[5 months before the start of the term]
"Humans are such interesting creatures, aren't they?"
Miko Rodriguez, aged thirty-one, an army officer, trained to hold his ground and stand courageously against all that threaten the sovereignty of his country, threats that include terrorists, rivaling countries, and sometimes even, his own country men, resisted the urge to shudder. Fear was not an unknown concept to him -- he had felt it, and held steadfast in spite of it.
He liked to think that it was courage, and not insanity that held him, but the man before him made him feel afraid.
It was a primal, dark fear that held tightly to his neck, choking the air out of him, making it hard to breathe. It was the fear felt only when a living being was faced with inevitability of its death, knowing that it was coming, but unable to stop it, only able to look on as the scythe of the Reaper slowly bled its soul out. With every passing second, Death drew closer, it course unaltered, its pace undeterred, and the man facing him was without any doubts that fact personified.
Somehow, he found it in him to answer.
"H-how so?"
With a smile, the man looked away from him, and suddenly Miko could breathe again. The man directed his gaze towards the crowd of reporters and government officials waiting for him behind the curtain.
"Humanity is constantly on the move to create more destructive, brilliant weapons of war," he then chuckles, a hollow, echoing sound that Miko is sure will make an appearance in his nightmares tonight, "and then, they suddenly create all manner of excuses to keep them from ever being used again. Restriction upon restriction, putting up walls around these most precious weapons, acting as though others would never dream of using those weapons against them. Up until that final moment, when the life dies out of their eyes."
Miko swallowed.
"I, uh, I don't understand, sir. Are you perhaps referencing the Beijing Crisis?"
The Beijing Crisis, an incident that happened only a ten months ago. China had armed and detonated a nuclear missile near the coast of South Korea. It was only by chance that the winds were blowing away from the country, and consequently avoided the effects of a nuclear fallout. The reactions to this incident very, very nearly started World War 3, avoiding that outcome only by a hairsbreadth.
In response, the man simply smiled.
"Am I? Heh."
And then his name was called. The monster in a man's skin stood and met with his audience, who were unaware with just what was coming to speak to them this day. Miko stood and watched with relief as he was no longer the sole object of his attention.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I would first like to say that it is an honor, to have been selected as Trinidad's next Director. I promise you that, without a doubt, you shall be witness to monumental changes in my term of office."
Jose E. Bathla, 5th Director of Trinidad Noble Arms Academy, has come to power.
[Somewhere - Start of Semester]
It was too early. The bomb went off too early. This was not according to plan!
Amidst the smoke and flames, she ran away. She noticed that none of her compatriots were near her. Either they got caught by the blast radius and were dead, or got caught by the police and were as good as dead. In either case, she had to make her escape top priority.
Exhaling, she took a picture out from her pants pockets, and a long Kris appeared in her hands. The blade cut through the shadow of the building she was under, and she grit her teeth. Her head was spinning and her chest hurt. She could only get a few meters from this jump. She had to make it count.
[Trinidad - Early Morning (apprx. 6am)]
As you could expect from students returning from summer break, going to school early in the morning was a miserable and lethargic ordeal. It was almost impossible to muster the energy to plod through the gates, and most of the people who had that energy where either the ones that genuinely enjoyed going back to school - much to the bafflement of their peers - or had something jolt them awake.
Or, of course, you could be getting into a fight inside the classroom.
"FUCKYOUANDYOURMOMYOUPIECEOFSHI-"
"FATASSRETARDFUCKINGDIEYOUSONOFA-"
Two students, one male, one female, shouting over each other in the confines of the classroom, had more than enough energy for their entire class, who looked like they could care less about their argument. In fact, some of them had already nodded off to sleep.
There was nothing new about fights breaking out in Trinidad. There was nothing new about having injuries come out of it as well. Noble Arm Academy or not, the school was infamous for a reason. Seeing a scuffle or two break out was nothing special.
That was the mindset that most of the students in the class acted upon. A fight or two was nothing to be concerned about. Let them deal with it among themselves.
Well, that was their mindset, up until clear, crisp "click" of a gun rang through.
And suddenly both students were armed. The girl with a pair of flintlocks, the boy with a single Luger. As if moving with one mind, the class suddenly moved far away from the both of them. Fights were one thing, but if Noble Arms were involved . . . well, this was one of the few times the students of Trinidad thought that the best thing to do first was call a teacher.
