I stop in the hall stunned but Mia keeps moving.

She stops when she sees me standing still. Without turning her face to mine, she says, “Quit standing there and gawking. We have work to do.” Not even looking back to check if I follow, she moves ahead.

A bomb dropped on my head. The explosion sends me into shell shock but I recover. That is the only thing a soldier can do. Being shot at, they could either let themselves be shot or blown up or captured, or they could fight back, move, retreat, anything. Hesitation kills men. One of the newbies could not bring himself to shoot a man who cried for mercy. We caught him throwing his gun to the ground. But before I could tell the neophyte not to do the same, the man slit his throat and lunged at me with the body as his shield. I had to shoot through him to kill him.

Desperation deforms men, turns them into beasts instead.

The memory only lasts a couple seconds. That was probably how long the whole ordeal took. A flash of violence and a life ended in just seconds.

I follow Mia. One of these days these memories will kill me.

Without another word, we arrive at a meeting room. A large roundtable is smack in the center with a huge television screen on one side of the room. Mia takes a seat and pats the one next to her. I sit down.

“Wouldn’t it be better if I was across from you?”

“Then I wouldn’t be able to watch your mask closely.”

“So you know.”

“Who wouldn’t?” She turns her head to me with a wry smile. “The stories portrayed you as a stoic figure.”

“Hero of Frost.” I shake my head. “They’re nothing more than urban legends. People play me up all the time to attract a bigger crowd.”

“Hehe, I bet the former government wouldn’t appreciate that.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t.” Former government, the Black Terror, people liked to call it that. Lorelei was extremely paranoid. “They were the ones who came up with the name, though.”

“If they were alive today, how do you think they’d react to your name? To your legacy?” She elbows me playfully, playing up the people’s praise.

I wince. “They’d laugh their asses off. A traitor who becomes a hero, they’d find it ironic. Also, don’t treat me as a god. It’s disgusting.”

“But you are one!” She prods me further. “You broke the old regime’s back. You led the Brumal Uprisings. You killed their secretary-general. You are the man, the myth, the legend, the one and only.” Her grin widens. The more she praises me, the more it sickens me, and that is precisely the reaction she wishes to provoke. Grabbing my hands, she announces, “You are the Hero of Frost.”

“What’s most terrifying is how I can’t tell if you’re sincere or not.” I avert my eyes. The people’s praise is lost on me. I don’t deserve it, not with the crimes on my hands. I was lucky that I could live peacefully after all that I did. “How much do you even know?” Pandora’s Box. If she only heard lies about me, then the truth would sucker-punch her. Her disappointment might be the reason I die yet I asked. Call it morbid curiosity. I wanted to know how this new generation thought of me.

“You orchestrated the kidnap of the Colonel. This gave you the name Hero of Frost but it later becomes a double entendre. You betrayed your country under an undying blizzard. Noel was taken. We had to move back all the way to the Causus Mountains. You were a traitor.”

Traitor. The word makes me smile. “Yes, I was,” I couldn’t help but say.

“Do you know how many died because you gave up our country’s greatest general?” Her blind adoration takes a dark turn. Her eyes bore through me. They charge me with a crime against humanity, a crime against my brothers, a crime against my Motherland.

When I say nothing, she utters a devastating statistic. “50,000.”

“Was that much Damien was worth?” For once, I refer to the Colonel by his real name. It’s an evasive question but she grants me the mercy of answering.

“Yes.”

“Damien worth that much…” I mutter. Many thoughts flit through my head as I thought about that statistic. Fitting the lives of men into one man’s life. The thought deserves mockery. “I’d thought he’d be worth more.” I laugh at Damien’s worth, at how small the number is, but in truth it was nothing more than a sick humor. “Haha, I thought I had killed more than that.”

“Just the beginning.” Those three words steal my breath away.

“Just the beginning,” I repeat. “Of course, that couldn’t ever be the total weight of my crimes. A hero is worth more than that.”

“That’s right. A hero is worth every life killed, maimed, or sacrificed.” Grimaces paint both our expressions. “Why else do you think I picked you?” She reveals her hand. A risk but worth the gamble. “You, who betrayed your country, who went beyond betrayal to destruction, and who was in turn stabbed in the back by it.”

“I loved my country so much that I would return to it.”

“Even though it exiled you for your crime?”

“Do you know why we drank Mother’s stew in that kitchen?" I suddenly ask. "Why Damien and I ate it?”

“Because it’s home cooking?” The question throws her off guard, confuses her.

“Partially but not entirely right. Certainly, it reminded us of our mothers but that wasn’t the point at all. The Colonel offered that stew because we were both soldiers.”

Still confused, she asks, “And what’s the point of mentioning that now?”

“We offered our lives to this country. Our loyalty burned us in its zeal. Of course, when the war began, it shriveled up and died, but that stew reminded us of the reason why we joined in the first place--

“To serve our country,” she interrupts.

I nod and continue, “Some part of me still wanted to believe in that, wanted to believe that our homeland was ours.” I chuckle. “And here I thought the war should have taught me differently.”

“But it didn’t.” Her words sound like a sentence, like a shot fired.

“Pathetic, isn’t it,” I can only say. “Our superiors propped up for that war. They told us that we had nothing to fear, that we were going to win, that we could serve our country with our heads up high. That was a lie. But.” Here, I can only make a cynical smile. “As you can tell by our return, some part of us still believed that.”

