SILENT SCREAM

"Attack! You sons of whores!" shouted the commander-in-chief of His Majesty's forces once more.

But seeing the overwhelming force of the enemy, the general shouted once more:

"Ragte! To me!" A moment later, a woman splattered with blood appeared at the man's side. She had a bandage on her left arm. It was soaked in blood. Several warriors were with her. "Send your 'boys' to gather the deserters... Oh! There! Did you see that?" he shouted excitedly, seeing several soldiers break away from the fighting group. "The point is... Stand behind them. If anyone retreats, kill them! You have my permission..." he mused, "better, I order you!" He smiled.

"Ragte, you stay with me," he added after a moment. Her "boys" scattered to carry out the order.

The fight didn't last long. The overwhelming enemy forces had almost completely wiped out the remnants of the Grand Army. Or rather, the Defeated Army… – thought the general.

– We're falling, Ragte. Bring our mounts. – The general issued his final order in this battle.

He knew, of course, that they might fail. That's why they had poison with them, just in case they didn't succeed.

Yes. This was how the Kingdom cared for its soldiers. After a moment ,

the warrior brought two saddled horses. When the pursuers caught up with them, they were galloping through a two-yard-wide ravine. Ragte glanced back. There were five pursuers. One of the pursuers came dangerously close to the warrior. He was swinging an axe above his head. He steered his horse only with his legs. When the warrior raised his axe above his head, preparing to strike, Ragte drew her sword. She reined in her mount. The enemy did not. The momentum of his speeding body carried him past her, and she capitalized on it. She barely had to exert much force in the blow. The man fell dead to the ground. Or rather, his upper body, as his legs and part of his torso were still in the chase. "Four left," the warrior thought. "My arm hurts!" "We have to rest the horses!" she screamed, trying to be heard over the howling wind. The man in front of her turned in his saddle. He looked at her with a wild look. He was terrified. "They're chasing us... We can't handle them... We have to get to the castle... We have to..." He rambled on incoherently. "Who's going to let us into the castle with that 'tail'?" she thought, hearing the reply. But they had no time for such considerations. Suddenly, the general's horse neighed, reared (effectively eliminating its rider), and fell. The shaft of an arrow protruded from his left flank. Ragte reined in his horse. She quickly jumped down, a sword gleaming in her hand.

"Save yourself," she said in a cold, toneless tone to her companion. "They'll be here any minute. You have to get to the castle... Protect the king!" She heard no reply. But she did make out the silhouettes of four riders. One of them was drawing his bow. "Get on your horse! That's a good mare..." she swung and with one well-aimed slash, pulled the warrior from the saddle. "...she should hold out!" she finished. "I'll hold them off here a little longer."

At that moment, the second rider ran into her. This one had an axe... which he swung like a blade of grass. But that didn't tip the scales in his favor one bit.

Dodge. Slash. Parry. Dodge again. Pirouette. Attack. Another corpse at her feet.

The pain in her left shoulder intensified slightly. She felt the warmth of blood trickling down her right arm.

"I must have taken a hit, damn it!" she thought.

The other two reined in their horses. There were five of them at first. Two remained, so they considered these options: Stay and fight, which meant probably dying... or flee... and die as well. By the clan chieftain's axe.

However, common sense told them they had a better chance of killing their pursuers.

"What? Are you afraid of one girl with a bigger hairpin in her hand?" She sneered at them, looking from them to the sword. She didn't know what effect to expect. She didn't know if the barbarian tribes of the Great Steppes knew the language of the Kingdom.

One of them did. Hearing the warrior's words, he turned to his companion and threw a few guttural words at him. As he spoke, his face turned purple.

"I'll bet you have full pants!" With that, the woman snorted with laughter.

The one who spoke the language of the Kingdom looked at her... and his eyes were filled with contempt, fear, anger, and hatred.

"You will die!" "He said it quite clearly.

After a few moments, Ragte decided she had achieved the best possible effect. The warrior dismounted. He drew his sword and confidently approached her. He was confident... too confident. Out of the corner of her eye, as she dodged the first blow, the woman saw the other warrior nocking an arrow to the string.

When the barbarian swung again, Ragte dropped her sword. The enemy's weapon missed its target by a mere inch, slicing through the air just beside her head. She grabbed the man's hand, the one holding the sword, and easily knocked it from his grasp. With her other hand, she grabbed his belt and pulled him toward her.

She smelled a terrible mixture of odors: unwashed flesh, sweat, urine, horse, beer...

And Death.

She managed to register all of this in a single heartbeat.

And then Death came.

The arrow, released a fraction earlier, shattered the man's spine and pierced his lung. He died instantly.

The limp body sagged in the warrior's hands. She didn't drop him, though. She expected another sound to break through the blood pulsing in her head: the swish of darts.

But to her surprise, all she heard was a gurgling sound. She cautiously began to move forward, still using the corpse as a shield. After a moment, a voice reached her ears:

"You can let go of this carrion now, Ragte." It was the general's voice. But, somehow, it sounded different...

She dropped the corpse. The general sat a dozen or so paces away, leaning against the ravine wall. At his feet lay the body of an archer, and beside him a bloody dagger.

