A Modern Myth

by Clara Wake

  Before the day could even begin, Nickolai is called out from the cafeteria. Alone. He doesn’t hesitate; he just walks out and leaves the bustling floor.

  He steps out and into the stairwell, where the Captain informs him that he’s been selected for a special mission and to meet him upstairs and out the door in five.

  He feels sick to his stomach, and his hands begin to rattle. This is his first mission. Does it have something to do with his birthday crawling up fast? Or something else? Is he doing that well with his research and training that he is best fitted for this task? So many questions drum at the end of his tongue, but he’s clearly tongue tied and doesn’t speak his nervous mind.

  Not wasting any time, he darts up the stairs and gathers his compound bow, and arrows, along with his new combat knife. He keeps it safely hidden between his belt buckle and his black cargos and straps his compound bow across his back with his leather strap.

  Blindfolded, Nickolai is buckled into the back seat of a four-wheel-drive. Yet, he can still hear and feel every bump and shuffle. The birds chirp, and the dogs bark in the distance. He’s unaware of where he’s going, only guiding himself with his senses. He tries to figure out how far he’s gone from The Compound. He’s never been outside of the walls before, and a small part of him is excited but mostly nervous as he bites the inside of his cheek and clenches his jaw in anticipation.

  The Captain doesn’t speak the entire long drive and just leaves Nickolai in the dark. Nickolai isn’t known for asking questions, and he knows he probably shouldn’t start asking.

  “Where are you taking me?” He finally manages to ask, through gritted teeth and curled lips.

  “To a test,” the Captain bluntly answers him for once, before sealing his lips and continuing down a very rough and uneven road.

  A test? What kind of test? Nickolai starts to think of anything that it could remotely resemble from his training over the past, year? He’s completely baffled and drowning in pure fear. What is going on?

  Finally, the vehicle comes to a halt. The engine finally stops rumbling, and silence starts to scream at his ears. The surroundings are unfamiliar; the scents whisking through the air are different and unidentifiable.

  Guided out of the vehicle, he’s standing there with his wrists tied and eyes shielded. He could be standing at the edge of a cliff for all he knew. Judging by the wind spreading over his ears, though, he can’t be.

  Eventually, after several moments of taking the surroundings in, he hears the sweet soft sounds of sheep and the soothing sound of horses galloping across the plains. The smell of freshly cut grass and manure spread through the air and tickle his nose. He can tell he’s certainly not home. This was only in the books he’d read.

  The blindfold is eventually pulled from his face and eyes, and the sun’s bright rays blind him for a second. He blinks rapidly, scrunching his nose as he tries to adjust his eyes to the impact of the light.

  Nickolai finally gathers his vision and finds himself standing before a small village of some sort. People are carrying hay to the farm ground and checking their crops. It is somewhat serene to see, a civilization so different from his own.

  It is as if these people do not like the way of the world— how technologically advanced it is—and resorted back to the olden days of no technology or computers. It’s fascinating, and shocking at the same time. He’ grown up in a very advanced world – From what he’s told - with virtual reality, computers and artificial intelligence. But this place is a completely different world.

  It seems so much simpler and easy. Everything is done themselves. Always with something to do, he imagined they never got bored.

  Nickolai finds it quite encouraging, sparking an interest at the way they lived. Always outside and busy.

  He’s soon taken out of his restraints and pushed forwards towards the village. He still doesn’t understand why he is here – why weren’t the others here as well?

  The more he moves into the village, the more his heart travels to his throat and his breathing hitches. He’s still uncertain what this test is, and he’s not liking the fact that no one is talking to him. His questions go unanswered as they run through his mind.

  Some of the residents of the village usher their children inside and lock their doors. Was he that scary looking? A sickening feeling starts to erupt in his stomach. Something doesn’t feel right. That soft and serene feeling has dissolved, and he is left with impending fear.

  They lead him down into a small courtyard. Hay is scattered on the ground, and chickens squawk and flutter their wings, pecking at the small seeds saturating the ground.