“Your country certainly didn’t believe that.” Cynicism is met with cynicism. “Not then, not when you returned to them like a dog.” Vitriol suddenly coats her words like a purple powder. Hazy and toxic and exceedingly cruel. “Not once did the country believe in you nor anyone else. Did you think Lorelei cared? She just craved power. Not once did she ever care about her people. From the books I’ve read, she killed without hesitation. The Purge was happening. Did you never notice it?”

I laugh. “Surely, if you’ve read the books, then you’ve read the doctrine, right?”

“So indoctrination does work…” Her words trail off. Both of us know how dangerous such a principle is. It was enough for me to enlist in the army. It is enough for her to fight this battle. She is a Flower that dreams of the bloom in the meadow.

An awkward silence hangs in the air. I break it violently, “Indoctrination does work.” A short breath. In the interlude, she recoils. Or rather, her lip twitches. Her lovely face is enthralling but mostly expressionless. That twitch is like cannonfire to the ears. Pressing on might not get me the results I want. “So I ask the question again, ‘How do you know that you haven’t fallen victim to the same principle? How do I know it’s not just power that you crave as Glaskraut does?’”

We meet each other’s gaze. I will not back down from this question. If there is an inadequate answer, then I cannot lead her, but from the looks of it, it seems my expectations will be betrayed once again. She’s a deer in the headlights. Her lips are pursed. Words don’t cross the boundless gap between us. For once, I am the interrogator. Funny how things in life come to pass. Was it You who did it, dear Maker?

Despite the tenseness, I could not help but jab at my god.

Before I could reflect on my religion, she speaks softly, her words slightly trembling, “I…I do know…What I desire.”

“How interesting,” I speak impassively. My face shows nothing about my opinion of her. She probably picked up that I was probing her, deciding if she was worth my trouble or not. In truth, I said the truth because her eyes tell a different story.

Even now, there is the faintest flame flickering in them.

“Was my playacting enough.” The flame catches fire. Like her eyes, her words pierce straight and through. Like an inferno, they barrel towards their destination at breaknecking speed. “Did it amuse you?”

“Therein lies the question,” I answer. Right now, I could feel the room compressing. Each word has to be sucked out of the tense air. This atmosphere is my element. “But did it?” She did the same to me. It’s only fair that I get to throw her own question back.

“Do you wish for me to answer the question you posed earlier this day? That you asked earlier in this conversation?”

“And you wish for me to do the same.”

“Precisely.” She smiles.

Young age really makes people naive, huh. “Don’t need that answer.”

“Huh?”

“You gave it to me yourself.”

“All I did was act scared.”

“Ah yes, fear. I’m sure you acted that way towards many men, haven’t you.”

“And what does that have to do with your question?” she asks.

“It’s rather simple. You act like you’re innocent, like you’re just fearful. It’s a beautiful display. Men drunk on power want to dominate that shyness, that fear. But when all is said and done, they’re the ones under your thumb.”

“That’s a roundabout way of saying that I want power.” She smiles with amusement. “An interesting crack theory, but you can’t read people’s intentions with just mere words alone.”

She calls it bluff.

I act like it isn’t. “Well, your entire act has been revolving around being a cheerful, playful woman. Someone who likes to play along. Men absolutely adore that. They love seeing you play that role, but you don’t care about them or about their charms or looks.” I lean in close to examine her eyes and their crimson hue. “Like you said, that’s acting like a mutt, like a bitch that returns every time to her master.”

“You act like you’re chivalrous when you really aren’t.” She pushes me away. Neither soft nor gentle, even her push hides her intentions. “And you pretend to be something you aren’t.” This time, she plays her own counterattack, pressing her index finger to my lips. “Now listen closely, I thought you’d’ve learned this back in the political camps. People aren’t what they seem they are.” She leans back into her chair suddenly, releasing all pressure.

Surprise slaps my face. Wretches like her, who seduce men and bring them down under, always hesitate when faced with the truth. When their ivory tower crumbles and they lose their power, they weep for forgiveness. It’s all fun and games until their prey turns loose on them. But she took no steps back.

“I think I’ve won this battle.” She giggles. “I thought the Hero of Frost would be stronger than that, but apparently he fails when it comes to women.”

Cheap insults, but my pride isn’t what I’m thinking about. Hell, I wasn’t even all that surprised with her aggression towards me. There is something respectable about that in a twisted sense. Or rather something malignantly powerful. To not break down under questioning is a rare, cherished trait, yet it becomes a weapon of mass destruction under the wrong ideology.

“Hey, why aren’t you responding?”

But it isn’t that either. My shock comes from something else, something dangerously familiar.

I shake my head. These concerns are irrelevant.

“I admit my defeat,” I finally say. “For now.” Silly pride forces me to append those words.

“Good! Good!” Her hand slaps my shoulder as though she’s proud. “With that settled, I think it’s time to have a meeting. The leaders of each cell will be coming to meet you.”

I raise a brow. “There’s only ten seats.”

“Not all the members could make it.” There’s a blackness to her voice.

“How big is my force?” I ask. Already, I’m off to a rough start.

“We’ll see.”

Not a good sign, but I keep my mouth shut. I fold my arms while I wait. The air grows tenser with each minute that passes. It takes fifteen minutes for the first cell leader to show up.

