As the forced stop dragged out longer and longer, Dirk was growing impatient, tapping his fingers idly on the steering wheel, looking out into the snowy abyss with a gaze that clearly betrayed his annoyance. If not for the fact that he was a driver, he would have gone out himself to help Ted plant the damn beacon, but alas, he could only wait for Black to–

  - Black here, heading out. - the radio crackled as the old man finally announced his departure. It took him a hot minute to prepare, but at last things were going to progress.

  - Roger that. Did you bring a diaper change for old Teddy? - Dirk joked to distract himself from his own restlessness.

  - He can wipe his own ass. - the oldest of the group snapped back.

  - Apparently not, as evident by your unplanned trip outside.

  - I can hear you, assholes. - Ted growled through the microphone, not too happy about the ribbing.

  - Oh, oops. Wrong channel. - Dirk raised his eyebrows in fake surprise and looked towards Jason. The joke seemed to have landed well, as the boy snorted lightly.

  - What’s taking you so long? I can feel my fingers turning to fucking popsicles.

  - No fair, Teddy-boy. We don’t get desserts like that in our rations! - a female voice joined in on the conversation. It was Barbara, the mech pilot linking over from another truck, probably bored out of her mind.

  - Oh, great, this is just what I needed. - Ted grumbled.

  - What? Aren’t you happy to talk with a lady? Didn’t know you swing the other way, but don’t worry, I don’t judge. - she mocked, eliciting a few laughs from the crew. She was naive for a merc, but her foul mouth sure sounded the part at times.

  - Typical cunt. They always either go for the small dick or call you gay. - Ted scoffed. - Why don’t you make that hunk of junk of yours useful already and help out here, huh? I bet it at least has a heater inside to warm my freezing balls.

  - If you want I can heat them up for you. You prefer a bit of torsion to get your blood flowing, or are we going straight to combustibles? Because oh boy, I have waited a while to use fire on something. I–

  - Alright, enough of this bullshit. You two lovebirds can continue this on another frequency, or shut up. - Dirk interjected before the squabbling got totally out of hand. - Black, do you have visual?

  - Fuck no. - he shot back immediately.

  - Alright. Go to the front of the truck and turn 30 degrees to the left. It’s a straight walk, shouldn’t be any trouble.

  - Roger.

  With that, the radio went silent for a while, letting Dirk lean back in his seat. He sighed heavily and stretched his neck.

  - I don’t understand how Maggie was able to manage this bullshit for so long.

  - So many years and kilometers apart, and you still can’t stop thinking about her. - Jason took a cheeky jab at Dirk. One apparently not well received.

  - I’m stating a fact, Chrysos. As a professional, I simply admire her mental fortitude.

  - Oh, I see how it is. - he squinted his eyes, pondering if he should start a squabble of his own, the sound of his surname somehow ticking him off. He decided against it, as he felt his simmering frustrations stir something within him. Something best held back. - You were the leader of your unit, though. Weren’t you, I don’t know, always giving out orders?

  - It was with the people I could trust with my life. Everyone knew when to act properly and when to goof around. Don’t compare my men to this rabble. - Dirk exhaled heavily through his nose, good memories rising to the surface, where they got immediately tainted by the harsh reality. - Besides, that was the thing. Maggie was the relay for the most vital information. I might have made decisions on the fly, but she was the one parsing the information and feeding it to the right people. Avatar was a well-oiled machine. This convoy though?

  The radio crackled again, as if to make a point for Dirk.

  - Fucking hell, hold it straight, you old fart!

  - Less yapping, more planting, you little shit. I’ll have to run maintenance on my favorite parts because you are too chicken shit to walk five steps further by yourself.

  The conversation was pretty demonstrative of the level their ragtag bunch was on. Which wasn’t very high.

  - This is chaos. - he pointed to the radio with his thumb, making it seem like some kind of punchline to a joke.

  As much as he was complaining, the objective was completed in a timely manner, and the two mercs returned to the truck soon after to the tune of the howling wind, almost completely covered in snow.

  That there was another reason why the mercs didn’t enjoy the beacon excursions. It was because all the heat from their favorite exit-turned-lounge got completely drained every time they had to open the back door.

  It didn’t help that the truck wasn’t particularly well-heated to begin with and, as such, the morale dropped harshly and often.

  Dirk turned on a small monitor in the driver’s cabin, connected to a camera in the exit bay to make sure everyone was intact. The speaker buzzed to life almost immediately as a whooshing wind hit the microphone.

  - I hate the snow. - Ted huffed through chattering teeth, pulling on the lever that closed the door extra hard.

  - Interesting choice of a workplace, then. - Black snorted, shoving the man aside, already lost in his own world as he disassembled his gun.

