Shy and Aggressive

by Johng117

Anthology: Scarred

The sound of haunting howls filled the air. Gunfire and explosions was all that could be heard in the city streets. The flashes of gunfire from infantry and armored vehicles lit up the darkening sky. Fires raged from destroyed cars and from damaged buildings.

Screams echoed out into the area, as many civilians fled down the streets from the horrific beasts that terrorized them. The beasts were men armed with weapons, firing off indiscriminately at anyone in their path.

"They're breaking through!" shouted a soldier with his platoon.

"We've lost contact with Zeta Squad!" shouted another soldier amid the chaos.

"There's too many of them!!" cried another soldier, just moments before he was shot in the head from a foe that stood by a window in a nearby building.

"Keep at it men! Never give up! Never surrender!" shouted the commander of the platoon.

About two blocks down, a platoon of marines stood behind cover. Light Armored Vehicles were parked in the streets, forming a perimeter for the evacuation zone. Civilians were rushed into lines for boats that lied in wait at the harbor, while transport choppers were loaded up. Distant battle ships and an air carrier sat in the distance, where fighter jets and choppers came and went.

"Everyone remain in an orderly fashion! Remain calm and follow the instructions given to you!" shouted a soldier from among the crowd. He began to walk about, inspecting the progress of the evacuation. It was impossible to evacuate a whole city of people from the island, which is why the military had set up shelters outside of the city to transport citizens while others were sent to the aircraft carrier.

"This is a fucking cluster fuck!" said the soldier as he joined the C.O.

"I haven't seen this many Transmutants like this since WW2!" said the C.O. as he stared off to the battle beyond, where smoke rose from between buildings in the streets.

"You fought Transmutants before?" asked the soldier.

"More like they fought alongside us! Makes me miss the 40s!" said the C.O.

There was a horrific shriek. The men turned to find a swimming mass bursting out of the water in the harbor. It was a squid-like creature with an armored hide. It latched onto a sailing ship and shrieked. Civilians screamed as they backed away from the docks, while citizens on the boat found themselves at the mercy of the Transmutant. Its tentacles grabbed onto humans and pulled them into its gaping, tooth filled maw.

"Open fire! Open fire!" shouted the C.O.

Soldiers that were stationed within the evacuation zone began to fire off at the cephalopod as it began to pull the ship apart. It was too late, the remaining civilians on the ship fell into the water along with the destroyed ship. Black, boiling ink came from the beast, causing the remaining survivors to scream in agony as their flesh melted from the cloud of ink that covered them.

"Get back! Everyone back!" shouted a soldier, turning to the civilians.

"Their race is not to be trifled with, corporal. May God have mercy on us all," said the C.O. as he stared at the horror in the harbor.

From the aircraft carrier, smaller boats emerged and raced to the harbor. They were mounted with heavy machine guns, mini guns, and daring hot blooded soldiers.

"Check your fire, men! Can't risk stray bullets hitting civies!" shouted a squad leader from within one of the boats.

"I see the target! Give me an angle!" shouted a soldier on the side gun.

"I'm on that fucker too!" shouted the gunner of the machine gun on the top of the boat. The boat shot at the cephalopod as it emerged. The bullets bounced off its armored body, but managed to pierce through its softer limbs. The creature shrieked as it dove under.

This war was not going well. The navy, the Equestrian Marine Corp, and the armored vehicles were not enough to quell the ferocity of the dreaded Transmutants. The rebelling mutants wrecked everything in their path, slaughtered every human soldier and civilian that they spotted.

A squad of soldiers fled down an alley. One of them turned and fired off his rifle, killing a mutant before he could continue his pursuit. They began to continue running, attempting to find a place to recuperate.

"This entire operation is fucked! It's game over!" said a soldier.

"Stow that talk! We aren't done yet! We can restock on ammo at the command center just a few blocks from here!" said the C.O.

"We'll be lucky if we can make it one block!" said another soldier as a chopper descended down, crashing into the street in a fiery explosion.

"Christ!" said a younger soldier among the squad.

"Keep it together, Private!" said the C.O. He then looked over the street. "OK, let's move! Keep running!" said the C.O. The private panted as he followed his squad through the war torn streets. His mind was racing as he heard explosion after explosion, gun shot after gun shot, roar after roar. It was hell on earth on the battlefield. But the monstrous cries made it so much more surreal.

From the street lights ahead, sparks of electricity appeared. The light bulbs exploded as an electric figure dropped down.
A cyan Oni-like creature appeared. It gave a horrible laugh-like roar as its horn sparked, along with its strong paws.

"What in the fuck?!" exclaimed a soldier. The men stopped and fired off their guns. The Oni produced a wall of electricity, which quickly connected with the coming bullets, then incinerated and deflected them. The Transmutant lunged for the humans, slashing at them with his sparking hands. The men cried out in agony as they were shocked and slashed, being flung about on impact. The young private gave a war cry as he fired at the back of the creature, while it slaughtered his C.O. The beast cried out in pain and quickly turned to face the private. He swung his paw at him, slashing at the private. The soldier fell to the ground, stunned and in great pain. He shuddered as he lied on the ground, unable to move as his body ached from the static shock he just experienced. Blood began to trail over his face. He found the Oni looking down at him, a smirk growing on his muzzle

"Grah. Grah!" the creature grunted. The private was in so much pain that he felt himself in a daze, on the verge of passing out. He must have been hallucinating, because he swore it sounded like the creature was attempting to speak. How right he was.

"Be... Cause... You hit me... You live. Con... Congrats," a deep harsh voice spoke. It was as though a demon spoke to him, playing tricks on him to make him think a mutant in its beast form was capable of speech. But he couldn't deny what he heard. The mutant gave its same awful roar as it leapt several feet into the air, leaving a trail of electricity behind. The private found his squad mates to be lying dead around him. Men he spent his time training with and fighting alongside. Why was he the one spared? Why was this all happening? That was what the private wondered. He painfully staggered to his feet and began to walk. The blood began to stain his uniform and forced his right eye to close as his own blood threatened to blind him.

---

The private had managed to complete his objective. He made his way to the command center in the city. Although barely. The battlefield constantly moving about in every street made it nearly impossible. The private's head was bandaged up, with some blood stains seeping through. His right eye was covered by the bandages, along with his arm. He found himself sitting in a room, along with other wounded soldiers. Most of them in worse shape than he was. Among them were also civilians that managed to get here.

The private looked around this room, which was once an outlet store, now converted into a medical bay. He stared blankly as the pained and agonized groans echoed in his mind. Once fully functioning men, now wounded and broken. One man was crying as he clutched his head as he lied on a cot. The private heard that this guy witnessed his entire squad getting picked apart by bird-like mutants. He heard a mother grieving the loss of a child that couldn't be saved, a man despairing over the whole situation. The private's emotions had ceased, having become numb. This truly was Hell, and the Transmutants were its demons.

---

It has been a month. One month since that horrible day. The private found himself sitting in a room among a few other soldiers. The claw marks left on the side of his head, down to his cheek had scarred over. The scars left behind a bald spot over his dark hair. The young man clenched his fists as he listened to the radio broadcast.

"I can't believe they gave those fucking monsters those islands!" said a soldier with a growl.

"And they're trying to set us up to fight in another fucking war just as we lost this one. The fuck's going on here?" asked another soldier.

