Chapter 1: The Purpose
Mark Wilson was sleeping in the camp when a whispered voice woke him. “Maria! I’m sorry, Maria!” He wanted to sleep more, but the sun's rays had already pierced the tent. He stood, rubbed his eyes with both hands, and stepped outside.
The forest was quiet and green, a stark contrast to his black suit. His IFA badge glinted in the sunlight. A short distance away, Frank Salemme rested on a broken piece of wood, also wearing a black suit with the same badge.
Frank held a small, heart-shaped locket in his hand. “Maria! I’m sorry, Maria!” Frank whispered again. “I can’t get my hand on John. I’m sorry. But I promise that I will.”
Mark had no idea who Maria was. It had only been a month since he met Frank, but Frank had never spoken about anything other than the mission. Now, with no mission and lost in the forest, their circumstances had changed.
Mark spoke softly. “What’s next?”
Frank slowly slid his hand, along with the locket, into his suit pocket. He looked tired. “I’m lost, man,” he said.
Mark turned, stunned. “Lost?” Frank was not the kind of person to give up easily. He used to be full of fire, but now he looked weak—different.
Frank sighed. “I don’t know. The IFA never gives me the mission I deserve, the one I truly wanted.” He took out his pistol and stared at it. “I’m done, Mark.”
“You don’t need the IFA’s permission to look for a mission.” Mark shrugged. “You can go on your own, can’t you?”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Frank said flatly.
Maybe… I know, Mark thought. He went quiet for a second, then said, "I think we should worry about food rather than a mission."
“Food is no mission,” Frank scoffed. “What’s the point of this, Mark? Eat, shit, and die.”
A memory came to Mark—his brave father fighting to save the world. He whispered, “Think about peace. About heaven. About beauty. Maybe we can try to fix the world, make it better again. Don’t you think?”
Frank looked at him. “Beauty disappeared years ago. Peace is gone. Now, all that’s left is hell.” He held the pistol tightly. “And if you believe in heaven… why do you still need guns?”
Mark remembered his father, who died in the Battle of Maldir while protecting others. He wanted to speak about him, but it felt like no one ever cared.
He took out his own pistol and looked at it with a small smile. “My father gave this to me before he died. Its name is Lifesaver. He believed one day it would be used to save someone. And I believe it, too.”
Frank chuckled. “Don’t be a fool.”
Mark looked down. “You might not believe it, but my father saved many people that night. All the guns were aimed at him, but he still stood up. He died doing the right thing. He killed the Armendis—those rapists and murderers.”
“And for all that, all he got was death.”
“But… he died protecting.”
Frank’s voice was rising. “Protecting whom? The Armendis, or the one who mocked him?”
“We shouldn’t care about what others think, Frankie.”
“That’s bullshit. Whatever shit you’re talking about—your mother, your bloody father, or any of your parents—it doesn’t concern anyone,” He looked directly into Mark’s eyes. “The only thing that matters, the only thing they left behind, is their death.”
Mark wanted to tell him what it meant to be kind. “BUT…”
Frank cut him off. “Enough, Mark! I’m not here to listen to your lecture.”
Mark stayed silent, feeling hurt. He wanted to share more about his father, but no one ever listened. He scratched his head and said nothing.
“Didn’t you hear me? Be quiet, okay?” Frank glared at him.
Mark nodded. Frank was his only friend, and he didn't want to ruin that.
Suddenly, a phone buzzed on the ground.
Frank flinched. “What the hell? Turn it off.”
Mark leaned over and picked it up. It was a call from the IFA. He answered.
A voice whispered, “Frank? Frank, are you there?”
Before Mark could speak, Frank was already in front of him.
“Yes, I’m here,” Frank said.
“Do you remember Patrick McMillan?”
Frank stood straight. “Yes! Of course. How could I forget?”
“You’re near his house. Near Walton. We want you to find him.”
“Yes, Master. What do you want me to do?”
“This is the president’s order. Bring Patrick McMillan to the IFA. We are close to the end. We need him to take the final step. No matter what happens, we must get him. Understood?”
“Yes, sir. He’ll be in front of you by tomorrow. I promise.”
“Our future depends on both of you. Good luck.”
“I’ll give my life for it.”
“That’s expected of you.” The call ended.
Mark looked confused. “Who is Patrick McMillan? Are we supposed to save him?”
Frank didn’t look at him. “I don’t know. It’s not our job to ask.”
Mark hesitated. “Walton is doomed. There will be hunger waiting for us. Do you really think we should go there?”
Frank looked into Mark’s eyes. “I told you before. Food is not a mission.”
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