The general was pale as snow.

"Is everything alright, General?" she asked.

"No..." His voice broke. "Those damned barbarians are still advancing... You're wounded... And me? I have to get to the castle as quickly as possible..." His voice caught in his throat.

She looked at him. He was already old. His eyes were tired, and it was clear he hadn't killed anyone yet. Not with his own hands.

His thirty years of service in the army had never taken him to the battlefield. Not directly. He was an excellent strategist, tactician, and leader...

He always observed the battlefield from a hill at least a mile away, always ready with a possible escape route.

But only today, for the first time, had he had to flee the battlefield. Defeated...

And that was precisely what broke him. But no wonder... He was old, tired of life, and lame. He had once fallen from a horse and injured his knee. Unfortunately, no medic had been able to help him. The knee had never fully recovered. On the contrary, it had become increasingly painful with age.

Ragte had served under him for over seven years. And she had never seen him like this.

He was the best. He always found a solution. Always. Until now. Defeat on the battlefield was like failure in life... He broke down.

Until today, the warrior had believed the general was the type of person who never lost. She was wrong.

"General, I must get you safely to the castle.

" "Girl! You're wounded..." he shouted at her without looking at her. He didn't even raise his head. And she didn't even notice the wound on her right arm. "How do you plan to do this? I don't have the strength anymore." She

remained silent. So did he.

Ragte sat down next to him. The wound on her left arm was becoming increasingly evident. She also checked her right arm, feeling a slight twinge of pain.

"Nothing serious," she tried to convince herself, looking at the muscles visible beneath the skin...

It

was starting to get dark when they reached a small settlement on a single horse, situated on a river whose name no one remembered anymore.

The village was empty.

Not a soul.

Ragte gave the general a significant look, then dismounted. She entered a hut set aside. A moment later, she emerged, carrying a wheel of cheese and bread.

The

nuclear power plant had ceased operation.

"

Quickly! Remove their vision helmets!" a short man in a technician's uniform shouted to the young people gathered around the console.

But no one moved.

Darkness fell over the group like a shroud, effectively immobilizing them. After a moment, whispers of conversation could be heard.

"Move!" the technician shouted, and began to push his way into the vision booth. He used his elbows to help him move faster. He opened the hatch. Two children lay inside. Neither of them moved. The

reactor

started again.

But that momentary interruption in his work was enough...

The

light flared so suddenly that several people shielded their eyes, several more cursed loudly and fiercely... The light stung their eyes painfully; eyes that moments before had been adjusting to the darkness.

The technician removed their vision helmets. Two children lay before him. Still, neither of them moved. He looked at their calm faces: a boy of eighteen standard years and a girl of the same age.

He cursed silently.

A moment later, another technician appeared beside him. Together they carried the players out of the cabin. The shorter technician, passing a child, asked,

"How long have they been playing?

" "I don't know... two, maybe three days..." came the uncertain reply. The biotechs arrived a few minutes later. They moved the injured to the skimmer. "Damn!" one of

them shouted, reviewing the computer printouts. "To their regeneration chamber! But quickly!" Half a standard hour later, the short technician called the clinic to inquire about the boy and girl's health. Unfortunately, both were in a deep coma. It was unlikely either of them would make it. " Ragte!" the general shouted in his sleep. He suddenly woke up, drenched in sweat. He realized the girl was awake. It was night. "Look at the moon." "I see it. That's why I'm awake. We don't have one..." She wanted to say that the protective coating was covering it, but the program wouldn't allow that choice of words. Her arm stung painfully. The girl realized something was wrong. She looked at her left arm. A large scab, along with the bandage, had peeled away from the wound, causing further bleeding and pain. The general looked at her in surprise and pointed to the sky; it was pink and purple. After a moment, it turned yellow. Then orange, and finally blue. "Something's wrong in..." He wanted to say "system," but the program rejected the word.

"Fuck! What's going on?" the surprised girl screamed. "...we're ending..." She looked at the general. She was terrified.

"We're ending what?

" "I... I... I..." She couldn't get anything out of her mouth except "I.

" "Ragte, calm..." He stopped mid-sentence. He realized he couldn't call her by her name. Her real name.

"Oh fuck! We're done for," he said, realizing he wouldn't end this game at the moment he chose. He would end it at the moment of Death. His Death.

The general shifted his terrified gaze to the woman. He opened his mouth silently, then closed it without saying a word.

But she understood. She remembered home. Family... their world. THEIR WORLD. No, some computer program!

They had played this game many times. And they always died in the same place. Always.

They never managed to break through to the castle. Never. When the program activated the "morning" mode, they were ready to go. They knew what awaited them at the end of the road. They knew there was no

escape for them. They knew they would die. Ragte took her sword. The general took his dagger. And they went. To meet their fate. To meet Death. Twelve standard hours later, after two patients in deep comas had been brought to the Bio-Center, the computer announced their deaths. But only the chief biochemist knew this. In the report, he stated that the boy's cause of death was multiple stab wounds to the body, which caused exsanguination. The girl lay in bed. Also dead. Her head rested three meters away, against the wall. Her mouth was open, as if silently calling for help.