His build is massive. Like Aurus, the mercenary, his face is scarred, though not as terribly. Various cuts adorn it. Judging from expression alone, he is as proud as a wolf. Feral even. His steps are like a predator. They move decisively, like they are lunging for the kill. When he sees me, his expression doesn’t change. There’s no indication of approval or rejection, only a cold glance of indifference. Unlike Aurus, he probably keeps his face hidden. Rather than mercenary, I’d say he’s an assassin.

Emphasizing that is his silence. He utters not a single word when he sees us.

Mia briefs me about him right in front of him, “That is Cell Leader Poppy. He’s unassuming at first and easily forgettable, but that what makes him our trump assassin. For the hardest targets, he’s our ace in the hole.”

Praise doesn’t move him. His expression remains the same even as Mia lauds him.

“Was he responsible for Glaskraut’s wife’s ‘suicide?’”

This grabs his attention. He stops walking towards a seat. Instead, he deftly pulls the one right next to me. It doesn’t make a sound. Definitely an assassin.

When he sits, his eyes stare directly into mine.

They were listless when he first entered, like he was looking at nothing in particular, but now a penetrating gaze watches from those dark, unending eyes. They almost seem to swirl, like puffs of smoke. They almost entrance me until I look away.

And another person enters the room at that moment.

“Hmm? Is Poppy trying to bewitch someone again?” A high-pitched voice calls out.

I take a look at them. Anything to forget my enrapture with his eyes. A boy with frazzled hair. The strands are singed. He couldn’t have even gone through puberty yet, though he probably was about to. He looked twelve or thirteen. A youthful presence. His shirt was stained with something oily.

Noticing me, he makes a huge smile. “Oh, the newbie Mia was talking about!” He runs towards me excitedly and starts poking me. “You’re real, right?! Right?!”

Children. I hear the gunshots. I can remember their terrified faces, and the bright beaming face turns into a gaping void. The ground is dyed red but a faint breeze whistles in the air. The stale air in the room becomes as fresh as a breath of wind. It was so gentle, that breeze. In contrast, everything else was brutal. The army was pushed so far back that it was creaking. After the Purge, every appointed general was terrified. And just a few days earlier, Order 66 was announced. They had to produce results so they killed “partisans.”

Those children could become “partisans.”

And that was why the city of Maria became a bloodbath.

Bile fills my throat, but it’s not as bad as the realization--

We were capable of atrocity.

It doesn’t help that I had it forced on me. The Krauts lied when I betrayed the Colonel. They believed themselves to be above me, that their race was superior. It didn’t matter that I admitted the truth. I was un-human. Nomo. Literally not human.

“Hey!” A hand waves in front of me. Mia’s hand. They are soft, not calloused, not the hands of a forced labor worker.

In a flash, a simple room with white walls and a black table replaces the horrors of the past.

The assassin suddenly speaks, his voice soft and quiet, “Mia, is this man really our leader? I can only see a man of baggage. Those eyes are like my victims in death, empty and dark, yet somehow he’s still living. You’re making a living corpse our leader?”

“Poppy, you’re not one to talk,” she quips, getting up from her seat. “I mean, look at you! Your face is pale as death and you dress like it too.” She gestures to his black bodysuit. “And your eyes are empty. Seriously, you should go out in the sun sometime.”

“Listen, Mia, the stakes are high. We might go down under. The Flowers is splitting apart already. We’ve already lost half or more of our faction.” He points to me. “And that means we need a proper leader. Not some empty sack like him. I can see it in his eyes.” In a rush, he spills his words out and then shuts his mouth when he sees Mia’s expression.

“You’ve talked more than usual.” Her words are steady and measured, but her eyes are flaming. “Unusual.” The air abruptly cools with that single word. An anomaly. I expected an inferno. Going the opposite direction means her rage is black and concentrated, a lethal combination, especially for fire.

“We’ll see.” But the assassin is undeterred.

The poor boy, who was caught in the middle, finally chips a word in. “Anyways, we have enough people to start the meeting!”

They both nod.

Mia takes her seat again as the assassin does the same, albeit on the opposite side of the table.

The boy sits down, too, and Mia clears her voice. “Ahem. So our objecting this meeting is to determine whether our leader is sufficient enough for this faction. Poppy and I already voiced our opinions. Daffy, what’s yours?”

“Does he know how to make bombs?”

“No,” Mia says.

“Don’t care!” he says with a singsong voice.

“I’m putting him down as a ‘yes.’”

“Hey, he’s not voting,” Poppy objects. “Don’t mark him as a ‘yes.’”

“Fine.” She sighs. “But I’ll give you the chance to talk to him for a bit.” She gets up from her seat. “You can keep him company. I have something real quick to care of.”

“You’re a real pain in the ass.”

“And you arrived fifteen minutes late.” She gets up and leaves.

Poppy turns to me. His lucid eyes examine me carefully. I keep my expression neutral. Assessments happened every day in camp. If the guard perceived anything that seemed unnatural, they could kill you on the spot. My face is devoid of features. It becomes nothing.

The staring stops.

It occurs to me that this meeting had only lasted fifteen seconds. I get up from my seat and grab Mia’s hand just as she’s about to leave.

“This is hardly a meeting at all!” I hiss at her.

