Chapter One - Dogs

About nine years since I took up this work.

Starting to wonder how much sicker my heart can get.

The cold heel of my boot digs into a cranny in the rock and the rifle rests on the tall, long stones in front of me; I have a good mile of firing range from up here, and can see the old, makeshift oil rig at work, with men and little children surrounding it, hollering, passing buckets of the ominous black gold to each other, packing the stuff away in their trucks to keep the loads warm.

My finger touches against the trigger and I wonder whatever in hell got to my head. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that coffee is the last thing you need before a mission like this. Jesus Christ, I wish I didn't have a life like this.

Pay's not the issue. Huh, most times the money ends up in my pockets even if I find myself sitting quietly for the six-hour shift, with a full mag. But then there are the times where the rounds leave the damned clip. And when they shell out to me, those damn government contractors; two hundred for every hour I waited for a target, plus a potential hundred for each kill-shot as bonus; the cash looks evil. This business, it makes you realize the savagery behind this. All of this. Human lives, starving people, desperate people; the value of their lives can be comprehended in terms of cold hard blood money.

But I'm not supposed to worry about it, they say; "You're not the enemy, Eva." Well...I have my doubts. But what can you do, you know? Funny thing about power; it keeps you in the system. I have my doubts. But the money always talks. You can buy out righteous men with money. Money is power. And they're offering me a slice of it.

I sigh, and the steam flutters in the wind, and disappears. Christ, this world. We're animals, we are. Dogs. The scope of the rifle comes to my eye and in the cold fog I can see the crouching figures of five armed strangers; Hm. They're moving slowly towards the rig. The workers there don't spot the approaching trouble.

Five targets...Mm...Scavengers, I think...Quieter than other brigands. They don't usually go for the oil; primarily the workers. They need food. Supplies. Tools. They get in and get out. Oil, money and government's not their business. I respect that. But the money still talks, it's all in my head. My finger meets with the trigger firmly; my lips shut tight as I hold my breath silently; a silhouette falls inside the dark cross-hairs.

"I'm sorry...I'm so, so sorry..."

The shot rings brutally through the heavy air.

2: Chapter Two - Nine Years From Present - The Westerdowns

Chapter Two – The Westerdowns - Patriotism

Merrowacre was a small town, forgotten by and by while the rest of the world bustled with innovation and excitement; it was small, to be sure, a humble province, yet one could easily tell why a family would settle down in such a place as this.

The produce was always fresh. The people, fair and hospitable. News on every kind of political scenario would arrive late by some enthusiastic young courier, and the only response anybody ever returned to the messenger was a smile and a simple nod; they'd dig in their pockets for a few coins, and reach out for the thick roll of further details on the happenings of the unimportant outside world.

The year was twenty-one-eleven, a silent year, a year of no progress, a year of peace and quiet. Fifty years past however, humankind teetered on edge as the Consortium formed; a prime selection of brilliant minds which, today, govern the people of Tubos, the giant, life-giving exoplanet. It had taken years to terraform. But humanity had outlasted time, and when the chance to journey beyond bounds became ripe, we seized it with a vice grip like no other.

The people chose their leaders when they finally settled the inviting world, seeing it fit to establish permanent order and peace for the long years to come. Four were chosen: Agenad Sulwell, Irris Dradeli, Asphon Coath, and Jaom Vernaly; all of them captains aboard the four Ark Vessels, the first star-cruisers meant to ferry millions at a time across space to Tubos; the frontier-breakers, some called the stretching vessels.

Over time, many still remained on the practically ungoverned Earth, and the members of the Consortium gradually became acknowledged as the sovereign rulers even of the old planet, using the Ark cruisers as military transports, trading ships, and a way to relay the way and law of Tubos to Earth.

But still, there were little towns, little escapes from all of this. Still, there was Merrowacre, where time stood still, and the wind whistled through the pines; the people here lived their lives silently, uninterrupted, exchanging little more than a few kind words and ripened garden goods with their tranquil neighbors.

