The Expatriate-the story of a Prodigy

13. Loss

 Andrew was being suspected as a Prod as always. But this time, the general had pushed it too far. 

 But he couldn't confirm it-just yet, though. According to one of the other most important Prods' Motto, only stupid Prods would suspect a thing after it was confirmed. And the general hadn't given him clear evidence. 

 Still, it ignited a flame deep inside him. 

 He had been tricked, lied to, and now, was going to lose his friend possibly. 

 And he had to stop them. 

 He pushed down the human instinct to grab the general and throw him away once more out the window and seethed with anger, his flame growing big. Stop it, save it for later!a voice in his head shouted. Why?He growled back. Use it when it's time, the voice replied. And when's that?Alex asked, interested. You'll know it yourself, Al, the voice faded away. 

 He drove the devil beside him back to the base after going to the jail, then escaped away to run as far as he could around the base, trying to put out his fire. But putting out the fire wasn't the only purpose for it-he was going to look for the convicted himself. 

 He walked along the fence, which was a grey, wired thing. Since the base was so huge and there were few soldiers, the part of the fence was currently discarded and not overseen by guards. Alex walked quickly, eyes hovering over a few low buildings that might hold the convicted-and possibly Andrew. 

 His sense of direction had been right. 

 He saw figures working on something outside the buildings, crouched and hard-working. Their backs arched a great deal and breathes rough, Alex knew that soldiers wouldn't be used for such labor nor work so hard for life. They had to be the convicted he himself had brought. 

 He walked closer and saw that they were cracking trunks into smaller chunks of wood in case electricity got cut. The men looked up with lifeless eyes, hands gripped around their thick axes, some murmuring a phrase over and over-a prayer, Alex realized. They all wore baggy shirts and pants, teeth yellow. But their lifeless eyes didn't look like those of a criminal, but just tired of work. 

 "Can I ask you something?" Alex asked, begging for them in his mind to not remember him as the f**k teen military driver of the general who hauled them there-which was unlikely. 

 They didn't curse, but one of them still grunted in discomfort. 

 "Do you know someone named Andrew who came here yesterday?" Alex asked with little hope. The man who had grunted, rubbed the back of his ax, thinking. "No boys came here-we all checked that we're all from the jail," Alex bit his lip. "Oh," That was all he could say. "Then, can you do just one thing for me?" He added. The man looked back at him, uncertain. "Can you just...tell me if you see a boy who's not me from here? My friend, Andrew, yes, disappeared, and I'm quite worried," He explained. The man licked his lips, looking back at everyone else-who just silently went back to their work. He turned back to Alex. 

 "Sure," The words were faint, but Alex heard it clearly. He felt a tiny bit of relief, but didn't smile at the man-he was too sorry for that. 

 "Thank you," He said, rather, and the man gave him a firm nod. 

 Alex retreated back to the area of the base which he knew well, feeling strange. 

 As he lay in bed that night, the second night without Andrew, he thought about the convicted at the workhouse. They had been forced to years of jail and punishment and was doing labor-but they had strangely looked so calm and the 'ok, so that's what is gonna happen. So what??'type. But they had no money! Their family could have forgotten them! No proper food!

 Their behavior had surprised Alex and as he thought of it once more, he nearly choked on his own saliva. He, for the first time, realized that though the world demanded him to be materialistic, he wasn't required to. 

 It was supposed to be a normal day when Andrew Stewart was executed. 

 Alex was wandering around in his uniform when he saw the man, this time out in the filed not for wood but for stacking up supplies, waving to him frantically. Even his ears weren't powerful enough to hear what the man was hollering tens of feet away, but at least, he was sure that the man was going bananas. 

 Alex raced, confused at the man's excitement.  

 "The boy," The man said. 

 Andrew, he's been found! Alex thought. 

 "Where and when, sir?" Alex asked. But his face drooped when the man's face dropped himself.   The man squinted towards the furthest edges of the base connecting to the depths of the forest. "A general was with him, I think. And the boy, Andrew, as you say, was obviously in shackles. But he wasn't resisting much. 

 Alex Mars' breathe got caught in his throat, and he stopped his human process of respiration. his eyes bulged, and frankly, I'll tell you, the man was getting worried and ready to call for the doctor when Alex recovered. 

 Ok, not recovered. His actions next was much more bigger than that. 

 He was crouched one second, then the next, he was sprinting like mad to where the man had squinted his eyes at, legs kicking and jolting over and over, muscles burning. Adrenaline shot through his veins and sweat broke through his military uniform. His hands wanted to desperately get hold of a gun for relief, but simply the newbies weren't allowed guns. He cursed, eyes only set to the part of the base which he has undiscovered yet. 

 He entered the clearing in seconds and slowed down only when he was surprised with the view of the place, out of breath.

 It was just like the cement training space-but much more wider-and red in places. There was one small building that had cell bars as windows and shackles, poles and ropes. 

 Alex gagged at the sight of blood on the floor and doubled over. 