“You noticed?” she sarcastically answers. “Hmm. The room’s nearly empty and nearly none of the members showed up. Hmm? What could that possibly mean?”

“They’re already dead.” I assume the worst. For me, that was the only way to survive the living hell. I abandoned hope the moment I heard my wife was killed. The only reason I lived was because I was lucky, but to assume I had a chance would mean to have it crushed. Every time there was a chance at liberation, a few men took it. And every time, they were caught and died. If they were fortunate, they killed themselves before their brutal execution.

“No.” The gallows disappear from my eyes. Perhaps, there’s a fragment of hope left? “If they were dead, then I’d know.”

“How exactly?” I narrow my eyes.

“I’d feel it in my gut.” She pats her stomach, but her eyes are frivolous. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

“You just show up and hold a fifteen second meeting and then you leave just because you feel like it.” I grab her hands with my right hand and glare at her. First, annoyance spills out but it solidifies into contempt. “If that’s the person you are, you can’t be second-in-command.”

From the corner of my eye Poppy and Daffy watch.

Mia notices it too. “Aren’t you the same? Earlier, you had the look of a haunted man, and now you finally make your move? Tell me, why don’t you remain like this?” Determination blazes in her eyes. A sudden fire bursts. “You act wounded and traumatized but you’re not. I can see it in your eyes. They’re as clear as ice.”

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My grip tightens. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-one.” She doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“Twenty-one years of age.” My left hand touches her shoulder. I lock eyes with her. We are of equal height. The flame in her eyes begins to flicker. “And you claim that you know what it’s like to be a man who has survived countless war camps, who has betrayed his comrades, who has struck himself with his own grief. Are you trying to say you know what it’s like to overcome that?”

Silence. The fire dwindles. Puffs of smoke float from her eyes.

“There is much you can’t claim to know. You are wet behind the ears. Foolish as well.” I gesture to the two. “Do you really think you have any chance? I have seen what power-hungry men have done. I have seen how those in power keeps the weak in check. They are absolutely vicious.”

A lack of words and a settling chill that chokes them.

“How many bombings? What did they accomplish aside from the murder of innocents? You killed one target. Your assassin may have killed multiple, but did anyone even notice? It was only once.”

Even the smoky remains of a once-bright flame are beginning to diminish.

“Everyone involved got caught, was killed, and not another bombing took place.” I take a look at the child. “It appears you had to pick up a new bomb expert. It appears your faction is faltering. The organization itself is already dying. Our government plucks your petals. No, not even they have to do it when the Flowers are already doing it themselves!” My left hand also tightens. “But you ask me, you ask a retired soldier to resurrect this dying corpse?!”

Smoldering eyes. They’re drowning in tears.

I suddenly push her down and twirl to my back. I knock the knife out of Poppy’s hands and kick him down too.

“No wonder there aren’t even reports of assassination attempts.” Looking down on him, I spitefully insult him. “You can’t even control your own anger?”

Two wounded black eyes stare at me terrified. They’re tiny pits that light can’t escape. They entrap me. Regret swells in my chest. How could I kick down such an innocent creature? Doy-eyed and cute. It’s like kicking a dog. Indescribable guilt drops an anvil on my heart.

I kick his ribs violently. “If you think you can trick me into hesitating, you’re sorely mistaken.” He cries out in pain but I continue my tirade. “What. Was that a little trick you learned? Something you thought could take me off guard? Did you really think that? Did you forget my title, my namesake?” Taking a heavy sigh, all my feelings empty. Feeling hollow, I grab a chair to place it before the wheezing body and sit down.

Neither Mia nor Daffy do anything to stop me.

The scene reminds me of that blizzard, of that corpse in the snow. Nobody dared to touch it. We just looked from afar as those two are doing right now.

“Hey.”

He doesn’t stir.

“Mia, Daffy, come over here.”

They obey. Both of them stand before me. Neither can look me in the eye. Instead, they stare at Poppy who doesn’t stir. He’s probably knocked out.

“If either of you plan to kill me, I hope you understand the consequences.”

I wait…

For the Punisher.

Obviously, I stepped out of bounds. Just as Chekyll had done earlier, I forcefully crushed Mia’s ideals without concern. This time, however, nobody gets shot, and my head whirls through multiple calculations. Perhaps, I will get my own authority.

Mia is silent, her expression hollow. That face stings. I feel guilty for it but then I remind myself of that fallen corpse. Snow fell on it blithely. We passed by it indifferently. Nobody cared that a person had died, that a comrade was fallen. Guilt was a pointless endeavor, not when hell tormented us every day. I lost my sense of guilt. That was the day it died.

My lips twitch in annoyance.

Neither make a move so I sigh. “Get me the Punisher, Daffy.”

He immediately leaves. I look at Mia, examining her deadened eyes. They were reminders. I saw so many people who gave up.

She doesn’t say a word, so I speak to her, “Mia, grab a seat.”

Wordlessly, she takes one and places it next to me, but her head hangs down the whole time.

That expression stings a little. Seeing a crestfallen woman is like watching a withered rose. It hurts to have something so beautiful shrivel up. I make a softer face, like a father would to his daughter. “Mia.” Gentle words come out of my mouth and her head turns to me slowly. Her head slumps. Her arms are burdensome branches hanging from her sides. For all intents and purposes, she looks like a rotting plant.

