Welcome

WE ARE AN AU NON-CANON BLEACH ROLE PLAY, and no, we won't die in a month. Our creators are very dedicated to this project and are here to provide you with an easy-flowing, member-driven plot system. With an easy-to-understand ranking system as well as the ability to start out at higher ranks with custom characters, we hope to place more focus on plotting and writing than tedious gradings and inefficiency. Make an Espada or Captain, or even a Quincy or Bount. The sky's the limit on SLASHING OPERA.

Updates

JULY 9, 2014.
The site has been completely rebooted, complete with new guides, new plots, and more positions then before! Feel free to look around the forum, make your character, and start roleplaying!(STRIDER)

Credits

All content belongs to SLASHING OPERA staff and members. Skin theme by DOROTHA of Gangnam Style. Additional CSS, coding, and all graphics by AERIE. Skyward skin image from IITheYahikoDarkII on DA. If your artwork is being used here and you wish for credit or for it to be removed, please contact a staff member. Stealing, altering, or copying any aspect of SO is absolutely prohibited.

War Dogs [History/Solo]

new

« Prev
1
Next »

Junior Member

Dante Florencia

I JOINED ON January 1970. I'VE MADE 79 POSTS. I AM A SEXY Male.

War Dogs [History/Solo] Jan 5, 2014 22:33:03 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dante Florencia on Jan 5, 2014 22:33:03 GMT -5

† DANTE FLORENCIA †

From His high vantage point, the savior of all mankind looked down upon Dante where he knelt before Him, alone and vulnerable, for everyone to see if there were anyone present in that decrepit chapel that had been abandoned ever since The Fall. His stony gaze took in everything of him, a young man with black hair at the gates of his youth dressed in designer attire that was unmistakably a Giorgio Armani ensemble, right down to the thin red necktie that stood out from Dante’s predominantly black apparel. They were his favorite colors after all, especially when meeting someone of great importance who could very well define his career from that point on.

The Prayer of Saint Francis came out of Dante’s mouth in hushed tones, with every single syllable uttered in silence so that only he and his lord and master could hear. The prayer itself had been a part of him ever since the dark and turbulent days of his childhood when he was forced to violate every act he was taught as a good Christian should do just to survive and even more ironic was the fact that the prayer’s lines itself were completely contrary to his duties as a black market arms dealer which he had been ever since he reached legal age. Funny how my dad waited for me to reach the legal age before I could help him run an illegal trade, he thought after mouthing the last line of the Prayer. It was another day, another sale, and another opportunity to make money out of the expense of others. Their loss would be his family’s gain.

The Florencia family based in Florence, Italy used to be just like all the other families after The Fall, the grand uprising of powerful humans that stormed the world and left death and destruction in its wake. He was too young to understand it at the time and even now Dante did not know much about anything since he was too focused on eking out a living on his native soil that had transformed into a ‘necessarily oppressive’ theocracy ruled by church doctrine rather than freedom of expression. He personally did not like the way things went, but even so, Dante needed to play by the rules so the higher-ranking members of the Holy See they were able to pay off kept to their sermons and services without being forced to act to save their infallible facades – appropriate considering it was they who preached that one should not let the right hand know what the left was doing.

"Secrecy is its own security."

Junior Member

Dante Florencia

I JOINED ON January 1970. I'VE MADE 79 POSTS. I AM A SEXY Male.

War Dogs [History/Solo] Jan 5, 2014 22:37:23 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dante Florencia on Jan 5, 2014 22:37:23 GMT -5

† DANTE FLORENCIA †

Dante drew himself up from where he knelt and walked to the destroyed remnants of what used to be varnished mahogany pews. A mewl came out from under the debris as a small streak of white rushed out from beneath and proceeded to mewl and cuddle up to the man’s left pant leg. Mana was always so loving and playful ever since Dante found her nearly dead from starvation during last year’s winter and nursed her back to health until she was strong enough to go back to the wild. Instead, Mana chose to stay by the arm’s dealer’s side and he, on his part, accepted her company and gave her the name ‘Mana’ derived from the Hebrew word, ‘manna’ from the Bible story where Moses and his people received the ‘manna from heaven’ to satiate their hunger similar to how mana satiated Dante’s longing for a true friend.

Just as Dante was about pick up his friend, a pair of footsteps made themselves known from behind the duo. The man turned away from the altar to face Marco Albero, a silent and morose man with a heavy muscular build and a towering six foot figure. A former captain of the Vatican’s Swiss Guard, he now works as a chief security advisor and CEO for a prominent private military corporation. He was one of the major sources of income for the Florencia and what he wants he gets – it was the standard for VIP clients like him and his company.

“Bongiorno, signore Albero. How are we this fine morning?” chirped Dante with a warm smile as Mana curled herself around his neck like a living scarf like she always did.

The other man spoke in a deep and ragged voice, his naturally tanned olive face set to a frown. “I see your father was not able to make it to the drop today so he sent you. Well, it is good to see you well after all these years, but I would rather keep it simple. Just give it to me straight: how much do I owe you?”

Dante smiled at Marco’s gesture; he was the perfect client as far as his father was concerned: exorbitantly rich, well-connected, and always paid on time. However, the arms dealer knew that he could be better if he was only as delightful a speaker as he was a client, but being blunt and straightforward did have its advantages when in came to secret dealings.

The young man fished a piece of folded paper from his pocket and extended it toward Marco. “As per your request: forty Anzio 20mm Sniper Cannons, five hundred TAR-21 Assault Rifles, thirty-five MK-19 Auto Grenade Launchers, thirty-five M134 Miniguns, and more than enough ammunition for each to last three wars. Add in the cost for transportation, the rental costs for three convoys, and miscellaneous expenses, and you have yourself a bill for five million Euros.”

Marco did not even flinch as he took the piece of paper; he knew very well that the products were well worth the money he would pay for them by one simple reason: when the Florencia family deals guns, the iron-clad guarantee was that the wares are no less than top-class quality armaments. The mere fact that his agents had these at their disposal already gave them an advantage over their competitors as the sheer intimidation value of their ‘toys’ they received from the Florencia, even in the past, served as effective deterrents as they did as killing tools.

“The weapons will be delivered to you if you call the number written on that piece of paper. Do not worry about being tracked; the call you make will be filtered through five untraceable routers before connecting to the other line. If anything, the most someone will get to see is you making a call to the local McDonalds for delivery,” said Dante. “Now, how about the payment scheme we discussed?”

Without a second thought, Marco took out his cellular phone and pressed the speed dial to his personal assistant’s phone. “Wire in the money,” he said in a mildly cheerful voice that barely held back an expression of delight and then hung up as abruptly as he made his call. Everything was set and the money was going to be delivered to the Florencia accounts and all they had to do now was wait for a confirmation that the money had been received – a usual drill for large transactions which, considering the amount, would take thirty minutes or more. It was a lot of time to kill, but both men had nowhere they needed to be.