 "You're not allowed here," A rough voice prodded him and he looked up in agony. His eyes rolled over 2 guards who waved their hands threateningly and pulled out guns, threatening Alex. But he didn't move, and his eyes rather just wetness right over their shoulders to the scene behind. The blood on the cement wasn't fresh, nor there was the general or Andrew in sight. He wasn't too late. 

 A hand grabbed him painfully on the shoulder and pushed him back roughly, but Alex responded back with a push back and struggled out of the guards' grip, growling. But the guards weren't going to give up easily. The still got him, and they started to wrestle. Alex mars even tried his famous martial moves(guess he was only famous between the newbies), but it didn't work out so well. He howled in pain as the guards pushed him further and further away from the field.

 It was his greatest enemy who saved him. 

 "Jim and Carves, let him in. He's my soldier," His voice rang across the bloody cement. The grip on Alex mars' shoulders weakened immediately. Alex walked back close to the clearing, shaking himself of pain and dirt. 

 "How did you find this place out?" The general asked when Alex had walked close enough.  There was no offense in his voice. Alex shrugged at the general. "I'm supposed t be your second-in-command. Just wanted to be of more help than being a driver, sir," He lied, and forced his eyes to not roll to the cell-like-building here Andrew might be captivated in.  

 The general turned back to the clearing, then nodded. "Fair enough. But there isn't much work for you to do. But still-maybe you'll learn stuff to do here if you go on to a high position, which I think is likely in the future," They started to walk to the cell-the general was depressed for one reason you'll certainly discover soon enough, while Alex's heart pounded against his rib cage at the thought of regaining his friend who was going to be lost. He also hoped that his appearance had delayed the end of Andrew. 

 The general led him into the cell, which had grey steel and cement floors and bars, as Alex had noticed. There were at least 20 stalls of cells in there, but all of them were empty-oh, except the last one. 

 Well, you guys know who was in there. 

 Alex had expected this scene and had thought that he had prepared for it, but actually, he wasn't much prepared. 

 Andrew didn't seem like Andrew much. He stared at the scenery outside through the barred windows, silent and solid, just as the convicted at the jail. He had no shirt on, and Alex watched in horror as it showed scars, recent ones, all over his skin. A few were bleeding, yes-but not from nails and self-abuse like the other convicted had done. They had come from lashes and machines and rough soldiers. 

 While Alex noticed all this, frozen, the general cleared his throat-not as if he had just abused his own soldier and was in shame from it, but as if he had done the most justifiable thing in the world. 

 "Alex Mars. Andrew has been forever suspected as a Prod-don't you yourself suspect on the issue how he every got through the submission tests and perform so poorly here? He seemed to be acting too much, and after years, well, decades, of hunting down and killing Prods for the country's sake, he showed a few of the Prods' symptoms especially after a test to diagnose them-" "What if he isn't?" Alex now completely abhorred bothering to call the general politely-he abhorred the general, he abhorred the military and the gov-he abhorred himself. 

 "Better than letting a Prod-suspect wreck our gov, Mars," The general said calmly. He looked at his phone to check the time. "The gov formalized his execution to today, only a few minutes from now. Mars, he wasn't your friend and definitely, is not now. If you were, he had to trick you and lie," With the words, the general walked to the next stall, which wasn't a cell but a bleak room full of weapons and guns. "You weren't allowed to come here, Mars. But I'm doing this for your sake," He yelled back from there. 

 Alex just kept staring at Andrew, who seemed as if he had never noticed him nor heard the conversation. Though with the scars, he felt different to Alex, he never seemed to have offense to him back. He wanted to howl again when he was reminded that he himself, not Andrew, had lied and tricked him to hide his identity-only for his sake. Andrew had always been innocent. 

 He had to stop it. 

 He wondered what to do-between to try to fight and faint the general or talk to Andrew, then escape with him. If they managed to escape, they weren't coming back to the base. Good thing this area was near the fence, Alex thought. 

 He chose the second. 

 "Andrew," He whispered, kneeling down, pressing his face to the bars. Wind flew in through the window and made Andrew's hair flutter for a second. He frowned, looked into the room, then saw Alex, as if for the first time. Alex's heart seemed to be pressing inwards, suffocating itself, as he put in his hand as much as possible into the cell. 

 "I'm going to get you out of here. You are not a Prodigy, Andrew," 

 It was his first time saying the word 'Prodigy' to Andrew directly.

 Andrew automatically crouched down and pressed himself close to the bars. Alex tried to shake the hinges off, but even with little force, it clanged and shrieked the metal creak that old metals emit. The general was going to suspect. 

 "I'm not?"m Andrew asked, a bit confused. Alex nodded in wild assent. He wondered again in 3 months whether he should tell that he was a prod. Meanwhile, Andrew's face lit up. "I wanted to tell that to everyone, Al. But they...did the worst of stuff to me. They almost deafened and blinded me, putting my senses under extreme pressure," Alex's heart now seemed to be banging around in his ribs, crazy and so sad, so tragic. Alex gripped Andrew's hand which had bloody deep scars. "Just-I'll get you alive out of this nightmare, Andrew. We shan't have met here, but at our hometown-we could have made up some reading club or something," Though Alex had abhorred book clubs and all other kinds of clubs, he actually felt sincere and sorry when he said those words.

