Toy Soldiers — Chapter 7 Part 8

Theo’s thoughts, walking through the corridors

It was still late.
The sun came through the windows, but nothing seemed bright.

The looks came from every direction.
Looks that judged, that weighed.

I killed a dog.
That was what everyone saw.
That was all they could see.

Cora... still shaken.
Tomorrow she would know what to do with the cabin. With the damage.

Dark watched me from a distance.
A fixed stare, a smile too small to be cordial.

He moved his lips slowly, just enough for me to understand—

“Did you like it?”

It could have been my imagination.
But I think he knew.

Or wanted me to believe he did.

I don't care.

No one saw what I saw.
They would rather accuse me of killing a poor dog.

But I was the poor dog.
The son of lead.

Ceres looked at me strangely too.
But deep down...

Deep down, she didn't believe it.

She was the one who took care of Cora. It was because I asked her to.

Cora didn't speak.
She was only processing everything.

Dark kept watching me, as if he knew I had liked it.
As if he saw something in me that no one else could see.

There are rumors about him.
They say he kills dogs. Cats. Anything that moves.

But they were always just that — rumors.

And whenever an animal disappeared, they said the train had run it over.
Or that another animal had killed it.
Or that it had died on its own.

But I don't doubt Dark.

Dormitory. Dim light.

Theo lies down, eyes open.

The thoughts won't stop.

It was still late, but it felt like night inside me.

The corridor was behind me.
The looks, the words left unspoken...

Now everything is silence—

But inside, it doesn't stop.

I killed a dog.

And everyone saw that.

Only that.

No one saw what I saw.
No one read what I felt.

The animal wasn't normal.
It wasn't afraid. It wasn't hungry.

It had a mission.

It came to kill, or die.

Like me.

But now... now I'm the monster.
The shadow.
The strange one.

Cora is still silent.
Maybe she'll cry later.
Maybe she hates me now.

And Dark...

Dark looked at me as if he knew.

As if he were saying:

— Did you like it?

Maybe he knows something.

But maybe I'm being unfair.

Dru confessed to me that she had been with him before.
She backed away afterward.

She said he was disturbing.

Dark is the kind of person even birds avoid.

Not even his own shadow wants to stay near him.

But... on the field?

On the field, he was another animal.

A war dog.

His sadism was fuel.

And no matter how much we hated each other, I fed on it.

I had blood in my eyes.

The taste of blood in my mouth.

When I sent a perfect ball...

He would break a collarbone as if it were a refined technique.

Cruelty with surgical precision.

And he was never sent off.

Every insult was disguised applause:

— You piece of shit.

— Pass the damn ball, you garbage.

— Asshole.

— Son of a bitch.

Deep down, I heard:

— Thanks. You're a beast.

— Keep it up.

— Well done.

Their hatred...

Was my motivation.

Leading them wasn't a position.

It was a kind of bond, an unwritten pact.

We never lost.

Never.

We bled in fights.

In the locker rooms.

In the games.

And if there was no blood...

It wasn't a locker room. It was a church.

The execution of the play was sacred.

And the teacher smiled at the end.

But now...

My leadership is hanging by a thread.

I reported Gene.

I killed the dog.

The walls are closing in.

The eyes are cutting through me.

Everything is falling apart.

Fuck them.

Mãe Ceres feeds us.

Educates us.

And, if necessary...

Devours us.

The following day.

An armored train tears through the steel throat of Mãe Ceres' Tower.

It heads toward the last school, at the eastern edge of the city.

The metallic roar cuts across the morning sky like a declaration of war.

Since the last Flagball game against Arcadia, the dogs have been a problem.

It is no coincidence.

Solid evidence indicates that the animals came from inside one of Arcadia's armored trains.

They were released into Ceres.

An attack.

Silent. Precise.

The hunt had gone on for weeks.

Now the train speeds forward.

And inside it are the Silencers.

They wear helmets resembling the icon of Mãe Ceres.

No faces.

No voices.

Only orders.

Mechanical coldness.

Among them is Amós.

An A.D. — Diplomat Lawyer.

One of the few men with unrestricted access in and out of the city.

