For starters, I liked to only think that organics had the ability to bleed. It took only a year to realize that metal can bleed too. It is a concentration of human blood mixed with a thick, wretched, soulless black fluid. It surrounds this valley like a mist. That has now, thanks to The Great Terror, been split into four huge quadrants as if it was a square. 

Many thought it would help make restorations easier. Though time finds a way to still lurk in every broken-down building left in its path. It's no different staring at it all from the third floor of the Solis Station. The only outpost wrapped underneath a layer of red sand that's stationed right between quadrants one and two, the border between us Resistance Fighters and The Legion. 

Watching the thin layers of mist block the red sand below my sight line reminds me for the hundredth time why a commoner can never understand. They'll never understand why the mist surrounds this place like elegant green grass used to before the sand took over. 

They'll never know why this place has red sand instead of brown and dusty. They'll never know how much pints of blood bleached the sand to be so. Still, in a way weird way, it's quite a beautiful sight, knowing that only I and my unit have the privilege.  

Even more beautiful than this mist itself is the dreamy sunsets that flare in the station's background pasted the mist and sand. My eyes can't seem to stop glaring as the blue leaks its way onto the yellow and orange, having them sway along to the song of the sapphire sunset. It's like staring into the eyes of the deep sea.

However, the land below all that beauty stretches for miles of Legion sandy territory past this place. That's why we're here, after all, to defend this cake of a building. It's responsible for lighting the candle of communications that makes its way among all The Resistance Fighters. The red sand has dried up well while in our hands.

That only makes the strings of my battle-ax slowly and silently play a tune of a western showdown, picturing the Legion's bots' limbs crunching upon the red sand, trying to ambush this place, with the last remaining sunlight acting as my only alarm. My mind is betting on it.

Sometimes I wish my mind wasn't so focused on these lingering ideas. For what purpose? Because of fear? Failure? If only my mind could wrap itself around like a vine to a singular and easy answer. It's to the point, I live for nothing else. 

 It's to the point that the only time my eyes dart away from the window is to peek at the rest of my squadron and see their actions seep in alleviated pain. Regiment 115th, A subset of the 104th Battalion, The Ragtags, that's what we call ourselves. There are six of them, not including me. Buzzard, Hardcase, Cliff, Joltxs, Heavy, and Silverback who I and a few others call Ethan.

My eyes can see through the window's reflection a film of Hardcase's and Cliff's arm-wrestling on a metal table in full display, while their radio station starts to pick up right beside them. The female broadcaster speaks with rhythm and dulcet. So sweet I can taste her words from where I stand.

"You're listening to the Wildcats Broadcast, the rootin tootin voices from the valley of ashes. This one goes out to those young tigers who are blowing up a storm near the mountains. Keep your heads up and hips tight, boys."

The music that plays after is jazz and pop, yet it's upbeat and soothing. With those rhythms, comes out a figure slowly fading in the back of my mind. Brings up a faded memory and a haunting reminder. Now, I have no choice but to stare promiscuously into the sapphire sunset.

'Hmph, she would have loved it.'

I can just imagine her hips inside a deep blue swan gown, always finding a way to sway with the song. How her hair, so smooth, neatly curled, and soft can dance to it like it's fighting in the wind. No wonder my eyes want to blind themselves. The sunset's beauty always reminds me of those moments. My mind's mere punishment for a failure that is crucified to my hands.

"Ahh, Cliff!" Hardcase yells, interrupting my thoughts. I watch him exaggerating his hand movements through the window as both he and Cliff finish their match. "You almost had me there! Let's go another round, what do you say?"

"Hmm, I'll pass," Cliff's words roll from his tongue while clutching his now heart-beating hand.

To Hardcase's disappointment, I wouldn't blame Cliff for saying that. Hardcase is a plump, fleshy, hulk of a kid who has shine where his hair should be, only covered up by a blue bandana around his forehead. On the other hand, Cliff is a twig with a full head of stallion hair. Still, their match took about a minute from what I could tell. 

