Lieutenant Franklin Casey stood over the crime scene for a moment longer than he needed to. He wasn’t sure how to feel. He’d been told they were the enemy. He’d been convinced that Caledorn was going to invade Remdia and kill his family. Yet, in that moment he was looking at a young boy and a helpless mother. He wasn’t sure what to think any more.

Franklin lowered his arm and his weapon slowly. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, wearing colors that made him proud to represent. He nodded to himself, he had done the right thing. His country wouldn’t lie to him.

Turning away from the scene he relayed a message into his Walkie-Talkie. “Done.”

“Meet back with the team then,” his commanding officer said.

Franklin’s team had heard screaming coming from this location and they had sent him and two others off to handle the situation. He was well equipped with both firearms and hand to hand combat, so he entered the room first.

Upon seeing the situation, he told the others to spread out and check the rest of the house, he could handle a child and their mother.

He met back up with his peers and confirmed there was no one else in the home.

They then crept back out onto the desolate streets and met up with the team, stepping over broken glass, dead bodies and wooden debris on their walk.

“How many?” his captain prompted.

“One,” Franklin shrugged, completely unfazed.

“Good. The other teams are investigating other suspicious sounds. When they get back we’ll move out.”

“Where to next?” Franklin asked, only half expecting a response.

“Further in. We’re expected to take control of this region by the end of the day. Gotta lot of work to do,” his captain stated blandly.

It was still the middle of the night, but that didn’t leave them a lot of time.

“Yes, sir,” Franklin conceded, regardless of how difficult their task seemed. With that, he fell back with the rest of his team.

As he stepped back, he heard whispering, “Are we sure this is right?”

“I don’t know anymore, no one has even put up a fight. Can’t we just apprehend them and move on?”

“That’s what I’m saying! This feels like genocide.”

“Enough,” Franklin said with a ferocious growl.

The group stopped immediately and hung their heads in shame. Shame for having the opinions they had or shame for being caught, Franklin didn’t know nor did he care.

“We’re here fighting a battle before they kill all of us. Don’t forget that. These families could be yours. Don’t get it twisted. I will report you if I hear this treasonous chatter again,” he chastised the group.

“Yes, sir!” They all chanted back, straightening their backs and locking their arms at their sides. It was clear Franklin had just pulled rank on them and he wouldn’t let another conversation like that slide so easily in the future.

He waved a hand and dismissed them. Though they were out of sight, their words replayed in his mind like a broken record.

Genocide. How could they think that?

Sounding the word out in his head and baffled by its placement in his crew, he looked around to distract himself. The dead street was dead for more than one reason. The emptiness and corpses combined to create an overwhelming fusion of death.

Genocide.

“Lieutenant Casey. Front and center.”

Franklin pulled himself together, not appreciating where his mind was taking him. He marched up to his Captain. “Present, sir.”

“You’re to take your team and head east, down that street,” his Captain gestured to a nearby street. “Clear the street. No one is to be left alive. You’ll have three tanks accompanying you and your team. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Franklin said with determination.

“Good. Radio in with updates.”

Franklin nodded and returned to his team. He told them the plan, to which they all accepted without debate.

They rendezvoused with the tanks that would be escorting them through the street. Once together, they set out down the seemingly empty road.

His team separated into two groups and flanked the tanks as they proceeded with caution. They had been told they’d meet resistance. They were prepared for anything. Especially after they received word of the first Caledornia ambush.

The team scanned every building tirelessly while they meandered down the street.

Franklin felt that much more confident with a massive tank next to him, but he preferred stealth missions. He didn’t appreciate warning everyone that they were coming.

It gave them time to run.

A precipitous cry caused him to raise his hand in a closed fist. Everyone in his team stopped. He gestured to the direction that the high-pitched whimper had come from. The man in control of the guns of the tank spun his chair and fired after a nod from Franklin. The other tanks followed suit and soon they were all firing upon the one house.

The team on foot continued to survey the street while the tanks destroyed the building.

When it was apparent there would be no survivors, the tank operators ceased fire. Franklin approached the building to make sure there were no survivors. He had a clear mission, after all.

He stepped up to the shell of a home and peered inside. Based on the structural damage of the building, he wouldn’t enter, but he could see the vast majority of the space from his placement anyways.

Looking around, Franklin saw the source of the crying. There was a family. A man clinging to two small children, a third holding on to his leg. Franklin felt his stomach lurch at the sight as he tried to remind himself why they were fighting. He was there to protect his own family.

He waited in silence for someone to cry out or move an inch. Nothing happened. He sighed before signaling to his team to move out.

Before he followed them, however, he found a picture frame with shattered glass on the ground. He delicately grabbed the photo from it and took a closer look.

There was a family of four. Three small children and a man. Franklin could only assume it was the same family from inside though they were unrecognizable in their current state.

In the photo, the youngest child reminded Franklin of himself in a way. Dark curly hair and blue eyes, a sense of amazement written across his face.

Genocide permeated its way back into his mind.

He dropped the photo with haste, hating the results it had on his mind. He stepped over it and continued on his way.

He never saw the small message scrawled onto the back of the picture.

A reminder of your good ol’ days in Remdia before you leave! All the best in Caledorn. We know you’ll make a killing at your new job, but we will miss you, Gabe! --- All the best, Suzanne.