When Hiva had signed himself to the Project Scorpion, he hadn’t exactly thought what he was putting himself to. All he’d been told was that he’d be taking part to an experiment for a new training method and would be trained for the special forces in process. He’d tried asking more about it, getting denied the answers and had been simply told that it’d be completely safe and he shouldn’t bother his mind about it. And as much as he didn’t trust the men in suits telling him this, he signed the contract and followed them. He arrived to the base, following them silently, both afraid and anxious, to his new home. It was a large, heavily fenced area with multiple different environments for training as well as a large gym, living area and a small lounge that appeared unused for reasons he’d soon discover. He was shown his bed, told to get to sleep since the training would start early the next morning and left there, confused and lonely. As he looked around, he could spot twenty sets of red eyes just like his, all scared, anxious for tomorrow.
The next morning started at full speed. Get up, get dressed, follow the drill sergeant to the gym, do as he says. They trained for both strength and endurance, which wasn’t anything he hadn’t expected, although he hadn’t expected having to do as much as they did. They were let to waste time at the showers, where Hiva simply sat down to rub his aching muscles, wondering what’d come next. Food, it seemed. He felt surprisingly good about being so far away from his home and family, even though he was still very aware of the fact that he knew absolutely nothing about what he was doing and why. They were treated as equals by the sergeant -even though he had high enough authority to make him feel meaningless- and they had surprisingly much free time. He noticed, though, that even though the sergeant’s answer to his questions was always a polite “you’ll see”, he’d treat him better when he wasn’t asking questions. No surprise, it only took him a week to stop asking questions, concentrating on the routine instead.
Every morning, they’d wake up at seven to either gym, train or -after four weeks- shoot. The first time Hiva was brought to the shooting track, he was given a sniper rifle, told how to use it and given a spot to shoot from. Alright, guns, this he was already familiar with, after all he was a hunter and had been using guns all his life and yet when he finally pressed the trigger of his brand new weapon, he felt fearful. The hard recoil took him by surprise, managing to cause his shoulder to bruise, but the bullet hit its target and he felt a pat on his shoulder. As he looked up, he saw the general whom told him to continue whenever he felt ready. He then rubbed his shoulder for a minute or two, going back down on the ground and aiming. He pressed the trigger and half a second later the bullet sped straight through the center of its target. This time he heard the sergeant compliment him aloud with his peers staring at the man slightly confused, if not a bit annoyed. He didn’t mind and continued shooting, earning more clear shots and compliments and although he wasn’t the only one to do so, he felt like a winner when he finally made his way off the track.
As he went to sleep that night, he felt an odd longing for his rifle.
The next morning started like the other, the trainees getting up early, eager to return to the track. They spent the next two hours shooting, feeling as if they were torn from the track all too soon. The others returned their weapons unwillingly, but Hiva took his with him. He didn’t bother hiding it, nor did the sergeant bother saying anything about him. In fact, no-one seemed to have anything against him carrying a fully loaded rifle around. He was told not to bring it along to the training, though, as it’d only slow him down and be on the way. He stood this command for a week before bringing the weapon along anyway, yet again realizing how no-one seemed to care whether he did or not. Slowly, his peers did the same and at the end, they did everything with their beloved rifles either watching from the side or riding on their backs as they made their way through the tracks, trying their best to show off their speed and skills. The better they did, the louder the praise and the closer the sergeant got. He’d spend time with the one who did the best, giving advice or the key to the track. The competition was tough and would sometimes result in fist-fights between the ‘soldier-to-be’s. One after another, they started forgetting their insecurities, instead concentrating on their competition, living each day by their routine.
When the fifth month of their training came, Hiva found himself facing the horror of broken routine. Instead of getting to gallop to use his rifle, he was sent to do what? Sit still, without his gun, and listen to some boring commander or whatever tell him and a hundred others that six months from now, they’d be sent to the borders. They’d serve for a month -simply to see what it’d be like there- and return home for a few weeks before coming back to finish their training and be sent to the East for a year’s worth of service… if they still felt like returning to the army, that was. Hiva didn’t really listen, he just stared at the wall next to the man whose mouth spoke words he didn’t want to listen, thinking about his rifle and what he could be doing with it right now. He was aware enough of his surroundings to see the small man sitting next to him, more light than dark from his skin with hair as white as the clouds, shivering in nervous fear. He stared at the man for a while before the green eyes found him. Undoubtedly, the man was already regretting joining the army. They stared at each others, then the little man raised his hand, shaking, to greet him. “Samuel,” he muttered, to which Hiva repeated with his name. He didn’t move a finger, though, not because he didn’t want to greet the person, but simply because he’d forgotten how to. He didn’t even realize that his behaviour seemed odd to anyone, he just turned back to stare at the wall with his mind at the gun.