"Hey, Scar. You were in Solgell, weren't you?" asked one of the soldiers. The private's expression grew harder. Scar. That's what people have taken to calling him after Solgell. As though he had to be reminded of the horrors he witnessed of a war they lost, and that the Equestrian government turned over the islands for. It wasn't right. They had a whole army there, yet they couldn't evacuate all of the civilians nor suppress the Transmutants that were bringing havoc. This treaty felt like a slap to the face of everyone that fought and died there. Now, he was being sent off to suppress communists in the East in a jungle miles from home. He hoped that this one would go better.

How wrong he was. Scar found himself sitting in a bar alone. The 70s were at an end at this point. That war was a possibly bigger cluster fuck than Solgell was. It wasn't even a war. He remembered being lost in a dark humid jungle, on edge always with his brothers in arms. It was so bad that people that weren't even the enemy ended up as casualties. When they returned to Equestria, they weren't praised nor celebrated for returning. Who'd want to praise soldiers that lost a war and were involved in questionable scenarios?

Scar was seen as a murderer. A child killer that invaded a foreign country for the Man. Scar had his fair share of wrongs, but what could he have done different? He had a duty, and he followed through, but at the cost of him having a moral injury. An injury gained from gunning down farmers that had nothing to do with the enemy.

Now here Scar was, drinking away his sorrows. War was truly Hell. He prayed that he'd never have to go fight again. Whether it was mutants, communists, or whatever threat that the government would tell him to shoot. That is if they were even a threat. This entire operation screwed him and other veterans over. Not a lot of people were fond of the idea of giving a vet with PTSD a job. Hell, even the G.I. benefits were pretty lousy, or nonexistent. The government might has well just dug a ditch and told the men that came home to hop in. So, here Scar was. Drinking to numb the pain he felt. Was there any chance that he could pick up the pieces? That's all he wondered.

Scar left the bar, his expression stoic. He winced at the bright sun as it shined on him. He looked around, seeing the citizens going about their everyday lives. They thrived, while he struggled. He turned to find a man unloading boxes from the back of the truck. He was large in stature compared to ordinary men. Scar could tell right away that he was one of those damned muties. They tended to grow pretty large in human form, especially the men.

It wasn't right. It was some kind of sick joke. Scar shed precious blood and lost brothers fighting them on Solgell. He followed orders from the island to the jungle. And what happened? The islands were turned over to the mutants in a truce, and the government immediately sent him to fight in another war that left him in squalor. While these monsters got to thrive, men like him couldn't even find a job to support themselves.

Scar began to make his way from the area. He eventually made it to an apartment, where a note was left on the door. It was an eviction notice. He sighed as he read through the notice. He entered the apartment, dropping his key on a small table. He found a dark, gloomy living room. It reeked of alcohol and filth. Bottles of beer lied scattered on the ground. A mattress lied in the middle of the apartment, with a pillow and unkempt blankets. He plopped himself onto the sofa, staring blankly at the dark screen of the TV in the room. He eventually found a hand gun lying on the table next to the sofa. He stared at it blankly.

He didn't have to live like this. He didn't have to relieve the trauma of the past wars in his dreams or by the sounds. He didn't have to lose the one place he had to call home. He didn't have to suffer anymore. Scar took the cold pistol in his hand and stared at it. He ran his palm along the metallic surface, his heart beat steady. He took the gun as his heart beats grew faster. He held the muzzle against the side of his head, gulping. There was nothing for him left in this world. Scar began to pull on the trigger.

There was a ring in the air. Scar sat still as his eyes trailed over to a phone that lied on a dresser. The vet was almost tempted to just ignore call, but his consciousness, instinct, whatever people wish to call it, nagged him to answer. Anything to preserve his own life for just a few moments longer. Scar stood up and made his way over to the phone and answered.

"Hello?" said Scar.

"Am I speaking to-" Scar briefly closed his eyes. It's been awhile since he's heard another person call him by his name.

"This is him speaking," said Scar. However, he realized that the caller's voice was off. It was deep and distorted, like a synthesizer overlapped his voice. "Who is this that I'm speaking too?"

"Someone who understands your pain," said the caller. Scar was silent for a brief moment.

"I've looked into your case on Solgell. Not a whole lot of men came home from that one," said the caller.

"So, you know I was there. What's your story?" asked Scar.

"My story? Well, I lost about 90% of my platoon during that battle. So many good men that fought to their last breath. Their deaths haunt me to this day," said the caller. Scar leaned against the wall with a sigh, closing his eyes as memory flashes to the horrors came to him.

"Why are you calling me?" asked Scar.

"I'm looking to set things right. Currently, I'm searching for others that were there to assemble for some payback. Perhaps we could win the war that we should've won before," said the caller. Scar scoffed.

"Oh yeah? What's your grand scheme? The islands are isolated and any travel to them is a federal offense," said Scar as he impatiently tapped his gun on the counter.

"If you're interested, you'll have to meet with us. These are matters that can't be discussed over the phone," said the caller.

"I don't think so. How can I trust you? For all I know, you can be a Fed. And believe me, I haven't been trusting of the government these days," said Scar.

"I don't fault you for that. We've all been let down by them. Some of us are still alive to know that. All I ask is that you hear me out. If you aren't convinced, then you're free to walk," said the caller.

"Just a talk huh?" asked Scar. While the call was suspicious, Scar would be lying if he said his interest wasn't peaked. A chance to avenge the loss that was suffered. But, he didn't know what to make of the caller's proposal. Not mention that he'd likely relive the horrors of the past.

"I'm afraid I'll have to decline. I'm barely getting by as it is. I can't relive Solgell," said Scar. There was a sigh over the other line.

"I understand. It's a shame, as I think you'd prove useful. But if you change your mind, the door is always open," said the caller. Scar hung up, sighing heavily. With that out of the way, he glanced at the gun he held. The vet hardened his expression and set his gun down on the counter.

"No. I'm better than this," said Scar. He then found a newspaper to be lying on the table and picked it up. He did a quick read over as he found job ads.

---

Scar found himself moving along a cart in a grocery store. He wore an apron along with slacks and a button up shirt. He began to place some products along their respective shelves.

"Clean up on Aisle 4!" said a voice over the intercom. Scar had grown to be familiar with that voice over the last year. It was the early 80s, a new decade. He was fortunate to have been able to find this job at the grocery store. While it was quite the walk, it beat spending money on gas let alone a car. That meant he got to pay his rent, though he could use some better meals.

"One thing at a time," said Scar to himself as he finished placing away pasta packages. He began to walk about to take the cart back to the storage room in the back. He began to load up more on products onto the cart.

"Working hard or hardly working?" asked a coworker, passing by.

"Just finishing up on restocking," said Scar.

"Yo, can I ask a favor? My ma's got her birthday coming up. Do you mind covering my shift on Thursday?" asked the coworker.

"Sure, so long as the boss is OK with it," said Scar.

"Sweet! I appreciate it, man!" said the coworker as he left the storage room. Scar returned to placing the products onto the cart for restocking. He heard a sigh.

"With the amount of shifts you cover, you're gonna wind up working yourself to death," said a feminine voice. Scar turned as he found a young woman standing, her arms crossed. She was a violet eyed beauty, with wavy shoulder length raven hair. She had a small beauty mark just beneath her left eye, and a slim belly and curvy waist. She bore a mild disapproving look. On her breast was a tag that read, 'Roxanne'.

"It's not the worse way that I could go out," said Scar, jokingly as he stood up. "Besides, I could use the extra money."