“So, while we are waiting, Mr. Albero, would you care for a little story?”

Marco nodded as he sat down on a dusty pew. “Humor me, Dante. Let me in on what happened since I last saw you.”

"Secrecy is its own security."

Junior Member

Dante Florencia

I JOINED ON January 1970. I'VE MADE 79 POSTS. I AM A SEXY Male.

War Dogs [History/Solo] Jan 5, 2014 22:41:09 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dante Florencia on Jan 5, 2014 22:41:09 GMT -5

† DANTE FLORENCIA †

A five-year old Dante stood on the second floor of the decrepit structure he used to call his family’s house and looked far beyond his broken bedroom window into the dirty streets that used to be Alte Piunare, one of the most high-end neighborhoods in the whole of Florence, Italy. It had been two months since his country had joined with the Vatican and established a new theocratic rule in place of what had once been a government run by the principles of democracy, but the young Dante did not understand any of that; all he knew was that ‘a lot of people got angry, so the government began shooting them’. He never really understood politics, but it was enough that he knew that politics got his playmate and his entire family massacred one night all because of one simple policy the new government created.

“Mandatory military service?” asked Dante as he ate another spoonful of his favorite Apple Jack cereal while both of his parents surround him on what was left of their once lavish-looking dining table. They were beside themselves with grief over the fact that their three children would be taken from them until their 15th birthdays before they could return to their parents’ care, but they forced themselves to keep a cheerful façade and comforted each of their children before they were shipped out one by one to Rome.

The eldest Florencia child, nine year old Margareta, had been shipped off two months before, and Dante’s remaining sister, seven year old Henrietta, also joined her elder sister a month after. Now it was Dante’s turn; and for what? Just to avoid being labeled as secessionists and killed like their neighbors were? No, they could not – it was better that way, or that was what they told themselves. The government would take care of their family, at least, until they would be able to stand on their own again. It was the best thing they could hope for.

His father replied with a held back sniffle. “Yes, it is when you train to become a defender of the world just like your favorite superhero, Superb Man.”

“Superman,” Dante corrected, “his name is Superman, papa! He can go faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, and able to leap tall buildings in a single bound!”

Dante loved Superman and idolized the American ever since he first read about him when he was four. Ever since then, Superman would be the word he would often use to describe himself whenever he would do something brave by his whims or as simply a manner to goad Dante into doing his chores used by his parents. Now he would get the chance to actually be like his idol and do all the amazing things he only read about until now, or that was what his childish imagination told him. However, he still could not accept that he needed to be away from his parents in order to do this which, for a child, was like choosing between eating a tub of ice cream or a full slice of chocolate cake. Besides, he had already been told that it was required of all children, so either way, he still had to go partly because he wanted to become like his hero and partly because he did not want the same fate as his playmate to befall his own family.

“Yes, yes, Superman. I am sorry, Dante.”

An awkward silence filled the room until the young boy finished his breakfast and flashed a confident smile to his parents – a smile which, they knew, would disappear from their daily lives soon. Dante, however, was oblivious and merely wanted to do one more thing while he waited for the inevitable and turned to his mother for her permission. “Mama, may I go up to my room? I want to say goodbye to all my comic books before I go!” he said. An invisible tear rolled down his mother’s cheeks and nodded in affirmation, muting a whimper as she did. How could she refuse? She would at least give her son that opportunity since it would be a long time since he would be calling out for Superman and his comics in their house again.

"Secrecy is its own security."

Junior Member

Dante Florencia

I JOINED ON January 1970. I'VE MADE 79 POSTS. I AM A SEXY Male.

War Dogs [History/Solo] Jan 5, 2014 23:20:19 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dante Florencia on Jan 5, 2014 23:20:19 GMT -5

† DANTE FLORENCIA †

“So that was how it all went down for you, huh?” spoke Marco with a slightly guilty undertone behind his booming voice. Dante smirked at this; it was clear that Marco still could not get over the fact that the people he used to work for had abandoned their sense of morals in order to better secure their new regime – ironic considering the fact that the Church was supposed to be the head of that department, at least, back before The Fall turned the world they knew topsy-turvy.

The young arms dealer stood up from the cracked marble steps of the tumble-down altar and approached the former soldier to place his hand on the other man’s shoulder. He comforted Marco. “Mr. Albero, it really was not your fault. What was done is done, and no matter how bad it was back then, I would have never become the way I am now without those hardships. After all, like the good book said, one cannot see the stars if one always had the light on,” he said. “Life is like peach whiskey; you need to endure the bitter bite at the start to appreciate the sweetness that came afterward.”

Marco raised an eyebrow out of surprise for he did not expect his friend’s son to have grown up to be so mature despite all the hardships he and his family had to endure. But just as he was about to say something, Dante’s own cellular phone rang to the tune of Beethoven’s famous Ninth. Upon hearing it, the young man excused himself from the conversation and answered only to receive grim news.

“Sir, the shipment has been attacked by the Sicilians! We have lost contact with the drivers and their escort teams and I am afraid that your life is in—” the female voice on the other line warned, but their conversation was cut short by the sharp pings of silenced weapons blaring outside of the church, sending over a hail of gunfire into the sacred hall. They must have arrived recently or else Dante had noticed them before the deal even began and he would have called the client for another meeting spot he knew was not compromised. That fact, however, left another, more important question: how were they even able to know where the meeting place was?

The thought of a possible security leak quickly went to the back of Dante’s head with the new development as Dante instinctively crouched down and crept toward the nearest cover he could find: a fallen column made out of thick granite that had once supported a part of the church’s ceiling that had now collapsed due to the abhorrent state of disrepair. Marco soon crawled over to Dante’s location from his seat, peering his head every once in a while to survey the situation. Mana, on the other hand, quickly jumped off her gaudy position by Dante’s neck and scurried off into the debris. If Marco had seen it, he would have thought of Mana as an ingrate who would abandon her companions, but he was too busy with something more important than insulting a cowardly animal, at least, from his point of view.

“I got three guys in assault uniform, all toting silenced MP9s. I am guessing it is the branch of the Sicilian Mafia we were tasked to deal with by our latest client, a high-powered politician within the upper echelons of Italy’s now-theocratic government,” explained Marco.

Dante’s head snapped to Marco in alarm. “A politico? What is his name?” he asked to which his client informed him. “Pietro Galluci? Damn it,” he cursed, “no wonder the Sicilians knew about us – you were the bait and I am the fish.”