Once the briefing was over, he directed his steps straight back to his area, not minding the fast, light steps behind him. They were going to the same direction, he didn’t mind. They entered the gate, he still didn’t mind. Only when he heard someone call his name, he stopped and turned around. It was the little man, whom seemed even smaller now that he was standing. “I need to go,” Hiva said, almost managing to turn back before the man spoke again.
“I -I was just wondering,” he muttered jus loud enough to be heard, “I -I’m n-n-n-nnnew here, and… I don’t really… know… I…”
“I’m in a hurry, so if it’s-“
“Are you the head of the s-s-scorpions?” the man asked. “I was told to… to, well, to seek for the head of… of the -the scorpions, see, to, I… Ehh… Inform them about the… health… things.”
“I thought the vaccinations are next tuesday,” Hiva answered. He started feeling annoyed by this scaredy person. He’d been away from his rifle long enough and he needed to train. How could he keep up with the competition if he didn’t train? He needed the liberties, he needed the sergeant’s advice, he needed to be the best. He had already turned around and started walking when the man got enough courage to speak again.
“The scorpions have their vaccinations tomorrow at sixteen,” he yelled, “I -I, ehh, sorry to bother!” And with this, he sped off as fast as his short legs could carry him.
Hiva looked at the man go for a second, then turned to go inform the sergeant about tomorrow before returning to his gun. He picked the weapon up gently, hung it on his back and headed to the tracks that were now free for his use. He’d spend the next two hours honing his skills, not really realizing that his targets had changed shape and resembled a person now. Had this been a few months earlier, he’d had wondered what was going on, but he was already routinized and addicted enough to only care for getting to use his rifle. Even if he’d seen better, he wouldn’t question. It was better not to question, it was more comfortable, it was good. It was good.
The next day, though, he had to face the uncomfortable breaking of routine again, this time glad that it happened to be on the lunch-time. He walked along his peers, silent, emotionless, stopping only to wait for his turn to get his shot. He felt uncomfortable outside their training area even though he’d been allowed to carry his rifle here. Indeed, he held the weapon’s shoulder strap tighter as if to seek comfort. When his turn came and he walked to the room, he found himself facing that same frightened newcomer he’d shared the most frustrating conversation of his life with. He looked at the man whose green eyes stared back, seemingly even more afraid than they’d been before. Frustrating, he thought, sitting down so that the man could reach his shoulder. Frustrating, he repeated to himself. He felt odd. He got his shot, he pulled his sleeve back down, he stood up and walked at the door, turning back to stare at the person again. “What did you say your name was again?” he asked before opening the door.
“Samuel,” the man answered and with this, he left, walking back to his area in deep silence, tasting the name, wondering what this weird feeling he had was. As he walked past the gates, he realized that he’d forgotten what it felt like to feel anything. There was nothing special in the feeling he had, it was simply frustration, and he’d forgotten what it felt like to be frustrated. A short moment he nearly asked himself why, but as his steps took him closer to the training grounds, the mind switched back to the competition.
The following six months went by all too fast, every day following the same routine, every day bringing along the exact same things. Competition, competition, competition. Every day he did his best to impress the sergeant, seeking nothing but the intoxicating feeling the praise gave him, showing off his talents. He proved to be the best at climbing and trained himself to stay as silent and still as possible, often dropping to the neck of an unsuspecting peer who’d repay him with a nearly instinctive punch that he’d learned to avoid already. They’d fight, they’d compete, he’d win and keep his status as the head of the scorpions. His peers started speaking of him as Spider and at the end of the training period, he’d adapted the name as his new identity. He was Spider, the captain of the Scorpions, the ultimate authority whom anyone and everyone obeyed without a second thought.
