Upon hearing the recruits’ final echoes of anguish and the unmistakable smell of rotting corpses, he knew time had run out.

  As gunshots rattled the fields, transforming it into a maddened, crimson portrait of insanity, Boris knew he shouldn’t have taken it upon himself to play hero. That one blunder had caused his combat medics to split up, becoming unsure of their fate.

  The sun hung in midday and cast its orange rays upon the freshly slaughtered corpses littered throughout the fields, brightening them like pieces of barbequed meat under an incandescent light display. He found himself stranded in a corner with a recruit, who weaved in between the clutches of life and death, barely hanging on to his mortality. These freshly charred meats did not have their innards carefully removed, their body mass undrained, creating a messy affair of meat chunks available for all to see. If he was not careful, the recruit might join this pile rather soon…

  “You ok, recruit?”

  “...Si…r.”

  He managed to hold out for as long as possible, hoping help would soon arrive, but with barely any ammunition left, the borrowed time had finally run out.

  The recruit chalked up the final strength from his spirit to speak, where even moving his oral muscles had become a problem.

  “...Yes, sir. I’m just…”

  Boris could not bring his eyes to the recruit’s gaze, for his wounds were far worse than he imagined. “Don’t talk. Oh, god…” He had unknowingly found himself calling the almighty creator’s name in vain.

  “Sir…”

  “Recruit, just stay silent, please. I doubt I can pull off a medical miracle without it.”

  The medical equipment he had trained with was a long distance away inside the makeshift medical wing.

  “We need to provide you medical assistance…But look at us–shit!”

  Bray lay against the debris caused by the bomb set off by the terrorist as cover; his leg from the thigh up had received a severe gash, prohibiting him from moving as he desired. His face had gone pale from the blood leaving his body. The sweat generated from his response to pain and the lack of supplies had severely weakened his energy levels, rendering him lethargic and dehydrated. And their water supplies had run out after they had finished their water canteens’ contents.

  “This is not good.” Boris looked at his combat medics, fearing they had lost the war of attrition. “We’re completely done for.”

  Was it the desperateness of the situation Boris faced–or the soul within him–that reached out for salvation? His hands moved uncontrollably, guided by an invisible force, to form a prayer. At wit’s end, he could only think of one final solution.

  He often had fascinations of life beyond death, based on several concepts of immaterial studies, where those beyond the realms of mainstream sciences had piqued his interest. He recalled reading books on faith and philosophy until his parents screamed at him to put those scriptures of “abomination” away.

  “Why, Dad?”

  “Carry on with your studies.”

  “Dad, please answer my question.”

  “In this world, hope is useless. Only reality exists. You only need to study numbers and the sciences! ”

  “Didn’t the North–the place where ‘numbers and sciences’ caused the greatest disaster in humanity’s history?”

  “...Stop it, son.”

  “Dad, the North–”

  “Boris Pavlov, what did I say…?”

  “Dad, the philosopher in this book–he said that–”

  The young Boris remembered his father’s face contorting with rage, the maddened ecstasy mixed with his ice-cold thoughts as he wailed incessantly.

  “Boris!”

  The look on his father’s face–the anger and craziness–remained imprinted in his mind until he finally left home to enrol in medical school. Boris remembered stashing those books in his drawer, only to read them in secrecy with his phone’s light as the moon made its ascent to the night sky, creating a starless pitch-black atmosphere where he knew it was safe to commit that unspeakable act of harbouring faith in this immoral reality.

  “You don't need God or morality in this world! The only thing you need to do–”

  His father’s crazed expression reached a trance-like euphoric state akin to the North’s biologically enhanced parties of eternal utopia, recalling the dream-like state he and his wife had enjoyed before it all came crashing down, having to marry out of convenience to satisfy the Federation’s new mandate of producing children, in the name of improving the birthrate.

  “–Is to become God.”

  Boris smiled peacefully, remembering his father’s words as death approached him. “Ever since I left, have you ever thought about what became of me?”

  Boris wanted to believe in a higher being. To know the actions he had committed were decisions he did not make but derived from a higher being. A doctor trained in the medical field, a profession forced upon him due to his academic pedigree, became a blessing in disguise. He had received access to scores of medical history dating back to historical times.