Marco adjusted himself to sit and took out his two service pistols, handing one to Dante. “What? Do you mean this was all just a set-up?” asked Marco and cocked his gun to chamber in the first round. Dante did the same and explained the summarily explained the relationship between the politician and himself.

“As you may know, dealing weapons in this war-torn hell of a world we live in is a very lucrative business, and in that business, the Florenicas are one of the alpha dogs of the pack of warmongers. Of course, big dogs always attract bitches, but not every bitch can be a potential mate,” he smirked. “Simply put, Mr. Albero, your employer got pissed that we said no to his offer for political support in exchange for a cut of our profits. Why would we when we have most of their underlings in our pockets? There cannot be any crime without anyone reporting it in.”

The sound of the footfalls of the assassins closed in on their hiding spot as the two men readied themselves for battle in their own ways. Marco kissed the shining gun-metal gray of his Beretta 9000S, his favored side-arm, and mouthed out a small prayer for good luck. Dante, on the other hand, simply pulled out a pair of white clip-on ear buds that was connected to an iPod Mini hidden inside his coat’s inner breast pocket and put them on. He then pressed the play button as music flooded into the young Italian arms dealer’s ears.

Dante pressed the top of the gun Marco lent him to his forehead and muttered his personal credo with a sadistic smile etched on his face.

“No one can overcome me; there is nothing that can match me. My blows are unequaled; I am invincible—” Dante stood up from his protective cover, trained his weapon at the first surprised attacker his eyes saw, and pulled the trigger.

“—I am Invictus!”

"Secrecy is its own security."

Junior Member

Dante Florencia

I JOINED ON January 1970. I'VE MADE 79 POSTS. I AM A SEXY Male.

War Dogs [History/Solo] Jan 6, 2014 8:31:26 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dante Florencia on Jan 6, 2014 8:31:26 GMT -5

† DANTE FLORENCIA †

One week before the scheduled drop-off of the weapons shipment with Marco Albero, Dante and Mana sat down on the lone chair at the far end of the steel-lined briefing room aboard the USS San Diego, the United States Navy’s latest pet project, prototype super-carrier straight out of the production line, cruising the cool waters ten kilometers off the Italian coast. It was the largest state-of-the-art ship on the waters of the Adriatic – approximately five kilometers long and three kilometers wide – powered by its own nuclear reactor and equipped with enough anti-aircraft, anti-submarine, and anti-ship weaponry that could give an entire fleet of lesser ocean-craft a run for their money.

In addition to its already impressive features, the San Diego also designed to be partially self-sustaining as all the basic necessities of the crew from food, potable water, and electricity are made on-board. It was basically a floating city rather than a boat and Dante felt privileged to be one of the first few civilians to have ever set foot upon it. After all, he might never get to do so ever again, so it was best to make sure he took in the moment before it left him.

As the arms-dealing duo relaxed, the bolt-sealed hatch which led into the cold air-conditioned room opened and five men walked inside: two uniformed officers from the Navy, two members of the Central Intelligence Agency, and one rugged soldier fellow dressed and decorated in military fatigues with patches that indicated his rank as a squad captain. Mana herself snapped in attention and growled at the passing of the men, but a simple pat on the head by her partner was all it took to calm her down enough to return to her reverie on his lap.

“Good morning, Mr. Florencia; I assume you have been briefed by one of our agents before coming onboard?” one of the men from the CIA asked to which Dante responded with a curt nod. The overhead lights reflected off the man’s unusually pale face which made him more intimidating that he already was.

Before Dante could do anything else, the lights of the briefing room dimmed as a white projector screen dropped down from the ceiling and flashed the image of a very well-known political figure in the Holy See’s governing system, a man in his late fifties whom Dante knew if only by the bulldog-esque face that closely resembled the actual person: Pietro Galluci, personal secretary to the camerlango and considered to be one of Italy’s most powerful men because of it. The picture soon gave way to a series of other high-resolution photographs, obviously taken in secret, that showed Galluci talking with Dante’s father on several occasions, with the last being only a few months ago.

“I am sure you know what these two men talked about,” continued the agent. The Italian nodded once again – how could he not know? Galluci was one of the few people since the Florencia family’s rise to prominence in the criminal underworld who had enough gall and ego to actually try to muscle in on their cut from gun smuggling in exchange for ‘political blind-sighting’. He was an ass, both literally and metaphorically, and Dante personally enjoyed it when the corrupt cleric fumed his way out of their home with his face as red as that small cap he wore on his head.

The screen flashed again and this time showed the aging visage of one of Florence’s most vicious crime lords, a fairly handsome middle-aged man with thinning hair, a neatly-trimmed beard, and gray eyes. “But what you did not know was that ever since his last meeting, Galluci got himself acquainted with Francesco D’Angelo, a man whom we have been shadowing for almost two years as a suspect in an information heist that left nine people dead and the most powerful country in the world with one less dirty little secret in its skeleton-filled closet.”

Dante interjected, his mind quick to connect the dots, as always. “So are you trying to tell me that D’Angelo had something to do with what recently went down in New York?”

The man’s companion snapped out. “That is classified information; you are not obliged to—” he said, but the agent simply raised his hand before his partner held his words. “We are not sure, Mr. Florencia, but we are open to that possibility. As such, we would like a crack at him and cover our bases, but we want to do it in a way that would make Uncle Sam look like a hero and not like a vengeful drunkard baying for blood, despite the latter to be mostly true.”

The young man smiled. “And I am guessing that you want my help in on this considering a filthy mutt like me would be no stranger to getting tangled up with dirty junkyard dogs, huh? No risk, no rush, and Uncle Sam still gets to play the hero with a squeaky-clean ass.”

“I am happy to know that your reputation as a ‘bloodhound’ is not for show, Mr. Florencia,” said the man and gestured to the other men standing beside him, “but take heart that you will not be alone in this. Helping you in this entrapment operation will be the San Diego and her entire team of highly-skilled soldiers and—”

Just as the agent of the CIA was about to continue with his speech, Dante raised his hand for the man to stop. “Yeah, that is all well and good, but you seem to forget one thing: I am not a mercenary, I am but a simple merchant of hard-to-come-by goods,” he said, “so as much as I want to help, I am afraid that I cannot do anything with regard to this endeavor, my good sir.”

This time around, the man from the Agency smiled. “But from what I hear, your family has an iron-clad guarantee for top-class service for VIP clients. So how about I throw you a bone here: you do this for us and I will personally guarantee you that in the very near future, the Florencia family and Uncle Sam will become close friends. Very close friends, just like Lassie and Little Timmy.”

Dante’s lips parted to reveal a satisfied smirk. “Oh, I see. Well, in that case, I see no problems here.” The man stood up from his chair with Mana and walked over to the exit hatch of the room. “I mean, what are friends for, right?”

