2 Chapter 2 : Guns Blazing

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He went by many names; Mountain Reaper, Nameless, Crveni Ubojica, Luani I Alpeve, Kataramenos,... Many would think he was born evil, and will still do. But did someone really know his story? No, No one's born evil, their surroundings make them evil. [1]

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The year 1965, Europe, Balkan region.

The Balkan region wasn't at war but close to, to say the least, the army from the different countries still didn't move from their respective capitals but their leaders were eyeing each other. We could say the same for other European countries, after WW2 they didn't want another useless war. Knowing very well that war had already started from the Balkan in Sarajevo once.

But they couldn't stay immobile. Their grudge was that big, maybe it was because they have been at each other for a long time but not a single country had a good relationship with another one. So if the army can't move, who said that they couldn't use underhanded means? They seemingly reached the same conclusion: guerrilla warfare. Attacking the enemy with small groups at different places, and those said groups involved, not their army, but irregular soldiers, mercenaries...

That way the big men from Europe had their feet tied because legally speaking no one moved their army. And truthfully speaking they didn't care about the small consequences caused by those petty conflicts between countries seen as poor in their eyes. The same goes for the leaders involved in the conflict, using guerrilla warfare they pretty much washed their hands of responsibilities if something big happened all the while their enemies suffered.

Well, that could have been nice, but the ones suffering the most were common people. People who didn't have any political involvement in that war, people that didn't even know what was at stake, people that had forgotten why they were at each other's neck, just normal people wanting to live.

Just like in a village built on the side of a slope, villagers wanted to live a quiet life, tending to their livestock, raising the next generations, or continuing their forefathers' culture...

All gone to the flame by an armed squadron equipped with AKs, villagers couldn't even recognize which country they were coming from since their clothes were flagless and just plain black.

They were once attacked by their own country because they too utilized this technique, not wanting to bring whatever blame to their higher-ups. But this time when they tried to talk to them the soldiers didn't understand a single word. Worse, they kept shooting even faster.

30 minutes.

That was all the time needed to raze a 500 inhabitants village, elderly, kids, women, no one escaped.

And the unknown squadron left as fast as they came.

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"Move your asses faster morons!" Shouted an armed man. He was pretty big and he looked quite old as if the experiences he lived tired him more than time itself. He was currently marching in front of a little group.

They were all armed, but contrary to the expectations, they weren't like the squadron from before. Their arms weren't the same from person to person, to begin with. They looked pretty mismatched: some had AKs, others had pistols or even sub-machine guns They also had a coat of arms on their right shoulder. It showed two bloodied claws, probably a hawk or an eagle, or any other raptors.

"Are you sure about the intel Ar?" Asked one of the men to the big man at the front.

"If you have time to talk then you ain't walking fast enough!" Growled the man back, glaring at the poor man who could only nod and walk faster. 'Of course, the intel is sure, they would've spent too much for a false information idiot' cursed Ar in his mind.

After a few minutes after reaching the top of the slope, they could see a burned-down village in front of them.

"F*CK! We're late! They were faster than we expected." Said Ar.

Even if he sounded quite sad, his face was pretty neutral, but he couldn't hide the weariness deep in his eyes, as if it wasn't the first time seeing such a sight.

"Let's disperse and look for survivors." He commanded. Not quite sure about his order, enemies wouldn't let anyone live before leaving after all

They searched pretty much everywhere but they only saw corpses in their tracks, after a few minutes of research they slowed down, dejected, and only searched halfheartedly. Who could blame them.. such a sight could make the average man vomit.

But just before they started packing after failing their mission one of them heard a cry, a baby cry among the rumbles. The whole group gathered around it and saw a little boy of a few months in his crib. The cage of the crib probably protected him or maybe he was that lucky.

Ar approached him, contemplating things, he was quite stumped and didn't know what to do. He first looked into the baby's bright green and innocent eyes. They were literally shining amidst his cries, like gems, a pair of emeralds lost in a country at war.

'Should we let him here? Or maybe kill him, maybe that way he could avoid growing up in this sh*thole...' While Ar was debating, the mercenary around him kept quiet. It wasn't their decision to make, and Ar had seniority over them in the group. Even if they were only some hired guns coming from diverse origins, they still had a hierarchy.

'No!' Continued Ar. 'He reminds me of him, maybe...'

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10 years later.

"Oi Gramps you didn't answer!! Why are we doing this?" Echoed the small voice of a child, his appearance was haggard but his distinctive green eyes shone brightly in the shades of the trees.

He was sitting close to a middle-aged man polishing his gun. The said old man looked lost or contemplating something.

Since that day 10 years ago Ar took it upon himself and decided to raise the boy. When they got back to their base that day the other people waiting for them were surprised to see their leader with a baby in his hands. No one would've believed it; Ar the leader of the Vultures mercenary group carrying a baby boy.