  The weekends he spent in the Ravens Camp Library alone helped create an environment where he could learn more about history than the Federation's lukewarm censors employed. The philosophers discussed how society would collapse once they moved away from faith or the belief in a higher being. The history books never lied with the truth he could see in plain sight. Therefore, Boris knew a higher power must exist; as foretold in the prophecy, the chosen one would return to purge the evil plaguing his homeland before time ran out.

  “Even if I die today–no.” As death approached him, he finally saw the light. “Eureka.”

  A brilliant idea surfaced in the medical genius’s mind as he clasped a small book in his pocket before completing his prayer and executing it…

  Boris raised his hands above his head. As soon as he did, the footsteps approaching him stopped.

  “I surrender.”

  A momentary pause ensued before an unnaturally deep voice spoke from behind the debris.

  “...Place all your weapons on the floor and walk towards us. Hands in the air.”

  Boris wondered why the tone used was so professional.

  “I have no weapons,” Boris spoke complaintly as if his life depended on it. “What else would you want me to declare?”

  “Empty everything you have on your body and walk over. Slowly.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Boris reached into his pockets and emptied everything–including his pocket bible. He felt the terrorist pause momentarily to assess his belongings.

  “Stand up and slowly walk towards me. Raise your hands.”

  Boris stood up, his head popping over the debris shielding him where the injured recruit lay beside him, who had reached an unconscious state due to blood loss.

  “Recruit, you know…”

  If nobody came to help them, this young recruit who hasn’t experienced life or the chance of victory against the Empire would leave this realm without accomplishing anything.

  “...They say the good die young. See you in heaven.”

  And there it was, the terrorist clad in an all-black uniform standing like a victorious dark knight in the sea of unmoving corpses and displaced rubble. As the terrorist wore a helmet, the face of this soldier of fortune was hidden–on purpose or not, he did not know. The rifle and load vest the terrorist carried belonged to the United Atlantea Federation and Boris could not help but laugh softly as he silently lamented.

  “The irony…”

  The terrorist noticed the Federation’s soldier walking towards him had forgotten a simple order. He knew if any of his fellow insurgents saw it, they would instantly open fire at him. Mustering the urgency in his lungs, he bellowed at the soldier with hostility.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I said raise your hands and walk over.”

  The soldier walking over raised his hands; from the corner of his peripheral vision, he saw a medical cross armband–

  “Are you a combat medic, soldier?”

  “No, I’m not a combat medic. I am a Medical Officer and a doctor by formal profession serving in the United Atlantea Federation Armed Forces. My duty today is to provide on-site support for would-be graduating soldiers wounded during the graduation ceremony. Regarding combat medics, I have a platoon-sized contingent of them under my command. Does that answer your question?”

  After a hesitant pause, the terrorist spoke.

  “Did you not receive the memo to evacuate?”

  They have screwed up.

  It never occurred to Boris that this terrorist seemed aware of the Hippocratic oath.

  “...No, I did not receive any memo. I heard gunshots. Hence, I’m here to provide medical support,” Boris lied through his teeth, knowing his politically correct tone would work wonders. “A doctor has to save people. That’s the oath we swore to uphold.”

  “I have requested to excuse you and your team to leave this venue in one piece…” The terrorist paused to read the mandate displayed on his visor. “...However, you must never tell anyone what you have seen here today. This graveyard is the final resting place of these recruits and their commanders. You and your team can never speak of this to anyone. Not even your higher-ups. Do you understand, Medical Officer?”

  “I agree to your terms, but I have one condition,” Boris answered firmly as the terrorist paused, possibly to speak with his commander.

  “Affirmative, carry on with your request.”

  “I have a soldier who is injured–”

  “All recruits and commanders must die today. That’s the order given.” These were the terms and conditions set by their paymaster.

  “This soldier is medically ineligible for combat.”

  “Have you forgotten what I just said earlier?”

  “I’m a doctor and I have to save lives.” Boris pointed at the medical patch he wore with pride and felt the terrorist staring intently at it, never once taking his eyes off it despite the helmet hiding his facial features.

