The Fog of War

[Gildarts]

Day Three Hundred and Fifty Seven

A smirk creased her lips as dawn's light approached.

Good morning.

Today, she woke up, ate her usual tasteless rations and began at her mission. The torture had taken so much from her. The succulent zest of life seemed no more. Now, everyday, she lived as a slave to the Empire. Every breath fueling her gray life was one endured.

The memory chip that also tracked her movements still stung in her neck. And by "neck" Christa meant her spine. Yes it was surgically implanted in a way that she could not so easily take out without severing certain muscles and tendons that would end up paralyzing her. Rendering her useless.

Her boney hand brushed over her perpetually aching neck; it wasn't that this particular pain hurt any more than those needles that made her shiver at the sight, however, it was the principle of it all that really got her.

The girl's expression held an ample serving of "I don't give a shit" while the rest of the low-class emperial scum ate it up. Pride in their uniform weaved on their faces and was displayed in their confident and flamboyant gestures. Well-kept hair was either cut in a high and tight or twirled in a thought bun that was tucked under the boat hats they wore off to the side.

Everyone happy-go-lucky about killing their next, slaying their first, or slashing anyone fortunate enough to be seen as "worthy." Everyone was cheery as the spoons met their lips and the poison cascaded into their throats. The corners of her eyes crunched together, narrowed to help keep her gleeful composure.

Officer Honey approached Christa with a false smile, while the girl continued to observe the room with a raised brow.

"Adams." Honey spoke her last name and the milky fluid of the room's comfort suddenly stiffened and the men stopped slurping down their plates, quickly becoming rigid and so, so civil. Honey was their commanding officer, but she was also one of the only women who avidly flaunted her body, quite evidently appealing their lust, and motivating their success with insinuated incentive. Others let their eyes glue to the two females as Christa received her orders.

And that was when the choking began.

It was almost on cue. The rasping coughs filled the whole cafeteria while others gripped their necks as their eyes bulged from their sockets. Their faces quickly became tomatoes. Lunch trays fell from their hands, food splashed to the floor, and in the chaos, the two women remained absolutely still.

This. Was. War.

And both of them knew it. Officer Honey endured the repulsing havoc with a stoic expression of repressed rage that chafed the lines she never smiled with.

Christa who remained sitting, slowly she tilted her chin at a mocking angle as she looked up at her "superior" with a coy smile. Her eyes lashed with ignited fire, no trace of ever being dimmed. Now, today, this was her revolution. Today she would break loose from hell.

A triumphant voice played in her lips as she serenely spoke to Honey, "What, you didn't get your coffee ?"