With that, the young man took his leave to prepare his plan of action.

"Secrecy is its own security."

Last Edit: Jan 6, 2014 8:36:14 GMT -5 by Dante Florencia

Junior Member

Dante Florencia

I JOINED ON January 1970. I'VE MADE 79 POSTS. I AM A SEXY Male.

War Dogs [History/Solo] Jan 6, 2014 9:41:14 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dante Florencia on Jan 6, 2014 9:41:14 GMT -5

† DANTE FLORENCIA †

Mana’s small frame easily allowed her to squeeze through the small hole on the side of the ruined church and swiftly run across the rubbish-filled streets of Florence and into another rotting and abandoned structure, an old five-story apartment complex two blocks away from where her partner and the client were being shot up by members of the Sicilian mafia. Inside, the arctic fox hurriedly pushed her small body as fast as her feet could take until she reached the top floor and entered the room with the door ripped off its hinges in order to fulfill her purpose for going there, just as her partner had told her to.

The ramshackle space where Mana ran into had turned from a decrepit pit into a makeshift weapons locker stocked up with a bewildering array of combat equipment enough for an entire five-man assault squad. On the musty old table were guns, knives, communication equipment, body armor, explosives, medical gear, survival packs, portable computers, and even two fully-armed man-portable anti-tank missile launchers. More importantly, however, the room contained Captain Davin Ross, a 36-year old veteran soldier and seasoned First Recon sniper, and his spotter, Sergeant Michael Parker, another member of the elite American sniper unit. Their motto was ‘The last thing you will never see’ – it was a dead-on description and so, too, were they.

As soon as Mana entered the room, the two men immediately knew that the time to do their job had come as they hurriedly rushed to their make-shift sniper’s nest near the window. Ross stared down the sights of the high-powered scope attached to his M39 EMR and let out a distressed whistle. “Looks like our boy is getting his money’s worth for this job, Mike,” Ross jested.

Parker shook his head. “Save the smart-ass comments for later, Dave; just do it just like he said – take out as many as you can for three minutes.”

“Three minutes? Heck, I could kill them all in two.”

“Then do it. But if you go past two minutes and one of them is still standing, you owe me a drink.”

It was usual for First Recon snipers to joke around before and during their duties because in the end, their morbid sense of humor held a modicum of truth. Soon, the duo opened up their shop and began to serve out steaming hot servings of fatal shots as target after target fell down one after another. Panicked at this sudden change of fortune, some of the assassins hid behind their cars, trash cans, and even in alleyways, but the 7.62x51mm NATO rounds made short work of those who made use of the first two kinds of cover. Every single bullet hit their mark which effectively reduced the number of attackers from a swarm of sixteen gunmen were reduced to a mere handful of five, including the two who headed inside the church.

“Death is our business and business is good,” muttered Ross under his breath just as the wristwatch timer for the three-minute green light window pinged to life. As cool as that may be though, it still did not change the fact that the sniper now owed a drink to his spotter who playfully jeered his comrade on his inefficiency. They did not even notice that Mana was now gone, and with her disappearance, so too were the two leather holsters that held two very special guns which Dante thought he would not need for his plan that day. His partner, however, thought otherwise.

"Secrecy is its own security."

Junior Member

Dante Florencia

I JOINED ON January 1970. I'VE MADE 79 POSTS. I AM A SEXY Male.

War Dogs [History/Solo] Feb 3, 2014 22:44:34 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dante Florencia on Feb 3, 2014 22:44:34 GMT -5

† DANTE FLORENCIA †

Three-Star General Francesco D’Angelo stood in the center of an amphitheater surrounded by row upon row of pure white seats which, for the moment, remained empty. The overhead spotlights focused on his aged, but well-built body which was accentuated by his sleek jet-black military uniform – the male variation of the new Italian military’s standard officer uniform. The light that reflected off his clothes shone brighter as they bounced off the row upon row of medals and accolades that hung on the left side of his uniform’s chest area. However, despite the spotlights being quite like the sunshine of the outside, he felt cold and uneasy.

Contrary to what he felt, he knew deep within his mind that he should feel safe in this place out of all the places he had been in his life. Fort Firenze was the military’s largest, most secure, and most advanced training facility the size of an entire city, located in an undisclosed area invulnerable to radar, sonar, and satellite detection due to the natural rock formations that surrounded its perimeters. Its borders were protected by a myriad of automated gun batteries, surface-to-air missile silos, and anti-armor Howitzer cannons, while Firenze itself has a powerful 50,000-strong standing military force of highly-trained defenders of the Italian flag.

In addition to its impressive border defense and human military, it, too, has its own fully-capable air force and the latest heavy-armor ground vehicles ready to be deployed at a moment’s notice while its seas were constantly patrolled by the Sixth Naval Fleet of the Navy. Moreover, in between the Special Selection training facility and fort’s surface were four hundred meters of reinforced steel and concrete, built to follow a honeycomb sandwich structure and designed to withstand two consecutive 50-megaton nuclear blasts while still retaining its overall rigidity for at least another nuclear detonation.

Despite knowing all that and more, D’Angelo still felt uneasy. Was it because his own granddaughter was going to be part of the new neophytes who would be trained to become soldiers of the Italian flag or was it that he was feeling guilty that he took away such a bright and cheerful child from the world of the light to mold her into a killing machine out of loyalty to his duty as a soldier? No, he had not time to ponder upon such things – he knew where his heart lay. Lucia was powerful, and if trained in the right way, he would be a great asset to the army. Plus, it would still be in keeping to his promise to her parents, and most importantly, his own daughter. He would keep her safe, and at the same time, train her to be able to keep herself safe in the future.

“Sir, 342 of the 1200 recruits made it through Labyrinth and are heading this way as we speak,” reported a young woman with short dirty-blonde hair who entered into the room and stood in attention beside the general. She, too, wore her uniform in the same manner as D’Angelo, albeit differing from him in that her clothes hugged her body more, had more buttons, and she had moderately less medals and accolades compared to her aged superior. With respect to the young woman’s physical features, she can be described as a striking lady who can be considered as very lovely for a soldier. She had chestnut-brown eyes that seemed to hold a murderer’s glare behind their initial crystalline gaze, but only if one was perceptive enough to look past her entrancing gaze. Her physique was fit and well-built, gratuitously accentuated by her uniform, which complimented her C-cup breasts and toned muscles. This young woman’s name was Maria Rosa, current Special Selection gunnery sergeant and former Italian Army Medical Corps captain.

