It had begun with a push, so long ago. A murder that somehow empowered me. Giving me more life, better health, and a sharper mind.

Each from a kill with my own hands.

So I did what any power tripper did in this life.

I joined the military.

I did well. Served with distinction, and I was no snowflake when it came to combat.

One of the benefits of my new mentality was there were no mental trappings. No depression. No PTSD. Only an odd calmness I had long since accepted since that fateful day.

I rubbed at my temples. The images. The flashes. The disorientation.

These, however, were new to me. I wonder how I got this gift of foresight, unwieldy as it was.

The sensation quickly faded, and my squad ignored it as they knew that I had these odd moments. They chalked it up to my PTSD, and I did nothing to correct them. It would have been odder if I was symptom-free from so many tours across the globe.

At least the flashes were getting better. They faded quicker, and they were becoming more useful. I could understand what was being conveyed.

Years ago, when they began, they were incoherent messes of lights, sounds, and sensations.

I could walk into a theater, and have a headache. All to prevent me from sitting down on the wrong seat. Which I did as the headache was bad. The cheap chair was sticky from a kid’s spilled pop.

Or I could have intuition. The feeling of someone lying to me, or their general emotions towards me. They felt like sensations on my skins. Coldness for lies, pinpricks for hate. A warm, woolly feeling of love. The lightly burning sensation of lust.

The ones where I was in danger. The moments of seeing my potential death…

“You alright cap?” Jerry asked as he looked over to me. My cute little nickname.

The joke was that I, a sergeant, was the unofficial captain of the base since I had turned down every promotion offered. I had no interest in bureaucracy. I was here to murder people en mass. My official kill count was rather high for a still living, breathing man.

I nodded back as I took a drink from my canteen. The warm water was soothing as I contemplated what was going to happen next.

My fireteam was going to get a call. Radio call first. Then they would shoot to kill.

Which was sad.

I liked this group. Jerry with his jokes. Craig with his random facts. Joe who was a good sport, but bad with money. Bastard still owed me $200 from poker night.

Jerry, my second in command, picked up his radio.

“Confirm that we have hostile in the area? Zero Six Six? Please repeat. There is static on the line,” his voice tilted as he confirmed the order.

I had never heard of those numbers used for this deployment before. I instead finished up my drink and made my way over to the side of the hill where we were patrolling for the day.

There was a report of possible insurgents in this area. So we were dispatched to check it out.

I felt it then. The pinpricks.

Two were muted, but one was red hot.

The click of the safeties was all the warning I needed. I simply dropped to a crouched and sprung backward with my full strength.

A body reforged from murders, from the death of the living, thinking people.

I was now beyond what humanity would consider the Olympic level. I had to try my worst during exams to appear average.

The sounds of gunfire echoed in the open air, but I smashed into Joe with my shoulder, sending the father of two sprawling onto the dirt and his gun fired wide.

I looked into Craig’s surprised face. There was a fire there in his gaze at me, but it was short-lived as I shot three bullets from my pistol. Two for the eyes, one for the throat.

Jerry had his gun trained on me. I returned in kind.

“What was order Zero Six Six?” I asked and Jerry’s eyes widened. His jaw tightened while I felt fire spring up from my back.

I simply ran forward.

Jerry fired. He was always a good shot

I felt the bullet whiz past my face and I grabbed onto his barrel.

Jerry squeezed his trigger in a panic, and his gun went full auto.

I simply aimed it towards the fallen man. Jerry watched in shock as I effortlessly exerted my own control over his weapon. The bullets scattered around Joe.

I looked back as I raised my own gun. I saw Joe’s body as he had jumped back in fright. The man had dropped his shotgun as he retreated. His fierce eyes met mine. He hated me.

I simply shot him three times.

The gambling man simply slumped to the floor. The unnatural heat on my skin faded with Joe’s life.

Jerry dropped his gun. His reflexes kicked into overdrive as Adrenalin flooded his body. He slid his pistol up from his holster. He trained it on me while flicking off the safety.

I just swatted it out of his hands.

The gun was wrenched from his grip and it flew off a few meters.

I slid off my rifle strap. I tossed it aside.

I slid out my pistol. I tossed it aside.

I removed the two knives I always carried. I tossed them aside.

I raised my fists, tightened my stance, and stared at Jerry.

The man smiled.

Jerry was a man like me.

A consummate soldier.

A dedicated killer who practiced with a knife and gun. Day in. Day out.

I had more tours then him, but he was a few years younger than me.

The terrorist bombings had caught his wife and kid. He found new life in pursuing the military.

Legalized murder.

Encouraged by leaders who cared only about results, and less on the ‘PR’ backlash.

Jerry smiled at me. A condescending smile.

“You should have just shot me, old man,” Jerry taunted as he got into his own fighting stance.

We had sparred often. His score was roughly 2/3 of the victories. We had a lot of ties as well.

He was cocky as he edged forward.

I simply moved. I went forward. Gathered my muscles in the leg and kick out as hard as I could.

Jerry blinked, and I broke his left wrist, and the back of his left hand gave out a bad crunch.

Jerry screamed.

I simply hopped back twice, and then jumped forward.

One spin.

Two spins.

Three spins. Kick.

Jerry’s right knee exploded as I kicked his kneecap across the sandy floor and it skipped twice. He was able to let out a high squeak of pain as his body spasmed.

Jerry fell onto the ground as his senses light up from the damage it was now registering.

I jumped forward. I was able to get enough air for a full front flip before I landed on Jerry’s right shoulder. The crack and crunch from that had his arm go limp. Which pulled on his left hand, which had the man convulsing from the nerves going ballistic.

I simply let Jerry be as I moved over to the other two. I quickly stripped them of their supplies. Ammo. Handguns. Rations. Wallets.

I actually got over a thousand from Joe. The bastard was holding out on me.

I used Craig’s rifle to shoot up the body and the face. No need to give them the information that I was a good shot.

Jerry was simply breathing as I walked over. His hands were useless. And his one leg wasn’t enough to go anywhere.

“Zero Six Six,” I simply asked as I crouched down beside him.

“How?” he whispered. His voice was hoarse.

“I been fighting a lot longer then you have. I trained longer, and studied harder,” I answered back. It wasn’t a lie. I did train a lot.

10km run. 100 push-ups. 100 squats. 100 sit-ups. Every. Single. Day.

“Bullshit!” Jerry cursed out. Red spittle flew out as he wasn’t doing so well. He must have clenched onto his tongue or the side of this mouth. Maybe it was just his gums giving out.

“I am sorry it came to this Jerry. I will always remember the fun times,” I said as I got up. I didn’t need to draw out his suffering, so a single bullet to the head should have been enough.

Or rather a magazine from our rifles.

“I am sorry Thomas…” Jerry said as he met my eyes. He sighed and closed them. A soldier to the end.

“Goodbye Jerry,” I said and aimed. The short burst was all that was needed to end the broken man.

I grabbed what I could from Jerry’s body.

Then I lined up the boys.

Their bloody corpses made me sad. I had killed friends again. A crazy world that would pit brother against brother…

I ripped off my dog tags. Thomas Brown. A fake name for a fake man.

I slid them into Jerry’s pocket and I turned around to jog to the next town over.

There were people there I knew who would be interested in buying some fine, used military gear.

I could also contact some friends to send me a nice little emergency box. New name, passport, and IDs like a credit card, and cold hard cash.

Or…

I could just make my way back onto the base and talk to General Williams.

I was very curious about what was going on.