He wasn't sure how he found himself in this damn mess. His shoulders quaked with something terrible and his eyes blinked with a fierce rapidness. His shaking arms caused the revolver to echo with a hollow rattle.

The screams outside combined with the whistling of mortar shells did nothing to awaken him from his trance as he continued to stare at the figure huddled against the wall in front of him. But that figure wasn't just any figure. No sir, than young man in front of him had been his best friend for his entire life. And yet he was pointing a loaded revolver at him? My, he sure had changed; from a chubby youth to a mass murdering dog of the military.

Hold up.

Why don't we take a few steps back in time? Well, a few steps might be a bit too little. Let's say a thousand steps. A million steps. Let's go back twenty years, when the gun-bearing man was still just a wee lad.

You see, it was a time where the growing bubble of tension had not yet burst into violence. This five-year old child had not yet seen the cruelties humankind was able to inflict on one another. And as this child was skipping his way back from school, he bumped into another child, this one not as fortunate as he.

It was comical really, a wide-eyed grunt wearing a clean and pristine school uniform staring down at a raggedy, messy haired wild thing. Their curiosity about each other only grew as they saw the difference.

And perhaps they would have stayed and stared at each other if the dirtier boy's stomach hadn't growled with rabid ferocity. The schoolboy offered his leftover lunch, consisting of an untouched sandwich, for his mother had forgotten about his distaste for strawberry jam. The food disappeared in an instant, torn into by the wild child with a savagery that rivaled hyenas tearing apart a gazelle. This only made him more curious and names were finally exchanged.

Byunghun meet Chanhee, son of the head engineer of the country. Chanhee, meet Byunghun, one of the many Uras forced to live on the outskirts of their prospering city.

At the little age of five, Chanhee was still able to grasp the unfairness of it all, the dichotomy of their society. Him, part of the rich and normal, living in luxury in the city. Byunghun, part of the outcasts, treated as slaves for a chance at scraps. He had been taught early in life about the Ura, how their belief in their God made them unnatural, automatically classifying them as a lesser form of human.

Chanhee thought it foolish.

And so, the two formed their own raggedy duo. Chanhee would sneak Byunghun a few brief touches of luxury and Byunghun would teach Chanhee how to survive the world outside his golden nest.

Despite Chanhee's mother screamed at him hoarse to stop seeing the "local dogs", Chanhee did not stop. Despite Byunghun's mother beating him to the point of almost being crippled, Byunghun did not stop.

It was rather tricky to constantly rendezvous together. Armed soldiers were constantly patrolling the areas occupied by the Ura, keeping them in check. In addition, members of the Ura were forbidden from entering the city. Disobeying this rule meant death. Nevertheless, Byunghun and Chanhee seamlessly bypassed all areas and spent their time ducking between alleyways and going wherever their child minds guided them.

Even as they grew older and lean muscle replaced the baby fat on their bodies, they did not stop. Even as Chanhee continued his advanced schooling and as Byunghun began teaching the younger Uras the words of their God, they never failed to climb the buildings, to snicker at their own jokes, to play pranks on the soldiers.

They even sometimes exchanged places for a day, performing their own version of the Prince and the Pauper.

They never craved anyone else's company, only each others.

Everything they did, they did together.

Even the concept of love, they explored together. When Chanhee invited Byunghun into his bed, he didn't hesitate to accept.

It only seemed right.

And it was all done together: the natural touches, the seamless joining, the obscene moans that floated and mingled in the air. It was all flawless, like they had done it multiple times before.

Byunghun and Chanhee were designed for each other, molded perfectly to suit the other. There was no one else with whom they fitted with. They were the ones that caused the dichotomy to disintegrate at their feet. They became the bastion for possible change, the bastion that could protect humanity from itself.

But as we know, all good things must come to an end.

The citywide draft was merciless. Chanhee, along with thousands of others, was forcefully enlisted. And so, Byunghun and Chanhee bid each other happiness until the next time they saw each other.

As Byunghun transcribed the writings of his people, Chanhee learned to disassemble and assemble a rifle in his sleep. He learned to aim his shot at foreheads in the pitch black. As Byunghun taught peace, Chanhee learned to kill.

Then the bubble finally burst.

A soldier shot a little Ura girl, claiming self defense, that she had hidden a knife in her teddy bear. 

It was doomed to happen. The Ura rose up in the dead of night and began fighting back for the first time in a hundred years. It seemed they would be merciless.

Apparently, the Ura finally learned. Peace can just go itself in the . People only ever seemed to listen to violence.

And so Chanhee was sent out, along with hundreds of other men, all with one command grafted into their minds.

Exterminate the Ura.

Like a well-oiled machine, they went from district to district, burning the houses, capturing the children, shooting those who ran and those who fought, slitting the throats of those who submitted. They salted the ground, burned the books that taught of their teachings, and pissed on the bodies of the dead.

They didn't do it because they wanted to. They did it because they were told to.

There was no emotion. Only exhaustion.

The Ura barely even had a chance. They were not equipped for war. They did not have the manpower. They did not have the technology. Despite their heavy disadvantage, it was their only chance. They could've either chosen to grow a damn backbone and fight or allow themselves, their children, and their grandchildren to starve and remain subservient to an insatiable beast.

Well, if you're gonna go out, might as well make the biggest racket as you can while you do.

And in one district, as the squad was sweeping out the area of people like they normally did, Chanhee kicked down a door, his revolver aimed high, but unable to shoot, for it was Byunghun that was pressing himself back against the wall.

Had it been anyone else, Chanhee would have shot already, the bullet lodging itself perfectly between the eyes, and he would leave the body to burn afterwards. But what was he supposed to do with Byunghun? They were defiers of the dichotomy, protectors of the bastion. They were a part of each other, in body and soul. He couldn't kill a part of himself.

But he had to kill. It was his order. It was his command. And Chanhee was beginning to shake, unable to come to a conclusion, to come to terms.

Even for a serious situation, it was still comical like many years ago. A clean and uniformed man, albeit a bit haggard looking, staring down at a raggedy and bruised wild thing. It was so familiar to Chanhee that he just wanted to start laughing.

Ever hear the saying, "History repeats itself"?

Well it did, although not exactly.

Chanhee did not condemn Byunghun to death. Instead, he tossed the revolver to the side and dropped to his knees, begging Byunghun for forgiveness. They were one of the same. Byunghun could not turn Chanhee away. It was impossible to.

To be close to each other again, to be able to touch each other again, to be able to just even look each other in the eyes made them light-headed with happiness. A killer and a pacifist able to enjoy a happy reunification, but not in their own bastion.

And that was the problem.

Two gunshots echoed out, Hoya's revolver smoking slightly. Both Byunghun and Chanhee were slumped over.

And those two sounds signaled the bastion collapsing and bursting into flames.

As the mortar shells crashed into buildings, rubble began to fall from the ceiling. The flamethrower roared with destruction as Hoya directed it towards the bodies, and the fire began to leap and crackle happily at the fuel.

The only chance of the bastion surviving went up in flames and the calamity raged on.

In less than ten days, the remaining traces of the Ura disappeared.