  - Do you have to do this every fucking time, you relic? If your demented brain needs stimulation, we can get you a crossword book on the next stop. - he hissed with discontent. It was true, though, that Black’s quirk of assembling his weapons from zero every time he needed to use one was very ineffective.

  - There’s a right tool for every job, you bastard. Wouldn’t expect a third-rate like you with a one-solves-all approach to understand.

  - Enough, gentlemen. - another voice joined the conversation as somebody else entered the compartment. He wore a thick winter coat and a scarf, but even under all that material, his thick arms showed through. It was Michael Becker, the second gun-specialist of their group.

  - Piss off, amateur. - Black snapped at the new arrival.

  - Didn’t I teach you not to antagonize people yet? - he snapped back, pointing to his own brow where, in a corresponding place on Black’s face, a big gash was stitched and healing.

  - I’m not interested in you. I’m leaving. - he didn’t even spare the guy a glance as he beelined for his quarters deeper inside the truck.

  Michael sighed with annoyance, already on his way to a small crate surrounded by a few smaller ones acting as a gathering spot for all the mercs. Even though the bay was freezing now, he seemed to want the best spot for himself.

  - You’re not much better, Ted. Does your gob ever shut up? - he raised an eyebrow at the whiny guy, who was busy blowing warm air in his hands.

  - Mind your own business, fatso. How about you go out for a change? All that lard is bound to insulate you pretty well.

  Michael didn’t say anything, but judging from his frown, he wasn’t thrilled about the comment. He took a deep breath and pulled out a small jar from one of his pockets, handing it to Ted.

  - An ointment from Armistice. He said not to bother him with frostbite unless your hands start turning blue.

  - That quack. - he growled with phlegm in his throat, but took the jar nonetheless, ready to also make his exit.

  - It’s supposed to last you a week. Don’t waste it.

  - Fuck off.

  With the situation reaching its conclusion and everybody still breathing, Dirk shut off the feed with one hand, fiddling by the ignition with the other, ready to continue their journey, but just as the engine started purring, Jason frantically reached for his helmet and put it on, rising to his feet, so as not to be seen sitting in a place meant for humans. As if on cue, a knock on the door reverberated through the cabin.

  - What is it? - Dirk murmured under his nose, suddenly feeling tense. Or perhaps he was tense all along, and just realized it now.

  With a click and a quiet squeak, the door to the cabin opened, revealing the intruder. It was Armistice with a clipboard in his hand and reading glasses already on his nose. His stubble seemed extra dark in the shadow of the poorly lit cab, and the dark circles under his eyes seemed to drip even lower onto his cheeks, like smeared mascara.

  He slept normally, as far as Dirk could tell from the few conversations he’d overheard, and he didn’t have the opportunity to work very hard yet, as injuries were sparse and far in between, at least for now. But apparently there was something else draining energy from the poor sod.

  With a lazy step and not a word of greeting, he shambled his way towards the seat where Jason was sitting not 10 seconds ago and slumped down onto it, completely disregarding the hulking colossus next to him.

  - Huh. Warm. - he mumbled, adjusting in the chair.

  - Can I help you? - Dirk asked as neutrally as he could.

  Armistice sighed and fixed both the sleeves on his white overalls, then reached for the single rough-looking pen sticking out from his breast pocket.

  - Well, since you seem insistent on living in the cab, and the worst medical emergency thus far has been a case of diarrhea, we might as well get some of the formalities out of the way. I’m here to collect some of your medical data

  - So you’re bored.

  - To an extent. But this work cannot be disregarded, as menial as it is.

  - Don’t you have Ted to take care of? - Dirk tried to steer the conversation away from himself, not really feeling like talking at the moment.

  - He’s taken care of. If he cannot apply the medicine I provided him with, then perhaps he wasn’t meant to have all of his fingers.

  - That’s rather grim coming from a doctor.

  - I’m a medical expert, not a babysitter. If he mishandles the treatment, I’ll amputate the fingers cleanly. - he said with no emotions, his shaky hand already hovering over the document on the clipboard. - Blood type?

  - B-minus. - he answered mechanically, already focusing on the road as the truck started slowly rolling forwards through the snowstorm.

  - Age?

  - … 44.

  - You look older. - he stated unapologetically, eyes stuck to the piece of paper. - Chronic illnesses or genetic defects?

  - My left arm is 3 millimeters longer than the right. Makes driving kinda hard. - he half-joked, half-mocked, but it didn’t seem to land well in any case.

  - History of substance abuse?

  - What do you need it for? - Dirk dodged the question sloppily.

