"Stop it, Commander!"
Deep, heavily shadowed eyes. No discernible emotions in the intense brown irises.
His combat uniform, torn in places, is mixed with dirt, and covered in stains that resemble dark waste. At first glance, it might be considered waste, but if one were to smell it, they would realize it's dried and solidified human blood.
Clutching onto his sleeves, tears streaming down her face, Marian lets out a wail that resembles a cry of despair.
However, he—dismisses her clinging form, grabs the pistol holstered in the leg holster, and points it at the two soldiers whose hands are bound by thin wires.
Both of them are soldiers belonging to the Central Government Army.
Approaching them, he sits down, places the muzzle of the pistol he grabbed against his chin, and urges them to lift their faces.
"State your name and rank."
"I-I'm William... William Abbott... Corporal!"
"Hmm.--- And you?"
"I'm Robert... Robert Johnson... Sergeant Third Class!"
Though he asked, without much emotion, he got up, holstered the pistol, and approached the dead body lying next to them.
It's a corpse with a severed head.
Beside the corpse, a machete—referred to as a machete or similar—was stuck into the ground. Grabbing the handle of the machete and pulling it out, he wipes it against the clothes the corpse is wearing to remove the dirt.
"Is this the commander?"
The severed head wearing a helmet. Kicking it with tanker boots while still wearing the helmet, he rolls it in front of the restrained soldiers, who nod repeatedly.
—I Failed.
He lets out a sigh, realizing his mistake.
Approaching the soldiers again, he begins searching through the belongings of the non-commissioned officer with the rank of Sergeant Third Class. Eventually, he takes out a mobile terminal.
Pressing a button to display the home screen—there was a wallpaper set with a woman about the same age as the non-commissioned officer.
"She's pretty. Your lover?"
"My... my wife..."
"Hmm."
He checks the ring finger of his left hand, bound behind his back. Indeed, there's a ring on it.
"What's her name?"
"A-Amelia!"
"Just got married, huh?"
Intensely nodding repeatedly, the soldier's responses are met with another casual response.
"Which finger is used for fingerprint authentication?"
"T-Thumb on the right hand!"
"Got it."
Casually, he pulls out a fighting knife from its sheath.
*Fwish!*
"Commander!!?"
"Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!"
"Sergeant! Sergeant!!"
"Don't make such pitiful noises, Sergeant. ...Oh well, better take this too."
A blood-soaked thumb falls to the ground with a soft thud. Following that, a scream echoes as he starts the dismemberment of the ring finger on his left hand from the base.
Marian, trying to intervene, is held back by comrades from both sides. All of them avert their faces from him.
He picks up the severed thumb, unlocks the phone, rummages through the address book, and eventually finds a phone number. He taps on it.
"Sorry about that, Sergeant."
Taking out a multitool, he cuts the thin wire with pliers. As the restrained sergeant, now freed, leans down to the ground, protecting his hands, a mobile terminal is thrown in front of him.
"I called your wife."
Hearing that, the sergeant raises his face as if recoiling, attempting to grab the phone with his right hand, but lacking support, he drops it immediately. So, with his left hand now missing a ring finger, he grabs the mobile terminal and presses it to his left ear.
"Hello!? Hello!?"
Teeth gritted, a pain that should have subsided once surged again, accompanied by the clenching of his jaw. Amidst the pain, with his left hand stained red where the ring finger used to be—the Commander stands behind the sergeant.
"Stop!! Please stop!! Sergeant, run!! Quickly!!"
"I love you, Amelia—"
A single gunshot echoes. Instantly, the officer is shot through the back of the head, creating a large hole in the skull centered around the forehead, and brain matter jammed inside scatters over the ground.
Brain matter and fragments of the shattered skull cling to the mobile terminal's screen, and a large hand picks it up, using the fingertips to end the call.
"This monster!! Beast!! Damn you!!"
The superior's head is unceremoniously blown off with a .45 caliber gunshot. Confirming he is undoubtedly dead, the Commander kicks away the corpse. The sergeant, who witnessed this, showers him with a curses parade.
Without much reaction to the curse words, he confirms the death and then—takes an old tire, hanging it around the sergeant's neck like a necklace, albeit one with a grossly mismatched scale.