  Making his way towards one of the small, stone houses, he sees one of the guards from The Compound roughly pull and shove a man out from his own home. He throws the man to his knees, with his wife and two daughters screaming and begging for him to stop.

  The wife is hysterical, and the girls are weeping loudly, clinging to their mother’s side. They look as young as he is, scared and senseless as they try to calm their frantic mother.

  Nickolai’s eyes watch them for a second before he darts his eyes over to the man on the ground. What is going on?

  “Here,” the Captain starts, as he shoves a loaded 9MM pistol into Nickolai’s chest. He’s blank, as he stares down at it. He’s never used one before, and he’d never planned to. His hands shake, and his heart screams. “Take it,” the Captain demands. He’s clearly frustrated with Nickolai’s lack of movement.

  The Captain lets the gun drop into Nickolai’s frail hands, as he stares down at it, barely holding it in his palms. He looks up to see two guards are now holding the man down. To beg and plead for his family.

  “Use it,” the Captain orders. “Shoot him, and when I say shoot him, I don’t mean shoot him in the leg. I mean shoot to kill. Do you understand?” He orders, making it as clear as possible what Nickolai’s test is. To kill a man.

  Nickolai immediately shakes his head and receives a swift and hard smack to his left ear. The Captain knows his weak spots. He has the upper hand, and he know how to persuade and pressure him.

  Hunching forwards, his shoulders are raised, and his head ducked down. The realization sets in fast; he’s being forced and blackmailed into murdering someone.

  “N-no” He stammers, shaking his head again, only to receive another smack to his ear– this time, it hurt – a wince surfaces his features, as he continues to disobey his orders.

  The Captain’s large hand soon curls around the nape of Nickolai’s neck and squeezes. His shoulders rise with the pressure and a wince paints his face.

  “If you don’t, I’ll kill those two girls there, I’ll make you watch and then, I’ll slit your throat and watch you choke on your own blood,” he carefully and slowly states, his voice cold and harsh. Each word sets chills down his spine and sinks his heart down to his stomach.

  “Do it!” he barks in Nickolai’s ear, causing him to yelp from both the pure fright and pain that subdues his eardrum.

  His entire body shakes. The screams of the wife pleading and begging him not to do it drown out his own heartbeat and thoughts that flood his mind. All he can hear is the desperation in the man’s voice as he cries and sobs. His hands are interlocked together as he begs for the odd-eyed elf to spare him and his family.

  “Please, you don’t have to do this,” he manages to let out between heavy breaths and quick sobs. “Please not in front of my children and my wife.” He attempts to pray and beg, as his eyes sprawl with tears. His neck is red from the pure adrenaline and torment, spreading from his chest. He is begging for his life, and there’s nothing Nickolai could do.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Tears trace Nickolai’s eyes, splitting free with each blink. Standing there, with the cold pistol within his shaking grasp, he aims at the feeble man.

  He’s scared, no he’s terrified, but mostly because he doesn’t want to be the one responsible for the young girls’ deaths.

  Would you kill to save a
life?

  He has to do this, no way out – for their safety, not his. He doesn’t want to pull the trigger, but he knows that if he doesn’t the girls will suffer, they’ll meet their untimely demise. He is aware that these men keep their word. He knows all too well.

  Their cries surround him, carving through his chest and digging into his heart. If the option was to take his own life instead, he’d have surrendered and let them live. Sadly, that isn’t the option, and he only has one way to keep the girls and their mother safe. He knows they won’t survive even if he died.

  The constant weeping, wailing, and screaming has his ears ringing, and merely reminding him of what was happening. The gun is heavy in his hands as he tightens his grip. He can’t stop the tears from flowing from his eyes, wishing he could just run, run as fast as he could and somehow get away from all of this. He’s just eight years old, and here he stands before an innocent man about to pull the trigger as his own family watches in sheer terror.

