Man, this rain don’t let up.
Come down heavy, drownin’ the whole damn world. Soak the dirt, the uniforms, the wooden platform where they stand, waitin’ on they fate. Water drip off my nose, slide down my back, turn the ground to nothin’ but thick, suckin’ mud. Thunder roll in deep, shake the air, rattle my ribs. But even all that noise don’t drown out the announcer.
“These men have been sentenced for crimes against their own,” he say, voice cold, snappy. “Harming fellow comrades. Threatening lives. Assaulting a commanding officer with intent to kill.”
I ball up my fists. Don’t even gotta see through the storm to know who up there.
Executioner go down the line, slippin’ black cloth over they faces—erase ‘em, strip ‘em of anythin’ left. Just bodies now. Just dead men standin’.
I swallow.
This war. Folks die. But not like this. Ain’t no honor in it. Ain’t no glory. Just the pit pat pit pat of the goddamn rain.
But… they did this to theyselves.
I breathe out hard. Min-Joon shift next to me, barely a twitch, but I catch it. Lanny cross his arms tight, like he holdin’ somethin’ in. Huck keep his breath all calm, but his knuckles, they raw, proof of what went down in the bunker. Canny? She just stand there, easy, arms loose at her sides.
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She frown. “Why are you guys so bruised?”
Lanny chuckle—fake as hell. “You know, just trying to keep Vortex from getting jumped outside, but well, let's just say the whole bunker had other ideas.”
Huck crack his knuckles, like yeah, that’s exactly what happened.
Yeah. He beat them up.
Min-Joon lean in close, drop his voice low. “The ones who fought beside us? Those are the ones you trust. They stood for justice over tyranny.”
I follow his gaze. The others—the ones that took hits—stand straight, even with they busted lips and swollen eyes. Rain mix with blood, streak down they faces, but they don’t move.
Thunder rolls—and a voice cuts through it.
Ain’t English.
Deep. Steady. Like the damn clouds partin’.
Heads turn.
Dude step forward out the ranks, don’t got a damn shirt on, rain runnin’ off him like he part of the storm itself. Skin bronze, muscles tight, body built for war. Water drip from his jaw, his arms, his chest, but he ain’t even flinch. Just stand there.
He speak again, this time in English, and his voice is hella mythic.
“These men,” he say, slow as fate. “They would bleed for war. Why execute them?”
No one talks. Even the executioner hesitate.
I know who he is. Everybody do.
Romeo.
The one who earned the Argov suit. The one who stand above everybody else.
His gaze sweep over us, then land on Klaus Ritcher. Our trainer. The one who break folks or make ‘em stronger.
“Give them to me,” He say. “I will make them better.”
Rain beat against the earth, fill the quiet.
“They will not die here,” he say, voice solid, like there ain’t even an option. “They will die for a greater cause.”
Ritcher step up. A wall of a man, built from scars and discipline. Storm rip at his coat, but Romeo don’t even blink. Power ain’t somethin’ you get handed. You take it. And right now? It’s tiltin’. Hangin’ between ‘em.
Ritcher breathe out hard. Grunt. Then lift his hand, slow and chill. The blade don’t drop. The shots don’t fire. Execution? Canceled.
A breath slip outta me, one I ain’t realize I been holdin’.
Romeo. The one who stand above everybody else. I don't like him. Now, here he is, savin’ the same bastards who woulda put me in the ground. My fists clench. Feels wrong. Feels right. Like my whole damn self split in half.
But Romeo right.
If they gon’ die, let it be with them guns in hand. Not like this. Not tied up.
Ritcher turn on his heel, eyes burnin’ through us. His voice crack like a lash.
“Run. Now. You don’t get a damn break just because the world is drowning.”
I don’t hesitate. I move.
Legs burn, mud suck at my boots, water slap up my thighs, but I push. Breath come ragged, heart hammerin’—but I ain’t stoppin’.
Not in this war. Not for me.
Not Ever.
Who would survive the longest in a mud wrestling match?