In a small house on the edge of this tiny municipality, the house of the Westerdowns stood, an establishment no more than a shack, the old wood glistening in the evening sun from a light rain which had ensued an hour or so ago. A warm yellow glow shone through the foggy windows and fluttered every now and then, as a candle would when agitated by a light wind. Even from outside the small cottage, a passerby could hear the roars of hysterical laughter from inside the building, and the pounding of fists on a table. In the Westerdowns' house, good humor was a common thing indeed.

The Westerdowns were patriots to the utmost extent and meaning of the word, the most loyal supporters of the Consortium seen anywhere and the distant government's most frequent donators around (They'd make a trip into Lochbridge, a center hub of trade and finance, to make their contributions). Mr. and Mrs. Westerdown gave up a potential life of comfortable living, wishing to use a substantial portion of their funds (Mr. Westerdown was no less than the CFO of the town) to contribute to Tubos' military force.

Mr. Westerdown and his wife were some of the kindest people known to man, but when it came to the political world, they'd side with the all-powerful government and verbally protect it with a strong vehemence. This same behavior was shown when it came to the education of their two adopted children.

Eva Westerdown was a bright girl of ten years, with a clear, smooth, light coffee complexion and a head of full, glowing, straight golden hair. Many commented on her sharp, analytical, gazing eyes, which complimented her sharp chin, formal jawline, and tight lip. They shone as bright as a pure blue sky, clear like sapphires. She was shy, and rarely talked to others, but around her father she lightened up and took to laughing naturally. She never complained about her life and humble surroundings, and said she had everything one could ask for, often confirming the statement with a smile; but anyone could tell that, even for such a small soul, she was troubled. By what...She never said.

Orion Westerdown was a shade lighter than his younger sister, with short, coarse dark hair, scheming brown eyes, slightly cracked lips and a rough yet strikingly handsome complexion; his face was scarred from relentless acne attacks. He was only thirteen now, yet, like his sister, he had grown to talk and think most impressively, like a genuine intellectual, and his personality was as hot as fire; this was a trait which had developed during his early school years: often made fun of for his sensitive face, of which he had been quite self-conscious, Orion found himself frequently involved in increasingly-shortening fights; on one occasion, one of his last battles, he had neatly put down a foe, fair and square, in a second flat, employing his much-practiced, vicious right hook; this practice was the cause of the shortened time-length of the showdowns. As victories came his way, he became bolder, and now, at thirteen years of age, he was a bubbling soul through and through.

This was the family; always there for each other, always watching each other.

"Oh, we joke about 'em," Mr. Westerdown sighed, putting down his fork and wiping his mouth with a napkin. "But we've got to remember that if it wasn't for the Consortium's leaders, we wouldn't be here."

"I thought we were trying to escape from them," Orion said, both frowning and smiling.

His father released a one-syllabled chuckle. "Not completely. We simply wish to back up what's most important; that young, budding government; from the safety and peaceful environment of this town here. It's the best way to go, agreed?"

They shared a toast of light champagne; "to peaceful environments"; and then broke into laughter. Mrs. Westerdown poured herself a small glass of very old Pinot Noir and gave the silent Eva a sip; her daughter shuddered and laughed along with her mother.

The children went to tend to their chores after the evening meal.

Eva tucked away a cleaned plate carefully in the cupboard and looked over at her brother, who yawned as he wiped a cup dry.

"So...What do you really think about it, Orion?" Eva spoke in a hushed voice.

Her brother frowned at her. "About what?"

"The government."

"Really, Ev, not this again. You know what I think."

Eva crossed her arms and stopped working. "Orion. That can't be what you believe."

"And why not?"

"Because...Because the Consortium makes our lives. Saying that you don't care about the world we live in, that's saying that...you don't care about your life."

"No it's not." Orion stopped working as well. "Why do you think we moved here?"

"Well...To escape. Sure. Funny thing is, even Dad admits that we haven't completely cut ourselves off. But I think he underestimates how involved we are. We refuse to escape from government. Think of the amounts we pay each year for the wellbeing of the authorities. Massive sums, Orion. We see ourselves as complete patriots, which we are, for a great cause. We haven't escaped from government. We are so involved. Being here may make us feel better, more free, but in the end..."

Orion sighed. "Tell me Eva, what's your issue with the Consortium anyway?"

Eva shrugged and stared down at the old floor. "I...I don't know." She looked back up at her brother. "But each and every time I look at humankind's history, I can't...help but notice..."

