As a child Philip had dreaded the strict exercises his grandfather made him do on horseback. Funnily enough, his distaste for riding didn't stem from the fact the every gallop caused an unstoppable reaction in is gut. Instead it was the because he so distinctly recalled being called a complete failure by his adopted brothers that the very thought struck him breathless.

So when the mysterious leader of the famed Cipher Squad suggested the mode of transportation that was akin to the very incarnation of death to him, it was only natural that he lost all his will to press forward. . . momentarily of course.

After all, his grandfather had always insisted that he was trained in the way of the horse, claiming that it was the pride of all members of the old noble families. That he should be proud to become so proficient in the handling of such majestic yet wild creatures.

Philip remembered, as his backside and calves were painfully chaffed by the forceful and nonstop training, wondering why horse riding was even necessary in the twenty-sixth century when teleportation booths were located at the corner of every residential home.

Now it was obvious to him that his grandfather had foreseen the end of the world.

"But seriously, screw him and his aesthetics. . ." Philip snorted, still thinking about the stubborn horse the old man had purposely picked for him.

The stallion in question snorted as well, shaking it's head furiously as though the animal had understood that it was being abused in its owner's heart. Seeing as how most domestic animals were trained to perceive human emotion, it was likely not far from the case.

"We'll be there soon."

"We'll soon get into a cosy tent, next to a Sol pit and. . ."

These were the words Philip used to consoled himself as he squeezed his thighs tightly around the girth of his horse, tempted to throw up his nonexistent lunch as the rocking motions stirred his stomach painfully.

It was just too bad that he was too used to it to fake sickness and get out of the mission. Dawn Draekon had been explicitly clear about that when she had told him the benefits of being in her precious Cipher Squad, like the new drugs that nearly banished his nausea.

"Oh, dear Code." A groan slipped passed his lips as he stared into the dense fog, the billowing white now a strange cloud of green tumbling around in the air.

The vision seemed unreal, tinted by the virescent lenses he wore, making the forest seem less like a death trap and more like a wonderland despite him knowing better. It was because of this that he was once again tempted to halt his horse and take it all in. The fog was thicker here, rolling more in waves that the thin smog it was just before this section of Nicia-the change was drastic enough for him to note it down, knowing any good soldier would have done the same.

Yet easy as it was to wish for a break, Philip pressed on, fighting his desires and keeping up his pace. It was only common sense to know that the thicker the fog, the more danger he was exposed to.

Still, he didn't know whether he was safer being the rearguard of the calvary-being in the back couldn't really guarantee safety with everywhere swapped with vines and trees.

And what if the creatures are smart enough to ambush from a behind? Philip winced at the thought, nearly dismissing it entirely as exhaustion slowly hacked away at his senses.

"I really wish we could have a break." he sighed again, his emerald eyes squinting into the cool and setting evening even though the sun he was used to was now unseen. "At this rate we'll have no strength to fight if we're attacked."

Philip could not say that he was a happy man, fighting his way to success in a forest while placing his life in the hands of nobles who didn't care for his presence and Theodore seemed to realize this. After all, he was the horse Philip had used since childhood, a proud and dark stallion of pure breed and high pedigree.

He was naturally intelligent and slowed to a gentle canter out of consideration for its rider's riled emotions.

Philip unconsciously let a good natured smile form on his lips and petted the beast's mane, momentarily forgetting about his aches and stomach upsets. "Maybe this isn't so bad."

He shut his eyes, letting the calm of his surroundings wash over him as he did. We'll soon be there. . .

†

Immediately after receiving the Corey's seal of approval, the Cipher Squad selected hundred capable riders-all nobles-from the army and set them on the fastest and least complicated route to Nicia.

The journey was a calculatedly straight line and the shortest distance that could be traversed.

There were only ten major towns in the state so the soldiers were divided up accordingly with a group of ten for each settlement and the developing areas around it.

It took a month for the cavalry unit Philip was assigned to to finally get to Lacau, a small town next to Silo-a city they had already checked and found completely wiped out.

The heavy breathing of the exhausted horses that had raced here with almost no break were the only sounds that could be heard through the outskirts of the quiet town.

At the lead of the group was Captain Issac Westley. Rumor had it that he was only a step away from getting the rank of Major, and in the entire hundred man unit he was the highest ranked officer.

This fact filled the cavalrymen that rode with him with pride.

Yet in this group was also the lowest ranked person available in the entire army, a messenger by the name of Philip Tyndale.

No one knew why he was included in the ten man team, and Issac himself only knew that the orders were straight from Cipher.

Apart from that the captain was completely clueless.

Philip rode in the back, also completely mystified by the entire situation. Why would the minister send his most prized soldier out on a suicide mission?

His gaze fell on Issac's back, the furthest it could go after being enhanced by his goggles. The captain's dark blue uniform looked especially green through the specially designed lenses, so green that it almost evaporated the guilt he felt.

With slightly trembling fingers, Philip tugged up the mask sowed into his new uniform to cover more of his face. He felt uncomfortable being in the new color even though everyone wore the same.

Blue was a sign that you had become a captain, no one below that rank had the right to wear that color of uniform, because it was an honor.

I have no reason to wear this. . . Philip poured over the fact despondently, a strange sense of remorse gnawing at the pit of his gut. I don't deserve this.

What. . . Despite the endless barrage of thoughts that barreled into his mind, Philip managed to stay wary of his surroundings, raised to be ever vigilant. So when he saw a shadow move through the corner of his eyes, his body stilled instinctively.

Fog isn't supposed to act like that. Immediately the thought sunk, his hand fell to the Sol rifle that hung at his waist. While he readied his kind for an attack, his other hand tapped against the knob at the side of his glasses to adjust his range of sight.

His vision exploded into a world of white light, the exaggerated green vanishing as the vivid and pulsing bright blues of his companions uniforms pulsed like beacons in his new world colored pure snow.

Philip hissed as his gaze fell to the spot where he had seen the figure watching traces of red light dance around the area and slowly grow in number. His expression changed into one of disbelief as he raised his gaze back to his group.

In a matter of seconds, several specks of red had moved in to surround them. It was an ambush.

He let out a low curse and pushed the butt of his rifle against his shoulder, attracting the gazes of the men closest to him as he took aim at the nearest spot of red.

"Ha," one of the soldiers dared to laugh, "it seems like the messenger is already afraid."

Philip didn't react to the tease, his breathing slowing down as he prepared to shoot.

Make every shot count, he remembered what his grandfather told him as he placed his finger on the trigger.

As usual, the old man was right to teach him how to handle a rifle. Philip just never thought it would save his life one day.

Nobles are more into helming FCMs than practicing marksmanship anyway.

He let go of the reins and swiveled to the right, about the let lasers fly. If the dots didn't attack that was good, but if they did then the men who were laughing at him could already be considered dead. By being unprepared they would simply be befriending the ambush, not that he was sure they'd survive even if their rifles weren't just for show.

"I wonder how many of us will survive this." Philip let out a dark chuckle.

He didn't feel optimistic at all. The life of cannon fodder, he could only sigh at his rotten luck.

†

AN: Hey guys. I decided not to distract you with author's notes till you got to this point.

What do you think about the story? How about Philip, Dawn and Corey? What do you think about The Code?

I'm eager to reply to your comments so don't hold back. Don't forget to vote too!