  - I’m a doctor, what do you think I need it for? - Armistice sighed in return, pushing his glasses up, but never looking towards Dirk.

  - None. - he lied, but couldn’t stop himself from looking towards the piece of paper. Before he even read the contents, he had to make a double-take, as what he saw was not what he expected.

  Despite his shaky hands, the medic wrote in a beautiful, easy to read cursive with added flair here and there. Perhaps shaky hands and doctor handwriting canceled each other out… Then he saw it, under the “substance abuse”: “Medium to long history of alcoholism.”

  - Hey! Are you even listening to me? - Dirk snapped at the man, letting out a bit more anger than he’d like.

  - I am. - he said, unfazed by the slight outburst. - But I also have eyes and ears. You look aged, but you don’t have a smoker’s cough. The veins on your face look slightly damaged, and you keep tapping your fingers on the steering wheel. A nervous tick. You are recovering from something, but it doesn’t seem to be hard drugs. You are too composed for that. There’s not enough sweating, even in this frost.

  - So you’re just going to assume? - he asked, looking flustered.

  - It’s better to assume and look for a different solution, than give you the wrong cold medicine and make you relapse. There are plenty of alcohol-based drugs, which can awaken some buried cravings when used at the wrong time.

  - Alright, doc. That’s enough for now.

  At those words, Armistice simply exhaled through his nose, clicked his pen and stretched, picking himself up. As he headed out, he stopped at the door's precipice, and shot back.

  - I’m a professional, Chernobog. I don’t care about your past. Not personally, at least. Come by my “office” when you are ready to make my job easier.

  And just like that, without unnecessary complications, he left the cab. It was almost disappointing, honestly.

  - Look who’s being “chaotic”. - Jason snorted with amusement.

  Dirk just made sure that the door was sealed shut before responding.

  - Shut it, smart-ass. - still being somewhat upset, he placed his forehead on the wheel. - Acting like he knows me, the god-damn shrink.

  - Maybe he is trying to actually get to know you? - Jason removed the mask again. - To properly do the job he is paid for. Just trying to get the bag, like all of us.

  Dirk wasn’t stubborn enough to fight against the truth of the matter, yet he could do with fewer people snooping around his private life. Not to mention that having his last few years spelled out in such a dry manner on a piece of paper felt bad.

  It made him feel ashamed.

  - Do you think I should get to his little office now?

  - I’d think you could wait until the next stop, just to follow Ouroboros directives. You know, like a good mercenary.

  - Yeah, you’re probably right. You’d probably want to stay here during that time?

  - What? Need someone to hold your hand while the big, bad, doctor gets the needle? - Jason’s shit-eating grin was almost as impressive as Morozov’s.

  - "Yes" it is.

  Reaching a satisfying conclusion on that front, Dirk grabbed the PTT once more, this time adjusting the knob to a different channel. If he was to be probed for information by his teammates, then he might as well do the same. Getting the information from the only person that the soldier could get a relatively good read on so far.

  - Garuda, you there?

  - You know, you can just call me Barbs, like all my friends do. - Barbara responded to his hail.

  - Is the second truck behind you still keeping the optimal range? - the soldier went straight to business.

  - Lemme check. - for a second the line fell silent, before suddenly crackling back to life. - Ye, seems like it, wazzup?

  - Just getting formalities out of the way before moving onto important topics. - he made a small pause to allow the other side to respond.

  - Is that so? Is this the famous old-people's gossip?

  - Hilarious. - he responded through the intercom. - It’s about our Squad.

  - Oh-oh, snitches get stitches, Mr. Chernobog. - Barbara responded, not taking him seriously in any capacity. - Not gonna narc on my fellow mercs. There’s a code.

  - I wanted to know your impressions of the bunch we’re stuck with. If any of them caught your attention. There may be some details I… misinterpreted.

  - You mean missed?

  - So, did you? - the soldier expertly skirted around the notion of anything eluding him.

  The response he got was a very loud sigh, extra crackly through the radio. Dirk couldn’t help but frown at the grating sound. But as he was about to say something, the other side responded first.

  - Why don’t you just talk with them? Like normal people do.

  - We’re not at a summer camp. - the soldier surmised quickly, having enough of explaining simple things to others. Barbara would have to figure this one out on her own. - I am calling you because I know people tend to get along with you pretty quickly. As a leader of this team I need to know as much as I can about people I am surrounded with and some already are apprehensive towards me. - balancing his hardy, regenerator-wrangling persona with information gathering was proving to be a challenge.

  - Nice, old-timer. There's that spark of self-awareness. - the young gal laughed through the mic. - In all seriousness, lemme think ‘bout it for a spell.

  - Take your time.

