The courtroom smelled of sweat and cigarette smoke. The rain outside rattled against the rusted tin roof, but inside the silence was suffocating.
Private First class Ethan Cross in front of the tribunal bench, wrist cuffed behind his back. His uniform was wrinkled, stained with dirt and ash of his last deployment. Six years of service stripes ran down his sleeve, but none of them would save him now.
On the steel desk lay a canvas sack. It's contents glittered under the bright fluorescent light: watches, rings, necklaces, bundles of crumpled foreign bills. Bloodstained treasures, pulled from corpses.
The presiding colonel tapped a finger on the desk. His jaw was tight, his eyes sharp as knives.
"Six years in the armed forces, Cross. Commendations for survival in hostile zones. Commendations for marksmanship. Commendations for endurance. And yet..." He gestured to the sack. "This is what we find in your possession after the Fallujah Sweep. Civilian valuables. Looted of the dead. You disgrace your uniform."
Ethan swallowed but forced his chin up. "With all due respect sir, the dead don't need watches. And the living don't pay me enough for six years of servitude."
A murmur run through the officers seated behind the colonel. One slammed his fist on the desk. "You filthy vulture! Soldiers die for honor, not to line their pockets!"
Ethan laughed, but there was no humor in it. His voice was hoarse from too many years shouting over gunfire.
"Honor? Honor doesn't pay for shit. I've been crawling through dirt, bleeding in places you can't imagine, and what do I get for it? A medal and a half assed speech by the higher-ups if I work hard enough maybe I could afford a house, pathetic. Forgive me if I thought I was owed more than a folded flag."
The Colonel's stare hardened. He signed a paper with deliberate slowness, the sound of the pen scratching against paper echoing louder than thunder.
"Private Ethan Cross, for looting under wartime conditions, you are stripped of rank and honors. You will serve three months in military confinement before dishonorable discharge."
The words hit harder than any bullet. Ethan's stomach twisted, but he refused to look away. Six years of service gone with one sentence.
The gavel slammed
"Court dismissed."
Two MPs gripped his arms and dragged him toward the exit. Ethan didn't resist. His voice was low, bitter, meant only for himself.
"Guess loyalty doesn't pay either."
Later That Night - Holding Cell
The cell stank of rust, piss, and damp concrete. A single bulb buzzed overhead, flickering every so often like it was deciding whether to give up. Ethan sat on the cot, elbows on his knees, staring at the cracks in the wall as If they might rearrange into answers.
The MPs' had thrown him in here with nothing but his uniform. They hadn't even bothered to take his boots off. That told Ethan everything: he wasn't worth the effort anymore. Just another body to process.
He leaned back on the cot and muttered to himself. "Doing all their dirty wars and all I get is a cell and a boot in the ass, it wasn't like I was doing anything bad, well, it was only a matter of time until I got caught... Should've gone into construction."
Knock knock
He turned his head, a soldier stood at the bars. Not a guard. The man wore a uniform with no rank, no name patch, no unit insignia. His eyes were place, unblinking, like he'd long ago stopped being bothered by sleep.
"On your feet," the soldier said. Voice flat, steady.
Ethan didn't move, he was more disturbed by the soldier's uncanny feeling.
The soldier turned the key in the lock, swung the bars open with a groan, and stepped back like Ethan was expected to follow without question.
Ethan hesitated, then ros. His boots echoed against the stone floor as they moved down the corridor. The soldier walked ahead, silent, his posture unnaturally rigid. Not a guard. Not a military police. Someone else.
The hall sloped downward. Fluorescent lights buzzed to life overhead as they passed, flickering awake like reluctant eyes. The air grew damp, tinged with rust and mold. Doors lined the walls, unmarked, heavy, all locked.
Finally, the soldier stopped at a massive steel door bolted into the far wall. No numbers, no signs, just cold iron. He undid the bolt, pulled it open, and stepped aside with two fingers raised in a silent command.
"Inside."
Ethan gave him a long, deliberate look, but walked through.
The room beyond was a bunker carved out of stone. Damp walls, no windows, only a single strip of white light buzzing overhead. A steel table sat in the center with two chairs. On it: an ashtray with a single stubbed cigarette still trailing smoke.
Someone was already there.
A man in a black court lounged in the far chair, legs crossed, posture too relaxed for the place. His boots gleamed, his coat tailored sharp, his smile just a little too wide. He looked Ethan up and down like he was inspecting a piece of merchandise.
"Well, private Cross," the man said, voice smooth with a touch of mischief. "Or should I say ex-Private
you managed to make yourself memorable. After all not everyone can outballz the big bad colonel. But I do understand you, if you hadn't taken your little shiny treasures your general would have and from your file you seem to have a habit of sticky fingers."
Ethan stared at him. "You here to lecture me about manners or you got an invitation for tea?"
The stranger chuckled. "Tea's overated. I brought paperwork." He reached into his coat and, with a casual motion, tossed a battered black notebook across to Ethan. It hit the table, slid and stopped at Ethan's side.
"Go on," the stranger said. "Have a look, we've been keeping notes."
Ethan picked it up. The cover was plain, scratched. Inside, neatly typed pages mixed with cramped handwriting. His name stamped across the top: FIELD FILE: CANDIDATE 0047 - ETHAN CROSS.
SERVICE RECORD: Six years enlisted.
Commendations for marksmanship and survival. Multiple tours.
Disciplinary Action: Court-martial for looting during combat operations.
Another page. Notes scribbled in the margins.
Behavioral Summary: Pragmatic. Self-preserving. Not ideological. Values reward above recognition. Witness Testimony (From a commander Walice Smaller): "Everyone loots it's just the hard truth it's only a matter of time before getting caught. For Ethan that was coming it wasn't his first and I'm sure it wouldn't have been his last."
There was even a sketch of his face, rough, with an arrow pointing at his jaw: stubborn.
Ethan let out a humourless laugh. "I'm surprised that's the only thing on me you people found."
The man in the court grinned. " We have more but none of it partains of the task we wish of you, Ethan Cross."
The soldier without an insignia closed the door behind them with a heavy clang, then stood at the corner, silent, watching.
The stranger leaned forward, fingers drumming the table. "Here's the deal. You're finished to the regular brass. But to us? You're an asset. A man who survives. A man whose willing to do what is morally objective. We like the way you conduct yourself and we can buy your loyalty."
Ethan flipped through the next page, on it he found.
Its cover bore an unfamiliar insignia: two interlocking rings pierced by a downward spear.
He slid a pen across the table. "You sign, you're ours. Not tomorrow, not next month, now. Refuse and you can go back and wait for your jail time and none of this would have ever happened."
Ethan stared at the notebook, at the cold words summing up six years of his life. He thought of medals he'd never see, of officers who'd never trust him again, of the gnawing hunger for more than just scraps of pay.
Then he picked up the pen.
The ink bled his name across the page in a single stroke.
The stranger smiled like a man who had just bought a new toy. "Welcome to division black, Ethan Cross. From this moment on you don't exist, except to us. Consider this a some sort of a complementary meeting someone will be with you shortly after you wake up."
Ethan's eyes span wide open. "What do you mean by ..."
Thwack!
His head was hit by such a force that he was immediately knocked out.
"Sleep well 0047, you'll need it." Said the stranger as Ethan was dragged away by the soldier.