"Still though, it can't be good for ya," said Roxanne.

"That's why I'm using the extra money to buy some groceries. The least I can do is eat better," said Scar, turning to fully face the young lady. This girl had been working here longer than he had. She's been kind enough to help show him the ropes. From time to time, she'd have a conversation with him. Though Scar wished that'd be a regular thing, if not for all of the effort he's been putting into his job. Still, he liked these moments like this. Rarely does he have someone that'd speak to him since Solgell. He almost considered her a friend rather than just a coworker.

"If you ever need time off, I'd be happy to take on your shifts for you," said Scar. Roxanne smiled in amusement.

"No thanks. I need the money too, dude." Roxanne cleared her throat. "But uh... If you're having trouble with nutritious meals... Maybe I can help you with that."

"Really?" asked Scar in surprise.

"Sure! I mean... I've been meaning to test my culinary skills. But the thing I'm missing is someone to taste them for me. So if you want, I can make ya something," said Roxanne, looking away with a shy smile. Scar lightly blushed in response.

"I... I think I'd like that," said Scar.

"Cool! Think of it as a mutual benefit. I get input, you get a tasty meal. Well, unless it sucks," said Roxanne, giving a forced chuckle.

At the end of the day, Scar found himself walking outside of his neighborhood. A small smile was on his face as he walked. He was looking forward to the coming weekend. Roxanne claimed that she was coming over to cook up a meal for him to try. She truly was a kind soul for offering.

During Scar's walk, he heard a loud tire screech. He turned, his eyes wide and alert with alarm. That terrible screech caused his adrenaline to spike. The young vet quickly dove to the ground, holding his hands over his head. Memories of terrible similar high screeches played in his mind. His heart raced in his chest as he began to sweat. He raised his head, looking around, only to find a car quickly passing by. Scar sat onto his rear, holding onto his chest, giving a relieved sigh. A saddened expression on his face.

Scar eventually made his way home. Once he entered his apartment, he began to get himself prepped. He removed his shoes, his uniform, and then began to heat up a microwavable meal. After having a quick dinner, he set up his clothes, packed up a sandwich for his lunch at work, and had a quick shower. This has been a regular routine in his daily life. While some may find it boring, Scar thought it was the closest thing to paradise. After all, he had a relatively stable life. Aside from the things that could trigger his PTSD, Scar thought he was in a better place. These days, he hasn't made time to go to the bar or watch television in his apartment. That may have been for the best, since he was saving his money and health. And TV he didn't care for as he made it a habit to go to bed early. This was definitely needed if he were to cover others' shifts. Plus, it was the perfect way to keep his mind occupied, not to dwell on those wars. Especially Solgell.

---

It was Friday evening. Scar stood with Roxanne in the small kitchen area in the apartment. The young woman was cutting up chicken as a pot boiled with pasta.

"You see, a meal can last if it's made as such. Just make enough that you can save the rest in the fridge as left overs. You'll save time and money by doing that," said Roxanne as she dropped the chicken into a container.

"I'll have to keep that in mind for the next time I buy groceries," said Scar with a thoughtful look.

"It's almost ready. Take a seat so I can serve ya up," said Roxanne. Scar did just that. He took a seat at a small table in the apartment, as Roxanne began to pour sauce into the pot, while adding in the diced chicken. After a minute of stirring the pot, she served up a bowl.

"Alright, this is the first time that I'm cooking this recipe." Roxanne placed the bowl and a fork down in front of Scar.

Scar took the fork and swooped through the pasta. The white Alfredo sauce soaked into the pasta and chicken. The vet took a bite, his tongue assaulted by an intense flavor.

"So how is it?" asked Roxanne, though she had a worried expression on her face.

"Well... It's not good," said Scar.

"Oh..." Roxanne looked disheartened.

"It tastes great, actually!" said Scar with a chuckle as took another bite. Roxanne groaned in annoyance as she punched Scar's arm.

"Don't tease me like that!" said Roxanne with a pout.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to get you to loosen up. This pasta beats any pre-packaged meal that I've had. You gotta have some," said Scar. Roxanne smiled.

"Don't mind if I do," said Roxanne.

---

It has been a bit over a month. Scar has had Roxanne over at his apartment at least once every weekend. Together, the two would work to cook up a few meals that could last throughout the week.

It was a nice change of pace from his usual routine. He normally just lazed about with a few minor exercises. But now he had an opportunity to get to know Roxanne better.

Right this moment, he was sitting at the table, with a plate of food. The same was the case for Roxanne. The rest had been boxed up in containers and stored away in the fridge. Normally, she'd go home after dinner and say something like, 'see ya on Monday!' But now, she's begun to stick around longer.

"So you're trying to get into classes for culinary?" asked Scar. "I don't see why. You're already great at it."

"Thanks. But I wanna expand my skills, ya know. Like, you can't expect to get better if you don't put the work and effort into it. I'm only taught through my family. I could only learn so much from them," said Roxanne, shrugging.

"I get it. Do you plan on using your skills for something? Like maybe starting your own restaurant or is it just a hobby?" asked Scar, curiously.

"Heh. I'm embarrassed to admit, but yeah. I want to start my own restaurant. But that's a pipe dream. I don't have that kind of money to do something like that," said Roxanne, her cheeks growing red.

"You never know. A lot of things start out as dreams. At least that's what my mother used to say," said Scar before taking another bite of his meal.

"What about you? What's your dream?" asked Roxanne. Scar was silent for a brief moment. It took him longer than he thought to process the question.

"I don't have a dream," said Scar.

"Really? Come on, everyone has a dream," said Roxanne with an amused look.

"Well, it's just something I never thought much about. Not since I was a kid. But things just changed. So far, I'm comfortable with how things are," said Scar, propping his chin up.

"Comfortable, huh?" asked Roxanne.

"Well, there could be a few changes that I wouldn't mind," said Scar in thought.

"Yeah? What might that be?" asked Roxanne. Scar gave an embarrassed chuckle.

"Never mind. It's dumb," said Scar.

"No, now I wanna know!" said Roxanne, grinning. She giggled as she shook his shoulder.

"Come on, tell me~!" said Roxanne.

"I-" Scar fell silent as a loud pop filled the air. Roxanne yelped with a start as the light in the kitchen burst into shards of glass onto the floor. Scar suddenly threw himself back, falling over with his chair and rolled off to the side.

"Oh God! Are you alright?!" Roxanne cried in alarm. She turned to the kitchen, finding the glass on the ground.

"Ooh. You should talk to your landlord about that. Something might be wrong with-" Roxanne turned back to Scar but froze. She saw him sitting on the ground, appearing pale as his eyes were wide and alert. He was breathing heavily as he trembled.

"H-Hey, are OK?" asked Roxanne worriedly. Scar didn't respond. He just kept replaying that pop over and over into his mind. Before he could dwell on anything more, he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, it's alright. It was just a light bulb," said Roxanne, her tone sweet and soft. Her voice and comforting touch brought him back to the present.

"I-I'm fine," said Scar, standing up to his feet. He brought his chair and sat it back up right before taking a seat. Roxanne saw the shame and grimace on his face as he slightly trembled. She wanted to ask him what that was, but she already knew the answer. Prying wouldn't help. She instead placed a warm hand over Scar's. Their eyes met, and on her face was a warm smile, full of compassion that Scar hadn't seen before. He met her with a smile of his own, feeling his nerves settle.

