A few hours have passed since the boy met the old lady back on the intersection street. He couldn't forget her words and how, with a simple stare, she had seen through him and his mask. It was confusing and puzzling to him as he continued trying to understand this "mystery." Eventually, he just gave up on trying to guess the answer, instead deciding to ask the lady whenever he was to meet her once again if he would be able to meet her again, as his thoughts instantly switched back to the army that occupies the city. He looked up at the skies of the city, seeing a large wedge-shaped spaceship slowly drifting to a stop above the city, its large black belly opening up and dropping off what looked like helicopters, at least from his point of view.

He looks closely at the four helicopters flying off into the large forest on the city's outskirts. As far as he remembered, the city was locked between a beach, with a large sea on the north, and the north-east, as the rest of the city's outskirts are surrounded by a large wilderness. Forests, lakes, and rivers. He didn't see much; he didn't have time to do so, with the occupation rolling in. He takes a look at the sun, rising from the sea horizon, as, for a few moments, the warmth of the sun caressed his skin gently, warming up his body and his soul and easing the pain and suffering that have gathered in his heart for years now. He remembered his first view of the outside after years of captivity: the sun, the forest around him, the blood covering his arms and his body, and the exhaustion as he held onto the body of a dead girl. He sighs, wiping a tear off of his right cheek that forced itself out, the pain choking on his neck, making it hard to breathe or move, as the comfort of the sun's warmth was short-lived. For a few moments, he is stuck standing, staring at the rising sun, slowly and silently crying, trying to compose himself back together.

Taking a few deep breaths, he calms down, once again forcing the stinging pain away and hiding it behind the cold-blooded mask. He sighs, feeling the pain dulling in his chest, like a dagger that was stabbed in his heart and slowly pulled out. He gave the rising sun one last look, knowing that for hours to come, he might not see the light of it ever again. Turning around, he heads down the street to the intersection of the streets, where he has seen the armored car and the old lady. At first glance, it was silent, even with the large spaceship staying in the air without making a noise, but he, more than anyone, knew what dangers one such ship could bring. havoc, death, soldiers...

As he kept walking, he pulled up his hood, covering his head from the watchful eyes of the others, as the wrist of his left arm was covered in a subtle glitch, visible through the black sleeves of his jacket, as it was warning him about danger that was about to come. Yet, frankly, he didn't care as he continued on his way towards the outskirts of the city, towards the raging battle between the people who stood up against these soldiers and the soldiers themselves, ruthless and fearless. Yet what he did not know was the scale of the upcoming battle. Walking through one of the roads leading to the outside of the city, he stumbled upon a group of people frantically running across the street into a dark back alley. Just one glance was enough for him to see the weapons hidden beneath the thick coats the group wore. He did not expect any interruption, and the sudden arrival of the group has put him on guard but yet didn't stop him as he continued walking down the road, eventually reaching what he had looked for: the checkpoint, set right near the exit to the city, trying to keep the city in blockade and stop people from smuggling weapons and ammunition in, the same large armored vehicle standing behind the checkpoint. It's top turret was empty, as the crew of the said machine was standing outside, one of them drinking something from a large plastic cup, talking as if nothing happened.

That was what he wanted to use: their recklessness. It wouldn't be long until their supervisors would arrive and give them a few good curses for their lack of responsibility. But while at it, he still has a chance to break through and get out to the battlefield. He could sneak his way out, yet his main goal was to kill and destroy as much as he possibly could before the enemy brought the whole garrison into action. He started walking faster, and as one of the soldiers noticed him, turning his head towards the boy, it attracted the other soldiers, as the one with the plastic cup tensed up. One of the soldiers at the checkpoint speaks up, raising his weapon and speaking up with a harsh yet mocking tone.

"Hey, you little brat there, where do you think you're going?"

The boy kept going, not slowing down but yet not speeding up. After letting their question sink in, he replied with a cold and emotionless tone in return.

"Trying to get out of the city."

The plain answer has surprised the soldiers, but then, seeing the purely black clothing, they thought to themselves that he's another edgy child, trying to run away from home. One of the soldiers raises his tone, answering back:

"Go back home to your parents, little brat, or else we'll get your family here."

The only reply was nothing but silence from the boy, as he stopped in his tracks, looking up at the soldiers. He pierced them with his beautiful but cold blue eyes. One of the soldiers looks into these eyes and then gasps.

"SHIT, IT'S THE ONE THAT ESCA-"

The yell of warning was cut short, as the boy was not in front of the checkpoint, but behind the yelling soldier, a long black bayonet-like knife pierced through the man's neck, with a soft blue glow on the black knife's sharp edge, plasma, effortlessly melting the man's neck in a matter of seconds, skin melting off with a disgusting smell, yet seemingly not affecting the boy. He pulls the knife out, letting the man drop dead, as while the body fell, he seemed to grab something from their vest. The soldiers all pick up their weapons, but yet too late: the grenade that he had grabbed from the dead man's vest, he threw into the armored car's turret.

Stolen novel; please report.

