In Armis

Cyryl’s heavy steps echoed through the brightly lit corridors of the Keres Legion base as he made his way towards his room. It was way past midnight, but the interior lighting and design made sure to mess with his senses, his tired mind occasionally being jolted as, under the warm light, his eyes scanned the decor placed behind some of the glass walls.

Truth to be told, he never really got used to the presence of these. In his mind, an army base was devoid of everything that did not serve a function, and the various skulls and plants evoking the spirit of the wild west were sticking out to him like a sore thumb. He did not wish to complain too much about it, however. The Keres Legion’s hidden HQ was a sight for sore eyes to see, a pinnacle of modern architecture with its sleek design - in its own way, it commanded the same kind of respect that any other base would, just in a different font.

A loud sigh escaped his throat as his dry lips parted just enough to let it slip through them when he entered his room - a luxury that he never asked for, but received for his quote on quote excellence on the field. He was not naive, however, and knew exactly why he had the privilege. In the past several months, Deimos has picked up the habit of paying him a visit, either to bark an order at him to get him out of the barracks or just to be a menace. These visits became more and more common, depending on Deimos’ mood, and sometimes would happen at the dead of night. It became an inconvenience that others were around when he wanted to grab Cyryl by the scruff of his neck, so he was given his own room.

The justification was never truly questioned by others, because Cyryl was indeed working harder than most. After joining the Legion, he had to shake off plenty of rust from his bones and muscles, and his training regimen remained the same even after he got back to his old form, leaving him to work from morning till nightfall. He was also committed to the legion’s cause, reaching the point where he would follow Deimos’ orders like a loyal dog, without question and with murderous instincts.

Cyryl’s hands ran through his hair as he began to shed some of his clothes, not bothering to put them away neatly. Some of them landed on the cold floor with a small and soft thud, while other ended up latching onto some of the furniture by pure luck as he tossed them at one of his chairs before walking to his drawer and taking out a towel and a pair of slippers from it once he was only in his pants and shirt. The slippers landed on the ground like boots of iron, making a loud noise as Cyryl threw his tower over his shoulder before putting on the slippers and leaving for the communal showers, wanting nothing more than to wash away the dirt from his skin and to try and soothe the ache in his limbs from his recent deployment.

He just came back from it this morning, but there was no stopping for him until now. After he arrived, he went straight to debrief, and then to training, before he spent a good chunk of his afternoon writing out the details of his mission before delivering it to the master's office. All in all, he was tired - and if not evident by his constant yawns, the way he felt slightly dizzy from the lack of sleep was a sure confirmation that his body yearned for the respite of rest.

The cold water felt like a thousand small needles prickling at his skin as he stood under the shower, closing his eyes for a few fleeting seconds, trying to recollect himself before actually working on cleaning himself. He did a sloppy job, dropping the soap at least three times and not even bothering to remove the camo paint from his face completely. He got out quite quickly and waddled towards the sinks and mirrors where he looked at his reflection with nor judgement or love. It was an unapologetic image of a tired man, one that he had gotten quite used to after the years spent in the army.

He leaned closer, rubbing his chin as he noticed how he had a full-blown beard at this point. He squinted his eyes as he considered shaving it, already reaching for a razor that someone left behind before groaning once and just tossing it back into the sink. “I'll do it tomorrow”, he told himself, which could either be the truth or a lie, depending on what kind of mood he would wake up in.

After shuffling back into his room, he placed the towel at the end of his bed before putting on a set of clean physical training uniforms. It was far from the comfort of civilian clothing, and yet, he groaned in satisfaction once he felt the material on his skin before he walked to the bed and climbed into it like a grumpy teenager, ready to drown himself in the embrace of his blanket and his hard pillow.

As he closed his eyes and listened to the loud ticking of the clock on the wall, he noticed something was amiss. Next to the rhythmic tocks, the sound of breathing that was not his own bounced silently between the walls. Yet, Cyryl did not stir as he lay on his side, eyes remaining shut, only his mouth opening to speak tired words.