---

It was a sunny day. Scar found himself walking alongside Roxanne. As of now, they were looking for markets in the area that they could to find ingredients. Cooking was almost like a fun past time for the two.

While Scar didn't have any experience, Roxanne walked him through her own knowledge. It was fun, though Scar wondered if he genuinely found it fun or if Roxanne made it so. Either way, he enjoyed helping her. They even made it a habit to split the meals for themselves to get through the week.

However, the two found themselves distracted as they watched a family of ducks passing by in an orderly fashion.

"Duck sounds good," said Scar.

"Wow!" Roxanne scoffed with a laugh, playfully pushing him. Scar chuckled.

"So what's the plan?" asked Scar as the two walked on.

"Well, I was thinking that maybe it could wait. I thought we could just... you know, hang out," said Roxanne, her tone nonchalant, though she was visibly growing flustered.

"Well, it is a nice day. Seems like a waste to not enjoy it. Did you want to do something specific?" asked Scar. Roxanne took his arm and brought it over her shoulders and leaned close.

"Just walk with me," said Roxanne. Scar cleared his throat as he bore a light blush.

"S-Sure..." said Scar. The two found themselves strolling through the area. There was a small park nearby that they had ventured off to, where other people were present. Scar felt a sense of peace over him.

Just a year before, he had just about given up on everything. He was broken, unable to stand to see what lied for tomorrow. But as luck would have it, he landed himself a steady job that allowed him to pay the bills. And now he was walking with this wonderful woman. He felt that with her around, he can actually pick up the pieces.

During their walk, they took notice of a small gathering of people. They appeared to be picking up trash that lied scattered in the park. They all seemed be comprised of different individuals, big and small. Among them, a couple were a lot larger than the rest. Scar had an uneasy feeling in his gut.

"Hey, maybe we should get to market," said Scar as he attempted to turn. But Roxanne made it difficult as she was still trying to walk on ahead down the path.

"Hey, what's wrong?" asked Roxanne in confusion.

"I just-" Scar noticed that one of these strangers approached. A friendly smile on his face.

"Good morning! Do you folks have a minute?" asked the man.

"Oh. Sure," said Roxanne, while Scar appeared anxious.

"We're a part of this community organization that goes around lending a helping hand and spreading information. I wanted to ask if you'd consider donating for our Veterans," said the man. Scar bore a confused look as Roxanne smiled.

"I'm sorry?" Scar tilted his head.

"As you probably know, the government has been lousy at providing for the men that fought in the most recent wars. From the United Islands to Vietneigh. A lot of Vets have found themselves unable to return to civilian life and have suffered from PTSD, addiction, and end up homeless. Some even commit suicide." The man explained. Scar grimaced as he thought back to those dark days. He hadn't given much thought about what other vets have gone through besides himself, mainly since the mere thought just made him feel worse than before.

"That's terrible!" said Roxanne.

"Which is why we're seeking donations. Anything like food, money, blankets, perhaps leads on any jobs that that they can acquire. Anything helps," said the man. Roxanne reached into her purse and drew out a few bills and dropped them into a can the man held.

"Well, it's not much, but I could donate more later. Just what do you guys call yourselves? We could try looking you up," said Roxanne.

"We call ourselves 'Purists'," said the man. Scar and Roxanne bore confused looks.

"Why do you call yourselves that?" asked Roxanne.

"Oh. Part of the things we do is that we bring up the awareness to the problems of mutant and human reproduction," said the man.

"So... You guys are like a supremacist group?" asked Roxanne with a raised brow.

"No, not at all! Here, let me explain," said the man as he drew out a binder from his back pack. On the cover was a blue DNA helix emblem that seemed to be etched on. He opened the binder and revealed the two the contents.

"What a lot of people don't know is that while mutants and non-mutants are both human, they aren't always suited for each other on a reproductive level," said the man as he showed an illustrated depiction of a DNA helix, comparing that with another.

"As you know, there are traits that get passed on from one parent and the other to the child. However, Transmutants sometimes have traits that aren't passed on to the child that may be vital to them," explained the man.

"How so?" asked Roxanne.

"Well, based on the variant of a mutant parent, there are certain nutritional requirements may be more than what the average human consumes. A human pregnant with a mutant child needs to meet these requirements constantly. Even when the child is born, they may be prone to certain environmental needs, such as temperature. I must warn you, some of this is quite graphic," said the man as he began to turn the pages on the binder, showing images of a deformed or frail looking infants.

"Oh my God!" Roxanne cupped her mouth in shock. The infants in the photos were either bony as though they had starved, with their limbs frail and bone, while their torsos were bloated. The deformed children that were depicted were either missing limbs, had unnatural bone structures, exposed gums, and even some hints of animalistic traits. One child bore reptilian eyes and light traces of scales running along his skin, while another child had two extra arms that looked to have hardened and fused to make claws.

"Sometimes, a child doesn't properly develop if requirements aren't met. In rare cases, there are more mutations that occur. Some even die post birth" said the man, his tone softening a bit. Scar just stared at the horrifying images. How could anything like this happen to children?

"The worse I believe is that in some cases, human women that are pregnant end up dying along with their unborn child. Cases vary, but it seems that the human body just can't handle uniqueness of mutants," said the man as turned through the binder. He showed pictures of couples that stood smiling.

"These people have experienced at least one of these tragedies. They either work to help their child adapt, or mourn them along with their spouse," said the man. Roxanne's eyes widened.

"Oh my gosh. This has happened to you?" asked Roxanne as she found one of the images. The man nodded, before gulping as he tried to keep a stoic look. But, Roxanne could see the pain in his eyes.

"It was sudden. We thought he was healthy. But he was just so prone to diseases that he just... He wasn't as strong as his mother..." the man cleared his throat after taking a breath.

"A-Anyway, our organization isn't interested in breaking political or social norms. We respect the rights to any person as long as it doesn't infringe on someone else's. But, we do hold the philosophy that both mutants and non-mutants are better off sticking to their own kind. It's the merciful thing to do for future generations," said the man.

"I see..." said Roxanne. Though that last statement had her wonder if he was still with the mother of his child she saw depicted in the photo.

"I-I do hope you consider donating or spreading the word. Really, you'd be doing your community a service," said the man as he began to walk off. Scar and Roxanne just stared as he left to rejoin the group. They found over a dozen people, comprised of men and women. A couple of them also Transmutants. They wondered how many of these people had a similar case that was shown to them. How many of their children suffered from ailments or had passed? How many spouses were lost? Though neither wanted to know the answers to those questions.

"That's terrible, am I right?" asked Roxanne.

"Yeah. 'Mutants and non-mutants are better sticking to their own kind'. Sounds like the smartest idea of the century," said Scar, his tone cold and harsh. Roxanne's brows raised.

"Hey..."

"Sorry. I just have a lot on my mind," sighed Scar. Roxanne looked to the ground briefly.

"I... I take it you don't like mutants very much," said Roxanne.

"I honestly don't know how I feel about them anymore. Solgell is still stuck on my mind. And after seeing that..." Scar grimaced. Roxanne nodded,

"I understand. I get it, really I do," said Roxanne. Scar glanced at her, unable to read her thoughts. He didn't know whether she was disappointed or actually understanding. He decided not to press.

"Are you thinking of donating? For the Vets at least?" asked Roxanne. Scar was silent for a brief moment.

"Maybe. It's the least I could do for my brothers," said Scar. He held out is hand to Roxanne. "Let's get going."