D’Angelo shrugged off Maria’s impartial information and simply hoped that his own granddaughter was one of those who managed to make it through since his position as a general and overseer of the entire Special Selection would make the act of asking for it was conduct unbecoming of a person of his status. He knew that children who failed the initial assessment test would be sent up to the surface to be trained as part of the general military force, but he was confident that Lucia had too much drive and ambition to be clogged in with the chaff. She would be there and he would be there to welcome her.

Maria, on the other hand, had no more than regret in her mind with this entire project. She was a 22-year old woman from Florence who could best be described as moody and unpredictable with enough bravado that she would charge headlong into enemy fire to help a wounded soldier and with more than enough bite to back up her meteoric ego and arrogance, as her kill count would show. Yet, behind the rough exterior, Maria also has enough grace in her to act as her as her station demands, and even as a normal woman, if needed. She was the youngest person in the history of the Forze Armate Italiane to become a captain of her own squad in the at the age of 18, completed dozens of high-risk missions, and is famous for her role as a miracle worker, even under fire, to the point that that she was given the nickname ‘Mother Mary’ for her seemingly supernatural ability to save injured personnel regardless of the situation at hand. It is, therefore, no wonder why she was one of the people hand-picked to mold the children who passed the Labyrinth into formidable weapons of humanity. However, for Maria herself, her moniker was anything but accurate.

“Thank you, Maria. By the time they find their way here, I will be ready for them,” D’Angelo replied in a formal tone of voice.

“Sir, with all due respect, but I would respectfully ask that you refrain from calling me by just my name at least during work hours. We are supposed to be using our assigned—,” Maria said before being interrupted.

“Come on, Maria; since when have you been the type of lady who stuck to protocols? We are family here, after all – what is wrong with a father calling one of his daughters by her name?”

The gunnery sergeant shook her head. “Sir… ah screw it, you are right, gramps. All this formality shit never really suited me which only makes me wonder why in the world you picked me for this gig. A combat medic is not always suited to be a babysitter, you know.”

D’Angelo laughed. “Pardon me for my selfishness, but like I said, there is this one child I would want you to train. She has a bigger destiny to fulfill and I believe that you are the person who can best help her get the foothold he needs to start the journey.”

Maria raised her eyebrow in disbelief. “Look, old man, I could not care less about a kid even if it is your own grandkid. Besides, the thought of me being an instructor even to normal children is already absurd. How do you think a woman without a fully-functioning maternal instinct could handle all these whining brats in the first place? Also, how in the world are you even sure she would be here in the end?”

“I know because I have faith; and also, this is a good opportunity for you to train your maternal instinct then. It might also be good for you to show your emotions every once in a while; after all, you are not getting any younger and I would not want to see you grow into a spinster. It would be a waste of your charm and those child-bearing hips of yours,” said the general with a hearty chuckle.

She snarled in response. “You dirty old geezer – what I become in the future is of no concern to you. How I wish I was born ugly so that I could just focus on my job instead of being ogled by my own men. Do you even know how awkward it is to ask my squad to ‘watch my six’?!”

Just as D’Angelo could give another reply their conversation was interrupted by an announcement that the 342 recruits are already outside of the amphitheater.

“Sir, the recruits are outside and awaiting your command to send them in,” said a male disembodied voice who spoke through the speaker system.

“Good. Call out all the instructors before sending them in – I want them to be here with me when I address the children of what they will be going through and what they have been forced to signed up for.”

The suggestion perked up Maria’s interest. While she gave a barely audible grunt of approval at her superior’s words, it was in her nature to question it. “Tell them the truth? Old man, do you think this is the best course of action? Truth has its risks,” she warned.

“So is lying. This will be the first time we would be training children because of the Compulsory Military Service Act, more so with exceptionally gifted children. This is not a church homily; if we tell them honeyed words that they would be trained to become knights who can save the princess every single time, once they learn just how insignificant they are in the face of the things we usually deal with, there is a chance that they would rebel or worse.”

D'Angelo sighed. “Either way, I just want this over with. They will adapt or they will fall, in which case we will simply send them to be normal soldiers.”

With the general’s last words, four sets of double doors opened up by the side of the amphitheater as seventeen black-clad officers walked up to the center where the two stood. They positioned themselves neatly in a single file with the esteemed general taking the middle part and Maria, the most promising out of all the trainers, stood at his right. Everyone was here – now they can begin.

“Send them in.”

"Secrecy is its own security."

Last Edit: Feb 13, 2014 23:16:22 GMT -5 by Dante Florencia

Junior Member

Dante Florencia

I JOINED ON January 1970. I'VE MADE 79 POSTS. I AM A SEXY Male.

War Dogs [History/Solo] Feb 4, 2014 0:10:54 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dante Florencia on Feb 4, 2014 0:10:54 GMT -5

† DANTE FLORENCIA †

The sound of four simultaneous bursts from Dante’s Beretta 9000S resounded within the collapsed atrium of the small chapel like the crash of thunder on a stormy day. He had successfully hit his marks, with two slugs non-fatally injuring one attacker in the left shoulder and right thigh while one bullet buried itself into the chest of the gunman next to him to cause heavy, but similarly non-fatal damage since the bullet simply passed through his body. The last bullet missed any of the initial three men, but in a stroke of luck, managed to score a clean strike into the torso of one of the two men who had come in from the outside to deal a similarly non-mortal wound.

When the two remaining men saw Dante’s visage, they immediately turned their guns to him and prepared to shoot to kill. What they did not realize in their haste, however, was that another man had already zeroed in on them and let loose three consecutive bursts from his own firearm which hit the gunman nearest to Dante in the head, instantly killing him, while one of the bullets smashed into the brittle concrete pillar which partly supported what was left of a ceiling behind one of the attackers which missed the latter by mere inches and only startling him. He immediately rushed to cover behind one of the rotted pews before emerging minutes later with a fragmentation grenade in hand.

“Frag!” Dante shouted before he trained his sights at the man with the explosive in an attempt to stop him before he managed to hurl it over to their position, not only endangering them, but also the lives of his injured comrades. It was clear that the man held no concern for his comrades so long as the mission was completed and the target was eliminated: a sign, in Dante’s eyes, of a hardened and amoral soldier of fortune, if not a highly trained operative trained to complete the mission no matter the cost. However, the Italian had more pressing matters to attend to than to deal with the enemy’s supposed lack of empathy.

Just as the man was about to let loose his primed bomb, a familiar white streak flashed in his peripheral vision before his eyes fixated upon the two pairs of handguns which were still in their holsters, flying in mid-air, a split-second later. Dante almost instinctively allowed his borrowed gun to drop to the floor – and accidentally fire out a round because of the impact – and shot both of his arms forward to grab the handles of the two guns that were almost hovering before him.