  With that, he placed the PTT in its fork, not feeling like any more words were needed. Now it was time to listen. And there was a lot of listening to do.

  The moment Barbara began talking marked the beginning of what felt like a very long and detailed sermon, serving as a painful reminder that just because one was a mercenary, it didn't mean they had a military background. The stream of words bombarding his ears made the old man quickly realize that he'd rather beat the front line of the “Pacific Point War” than pay any more heed to the drivel. But this was a hell of his own making. He asked the favor, and he'd hear the response through.

  He learned the most useless and minute details about every single one of the mercenaries surrounding him - that Spoon liked eating soup, that Match seemed to enjoy playing rock-paper-scissors. Which beverage was East Wind’s, the other driver's favorite, that Ghillie, one of the guys in the second truck, apparently talked to his gun, but also that Barbara heard it from another merc, “Elephant”, so the info might not be accurate and just a rumor…

  The sheer quantity of information made sieving truth from hearsay an absolute nightmare. Only around forty or so minutes in, he had to cut the bullshit short.

  Because of how PTT worked, there was no way for him to interrupt her string of words, so instead he used the inner pager system each of their vehicles was outfitted with to send a ping. It brought the deluge of info to a stop.

  - Barbara, that’s enough. - he declared, finally being able to speak. - We need to place another beacon.

  - Oh, is that so? - she sounded so chirpy, clearly ready to continue the moment Dirk came back to the radio. - Well, don’t let me keep you, then.

  Without a word, the soldier switched channels, seeing in the corner of his eye Jason’s face, red as a signal flare.

  - Tracking beacon, get your asses in gear. - he announced to the crew, as his friend started the lottery machine. - Number 4, your time to shine.

  - Won’t be long. - the voice of Michael resounded from behind the closed door. - Anyone wants to join me to watch and learn?

  - Not in your wildest dreams pork-chops. - Match answered him with a sneer.

  - I’ll let that one slide. - the other man’s voice moved further away, signaling his departure. - If you say that again after I’m back, you will need Spoon’s help to spoon you off the floor.

  A resounding howl of laughter filled the cargo compartment, as the wolves sensed the smell of blood.

  - Michael ready, open it up. - the former gun merchant declared aloud.

  Without further ado, Dirk opened the ramp and let the mercenary out. Watching through the ice-crusted windshield how he disappeared into the snowstorm. As much as Michael's nosy nature wasn’t much to the old soldier's fancy, the guy had a good head on his shoulders and experience to “walk the walk” as well as “talk the talk”.

  He wished more people like him were part of his squad, but unfortunately for each one good soldier he had three jar-heads or incomprehensible weirdos.

  A sniper who whispers to his gun, a mech pilot-genius with the attitude of a schoolgirl. Hell, the other truck even had a priest thanks to some unimaginable twist of fate. Those and other colorful characters like that were the bane of any organized unit.

  On the other hand, wasn’t his old unit the same when they came to him?

  “No, they weren’t” - Dirk answered the question in his own head. - “That was military, they all knew what was waiting for them and what sacrifice it would require. They wanted to protect our country and its people, not to fill their pockets with money for minimal effort. They had their quirks, but they had the resolve to die for their beliefs, not just some money. They were inspiring people”.

  It was ironic that he himself was the only outlier. Joined for the warm food and a roof over his head, stayed for the people he learned to love like family and his own ego.

  - Hey, old man, you in there? - Barbara fished him out of his inner turmoil. - I was just getting to the good part.

  With a sour expression, the man pulled down the PTT from the fork.

  - I’ll have to postpone our lecture on human relations for a while. - he responded. - Got a meeting with the shrink in my schedule.

  - Got some back problems from sitting on your ass for so long?

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  - That’s for him and me to know. - with that, he hung the receiver back and moved towards the cabin door.

  - I am impressed. Here I thought I’d have to remind you about it and coerce you into going. - Jason exclaimed, while pulling out a small notepad with Ouroboros logo out of Dirk’s backpack.

  - I’d rather get this over with than have the quack coming over to the cabin over and over again like a nagging wife. - he stopped at the door, gesturing with a free hand towards the item his friend just pulled out. - You gonna write poetry?

  - Notes. From your discussion with Barbara.

  - You serious?

  - Information is half the battle. At least that’s what a certain geezer told me once.

  - Cheeky. - Dirk mused before pressing down the handle.

  First, he made sure that no one was there to peep, before crossing the frame. The coast was clear, and it didn't seem like there were any unplanned visitors heading for the driver's cabin.

  Fortunately, the Three Stooges, Ted, Match and Spoon, were usually focused on their game and constant bickering to care, and all the other passengers of their rolling coffin mostly kept to themselves, hiding away in their tiny quarters.