Ruining such beauty is a waste, so I try to make amends. “Mia, I’m sorry that I said that so harshly, but I have to say that if this is all you’ve got, you won’t make it.” My gentle words rapidly become hard. I stare into her eyes to see if there is defiance. There’s a flicker. It’s all I have to work with so I press on, my words growing colder and harsher with each passing sentence. “When I asked for your resolve, your reaction said it all. It continues to say it all even! Just look at you. You’re not fighting back, trying to defend yourself, getting back on your feet. All you do is look down. You will never make it out alive the way you are now. You can’t even call yourself an extremist! How disloyal you are to your own cause that even a couple accusations could destroy it! You’re a disgrace.”

It is sink or swim now. Silently accepting my words would mean I’d leave this place forever. I came here arbitrarily and I can leave just as capriciously. My lips twitch when I hear no response.

I stand up to leave but I can’t help but ball my hands up. Nails bite into flesh just hard enough for blood to drip. I want to spit out my red words of fury. This distraction was a joke from beginning to end, not worth my time. An ending with a bitter taste left behind. I nearly toss scraps to her, some last desserts, but I hold my tongue. It is not gentlemanly to add insult to injury, especially for someone as young as her. That would be to play dirty.

But as I walk away towards the door, I hear a shout. “Wait!” A trickle of flames drips to me. Fiery and passionate, they were words that demanded attention. I turn around.

And her eyes are blazing red. Not figuratively with passion but quite literally. I uncurl my fists and feel the tension release. Oh? It’s been a long time since I was disappointed. Not when I left hope a long time ago. Yet I find myself relieved. Funny. Perhaps subconsciously, I wanted to believe in these extremists as crazy as it may sound. Perhaps, I still want to.

The air becomes hotter as she rushes to me but maybe I’m imagining it. Still, when a beautiful woman approaches you, you can’t help but have your heart rush.

Ah. When’s the last time I felt that sensation?

Slap.

My face burns. I feel time freeze as my thoughts recoil. She just slapped me! I thoughtlessly say to myself. But then I understand why. Despite the chance of ejection or execution, despite backing her into a corner or maybe because I backed her into a corner, she slapped me. It was audacious but then I see her eyes.

They blaze a violent crimson.

For the sake of her own beliefs, she slapped me.

Around me, I can feel an inferno ablaze. She sieges me with her own power, with her own conviction. It is her defiance, her belief, her demonstration. This is how much she will commit to her ideology.

Those bright red eyes glare at me.

“Are your parents nomads?” I ask. It occurs to me why I was so drawn to her. Not just her beauty. Any man could have been attracted to that, but nobody would join a terrorist group just for that reason. They probably do exist but I’d rather not think about that.

In any case, it was those eyes.

Originally brown but sometimes red.

I just thought I was seeing things or going senile, but perhaps that was the reason.

And she gives her answer, “Yes. I am proud of my heritage.”

“Now, I understand what you’re fighting for.”

“I knew you could figure it out on your own.” She smiles. “I knew you would, you stupid old man.”

“So it was because of that.”

She recoils but recovers quickly, but before she could give a response, Daffy returns and immediately drops the gun when he sees us two.

“Too scary!” he shouts and runs off, dropping the Punisher on the floor.

We stare at each other and then laugh. Now that I know what she’s fighting for, I can properly understand her or at least more than I used to.

But then another cell leader appears.

“Hmm? Why did Daffy just ru-” She stops dead in her tracks when she sees the two of us. “Oh.” Her face goes blank.

I notice the flames blazing around her. I notice that my skin isn’t melting in its presence. “Oh, I’m not dying.” I snicker. It’s a morbid habit. After surviving every near-death experiences, I would say those words so calmly and peacefully, but internally my head devolves into chaos trying to analyze the situation.

The cell leader continues to look at us and then notes, “Is that Poppy on the floor?” Her face goes even whiter.

This turn of events is even more surreal than I expected. I ask Mia, “So…How about we have this conversation somewhere more private?”

She nods and tells the new cell leader, “Iris, we’ll be back shortly.”

Iris. The name rings a bell but I don’t have time to recall nor to properly examine her. I only get a quick glance at her as we leave.

“We’ll leave Poppy with you,” Mia says as I look back to Iris.

Her skin is white as snow, but she wears a gaudy dress that clashes with it.

“Were you checking her out?” Mia jokes but I don’t bother to respond. “Well, you’re probably too busy in the head, so I’ll just drag you to my place then.”

Suddenly, I’m pulled from recollection. Just those words alone scare me. I’ll drag you to my place then. It’s not inexperience. It’s the fact that Mia is saying them. Who knows what the vixen does to her victims? But I let her take me anyways.

We walk through the winding corridors but they have no rooms. It feels like a labyrinth in here. I’ve long since lost track of the original bedroom I was in. As I attempt to understand the scale of the place, it only begins to befuddle me as more of its details are unveiled.

But I understand the moment we come to a door.

Mia opens it without a creak and a massive warehouse sprawls before me.

I take a step outside and drop my jaw. “How the hell did you afford this?” There are countless boxed rooms hanging from steel cables. The corridors turned at odd angles. This explained it.

And for once, I was caught off guard.

“I told you we weren’t screwed yet.” She smirks.