In the time that Dante managed to obtain two new weapons, the attacker had already let loose his payload and ducked back to the pew he had been using as cover. Dante, however, stayed his ground and managed to twist his body just enough to swing one massive handgun with a white cross design in the direction of the lobbed grenade at the exact moment it was just about to bounce off the floorboards beneath the arms dealer.

With the power of eighteen years of intense physical training, amplified by momentum and eight kilograms of additional weight, the grenade raced out of the chapel door and into the window of one of the parked cars outside where it later detonated, scattering razor-sharp shrapnel and broken glass in its immediate vicinity, shredding what remained of the hostile forces that had rushed back to the safety of their cars in the hopes of a quick getaway from the combat zone after their mission was done.

The last gunman only stared in disbelief as his own grenade was used to wipe out his entire team in what could only be described as a miraculous judgment call on the part of his targets. He was in shock at the incredulous turn of events before his flabbergast ended when he crushed by debris that came down on him when the pillar that had been hit just moments ago. He thought it would hold for at least another shot, and he would be right, had it not been for a stray bullet from Dante’s borrowed Beretta hitting the exact same spot as the previous bullet when it discharged its chambered round, and pushed the already damaged pillar to the breaking point. With the gunman’s death, the ordeal was over.

“Whoa, that was close!” Marco exclaimed and walked over to Dante as he holstered his Beretta. He then picked up the gun he lent to the young Italian and snidely commented, “You better pray that you did not damage my gun’s firing mechanism or else it would come out of your pay!” he said.

Dante, for his part, simply snickered and bent down to allow Mana to jump onto his shoulder. “Sorry about that, signore; just send me the repair bill if, indeed, your gun has been damaged.”

After holstering his second Beretta, Marco examined the damage they had dealt and smiled confidently. He turned his attention back to Dante with his hands on his waist. “Well, regardless of my gun’s condition, I have to say that you make quite the soldier. I have no idea how we pulled this off, especially with the last bit, without even getting a scratch.”

The Italian shook his head. “We were simply lucky, signore; had things not went the way they did, we would be the ones in their place.”

Marco raised an eyebrow in response. “Luck? Really? I saw the way you moved though; there is no way this was just luck! Give yourself some credit, kid! You were a killing machine!”

Dante sighed knowing it would be better to just leave his client with whatever he believed in. “Well, be it skill or luck, we are alive and our enemies are broken before us – that is all that matters,” he said. “And no, I would not say that I am a killing machine. As much as possible, I dislike taking the lives of others; however, if left with no other choice, I would not hesitate to do so—”

—because I am weak, he thought to himself, and weak people kill their enemies because they are not strong enough to bear the burden of sparing or saving a life. Be it for God, for country, or whatever, murder is, and always will be, done only in the name of the murderer.

"Secrecy is its own security."

Junior Member

Dante Florencia

I JOINED ON January 1970. I'VE MADE 79 POSTS. I AM A SEXY Male.

War Dogs [History/Solo] Feb 4, 2014 1:24:55 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dante Florencia on Feb 4, 2014 1:24:55 GMT -5

† DANTE FLORENCIA †

With a loud hum, the automated main doors of the amphitheater opened to reveal those children who had succeeded in passing the first test which determined the extent of their powers. They were put inside the Labyrinth, a vast and complicated maze which they were asked to navigate in pitch-black darkness without anything except their natural instincts to guide them to the exit. It was to see how fully developed their skills were, considering all the clues and hints as to where to go were so expertly hidden that only the best of the best would be able to figure them out, as well as ascertain their mental and physical toughness since not everyone can think calmly when put under extreme stress.

To think that only 342 managed to pass was disappointing – in the past, the average was 400 recruits – but it was still a good outcome since the only thing D’Angelo cared about was Lucia, who was part of the 342 candidates who successfully completed the first trial. Of course, thought D’Angelo; his granddaughter followed in his footsteps since she was a girl with a passion to succeed that was as fiery as her hair and far surpassed her peers in terms of beauty, intelligence, and strength, so it was only natural for her to be part of the winning bracket. Behind her, however, walked a young boy with raven hair who had been holding Lucia’s hand as soon as they came into view. The general dismissed it immediately.

When the automated doors finally completed opening, 342 children marched out and took their seats in the rows of the amphitheater which was capable of seating 500 people at a time. A young Dante looked around his new surroundings and his fellow neophytes – it was the time when he realized that he was really going to become a superman just like he had always dreamed of. The young half-Italian boy wanted nothing more than to save people, defeat villains, and help those that needed it; and this would be his chance to make that dream into reality. The boy’s grip on Lucia’s hand tightened which alarmed the girl who had chosen to seat beside him.

“What is the matter?” she asked out of genuine concern. Dante shook his head and smiled. “It is nothing,” he replied, “just a little happy we made it through together.”

Having turned his attention to the stage, Dante and Lucia saw his grandfather and the latter waved to him. However, the general pretended to ignore her since he needed to produce an aura of authority, although he did curtly bow his head a little towards her direction as a sign of acknowledgement. Lucia was alarmed and she froze in her seat. “Do you think he knows what happened inside that place?” she asked her seatmate. Dante shook his head; he was sure he did not know since there were no cameras in the place where it happened. Moreover, he was sure because he was the one who disabled the said camera in that place after having mistaken it for a cockroach. With that, Lucia breathed a sigh of relief and returned to grasping the boy’s hand.

D’Angelo looked around and saw the faces of all the young boys from different parts of the country who were there to become saviors, heroes, and knights of justice. Pangs of guilt gripped D’Angelo’s heart for what he was about to do, but it was what his soul told him to do. Whatever happened next he would accept wholeheartedly. At least his conscience would be clear. With that, the general cleared his breath, and with a loud booming voice, he started. He needed to be careful since he did not want to confuse them with things they have no knowledge of. Straight and simple – it was how it was supposed to be.

“Children, welcome to the glorious Italian army, the vanguard of our proud nation’s defense against forces who seek to shatter our peace and harmony. You have been called – no – chosen out of hundreds of other candidates to partake in this advanced course for exceptionally gifted youth. However, if you have dreams about being a hero, a legend, or a knight who can protect everyone, I am telling you right here and right now to cast those dreams away!”

Dante was visibly alarmed by what he just heard, more so compared to the other children. The general saw this and smirked a little – it would be easier for them to accept reality now than to suffer a mental breakdown later on.

He continued. “I know what I am saying now was different to what other members may or may not have said to all of you to get you to join this crusade, but please understand, I am only being realistic. In essence, the organization you just entered into has become nothing more than a kennel for war dogs under the jurisdiction of the Vatican’s Holy See. We are not knights nor are we heroes, and we are most certainly not legends – we are simply just men and women who see to it that no man would come over and destroy what men have built. We are the guard dogs of the people and of the State andwould gladly bite off more than we can chew if it would serve the greater good. That is who we are – what you will be, if you succeed in your training.”