Roxanne took his hand and held it firmly. The two began to walk hand in hand away from the park. Scar felt some relief returning to him.

---

The year was 1984. Scar found himself sighing as he slouched against his sofa. He grunted as he felt a weight suddenly dropped onto his lap. He looked down and found Roxanne grinning at him.

"Hey, you can't laze about now! We still have to do that thing," said Roxanne. Scar smirked.

"You mean this thing?" Scar leaned in and began to plant a kiss on Roxanne's lips. She hummed as she returned the kiss.

"Mm. No, I don't think so," said Roxanne playfully.

"You sure?" Scar began to plant more kisses as he held the back of her head. She giggled as she shook her head.

"No~." Roxanne blushed as Scar continued to pepper her with kisses.

"No?" Scar reached over her chest and began to stroke her side, from her rib and grazing over to her breast.

"That's nice, but still no," said Roxanne teasingly.

"Aw but I don't wanna go anywhere. Can't we just order a pizza or something?" Scar playfully pouted.

"Well, I guess. But we gotta pick it up. I'm not paying for delivery," said Roxanne.

"Fair enough." Scar smiled.

"Alright, get your jacket! I'll call it in!" said Roxanne as she bounded to the phone. Scar smiled as he got up, his heart fluttering in his chest. He found the ring that was on her finger as she began to dial in. He got up and made his way to the bedroom.

For a few years, he and Roxanne had managed to hit it off. It seemed that the two had really connected with each other. It was funny that this all started over cooking. But, Scar was happy. While he still had a few issues with his PTSD, Roxanne made life more bearable. She gave him a new hope.

The two and their relationship had been greatest thing that has happened to the Vet. The only thing that topped it was the answer that she gave him when he proposed to her a few months back. Now, the two were living together. While they still worked in that store, they managed to work together to support each other in a single place to call home. One day, they'd get an actual house and grow from there. Things were looking brighter.

The couple had left their apartment. Scar held his fiance's hand as they walked close together. The air chilled their skin but their blood from their racing hearts and their contact kept them warm. Eventually, the two came down a street, where a few people stood around or went about their business.

"Did you hear about the Purists raising funds for a place for homeless vets?" asked Roxanne.

"Oh yeah. Those guys are doing some pretty good things," said Scar.

"I was thinking of volunteering for a bit," said Roxanne.

"Oh yeah? What are they doing next?" asked Scar.

"Well, I hear that they plan on donating for some child's treatment. I guess he's a hybrid going through some health problems. It's sad, really. I was thinking of going down there to read to him or something," said Roxanne.

"Well, maybe I'll join you," said Scar.

"You will?" asked Roxanne, a smile growing.

"Of course. I'll go where you go," said Scar. Roxanne giggled as he kissed her cheek. As they walked down the street, entering a local pizzeria. The two began to wait in line for their order. The smell of mozzarella, marinara, and pepperoni reached their noses. It was a toasty feeling inside of this establishment. As they were near the counter, there was a sudden pop in the air. This was no light bulb or balloon. The sound was clear and familiar. Scar's PTSD immediately kicked in as he grabbed Roxanne and dropped for cover to the ground with her. People were screaming in panic as they either fled to different parts of the establishment or dropped for cover. From outside, four men stormed in, wielding hand guns and bandannas that covered their faces.

"Hey! Don't look at my fucking face!" shouted one of the men, before shooting one of the men behind the counter.

"Hand it over! Your wallets, your bling, anything expensive!" shouted another one of the men, throwing an elder to the ground. Scar held Roxanne close as his adrenaline spiked. He could feel his fiance trembling as she whimpered. He had his gun on him, fortunately, but he couldn't draw it. There were too many armed men and he'd be putting himself, Roxanne, and everyone else in danger. So instead, he began to reach for his wallet. But, Roxanne was suddenly grabbed from her jacket and was hauled off of her feet.

"No!" Scar cried as Roxanne screamed in panic.

"Hey! Stay on the ground, bitch!" said one of the men. Scar noticed that these men had bizarre tattoos on their arms. He began to recognize the symbol, which was the reptile-like design in a fetal position. It was the symbol that the Transmutants used during their uprising in Solgell. These must have been mutants.

"Look, don't hurt her! I'll give you my wallet!" said Scar as he held up his wallet. Roxanne whimpered as she was restrained by one of the men.

"Aw I wouldn't hurt this sweet thing. Ain't that right, baby?" asked one of mutants as he began to caress Roxanne's thigh, reaching around to her crotch.

"No!!" Roxanne hunched over as she attempted close her legs together, her face hot with shame. Scar fumed with rage as his fiance was violated by this monster.

"Hey! Forget about the bitch! Just get-" The supposed ring leader of the group turned to rest of the group. Scar quickly reached for his side and drew out his gun. He fired at the ankle of the distracted mutant whose gun was aimed for him. The mutant cried out in agony as he fell over onto the ground. Scar quickly fired another shot to his head, killing him. He then rolled to get a better angle and fired at the mutant that had Roxanne. The mutant cried out as he was shot in the shoulder, allowing Roxanne to break free and run to the back.

"Fuck!" the three remaining mutants staggered to the side as Scar took the other gun from the now dead mutant and fired them off. They fired back, bullets whizzing by the vet. While the bullets failed to hit him with their lack of aim in a startled state, the rounds bounced off the surfaces and hit a couple of bystanders. Scar quickly flipped a table down and hid behind it. He began to fire off a few rounds to a window.

"Roxanne, go!" cried Scar as he returned fire at the mutants, who fired back. Roxanne turned to the shattered window, where civilians began to hop out of, and then back to her fiance. In reluctance, she followed them. Scar grunted as he quickly evaded to a corner in the pizzeria, taking cover as he reloaded his hand gun, while tossing out the other.

"Ah shit, the cops!" said one of the mutants as there was distant wail of sirens.

"You know the drill boys!" said one of the other mutants. Scar's eyes widened as they dropped to the ground, their bodies growing and hardening. They grew multiple reptile-like limbs, which was then covered in thick plates of dark armor-like scales. Their bodies widened and their heads flattened like reptiles. They sprouted large thick tails that bore stingers on the end. They appeared as reptilian scorpions. They bore the tail, armor and multiple limbs that were reminiscent of the scorpions, but the scales, ferocity and faces of reptiles. They also bore claws like actual scorpions, but more built as reptiles, rather than arachnids. Two large clawed appendages began to click together, like a crab's claw. The mutants grew to be the size of cars, bursting through the pizzeria walls. Scar quickly hopped out of the destroyed window, as the transformed mutants gave horrific shrieks. Scar began to have flashes back to his days on Solgell. The streets littered with blood, rubble, and the air filled with shrieks and screams.

"Roxanne! Roxanne!" Scar cried amid the chaos as people fled, and cars screeched to a halt. The mutants rammed into incoming cars and crushed anyone that was in their path. Scar gasped as he found Roxanne running towards him. He ran to her as well, reaching out to her. As Roxanne did the same, she failed to notice one of the mutants lunging towards her. Scar barely had a chance to register the creature.

Roxanne's torso was bitten down on, crushed by the powerful bite and the teeth of the monster. She couldn't scream as she was in too much shock. Scar just stared as she was flailed around like a rag doll, just as another mutant bit down the lower half of her body. Scar dropped his gun to the ground as he watched helplessly. Unbeknownst to him, the third mutant stalked towards him, snarling. But, the creature stopped as several police cars stopped nearby, with officers stepping out with their weapons drawn.

