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  “No more tasks...” Bruce looked to Spirit whose face showed the same blank expression, though behind her practiced façade, he knew she was panicking, too. Reva chuckled before finally elaborating, “Henceforth I, Captain Svetlana Revakin name you honourary units of Spetsgruppa "A", also known as Alpha Group. From today on, there will be no more tasks. Normally, only twenty percent manage to prove they deserve such an honour, you both would have likely been passed on if others were available. Though consideration is given for the lack of proper facilities, supplies, and sheer amount of improvisation required to get you both to this point. As such you’ve earned my respect and congratulations. I formally acknowledge you as equals, my family. No one will be able to hurt you ever again!”

  Shocked, Bruce and Spirit followed her lead to an area in the forest where she’d pre-prepared a large meal to commemorate their success. Following their first meal as true equals, they returned to camp, taking stock of Spirit’s meager supply of arrows.

  “Given I was unqualified in archery before we began the training process, Spirit is the only one able to give us ranged capability. I suggest you and I train with her, Bruce, should she approve.”

  They both looked to Spirit, who simply replied, “Of course, Captain, we’ll begin with water slapping, then bow construction, and shooting, if that pleases you?” With a small smile on her face. “Command is yours, Sergeant Spirit.” Reva said affirmatively.

  For the next three years the trio trained in archery, interrupted only by the occasional scouting mission to enemy camps, or to intimidate ships carrying fresh prisoners. Fewer ships were sent as time went on but when they were they contained increasing numbers of passengers, some of which were Mots. Luckily, their tactics ensured no one dared seek their camp, ironically increasing enemy numbers. Regardless, they had no concern for a bunch of unarmed weaklings. Ever determined, Bruce continued pushing himself to be better, both as a fighter and archer, until he was able to combine fast tactical movement, improvised free running, and mobile shooting as well as a side of flamboyant acrobatics - to the chagrin of his cohorts - in any weather while nailing any bulls-eye. Reva politely didn’t ask questions when her family left some nights to ‘train’ alone. Unbeknownst to her, that’s precisely what they were doing because Bruce wasn’t much of a night-shooter.

  Chapter 6 – Broken Arrowhead

  Deep in the foreboding dark forest, two lethal warriors hunt. Prey denied them by sheer inevitability; more people meant more would-be hunters and more enticed predators. Screams could occasionally be heard echoing through the brush with no hope of attracting aid. Broken rusting sword at his back and hand-made black recurve bow in hand, Bruce leads Spirit deeper still.

  In time, their hopes are answered in the form of bloody jawed beasts with eyes that glowed a faint red in the moonlight. Two arrows each between the eyes stagger the unfortunate horned wolf-like beasts, while home-made spikes finished the job.

  “You notice it?” Spirit asked worriedly as they trudged back carefully.

  “Reva? Ya she’s not been doing so hot the last few months. You think it’s the ‘teas’?”

  “Teas, past alcoholism, likely head injuries in her warrior days, old age, or all of the above...” Spirit replied sadly.

  “We both told her to stop boiling leaves like that... I mean shit, she used to desensitize us to the local plants. Who fucking decides boiling random similar ones is a solid idea?” Bruce said irritably, trying to suppress concerns he knew they both felt.

  “To be fair, we’ve been eating many different types with no issue.” Spirit retorted.

  “Ya, but based on similarity to foliage expected pre-war, and never more than once a week, if that.” Bruce argued. “She isn’t stupid...” Bruce continued quietly, ignoring the negative implications he imagined.

  Soon they arrived home to find smoke flowing out the roof of their house. Bashing the door in quickly Bruce found Reva sitting there with a smile on her face. He grabbed her arm, trying to pull her out.

  “Quien diablos eres tu?... Кто ты, черт возьми, ты... Da re?” Reva rambled incoherently, resisting his efforts staunchly.

  “You know who I am!” Bruce replied as he hefted the powerfully built woman up and out into the cool night.

  “Nein Baka...FUCKING NO!” Reva shouted, suddenly landing a crippling side-kick to his gut before retreating into the smoke.

  Together Spirit and Bruce forced her back out then Spirit pinned her down. Spitefully, Reva bit her hard, earning a decisive elbow to the head in return. Spirit looked regretful, then she looked disappointed. Reva just laid there crying.