"Ooo, can I try, can I try?" Joltxs squeaks, hopping around like a little energetic bunny rabbit around the two. Both their eyes go sideways as a result. 

Joltxs, I would consider, is like a human chipmunk. He is partially their height for humans, has light orange hair, and has a baby face. Most notably, he always speaks with a jolt up his ass. Hence his nickname.

"Fat chance," Hardcase snickers. "You couldn't even beat me the first time with two hands."

"Come on, please? I'll give you a challenge this time, I promise." His body is practically begging over the table—a sight no eyes want to look dead at. 

Luckily, I have something much prettier to imagine even if it's starting to hurt my eyes. The others must look for a scapegoat.

"Say, how about you, Buzzard? How about you give it a shot?"

"I would rather not spend my time participating in such displays, Hardcase," Buzzard says with his eyes remaining glued to a tablet that pulses in between his tiny fingers. 

Those buggy little eyes always are consumed by the protection of lizard skin, formatted in the form of goggles. I bet its tail will always stay wrapped around him, even in death.

"Ah, Buzzard, why don't you let off some steam over here, huh?" Hardcase's voice becomes its fruitiest. "Give the tablet a break from those greasy hands of yours." He only receives a shrug in response. "Silverback, what about you?"

"Shouldn't you be checking a monitor or something?" Ethan mutters, yawning as he leans his neck across a chair's backside.

"Ah, you're right, let's take a look." He slides himself over like a chair in an office, shoving his face into the monitor, making love. "Won't you look at that, nothing there? Just like the other hundred times I checked."

"Personally, I like how quiet it is around here," Heavy says brooding against the adjacent wall while picking at a scab around his arm. One of the many bruises sprinkled all over his body. His throat is the only thing shielded from everyone's eyes by a scarf lanced in iron. 

His voice is creakier than a toad as he continues, "I get to catch up on the readings and the many poems I have neglected to review." 

"Come on, Heavy, what's wrong with you? We should be out there on the battlefield, smashing tin cans with Lincoln and the rest of the 104th. Or better yet, on top high-end missions like The Seekers. 

"Ah yes, The Seekers," Ethan says in a gritty manner still slouched in his chair. "Now I would love to be exploding rockets in jets while infiltrating the highly guarded facilities of the Legion. Maybe sign an autograph or two while I'm at it."

"Silverback I'm serious. Why can't we be in charge of such things? Their squadron is no better than ours and we haven't been seen as elites? Heck, Joseph here is way more than qualified to be an elite commander than the grizzly commander Blie."

"You might be on to something there," Heavy remarks. His hair through the window's reflection pours over him like maple syrup over pancakes making his way out of the shadows towards Hardcase."That's why, my dearest friend, our signet warrior himself put commander Joseph in charge of managing the operations of Solis Station, which in turn, means our unit is what stands in the way of the Legion trying to gain control of this place. Isn't that quite an elite task?"

"Hmph, I suppose." Hardcase shrugs. "Though it would be grander to be out there with Lincoln or shooting missiles from jets."     

"I wouldn't be too hard on him, Hardcase," I remark, finally deciding to join the ragtag's convo overhearing what they had to say. "He probably doesn't want to add another scab to his collection."

Now the whole room is lighting up in laughter, with even Heavy's croaky 'hee haws' slowly joining in. Only Ethan and Buzzard choose to grin, keeping their eyes on their distractions. I pull myself back towards the window hoping to do the same. 

Though as I see Cliff thrust fast for an off switch due to the music promptly switching to a love song called Oh, I'm in Love with Thee. Another memory welcomes itself in, and my mind is split in two.

I would hate to break up what the previous music has done. Ethan and Buzzard are close enough, and Heavy is now out of the shadows to join his brothers. I should be too. Yet another part of me wants to stare into the sunset fading into the deep blue. If only to see her deep charcoal eyes one last time dancing away into the shadows of the moonlight as this radio plays one of her favorite songs.

However, as the brightness of the yellow and orange tires, the realization hits me harder. The sunset is gone and so is she. My heart can only sigh at such a reminder as I go stand in the area around my squad mates; however, I choose not to take a seat.