In Ceres, borders are crossed only with institutional weight.

And Amós carries that weight.

His military attire is impeccable.

A dark-gray overcoat of asymmetric cut, with side buttons.

A brooch bearing the face of Mãe Ceres on his chest.

Dark sunglasses.

His hair slicked back with gel.

His presence is cutting.

In his hands, a black leather briefcase filled with papers, reports, and accusations.

He carries the city's legal silence.

The bureaucracy of guilt.

As the train enters the outskirts, the sun completes its journey, tearing across the horizon with a golden and ironic light.

Amós reads. Remembers.

He already knows about one of the dogs — it was put down.

But where are the others?

The deduction is certain.

Diplomat Lawyers do not make mistakes about the obvious.

Not when they carry complete files on the students.

During the briefing, he received two names.

Two potentials:

Theo 7A3X.

Dark 9X1B.

Their histories are there, their grades, their daydreams.

Both brilliant.

Both dangerous.

But Dark...

Dark was a documented anomaly.

Since the Pietà protocol, he had been classified as “Cold Psychopathy.”

It was too obvious.

And Amós does not like assumptions.

He hunts certainties.

People like that...

Need a nest.

Or a skeleton in the closet.

Or a mausoleum of hidden delights.

He knows the pattern.

The scene.

The smell.

Then, with 3.5 km remaining before the school, he sees a hangar.

A simple abandoned hangar.

The city tries to pretend it doesn't exist.

But Amós sees it.

And Amós orders:

— Stop the train.

Stopping a train in Ceres is like stopping time.

Like interrupting the process.

But silence obeys.

And for the first time since sunrise, the city breathes in anticipation.

The train brakes with a metallic hiss.

A lament cutting through the tracks.

The Silencers step out in silence, weapons in hand, their eyes invisible behind opaque visors.

No one speaks. Everything had already been decided before leaving the tower.

Amós is the last to descend.

The hangar before them is large, gray, abandoned — but alive inside.

Old concrete that breathes fear.

The main door is half-open, as if waiting for them.

Amós walks slowly.

His overcoat sways in the dry wind.

He takes a deep breath.

— Laboratory of human disgrace... — he murmurs.

But it wasn't people. Not yet.

They conducted tests there on dogs, rats, monkeys.

Aversion, reward, shock, isolation, deprivation.

Extreme conditioning.

If they do this to animals...

...imagine what they do to people.

The Silencers enter first.

The tips of their boots sink into a stained floor.

Old blood. Scratches on the walls.

Broken collars. Open cages.

In the corner, an old projector flickers, as if it still wanted to tell something.

Amós watches. Writes something down.

He is looking for a pattern. And the pattern always appears.

On a rusted workbench, he finds crumpled files bearing registration numbers.

Some match his records. Others don't.

— This is the nest — he says, as if confirming something he already knew.

He turns to the officer beside him.

— Seal everything off. Now. No one enters. No one touches anything.

The officer doesn't answer with words. He merely nods.

Outside, the sun begins to lose its strength.

And inside the school, Theo and Dark still don't know that the hunt has changed sides.

Now, they are the targets.

As the Silencers advance, meticulous and silent as shadows, Amós walks between the concrete columns of the hangar.

Beams of light cutting through holes in the roof reveal more than dust: they show fragments of something... different.

He stops suddenly before a rusted metal structure, like an old improvised surgical stand.

There it is.

The second dog.

Or what remained of it.

But not destroyed as one would expect from a body attacked — it had been carefully dismantled, limb by limb, organ by organ, as if someone had studied it and assembled a cruel puzzle.

It hung suspended by steel wires, each part fitted together with absurd precision.

A sculpture of despair.

The skull cleaned, its dental arch exposed in an involuntary smile.

The legs spread in a cross, held by metal clamps.

The eyes hollowed out, but the sockets clean — as if whoever had done this took pleasure in preserving the original shape, even after stripping away all its life.

On the wall beside it, using its own dried blood, someone had drawn an asymmetrical circle — a tribal symbol, rudimentary, without any apparent logic.

Amós sighs, unsurprised.

He sees more than eyes allow.

