Before contributing to the common good, Rashad had to familiarize himself with the common society first.

"Where are we going?" Rashad asked his proposed uncle Jaheim.

Jaheim, dressed up in his sandy-brown hooded robe, guided Rashad out of the shadowy tent and back into the sunlight. "A boy wishing to become a soldier must first understand what it is he is fighting for."

Rashad paused to think, but I don't want to be a soldier. I just want to live peacefully away from the chaos.

Jaheim already knew how Rashad felt and assured him. "You will see after our tour why you will choose to fight. Peace must be seized, it is never handed freely."

Rashad was still resolved that he would not elect to fight for anyone. He will not turn into the murderers who killed his mother and sister. He was above them.

Jaheim began his tour with a general overview. "They call us the Cliff Dwellers. It was meant to ridicule us, but we have embraced the stereotype. The day we let Westerners' heckling get to us will be the day we have lost strength."

Rashad studied the environment simultaneously while Jaheim lectured on the overview of the Kabish. They had left the town of tents and entered into an area of the village with open fields for various purposes. On one field he found children and teens playing soccer with a nearly deflated brown ball. Four rocks served as goals on opposite sides of the field. He heard laughter and yelling emanating from the soccer field.

Jaheim pointed to the soccer field and the children playing soccer and noted, "These kids have lost family too, yet they still find something to smile about. You can and will learn from them."

Rashad ignored the comment, wondering if it was a slight against his fortitude to resist violence or a genuine certainty that he will come around. Rashad shifted his attention and cued in on multiple shouts chanted in unison like a triumphant anthem. As Jaheim led Rashad past the soccer field and towards the sound, he spotted multiple young men and even some woman, training in an enclosed lot decorated with obstacle courses and equipment. Men were jogging rigorously in place with sacks of sand wrapped around their necks that weighed them down. The heavy sacks rested against their forearms as they continued to jog in place. Meanwhile, young women, clothed in their formal niqabs were practicing close-quarters-combat (CQC) with other females. The women were fighting with knives and easily deflecting attacks from their counterparts—and the knives were not fake or dull but keen enough to slice the sunlight with its tip.

Rashad was surprised to see the women fighting and the men training, until Jaheim informed him. "Women are amongst our best and rarest soldiers. The Westerners forbid women to fight. [5] They attack us for mistreating women. Yet we understand how valuable a woman, as a warrior, can be to contribute towards the common good."

Rashad continued to study the soldiers' training. It was true that the women were graceful yet rare. There were so few of them, yet the few that were there fought with such dexterity and flexibility. Their black, full body niqabs did not impede their attacks or their strikes. They were like shadows moving with the wind.

Rashad wanted to know what were some of the tasks the women conducted. Luckily, Jaheim was just about to talk about that. "The men undergo similar training as the females. Right now you are watching some of our advanced females training with many of the newer men. So don't let that trick you. The men will undergo similar training as the women you see here, only the skillful fighting will look less like a dance and more rugged."

After Jaheim pointed out the notion of the women dancing, Rashad could definitely see the picture. The women moved so gracefully with their gowns. What would be seen as an impediment to most, defined the unique style of combat each female had. Some used their niqabs to tie their opponents' hands into a knot. Others didn't let any part of the weapon graze their gowns. Each fighting style was unique, but they were all fierce.

Jaheim continued. "As for what they do after their training—well this is only the basic training. Here they build their strength, their endurance, and their agility. After this they move on to the firing range."

As if on cue, Rashad heard dozens of shots blast off in the distance. Were the shots always going off or did he only realize them after Jaheim referenced the firing range? As Jaheim led Rashad past the training facility, he glanced one last time at the area. He noticed the men switching from the bags of sand and dropping to the floor to do plank-push-ups. Rashad could feel the pain in his forearm and abs as he watched the men struggle each time they rose and fell. Meanwhile the women switched over from fighting to scaling a rocky wall that looked like a stunted mountain. The mini-mountain was not huge, but it did tower up a good distance—maybe around fifteen stories or so. A fall from halfway could kill a person with ease. Yet the women scaled the mini-mountain with such gracefulness—their niqabs causing no disruption in their climb.

As they moved away from the enclosed training grounds, Rashad still couldn't help but wonder the specific jobs the women conducted. Those women were like super-soldiers. Before seeing the women training here today, Rashad couldn't have possibly imagined women as being so violent and dangerous. He always wanted to picture women as sweet and caring, like his mother. Then again if these women surprised him, they will definitely surprise their enemies.