Orion put his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall. "Notice what?

"That the great institutions mentioned in those accounts of the past each had a nightmarish flaw."

"Example?"

"You want examples? Fine. North America. Once been inhabited by tribes of different peoples, it was eventually all seized by greedy, stronger people, who then proceeded to build the land up on the backs of millions of mistreated slaves. But centuries after those atrocities, the wicked men's children's children, still living on the stolen land, let themselves forget about all the evil on which their very homes were founded!" Eva clenched her fists and grew passionate: "Some were reminded by the few who remembered and acknowledged the sins; but even the ones warned about the old, uncleansed iniquities went so far as to make excuses! Or think of the hundreds of thousands of suffering souls who labored on China's Great Wall. That part of the world became very strong upon the construction's completion, but...So, so many deaths. The workers were as animals. Expendable. It just seems like...Everything great comes from suffering."

She shook her head and returned to her work. "Who knows, Orion? Who knows what the Consortium is doing, or will do in the days to come?"

Her brother took a deep breath. "Well, Ev...We don't know, I suppose. But listen. The places you mentioned were built on evil and so evil was rooted deep in each system's heart. It's a cultural thing, see. For humans to change it would have been next to impossible. The evil would still linger. Time was the only thing that had the power to wash the whole thing away. And it did." He put a hand on his sister's shoulder and smiled. "But the Consortium was formed by good people with good hearts and good intentions. Have the leaders given us a reason to doubt them?"

"N-no..."

"Should we not trust them?"

"I..."

"Let's just give them a chance."

"Fine...Fine."

"Something's still wrong, huh?"

"N-no...But what if...What if you're wrong, Orion? Evil is in human nature. Is it really possible to build a system on pure intentions? What if we've been tricked?"

Orion paused as he turned to his work again, and he frowned.

"I don't know, Ev."

He shot her a firm gaze.

"We'd better get back to work, sis."

3: Chapter Three - Tragedy - No Matter The Cost

Chapter Three - Tragedy - No Matter The Cost

Eva and Orion were the last ones to jump on the long, grey, lightweight hovercraft, and they felt the vibrations of the vehicle starting up under their feet, saw through the wide windows the machine lift off the ground and begin to move.

The two children, along with their class, had just finished a field trip. This one, centered around the biological field, was slightly more interesting than the others they'd previously had over the past three or four months; one of the older students had the bravery to bring along an extremely powerful microscope, which the class would use to closely examine their samples.

Orion took a seat by his sister and glanced over her shoulder at her notes, of which they were few.

"So how was it for you?" he muttered.

Eva sighed. "Only a few samples...A few things worth remembering...I wish we could step out a little more than just the surrounding environment of Merrowacre. Who knows what we'd find. How 'bout you?"

"Same as you. Maybe a few more notes, though...Teacher wouldn't stop talking..." He took out his notebook and opened it; the pages were full of words. "Kinda tried to write down everything he was saying."

Eva smiled. "I gotcha."

Orion leaned back in his seat and folded his arms behind his head. "Need a nap."

"You've got a good half-hour," his sister said, assuming his posture in her seat as well. "It's a fine time for it."

The two of them closed their eyes.

It is the grim way of life...To take what one has and slowly destroy it...To ultimately eviscerate the soul from the body. Eva and Orion slept soundly, oblivious to these cruel, cruel truths...Unaware to, and never reminded of, the inevitability of death. The definiteness...of destruction.

And they awoke once more.

To smoke. They awoke...to flame. And with these, there was a darkness, surrounding all things...

Confused yelling, crying, screaming.

"Eva..." Orion sat up slowly in his seat, then stood and looked around... "E-Ev..."

"Orion, what's happening?"

The two of them examined the surroundings; the hovercraft was still operational, and the students and the driver were alive; coming fully to their senses, they soon realized it.

It was never the vehicle that bore the horrors which the Westerdown children could see and smell and hear so clearly.

It was the small town in front of them, its gates burning down, the blocks of old, old homes within the boundaries crumbling.

"Merrowacre..." Eva whispered.