"Oh shit!" exclaimed one of the officers. Scar watched as the two mutants pulled away from each other, as blood sprayed onto the asphalt. One of them gulped as the other dropped what remained to the ground. They shrieked as they began to scurry out of the area, leaving a trail of destruction behind. Scar sprinted over to where the creatures once stood, dropping to his knees as he began to tremble violently. Blood was all he saw. From his memories, to the present day. He shakily took Roxanne's head as he turned it to face her. She just stared, completely limp and growing cold. Her cold violet eyes stared into his own. Scar suddenly gave a guttural scream as he clutched his head, as a pair of officers came rushing to the scene, while the rest began to drive off from the area.

---

It had been three days. Three long days. Scar was lying on his side on the sofa. The apartment was cold, quiet and virtually empty. No warmth was in this place. Not like it was when Roxanne dwelled in it. Instead, it felt like a tomb. Scar starred at the television, as the news played.

"Over ten were confirmed dead at the scene. 9 were sent to the ICU but are said to be stable. However, the mutants responsible are still at large," said the news anchor. An image of a familiar pizzeria was shown.

"More mutant attacks have been reported throughout different cities in the state. The president has approved deployment of MONARCH, formally known as the Marine Corps from one of Equestria's military branches," said the news anchor. "While those of us at home are unsure of how MONARCH will handle the situation, the 'Director' assures us that they are prepared to deal with the threat."

Scar just stared in a zombie-like state. He was cold and detached from all that had happened. The memories of Solgell and the most recent attack didn't have the same effect as it did before. He instead just felt like wasting away. He looked to his palm, finding a familiar ring in his hand. He clenched it tightly as he gritted his teeth. Scar shot up to his feet. He began to flip the small table over, spilling the beer to the ground. He then grabbed the lamp in the room and hurled it over to the TV, causing it to shatter and for the screen to spark and smoke. Scar began to swing a bat against the wall, creating deep indents inside. He panted as he dropped to his knees, trembling.

It wasn't right. Things weren't supposed to be this way. He thought he had finally managed to move on and start a new life. A life that he'd share with the most wonderful woman on the planet, but those monsters took her away from him. They always did this. They always brought him pain and suffering and always took away the ones he loved. His comrades, and his fiance. Now, he had nothing. He was all alone again, back to where he started. He wanted to find the monsters and do what they did to his beloved Roxanne. He wanted to hurt them the way they had hurt him. He wanted them dead, and he wanted the ones they loved dead with them. Blood for blood. He wouldn't be satisfied otherwise.

It was here that he remembered the mysterious caller. Scar never told Roxanne about this caller, but every once in a while, he would call back and make his offer. But Scar made sure to be the one to always answer and he'd always refuse. The last call was a month ago. He wondered if that guy was actually legit. He almost regretted not taking him up on his offer, if he knew that he was going to lose everything again. He could talk to him now if he even knew how to get a hold of him.

The phone suddenly began to ring. Scar turned to find it on a counter. He slowly staggered to his feet, familiarity coming to him. He couldn't ignore this. Not this time. Scar felt like this call was actually going to be worth his time. Once he picked up the phone, he gulped as he held it to his ear.

"This is-" Scar spoke his name, growing a bit sweaty.

"Hello again. Remember me? The offer still stands. I know that you said you aren't interested, but I thought the news may have persuaded you," said the caller, his voice deep and distorted as always.

"I've made up my mind. I'm in," said Scar, his voice firm and his expression hard.

"Hmph. That's good to know," said the caller.

"Before we go on, what do I call you?" asked Scar, resting his hand on the counter, Roxanne's engagement ring still in his grip.

"Call me, 'Big Boss'," said the caller. Scar suppressed a snort. A strange code name indeed.

"Got it. So what do I have to do?" asked Scar.

"Go to the docks. There will be a meeting place for new recruits at a warehouse. Be there by 10," said the Big Boss.

"Understood," said Scar, before hanging up.

---

It was dark cold night. Scar had driven from his apartment, all the way to the docks. He had left his car and began to walk along the docks, where he found a vast ocean beyond. It was a peaceful night, as the moon and stars shone above, glistening over the sea. Unfortunately, this sight could not bring the grieving man any comfort.

Scar found the warehouse just further down the docks. He looked down to his watch. It was ten on the dot. Scar began to make his way to the dark structure, his hands in his coat pockets. He entered through the opening in the building. Inside, he saw a faint lights from the ceiling above. Inside, there were over 50 other men that stood together. They appeared to be conversing. Scar took a breath before walking over to join them. There was no turning back now.

"Psst. Check out this eye sore," whispered one of the men as Scar joined them.

Scar felt the stares from some of the men. However, he paid them no mind. He was focused on something more important than what people thought of his scars. Though he wondered how long until they had to wait around until the meeting could get started. As if on cue, a large muscle bounded man stepped out from behind a door, making his way to join the group. He was bald and sported tattoos along his arms.

"Are you the guy who calls himself, 'Big Boss'?" asked Scar.

"No, I'm not. He couldn't make it to meet you all personally due to... complications to the schedule," said the tattooed man. The other men all began to murmur to each other in confusion and discomfort.

"Wait, he's the one who called us up! Why isn't he here?" demanded one of the men.

"I get it, but relax. I'm here as a representative. What I say tonight is what he'd say, remember that," said the tattooed man. "Let's get started. How many of you were in Solgell when the muties attacked?"

One by one, a few of the men began to raise their hands. However, Scar wasted no time in raising his hand.

"How many of you fought in Solgell during the attack? Feet on the ground," said the tattooed man. This time, fewer men kept their hands raised, along with Scar. There was a tense atmosphere and silence.

"How many of you actually have military service?" asked the tattooed man. Most of the men raised their hands.

"Who isn't a fan a muties at the moment?" asked the tattooed, raising his hand. Everyone raised their hands.

"Alright, good to see that at least we're all on the same page on that," said the tattooed man. He cleared his throat.

"Some of you, the Big Boss knows served on those lines during the attack. Most of you have experience with war to begin with. Whether it's Vietneigh or the Revolutionary Uprising," said the tattooed man.

"That wasn't an uprising. It was a bunch of savages acting up," said a man from the group.

"That's beside the point. The point is that we're looking for fighters, men that can hold a gun and act without hesitation. This is about survival, after all," said the tattooed man.

"I'm sure you guys heard about the recent attacks. In fact, one happened in our very own town," said the tattooed man, his tone cold. Scar clenched his fist.

"This is clearly a great threat. Some people claim that they were wearing Revolutionary emblems on their clothes or bore them as tattoos. The fact that now the faction is growing on the mainland makes the mutants a bigger threat than they already were," said the tattooed man.

"We're at war, gentlemen. A war that will determine our fate. You can either walk or fight. But if you choose to fight, you'll be expected to be all in. Do what you're told and do not ask questions," said the tattooed man. He stood as he found all of the men to be standing still and in silence.

"Good. Let's see how committed you are," said the tattooed man as two other men approached, carrying cases. They set the cases down, revealing small vials of red liquid. Scar swore he saw a logo on one of the cases but was obscured. The one detail he recognized was an Omega symbol.

"I want all of you to ingest this. Once you do, you'll be free to do your first operation," said the tattooed man.