"Humans are such interesting creatures, aren't they?"
Miko Rodriguez, aged thirty-one, an army officer, trained to hold his ground and stand courageously against all that threaten the sovereignty of his country, threats that include terrorists, rivaling countries, and sometimes even, his own country men, resisted the urge to shudder. Fear was not an unknown concept to him -- he had felt it, and held steadfast in spite of it.
He liked to think that it was courage, and not insanity that held him, but the man before him made him feel afraid.
It was a primal, dark fear that held tightly to his neck, choking the air out of him, making it hard to breathe. It was the fear felt only when a living being was faced with inevitability of its death, knowing that it was coming, but unable to stop it, only able to look on as the scythe of the Reaper slowly bled its soul out. With every passing second, Death drew closer, it course unaltered, its pace undeterred, and the man facing him was without any doubts that fact personified.
Somehow, he found it in him to answer.
"H-how so?"
With a smile, the man looked away from him, and suddenly Miko could breathe again. The man directed his gaze towards the crowd of reporters and government officials waiting for him behind the curtain.
"Humanity is constantly on the move to create more destructive, brilliant weapons of war," he then chuckles, a hollow, echoing sound that Miko is sure will make an appearance in his nightmares tonight, "and then, they suddenly create all manner of excuses to keep them from ever being used again. Restriction upon restriction, putting up walls around these most precious weapons, acting as though others would never dream of using those weapons against them. Up until that final moment, when the life dies out of their eyes."
Miko swallowed.
"I, uh, I don't understand, sir. Are you perhaps referencing the Beijing Crisis?"
The Beijing Crisis, an incident that happened only a ten months ago. China had armed and detonated a nuclear missile near the coast of South Korea. It was only by chance that the winds were blowing away from the country, and consequently avoided the effects of a nuclear fallout. The reactions to this incident very, very nearly started World War 3, avoiding that outcome only by a hairsbreadth.
In response, the man simply smiled.
"Am I? Heh."
And then his name was called. The monster in a man's skin stood and met with his audience, who were unaware with just what was coming to speak to them this day. Miko stood and watched with relief as he was no longer the sole object of his attention.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," he began, "I would first like to say that it is an honor, to have been selected as Trinidad's next Director. I promise you that, without a doubt, you shall be witness to monumental changes in my term of office."
Jose E. Bathla, 5th Director of Trinidad Noble Arms Academy, has come to power.
[Somewhere - Start of Semester]
It was too early. The bomb went off too early. This was not according to plan!
Amidst the smoke and flames, she ran away. She noticed that none of her compatriots were near her. Either they got caught by the blast radius and were dead, or got caught by the police and were as good as dead. In either case, she had to make her escape top priority.
Exhaling, she took a picture out from her pants pockets, and a long Kris appeared in her hands. The blade cut through the shadow of the building she was under, and she grit her teeth. Her head was spinning and her chest hurt. She could only get a few meters from this jump. She had to make it count.
[Trinidad - Early Morning (apprx. 6am)]
As you could expect from students returning from summer break, going to school early in the morning was a miserable and lethargic ordeal. It was almost impossible to muster the energy to plod through the gates, and most of the people who had that energy where either the ones that genuinely enjoyed going back to school - much to the bafflement of their peers - or had something jolt them awake.
Or, of course, you could be getting into a fight inside the classroom.
"FUCKYOUANDYOURMOMYOUPIECEOFSHI-"
"FATASSRETARDFUCKINGDIEYOUSONOFA-"
Two students, one male, one female, shouting over each other in the confines of the classroom, had more than enough energy for their entire class, who looked like they could care less about their argument. In fact, some of them had already nodded off to sleep.
There was nothing new about fights breaking out in Trinidad. There was nothing new about having injuries come out of it as well. Noble Arm Academy or not, the school was infamous for a reason. Seeing a scuffle or two break out was nothing special.
That was the mindset that most of the students in the class acted upon. A fight or two was nothing to be concerned about. Let them deal with it among themselves.
Well, that was their mindset, up until clear, crisp "click" of a gun rang through.
And suddenly both students were armed. The girl with a pair of flintlocks, the boy with a single Luger. As if moving with one mind, the class suddenly moved far away from the both of them. Fights were one thing, but if Noble Arms were involved . . . well, this was one of the few times the students of Trinidad thought that the best thing to do first was call a teacher.
