet none of that truly horrified me.

The only real thing that I was honestly terrified about was that the only reason as to why I was here was because the last “Scout” had died a horrible death. And literally burned up into flames.