"Monster, beast, damn you... anything else?"
Next, a jerry can is brought to him. The lid is removed with a snap.
With the video call on the unlocked mobile terminal still running, focusing on the ground and the corpse, he props the mobile terminal up and begins pouring the fuel from the jerry can onto the sergeant's head.
"Hmm...Is this enough?"
This fuel is precious; it can't be wasted. Confirming there's about half left, he tightly closes the lid.
"Vice Commander!! H-help, please!"
"Shout louder if you want someone to come and help."
Well, even if he screams until his throat tears, probably no one will come.
With these thoughts, he distances himself from the sergeant, who is shouting for help into his mobile terminal. From a pouch, he retrieves a soft pack, pulls out a cigarette, and clamps it between his teeth. Lighting it with an oil lighter, he pinches it with the blood-stained fingertips of his left hand.
"Commander, please... Please stop this already! Doing something like this..."
"Rapi, Anis, take her away quickly. And you two, stay back."
Implicitly, he conveys that they are in the way.
In response to his words, clenching their teeth, they nod and move away from him, dragging Marian along.
"It's no use, Commander! Please stop...!!"
—You will no longer be yourself.
Desperate eyes and screams are directed at him, but none of it reaches his ears.
Picking up the cigarette that has been smoked halfway, he regrettably exhales purple smoke, then flicks it away with his fingertips.
As the lit cigarette falls before the sergeant in a loose arc—igniting the vaporized fuel—it instantly turns the area around the sergeant into a sea of flames.
"A-a-a-a!! Gaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!! MOOOOMMMM!!!"
—Humans, it seems, still think of their birth ones in their final moments.
The sergeant, turned into a blazing inferno, screams while surrounded by black smoke and flames.
However, it doesn't last long. The flames and high temperatures burn his trachea, and crush his throat, making vocalization impossible. After what seems like silence, he loses strength, and under the weight of the tire hanging around his neck, his upper body bends, falling face down.
Without any emotion stirred by the sight, his deep brown eyes remain focused.
----
Captain Moore has completed the upload.
"Stop it, Commander!"
Deep, heavily shadowed eyes. No discernible emotions in the intense brown irises.
His combat uniform, torn in places, is mixed with dirt, and covered in stains that resemble dark waste. At first glance, it might be considered waste, but if one were to smell it, they would realize it's dried and solidified human blood.
Clutching onto his sleeves, tears streaming down her face, Marian lets out a wail that resembles a cry of despair.
However, he—dismisses her clinging form, grabs the pistol holstered in the leg holster, and points it at the two soldiers whose hands are bound by thin wires.
Both of them are soldiers belonging to the Central Government Army.
Approaching them, he sits down, places the muzzle of the pistol he grabbed against his chin, and urges them to lift their faces.
"State your name and rank."
"I-I'm William... William Abbott... Corporal!"
"Hmm.--- And you?"
"I'm Robert... Robert Johnson... Sergeant Third Class!"
Though he asked, without much emotion, he got up, holstered the pistol, and approached the dead body lying next to them.
It's a corpse with a severed head.
Beside the corpse, a machete—referred to as a machete or similar—was stuck into the ground. Grabbing the handle of the machete and pulling it out, he wipes it against the clothes the corpse is wearing to remove the dirt.
"Is this the commander?"
The severed head wearing a helmet. Kicking it with tanker boots while still wearing the helmet, he rolls it in front of the restrained soldiers, who nod repeatedly.
—I Failed.
He lets out a sigh, realizing his mistake.
Approaching the soldiers again, he begins searching through the belongings of the non-commissioned officer with the rank of Sergeant Third Class. Eventually, he takes out a mobile terminal.
Pressing a button to display the home screen—there was a wallpaper set with a woman about the same age as the non-commissioned officer.
"She's pretty. Your lover?"
"My... my wife..."
"Hmm."
He checks the ring finger of his left hand, bound behind his back. Indeed, there's a ring on it.
"What's her name?"
"A-Amelia!"
"Just got married, huh?"
Intensely nodding repeatedly, the soldier's responses are met with another casual response.
"Which finger is used for fingerprint authentication?"
"T-Thumb on the right hand!"
