Toy Soldiers

by Dabeagle & Ryan Bartlett

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Chapter 4

Harlequin

Hunter Greene was the only friend I remember having, until Sage. We trained together, worked as a team together and defended each other. Hunter had even shared my pallet, something that was rare, because I had never done so before. Others were less discriminating; attacks happened. The weaker were allowed to be victimized. They would band together to fight off their squad mates. Hunter was not beautiful, not on the outside. Inside he was broken. He had developed an affinity for me, and we looked out for one another. Sleeping together was more of a defensive measure than a romantic or sexual one. Despite that, it had been a true friendship, and I'd mourned for ages when he'd gone for an upgrade and never returned.

It was just as well – he didn't have to worry about the rest of them anymore. Then Sage had come.

Sage

The guards reached under my arms and lifted me from the chair. They walked so fast it was hard to keep up, and I let them drag me from the room and back down the hall. I was led to the infirmary, where I was forcibly stripped naked. My wrists were still cuffed in front of me, so the guards cut away my t-shirt and sweatshirt with a combat knife. I got the briefest glimpse of the knife’s hilt, but it was enough to make out a number – B-011.

“Blue Squad?”

I didn’t expect an answer; we weren’t supposed to question Managers, and I assumed the same rule applied to The Director’s guards. I was caught off-guard when one of them leaned close and whispered, “Black Squad.”

I took in his face. He was older than me and my squad mates but still quite young; so was his partner. I’d never heard of a Black Squad before, and my mind raced with questions I couldn’t give voice to. At Lion Mountain someone was always watching, and I felt I’d already said too much by asking about Blue Squad.

The guard placed his hands on my shoulders and guided me to a bed. Once I was lying down they shackled my ankles to the bedframe and released my wrists. It wasn’t standard procedure to put us in chains when we were in the infirmary, and I figured it was The Director’s subtle way of reminding me I’d been captured, that he owned me and my life was his to do with as he pleased. I didn’t have long to ponder though; as soon as the guards withdrew, Dr. Hopkins came in and seized my arm in his powerful grip.

“Don’t squirm,” he ordered, and before I even knew what was happening he’d given me an injection. My last conscious thought before falling into a deep sleep was B-011, Black Squad.

“Wake up,” the woman’s voice reverberated through my consciousness.

It took me a moment to realize it wasn’t a dream, and when I opened my eyes I found a woman standing over me, her figure blurred by sleep and the blinding florescent lights. I blinked my eyes a few times, and she came into focus. Her skin was pale white, and her brunette hair was pulled back in a tight bun. Her eyes were a cold and hard shade of brown, almost black. She seemed ageless; she could have been anywhere from 20 to 40, but I couldn’t tell. She wore a white lab coat like the doctors on the medical staff, but my blood ran cold when I saw there was no name embroidered over the breast pocket. In all of Lion Mountain nothing was so fearsome as “The Unnamed.”

I was about 12 the first time I encountered one of the Unnamed. I’d been exercising with my squad on the training floor when an announcement was made over the loudspeaker.

“Attention, attention. Units B-322, G-327 and R-319, report to the infirmary for immediate treatment. B-322, G-327 and R-319 to the infirmary at once.”

I sighed and holstered my weapon. Treatments were never fun, and I would have much rather remained with my squad. It was weird though, I couldn’t see my squad mates’ faces behind their helmets, but I got the distinct impression they were going out of their way not to look at me as I left the training floor.

I encountered B-322 and R-319 at the small arms locker where we turned in our weapons, helmets and web-gear to the master at arms. This was something of a treat; the squads rarely interacted outside of the training floor, and I almost never saw the boys of the other squads without their helmets. B-322 was blond like me, but his eyes were blue. R-319 was brunette, with warm brown eyes. I also noted we appeared to be the same age.

“I’m Sage,” I introduced myself. I didn’t think there would be anything wrong with exchanging the names the Corporation gave us.

B-322 looked nervously at the master at arms cataloging our equipment, but when I wasn’t punished for speaking he said, “Sky.”

“Rusty,” R-319 nodded.

After the introductions had been exchanged, we quietly marched to the infirmary. A nurse led us into an examination room with three doors on the opposite wall. We were ordered to strip naked, and then each of us had our hands cuffed in front of us. We traded nervous glances; we were only restrained when the treatment we would receive was particularly gruesome. The doors on the opposite wall opened, and each of us was beckoned into a room by a man in a white lab coat that bore no name. I took one last look at the other boys before stepping inside and wondered if I’d ever see them again.