  “Wretched cunt, my stomach hurts, I can’t eat, I got lumps where I shouldn’t, and I don’t know who the fuck you are. So how 'bout you just fuck right off ‘kay?”

  Spirit’s eyes welled up with tears as she and Bruce shared a look. Cancer?! Bruce wondered silently. Ultimately, Spirit released her sadly, opting to share Bruce’s shelter so Reva could medicate in peace.

  “That’s certainly a step up from tea...” Bruce noted. Though if I’m right a tea wouldn’t cut it forever...

  Spirit just gave him a sad look, then waited for a sad sleep to come. Morning light glinted through faded leaves that made up their roof, it fell onto already upright bodies. Stealthily the students checked their master’s state- snoring like a bear shook the walls riding of high winds. Satisfied, they set about their daily hunter/gatherer missions to ensure she would be well nourished at least.

  “Is there any point in all this extra if she can’t eat? We’re forcibly branching closer to enemy camps; is it really worth the risk?” Bruce asked cautiously.

  A sudden sharp punch from Spirit affirmed it was. “Maybe you should stop talking now, King. Does that sound good to you?” She retorted mockingly.

  “Yes Sergeant!” He replied dutifully, mindful of his cynicism.

  By the time they returned, they found a pleasant surprise- not only had Reva waken, but she was habitually sharpening her knife with a stone.

  “Captain.” Bruce called in greeting.

  “Sergeant.” Reva replied in kind.

  “Nice weather we’re having today.” Bruce said casually.

  “Oh ya, cold enough to harden your nipples.” Reva joked.

  “At least ya won’t be able to go all saggy on us...” Bruce joked pointedly.

  Her steely disappointed gaze proved to him she was home. Though, when she saw Spirit, her reaction was less than he’d hoped for.

  “Anastasia, you’ve returned!” She exclaimed with overt joy. Mere seconds later Reva’s expression darkened with self-doubt.

  “No, Ghost... Spirit! Da... forgive me Sergeant, my mind isn’t what it was.”

  “No worries Captain, just focus on getting better.” Spirit replied kindly.

  “Da, da, I must.” Reva muttered to herself, reverting to her native Russian momentarily which they’d normally only notice in times of stress.

  As days went by, she ate less and less, save for when being steamed by burning drug leaves. She became unstable and afraid, unaware who she was or why they were there. When Bruce and Spirit trie to calm her one night, she attacked them, screaming at them in muddled Russian that she won't become an American prisoner. Reva fled from their well-obscured encampment into the night with her students in tow. They chased her through the thickly forested deadly island.

  Keenly aware she could die without ever finding another person, her students gave chase. Briefly, they lost her in the darkness, thanks to her training. To Bruce's horror, they eventually noticed her heading toward a well-established encampment with a familiar man on watch. Bruce fired an arrow into the tree just in front of her, accidentally grazing her face in the fire-lit darkness. Thankfully it stoped her, but set her on a path to attacking Bruce.

  He managed to restrain her until she started to come to her senses, but the man noticed her.

  She pushed Bruce into hiding, “We’ve come under attack, Sergeant; looks like W
hite-supremacists to me!”. Immediately the man raised his cohorts...the rest of their fellow left-for-dead inmate family.

  “That’s Zane, Captain. One of the two who gang raped me.” Bruce informed her with toneless factuality borne of training. Reva’s expression turned dangerously steely, a strange look overtaking her eyes. She told Spirit to come close then scratched them both with a tranquilizing poisonous plant she always carried to help her sleep.

  "Live to fight, family." She said as they both collapsed, numb, but not unconscious due to quick exposure, but just immobilized enough to give her a head start.

  Training gave them enough fortitude to begin to rise, though they both knew they couldn’t fight effectively yet.

  “Hey... Can you help me?” Reva called out to Zane.

  “No, but I know a ton of people that’d likely want to!” Zane called back, barely masking his sleaze.

  Minutes later a massive wiry Mot opened their improvised gate. Smiling, Bruce noted almost immediate screams escaping it’s disgusting mouth, mixing in with Reva’s ranting accent.