"Got it."
Casually, he pulls out a fighting knife from its sheath.
*Fwish!*
"Commander!!?"
"Aaaaaaaaahhhhh!!!"
"Sergeant! Sergeant!!"
"Don't make such pitiful noises, Sergeant. ...Oh well, better take this too."
A blood-soaked thumb falls to the ground with a soft thud. Following that, a scream echoes as he starts the dismemberment of the ring finger on his left hand from the base.
Marian, trying to intervene, is held back by comrades from both sides. All of them avert their faces from him.
He picks up the severed thumb, unlocks the phone, rummages through the address book, and eventually finds a phone number. He taps on it.
"Sorry about that, Sergeant."
Taking out a multitool, he cuts the thin wire with pliers. As the restrained sergeant, now freed, leans down to the ground, protecting his hands, a mobile terminal is thrown in front of him.
"I called your wife."
Hearing that, the sergeant raises his face as if recoiling, attempting to grab the phone with his right hand, but lacking support, he drops it immediately. So, with his left hand now missing a ring finger, he grabs the mobile terminal and presses it to his left ear.
"Hello!? Hello!?"
Teeth gritted, a pain that should have subsided once surged again, accompanied by the clenching of his jaw. Amidst the pain, with his left hand stained red where the ring finger used to be—the Commander stands behind the sergeant.
"Stop!! Please stop!! Sergeant, run!! Quickly!!"
"I love you, Amelia—"
A single gunshot echoes. Instantly, the officer is shot through the back of the head, creating a large hole in the skull centered around the forehead, and brain matter jammed inside scatters over the ground.
Brain matter and fragments of the shattered skull cling to the mobile terminal's screen, and a large hand picks it up, using the fingertips to end the call.
"This monster!! Beast!! Damn you!!"
The superior's head is unceremoniously blown off with a .45 caliber gunshot. Confirming he is undoubtedly dead, the Commander kicks away the corpse. The sergeant, who witnessed this, showers him with a curses parade.
Without much reaction to the curse words, he confirms the death and then—takes an old tire, hanging it around the sergeant's neck like a necklace, albeit one with a grossly mismatched scale.
"Monster, beast, damn you... anything else?"
Next, a jerry can is brought to him. The lid is removed with a snap.
With the video call on the unlocked mobile terminal still running, focusing on the ground and the corpse, he props the mobile terminal up and begins pouring the fuel from the jerry can onto the sergeant's head.
"Hmm...Is this enough?"
This fuel is precious; it can't be wasted. Confirming there's about half left, he tightly closes the lid.
"Vice Commander!! H-help, please!"
"Shout louder if you want someone to come and help."
Well, even if he screams until his throat tears, probably no one will come.
With these thoughts, he distances himself from the sergeant, who is shouting for help into his mobile terminal. From a pouch, he retrieves a soft pack, pulls out a cigarette, and clamps it between his teeth. Lighting it with an oil lighter, he pinches it with the blood-stained fingertips of his left hand.
"Commander, please... Please stop this already! Doing something like this..."
"Rapi, Anis, take her away quickly. And you two, stay back."
Implicitly, he conveys that they are in the way.
In response to his words, clenching their teeth, they nod and move away from him, dragging Marian along.
"It's no use, Commander! Please stop...!!"
—You will no longer be yourself.
Desperate eyes and screams are directed at him, but none of it reaches his ears.
Picking up the cigarette that has been smoked halfway, he regrettably exhales purple smoke, then flicks it away with his fingertips.
As the lit cigarette falls before the sergeant in a loose arc—igniting the vaporized fuel—it instantly turns the area around the sergeant into a sea of flames.
"A-a-a-a!! Gaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!! MOOOOMMMM!!!"
—Humans, it seems, still think of their birth ones in their final moments.
The sergeant, turned into a blazing inferno, screams while surrounded by black smoke and flames.
However, it doesn't last long. The flames and high temperatures burn his trachea, and crush his throat, making vocalization impossible. After what seems like silence, he loses strength, and under the weight of the tire hanging around his neck, his upper body bends, falling face down.
Without any emotion stirred by the sight, his deep brown eyes remain focused.
----
Captain Moore has completed the upload.