The room was white tile from floor to ceiling, and there was a drain in the center of the floor. The only furniture in the room was a counter, the top of which was covered by a sheet. A chain on a pulley hung from the ceiling, and after he closed the door the unnamed man attached it to my cuffs then hoisted my arms up until I was standing on my tip toes.

“G-327, what color is the sky?” said the unnamed man as he stood before me.

“Blue, sir,” I replied, wondering what kind of stupid question that was.

The unnamed man said nothing but punched me in the stomach. It was like being hit by a truck! The wind blew free of my lungs, and I struggled to breathe.

“G-327, what color is the sky?” the unnamed man repeated calmly.

“B-blue,” I gasped.

He struck me again, this time in the face. My lip was busted, and I could feel blood running down my chin.

“G-327, what color is the sky?”

“I-I d-don’t know,” I cried.

The unnamed man moved to the counter and removed the sheet. A second later he approached me with a straight razor.

“N-no, p-please sir, no,” I cried as he brought the razor close to the tender skin under my exposed nipple.

He looked at me with impassive eyes as he made a small swift cut. I screamed in pain and all he could do was repeat, “G-327, what color is the sky?”

I didn’t know what he wanted to hear, but as he continued to abuse my body, and as I began to hear the screams of Sky and Rusty, I realized there was no right answer. When I woke later in my pallet, my body bruised, beaten and bloodied, I found Brunswick and Harley sitting by my side. Everything hurt. I felt tears forming in my eyes, and my lips quivered as I tried to give voice to the only question that mattered: why?

“We’re not to speak of it,” said Harley, putting his finger to my lips to hush me. “Be strong, and know you’re not alone. We’ve all endured it.”

I didn’t understand why the Managers would do this to us. I learned quickly that punishments were severe, and I tried very hard to follow orders and be a good boy. I couldn’t think of anything I’d done wrong, anything that would warrant such a cruel punishment. I thought back to the unnamed man’s question – G-327, what color is the sky? – but still couldn’t come up with any answer other than the obvious.

I began to realize the treatment I’d experienced with Sky and Rusty served a single purpose. It served to further break us, to demonstrate the Corporation’s ability to do whatever it pleased with us.

“Roll over onto your stomach,” the unnamed commanded when my eyes focused. “I have a treatment for you.”

I was going to object – tell her I couldn’t comply because my ankles were chained to the bedframe – but as I began to form the words, I realized I couldn’t feel the shackles. They’d been removed as I slept.

“Yes, ma’am.” I tried to stifle the quiver in my voice.

I lay prone on my stomach with my arms at my sides. She swabbed the back of my neck with alcohol, and then I felt a cold pressure against my skin.

“Remain completely still,” she ordered.

“Yes, ma’am.”

My body tensed, and I concentrated on the pressure. I heard her fiddle with something, there was a clatter of metal on her instrument tray, and then I felt the most blinding pain I’d ever experienced in my life. I cried out in agony. Tears fell from my eyes in torrents, a behavior that would normally result in a painful rebuke, but the doctor seemed to know it was going to happen. She didn’t admonish me for the display; she merely said, “When you recover, there are clothes on the counter for you.”

I remained face down on the bed and wept until the pain subsided. Treatments were never pleasant. The doctors weren’t gentle. Their manner was brusque, they gripped us firmly, and there was no preamble – they simply jabbed you with the needle. That said, the treatment I’d just endured was by far the worst I’d ever encountered.

Harlequin

Saturday I was surprised by Tim visiting. He invited me to walk down to a place called Starbuck's for something to drink. I told him there were several things to drink where I was, which he thought was funny. Nevertheless I signed out – a system by which residents could go to certain pre-approved places, if they had earned their privileges. Cass had failed a math test and could not go out, but it didn't stop him from whining that he wanted to join us.

I expressed no sympathy for Cass, though in truth I felt fond of him. He reminded me of people that had arrived long after I did. Those who remembered their tenth birthdays and nothing else. Except here was someone who remembered that and more.

Tim kept up a steady flow of chatter on the way to his desired destination. I listened to him talk about his family, his friends and the paper mill that dominated the town's economy. I found that I was enchanted by the sound of his voice and watching his face move with each expression he made to emphasize his current subject. I found that I had become enamored of his beauty, which seemed to extend to his personality instead of being restricted to the physical.