And then they got sent to the borders. One day he was simply told to get into a train that’d float on its magnetic tracks underground for hours until it’d stop only to have them thrown to a hovercraft and carried to their destination. He was completely unfamiliar with this type of an environment, yet he found himself soon forget about it and concentrate on his mission. He’d been told that they could come across humans here, although no-one had seen one since the last summer, it being spring now. He didn’t care. He’d gotten his mission, his mind stood in his mission. He started walking alongside the hundred or so people he’d been brought here with, finding himself walking next to a distantly familiar figure. It was that small man again. That… that… He tried to dig the name from his memory and as if he’d read his mind, the man looked up to him, said his name and continued walking. Samuel. Spider looked at the little man, wondering what a pathetic little figure like that would do in a place like this, surrounded by people trained to shoot without question. He raised his speed a little, catching up with the other scorpions, continuing his way silently in their emotionless group of man-machines. None of them could think of anything but the routine they’d gone through the past two weeks and that they’d been training. When they got to the camp, the scorpions separated to their own small group away from the others, placing their tents according to Spider’s orders. Aside from the few words he spoke, no-one said anything past “sir”, nor was anything else necessary. They crawled to their tents silently, settling down to sleep, leaving Spider to read through his plans for the next day in peace. He took off his jacket, laying it under his head and started going through the next day’s routine when he heard a small noise from the mouth of his tent. It was that dwarf again, trying to clear his throat seemingly too nervous to say whatever he’d come here to say. Spider looked at him, he opened his mouth and closed it, focusing the green eyes somewhere else than to the red, intense eyes that stared straight through him like two soulless slits in the fire. Spider continued staring, almost hoping for him to melt away and stop bothering him. “Yes?” he said, waiting for the man to continue or leave.
“I -I… My tent… I, eehhh… got… stolen,” the little man muttered silently. “Can I sleep -sleep h-h-h-hhhhere?”
“Can you be silent?”
The man nodded hastily.
“You don’t snore, do anything stupid, sleep restlessly or bother me in any way?” Spider asked, almost hoping for a positive answer. When the man shook his head, he agreed to let him sleep in his tent, wondering whether it was a good idea or not. He focused back to his plans, not minding the man who shoved his bag to the end of the tent before crawling in and sitting next to him, silently, rocking back and forth barely noticeably. The dwarf took a peek at his notes, he didn’t mind. He continued rocking, Spider didn’t mind. When he went back and forth half an hour later, doing his businesses, brushing teeth and other meaningless things, Spider still didn’t care. He put his notes to his bag, closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He melted to his usual dreams that consisted of things he couldn’t recall the next morning, things his hearts still longed for even though his brain had forgotten about them already and once again, he was back in the life he could’ve had, had he not chosen this path. The dream flew on, stopping here and there, flowing free through his mind, when suddenly, it came to a halt. There was a noise he couldn’t quite recognize, something that might’ve been familiar to him once but what he’d already forgotten. He was brought awake and as he looked around, he could see the dwarf sitting in the same spot he’d been when Spider had fallen asleep, his head resting on his knees, hidden behind his arms and his shoulders shaking from silent crying. Spider looked at the man, not sure whether he felt anything else than frustration for being up at this hour. Frustration, he thought again, wondering how this little person managed to keep making him feel unpleasant like this. He stared at the dwarf, who raised his head to wipe the red, swollen eyes, not noticing that Spider was awake, jumping visibly once Spider asked him why he was crying. He simply apologized for being of bother before sinking his head back on his knees, sitting still, silently, probably waiting for Spider to fall back to sleep.
“Why are you crying?” Spider asked again, staring at the man who raised his shoulders as an answer. He waited for a while before repeating his question again.
“I just feel bad,” was the answer.
“Why?”
“Well, why do people feel bad?”
Spider stared at the dwarf. “I don’t know why,” he said. Now it was the little man’s turn to stare at him.
“Don’t you ever feel bad?” he asked, pulling a long, shaky breathe.
“No.”
“You never cry?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I don’t have feelings,” Spider replied.
“…Why?”
“I don’t know.”
The dwarf said something that sounded like a silent “huh” and pressed his face back on his knees, not saying a single word more. Slightly bothered, Spider laid his head down and closed his eyes, soon falling to restless dreams that he, unfortunately, recalled once he woke up.