  Or such would be the case if a conspicuous shadow didn't peek out from right around the bend of the short corridor leading to the cargo compartment. The person was standing straight, almost blocking the passage entirely, their body stiff, and silhouette quite large.

  - Is there someone in Armistice’s office, Elephant? - Dirk asked having a pretty good idea about the person's identity.

  - Oh? Boss! - a muted voice answered him, audibly surprised.

  It took him no time at all to stand face-to-face with the person casting the shadow across the floor. Another “character” within the Scout Squad. Another uncertainty to account for during combat situations. In front of the entrance to the doctor’s office stood a large, armored figure. Not in the same sense as Spoon, who wore a very large bomb suit on top of his visibly large frame, but one wearing something much closer to Pollux on a conceptual level, but tailored to fit around the human body.

  It was clearly an advanced and customized version of the Empire's military force's battle uniform. It had thicker armor, more support systems and most importantly an airtight containment cage for the wearer. Thanks to it, the wearer was impervious to any bacteria and pathogens. As one could surmise, this mechanized suit was used by units taking care of HAZMAT usage and clean-up.

  The person before him called themselves “Elephant”, a cute joke on the oxygen-pumping tube stretching out of the suit's headpiece all the way to the back. Just another incognito weirdo.

  - At ease, just call me Chernobog. - surprisingly, they were the only mercenary in the squad with even a semblance of knowledge about proper military conduct, sticking to the idea of a chain of command quite instinctively. - So, what’s the issue?

  Putting aside how refreshing such behavior was, it betrayed their military background, and added one more worry to Dirk's plate. If there was one person connected to the Empire here, there could be dozen others in the other units, all acting as moles.

  - Ah, you see, with all this ruckus the others are making to amuse themselves, it’s not like I mean they can’t or something, what I want to say is that it’s hard for me to sleep. - the stranger explained in a very insecure manner. - So, to be sure that I’m ready when we deploy or when my turn arrives to plant the beacon, I want to be well rested. To that extent, I wanted to ask Armistice for some sleeping meds.

  - Can’t you just put some earplugs in? - Dirk decided to let their small talk play out. - Ouroboros gave us a few pairs in our equipment bag.

  - T-they did? - the other party seemed genuinely taken aback.

  - Check the back compartment of the bag, it has an inner pocket near the bottom. Inside are the smaller items, like earplugs, lockpicks and matches.

  - I didn’t know that, you’re a life-saver b– Chernobog!

  With that needlessly grandiose exclamation, Elephant headed back towards their capsule-sized living quarter, vacating the queue to the Armistice’s office. Not wanting to waste any more time, Dirk knocked on the door.

  - Come on in, whoever you are. - despite the weird choice of words, there was no hostility or sacrasm in the medic's voice. Also, gone was the tiredness and boredom, replaced by a sort of calculated professionalism.

  He sounded like a man completely in his element and focused on his job. A stark contrast to their first interaction.

  - Chernobog, here for the follow-up consultation. - the old soldier opened the door and sauntered in.

  - Feeling more talkative now?

  - It depends.

  - I’m not your mother Chernobog, I’m not here to coddle you. Either cooperate with me, or you can walk back through that door and return when you feel more compliant.

  The doctor’s behavior wasn’t dissimilar to how Dirk used to behave on the battlefield. It said something about the degree of dedication to the craft Armistice had. But no matter how similar both men were, the veteran did not enjoy people talking down to him. Even if they had a point.

  Despite all that, he walked in, closed the door and proceeded towards a metal foldable chair placed vis-a-vis against a simple plywood desk which the doctor resided behind. It hasn’t been that long since his last visit to this place, yet it already changed dramatically. There were stacks of papers littering the desk, many apparatuses strewn about two hospital beds neatly placed on top of each other. A hospital bunk bed was something Dirk had never seen before in his life, but it spoke volumes about the resourcefulness of the one residing within this limited space.

  - So what else do you want me to do? Piss in a jar? - Dirk asked, reluctantly.

  - That comes later. - the dead-pan delivery made the listener wonder whether it was a joke, or Armistice was being serious. - Following our last conversation, I’m instead going to go through a very annoying procedure, but one I deem necessary.

  - Which one?

  - A psychological evaluation.

  - Oh, you gotta be fucking–

  - The door’s right there if you need it. - the medical practitioner cut him short.

  Dirk bit his tongue and did his best to swallow his pride. It all sounded like hogwash to him, but if enduring this was the price to get the shrink off his back, so be it. Sitting through a lecture about all his flaws, especially the ones that had only worsened during his downward spiral, was the only thing standing between him and getting back to the mission.