He held the door as we entered, and my nose was filled with a myriad of different smells. For a moment I forgot about Tim and took in the different scents. Tim ushered me to the back of the line of people.

“They make great hot chocolate. Do you like that?”

“I do, very much,” I said.

Tim placed an order and he paid. Once we had left the register, I apologized for not having any money.

“I invited you out – it's my treat,” he said with a grin. We sat in two comfortable chairs beside a fire, and he flashed a pretty smile at me. “So you seemed pretty serious about the definition of a friend.”

“I am,” I replied.

“So...what's a friend to you?”

“Loyalty,” I replied without hesitation.

“Yeah, I'm cool with that.”

“That's just a word, though,” I replied. “I'm not sure how to articulate it. A friend is the nearest thing to a brother without being related by blood.”

“That's...wow.” Tim shifted in his chair. “So when we shook hands, that's what you meant?”

“Yes.” I sensed that this was not the case with him, but I felt that was okay. He and I were from different worlds and would have different definitions.

“I'll...try to live up to that.” He sighed and ran a hand through his long hair, which fell in strands. It was enchanting to watch. “So, I'm guessing you aren't interested in my sister?”

“As what?” I asked.

“I guess that answers that!” he laughed. I gave him a quizzical look.

“She likes you - a lot.”

“I...am sorry. I don't feel the same way.”

“I figured,” he laughed. “It's okay; it'll do her good. She's got a big ego, because she's so pretty – she treats guys like dirt. She's the evil twin.”

“Oh, twins. I see.” In fact, now it did make sense. Their resemblance was more than simply familial – it was because they were fraternal twins. Clearly, Tim had gotten the better half of the genes.

“You did notice we look alike, didn't you?” he asked.

My reply was cut off as the girl behind the counter called out our names. Tim got up to get our drinks, asking me to 'hold that thought'. As he approached the counter, a young adult wearing a thick coat, unseasonably so for the weather, pulled a pistol from his pocket and aimed it at the counter – at Tim.

“I don't wanna hurt no one! Just give me the cash!” He pointed the gun alternately at Tim, the cashier and the people standing in line. My training took over. With a glance at the firearm I saw the safety was still on. I moved subtly behind a large display of cups and coffee machines and lifted the table so that the items pummeled the thief. Two people from the line of patrons jumped forward and the thief tried to bring the gun into play. I brought down my cane on his wrist, which made a wet snap, and he screamed as he dropped the weapon. My cane had cracked.

The police were called, of course, and Malcolm interviewed a great many of the customers. I was very disappointed that my hot chocolate was cold, and Tim was making entirely too much of the situation. The shop provided us with fresh drinks, which I was grateful for, and Tim and I carried them as we walked back to my residence.

“That was amazing! You saved my life, seriously!” Tim carried on.

“I did no such thing,” I replied reasonably. “The safety was still on. Clearly he was an idiot.”

“But how did you know about the safety? Plus, you dumped all that stuff on his head! Like, totally acted like a ninja and snuck up on him.”

“Tim,” I said, “he was only a few steps away. That hardly required a lot of stealth.”

“Then cracking his wrist? That was like out of a movie or something!”

It appeared he was not to be calmed. However, I found myself enjoying his attention in the extreme. His enthusiasm was of someone who'd never been trained, someone who was...normal.

“Once my sister hears she's going to demand to date you – you know this,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“The town hero? Yeah, you just went to number one on her 'to do' list.”

I sighed.

“Hey, could be worse. You could be on Brent Mullaney's 'to do' list.”

“Who is that?”

“His dad owns the paper mill I was telling you about? He's a jerk. He and his buddies beat up a few kids a few years ago. Said they were fags; put them in the hospital.”

“What about the authorities?” I asked as we walked up the steps to the residence.

“Who, Malcolm? He's the town janitor, basically. Mullaney owns this town – and his kid gets away with everything.”

I frowned. We stood on the porch enjoying the warm, rich drinks. He was sitting on the railing and looking out across the street. There was nothing of interest there, so I simply looked at him. Watched his hair stirring in the breeze, the way individual strands danced along his cheek.

“Well, I better head home. See you in school Monday?”

“Yes. Goodnight, and thank you.”

“Later, hero,” he said and held his fist out. I looked at him in confusion. “Fist bump?”

I pushed my open palm onto his hand, and he laughed. “No, make a fist and bump my fist.”

I did so, gently and he nodded in satisfaction. I watched him walk away, the confident step. It was most endearing.