  “YOU HURT MY FAMILY!” She roared like a lead singer with fearful or pained screaming for background music.

  Spirit recovered first with Bruce close behind. The Mot’s body served to hold the door just enough that arrows were soon flying by Reva into the incompetent enemies beyond. Armed with a makeshift club she'd stolen from a disarmed enemy before clubbing his head into the mud, Reva begins to mentally falter again. In the chaos, the rapist and her bitch boy Zane run into the blackness, abandoning their teammates. Reva chased after them frothing with incensed rage regardless of growing confusion.

  Spirit remained behind to secure those left barely alive and bewildered while Bruce gave chase himself. In order to boost efficiency, he paused to fire a shot but immediately realized he couldn’t shoot for fear of hitting Reva whose movements were becoming increasingly violent and less tactical to compensate for her brain’s interference. The rapist girl got even further away, thanks to the distraction Reva inadvertently provided. Distracted by a desperate girl striking her side, Reva turned back to abusing the few fools nearby instead. Seizing his chance, Bruce lands an arrow deep into the lower part of his rapist’s leg.

  In those few seconds, he lost track of the man in the trees, given he’d been too focused on Reva. Reva herself became increasingly confused, calling a name he didn't know, briefly looking to him sadly. Her face calmed slightly, then she suddenly turned and started wandering towards the trees looking dejected by his lack of response. Seconds later, Bruce saw Zane with a jagged piece of metal emerge from the trees directly in front of her, shrouded menacingly in shadow and illuminated only partially by raging camp fires.

  “Hi there.” Zane said kindly, hiding his weapon from her immediate view. “I’ve realized I can help you!”

  “Great, I need to get back to Moscow but I can’t find a plane... Wait aren’t you the one on that wall?” Reva said like she’d found family, clutching her head with her left hand.

  Reflexively, Bruce noticed Zane wrapping his arm around her back like a friendly embrace, the glinting metal of his weapon drawing towards her throat gradually.

  “CAPTAIN GET DOWN!” Bruce screamed before he fired a shot that just grazed her neck before nailing Zane just below his right shoulder.

  Zane’s knife arm shuddered. To Bruce’s dismay, Reva only stood there shocked while Zane recovered just quickly enough to slice the side of her throat. When Reva’s body reeled to the side in pain, Bruce reflexively shot him in the eye. Ignoring the venomous screams from his rapist deeper in the forest, he rushed over, kicking the man in the jaw to knock him out, then focused on tending to Reva. She was bleeding profusely because the blade had hit a vein.

  Spirit screamed, rushing through the tress to wreak brutal vengeance on the girl. Quickly, she returned with a bruised, scabby, disgusting and familiar face. Bruce stroked Reva’s hair, only able to squeeze her neck to staunch the bleeding. Spirit focused her rage on beating Zane like she was trying to wake him up. When her rage-state inevitably died down, she realized she couldn’t beat him until Reva’s injury reversed, and she rushed worriedly to Bruce's side.

  "Live happily sister, or you won’t appreciate your musical fame." Reva whispered to Spirit confused.

  Spirit just cried. In a brief moment of clarity Reva took them both in, either ignoring or oblivious to her pain. Her eyes glowed with the true power they thought had been lost.

  "Fight on. Always, for yourselves, for those who cannot. Don’t fail like me! Undo regrets...Free...Lead...Rebuild." She said with increasing weakness, her eyes glowed with sincerity and that strange guilt she showed before they began training. With the last of her strength, she gripped them like a vice, “Acknowledge My Order!” she screamed powerfully one last time.

  “Yes Captain, it will be done.” Both replied, professionally covering their sadness.

  Eyes once filled with power fade to empty, glassy death. In that moment, as both of her Sergeants were frozen in pain Bruce was reminded of Reva's story about trading her sister so she could remain in the holdfast; of his father's dealings supposedly for his sake, and his similar final request. I’ll fight for the slaves, end the Mots and rebuild as Reva wanted... Bruce primed himself. His old quest for vengeance, and now having skill and good purpose, it finally felt right to make such a promise.

  The two share a look when Bruce's rape team suddenly wakened, shouting disrespect and vehemence, demanding they finish the job. Instead he and Spirit tie them to tress, leaving them for dead.

