Marionette (A 'The 5th Wave' Fanfiction) [COMPLETED] #wattys2017

25. Glass Heart; Chapter II.

    We're in one of Vosch's offices with Reznik, waiting to be called. I faintly remember the place I just can't quite put my finger on it. Reznik keeps checking me from the corner of his eye. Not in the other sense of the word, though, that would be weird.

    My heart is hammering in my chest. I hate these extreme moments this world contains. Why is everything so complicated?

    Free time to think isn't very good right now. Our minds start wandering. What do the Others want? Why haven't they attacked us yet? Why send the Waves? What are the Others? And when will it all stop?

    That's what I'm talking about. Too much space will make you go bonkers. You should always focus your mind on what's coming, whether it is field training, cleaning, eating or sleeping—never let loose.

    I break those 'rules' often, it seems. Thank God I don't disobey any camp ones. Now that would be a quick death sentence.

    I examine the pattern of the wall infront of me. Pattern more like bullet holes. There's a lot of them at camp. I don't want to know how they got there or any other details. Some things are better left to be.

    Commander Vosch shouts for us to enter. I eagerly stride behind Reznik, the growing suspense becoming unbearable.

    Vosch has his hands folded on his desk, a stern look on his face and all his medals and badges secured to his uniform. Reznik sits and I follow suit. I have to pay attention so that my leg doesn't start bouncing or something.

    There's silence. Uncomfortable silence. One that makes you want to scream, "Oh, come on! Get on with it already!" Yeah, don't do that. Unless you have a death wish. Well, not even then. It's a pain in the ass to go down all 'noble' and crap.

    So I wait. No idea what for. Is Vosch still making up his mind? Thinking of the best way to put it? Or maybe he's just being theatrical? Like those shows that built suspense before the winner was announced?

    He's doing a good job at it then.

    Vosch runs a hand over his face before talking. "Private, you might know why I called you here," he starts.

    I wait. Am I supposed to answer? I would say I have no idea. My best guess is selfish—field promotion. But do I really deserve that? Sergeant?

    Vosch rests his hands on his desk again. "I'll get right to the point," he says. "You're being transfered into your old squad."