With his words, Dante’s initial feeling of betrayal slowly passed as the older man’s words sunk into the core of his soul. He knew then and there that the person before him was saying was the truth, without lies or deception. It was what they were going to expect, and in a way, he appreciated what Lucia’s grandfather was doing not only for his sake, but also for the sake of his fellow recruits. At least, Lucia’s tightening grip on his own hand tended to point him to that conclusion. To have a dream dashed later on due to false promises and hopes would be devastating; it would be better if all of them knew right from the start what to expect so, at least, they do not have the right to say that they were forced to continue this special training regimen.

“You already knew what to expect when you got on the plane to come here. You will not be able to see your families until you are fifteen – every single person here will be your family during that span of time; Fort Firenze will be your home; and your drill instructors, your mother and father. Training will be hard, but in the end, whether or not you succeed will be up to you. Once again, children, I welcome you to the first day to the rest of your life.”

It was it – his conscience was happy. The general had not lied to them one single bit, and even if it would mean that the number of recruits who would probably quit after his little speech. It was hard to understand the logic and morality of what they were going to do, but it had to be done – the war was not getting any easier and they could not allow latent potential to be simply lost when it could be properly harnessed to the benefit of the people. They needed the children more than the children needed them, but it was something they needed to keep under wraps since recruits were still recruits no matter how they were acquired. At least D’Angelo gave them what he thought was due: the truth behind the honeyed words that convinced most of them to join.

Immediately after the general ended his speech, Dante rose up from his seat while still holding his seatmate’s supple hand. The children, including Lucia, were in awe of his defiance while the instructors, including D’Angelo himself, looked at the young lad with mixed reactions. “Grand—“ he stopped himself. “—sir, you said that you were not knights, heroes, or legends who can help people, right? In that case, if someone were to become a hero, a legend, or a true knight like that, then that would make that person the first of his kind?” asked Dante in a slightly optimistic tone, his eyes ablaze with childish zeal and fervor.

“Correct,” he replied, just noticing that Dante and Lucia’s hands were connected.

“If that is the case, all I need to do is to do my best to become all of those things, right?”

A smile formed on both the general and Maria’s lips, but the latter personally wanted to test this little upstart.

“Big words, little man; and what makes you so sure that you can even stand up to the training, kid? This is not Little League anymore; this is the real deal. What you are saying is impossible,” Maria posited as if challenging the five-year old.

“Because I do not and that uncertainty makes me want to try harder than anyone else!” he exclaimed with exuberance and confidence. “It is the possibility of being able to achieve a dream that makes life so interesting, and the more people say it is impossible, the more I want to exceed their expectations! There is nothing good about shrinking so that other people can feel comfortable around you – we were all meant to shine and manifest the glory of God within us; and as we shine, we automatically liberate others and give them permission to do the same!”

Dante continued, this time raising his hand to the heavens. “I have no time to waste on listening to things which I already know. Sure it will be a long and difficult road, and sure it will be filled with crushing defeat and deep sorrow; however, I promised myself that I would become a knight who will protect everyone! I will be something greater than the greatest; he who, one day, will match the gods themselves! I will become the One Solitary Shield that will protect all those he cares about! I will be Superman!”

A moment of silence came first before the entire room burst out into laughter, but it was the kind of laughter that was more of awe than it was mocking. It was at this point that Dante cemented his status as the most daring of all the recruits with his aura of cool, calm confidence being almost as brilliant as the soft radiance of the moon itself. His words struck the hearts of his peers, even those who were once trembling with fear. It was as if Dante had taken all of their uncertainty away and turned it into courage and strength. For a five-year old boy to do that, people could say that he was a born leader through and through. That and not to mention his vocabulary was already quite voluminous and complex for a child his age.

Amused at this sudden turn of events, D’Angelo addressed Dante in a playful manner. “What is your name, son?”

“Dante Florencia, sir!” he replied.

“So, Mr. Dante Florencia, since you are just planning on making yourself a heroic knight, may I ask why you are already trying to get yourself a princess to save?” he asked to point out the fact that he and Lucia were still holding hands. The other children laughed while Lucia blushed red, but the young boy defied all expectation and raised his seatmate up to stand with him.

“She is not my princess, sir! Lucia is the Wonder Woman to my Superman – my friend, sir! And heroes fight alongside their friends!”

Another round of laughter erupted, but instead of laughing with them, the general bowed his head and smiled to himself. A friend, huh? he thought.

After the orientation of the new recruits, the children were guided into their barracks by the assistant drill instructors. The seniors discussed amongst themselves about what they wanted to do and who they thought would be quite suited to be battalion leader, but everyone had one name coming out from their mouths: the name of Dante Florencia. While the other deliberated, Maria approached his superior with a satisfied smirk.

“I see why you wanted me to supervise your granddaughter’s training, sir. With a friend like that mouthy brat, she needs all the personality and character development she could get,” jested Maria, but she herself did not admit that the young man’s words moved her quite a bit. She had already given up on being a heroine a long time ago, but maybe, just maybe, she would be able to help others attain what she could not.

“I told you, Maria, my granddaughter has a greater destiny – I entrust you with helping him achieve it. You are the only one who can,” D’Angelo replied. “And I expect you to do the same with that young boy with her. I feel that he would be crucial to her development, so I ask you to train him as well.”

She smiled and gestured an informal two-fingered saluted.

“Mission accepted, general.”

"Secrecy is its own security."

Junior Member

Dante Florencia

I JOINED ON January 1970. I'VE MADE 79 POSTS. I AM A SEXY Male.

War Dogs [History/Solo] Feb 13, 2014 23:23:51 GMT -5

Quote

Post by Dante Florencia on Feb 13, 2014 23:23:51 GMT -5

† DANTE FLORENCIA †

“Wake up, you maggots!” shouted the all too familiar voice of one of their many instructors beside Dante’ left ear. It had already been seven months since their brutal training regimen had begun and he, like all the others, had learned to wake up immediately when the men and women in white and black uniforms roused them, often noisily and violently, from their blissful sleep. Before he would just roll over to continue his reverie until a painful jolt of electricity from a cattle prod would run up his body from his feet. Now, Dante knew better than to laze around; there was no reasoning with their instructors – you either woke up on your own or they wake you up with a cattle prod; plain and simple.

Like a robot activated after a night’s worth of recharging, Dante and his fellow trainees followed a time-worn routine in the same manner as machines booted up their operating systems before swiftly making their beds to a nice, clean hotel-quality bunk. After awakening, the trainees then ran to the showers for their morning rituals and took quick cold baths to wake themselves up, brushed their teeth, combed their hair, and went back to their bunks to change into their training uniforms comprised of a gray sweatshirt, camouflage army pants, thick black socks, and lead-soled combat boots that weighed in at around ten pounds each.