  And for that, it was a small price to pay.

  - So what then? Are you going to show me black blotches and ask which position from Kama Sutra I see in them, or pry about the last time I wanted to fuck my own mother? - Dirk sighed, defeated, but made himself comfortable nonetheless.

  - An interesting suggestion, but no. The Rorschach test always seemed archaic to me. While the notion of looking at how you respond, rather than what you respond with, may be going in the right direction, its results are ultimately built on your imperfect declarations and my wild guesses. As for the other one, I just don’t like Freud very much. He liked to cherry-pick the results that suited his theses a lot in his research. Though I must admit that your questions paint you in a very sexually frustrated light. Should I mark that off right away?

  - Very funny, doc.

  - I was asking a genuine question.

  - No. Don’t mark anything weird. Can we get started? My weapon is obedient, but gets fidgety when I’m not around. Wouldn’t want him to trash the cab before I return. - Dirk lied through his teeth.

  - I suppose that’s as good an excuse as any. - the doc got his documents sorted and looked over them briefly. - In all seriousness, you seem very tense. That could affect the analysis.

  - So what do you propose in that case?

  - I’m glad you asked. - Armistice answered without much flair, reaching for something hidden behind his desk, pulling out a small checkered box.

  - Chess? - Dirk raised an eyebrow. This wasn’t on the list of things he was expecting to see. He wondered just what hidden agenda the doc had in mind.

  - “Play” is the foundation of human relations. I’m not asking for us to become best friends, but a casual game of chess is bound to loosen you up a bit. I’d give you a hot cup of something, too, if I had one. Numerous studies proved that the warm sensation is effective at untangling people’s tongues.

  - Doesn’t telling me all this defeats the purpose of those tricks?

  - You knew my intentions from the start, and I can already tell that you are a hardcore skeptic. Weren’t you already analyzing everything happening here from the moment you entered my office?

  That he was. Dirk scoffed, letting himself loosen up a bit.

  - Are you good at chess? To keep a board on hand. - the old soldier changed the subject, propping himself up against the table.

  - Not particularly. It’s just something I keep around to entertain myself. - he flicked the board open and started pulling out the pieces, placing them neatly on the table in two rows. - But the game sometimes helps me assess the state of concussion victims and their recovery. Decision-making speed, hand-eye coordination, the ability to think logically.

  - I was honestly expecting a run-of-the-mill physician when I first saw you put Black’s face together. Not a whole medical package, psychiatrist included. Do you do teeth too?

  - Unless Ouroboros provided you with a dental plan, then no. - he answered dryly, but Dirk smiled nonetheless, amused by the delivery. - Black or white?

  - Black. - Dirk did not hesitate.

  In response, Armistice took a quick note on the documents, piquing the old grouch’s interest.

  - What was that?

  - “Reactive.” - he read from the paper. - Whether that means you are naturally anxious or tactically inclined, we’ll see in a moment.

  - So the game is a test?

  - I’m just taking every opportunity I get to get this over with quicker. Isn’t that what you wanted?

  - Touché.

  The two men took their pieces and assembled their lineups at the opposite ends of the board. It didn’t even take Armistice a second to make his move. He moved one of his pawns one space forwards. It was an unremarkable move.

  - Oh, so I guess we are already starting?

  - There’s no clock. If you want to continue sucking in oxygen, then be my guest, but that won’t get us anywhere.

  Dirk thought for a second, then moved his own piece.

  - So tell me. Why did you join the convoy? - Armistice made his move in a flash, not leaving any time for Dirk to strategize.

  Or so the old dog thought, even though there really was no time limit. It just rubbed him the wrong way how fast his opponent moved. It was like he was being rushed.

  - Isn’t that obvious? For the money. - Dirk answered only half-truthfully, his hand flying over the board. He was here for many reasons, some of which were none of anybody’s business.

  - Do you enjoy mercenary work?

  - It’s just work. There’s nothing to enjoy, but also nothing to hate.

  There was a moment of silence as the game went on. The two men moved back and forth as Dirk picked up speed. He wasn’t a master of chess by any means, but he understood the basics well enough to not lag behind too much. His opponent, though, remained unfazed with his lightning-fast retorts, making his moves even quicker, seeming almost reckless.

  - Have you been exposed to armed conflicts for a long time?

  - Some time for sure.

  - Any regrets?

  - Plenty.

  Their talk lasted for a while longer as Armistice asked about Dirk’s background, his attitudes to the other mercs, to Ouroboros and the Empire. His thoughts about the contents of the cargo and their chances of survival. The conversation was far from a slow and friendly chat to loosen Dirk up, but paradoxically, it seemed to be right up his alley. It was quick and snappy, and the god of war found some fun trying to balance his strategy on the board with making up lies and half-truths to answer most of the medic’s questions. But just as he was getting into the perfect rhythm, something happened.