Rashad was brought back by another roar of multiple gunshots—much louder than the last eruption. He turned to Jaheim, who was staring down at him with a smirk on his face. Rashad was still unsure about Jaheim. The man claimed to be his uncle, but the man was still a mystery. Rashad knew nothing about him, even if he was his actual uncle. Jaheim still hadn't told him anything substantial about his father, except that it was now confirmed that he was dead and not living another life with another family in the capital.

Yet Rashad felt that the smirk Jaheim possessed was not evil, but was a simple expression, showing that Jaheim knew that Rashad was starting to put some pieces of the puzzle together.

Again another set of shots rang off, twice as loud as before, as the two of them came closer to the firing range. Rashad saw many men and a couple of women firing at makeshift dummies made of sacks filled with sand.

"Here our soldiers test their skills with weapons—something you will need to undertake after the whole incident in the tent."

Rashad couldn't help but glance down in shame. What was he thinking? Why would he even attempt to kill himself—especially because some random stranger told him so? It would've been a waste of life.

Off in the distance he heard something strange. He could've sworn it was a wailing noise—almost like the crying of a baby. Yet it couldn't be that, because he heard the crying noises coming from the firing range—where the bullets were heading.

"What's that noise?" Rashad finally spoke.

Jaheim immediately knew what he was asking and simply said, "Just wait."

Rashad continued to isolate the crying noise from the other noises in the air—the wind, the gunfire, the faint shouts and grunts from the training facility, and even the bleating of sheep somewhere off towards his right. The crying noise was the focal point. The baby sounded like it was in distress. Rashad tried putting a picture to the noise. He studied the firing range in search of the source of the cries. Finally he spotted something. It was a dot in the distance, but he barely made out some sort of poorly made cradle, and inside the cradle emanated the crying.

Just as he eyed the source of the sound, he lost both the source of the sound and the sound itself with an explosion. Debris scattered across the far end of the firing range and fell down in the empty fields. A small plume of smoke rose from the dot along with faint flames that had nowhere to spread in the rocky desert.

Rashad turned to Jaheim in disbelief. "Was that..."

"Real?" Jaheim finished for him. He shook his head. "Some people don't just call this the firing range, but also the testing field. There's an ammunitions factory beyond this area that manufactures the AK-87s, RPG3s, and many other secret devices that will be deployed in the battlefield soon. You have just witnessed one of the new devices."

Rashad couldn't believe the next three words he was about to say. "A baby bomb?"

And all Jaheim did was smirk. "Quite possibly."

"But was this one real? You shook your head, but I need a definite answer." Rashad planted his foot in the sand and sized Jaheim up.

However, the challenge did not go unanswered. "And what if I said no?"

Rashad clenched his fists. "Then I'll walk out right now."

Jaheim shook his head and herded him in a different direction saying, "We'll save the factory for last. You need some historical education before we go any further."

As Jaheim pushed him off away from the firing range Rashad stopped in his tracks and demanded an answer. "Was that a real baby?"

Jaheim took Rashad by the shoulder and walked him away from the firing range as he spoke. "Westerners are wasteful. Here we do not waste anything—not even human life...."

Rashad released a sigh of relief, thinking Jaheim had answered his question. Yet Rashad's subconscious was telling him that it was not a yes or a no. Rashad was searching for the answer he wanted rather than seeing Jaheim circumventing the question with ease.

Jaheim saw that Rashad was satisfied with the answer, yet he felt he needed to add a couple of details. "Do you know what the Westerners do? They kill babies before they are even born. They call it 'Abortion.' They are completely fine with killing a baby because the baby is inconvenient. Here, the Kabish believe all human life is convenient and serves a purpose."

Jaheim stopped there and let that thought sink in. Rashad was frightened that people would kill a baby because they didn't want it around. He scoffed at the thought of it. If they were willing to kill their own innocent babies with ease—they will definitely be okay with blowing up villages of people they could care less about. The mere thought of a person taking a baby's life—even if the baby was not born yet and was still in the womb, angered Rashad. There was no precedent for that where he grew up—at least none that he knew of. How can a human life be seen as inconvenient? Should people who think like this be allowed to call themselves humans?

Rashad didn't know this, but Jaheim has just planted a seed of Western doubt in his head. Jaheim smirked again, knowing that, in only a matter of time, the seed will grow into an acceptance of the Kabish's mission to make sure the Westerners were kept in check from destroying the world. 

Footnote:

[5] Jaheim is most likely noting a common military practice that barred women from serving in combat roles alongside men. This rule would last well into the 21st century in many Western nations.