"Say, Joseph, when do you think Lincoln will come back with the rotators?" Joltxs asks, shuffling a deck of cards in between his fingers. I guess they have found a compromise

"They should be coming in around an hour or so, then you boys can finally stretch those legs of yours."

Their faces then start jumping from their skins.

"Finally, I can sleep on a real bed instead of planks of wood," Ethan groans.

"So, you can make out with it as you did to that monitor over there?" Buzzard hmphs, eyes pointing to the monitor, something that isn't for once his tablet. We all can still lure at the drool from here.

"You bet, Buzz." As Ethan winks, those bugged eyes of Buzzard sink right away back into his tablet. "It's all comfy and loyal, even better than a real girl."

"Now, now, don't let your signet girl hear about that, or she won't let you polish it." I end it with a wink of my own, and the entire pack howls toward the moon.

"You all know about that?" he scoffs. "About me and Annie?

"Half our Battalion knows about it my friend," Hardcase says almost immediately after trying to hold his composer. "You're lucky she actually lets you call her that."

"Yes, your lucky Silverback." Joltxs chimes in. "The last time I commented on how Annabelle's eyes are pretty and complement her signet well. She decked me in mine, and I couldn't see properly for a week."

Silverback or Ethan, as a few call him, is a kid with broad shoulders, heavy muscles, middle-length razor-cut blonde hair, and a strong but stiff frame that moves in a way mocking that of an ape, hence his nickname. Still, I can imagine if The Great Terror didn't happen, he would be the pretty boy that all the girls fawn over. The only difference is that he wouldn't have Annabelle, who would ensure that wouldn't happen. 

That doesn't stop him from sliding his grin, cheek to cheek as a chuckle comes out of them. 

"Hmph, you should have tried using your chipmunk voice, that always makes me smile."

"Oh no, I know what makes her smile. It is when she says into your ear. Oh my, Ethan, my shiny knight, my overlooking shadow, oh how I love you. And then you say, oh my little dragon blossom, I'll be your knight that'll protect you from within the shadows. I will cry out in pain if I don't see you smile. Oh, how I love you so much. Don't think none of us don't see you two in the halls saying that garbage."

At this point, the rest of us struggle to hold our laughter, and Ethan who has been laughing away, silences himself trying to hide the blaring signals of the red underneath his cheeks. I must swallow my laughter with a huge gulp before I could say something else.

"Sometimes Ethan, us lads can't tell what's shinier. Her signet with the symbol of diamonds, the way your eyes gawk every time you pass each other, or the stuff you let her put in your hair."

It doesn't take long for the third floor to become a circus of howling wolves after that.

I try to enjoy the circus of howls coming from them as they start spraying jokes at one another. I try throwing in one myself after Ethan is called a bum by Heavy. All, in the end, to stop my continuous uneasiness. I make them all laugh, but it doesn't feel the same to me. It only reminds me that the doubts never seem to go away. The memory of her; never seems to go away.

As a further effort, I try to pay attention to the game they play that's called King Me. A popular card game where each player has a king and must try to get the other kings to win using all the other cards in the deck. It's played by many of The Resistance Fighters, especially the ones in the 104th. I never took the time to play it myself, though it doesn't stop my eyes from seeing the world play itself out like poetry as they all have the time of their lives. 

They are all like signet warriors on the battlefield.

Ethan and Hardcase, the signet warriors, make do with what they can pushing themselves to protect their people, but ultimately fall to Joltxs who take their kings one by one. They died true heroes as a signet warrior should protect the ones they fight for, and should be remembered doing such.

Joltxs, the signet warrior, struggles and proudly takes their king's, inspiring hope that he may still have a chance. Signet warriors must inspire the valley, but more importantly, its people to hope again. Hope is something rare following The Great Terror, and even rarer after the Legion of Devastation was established in its place. 

Buzzard, the signet warrior, aids Joltxs with his wisdom and knowledge as if It's all second nature for them. A signet warrior should be able to demonstrate that hope through wisdom earned, knowledge fought for.  