“How long have you been here, sir?”

“Long enough to know that you're getting to bed way past curfew,” Deimos’ Southern accent caressed Cyryl’s ear with a hint of mockery. From the darkest corner of the room, his footsteps echoed, getting closer and closer until stopping right next to the bed. Cyryl could feel the shift in the air as Deimos leaned over him like a ghost of malice, as if planning a murder. “Care to explain?”

“I had a long day, sir. I spent a lot of time preparing the written debrief for you. Left it in your office”, Cyryl mumbled, body still unmoving.

“That’s not an excuse.”

“Reprimand me, then.”

“Getting cheeky, are we?” Deimos’ weight shifted the bed as he sat down at the edge of it, his voice clear as the sky itself. He was uncharacteristically not wearing his mask, letting the darkness of the night act as one.

The Keres leader’s eyes hovered over Cyryl’s form as the moon’s light from outside shone just enough to give him a glimmer reminiscent of a blessing. An almost inaudible scoff escaped his lips as he raised one of his hands and rested it on Cyryl’s side. “Is there anything that I should know about?” He spoke as he resisted the urge to run circles with his thumb, opting to keep his hand still for now.

“Nothing that requires urgent attention. Job is done”, Cyryl’s words were getting more and more slurred as his mind struggled to keep awake. The comfort of a bed and the rough, but ultimately still present affection from his superior were more potent than any sleeping pill he could have taken. It was only a matter of minutes before he would pass out, a fact that both men were aware of.

“No casualties or injuries?” Deimos pried, his voice echoing with authority, masking his curiosity for Cyryl’s well-being in particular. Try as he might, his intentions still bubbled up from the cauldron of tenderness as he slowly moved to lie behind Cyryl, his arm draping over him in both possession and endearment.

“If there were any, I don't know of them.” Cyryl hummed as a smile tugged at the edge of his lips at the closeness, wanting nothing more than to just melt into it. “All went according to plan, sir.”

“Attaboy”, Deimos whispered in his ear approvingly before making himself more comfortable. “I’ll still reprimand you in the morning.”

“Looking forward to it, sir.”

Deimos stayed awake as he waited for Cyryl to slumber away, feeling his muscles relax as he finally entered the land of dreams. The old soldier remained stiff as he himself struggled to find the need for rest after being restless for the past few days. Cyryl’s absence affected him, and he hated that fact. There were no days when his mind did not wander on his soldier, about where he was and when he would return. Like a priest waiting for a sign from the god of their devotion, it kept him up at night, and now that this yearning ended, it was replaced by another one. He wanted to scold himself, to try and cut out whatever piece of him started to catch a feeling for him and toss it to stray dogs to eat so it could never be discovered. And yet, he could not let go. As he listened to Cyryl’s steady breathing and could feel his heartbeat under his fingertips, he found a piece of peace that he thought was long lost, and he held onto it with an iron grip.

Cyryl kicked off his boots with a heavy sigh but still made sure to somewhat nudge them to their designated place with his foot as he refused to let go of the two fully packed grocery bags in his hands. The nylon handle cut into his fingers, and they grew paler as blood had a hard time reaching in there with how the material denied it free passage. He wanted nothing more than to pack these things in and go back to bed for a nice, well-deserved nap.

Walking into the living room, the hairs on Cyryl’s neck stood up, and from the corner of his eyes, he noticed something - or rather someone - who did not belong in his well-maintained home. He placed down the grocery bags on his counter with hesitation, his eyes not leaving the form of the stranger.

The figure stood tall and confident, with their back towards Cyryl. They had their hands behind their back, observing one of the many paintings that decorated the grey-painted walls. As Cyryl shuffled to pick up the sharp letter opener that he had left on the table previously, the stranger finally turned around.

“Kept me waiting,” He huffed, their features covered by a black bulletproof mask tailored to somewhat mimic a human skull. Cyryl could feel the intruder’s scrutinizing gaze from behind their obsidian lenses. He watched as the man in full tactical gear sat down on one of the sofas and put his boots up on the table as if he owned the place. His cockiness would have usually just irritated Cyryl, but considering that he was a home invader, it made him all the more tense. Whoever this person was knew that they had the upper hand in the situation, and they were not afraid to display it.

