10:15 PM, Sunday, December 12th, 2019: Undisclosed Location, Montana
The back door of an old warehouse slid open, the rusted metal of the hinges letting out a screech. An olive-skinned, thin man of average height stepped out from within into the cold night air. Wind blew through his unkempt, black hair and tickled his scraggly beard. He gave a brief look to the old hinges of the door, before muttering to himself.
"Fuck, we really gotta get some oil for these fucking things."
Juan reached down into his jacket pocket, fumbling for his lighter, only to glance up and see another man leaning against the brick wall, smoke billowing from a lit cigarette between his fingers. He was a little taller than Juan and much more heavily built, the outline of his muscles clearly visible through his form-fitting clothing. His face and head betrayed a hard life, his beach-blonde, shaved hair doing nothing to hide the litany of scars that dotted his skin.
"Aw, hey man!" Juan exclaimed. "I didn't know you smoked."
"I only smoke one a day," Ryan rumbled. "Always at the end of the day. It's a bad habit."
Between Ryan's fingers was a faded polaroid, one he held on tightly to, as though the wind were threatening any moment to rip it out of his grasp. He stared at it intently, not bothering to look at Juan as he leaned against the wall next to him.
"Must take a lotta willpower to just smoke one a day," Juan said.
"Yeah," Ryan responded, flatly. "It does."
They were both silent for a moment, the only sound being the whistling of the wind between scattered buildings. Juan clutched his lighter in one hand as the other checked the pockets of his pants, fumbling around for something.
Ryan glanced over at him, only to reach for his own pocket and pull out a carton of cigarettes. He held it out to Juan, the expression on his face remaining ever stoic.
"You want one?" he asked.
"Uh, nah, man," Juan replied. "I don't smoke cigs, I only smoke grass."
With that, Juan pulled a joint out of his pocket and gestured to it, looking at Ryan with a wide, dumb smile on his face. Ryan rolled his eyes, and turned his attention back to the polaroid.
"Figures," he muttered
Juan's smile disappeared, instead twisted into a scowl directed at Ryan.
"Hey man, don't diss my lifestyle!"
Ryan rolled his shoulders.
"I'm not 'dissing' your lifestyle, kid. I'm just not surprised, given what you do."
"Yeah man, and guess what?" Juan stepped away from the wall, facing Ryan head-on. "What I do funds this entire operation."
Ryan sniffled, not sparing Juan a look.
"Well, thank the heavens for your magic spit," he retorted.
Juan's scowl turned into a look of indignation.
"It ain't magic, man, it's chemistry!" he pouted. "I got a masters degree in that shit."
Ryan let out a brief chuckle.
"And instead of saving the world with that fancy degree of yours, you used it to manufacture drugs."
"Hell yeah, man!" Juan declared. "When God gives you a Gift, you use it. I'll have you know my power has enriched a lot of people's lives. What exactly have you done with yours?"
Ryan snorted, bringing the cigarette up to his lips and taking a long drag, still refusing to look at Juan as they spoke.
"I served in Afghanistan, kid. Back when there were actual boots on the ground, at least."
Juan's indignation turned sarcastic, his body language twisting into an over-the-top expression of being impressed.
"Ooh, an attack dog. Very impressive!" he snarked. "Glad you moved on from being an attack dog for the government to an attack dog for a criminal. Bet your mama is really proud of you."
Ryan tensed up, and he finally, properly looked at Juan. Gently, he put the polaroid away in his pocket, not taking his eyes off of Juan, before abruptly grabbing him by the shirt and yanking him forward. Juan tried to resist, but Ryan's grip was like a vice, and his strength insurmountable. He felt Ryan's hot breath on his face as he was held there, struggling. Despite his actions, Ryan's face didn't change, remaining as flat and stoic as always.
"Woah, hey man, I didn't mean-" Juan started to say.
"Never speak about my mother again," Ryan cut him off, speaking slowly, clearly, and enunciating every syllable.
Then, without waiting for his command to be confirmed, he let go of Juan's shirt. Juan took a few steps back, breathing hard and fast, eyes bulging out of his sockets. He leaned up against the wall behind them, as Ryan stared off into the night sky.