I don’t have in it me to retort. Analyzing the situation is the only thing on my mind, but Mia grabs me before I could properly think. “Come on! Let’s get down.” Her violent pull almost makes me trip. My thoughts dissipate instantly. “No time to sightsee.” She points to a gap in the fencing for the platform we’re on. A ladder hangs from it.

Well. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I move over to it and start climbing down. The height is extremely high. Something would definitely break if I fall, but I have to know the layout in order to plan any moves. My second-in-command is volatile. I need options if the situation requires it. My training as a soldier kicks in as I look for possible safe hiding spots.

Noticing my slow descent down the ladder, Mia taps me with her foot. “Move faster.”

Welp. I just try to memorize the immediate surroundings and begin climbing down more rapidly.

Lucky for me, the layout is rather simple. There are boxes upon boxes placed in uniform rows and columns. The map is just a grid. All the paths are straight, nothing windy or confusing about it.

Being simple is the best. That was what soldiers are trained for. Our country gave us a weapon, told us the enemy, and sent us onto the battlefield. Nothing perplexing or contemplative on them, it was just your life and the enemy’s.

Too bad our superiors saw our lives as cheaper than the other side.

But that makes it easier to survive.

“That’s your remembering face.” Mia speaks out, her voice echoing in the enormous space.

“Such a face exists?” I ask while making a mental note.

“Yup, it’s really easy to tell too. Your eyes become distant and glazed, as though you aren’t seeing what’s right in front of you, and your lips become more expressive. It’s even easy to understand the emotion behind them.”

“Easy for your kind.” That fire was all I needed to understand.

“Hey! You will not speak bad of us.” Her voice snarls, lighting the air with fire. It reminds me of a scrap furnace and I am the trash about to be tossed in. But before I could even respond, she rushes up to me. Truly, those eyes of crimson are a sight to behold. “We survived genocide. Don’t you dare belittle us.”

“But you’ve become a dying ethnicity,” I say. Those were certainly the wrong words but a morbid curiosity rises. What would happen if I anger her? I draft escape routes just in case.

But rather than getting angry, it feels as though I just splashed water on her. A morose expression blues her face. It’s a ploy to attract guilt or perhaps a trick to lower my guard. Cynicism wants me to be on guard, yet chauvinism tells me that she should be comforted.

“So that’s the reason, huh.” In the end, I give her a noncommittal answer.

“Is that all you can say?!” she shouts. Funny that it’s the one that angers her. “My family was massacred before my eyes. Those pigs! Just a decade ago, they killed. And for what?! For what reason was it justified that my parents had to die?!” Her voice breaks like floorboards snapping. There is a brief terrible silence, the same kind when I heard my family died. When it ends, her voice is calm and collected. “Because they worth less than trash. It was more expedient to wipe us out than to negotiate.”

The news media covered that. The only reason I remembered it was that it was the same day I had another psychotic episode. Watching the news soothed me that day. There is a morbid joy to knowing that others had suffered as you have.

But I am not perverse.

“So you know true agony.” I finally know why she transfixed me. That was the reason I joined. It was her eyes. But more than that, it was the story behind them and why they blazed that vengeful red.

“I am a Jing.” In a dark, stuffy warehouse, she makes her declaration. With blazing crimson eyes, she announces her resolve. She is a Jing, one of the fallen.

I can only match her resolution. “And I am a Vanquished One, one of the lost.” In response, I name my heritage as well. We are a forlorn generation, the Vanquished One. Suffering loss after loss, nobody could understand the extent of our plight, and the world moved on before we could even explain ourselves. We died in the war and in the home.

Fiancees who lost their beloved.

Husbands-to-be who lost their will.

Sons and daughters without fathers and mothers.

Our own country disgraced us. They smeared us in mud and blood and betrayed at us at their convenience.

But even standing here in this dark, stuffy warehouse, a part of me continues to speak. It is the impotent me.

The government that sent us to the war has died. The people who orchestrated the massacre were executed.

This thirst for vengeance is something pointless.

Obviously, that is the correct answer, the one that was so painfully given in the political prisons. My cause was lost so who could I blame?

Maybe, it’s my old eyes, but for a moment I could see a younger me. There is a flicker of the person I was, before I became the man cursed with the title Hero of Frost. I see someone set on the path of self-destruction. It is the same path I followed to the very end.

So while I gave her my resolve, I had yet to give her an answer.

The two options were to let her be or to pull her back from fate, but I already knew the answer ahead of time. No matter what anyone said to me, I would not give up on my crusade. No words would be enough. Her eyes demonstrate a resolve that would not be broken. They made me grimace. How long could her determination last?

Even so, as one who has walked this desolate path, I could not just let it happen. We stood in silence for long enough. Mia says nothing. She stares at me, expecting me to say more.

“There is nothing but heartbreak at the end.”

“I know.”

“You might end up like me, embittered and empty.”

“I know.”

“Blood will be on your hands.”

“I know.”

I bite my lip to keep the obvious question from pouring out. Asking her why would be pointless. From personal experience, I already knew the why. It was for the sake of justice or whatever twisted ideal she had. It is doomed from the start. Warped by our surroundings, we could not possibly be in the right. I witnessed betrayal. She witnessed genocide. Neither of us could say we have no vendetta.

Her eyes are dark. They attract no light. I’m sure a part of her already knows what’s in store for her. She knows the pursuit will consume her. That’s why her eyes are so empty already, but there are some things that people just can’t give up on.