While on his way back from the showers, Dante did not even bat an eye at the half-naked girls that waited for their turn in the showers behind similarly-clothed boys. After seven months of the same sight over and over again, it had become a normal thing for the young Brit. It also helped that, being just five years old, he still had not developed that carnal hunger for the opposite sex which the Italian would not have until he had reached fifteen.

Unlike the traditional division of men and women in the army, the new training regimen specifically required that the girls and the boys all sleep in the same barracks not only for the purpose of fostering camaraderie without gender discrimination in their young minds, but also to forge mental fortitude to resist carnal temptations as time went on.

To further improve both aspects of their development, their training was ten-times harder than that of the French Foreign Legion or the Green Berets, thus forcing them to rely on each other rather than on themselves alone. It was a system that worked so well that it is still followed even after it was first devised and used ages ago to the benefit of the military: highly trained soldiers with unmatched discipline, unity, and esprit de corps – a well oiled military unit that acted, killed, and ultimately survived as one.

“Move, move, move, and get your asses out on the double!” another instructor roared as those who were already finished dressing up scampered out of the barracks to the training area just outside which simulated what it was on the surface, from the early morning indigo sky to the dew that stuck to the blades of grass that the gunnery sergeant stood. Even after living there for seven straight months, Dante still could not believe just how well their underground training camp mimicked the daily occurrences of the world above, but the boy knew he had better things to do that daydream; rather, had no time to enjoy such a thing since he, like the rest of his fellow recruits, were more worried about what the instructors would have them do.

After ten minutes after the morning call, all the trainees had finished their respective businesses and had already assembled into several rows outside of their barracks without even being asked to do so, their training having already given them that instinct. “The early bird gets the worm, but here, the early birds get more time to exercise! On the ground, now!” an instructor barked followed by the sound of a myriad of footfalls and grunts as the children dropped to the ground. “Give me a hundred squat-thrusts and I better not see any of you slacking off! The last one to finish will be the lucky one to run around the camp three times and do another hundred squat-thrusts again!”

Like a man possessed and terrified of the prospect of being last again, Dante threw himself on the ground and did the proper squat-thrusts much faster than any other recruit. However, by this time, nobody was surprised at it anymore since Dante was always the fastest one to start and the fastest one to reach the high eighties, but nevertheless, was always the last one to finish every single day, but not because he was weak or lazy. The boy was determined to not be last to get to a hundred this day – he wanted to get this warm-up exercise over with before she came along and sabotaged everything.

To the other children, Dante had more reason than any of them to finish and they cheered him on in silence since they were afraid to get disciplined for unwarranted noises. To run around their training camp as big as five football fields was no easy task, and to also have to do squat-thrusts immediately after that run – it was a feeling that they knew the young boy from Florence was accustomed all too well. His toned knees and arms had already been accustomed to the burn from doing it daily for over half a year already, but it did not make it any less painful or, for their part, agonizing to watch as their friend gets brutalized day after day. Dante and his comrades were united in the hope that, at least for today, Dante would to train just like everyone else for a change.

“Ninety-one…ninety-two…ninety-three,” counted Dante on his own while the rest of his peers were still in their sixties. He was confident that he would finish first since he was much faster today than he was yesterday, his arms and legs pumping like the high-powered pistons that propelled the bullets from the guns they fired during live-fire shooting range exercises. Yes, he was sure he could do it today. For once, I would not be Maria’s plaything, thought the boy with a smile. Seconds later, however, that smile turned into a dismayed frown.

“Ninety-four!” a female voice shouted which sent a familiar feeling of dread down every trainees’ spines as the instructress whom Dante despised the most, Maria, came rushing out from the artificial morning horizon and jumped on the five-year old boy’s back just as he finished his ninety-fourth squat-thrust. The force of the sudden impact slammed Dante’ chest on the hard ground and knocked the wind right out of him, leaving the boy gasping for air while the other trainees finished up their 100 consecutive squat-thrusts. In the end, the boy once more became the last one to finish.

The other children should have expected this by now, but, it was still hard for them to stomach just how badly Dante was being treated as if being singled out from the other recruits there. Anyone who spoke out against the manner by which he was being treated by Senior Instructress Maria would be forced to join him for the day in his special training regimen. Despite that, it did not stop another peculiar child, apart from Dante, who always spoke out to her, day after day, for the past seven months.

“Give him a break, ma’am! He was already in ninety-four squat-thrusts before you sat on him!” cried out a beautiful hot-tempered five-year old girl with hair just as fiery as her attitude, with clear cerulean eyes that contrasted her temperament which stared at the sight before her just as she always did ever since the first time she saw the maltreatment; and each and every day after that, she never failed to chastise the latter.

“Oh good morning to you, Lucia; a lovely day we are having, huh? Do you think it is nice enough to take a jog in?” Maria mocked all the while still sitting comfortably on a struggling Dante’ body as if it were but a mere lawn chair.

Lucia ignored the comment. “Ma’am, with all due respect, Dante is still recovering from what you had him do yesterday,” the girl explained. Maria merely smiled at the child's vain attempts to convince her to lay off her favorite plaything not knowing that both of them would thank her for it in the future.

“Well, if you say so. It cannot be helped~” the woman said in a sickeningly cute tone of voice as she got off Dante’s back and onto her feet, much to the latter’s relief. “Help her up, Lucia, my dear! The three of us will be running around again, so get to it! We have another fun day ahead of us!”

Without as much as a word of defiance, Lucia crouched down and helped her best friend to his feet. Their clothes were sweaty and stuck to their bodies which were now quite chiseled and hardened like those of other soldiers four times their age – a result of their daily training and extreme conditioning which Maria personally gave out. However, no matter how hard their trainers were already pushing them, Lucia and Dante knew that this kind of punishment was just child’s play compared to what Maria had in store. After all, Lucia also trained side-by-side with Dante ever since the first day.

“Stupid…you did it again today. You should have just kept your mouth shut, Lucy…,” mumbled Dante in-between deep pants and wheezes, but a satisfied smile formed upon his lips.

“And leave you to suffer by yourself? Oh please; as always, I did it simply because it was the right thing to do. That is what justice is – that is the justice I have always believed in. Besides, someone has to pick you up when you collapse from exhaustion, right?” rebutted Lucia and reciprocated Dante’s smile with a smile of her own.

“Hey, stop wasting daylight! If you do not get a move on, I will make the laps go up from three to five!” threatened the instructress. Almost immediately the two children began their stride into a run and thus beginning another day of intense training under one of the most feared women in the Italian National Army.

"Secrecy is its own security."