“What do you want?” Cyryl finally spoke, his eyes squinting at the mysterious man as his brows furrowed. The question of “how did you get in” was irrelevant at this point - they made it in, and that fact mattered more than needing to find the method itself. Cyryl always considered his home safe. Many years in the military have taught them tricks that he still utilized to keep what was secure, and the fact that someone got past all of them made it known that he was not facing a simple burglar or, hell, even a common soldier.

“Straight to the point. I like you already,” The dark figure chuckled as they rested their hand in their lap, the military poncho on their back giving the illusion of it being the cape of some sort of supervillain. “You can put that down. I just want to talk. For now,” They gestured at the letter opener in Cyryl’s hand before pointing at the sofa facing his, like a therapist who encouraged their new client to feel themselves at home. The only problem was that, at the moment, Cyryl felt like his home did not belong to him. He debated within himself if he should listen or perhaps go on the offensive, but in the end, he opted to go with the safest route and sat down on the sofa after placing the opener on the table in front of him. It was still within reach if the need was there, but he knew that the rules of this engagement would not be in his favor. He was on his home turf, but devils know what the stranger had been up to in here while he was doing his groceries. He was just gone for half an hour, and that was more than enough for things to change.

The stranger sat up straight, taking their leg off of the table to address Cyryl more directly - a sign that maybe their intentions were not all malicious. Maybe. “Cyryl Fogt. Alias Slimak. It does not really roll off the tongue easily, so I’ll call you Slug if you don’t mind. You have been recommended to me.”

“By whom?”

“Well, aren’t you curious? That’s a secret, for now.” He rose up from the sofa and began to walk around the room in a casual manner, observing all of its trinkets before continuing. “But I was informed that you have been wronged. What if I told you that I can give you a chance at redemption?” They stopped their pacing to look at Cyryl, his posture indicating that he expected Cyryl’s answer to be a yes.

“Not until I know what you actually want from me.” Cyryl insisted as he tried his best to gauge anything about the intruder’s personality, but the tactical gear did little to aid in this. What he did see was top-quality equipment, one that was hard to come by or highly experimental. This meant that he had resources - arguably ones that others might envy. “And who the bloody hell are you anyway? You know my name, but I don’t know yours. I think it’s only fair that you tell me.”

“You can call me Deimos.” The stranger replied, and Cyryl could hear the smile in his voice as he did. “There is your introduction. Have you heard of the Keres Legion before?”

Cyryl nodded. While he has been discharged, it did not mean that he stopped all military activities. He still wanted to keep an eye on the global side of things, and the Keres Legion was a whisper that echoed through the dark corners of the PMC underworld. The name floated around like cloud on the sky, but their intentions remained hidden, and even his own research yielded little to no results. Perhaps this was the time to find out about them.

“Good. I expected nothing less based on what I was told about you. Now… do you remember what happened in 2014, December 10th?”

“Hard to forget,” Cyryl snorted, a snarl forming on his face as his nose wrinkled, his brows furrowed, and his upper lip lifted up just slightly on the right side to reveal one of his canines. This conversation was taking a turn that he did not expect - a personal one. The mention of the date pushed Cyryl’s heart to beat heavy with anger and frustration, and the way his posture changed told Deimos everything he needed to know.

“You and your team were sent to rescue a classroom of children.” Deimos began to recall the events despite him knowing that Cyryl knew them. “A bomb threat was called that day. However, you and your team were forced to stay idle due to bureaucracy. What happened that day?”

“You seem to know; why do I need to tell?”

“Because I want to see your anger, Slug.” Deimos tilted his head to the side like a curious dog. “After all, it sent you down the spiral that ended your career. A shame, really, considering all your achievements before.”