"What is that?" asked Scar with an uncertain look. The tattooed man narrowed his eyes at him.

"What did I tell you?" asked the tattooed man.

"Do what I'm told, don't ask questions," answered Scar.

"Yeah. Now be an example," said the tattooed man, holding out the vial. Scar merely furrowed his brows. He took the vial and removed the cap. He began to ingest the fluid, gaining a strong bitter flavor. He gagged in disgust as he swallowed.

"Good. Everyone else, do the same and we can move on," said the tattooed man. In just a few short minutes, the men all took on the vials and ingested the contents inside.

"Alright. With that out of the way, let's get down to business," said the tattooed man as he gestured over to a wall, where a map hung along with photographic images. The men gathered, their attention fully on the wall.

"As you can see, there were sightings of mutants that attacked back on Friday. Their last known sightings before the police lost them was in Cloverside," said the tattooed man as he pointed a long ruler to the map, where bold ink marked off streets along with pins.

"While there is reason to believe that they're somewhere in the area, we have a couple other leads." The tattooed man began pointing to different parts of the map. "In these areas, there has been known activity of mutant gangs, ranging from your typical street thug trash to the more organized mobs."

"Damn, there's a lot," said one of the men, rubbing his neck. Scar felt himself growing a bit anxious as he stared at the map.

"This is just in our town. There's more popping up in the state. We're looking at another situation like Solgell with these numbers. Unless we intervene," said the tattooed man. Scar clenched his fists as he recalled the island. It was almost second nature at this point. His mind had to keep reminding itself what it's been through. His anxiety began to escalate to a growing anger.

"The Big Boss wants to set the tone for these muties. That stepping out of line will result in consequences. Whether we find the ones that attacked on Friday is not the end all be all. We need to suppress the problem by any means, for the sake of our kind," said the tattooed man.

"Then what's the plan? I'm itching to get started!" said one of the men, popping his knuckles.

"We'll be breaking into groups. Each group will find and take out any mutie threats that could be located. Gun down any you find," said the tattooed man. "We have have some guys on the ground that have monitored the targets regularly."

"Why don't we just gun down any mutie we see? That's what they did in Solgell," said man. There were some murmurs of agreement. The atmosphere suddenly had a tense feeling about it. A growing fire that was stimulated by memories and some other underlying factor. Scar would normally object to the sentiment of the one who spoke. What he just suggested was a weapons free situation. They didn't know what exactly they were dealing with or where. If they were to hit the wrong people, it'd reflect worse on them in the long run. Scar just recalled his days in the jungles of Vietneigh. That was another war he didn't want to relive. Besides, just killing mutants indiscriminately wasn't something that Roxanne would've wanted.

In spite of this, the thought of that began to subside. It wasn't his fault that those things happened. Scar wasn't to blame for the deaths of those people. It was war. They were deep in enemy grounds and were betrayed by the locals to the enemy. He did what he had to do. As for Roxanne, she didn't deserve what happened to her. Neither did anyone in Solgell. He remembered how both infantry and civilians were slaughtered by the enemy without hesitation and without mercy.

"Yeah, I see your point," said Scar, his voice low gravely. It was becoming clear now. This was inevitable. It was necessary.

"I remember how they gunned down anyone in the streets. Men, women, children, everyone." Scar began to tremble. The anxiety and PTSD that usually threatened him to drop and be barely able to function was replaced by a growing rage. A rage that had been repressed by Roxanne. With her taken away from him, there was nothing there to hold him back. Nothing to fall back on.

"Hey, remember what I said. The Big Boss wants you to follow orders. If you step out of line, there will be consequences. Besides, you'll have plenty of muties to deal with. Just stick with the program," said the tattooed man, his tone stern.

"Now, The Big Boss has a few guys waiting to see you. You'll be assigned to whoever in a group. Throughout the week, you'll be going over the plan with them. You are to follow their lead, understood?" questioned the tattooed man. The men answered in confirmation. All were looking antsy, some were appearing to be on edge.

---

Scar gulped after tilting his head back, consuming an unfamiliar liquid. At least once every other day throughout the week, the recruits were told to consume this fluid. While reluctant, they complied. There didn't seem to be any adverse health effects from drinking the stuff. At least not from what Scar was able to gather, though he had to admit that he seemed to be sleeping better these last few days. In fact, he wasn't as jumpy as he was.

If Scar had to guess, he'd say that this stuff was somehow treating his PTSD. He couldn't think of any other reason. Especially when he decided to look into the symbol he saw the first night. It apparently belonged to this growing company that dabbled in medicine, genetic research, and advanced prosthetics. It was strange, as he never knew about anything about a medicine that helped him as well as it had. But that goes to show the incompetence or the lack of care that the government had for men like him.

If Scar had to be objective, he found himself being more on edge in a different way. Rather than afraid or depressed, he's had an itch. An itch to let loose on the first person that crossed him. That has unfortunately happened during his walk at the park. A guy had said something snarky to him and prompted Scar to beat the ever living shit out of him. He hasn't gone to that park since. It seemed that the medicine had a habit of making him more aggressive, something that the tattooed man had neglected to mention. Scar wanted to discuss it but thought against it. So long as he was able to get over is PTSD even for a bit, then he was fine. A couple angry outbursts at some asshole was a small price to pay. Besides, a few crunches and push-ups at home allowed him to blow off some steam.

Now today was a big day. Scar stood among six other men as they sported vests, and dark clothes. They found a table full of rifles, hand guns, and magazines full of ammunition. The men began to take a weapon and began to load them up. They checked their guns, securing the safeties into place, while gathering extra ammo. Scar's days of training in the military had came floating back. This was almost nostalgic. The Vet hung his rifle over his shoulder by a strap as he took a hand gun, loading it up.

"You know your roles. You move in quick and take out everything. When done, head for the designated route and ditch the vehicle," said the head of squad. Scar had a glance at the man that spoke to him and the others. He swore he recognized this guy somewhere before. He didn't know him, but he was sure that he saw him around during Solgell. It seemed a number of guys were here. But the biggest mystery of all was the one called, 'Big Boss'. Scar nor any of his peers had seen the man. Whoever he was, he must've been loaded if he had access to this many guns and a mysterious product from a corporation. Or at the very least, had good connections. He wasn't even sure if these higher level guys knew who he was exactly, or how they even came to contact with him. But, Scar was in too deep now to back out. Besides, it seemed that this Big Boss had a plan.

Scar found himself hopping into the back of a dark van. He sat along with the rest of the squad as the vehicle drove off from the ware house, along with several others. The vans began to split off into different streets on the drive. Scar felt his heart racing as his body shifted. A couple others were antsy as him as well, just needing to get this built up energy out. Soon, they would.

Eventually, the van arrived into an area in town. It was known to have mostly Transmutants in the area. A strong tight community, and they were trespassing. But, Scar had no quarrels with that. Not with all of the hell he's been through.

The van stopped behind a building. The area was quiet, as the afternoon sun hung in the air. The side doors opened up, revealing the men inside. Each of them sporting white skull Halloween masks to obscure their faces. Near the back entrance of the building a couple of armed mutants recoiled once they took notice of the van. They were about to draw their weapons but were quickly gun down. The suppressors made pops that went unheard from those inside the building or just outside of the block.

Scar followed his squad down to the building, where they moved aside the dead mutants. With that cleared, they made their way to the door, lining against the wall as a charge was placed on the door. They took a step back away from the explosive before it detonated.