Heavy, the signet warrior, counters from the shadows, with people who would bravely die for him. And after all the blood and pain at the end of it all. The hope shines through his signet. Bright with no scratches or marks. That's how strong they portray hope to be. Unscratchable and Unkillable. That's how it should be.

King me, I hear Heavy say. His voice is confident in his ability to make it to this moment. I wish the world had more people like that. People who can be like signet warriors. People who can be like, my signet warrior, Lincoln. People who I wish; I could be like. Too many things have happened, too many things I have done, which made sure; I could never be like them.

I watch everyone then jump from their chairs, slapping and patting Heavy's shoulders to fire hydrant red. I make sure to give him my fair share, yet I can't shake off that familiar feeling that I had throughout the whole ordeal. That feeling starts slacking in the corner of my lips and begins soaking into a frown.

"That was a good one there." Hardcase punches him on the shoulders. Amazingly, he has no new bruises. "I love your style; this calls for some drinks, huh?"

All he needs to do is say drinks to get everyone wet on the tongue. These discount drinks taste just like a can of beer yet share only half of the side effects. It's a salvation for most of The Resistance Fighters, especially for us, since we're not legally able to drink the real stuff ourselves. 

It is always crazy to think that most of us fighters aren't even above our twenties. Heck Lincoln, our signet warrior who leads our battles, is only sixteen. Though good luck finding any not stuffed into a bomb or medical kit.

In turn, everyone agrees to head down to the second floor. I choose to say nothing. My mind keeps pondering over the deadly game. It gives me a breath of eeriness and dread that I can't seem to shed. 

It doesn't help that the sun is below the horizon, now in a thundercloud black with hints of midnight blue. The others must have noticed my entanglement within the omens as they all stop within the doorway or right outside.

"Your coming right, Joseph?" Joltxs soft squeals force his legs to the ground.

"Y'all can all go on without me." My voice shakes under the pressure. "It's best that I make sure everything is in top shape before Lincoln arrives. Go on and enjoy yourselves. Especially you, king holder."

Not even the tiniest hair or the thinnest stretch of muscles moves away from the door. None of them want to go without me even if some didn't want to show it. That fact makes my heart feel even more like crap.

"Come on, Joseph, you know it won't be the same without you," Heavy's voice is soft-spoken, yet it feels like it's coming out of a microphone. The others nod along with his words. My heart sinks further into my chest. I can't look at any of them.

"Look, Arrowson, it's been quite a few stressful days for all of us. No need to continue doubting yourself. You have done a fantastic job here, Commander. You deserve to treat yourself. Come and join your boys for a little drink."

I don't even have to turn around to know it's Cliff. If the voice doesn't give it away, it's the fact he had called me Arrowson. My last name. He always calls me by my last name instead of my first. He is like a child who calls someone they admire. Every time I look honored, and yet, my heart always screams unworthy. 

His hands begin softly pressing my shoulder at this point.

"Tell you what, how about we split a drink because, between you and me." He leans into my ear. "I'm not trying to get wasted out here."

"Well, there's an offer I can't refuse."

Cliff, even being my oldest friend of the Ragtags, if he were to know the full story, we both would have enough pity to fill up this room. Luckily for him, I just had to try and look the part. It's good enough for my squad to start whisking me down the hallway, I manage to grab my belt of one smoker in the nick of time. Just a tiny trinket I can use to ease my fleeing mind.

Hardcase proclaims that If I became a signet warrior, we would have drinks for my entire orientation week. I can't even imagine myself saying those words. That's why they need leadership from someone who can twist their eyes to believe they can be one. 

Still, everyone cheers agreeing with his statement. Then we let Hardcase's laughter echo throughout the halls from a joke that Cliff spills over the floor. The only floor I remember is the metal one, lying a deck of cards on top. The king is the top deck, glaring inside the matrix of my soul.

'I have a bad feeling about this,' the king says to me.

All I can do is pretends the words are that of the sapphire sunsets. They'll both soon fade. In reality, I can't help but know, that they never do.