— A work of art — he says, almost with disgust.

— Someone who didn't kill out of rage. They killed as an expression.

He takes out a leather cloth and cleans the lens of his glasses.

— It's not about death. It's about control.

One of the Silencers approaches and murmurs:

— Sir, it looks... ritualistic.

Amós agrees with a slow nod.

— It doesn't look ritualistic. It is.

He closes the folder and pulls out the files again.

Theo 7A3X. Dark 9X1B.

He stares at Dark's name.

— This one is a problem with legs.

His eyes return to the dog assembled like a trophy by a deranged artist.

— And this... this is a signature.

He closes the folder with a dry snap and murmurs, as if Mãe Ceres were listening:

— Let's see if this little tin soldier keeps standing when the hammer comes down.

Outside, the wind carries the scent of the east.

More dogs?

Or more monsters?

In the cafeteria, the murmur of voices piled into the air like dust — light, but impossible to ignore.

Spoons scraped against stainless-steel plates with passive violence.

The looks?

Cutting.

All of them turned toward Theo.

Ceres sat at the table beside him, trying not to stare.

But she was staring.

Theo pretended not to notice — chewing slowly, mechanically, as if the food were a punishment.

Deep down, he knew: no one forgets a hero who killed a dog.

Especially after yesterday's lesson, when the instructors taught them about restraint, neutralization, improvised sedatives, peaceful approaches...

But no one saw what he saw.

No one felt what he felt.

Then Daime arrived.

His wheelchair came to a stop beside Theo's table with a faint squeak.

He had that same crooked little smile, his arms crossed over his lap.

— What a dog of a day, huh? — he said, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear.

Theo merely looked away without answering.

— You're fucking crazy, man. — Daime laughed through his throat. — But I don't know... I've got my doubts. That wasn't some stray dog, no way. — He shook his head. — They say it was just a little mutt, but I know it wasn't only that.

Theo sighed, sinking a little deeper into his shoulders.

The food had no taste anymore.

Daime continued, without mercy:

— Stop looking like a guilty dog... You're acting like you've got a flea behind your ear, man.

He laughed.

Theo merely tolerated it.

— I know it was rough, okay? — Daime said, more seriously. — But something went through that twisted head of yours. Gene, Ceres, your leadership falling apart at the edges... or maybe you saw something no one else saw. Because that's not like you, champ.

Theo finally looked at him, a mixture of anger and doubt in his eyes.

Daime smiled — now with genuine lightness.

— This whole thing sounds a lot more like Dark, if you ask me, judging by the rumors going around.

— (pause) —

— But stay cool. I'm on your side. I'm joking, but I'm on your side. Laughing, but I'm on your side.

Theo forced half a smile, almost imperceptible.

But inside, the lead was still melting.

The cafeteria buzzed with whispers, utensils scraping plates in a nervous rhythm.

Theo was still chewing, forcing himself to remain indifferent, when absolute silence fell like an axe.

The metal door opened.

The Silencers entered.

All of them at once.

Black helmets, blank faces, identical uniforms.

No faces, no expressions.

Their presence was an erasure: wherever they stepped, even sound seemed to retreat.

Behind them, walking slowly but firmly, came Amós.

The cafeteria stopped.

Dru froze with her spoon in the air.

Cora clenched her fingers around the fabric of her pants.

Ceres leaned forward, as if her body sensed something coming.

Vanks, Kan, Cors, and Ana didn't know whether to stare or pretend not to see.

Amós said nothing.

He simply pointed.

And the Silencers went straight to Dark.

He did not protest.

He did not fight.

He did not say a word.

He simply stood, raised his arms, and allowed himself to be taken.

As if he already knew the way.

As if it were routine.

As if... he accepted it.

The sound of boots reverberated across the tiles.

Only when he reached the door did Amós stop.

His immaculate overcoat trembled slightly.

He turned his face toward Theo's table.

His voice rang out, clear and cutting:

— Theo, come with me to the coordination room. Now.

Absolute silence.

The world stopped for half a second.

Daime, quietly, as if delivering an inevitable verdict:

— We're fucked.

Coordination Room — Closed. Cold. Clinically clean.