The men began to move in once the door was blown off the handles, their weapons drawn. They navigated through the smoking halls, their adrenaline high and their eyes darting. The squad broke off into smaller groups, moving through the building. They heard frantic shouts from within the halls, likely their targets. Scar led his smaller group towards a room, where a few men were rushing about.

"Hey!" one of the mutants exclaimed. The vets began to fire off their weapons, filling the air with the loud rapid bangs and pops. The mutants scrambled but found themselves pelted by the hail of bullets from the humans. One scampered out of the room, covered in bullet wounds.

"Move up! Kill them all!!"shouted the head of the squad. Scar fumed as he reloaded his rifle. From outside of the building, a couple more vans arrived, where similarly dressed men came rushing in.

"Go! Go!" the men entered, joining Scar's group.

The vets continued to sweep the rooms of this building, gunning down anyone that they came across. They moved quickly, leaving carnage in their wake.

Scar followed a mutant that was crawling along the ground, leaving a trail of red on the ground like a bloody slug. He merely dropped to one knee and began to beat the butt of his gun against the mutant. Scar grunted as he hit his target over and over again. The mutant collapsed, going limp as he was struck mercilessly. Scar gave primal cries and grunts as he continued hitting him. He imagined this mutant being one of the ones who took away his beloved Roxanne. He was going to make him pay for that. They were all going to pay. With the butt of the gun bloody, Scar stood up and aimed at the mutant, then fired several shots into his back. He was breathing hard behind his mask.

---

It was the end of the day. Scar found himself sitting in the warehouse along with the rest of the men that were recruited. They cheered as they clanged bottles of beer with each other and began to drink. Scar sighed as he took sip of his own, while sitting against a crate in the room.

"Fuck yeah! Those freaks didn't know what hit 'em!" laughed one of the men.

"And this is just the beginning!" said another one of the recruits.

"You should've seen one of them begging! Motherfucker thought he could get out of this!" laughed one of the other men.

Scar had to admit that he didn't regret going through with this. Things went off without a hitch. While there was some resistance and the hassle of ditching and disposing of the vans, and splitting up to return to the warehouse, they had succeeded in their objective. Scar listened in on the radio nearby, which relayed the news.

"There have been reports of gun fire today in Cloverside. Investigators believe that it was a turf war between two crime syndicates. More on this story as it develops." A news anchor on the radio spoke.

"Hmph. Convenient cover," said Scar as he took a drink. Quite the start. Go after two rival mutant mob factions in the town and disappear without a trace. With no side alive or in hiding after the hit, the media can speculate and push narratives to an ignorant populace. Scar looked to the tattooed man, who kept his arms crossed as he stood by.

"I know you said no questions, but what's next for us?" asked Scar.

"In due time. For now, try to go back to everyday life. We'll contact you when the Big Boss has something," said the tattooed man. Scar scoffed.

"I can't go back to everyday life. I've already lost everything. The only thing I have left is my memory of Solgell and the war we lost. But if he's serious about winning it here, then I might as well make this my everyday life," said Scar, before taking another drink.

"We'll see what happens. For now, just wait," said the tattooed man as he walked off. He walked through a door and entered into an office. He locked the door and made his way to a phone. He began to dial in. After a moment of ringing, there was an answer.

"The plan went flawlessly. The two mob factions were successfully hit and their heads were killed," said the tattooed man.

"Good. That's one less threat to worry about," said Big Boss over the line. "Have the recruits been ingesting the medication?"

"They have. I've even made sure to add the extra ingredient before giving it to them," said the tattooed man as his hand rested on the desk, having grown into a claw-like form, with reptilian scales running along the skin. He began to scratch at the desk.

"Excellent. I'll be sure to procure more from GeneCo. Until then, use the current supply sparingly. If they ask questions, just tell them it helps them stay focused. By now the more damaged ones may already be guessing the effects it has on their PTSD," said Big Boss.

"Understood. What's next?" asked the tattooed man.

"For now, lay low but keep in touch with them. I have a couple more things that need to be done on my end before going forward," said Big Boss.

---

Present Day...

Scar grunted as he began to move around rubble. He panted as he found sparks flying from destroyed conduits that ran along the missile silo. Smoke filled the air, bodies of fellow Purists littered the ground, along with strange mechanical constructs. Scar turned to find the surviving Purists that were under him, recovering from the recent attack.

"Scar!" a familiar voice. The Purist turned to find Adrian to be jogging over to him.

"What do we do now that we lost that thing?" asked Adrian. Scar panted, his head feeling light and his heart racing. He began to process the sight that was around him. The smell of smoke, the sound of pained groans, and the sight of corpses. Memories long since repressed came flooding back to him.

"Scar? Scar are you alright?" Adrian worriedly shook the Purist.

"Sorry. Just trying to process everything," said Scar, shaking his head.

"Right now, I don't know what to do about that device. I can't contact Crimson with everything turned to shit. But here's what we'll do. Gather any survivors and salvage what we can. We gotta try to get this place running again," said Scar.

"Scar, one more thing. I found one of these for ya," said Adrian, holding out a familiar red vial. Scar just stared at it.

"You're gonna need your strength to help us out," said Adrian.

"No, you'll need it more than I do. I'm going to gather a few things," said Scar. Adrian nodded as she began to ingest the contents. She sighed before tossing the empty vial to the ground, shattering it.

"If it's not muties, it's something else," said Adrian in frustration as she began to run off. Scar continued to walk through the damaged facility, seeing the flash of a yellow light. The alarm had long ceased blaring, but not the lights. Scar began to take in the sight of the dead around him. He felt a growing anxiety that he hasn't felt in many years. There was a sudden pop in the air, causing him to flinch. He turned and found Dreadnought aiming his prosthetic arm at a machine that began to spark.

"Watch out! Some of these things might still be kicking," said Dreadnought. Scar shakily nodded as he continued to the room. He staggered over to an office, where he found rubble lying about along with damaged consoles. He gathered a closed laptop and made his way over to another room, where a sleeping bag lied. As he sat it down, then he found a few pictures to be pasted on a wooden board that lied against the wall. The pictures depicted himself during his early days in the military before Solgell, along with photos of him with Roxanne. Scar took a moment to look at the pictures, a grimace on his face. He felt himself trembling as he recalled the events that brought him here.

"I knew it..." Scar looked to his trembling hand. He took a breath, attempting to calm his nerves. It had been awhile since he's ingested that stuff. For years he took it and felt fine. He had some rage episodes at times, especially when he was killing a mutant. But over time, he learned to just kill them quickly and efficiently. In fact, he didn't feel rage episodes as he did before. It was like his emotions just sort of shut down, allowing him to carry out whatever orders he was given or even give orders. But now, looking at these old pictures, he felt some old forgotten emotions resurface. Fear, rage, sadness, and even regret. Scar wondered why this was happening now. Why was he feeling regret?

Scar took a look at Roxanne in the photo. Her warm smile caused his lip to tremble. He closed his eyes as he inhaled deeply through his nose. He had nothing to regret. He knew what he did. He went through with all of it. It was not just for Roxanne, but all humans. His brothers in arms that had to suffer because of the mutants that had taken Solgell. It wasn't pretty, but it was necessary to do these things. To keep the mutants from growing to that point again. There was no turning back.

"Just do as you're told, don't ask questions," said Scar to himself as he began to search the room. He then looked to the picture on the wall, a grimace growing on his face. "Am I better than this?"