  “This is a condition we cannot agree to.”

  “Fine then, as a Medical Officer, I have decided to exercise my right to save this soldier’s life.”

  “You don’t understand, do you, Medical Officer? You don’t set the–”

  “You know what? Why not you come over and see it for yourself?”

  Like a spider’s web where the queen spider could control its subjects, backup arrived to form a section-size contingent around the terrorist. The terrorist team approached the Medical Officer with suspicion, noticing a soldier lying unconscious with the medical armband on his right arm, seemingly nearing the brink of death.

  “Affirmative. Carry on, Medical Officer.”

  Boris turned around to face his combat medics lying in wait nearby, hidden from plain sight from other debris in the fields.

  “Medical Corps, let’s evacuate the field.”

  The combat medics stood up and noticed their Medical Officer negotiating with the terrorists. They knew leaving the field was the priority after the mission’s botch and how lucky they were to survive.

  From the corner of his eyes, the terrorist noticed a protruding barrel from a combat medic’s possession.

  “Why are your combat medics armed?”

  Shit.

  Boris smiled awkwardly at the terrorist, knowing any answer he gave wouldn’t save them from this scenario.

  “What is the meaning of this? Are you even a Medical Officer? What about this injured combat medic? Medically-trained soldiers do not carry arms.”

  “What nonsensical slurs! I am a Medical Officer!”

  “Prove it now.”

  “How am I supposed to when my certification is back in the hospital?”

  The terrorists huddled amongst themselves, discussing the appropriate steps to take. The combat medics had left the fields, leaving only the supposed Medical Officer and the injured “combat medic” behind.

  “You are coming with us, Medical Officer. Your injured combat medic, too. My team will deal with your medics.”

  “He needs immediate attention.”

  “We can provide him with it once we perform our due diligence checks…”

  Boris felt his chest tightening, not knowing what to do once they discovered the truth. Clicking his tongue, he wished upon the stars that someone would come to save them.

  Someone.

  Anyone.

  If only the heavens could hear his prayer.

  “Come with us, Medical Officer.”

  The terrorists threatened again before making their way toward Boris.

  “Don’t make me repeat–”

  Within earshot, the sounds of hope rang like a chime from a distance.

  “Dr Pavlov, lower your head!”

  Unlike the professionally orchestrated massacre by the terrorists, the sounds of gunfire filling the air sounded displaced and messy.

  As the angel charged forward, her knight and guards protected her from all angles. Their swift “room-clearing” manoeuvre, a technique they learned from the urban combat module, came in handy as the bodies of the terrorists fell like toy soldiers.

  “Their backup has arrived. Someone, retrieve the Medical Officer and Combat Medic–”

  The knight vanished from sight and repositioned beside the terrorist, his sapphire eyes glistening with temporal fury. With a swing of the rifle’s butt, the knight slammed it with brute force onto the terrorist’s helmet, causing him to fall backwards, arms spread eagle on the bloodied grassy fields.

  “Temporean…”

  Boris set his sights on the sapphire-eyed Ascended, marvelling at the features of the first Atlanteans he once read from books. To finally see it this close left him in awe. He remembered that stormy night when the forces of nature wrecked the unprepared soldiers. This lone recruit had anticipated the clutches of the universe, saving them from the fallout and sat solemnly alongside the guards who arrived in the shed before anyone else.

  Several bodies lay on the grassy fields that had turned into a sea of red lycoris, a scene of smashed watermelon, with its juices overflowing everywhere. The smell of putrid liquid lingered, causing the living to grimace.

  “Batch 77,” Anastasia looked at her recruits and never felt heartache this badly before, “We’re too late.”

  Her recruits lowered their rifles and the grief written on their face silenced every other thought that crossed their minds. Nothing they said could bring back their fallen brethren. They had become exempt from this gruesome fate by a stroke of luck. Turning towards their sworn brother who had once again predicted this outcome, they wondered what went through his mind to live with the burden of being strong on his mighty shoulders. Even without him saying, they knew that this cursed blade might eventually chip…and chip until he eventually broke into a million pieces. And there was nothing they could do to help him.

