Pending Death

At first, I used to think war was simple.

The enemy was just the man wearing a different uniform than mine.

I held on to that way of thinking for years.

But the truth?

The truth was far worse.

And back then, I didn't know a damn thing about it.

Let's rewind. Two days before that tragic accident, I'd been given a mission.

Not a big one. But big enough to make me feel—just for once—like I mattered. Like I wasn't just another name on a list.

I wasn't a decorated soldier.

But I had one strength: I knew how to handle a weapon.

This time, I wasn't alone. Nine other soldiers. One commander. Eleven of us.

The objective: capture a captain from the enemy army.

The war had split humanity in two.

On one side, the Futurists—believing the world should belong to those who deserved it. Their army? Roughly 709 million soldiers. An insane number… but in a conflict spread across continents, it became almost meaningless.

On my side was the Human Union.

Irony in the name, right?

We were slightly outnumbered—about 658 million soldiers.

In a war this massive, you quickly learn something brutal:

The dead are numbers.

The living? Just rare anomalies.

So yeah. My life? It didn't matter much.

It was more disposable than a pawn in a chess game.

This wasn't a mission to save the world.

Or to bring peace.

It was just an op to bring down one man—flesh and blood, like you, like me.

They were willing to send eleven men to their deaths to take him out.

Back then, that thought made my blood boil.

Now? I get it.

Lives aren't equal.

If they were, there'd be more presidents on the casualty lists.

Sorry. I'm rambling.

I forget I'm not writing this to play philosopher.

And who the hell am I to try?

At dawn, the commander gathered us for a pep talk.

The kind of speech that could put a nation to sleep.

"Soldiers, tomorrow is an important day. Even if this mission seems small, it matters to our regiment. As they say, 'One small step for man, one giant leap for the world.'

A small step for soldiers. A giant leap for peace."

Peace?

When did the road to peace start running through rivers of blood?

Since when do you have to starve some to feed others?

And what "small step" leads you straight into the jaws of death?

The worst part? Back then… his words worked.

I swallowed every single lie.

My naïveté cost me more than I ever imagined.

"Remember, you're not fighting for yourselves.

You're fighting for your nation. For your mother, your father, your children. So fight… to the death."

That part? That was true.

We weren't fighting for ourselves.

We were fighting to buy others a future.

A future paved with corpses.

Children without fathers. Mothers without sons. Wives without husbands.

A fragile peace, built on a mountain of broken lives.

Then came the day of the op.

One detail hit me hard:

The general himself wasn't even there.

The so-called hero who was supposed to lead the charge was safe in a bunker somewhere, barking orders into our earpieces.

Before I could even process that hypocrisy, a kid tapped my shoulder.

"You excited too, huh?"

"A little… not really though."

"Relax, man. They said after this mission, I can finally see my mom again. Can't wait! Plus, it's a low-risk op."

"You sound way too confident."

"Why not? We're about to take out one of their top killers. Guys like him don't deserve to breathe."

His name was Marc.

Just a regular guy like me. No big ambitions.

But principles.

The kind of guy you respect—even in silence.

But principles won't save you from a bullet.

When we reached the enemy base, my brain froze.

Two minutes of hesitation.

Two minutes too long.

Then… all hell broke loose.

Gunfire.

Screams.

Blood.

In my earpiece, I heard:

> "You were right, General. It was a trap. They walked right into it. Nothing we can do for them now."

My blood ran cold.

Not because of those words.

But because of the body lying in front of me.

A man I'd known for barely two days.

A man who gave his life for this country…

…only to be thrown away like he'd never existed.

My first instinct? Run.

Run like hell.

I took a bullet to the leg.

But I ran.

I ran until I collapsed—far enough to escape their reach.

That day, I finally opened my eyes.

To what?

I won't tell you.

But you'll understand.

In that pool of blood, on the edge of silence, it hit me like a revelation:

I wasn't living my life's story.

I was living my death… on borrowed time.

To be continued : Ashes Between Us...