  Armistice moved his knight one space to the side to take Dirk’s bishop. An obviously illegal move which made the vet make a double take.

  - Your turn. - the doctor said, as if nothing happened.

  - You can’t do that. - Dirk said on instinct, baffled, but not particularly angry yet.

  - Go on, don’t make me wait. - his opponent urged him on, ignoring his complaint completely.

  Dirk stared at the man before him with bewilderment.

  - Are you giving up already? Should we move on to the evaluation? - the cheater asked in a neutral tone, which only miffed the god of war more.

  Dirk considered walking off, but… He looked over the board with undivided attention, like a general looking over a battlefield. Three moves was all it would take to check-mate his opponent in this situation. He took the bait and moved his piece, only for the other player to make another illegal move. This time it was mostly insignificant to Dirk’s strategy, so he ignored it, making another move.

  Armistice saw through his attempt and defended against a check the normal way. This went on for a while. Dirk kept stubbornly going for a mate, and the doctor kept cheating his way out of defeat. In the end, the balance of power tipped in the practitioner’s favor and he won.

  - Unbelievable. - Dirk huffed, holding back anger.

  - You’re a sore loser, aren’t you?

  - You cheated.

  - Case in point.

  - This is ridiculous.

  - Then why did you keep playing?

  Dirk paused for a moment, unable to find the right answer. To that, the doctor pulled out his documents again and started writing vigorously.

  - You are either naive, a fool, or too proud for your own good. You kept thinking that you could win, didn’t you?

  “Naive… Naive?!”

  Who? Him? This shrink had to clue what the fuck he was talking about. Just hearing someone uttering these words when referring to him made his heart pump faster. If there was one personin the whole wide world disillusioned with life, it would be him. He was many things, but not naive.

  - It might sound trivial, but sometimes the best way out of a hopeless situation is to walk away. Why didn't you? What was there to prove? My only guess would be an underlying trauma of some sort.

  - I'm not backing down. Not taking a beating lying down. That's not me.

  - Yes, I've assessed as much. - Armistice adjusted his glasses, meeting Dirk's burning gaze with a dose of stoicism. - This was just a game, but what about real life? The mission and the people around you? I saw the spat between your weapon and that mech. I had an inkling then.

  - About what? - Dirk almost growled out.

  - You want to lead, you made that much clear, but don't pick your battles. You are too proud to back down when met with impossible odds. You got warnings, one after another, but pressed on, headstrong. I'm not here to judge, but to bring something to your own attention for the good of the squad. When the time comes, will you be able to make a difficult decision? To cut your losses?

  Dirk had long since stopped listening by this point, the doctor's words blurring into incoherent mumbling as Dirk's vision went red, the purple, then black. In that instance, he saw the decorated hallways so heavily imprinted into his mind, filled with rubble and empty casings. Fallen ceilings and men alike everywhere he looked. Years of training, decades of earnest lives, turned to nothing but cold meat. Three red letters on a virtual spreadsheets.

  “Not like this, not now”. - Dirk paused, locked away in his own world. Yelling, screaming in the cage of his own mind, but none of it showed on his face as visions flashed before him.

  He got the job, he finally found a way to move forward from that booze filled ditch, he couldn’t tumble back into it. There were way too many people counting on him now–

  It wasn’t the first time…

  - They sure got us good, boss-man. - an echoed voice of a woman hit him from everywhere at once like a tempest, yet it sounded so weak. So fleeting.

  “No, they didn’t. This is impossible. How did they infiltrate our defenses? Something’s amiss.”

  - Not how I imagined my retirement to go. - another voice emerged from the pitch blackness of Dirk’s psyche. It was rugged and uneven, just like the emotions he was feeling.

  “You will have your own sea-side clinic. You saved up for it, didn’t you? We must have bled them profusely by now, they are bound to leave us an opening any second now, just hold tight!”

  - Don’t make that face, you look like a sissy. - another revenant flashed in the corner of his eye, ephemeral and fleeting. Slipping away.

  “Why are you laughing? Stop it. You’re making your wound worse, just stabilize your breathing and let the suit keep you conscious. We’re almost there, we almost got them all.”

  “Please.” - he mouthed silently.

  If he only trained them better, if he only prepared for that one extra outcome. They could have made it out, all of them. So that’s what he intended to do now.

  - For someone insistent on not wasting time, you sure like spacing out. Are you sleeping well? - like the sound of nails on a blackboard, a cold, uncaring voice transgressed on the memory.