"Do not leave the aircraft!" The driver yelled over the speakers. "Remain calm! We will head to Vallake; it's the closest city to us in a thirty mile radius!"

"Mom...Dad." Orion jumped against the door of the craft and slammed it open, leaping out; Eva followed right behind him.

"H-hey!" someone shouted; no good; Eva and Orion continued to move quickly towards their dying town.

The hovercraft could not follow them in. The terrain was too dangerous.

"Ev! Hurry!" Orion gasped, and dodged just as a glowing rafter collapsed over to his left.

"I'm coming!" Eva responded, sprinting after her brother.

The fires roared around them, the smoke grew thicker with every second; this town...

Orion looked around him.

It was so familiar to me once, he thought. There...there's our favorite market. The best apples come from there. Cheap, too. And that's...That's the pawn shop. Always fair transactions. Always. What...What happened? Mom. Dad. You've just got to hang in.

"That's it! Here!" Eva cut right on a short path and skidded to a stop in front of an old cabin; the doorway was blocked by wood, heaps of rubble; "Help me, Orion!"

As the flames raged, the two of them tore away at the debris; Eva cried out softly; the embers burned her, wounded her, and Orion suffered along with her; but they strove to tear, worked with every trace of power they possessed.

The door gave way.

"MOM! DAD!" Eva rushed in, and Orion pulled her back as the roof caved in; then they both moved forward.

"DAD!" Orion called, but heard nothing.

Eva's eyes welled with tears as they sprinted desperately throughout their falling home, looking for a sign, any sign.

But the fires screamed on.

"Orion..."

Her brother slowly scanned dazedly, helplessly, around at the surroundings, shocked...He'd known this place. He'd known it for so long. "E-Eva..."

"They said they'd be here, Orion..." The walls they had once been protected by for their lives crumbled around them; their lives, their memories...

Gone.

"They said they'd wait for us."

The roof completely gave at last, and fell with a crash on the scorched ground around the siblings.

To them, it felt like an eternity had passed before the roaring fires died. The smoke still hovered ominously in the still air.

Orion held his sister in his arms as they both knelt in the eye of the now-subsiding storm.

He wept silently on her shoulder as she did on his own.

"They're gone," Eva gasped.

"I...No, they can't..." Orion looked his sister in her eyes and shook his head, gritted his teeth. "No...N-no, they can't leave us! They promised us!"

Eva smiled slowly, bitterly, and embraced her brother again, kissing him on the forehead.

"They were always...always there for us, Orion...They...They kept the promise."

"Eva...They taught us love. They taught us...survival. We have to...keep fighting for them. Ev." He took her hand firmly. "Ev. Promise me. Promise me you'll never leave me."

"I...I promise."

Together they huddled there, in the midst of death, and the home they'd once had.

Together they wept.

And together they left their home, knowing one thing for certain.

They had to live on.

There was a new future for them. And they'd fight for it.

No matter the cost.

4: Chapter Four - Eva, Age: Fourteen, Sharpshooter - The Beginning

Chapter Four - Eva, Age: Fourteen, Sharpshooter - The Beginning

Let's see. Been a good four years since the fire. I still see it in my head.

If only I hadn't left home. If only...If, if, if.

Well...It was a few days after the flames when we learned that the burning was no accident. Far from it. An anti-governmental terrorist group called the Scarlets were set on a rampage; burning towns and killing civilians to make their statement.

And Orion and I, we knew only too well what we wanted.

Revenge.

We'd lost our souls there, in that fire. We'd lost the center of our universe.

I remember Orion shoving Dad's .30 into my arms and giving me a single nod. It was like holding a piece of ancient history in my arms. Dad was a big gun collector. He had a wide range of stuff like that.

It would have to do. We practiced, and used what money we had to buy rounds when we ran short. We practiced until we could score hits between the eyes in our sleep.

We listened to news reports, the Scarlets' public threats and curses against the Consortium.

We predicted their future hits and prepared for them...

And slaughtered dozens at Lochbridge before they finally retreated. As they ran, we cut down a few dozen more.

So that is what we became.

Killers. Simple as that.

Orion and I needed a way to survive. And we saw a way. One that would not only keep us alive, but keep the ideals of our father and mother alive as well.