Not even a second passed as the car went up in a large explosion and flames. The shockwave was so strong that it threw the boy off his feet into the wet grass outside the checkpoint with a thud. With a groan, he stood up, looking at the checkpoint that was going up in flames. For a second, a quick thought passed through his mind, asking, "How the fuck did one MRAP set ablaze the whole place?" With the answer quickly arriving, secondary explosions began to echo through the place. The boy hums under his breath, unaffected by the burning place, and screams of agony from behind the burning walls.

"Huh, guess driving around Ammo does that to you."

The boy rubs his head, quickly checking his body. He didn't have any wounds—just bruises from the debris. Standing up from the wet grass, he brushes the water off of his clothes, looking into the distance—at the forest around him and the city. Just a few hundred meters of sprinting through a large plain with not even high grass, and he's in the safety of the forest and its trees, but he's on tight timing: there will be reinforcements arriving in here soon. After a few moments of thinking and the decision having been made, the boy runs off in a sprint down the grass towards the forest, hearing the loud screech of the large steel blastgates of the spaceship above, preparing to drop off the "helicopters." As the boy ran, he heard the sound of the battlefield far in the distance, yet his only priority as of now was to survive and reach the forest. He barges through a bush filled with roses. Roses? He was confused, sliding to a stop, his boots dirtying in mud. Hidden behind the safety of the trees, he looks back at the bush, indeed seeing weird, large black roses with abnormally big spikes and much smaller ones, the flowers hidden deep within the bush. The boy rubs his left cheek, feeling a stinging sensation from the flower's spikes. His thoughts about the rose were cut short as he heard the "helicopters" descending down to the burning checkpoint. But yet, they were anything but helicopters: around 20–30 meters (70–100 feet) long, sleek black hull with two large round engine-like disks on each side of the ship, a strong dark blue glow inside, as the boy finally comes to realize: these aren't helicopters, these are dropships. He took a closer look, finding that these were armed—a small cannon beneath the nose, but yet his intuition was confident that there's more than the eye sees. Seeing that it drops soldiers down to the checkpoint, he turns around, climbing up on a tree. He hated the cold, yet he knew that it was necessary if he wanted to survive.

Letting cold water wash over his whole body as it sent shudders through him, he then continued venturing deeper into the forest, towards the sound of the battlefield. It didn't take long before lasers and bullets started whizzing past and around him. He jumps off of the tree, catching onto another tree and climbing up on another tree. He was practically in the middle of a firefight between the rebels and the occupiers. Black armor suits running through the deep forest, a red laser blazes past him, as moments later a body fell down—a rebel, wearing nothing but ordinary clothing, fell dead with his forehead melted, his weapon falling down on the boy's head. Catching the rifle, he inspected it: an old rifle, shooting bullets. Luckily, it had coil around it, an obvious attempt to turn it into a coil gun. Grabbing it, he jumps off of the tree, down on his knee, hiding in the high grass. It was mostly a massacre, as the soldiers were marching forward on the rebels, getting stuck in the traps. Some are left to die, some are treated, as the smell of gunpowder, burning greens, and death was lurking in the air. A rebel succumbed to a wound, falling down dead; their chest burned open, and their ribs and organs inside were easily visible. One of the soldiers falls down in a trap, and as a huge bear trap closes down on the man, easily tearing him into two, the grass is covered in the blood and guts of the dead soldier. It was not a battle, as they were glorified in the books. It was hell, as both sides were trying to destroy one another. Unfazed by such scenery, he grabs the knife he has carried, barging out of the grass and ramming into a soldier. The soldier staggers back, then tries to shoot the boy, but in vain, as the boy ducks down right in front of the man, then thrusts his body upwards, hitting the soldier's rifle and throwing it out of their arms. The soldier quickly grabs a knife of his own, identical to the boy's, as the two lunge into a death dance. The soldier attempted to stab through the boy's neck, as the boy uses his left arm to push the soldier's arm aside from his neck, then stabbing in return towards their chest. Yet he failed, too, as the soldier grabbed the arm, kicking the boy in the chest, sending him backwards, as another soldier came to help, shooting into the boy. Using the kick, the boy falls down on the ground, letting the first few shots fly past him and his body, then using his arms, he propels himself upward and away from the two soldiers, grabbing the rifle and shooting in their heads. The first soldier that has wrestled the boy succumbs to the shot, as the second's armor stands the hit, letting the soldier back down. The fight had continued for hours to come, with the boy supporting the rebels in any way possible.

He has saved the wounded, seeing people with their arms torn apart, chests pierced through, and much, much more, with blood and its stench covering the place. He had fought the soldiers, often confronted head-to-head by a few, the boy himself getting shot and wounded a few times in a row, yet the anger, bloodlust, and burning desire to have them suffer kept him going: he had shot them, stabbed them, and broke their bones, making their deaths anything but merciful. When the sun has raised, both sides leave to lick their wounds, leaving behind nothing but torn-apart corpses, blood, and so much more down on the ground and up on the trees. The smell of the burned skin and of the corpses. The boy was sitting on a tree, a distance away from the battlefield and patrols that were yet to arrive. He didn't feel pain, yet he felt the burning from the shots and how his body slowly went limp from the endless hours of fighting...