Cyryl took a deep breath as he thought to himself. His fingers gripped the armrest of the sofa before he lifted his fingers and began to drum with them. “We still had an entire building to clear when we got the order to cease all activity and standby. The students were on that floor, and so was the bomb. We were told to wait for command to give us the go - so we waited. Apparently, one of our politicians was giving a speech about the situation nearby, and they did not want us to walk through the scene as cameras and all were live. I knew the moment we were told to stand by that we were letting them die. If we were allowed to push forward, we would have been able to get them out before it was set to blow.”

“But you were told not to. You were forced to stand there and witness as the entire thing came crashing down. It must have been difficult. You knew what was right, and yet, they chained you down.” Deimos walked behind Cyryl as he spoke, placing his gloved hands on his shoulder. He could feel the muscles tense under his fingertips - but not at the contact, but the memory itself. “After that, you have been reported for getting in trouble with your superiors multiple times - I assume because of the lost trust. Cannot blame ya. But what if I told you that I can give you a place somewhere where we fight again? You have been tied to politicians who used you for their own chess games, taking power away from you, the person actually on the field, and who knows the weight of pulling the trigger.”

“And if I say no?” Cyryl’s question elicited another chuckle.

“I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again.” Cyryl could tell that this was a lie. It would never be this simple. There is no chance that someone would break into his home, talk about all this classified shit, and then say that oh, they will leave. There was a plan B, and that would probably end with his death. But honestly, he did not want to say no. What Deimos said was intriguing, and the fire inside him that was kept alive by frustration had now started to dance to the lullaby of some sort of hope. But he also knew that what he was about to do could doom him. The Keres Legion was a private military company at best and a terrorist group at worst. How would he know that he would not be forced to take the life of innocents?

“What’s your principle?”

“Ah, still need convincing? Does Rainbow ring a bell?”

“The international counterterrorism unit? Of course.”

“Back in my days, it was a unit that served to keep the world safe - until they fell into the same trap as your unit did. They are now bound to politics as the world crumbles around them. They are willingly taking part in a chess game where they are nothing but pawns. I want to end Rainbow - a new unit needs to take its place, untouched by bureaucracy.”

“And Keres is the medicine to this problem?”

“It will be. But I need soldiers of devotion and skill. And you, Slug, fit the bill. You know what’s at stake.”

Cyryl looked up at Deimos, who had now circled back to sitting on the sofa in front of him, his leg, just like before, lying on the coffee table comfortably as he waited for an answer.

“Do I have a choice?”

“The fact that you are still alive should suffice as the answer to that question.”

Cyryl hated the fact that Deimos undeniably had a charm that was working on him. This mysterious soldier was bouncing his feelings around as if it were a toy, and while Cyryl knew that he was being played, he could not resist its call. Deimos was dangerous, and yet, Cyryl was attracted to this danger. He wanted to believe in what he had said against his better judgment. He looked at Deimos for one last time before averting his gaze.

“I need a separate room and bathroom from the others.” He stated before looking back at Deimos. “If that’s manageable, consider me part of your cause.”

“What makes you think you have any leverage to make such demands?” Deimos leaned forward, his head once again slightly tilted as he analyzed Cyryl’s facial expression.

“You came here yourself. You did not send some low-caliber soldier. That makes me think that I might be more desirable than your average goon. Or, you could just be really fucking bored and decided to come all the way to Poland for fun. I’ll take my chances and say it’s the first.”

Deimos leaned back with a loud hum. If not for his mask, his smirk would have been evident to the soldier sitting opposite to him. “The puppy does have fangs,” he thought to himself before clapping his hands together and standing up. “Consider it done. Welcome to the Keres Legion, soldier.”

“When are we leaving, sir?” Cyryl stood up as well, extending his hand towards Deimos for a shake - he did not expect him to take it, but when his gloved hand met his, the deal was sealed in honor as well.

“Now. Pack your things.” Deimos’ answer was curt before he simply walked out the entrance door, not bothering to give Cyryl any more information. Cyryl was sure that the moment he left his home, his life as he knew it would cease to exist. It only dawned on him what he agreed to.