  “Kill us you fucks!" Zane demanded. His mistress merely stared with a sexualized cruel smile.

  “Shall we save them?” Spirit asked, straining her ability to keep to their orders. Bruce laughed coldly, leaning right into his prisoner’s faces with a lethal smile of his own.

  “No. They aren’t slaves, they’re true Masters in every disgusting sense of the word. Likely too inhuman to understand their hypocritical crimes.” Bruce said coldly, letting his words sink in.

  “Your call then.” Spirit said equally coldly, her vague mercy built on a promise justified away.

  Bruce stood intimidatingly with bow nocked and at ready for effect. I should fucking kill them?... Though that would give them freedom... He realized inwardly. The prisoners’ eyes lost their spite, quickly filling with survival-instinct based fear.

  Suddenly, Bruce released the tension of his bowstring gradually, quivering his arrow smoothly. “We leave them to die on the island they rule so passionately. Their slow suffering can be the arrow that slowly burrows deep into what remains of their humanity. Just before they die, they’ll be forced to realize a simple truth: They have failed this species!" Bruce’s last sentence came out in a menacing growl that made his prisoners shake slightly. Leaving his villains to foolishly beg away what little energy they have left, he and Spirit turned to their restrained followers.

  “You see this woman?!” Bruce yelled like a trained speaker, pointing at Reva's body “She is the reason I do this!”

  Bruce drew his bow, nocked an arrow, and shot the restraining vines apart of each prisoner group without causing injury. Surprised at his skilled violence, no one spoke.

  “In exchange for the freedom you may or may not deserve, you now must make a choice!” Looking from one surprised face to the next he saw no signs of immediate rebellion. “You can remain here freely. Or you can train with us until one day, we will take back our freedom from the psychotic Masters!” Many stood in nervous excitement. A few older men and cripples stayed behind, doubtless resigned to the fate they’d been assigned. “Those who remain shall not support my prisoners or they will join them in misery! The rest of you, follow us.”

  A mot nearly as big as Bonerend, two woman, one redhead and one blonde, three men nearly identical in their generic brunette action-hero looks, save for clear starvation, and seven other slaves, clearly eager to appear invisible, all followed them.

  “Two of you can start by
picking up your savior’s body. Any lack of respect will be punished with death, should you somehow forget what she did for you all!” Spirit ordered.

  Two men immediately picked up Reva’s body. Slowly but surely the beleaguered group trudged through the forest painfully awkwardly like a filthy funeral procession. Bruce was left in disdain at just how bad they were at navigating since it took so long for them to finally arrive at Reva’s camp. Together, Bruce and Spirit personally dig a grave and bury Reva with an ornate hill of stones.

  “Thanks, Captain!” They shout will a practiced salute before marching away with the stone-face look she always expected.

  Unlike with their training, they no longer said it as forcefully when receiving torture via ‘tasks’, for both of them, this acknowledgment was painfully genuine. Afterward, they spent a year drilling all their new followers in close combat with brutal Spetsnaz efficiency. During that time, the seven scared slaves that begrudgingly followed them dropped out of training and were viciously re-tasked to salvage ships and materials. Ultimately, a few of them foolishly opted out of learning archery. Despite his offence at their ignorance, Bruce can see many of them were hobbled by abuse and hard labour making the straight-backed fighting style difficult at best.

  Only the redhead and blonde became average archers with a second year to practice since the ship effort hadn’t yet worked out. Ironically, their pasts as viciously abused slaves occasionally made breaking their wills quite easy, though, that never made the Sergeants feel like holding back. When the second year drew to a savage close, their six students finally qualified to serve under them as thoroughly obedient Alpha units. The Mot previously degraded with the name Mr. President, the blonde - Lady Stefani, the redhead - Queen, and the three near identical brunette Counts - who constantly fought for a higher mockingly respectful title were rewarded with new callsigns in order: Monster, (ironically because, for a Mot, he was actually quite friendly) Birdy, (for her mastery of birdcalls) Savage, (for her fiery attitude, matched only by fighting lethality) and the three men simply called Hollywood 1,2, and 3 respectively for their manly faces, evoking old action movies Bruce used to watch in the Holdfast.