The Manipulation Room

Chapter 2 - A Martyr

Manipulation Room victim no. 101
Name: Carlin Studd 
Age: 31 years old
Occupation: Chef at five-star restaurant 
Family Member: 34 year-old husband, Demetrius 
Description: Traumatic brain injury and concussion inflicted by a flail hit across the head. Instant death confirmed

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Then suddenly the names stopped spinning. Everyone read it, simultaneously.

'Nixon Ray and Liberty Ray'

Nixon and Liberty? I'd never heard of either of them. My heart managed to rest, my mind flooding with relief. I felt bad for feeling so utterly relieved about this, someone had to kill someone they cared about. But I couldn't help it. It wouldn't be me, or Echo, or Mama. This wouldn't have a drastic effect on my life... hopefully.

I looked around till I found them. It wasn't hard to find who had been chosen; it was always painfully obvious. A man and woman, relatively young but old enough to be parents stood with feared expressions. They were around Mama's age but looked infinitely younger. Papa's death had had a massive toll on Mama's ageing; she'd aged twenty years in five years. There were anguished cries coming from a boy. I craned my neck to get a better view, to see if I recognised him. I didn't, but his face was vaguely familiar. He was definitely close to my age. His bright blue eyes were drenched in tears and contrasted beautifully with his dark, tousled hair. He was gripping onto the woman's arm and shaking his head. "Damn...poor kid." Echo said, clicking her tongue, leaning forward to get a better view.

"What's happening?" I whispered into her ear, squinting my eyes at the scene taking place. "Probably the son." She shrugged. I heard Mama whispering prayers to herself, kissing my forehead lightly, tears streaming slowly down her cheek. The blue-eyed boy was at breaking-point, his parents were holding him close. My heart truly went out to him; he'd have to watch one of his parents kill the other. I knew what that was like, and I would never wish that sort of pain and torture on anyone else.

Mama was still whispering prayers when the same soldiers who had killed the other man ran forward from the stage. They pushed people out of the way like they were simply strands of grass. When they reached the scene that was taking place their eyes softened. The soldiers had obeyed every order so far; march, shoot, eat, sleep. But now they faced an enemy that was a little older than their younger siblings and children at home. The people around them cowered unarmed, some facing them with hopeless eyes and some turning with eyes shut tight. I looked at the blue-eyed boy again, his expression was one of immense pain. His parents were holding him from either side, kissing his head, their faces also drenched in tears. It reminded me so much of my own experience that my heart ached. 

In the half-light of the breaking day the soldiers stood a few feet away from them, at ease, but still armed. Their faces were impassive, not a trace on them to say they knew what they were about to do. I wondered if they were trained that way or if they were just like that naturally. Is there a boy inside each man that knows his gun is no longer a toy and that his foes will not get up laughing and slap him on the back? Because if there is, I see no trace and that scared me more than anything. It is as if with the uniform came a mind-set, a way of coping with the task at hand, but how can killing be a job with a salary? How will these soldiers sleep at night after this day? After leading people to murdering their own families?

I could hear the blue-eyed boy as clear as if he was standing right next to me. "No! No, you can't take them!" He was yelling. I could see him shaking, unable to stop. I saw his father whisper something in his ear that was completely inaudible even to the people standing right next to them. Whatever the man said, it had left the boy rattled and upset. "Oh, for God's sake! Hurry them up, won't you?" President Thanatos yelled into the microphone, standing impatiently on the stage. The two soldiers flashed each other uncertain looks before averting their eyes to the family in front of them, that looked like they were stuck together with glue.