@unoculusrex
ZANZIBARLAND, FALL 1997
Eli had to wonder, bitterly, if the universe just straight-up had a grudge against him. As if his childhood hadnāt been bad enough -- pushed into war when he was barely 5 years old, treated like shit by his handlers until he ran away into the wilds of Africa and lived like a feral soldier with a band of his own until he was 12. And then the Diamond Dogs and his father had to ruin that. Heād tried to carve out a new life and identity for himself in the SIS and SAS, and it had worked...well, worked until once again, he was deemed useless and unwanted and thrown away. Two goddamn years as a POW and two more in a coma in a field hospital -- can anyone blame him for going AWOL as soon as he could walk?
He doesnāt think anyone here will. Heād heard the whispers of this place, passed from soldier to soldier in the weeks since heād disappeared from the hospital in Baghdad -- Zanzibarland, a nation for soldiers and by soldiers, where they are treated like men, not tools. Considering how his life has gone so far, he canāt think of anywhere better to flee to.
Itās cold, he reflects, and a different sort of cold than English winters. This place borders Russia, doesnāt it? Most of the men are in heavy coats save his little bundle of newcomers, all in whatever theyād been wearing before theyād caught whatever transport that had brought them in. Eliās canvas jacket isnāt quite warm enough, but itās all he has -- literally, too. The only things heās carrying are the clothes on his back, his dogtags, and the ivory-handled switchblade heās carried since he stole it from his Cipher handler before he ran away. And the clothes donāt quite fit him right, since heād grown thin during his time comatose -- he feels a little small in the fatigues and t-shirt and combat boots, despite his near six feet of height. Small and pale and weak.Ā
The Zanzibar soldiers give him odd looks when they see him, but he writes it off to his recovering health -- heās more focused on the fact that they lead the group into a warm indoors area and set them at each other. Apparently the President is watching, or something; Eli thinks that figures; if this place is for soldiers, the leader should want to see the mettle of the people that come seeking asylum and shelter.
He sees several of the biggest, nastiest looking recruits coming at him -- they must think heās easy prey, a 20something pretty-boy with a ponytail and looking sickly. They think theyāll break him. Aside from that fact that breaking someone weaker is no true proof of skill, Eli is vaguely amused and insulted.Ā
And so thatās how he gets the Presidentās attention -- a young man in a thin canvas jacket beating down six men twice his size (two Russians, a South American, and a trio of vicious looking Eastern Europeans) with surprising ease...though it might not be so surprising once he turns around to look in his direction.