  “My goodness, Anastasia, you’re here!”

  “Dr Pavlov! Boris?! Aren’t you supposed to be elsewhere?”

  “I am sorry…”

  “What were you thinking coming out here?!” Anastasia couldn’t believe Boris had risked his life as a Medical Officer, a trained doctor with no combat training, by entering the battlefield. “You know you’re putting their lives at risk with your decision?! Come on!”

  “I made a giant mistake.” Boris grabbed Anastasia's hands, shaking them profusely as tears started to stream down his cheeks. “Thank you, thank you for coming to my rescue.”

  “What exactly happened earlier?”

  “I would like to explain, but…”

  “But what?”

  “They’re terrorists.”

  Anastasia looked at the fallen pile of black-clothed intruders. “No way…He was right.”

  You’re still watching me, aren’t you?

  That invisible force was here. Even with the fallen recruits scattered throughout the field, he had rationalised that there was no need to bother about them. For what’s done was done. Their grievances would not bring back the dead to this realm. Kairos observed the banter between his commander and the Medical Officer from a respectable distance while maintaining his indifferent, composed look until an unspeakable dreadful feeling overcame him. That’s when his eyes finally caught a fissure-like crack in reality.

  So you finally decide to show up.

  “It’s here.”

  As though he had trained his entire life for this moment, his body reacted like a moth to fire and reflexively repositioned itself. Instinctively, Kairos dashed to the front, using his body as a shield to protect Anastasia from the perceived threat he could sense with every fibre of his soul.

  “Recruit Black, what’s going on?”

  “I will be the vanguard. All of you, provide cover for me.”

  The order sounded…bitterly selfish. Batch 77 instinctively created a shield around Kairos, Anastasia, the Medical Officer, his Medical Corps and a wounded recruit whom he recognised as Recruit Bray Rotunda.

  “Anastasia, why is your recruit–”

  “What is the meaning of this?” Anastasia interrupted Boris, for she saw no immediate threat approaching them. “If you need to tell me something, tell me now!”

  “Something’s coming.”

  He never felt this weird sensation this strongly before, even when he received news of his parents’ disappearance from his uncle and the day his last name was stripped. He felt his brain spinning from the information overload, leaving him nauseous. His sensory capabilities had become heightened from the crack slowly manifesting to the human eye.

  Why do I feel–what is this familiar feeling?

  “There.” Anastasia’s finger was trembling as she pointed toward thin air.

  “Where–oh.” Boris's shaky voice joined the enigmatic pool.

  Kairos frantically looked around, unsure where the source of this myriad of extrasensory sensations had derived from apart from that lone visible crack. Reading Anastasia and the Medical Officer’s frightened expressions, he turned towards where their fingers pointed.

  They can see it now.

  He anticipated a type of threat the United Atlantea Federation, as they stand, could not defend themselves from. As he blinked his eyes, a giant hole that went beyond mainstream science appeared in the middle of the fields, sucking in the corpses of the fallen recruits and commanders into it mercilessly.

  “...W-what?!”

  The flush of tidal waves made its signature sound, akin to a sea at high tide, as the vortex consumed the corpses with one giant gulp. The vortex had a greyish-red colour that could draw any unsuspecting soul into it, where the enticing aura acted like a lure for the uninitiated. The sounds from within sounded like a siren’s call to capture the hearts of men, grabbing them deep within the abyss, where they would remain stuck in space forever.

  As more corpses from the fields continued their final destination into the vortex–a wormhole where their lives would meet their meaningless end, Kairos steadied himself for what came next. He could feel the bone-chilling presence of someone emerging from the opposite end of the vortex. Kairos did not turn back as his eyes fixated upon the hostile element he could sense emerging from the portal.

  “Get prepared,” Kairos ordered Anastasia. “Someone’s coming for me.”

  They could dream about living past today if he didn’t put this threat down.

  The presence drew closer as Kairos could sense its Deja Vu-like nostalgia, as though the blood in his veins had activated its fight or flight response, warning him of the impending danger from whoever emerged from within the vortex. Above all, he felt the need to protect Anastasia, refusing to allow whoever it was to harm the person he promised to safeguard with his life.