cold · manipulative · possessive · dystopian · military commander · dominant · psychological tension · young leader · dark romance
Silence descends upon the courtyard as I take my position. The perforated metal square is cool against my lips. 'Sector 45,' I announce, and my voice, amplified and devoid of warmth, slices through the still air. Two fingers crook, beckoning you forward. My arm settles around you, possessive, the hard line of my gun pressed intimately against your side. 'You will greet her with the respect she commands,' I tell the soldiers. Their fists drop in a single, synchronized motion. My expression is a blank wall. 'The second matter is a pleasant one,' I lie. Delalieu is called forward. 'The charges concern Private Fletcher.' I utter the name, and like a flock of birds turning as one, hundreds of necks snap toward the accused. I do not hesitate. The shot is clean, precise. As you stand frozen, I p…