 He had to separate from Andrew when the general's feet thundered back in, and he shot up from his kneeling position only seconds before the man himself came with a long shotgun in his grip. Alex and Andrew both watched in sheer terror. "Today, you're going to watch me. Learn from me. Let's hope that only Hale can't see you here. Though newbies react too extremely to first killings, I know that you're going to be expert in those. You always have, Mars," The general said, acting as if Andrew didn't exist or was just a bloody mannequin on the floor, then thrust a key into the lock. Alex pulled Andrew out and squeezed his shoulder secretly. Andrew was now free-time to escape. 

 But there was only one door in the cell, and the general clearly blocked the way with his massive form and gun-and as I said before, Alex didn't have a gun. 

 Alex had to follow the general obediently outside. 

 Then, things got out of hand from then. 

 The annoying soldiers walked over and clicked shackles onto Andrew's arms, sending Alex a pissed-off glance. Alex groaned. The escape was going o be hated-2 newbies against 3 veterans. His jawline tightened, and his eyes bore into the backs of all the other's backs. Especially the general. 

 He had to save Andrew, not lose him again. 

 "Sir, I don't understand why we have to do this,"m Alex hissed at the general, feeling the eyes of the guards holding Andrew behind bore into himself. He didn't flinch, though. Fawkes' forehead wrinkled in frustration. "Don't, Mars. Stewart is a rotten Prod. He can later undermine the system of the gov, ruining in our well-organized country. And I would die instead of letting that ever happen," The general took deep breathes as Ale was doing. "He did nothing!" Alex growled. He suddenly stopped in front of the general that the whole team had to stop. He stared deep into the man's eyes. Frustration, anger, annoyance, a tiny bit of hesitation. Alex Mars, your last chance!howled a voice in Mars. 

 "Sir, Andrew is not a Prodigy. He just likes reading books-" "I explained everything I feel before, Alex. You're' my second-in-command. You shouldn't do this. Maybe I overestimated you, maybe you can't stand watching a person die, even when that person's a traitor," "No-" the man suddenly whirled around, then looked at the soldiers. "Take him away back to his room, he has had too much pressure," With those curt commanding words, the guards thrust Andrew to the general, and he gripped the Andrew's skinny wrist. As the guards walked to Alex, he prepared his best weapon, the elbow strike to the back of the neck. But the thing is, he was single, as he had considered before. And the guards were armed and two. 

 They tackled him like before, grabbing his about-to-thrust-forward fist and then punched him back on the stomach. They went a bit further this time since they now knew Alex's strength limit and wrestled him to the ground. As his head hit the cement, his eyes caught a sight of the general pushing Andrew to a wooden pole int the middle of the grounds roughly as if he was a captured slave-ok, a capture Prod, to be exact. And the truth was, Andrew wasn't a Prodigy. Alex watched with leaking energy, unable to move. 

 The guards gave him one more prod on the foot, checked that he was slack, then was going to haul him up and away from the grounds. Alex watched limply was the general tied his friend to the pole, seemed to ask him one thing, then just back up. Alex's ears heard it all-"One last wish-do you want to die blind? Or do you want to watch?" A huge gulp. "No, I don't want to be blind now. But I have a word to say," Andrew gasped. "Spit it out," The general said, scrunching his face up.

"I am not a Prodigy,"

 That was one of the bravest words that Andrew Stewart had said in his life(and the last) and which suddenly boosted energy into the true Prod, Alex Mars. 

 He dodged the guards' hands and slipped out, struggling like a fish out of water. His senses were ambiguous, hands flailing like they had never done in his life. His feet pushed away from the ground and he scampered up, forward. Andrew was now tied to the pole, looking at him with grim eyes. But they weren't accusing. They said the words to him silently:

 'Thank you.' 

 A word with the alphabet 'n' that rhymes with 'go' left Mars' teeth and lips as Fawkes posed from a few feet away, then-

 The bullet shot forward from the barrel with a tiny bit of smoke, spinning quickly in its already quick progress, wondering where it would land, when its flight would stop. 

 It only stopped when it dove into Andrew Stewart like a hungry maniac, blowing away his innocent candle of hope and life of 17 years in less than a single second. The boy's unveiled eyes rolled to stare at the ground without meaning and drained of life, and his lifeless body slumped from the top of the pole. 

 And with that, Alex's prominent life undiscovered as a Prod was over too. 

 To add, this feature of his life, unlike his Prodigy ears, was never going to return, my friends. 

 He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. 

 -He couldn't move on with this loss. 

 He didn't care about money, property, nor fame. He didn't care about his life, nor if he was discovered as a Prodigy. 

 He didn't, anymore. 

 He didn't care about anything in his life anymore.