No words passed between them, the cool night air kissing Juan's skin and reminding him to stay calm and breathe. After some time, his posture gradually returned to normal.
"H-Hey, uh," Juan started to say, a quiet desperation to move past what just happened clearly evident in his voice, "since you were in the army and all, did you ever, uh…"
"Kill someone?" Ryan interrupted, still dimly looking at the sky.
"Y-Yeah. That. I've, uh, had that on my mind, for a while. With the way things are going and all."
Ryan nodded.
"How did… how did you, uh," Juan stammered, "feel about it? Afterwards, I mean."
"It was rough at first. Then I realized something, and it got a lot easier."
Juan raised an eyebrow.
"What did you realize?"
Ryan inhaled sharply through his nose, and rolled his neck.
"Wanna hear a war story, kid?"
"S-Sure, man."
Ryan huffed, bringing his cigarette a few inches from his mouth.
"My squad was sent out to deal with a terrorist compound. Intelligence had told us that they had a lot of Taliban fighters hiding out there. Told us they had a whole lot of guns and explosives, too.
"Except, the problem was, there were a whole lot of civvies in there too, so we couldn't just carpet bomb the place and call it a day. When they tried to send other squads in to deal with it, all of 'em got mowed down. Lost fifty-two men in a week.
"We thought they must have had a whole platoon down there. Only when we got there, we found it was just one guy."
"One guy?" Juan asked, in disbelief.
"One guy," Ryan repeated.
"His Gift was a piece of work. Let him shoot lasers out of his eyes. Cooked everyone inside armored vehicles, and vaporized troops just by looking at 'em.
"Watched my buddy get turned into a cloud of smoke through the scope of my rifle. That's how we all found out."
Ryan stopped speaking for a moment, his eyes glazing over, his bottom lip trembling.
"So, what happened next?" Juan asked, goading him on.
"Got him in my sights," Ryan replied. "Took the shot. He never saw me coming."
He took a long, shaky breath.
"What was left of my squad went in after that. They were seeing red and didn't give a shit about who they ended up hurting. Turned it into a goddamn massacre."
Ryan brought the cigarette to his lips.
"Then came the fucking punchline," he continued. "There weren't any Taliban in there. It was all civvies. That one guy wasn't even Taliban. He was just protecting everyone else from us."
Ryan sighed, a cloud of vapor erupting from his face. Then he went quiet again, smoking his cigarette as Juan stood with his back to the wall, unsure of what else to say or ask. The silence hung in the air for what felt like hours, cold night air nipping at Juan's face. Then, as his cigarette got down to the filter, Ryan spoke again.
"What I learned that day was that this world ain't fair, kid."
"Pardon?"
"There's only one real rule of nature. The strong take from the weak. It's the only way any of it can make any sense.
"Whole reason we were there was a farce. We weren't there to protect anyone. We were there because we wanted revenge, because we wanted control, because fat cats wanted to line their pockets with blood money.
He dropped his cigarette to the ground and stomped on it, rolling it beneath his heel.
"We were strong, and they were weak."
Juan stood for a moment in silence, and began to open his mouth to speak, only to reconsider and then lean his head back against the wall. He stayed like that for a few moments, considering his words. Then, with a twitch of his lips and a shake of his head, he piped up.
"I don't think that's right. Maybe that's how it is in the wild with lions and deer and shit, but I think people can be better than that."
Ryan chuckled, his lip still trembling.
"Not in this world, kid. People are born unequal. One guy without any military training turned a whole platoon into ash and dust.
"That kind of power goes to your head. When God gives you a Gift, you use it, right? And when you've got the whole world in the palm of your hand, what else do you do besides reach out and take it?"
Juan's shoulders tensed, and he looked away towards the ground. Suddenly he wasn't in the mood to smoke anymore. Ryan didn't notice, and instead absentmindedly glanced at his watch, before scowling.
"Shit, kid. We gotta go. Boss had that 'big idea'."
Juan perked up.
"Oh shit, yeah. You think this'll be better than the last one?"
"I sure fucking hope so."