Order

He put out a faintly smoking cigarette into a black singed dot on the wall. Faint smell of burning wood reached his nostrils as the man leaned back and looked out a decrepit window, empty frame capturing his tan face. Sun was leaning towards the horizon, bright beams blinding the man, reflecting in his dead unfixed gaze.

A sudden, sharp creak made him recoil, lose his balance on a chair and fall onto the floor. The man twisted his whole body, but too late - he could only glimpse a pair of tiny legs disappearing behind the doorway into dilapidated apartment he currently occupied.

Springing onto his feet the man chased after the little thief, his feet clad in heavy boots hammering on the stairs down. By the time he reached the sun-stricken street the thief was gone, only a faint cloud of dust started to settle back on the dirty street that hasn't seen a rain in years.

'Oh, you little piece of shit,' the man growled, then returned back upstairs. Scanning the room for a second he mouthed 'god fucking damn it' and rushed towards the table on which there usually was his backpack with provisions and papers. It was missing.

Then he turned to the portable radio station and started twisting the knob with his left hand.

'Command, come in.'

'What is the situation, Rob?' a soft woman's voice replied.

'One of the locals discovered my position. They seem to have stole my bag with the documents. I need you to cancel the strikes for tonight while I hunt him down.'

'Is that so? You've been sleeping on the job again?'

'I just need time.'

'No can do, Rob. You better recover the microfilms. Your extraction depends on them.'

'Roger that,' he switched the station off, 'you fucking whore.'

Putting on the dust glasses and wrapping his neck in a kuffiya he walked out, still clutching his cut forehead. Tracing the street with his eyes he glimpsed towards building lining up the path - old, broken down, falling apart. He was sick and tired of chasing refugees, odd hit jobs targeting rebels. There was no thrill in it, and being back east didn't bring him any good memories.

Rob continued forward, looking for tiny footprints in the sand, straining his good ear for any sound in the distance. Following a recent track he turned south, then crept further. A sound of door slamming close reached his ear and he turned to see a tiny cloud of dust settling down near an old two-story building.

Ducking out of sight and weaving in and out of narrow winding streets Rob arrived at the side of the building and pressed his whole body against the outer wall, listening.

'... where did you get so much? You haven't been stealing again, have you?' he heard a woman's voice.

'Miranda, can you get off him? He doesn't know any better,' a man's voice joined in.

'Harry, we can't draw so much attention any more! If neighbors start complaining they will find us out again!'

Rob heard a sigh followed by slow footsteps.

'Thanks, little buddy, we get to eat tonight,' Harry whispered.

Rob ducked under the opened window, approached the door, then knocked hard.

'I know you're there, scum, open up!' he yelled.

Rob heard hushed voices from behind the door, a desperate whisper 'Hide Jon!' and then more scrambling sounds.

A piercing green eye appeared in the crack between the wooden boards.

'Who are you? What do you want?', Harry said, his voice both trembling and defiant.

'I know you're hiding a little shit monkey that stole my bag. Open up!'

A gunshot rang through dead quiet of dusty street and a hole appeared in the door around waist height. Rob looked down to find his leg bleeding, blood spreading like an oil stain on the ocean. Roaring, he ducked to the side, then put all the force in a kick from his good leg, shattering the latch holding the rickety door. The man on the other side got hit and, moaning, collapsed on the floor, still clasping a rusted rifle in his hands. Kicking the weapon aside Rob entered the ramshackle building, just in time to hear a woman's piercing scream. As though in slow motion he heard her blood-curdling yell, as something rose inside him, like an octopus trying to escape through his throat. Without thinking he grabbed Miranda and slammed her into the floor nearby the man. She started sobbing and clutched Harry body. A trickle of blood was running down on the side of his head, his eyes full of dread.

'Where is the thief? Answer me!' Rob yelled at them, raising his fist. The woman broke down crying, while Harry put himself in front of her.

'We'll never tell you, you scum! How many kids have you got to kill before you are satisfied? Have you not murdered enough in this war? Leave us alone!'

Rob smirked. He liked when the rebel vermin put up a fight. He dragged Harry by the leg towards the center of the room and punched Harry on the ribs as he flailed his hands in self-defense. Dragging a kitchen table over to the center of the room Rob broke two of its legs and propped the man on the table, legs raised and face up.

The woman suddenly jumped to her feet, the knife's blade glistening in her hands. Trying to step aside Rob put his weight on the wounded leg, winced and almost collapsed on the floor. The knife swiped in front of his face, leaving a steak of scarlet in place where his eyebrow used to be.

'You stupid whore', he spat, catching her hand and, with a crack like a whip, snapping her wrist. She howled in pain, as he stood up and hit her across the face. Miranda dropped to the floor, sobbing and cradling her arm. Rob stooped down and ripped her dress open, turning back to smirk at the man on the floor.

He then proceeded to tie Harry's hands and legs up with the ragged remains of the dress, punching the man every time he moved.

He turned back to the man.

'So, friend, do you know what waterboarding is?'

Rob threw a rag on Harry's face, not before taking a pleased notice in his terrified expression.

'Let me show you what I learned a while ago. It's a fun way to make pigs like you squeal.'

Looking around the room that seemed to be both kitchen and a bedroom, with two blankets and a small bedroll on the floor, Rob found a bucket with some stale water, then returned back.

'You see, it's an euphoric feeling that you get.'

He started to pour the water over the rag on the man's face, pinching it hard. The man started to flail about, muffled screams failing to escape his throat.

'It's like you are drowning, isn't it? Now, are you ready to talk?'

Rob heard a creak somewhere to the side. He turned his head just in time to notice a pair of terrified eyes on the tiny blond head peering from under the trapdoor under the kitchen table.

'Here you are, you little fu-', Rob yelled.

A deafening explosion reached his ears. Then, hot blinging pain pierced every nerve in his body and he was no more.