  The bubble burst, and Dirk was back in the doctor’s office.

  “I didn’t sleep well in years, you hack” - Dirk left that comment to himself. The conversation was long over. Dirk just had to make it official.

  - My current position as the driver makes it somewhat difficult.

  - And the leader. - the doctor kept writing in his notepad.

  - That one is unofficial.

  - Perhaps it’s best you don’t overburden yourself.

  Dirk frowned.

  - Are we done here? Or are we gonna play tic-tac-toe now, where you write over my tiles?

  - Prolonged exposure therapy is very efficient, but only for those willing to go along with it. - Armistice looked him straight in the eyes. - We’ll get there when we get there.

  - Fuck off with that higher-than-thou attitude. - Chernobog started getting up.

  - It’s “holier-than-thou”. But yes, we’re done for now. You can go back to your weapon. - the doctor wrote one last line in the notepad and then started to clean up the chess set. - I’ll come over when it’s time for a follow-up visit.

  - Yeah, sure.

  Without any extra words exchanged between them, not even a simple customary “thank you”, Chernobog opened the door, walked out and slammed it behind him. If he turned around, he might have noticed the doctor stopping for a spell, as if trying to say something. Unfortunately, the other man ran out of time.

  It had been a while since someone pissed him off that much. Since someone made him feel like shit, like a walking corpse. This wasn’t anything like a self-reflection spurring improvement or an old friend paying you a visit with a desire to reminisce about your past mistakes and how to not make them again.

  What Armistice did felt like public lynching, turning Dirk into a court jester. In front of an audience of ghosts..

  He came here to avoid all that self-pity and wallowing. To move forward, away from the past into the future. So the whole interaction with the Doc, one that did nothing but turn the blade already stabbed into his conscience, pissed him off to no end. How he wished that something would go wrong at this very instance. So that he could go outside and let off all that steam in the only healthy way he knew.

  But no such miracle happened, as the truck ramp-door opened, letting Becker inside. With a passing glance, Dirk could see that his cloak was frosted over. The temperature must have decreased even further.

  The driver walked up to his cab’s door just in time to hear the mercenary yell.

  - All’s done and dusted captain, my captain. - that info was a small blessing, even if Dirk yearned for an outlet right this moment.

  At least something was going according to plan. Dirk returned to the cabin, passing by Jason. With just a single glance, the young lad could tell that the visit to the nurse wasn’t the most pleasant for Dirk, but he did not dare disrupt the silence, as awkward as it was. Sometimes it was best to let the sleeping dogs lie. For now, at least. That, and Dirk still had a job to do.

  After sitting in the driver’s seat, the old soldier took a few deep breaths and grabbed the PTT. The moment he opened his mouth, he wanted to scream, to let at least some frustration out. But he couldn’t, because that wasn’t “him”.

  - Good job gentlemen. - his voice resounded across the vehicle. - Ted could learn a thing or two from you.

  - Oh, fuck you! - Ted responded, to the amusement of other mercs.

  - We’re back on track, so buckle in.

  With that, their journey resumed, and only silence reigned within the cockpit. Jason closed his notepad and placed it on the dashboard. He twiddled his thumbs for a bit before gathering enough courage to ask:

  - You wanna talk about it?

  - Not much to talk about. - Dirk answered instantly, as if waiting for that question since he returned. - The shrink simply pressed the wrong button and then started acting cocky. I broke people’s jaws for less.

  - Maybe he was trying to help you?

  - How can he help me if he doesn’t know me? Only the proudest pricks think about helping others when they don’t ask for it.

  Even if the old soldier didn’t know that, that sentence hurt the young regenerator. It cut him deep.

  - Enough about me, got the notes done? - the old soldier switched topics as quickly as he could. - Ready for round two?

  - Yeah. - not wanting to sour the mood even further, Jason tore out a single page from the notepad and gave it to Dirk.

  - What’s this?

  - Questions to ask Barbara, a few bits and pieces she shared didn’t really make sense, so I’d like for her to elaborate.

  The driver looked him straight in the eyes. Those innocent eyes of a big, gullible young adult that didn’t get the memo when it came to the credibility of women's gossip. Couldn’t blame him. It took quite a while for Dirk to learn how to sift through important information and details that served no purpose other than to embellish the narrative.

  - Sure, I’ll ask her bout’ it. - he couldn’t help but smile.

  With a new task at the forefront of his mind, the incident within the Armistice’s office got pushed to the back. For now.

  It certainly would resurface during their next interaction, but as long as it wasn't until the convoy's first checkpoint, Dirk was content to just pretend that it didn't happen.

  Reluctantly, he started the ignition and switched the station on the radio, ready for another wave of gossip.