  Seconds feel like an eternity, and as he’s smacked at the back of his head, he pulls the trigger and the bang of the gun rains a panic within the small village. The sound cracks and spreads through the thin air, echoing for miles.

  He’s never used a gun before; he was restricted and favoured his bow and nothing else. He hates the heavy feeling in his grasp, the cold sensation and the simplistic way to handle it.

  He’s frozen in immense horror, his eyes wide in shock as he stares at the gaping hole he’s made in the man’s head. Half of his face is caving in and blood splutters from the cracks. Brain mass spills from the open wound and his body thumps to the ground, lifeless. The scent of smoke blisters from the muzzle of the gun, still firmly in his grasp.

  “Headshot!” The Captain cheers, with a smack to Nickolai’s back, happy with the outcome. “Well done, Nickolai.” It’s the first time, he’s ever shown any pride in his actions.

  Nickolai is frozen, shaking and riddled in shock and disbelief. Tears slowly drop from his eyes, and his jaw clenches. Swallowing as he finally lets out a breath, he doesn’t dare look at the family. He can hear their cries of despair and sorrow, as he blinks slowly he’s soon thrown to the ground with a hard thud.

  “You fucking murderer!” The wife grapples Nickolai to the ground, dust hovering from the impact. She is saturated in pure rage and hatred, and she has every reason.

  Nickolai is too shattered to realize what is happening until her nails dig into his face, clawing at his right side. She doesn’t hold back – she doesn’t care that he is just a boy – she takes every ounce of pain and rage out on him. After all, he is the one who pulled the trigger.

  Digging her nails in, her hands shake from the pure rush of adrenaline that surges inside and ignites the beast within. Screaming at him and carving at the same side of his face, she is aiming for his eye. He turns his head trying to fight back but the blinding pain to the right side of his face has him disorientated and shaking with agony as blood pours from the fresh open wound. “I’m sorry!” He finally manages to shout, and eventually, the guards feel it is the time they pull her away from him.

  They throw the woman down to the ground and train their weapons on her. “Stay there!” The Captain calls out, watching her carefully as his eyes narrow on the blood that taints her hands, violently shaking from the shock. She just sits there and continues to scream, despair draining her.

  A cry erupts from Nickolai’s mouth, emotions overwhelming him, and he’s paralyzed in pain, “I didn’t want to!” He cries out before he brings his hands up and holds his face, feeling the warm liquid that paints his face and stings with each movement. Sobbing loudly, he can feel his heart sinking. He can’t believe he’s done it. He’s just murdered someone—an innocent man, raising his little family. Now, they will grow up to remember the freak show of a murderer. They will grow up without their father. All thanks to him. He ruined their lives. He’s a monster.

  “Come on,” the Captain pulls Nickolai up by his wrist and yanks him to his feet. Barely able to stand, Nickolai steps forwards only to drop and pound the ground with his knees. Unable to open his right eye, he winces and tries to breathe, but he’s overtaken by pain that throbs and surges from the right side of his face and curved around his head. Eventually, ignited so much pain, he passed out, falling unconscious by the boot of his Captain.

  The day goes slow for Jake, not as fast as usual. He knows why; he is worried about his little buddy. He hasn’t come back from the training session; he knows what it was, and the second he heard he is called out. He’s been watching and waiting out for him to return. The overwhelming feeling of dread sits upon his shoulders. His anxiety levels soar and concern drains him.

  He’s scared Nickolai isn’t going to come back. His heart is on standby for a disaster.

  Of course, the others don’t care, and he just nods and agrees with them, every time they say the things they do.

  “I hope he fails,” Aiden teases and cackles, receiving a high five from Syrus.

  “He won’t come back, too much of a fucking sissy,” Tyler laughs, and the others joined in, nodding and continuing to laugh. They have no reason to dislike him, but of course bully tactics. Clearly, Aiden has insecurities or something to be so vulgar and disrespectful towards him. Even after so long with him, you’d think all the torment would have died down by now? It hasn’t, and it just keeps escalating and getting worse.