There is nothing left for me to say. I already gave her the stakes and she acknowledged them.

No wait, there’s one thing left--

“Will you join me?”

“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood…and I--

“I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.”

“Was that the book you were remembering?” A little of the blackness fades. Amusement curls her lip in a faint smile.

“You figure it out,” I answer. “Which road is the ‘one less traveled by?’”

“So you’re giving me a riddle.”

“I am giving you my answer. You do it all the time after all.”

“Hmm.” She takes a contemplative pose and closes her eyes.

The moment is brief respite. Those burning crimson eyes are no longer glaring at me. I take a deep sigh. I hate the heat. It reminds me of lost summer days. I’m lucky this warehouse is so cool. The cold fluorescent lights, the poorly lighted area, the dead boxes. This is my home. And since I don’t have heat flushing my cheeks, I can properly think and come to a terrifying realization. Without noticing it, she took me at her pace. I answered her questions with the same vibrancy as she did. None of the usual mental calculus took place. If I let her dictate me, then she’d have me under her thumb. We were both using each other, but we both had to be on guard.

“You’re not joining me.” Before my head could begin to cool, she gives her answer.

“Only a minute?” I laugh but nobody’s laughing now.

“My reasoning was that you saw shit and you knew that shit destroys you. It takes ahold of you until you can’t let go of it. Chokes you to hell. But you give in to it, just as all those around you did. It was probably the day of Noel when you gave in.”

“How much did you talk to the Colonel?” I narrow my eyes. A chill removes the rest of the heat. This is asymmetrical. She has more information than I do. An interrogation.

“I already know everything I need to.”

That smirk infuriates me because, for once, I’m caught in the spider’s web. It is foreign territory. I had become so accustomed to dictating my enemy that I forgotten what it was like to have it thrown back at you.

Silence is golden.

Saying more will only hurt me. It is an admission that she won, but pride is nothing without victory. There is nothing noble about losing.

“Giving up?” There’s no mockery in her voice, just disappointment which only hurts more. “And here I thought I had someone who could match me.”

Grating words meant to aggravate me. Luckily, my pride is empty. After being beaten so many times, after having everything broken, after losing so much, there was no point in being a lion. That majesty, that nobility, it is useless if you don’t stand on top. It only meant death.

I am a coward…

Who gave up on everything.

She purses her lips. “Hero of Frost, is your fate really that tragic?” The name stings. It is my stigma but she continues nonetheless. “You broke because you betrayed yourself and everything you believed in? You gave up because your ideals weren’t fulfilled? You became a shell just to run away?”

Each blow pummels me. “Yes.”

My admission surprises her. “You’re really saying that?”

“I am a hypocrite, coward, and thief but I am not a liar.” My lip twitches. “My faults are mine and mine alone so stop harassing me with them.”

Another shock. “Huh?”

“This is what you become at my age. This is what all of my generation has become. We are dust. Some of us still don’t raise the white flag, but it’s already speckled with blood anyways. Even the Colonel knows his time is over. That is why the only thing I can do is be honest and pass the baton.” Momentum propels me forward. I grab her shoulder and clench it tightly. “Take your own path. Don’t consult with someone who is already dead.”

I found my rhythm and struck back. The sudden offensive silences her but that is fine with me. After that thrashing combo, I need time to rest and let my head cool. My lip twitches again. Damn. I must be getting old. Getting sentimental if I’m this easily riled up.

I remind myself that I am the Hero of Frost. It stings to remember, but in those old days when I didn’t betray myself, I kept my cool; I kept my eyes wide open. Even in the endless snowfall, I kept making snow prints and I did not falter. Even in the blizzard, I inexorably continued into oblivion.

But no longer.

“You know.” The words are flat and emotionless. “I could have you killed if I wanted to.”

“But you still haven’t.”

“…”

One chance. This is a gamble I must take if I’m to leave this place. “Because you don’t really want to kill me.”

She bites her lip. Hard.

“The problem is that everyone else will.” Assessing the situation, I’m screwed. I have no ally but her, but even she, as second-in-command, can’t have ultimate authority. If I am useless, they’ll kill me. These extremists are violent but pragmatic. I would know from personal experience, and that is why I am on a tightrope. A small slipup and goodbye to life. Perhaps, it is this new body, but somehow it seems like I’m taking more risks than I usually would.

As several thoughts about how to survive rush through my head, Mia makes her own contemplative expression. Touching her hand to her lips, she looks really stunning, but then she opens her mouth and the flames rush out. “I still haven’t given up on you, but I’ve already caught you anyways. In due time, I’ll reignite that burning passion that burned out all those years ago.”

It is her declaration.

Indeed. Even if she won’t kill me, someone else might, and I only identified that she won’t but that begs the question--

Why?

However, I have no time to search for her motives. This place is dangerous. Extremists swarm all around me and I’m expected to lead them. Nobody I can trust. I’m sitting on a time bomb. How long will it take before they don’t trust me and betray me?

Seeing my anguished face, Mia smiles like the devil. “I’d actually find it interesting if you could find your way out alive. So do your best to survive, okay? Actually, even more than that, if you manage to resist my advances, then I really will applaud you.” The eyes burn brighter than before. “Now, let’s return to the meeting before any other cell leaders drop by.”