Earth is a jackpot, see, full of black gold. Civilization on Tubos is growing quickly, I hear, and as the cities and the government expand, the need for a mighty energy source increases as well. Down in Antarctica, the oil's everywhere. The Consortium seized control of the icy badlands and peppered mining sites everywhere in the massive region. Oil found here is to be transported every five months, by the tons, back to the industrial city of Balmoral, where the Ark ship, the Sapphire, waits for the load. It takes the resources back to Tubos.

Anyhow, working at the sites means quick, easy money, and people are lured to the jobs because of this fact.

But there's a deadly side to things. If the money was that easy to gain, everyone would be mining their butts off.

These raiders; dozens of them at a time; assault the sites. Nobody really knows where they come from. Or who they even are. They never really go for the oil. Just the food, roll-up beds, and the tools. Some kill; other bands of brigands are more vicious than others.

They're a problem.

That's where Orion and I step into the game. We've become fighters in the shadows; sharpshooters for the Consortium, protectors of the government's well-being.

Hm. I'm just coming into this line of work, and already, I have my doubts. I have a big question. Superiors, they tell us to "know the enemy".

Sure, these raiders cause issues for us.

But we know nothing about them. And they know all about us. The balance is all wrong. And therefore, to know the enemy is impossible for me...

Who's the enemy? What am I?

And the answers...How'd I find them...

What could I do...What could any of us do...

5: Chapter Five - Orion, Age: Seventeen, Sharpshooter - On The Job

Chapter Five - Orion, Age: Seventeen, Sharpshooter - On The Job

It's cold as hell down here, at these mining sites. Can see why we get paid so good.

I've just finished my watch. No Scavengers today, it seems. Days like this are the worst. You can't focus on anything else but your frostbitten fingers and face. I'm named after a bunch of stupid stars. I sure wish I was one of them. Standing out in that kind of weather for three hours is ridiculous.

I bump into Eva at lunch, in the mess hall. She's made a few friends here at the site. Doesn't hang around me nearly as much as she used to. That's good.

Her little 5'6" figure's all bundled up in two greatcoats, thick cargo trousers, tall steel-toe boots, and a heavy munitions vest. I notice her heavy, dark golden hair, cut shoulder-length now. Round cheeks are all flushed red from the cold, and her big blue eyes shine with life. Why, she's damned adorable today, I think.

"What's cookin', Ev?"

"Back from my shooting warmup, Orion. Thank you for asking. You?"

"Just finished my shift. Love your hair."

Eva smiles. "Thanks." Then she's looking closely at me, and a sigh escapes her lips. "And...Any deaths?"

"None." She looks relieved.

"Where are you sitting?" she asks, and I frown; "You don't want to...sit with your other friends?"

She crosses her arms huffily. "No. Not now. They each seem to adopt a wicked pragmatism that becomes too overbearing for me to emotionally deal with at times."

"Man, Ev. It's crazy. You really do talk like a modern-day Shakespeare." We laugh softly, and I guide her through the crowds of workers and soldiers until we come to my favorite table. It's tucked away in the corner of the metal building. In the shadows. Doesn't catch traffic.

Couple of the folks from the Falcon Company; the 105th; have reserved spots for us. These are buddies of mine. (Eva and I, we operate in Zeta Company; the 85th.)