“Thank God you're home,” Cass whined from the open door. “These guys are a pain in the ass.”

“Cass, you really have to defend yourself,” I chided.

“I can, if it's a war of words! Hey, where's your cane?” he asked as I crossed into the residence.

“He broke it,” the heavy set man said from his perch in front of the TV. “Sign back in. Cops called. Least we know you went where you said you went.”

He turned his attention back to the TV, and I limped up to my room, Cass trailing me. He flopped onto his bed, and I sat on mine and reached for my book.

“Are you friends with Tim?”

“Yes.”

“He seems so cool. He's got a lot of friends.”

“Perhaps.”

“How did your date go?”

“Date?”

“Yeah! You and Tim!”

“It wasn't a date. He says his sister is interested in me.”

“Marissa?” he asked, eyes going wide. “Are you going to date her?”

“No.”

“But why not? Can you imagine, a guy from the group home dating her? Holy shit!”

I glanced over at him over the top of my book, which I was having trouble enjoying. “Is there a reason that makes a difference?”

“We're all rejects here,” he said. “Dating someone like Marissa lifts us all up. You know, cool by association.”

“That's...stupid.”

“That's high school,” he said, pointing a finger at me like a gun. I considered that for a moment, then discarded it. I was not staying; it was dangerous.

“Why are you not watching TV?”

“Pat is being a dick,” he replied, picking at his sheet.

“In what way?”

“He's...” Cass frowned and sat up. “Look, you'll find out anyway. I'm gay. Before you got here, he used to sneak in here and...do shit.”

“Gay?” I asked, confused.

“Yeah. As in I like guys?” Cass said, opening his eyes and tilting his head as if I should know what he meant.

“I'm not sure I...”

“Romantically. Sexually,” Cass said slowly. “I like other boys.”

I understood. “I understand. Were you willing?”

“Fuck, no! Have you looked at him? He's six types of ugly, and he stinks!”

“I see. He has threatened to...resume his visits?”

“Yeah. He waits for Gary the fat ass to fall asleep, or he says he's going to the bathroom, and comes to my room instead. It's bullshit.” He looked up at me, anger on his face. “Being gay doesn't mean I want every swinging dick out there!”

“Just Tim's,” I surmised. He blushed. That explained all the questions and assertions of a date.

“Did he say how this would happen?”

“Not really. I figure he'll wait until everyone's asleep. I gave him a few bruises,” he said defiantly. “I just can't totally fight him off.”

“I see.” He glanced out the window, and I let my eyes drop to the page. Soon I was immersed in the pages, and Cass fell asleep in his bed. Gary, the aforementioned 'fat ass', poked his head in to ensure we were in the room and let me know it was lights out in ten minutes. He didn't wait for acknowledgment. I marked my space in the book and limped down to brush my teeth. On the way back I passed Pat in the hallway. His lumpy face snarled and called me a bitch once more.

I was familiar with far worse as opponents tried to get into your head. Clearly he saw me as a rival. I couldn't be sure, but I think Cass may have intimated to him that he couldn't make any nocturnal visits with a new person in his room. Had Cass been willing, I'd not have cared. As it was, he was not, and I was likely to lose sleep with the struggle. I'd witnessed it before; it would not stand.

Cass was sleeping soundly, and I put our light out. I then took up station beside the door and waited. As I did, I looked back upon the evening and wondered if Cass's fondest wish could be true. After all, Tim barely knew me and yet he'd come to see me – to take me out. It implied a certain level of interest. Or was that at the urging of his sister? If it were his idea, I discovered I quite liked the idea. If, on the other hand, it was his sibling's machination, I was decidedly uninterested.

In the meantime I flipped through a mental book of the beautiful things I have seen. Weapon 386. The white flowers with their elegant stems and deep cups I'd seen in a front yard, someone's flower garden perhaps. Sage. Tim, of course and to a lesser degree his sibling. The stained glass in the dining room. Cass snored, and I admitted he had a bit of beauty to him as well. I judged to have been waiting nearly an hour before I heard the heavy footfalls in the hall. The door handle turned and opened on magnificently silent hinges. I struck, pushing my fingers onto his carotid artery and causing him to lose consciousness. He fell heavily, noisily to the floor. Gary stirred at the end of the hallway, a muttered curse. I closed the door and retired to my bed.

With the slightest luck they'd decide Pat needed closer watching, perhaps some time with a doctor if he was having fainting spells. I would have to watch him.