“Alright.” That’s all I can say. For now, I have to make sure not to aggravate her.

As we climb back up, I take another look at the warehouse for a moment. Stale, devoid of life, cold, it’s the perfect place for someone like me, if only I wasn’t caught up with the extremists, but my complaints will get me nowhere.

I’ll have to figure out my own way.

“Oh? Your eyes are quite clear.” Mia comments on my resolution and smiles. “I hope they’ll stay that way.” That innocent smile is so captivating that I’m taken aback. It isn’t malicious. Just a sincere expression. “Oh, that caught you off guard.” And, of course, it’s gone. Her words take on a calculating tone.

We walk the rest of the way back in silence.

Poppy sits on a chair, his eyes slightly glazed over. Meanwhile, Daffy has a piece of paper on the table and is drawing schematics of some sort. I approach Poppy first but he makes no move.

“You did some stupid shit.” Without holding back, I scold him and he only nods. “Mia picked me for a reason but you wanted to test it.”

There is only silence.

“If you can’t even do your job properly, what reason do you have to be here?”

He suddenly stands up. “I!”

I cut him short. “Are you going to make excuses?”

Deflated, he plops back into his chair.

Mia simply takes a seat by the front while we were having that exchange. I decide to take a seat myself and sit by the door. It’s the opposite position of where Mia is…

She doesn’t say a word.

Daffy’s scribblings suddenly come to an end when I seat myself. All eyes look to me. I straighten my back and look directly in each of their eyes. Enough of being weak. Something about that clash with Mia made sparks. For some reason, a feeling I buried comes fluttering up again, like an ancient instinct.

“What is our status? Our cell leaders are scattered and our faction is small. Our leader Chekyll is dead. We don’t even have everyone together. Tell me, what do you think of our situation?”

“Objection!” Mia speaks out. “We have three cell leaders right here. That’s enough.”

Poppy remains silent while Daffy returns to his schematics. I disregard Mia’s remarks and ask Daffy, “What do you think?”

The child looks up at me disinterestedly. “I don’t care as long as I have bombs!”

His fear from earlier is completely gone. Interesting. Well, the first meeting is always the most important. First impressions matter. Plus, you get some information from it. Poppy is proud and Mia is a Jing. Still, Daffy is a blank so I press on. “Those schematics, are they for bombs?”

“Oh, they’re for something more ambitious.” He suddenly grabs to his chest. “Not showing them to you, though.”

“So you’re the one who gave me this body.”

Daffy widens his eyes, Mia makes a smile, and Poppy has no reaction. I take all those responses in.

“If you’re a bombmaker, then you’ve got to have a couple more tricks up your sleeve,” I explain how I arrived to the answer before he could even ask. I lean forward, my eyes sharpening. “So tell me, why do you think I’m a weapon?”

“You are perfect!” he shouts while fist-bumping. Unable to hold his excitement, he bangs the table. “See! See! It was worth it to steal those materials from the labs.”

It’s just bullshitting and bluffing but it works. Guessing that a bombmaker would be interested in weapons development, I assumed he would be the one who created the age-reversal process that gave me the body. Not to mention, he certainly is an oddity in this organization, but it was essentially throwing darts and hoping for an answer. Mostly harmless, but it could have touched a landmine.

I need more information so I ask about the labs. “Labs?”

Mia raises her hands before Daffy could begin to talk. She smirks. “We don’t need to provide unnecessary information. Otherwise, it could be leaked.”

I click my tongue. Mia doesn’t give a damn about my safety. She just wants to test me at every corner.

“Don’t complain.” Her smirk grows wider. “Even if you’re the leader, we can’t go around divulging information willy-nilly. Technology these days makes it easy to do that.”

Instantly, my head cools. Giving off a reaction allows for the other party to gauge you. A mistake, one that I don’t typically make. Even Poppy snickers a little. Wait, he’s recovered somewhat. I turn my eyes to him. “Report on your assassinations.”

His snickers stop. “None.” His hypnotic eyes become shallow. They stare at nothing in particular and lose their penetrative gaze.

“Then why did you join this organization?” But regardless of his sentiments, I must push him and assess his responses. “If you can’t even fulfill your role, then what’s your use?”

“You!” With a thump, he stabs a knife into the table, but my eyes only become cooler. Both Mia and Daffy look at him with eyes of condemnation so he pulls the knife out. His head hangs low as though he admits his defeat. “I already know that.” Pathetic words fall from his lips. “But I wanted to be here.”

He clenches his fists.

And still, my head, crystallizing its thoughts, cools. Interrogators always look for this moment, the time when the confessor becomes weak and emotional. Their flesh becomes soft. It’s ripe pickings to knife where it really hurts. I remember confessing everything the moment I found out my wife died. There was no point in resisting then.

Even so, it is a fine line. The moment of their collapse can also become the moment of their silence. Losing everything means there is nothing more to lose, and some brave souls, and perhaps wretches, kept their mouths shut to the very end. Yet I confessed. Perhaps, that was because I only had one thing left to preserve--

My life.

So I have to find what Poppy holds onto and destroy it from the inside. It is annihilation in the worst possible way. It is empathy.

Knowing your enemy so well that you could obliterate them.

“Why?” I ask.

“Because--”

“We’re finally fucking here! Holy shit!” Before he could say a word, a loud voice bellows at the door.