I see Sona Dancheal; she's beautiful; with a sharp chin and celestial nose; tall, sort of talkative, something of a cartographer, incredibly intelligent, a great shot, and five years older than I am. She's practically a sister to me, and she treats me like I'm her younger brother. Is it annoying? Sometimes. I mean, Jesus Christ, I'm seventeen. Am I glad she's around? Definitely. She just kind of makes the day brighter. I met her on my second week here, I believe it was. The two of us were assigned to cleaning duty after suppertime. When I saw her then, she was wearing heavy olive cargos, leather boots, an A-shirt and a dark-green camouflage army cap, which sat on top of a head of long, straight, thick, sharp black hair. She still wears that old cap. I just have to look around and if I see that thing, I know who's wearing it. Anyhow, what kind of caught me off guard the first time we met was her build. You can tell she's proud of it because whenever she's indoors, you'll find her in a tough old black tank-top. She has real, real good definition in her shoulders and arms. Seriously; these crazy veins running down her massive biceps and forearms. Let's not even discuss her back. I knew I was coming along in my own set of guns and all, but man, this just kind of wanted me to keep my coat on a bit more often. She has this big, charming-as-hell grin, just as white as the snow outside, and her eyes are a gorgeous, light amber, like a Citrine gem. Just amazing all around. So anyway, we eventually get into backstory stuff, and she tells me she's from a city called Morcliff. Her father and mother are maintenance engineers for the Ark ship, the Pearl. Sona told me she'd joined the 105th to "open up doors". Service for her Company would mean greater opportunities in the far future. Yes, Sona was great, and she helped me with everything. Shooting, close-quarters fighting, everything. The only thing I didn't do that was suggested by her was to take a quick smoke or a shot of rum before a mission or a long-range shot (never both, she said). I could see the reasoning. Nicotine'd calm the nerves, and rum would warm you up a bit, keep your hands steady. But I didn't have the guts for stuff as hot as rum. And certainly none for smokes. I'm really not much, compared to Sona.

Ta Danhew is here as well; he's the quiet type, but gets annoyed easily. Most always, he's immersed in his thoughts so deeply that the slightest disturbance sends him clear through the roof. He's twenty years old, but he was born with the Achromotrichia condition right off the bat. It means he has no pigment in his shortish hair, which is gelled to a spiky texture. It's all white, white as can be. His almond eyes are a cold, deep brown, and his lip is real tight. Not the social type. I was just lucky, the day I struck up a discussion with him while on domestic patrol. We became friends after that. Anyways, he told me he lost his mother to cancer three years ago. His dad wasn't around. Oh, I thought. That kind of family, huh? Well, Ta, he just didn't see much of a way out of all that pain. Seemed best to him to go and join the fight down here at the mines. After a grueling year of training and testing, he found himself in the 105th.

"Howdy, fools," I greet the two of them, and take a seat. Eva shakes hands with both of them and sits next to me.

"Hey," Sona addresses Sis and me after we eat a good deal, leaning forward. "You guys get the news?"

News? I shake my head, and Dancheal smiles that crazy-white smile.

"We broke into another oil layer," Ta speaks softly.

Sona laughed. "Another hundred feet in's all it took. We're gettin' bonuses."

Eva's jaw dropped a little. "You're joking."

"No, ma'am! I don't know about you, but I could use a bottle or two of old bourbon, y'know, the kind that sits in a warm oak barrel and ages to perfection for a dozen-or-so-years..." She sighed and put her hands behind her head. "And I'll upgrade my provisions. Yeah. That sounds real nice."

"You're making me thirsty," Ta sighed, and Sona tosses him a small, stainless steel canteen of the good stuff, laughing as she does so. Ta grins and thanks her quietly.

As if out of nowhere, Master Sergeant Jorn Philips approaches our table. He's a stocky blonde guy with a big, broad chin and an air of serious swagger. Just the sort of guy you'd assume to be a perfect space cadet, if you know what I mean. But he's a nice guy. Has a wide-open mind. I'd definitely choose him as a superior over anyone else, that's for sure.

We all stand to salute him.

"All the best shots at one table," he says and smiles. "Sergeant Sona, Sergeant Danhew; greetings. Specialist Orion Westerdown, First Private Evelyn Westerdown; good to see you. At ease, now."

We take our seats back and the Master Sergeant sighs. "I've been relayed a piece of urgent news from the Commander. We have a hostage situation to the north-east of our position. Eleven workers, a number like that. I need you four to come with me. I plan on this objective being a black ops. I don't want to draw too much attention. That will only slow us down."

"Understood, sir," Sona whispers, standing and adjusting her rifle strap on her shoulder. Similar to the Barrett M82 of the 21st century. Some things just never change. Because some things really don't have to. Full-metal, with synthetic paint for elemental protection, the whole rifle's design is built to serve as both an anti-material and anti-personnel weapon. .50 caliber steel, incendiary, or explosive/shrapnel ammunition tears through any target. It doesn't get any better.

We begin to follow Philips out of the mess hall, and he leads us to his office, where he'll brief us.

Yeah...

I guess some things never change.