  The afternoon finally comes around, and it is almost dinner time. Heading off to the cafeteria, the squad moves quickly, ready for some food and rest.

  Jake stays behind waiting for news of Nickolai’s fate.

  Sitting on the sofa in the hall, he attempts to focus on a book; Stephen King’s to be precise, but he can’t rest his mind at all. He’s edgy, fidgety, and most of all his mind is flooded with concern.

  Finally, Jake looks up to see the Captain looking towards the cafeteria hallway and immediately jumps up and moves towards him. “Where’s Nickolai?” he breathes., swift to ask, to know where he was.

  “In the infirmary,” he replies bluntly, before turning and moving down to see his squad. Jake doesn’t hesitate. He knows he’s not allowed, but he doesn’t care. Take him to The Chamber, he does not care – he needs to see why Nickolai is in the infirmary and not here.

  Slipping out from Earth’s shed, he carefully makes his way down towards the back wall, where the infirmary is, one of the largest building structures of The Compound. He makes his way inside and peers through every room he passes looking for those elven ears and crimson bed hair. Glancing in every room, he checks most of them; most are empty until he reaches the rooms near the reception desk, where a nurse sits behind and taps away on a computer keyboard at what looks like patient documents.

  You’d think someone like him in the medical field would have already been in the infirmary for some sort of research or something involving medical practice. Regardless of that, he isn’t there for research, he is there to make sure his friend is in fact in the infirmary and not six feet under.

  Checking the last room, he sees Nickolai’s red hair. He’s lying on his right side with his back turned to the door. He gives the room a quick search before moving in and closing the door. How he remained invisible was a shock, even to himself.

  Moving around, he makes it to Nickolai’s right side, and he stands at a halt, his eyes narrowing and locked on the dry blood, swollen cheek and closed eye. Bruises curved around the thick cut. It starts from the top of his forehead and goes down and over the bone of his temple. cutting through his eyebrow and tearing over his eyelid before jumping to the bottom of his eye. continuing from the bottom eyelid and carving down to his jawline. He stares in pure fright as he watches him. He notices the stitches placed above and below his eye. The wound is aggressive and clearly a case of anger or hatred.

  Slowly, Jake takes a seat beside Nickolai and sits there, waiting for him to wake up, but he doesn’t like how still he is, so he shakes him lightly on the shoulder. Immediately, the
elf wakes up and opens his left eye to see Jake there.

  “What happened?” Jake instantly asked, almost afraid to ask the more he looks over the injury. Nickolai would be lucky, so lucky if he came out of this with both of his eyes unharmed.

  Nickolai shifts slightly, realizing where he is. The white walls and white sheets blend in together. He winces as the brightness strains his eye. He watches Jake. “What are you doing here?” He asks, cautious as his eyebrows furrow in confusion. Was he here so he could tell everyone how much he failed?

  “Because I was worried,” Jake admits, breathing softly, another sigh of relief rippling from his lips.

  “Worried? Why?” Nickolai immediately inquires, shaking his head lightly. Since when has anyone worried about him? Never. This is so new and strange to him, practically alien. He doesn’t understand it at all.

  “Because you’re my friend,” Jake answers, attempting to soothe Nickolai’s worries, telling him kindly, almost pouting at him with those wide doe eyes staring at him.

  Nickolai is quiet, trying to wrap his mind around what is confirmed. He always wished or wanted them to be friends. He should have known already, but now Jake has confirmed it. A beam of happiness spreads through his chest at the realization that it isn’t just a ploy.

  “Are you okay?” Jake asks instead, gathering that he probably doesn’t want to speak about it and remembering that he is not allowed to speak of it. He then drags his eyes over the bruised and pained face; he is so glad he came back. He is much better than the others wrote him out to be. He knows that. They’ve all done it themselves. They all know how horrifying it is. Yet, it is different for them all. No first mission alone is the same. It’s different every time, for every squad member to fit their character and personality.