๑『CorRUPted』๑

【Chapter Two: Bellicose】

【Chapter Two: Bellicose】

“Aldan, it’s so nice to see you again,” I muttered, now “sitting” at a chair within Bellicose - the main name for the government’s Corrector’s company - and watched by ten pairs of older eyes. They watched me with distaste and disinterest. To them, I was filthy and corrupted. To me, it was the same way. Thing is, in order to become a part of The Corrupted, you have to start out a Corrector. The ten Corrupted before me had all once held the same job as I had. 

“As it is to see you,” Aldan said dryly, before he typed a few things into his holographic keyboard, and I went on to watching the elderly men about me. All ten of them wore suits, all a variation of grey - though the oldest wore a color much closer to white while the youngest of them, like Aldan, wore the shades closest to black. The whole color scheme was their way of saying, “I’m fresh out of being a Corrector and so my hands are tainted with blood. For that, I am more Corrupted than Pure.” As they got older, they wore lighter and lighter suits to show that they were coming closer to purity. 

No one’s ever actually worn a white suit in these meetings.

A moment later, and an image appeared at the center of the mahogany table at which we all sat at. It was a young man, maybe at his twenties or so, like me. His hair was black and cropped short, almost to the point that he looked bald, and his face was set in a pout, though I imagined he had that same expression every minute of the day when he wasn’t being “expressive.” His eyes shown with a dirty sort of blue, mixed in with other light colors like green and grey. His jaw had an angular shape, in contrast to his cheeks which were more rounded, giving his face a strange sort of round but not quite look. All in all, he looked pretty innocent. Normal. 

“This here is your target for now. He should be in the alleyway between Borderlane St. and Sidth Avenue. Get him and dispose of the leftovers inside the trash bin. The code for it is zero-five-five-nine. When this is all done, we expect a report back.” This was the norm. Every time any of us Corrector’s went out to Correct a Mistake, we had to dump the aftermath in the nearest trash bin so as not to scare the people. Also, it’s left in the trash bin because only those of Bellicose and the ones who worked for us, knew the codes. That included the garbage men, but we always gave them a heads up on when we would be doing the “garbage disposal.”

“As usual,” I commented, with a roll of my eyes. Aldan really must’ve been newer than the rest if he was telling me the usual procedure as if I was a baby. Literally fresh into the world of Bellicose. Something told me he’d be dying soon, and it might maybe be influenced by me. Then again, that’d only happen if I became purely Black to them. Corruption itself. 

In my eyes, I was already at that level; in their’s, I still had a chance to redeem myself, but the thing is, once I was done with my duties as a Corrector and at that age where I should be joining The Corrupted, I’ll be dying instead. I already signed a contract that said I will not become a part of that darn circle of ten. As a result, I won’t be able to “redeem” myself, and thus, will be exterminated. I don’t mind it at all, for the fact that this life is worthless. I already kill people. If I were to become a part of The Corrupted, I’d be ordering the kills. 

 “Good day, Darcy.” And I was back in my car, back in my seat, leaning luxuriously over pillows and blankets. I hated that. Remember how I’d explained the whole thing about the car showing me any image I desired? Well, the fact that I paid for it with Bellicose money meant that the programmers allowed Bellicose to zap me to them hollographically any time they wanted to have a quick meeting with me. I hated it so much. 

The car stopped momentarily, and I stared out at the sound of children laughing. A school yard. I watched them play and yell at each other, feeling overjoyed by the simplest of things. Most of the kids looked happy. All, save for one, watching them from the shadows of a tree. In his hand was a simple black book, one with the name Bellicose scribed onto it. I watched the boy with pity, seeing small tears as they dripped down his stoic face. Someone approached him then, and the kid was quick to hide away his book. Smart boy. He’d been chosen to become a part of Bellicose; a part of the Correctors. If he said no, he’d be considered a Mistake. If he was a Mistake, I’d be Correcting him soon, as was for all kids who were chosen and denied.