Amós stands motionless, his hands clasped behind his back.

Theo remains standing as well, like a soldier waiting for a verdict.

No chair is offered.

Amós (firm voice, without inflection):

— Theo 7A3X, quite a name...

I'm here for objective questions.

I want yes-or-no answers.

No deviations. No flourishes.

Understood?

Theo (eyes fixed, posture rigid):

— Yes.

— You saw Dark being taken into detention?

— Yes.

— He did not resist?

— Yes.

— Were you the one who killed the dog?

— Yes.

— Is the dog's body still in the field?

— Yes.

— Was the dog unusual?

— Yes.

Pause.

Amós relaxes his shoulders.

He exhales through his nose, as if satisfied.

He looks at Theo now as if contemplating a rare piece.

— Very good... Relax, Theo.

You are a son of Mãe Ceres.

A boy with trustworthy eyebrows...

Amós approaches; his voice changes.

Now it is silky, almost sweet.

— I know you have a brother... Tycho.

Fat, lazy... like you used to be.

But you will evolve.

That's normal.

— And your older brother...

The 13th astronaut to reach CERES II.

That is something grand, boy.

You should be proud.

You will be the pride of Mãe Ceres.

This school... is the only place where you will have the illusion of freedom.

Amós begins to circle Theo, like a coach observing a boxer before a fight.

— After that... you will be swallowed.

And when that happens, this place will be over for you.

— But you... you still have a chance.

You've got backbone.

You are a leader... and the rarest kind of all:

A leader who does not use force.

Amós stops in front of him.

He smiles from the corner of his mouth.

— Cora was supposed to be here.

But she'd probably piss her pants in those pants Mãe Ceres gave her.

Pause.

Eyes fixed.

— Now, listen carefully, Theo...

Never tell anyone that it was a “damn strange dog.”

Just say: it was a dog.

And that you sacrificed it.

Because it was a pest.

Which is what I also believe it was.

— We don't want an alarm.

We don't want panic.

Understood?

— Yes.

Amós places a hand on Theo's shoulder.

Firm.

Heavy.

— Unfortunately... that's how it is, my son.

Lead does that to you.

You are honorable.

Mãe Ceres deserves sons like you.

He looks into his eyes.

The final sentence, like a mantra:

— Mãe Ceres, who feeds us, who educates us... and who devours us.

He releases Theo's shoulder.

Returns to military posture.

— Dismissed. Leave.

Main Corridor — Post-interrogation

The door opens with a sharp metallic sound.

Theo steps out.

Steady gaze.

Not a word.

At the end of the corridor, Dru, Cora, Kan, and Vanks wait, but do not approach.

The silence is dense, cutting.

The tension pulses through the concrete walls.

Dru (whispering to Cora, without taking her eyes off Theo):

— He's different... Look at the way he walks.

Cora:

— It's not the way. It's his eyes. It looks like someone lit something inside him... or extinguished it.

Theo walks past them without saying a word.

The only one who dares to move is Daime, who approaches in his wheelchair, slowly turning to follow him.

Daime (trying to lighten the mood):

— So, General... everything under control? Or are they gonna tattoo Mãe Ceres' face on your forehead?

Theo doesn't answer.

He simply walks.

Firm.

Silent.

Daime watches him go.

Main Wing Corridors — Late Afternoon

The muffled siren signals the end of activities.

The students walk in silence, slower than usual.

There is a weight in the air — something has disappeared.

Someone.

Theo passes Ceres.

She does not look at him.

She does not avoid him.

She simply... breathes harder.

Kan, who normally never spoke, walks with short steps, eyes on the floor.

Cors asks quietly, without even knowing whom he is asking:

— Did they really take Dark?

Dru, always with an answer ready, merely shrugs.

Ana (angrily, but in a whisper):

— You don't do this to a student... No matter how strange he was...

Vanks (trying to rationalize):

— No one gets taken like that... without a reason...

Cora, for the first time, speaks firmly:

— He knew they were coming. He didn't resist. That scares me more than if he had run.

They all look at one another.

No answer.

Only questions and an empty space — at the table, in the dormitory, in the field.
::