He then grew up normally, as far as growing up in a mercenary group is normal. But to the kid that was what made him. After his sixth birthday, Ar started teaching him basic survival tips along with theories about guns and other weapons. Saying that he was still too young to do something meaningful such as shooting or practicing self-defense. As the years passed, the boy learned more and more things, at 8 he was big enough to truly train and started sparring with some members of the Vultures.

Ar also trained him to survive in the woods alone. For a kid like him, that was the scariest training, being all alone, at night, always on guard. The first few times were the most dangerous nights he ever experienced, but you can only learn and improve through pain.

That cost him a few scars too, bears and wolves couldn't be underestimated after all.

He also knew how to shoot with pistols, he couldn't practice often since bullets were scarce but he surprisingly had an immense talent for firearms. Even Ar was astonished, so he didn't need a lot of tries to aim correctly.

One of the few major events of those past years was when he saw people dying in front of him for the first time, shock and disgust were just the beginning of his nightmares. And that he had plenty enough, nightmares upon nightmares of dead bodies.

He still overcame that, not from willpower or courage but by habit. Indeed growing up in a culture where killing, fighting, and guns were omnipresent didn't leave you any other choice of adaptation. But that's not how he saw it, he thought he grew numb of death. After all, what is that the culture you grew up in hides the most? It hides from its own people, just like how you don't notice how you grew up and your habits until you go abroad or see other people. People who grew up in a healthy environment couldn't recover this fast. Like this, his mindset and common sense were already screwed...

A sigh escaped his mouth 'Aah I still remember the day I met this troublemaker'.

"Shut up kid don't you see I'm busy?! Tch...Anyway, what did you ask again?"

"As I was saying... Why are we doing this job? Can't we just do...Nothing?"

"Heh...Indeed we could do nothing." Chuckled Ar.

"But that would be meaningless-"

"But it's already meaningless!" Retorted the kid.

Glancing back at him disapprovingly Ar said "Don't interrupt me, kid. And you can't judge how people cope with life. Some have lost everything, some have a goal in mind, or some just got nothing else to do. So how is our job meaningless? It's just something we do, no... The only thing we can do."

"..." He stayed quiet for a while thinking about what Ar told him.

"You know kid, sometimes it's better to be on your own rather than relying on others... Sometimes even your own country can let you down, after all, how could a country that proclaims unity and sharing let its inhabitants die in meaningless strifes." Said Ar, murmuring the last sentence.

"Do you mean to say that I can't even rely on you, Gramps?"

"It couldn't be more true for me aha" Laughed Ar.

"You are alone in this world, just like how you were born all alone, you'll die all alone. Even if you rise at the top you'll still be alone. The relation between loneliness and strength is very close, and putting your trust or time on passing people is useless and truthfully just a waste"

Like this, the years passed slowly, with the kid still improving his skills. Getting better and better at fighting and coming to love close combat and knives more than guns and long-range. The only blades he had tested out were short daggers and srbosjek knives.

The former was pretty dull but still useful enough to kill and the latter were just leather gloves with a hidden 5 cm long blade, sharp enough to tear open anyone's neck.

...Kid, that was his name, no one ever bothered to find him something else, as he was the youngest everybody called him just that. And just like every other night, he was training under the starry sky. But this time he had an unsettling feeling growing from the depths of his stomach. 'I should probably go back sooner.'

*Clang*

The knife lodged itself in the trunk of the tree while he was already gone running straight toward the Vultures HQ. After running for a while he could hear gunshots from afar and while it wasn't that strange to hear them from time to time it wasn't normal for such a long period. This just confirmed his gut feeling: something was definitely wrong.

When he arrived he was shocked by what he saw; men clad in black wearing ghost masks, fully equipped, were tearing through the last standing mercenaries.

'What happened here?! Who are they?! Why are they doing this?' So many questions rang in his head but he stood there frozen. Gripped by the fear of death, more particularly the death of people he knew this time.

*Bang bang*

The shots stopped and the 'ghosts' prepared to leave.

"Oi, there's still someone there!" Shouted one man.

The kid knew instinctively that he had to move. He ran as fast as he could into the woods he grew up in but even so, he couldn't outrun trained men. With his advantage of the terrain, he still managed to run for a good mile before they caught up to him and surrounded him from all sides.

"Phuah it's a kid"

"All this running for a brat"

"Let's kill him fast"

He could hear their voices around him but couldn't distinguish who was who. Until one man started walking toward him, his weapon strapped around his shoulder. He took a military knife out and looked attentively at the kid.

"You know I can't let you live, who knows for certain what will happen if you're left alive huh? Do you understand me? No hard feelings." That was the last thing he heard before feeling a sting in his chest and passing out.

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[1] Those are just nicknames given by some of the countries there namely Croatia, Albania, and Greece