Yo, Peace Writer here again, and I’m here to unveil my latest project. This story will have a lot of action that I hope is more than enjoyable. But I should stop talking right away to see where this can go! Enjoy!

Jake Shelley and the Twelve Triggers

The Gun

The gun: a very terrible weapon. However terrible it may be, it also stands out as one of the most effective weapons in the known world. Even if it is not loaded, people offer a lot of respect to the gun. Just by walking into a room with a gun will make everyone notice you.

Of course, most people who wield a gun do not just use it for its ability to stand out, although intimidation is highly useful as well. Most people use it to kill, to put an end to their problems; whether it is for an oppressive leader, to avenge a death, or even to put one out of his or her misery.

It is so simple as well. How many operations does the gun require? First, the trigger is pulled. This releases the spring to slam part of the gun into the chamber, creating a spark. The spark ignites the gunpowder within the bullet, and the combination of energy and pressure forces the bullet out of the gun faster than the speed of sound. There is even a spiral impression inside of the barrel to put the bullet into a spin, increasing accuracy. The bullet itself may be altered in size and shape: small enough to pierce right through the body and hit vital organs, soft enough to flatten on impact to create a bigger wound, big enough to push a target back from a run, or hard enough to remain stuck within the body.

Such a simple weapon; a weapon that can take away many lives.

And the only motion that matters to anyone holding it is the movement of a finger. Just the movement of a finger, and BANG! Someone dies.

Think down the long list of important people that have been killed with the movement of a finger: Presidents, leaders, pacifists, philosophers, idealists, countless officers, soldiers, agents, they all have been killed with a little finger. Families torn apart, chaos introduced into the world, change, confusion, anger, hatred, the precedence to the question: ‘why? Why? WHY?’

All because someone moved a finger.

That is the power of a gun: an instrument of death. With this weapon, a child is capable of killing indiscriminately. In the hands of an expert marksman, one bullet would equal at least one human life.

So, why was the gun made? The answer is simple: power. The man with a gun is the most powerful person in the room. The gun was created out of fear that someone would try to attack. Was it created just for a means of defense? Then again, is it defense when you hold the most powerful weapon in the world?

The gun was created so the people would feel secure. Security leads to power because no one could stand up against them. However, this is when people without a gun somehow in some way or another acquire the gun to create equilibrium within the balance of power. Thusly, people are constantly fighting for control in a non-ending power struggle.

But what if we took the gun away? Would everything return to peace? Some may argue that yes, without the terrible weapon in existence no one would have the power to fight. Others argue that the fight for power is endless, regardless of what weapons are used. If the human race is stripped of all weapons, then the seat of power would go to the strongest men. And thus, people who do not agree with the leader will revolt, and start the cycle of power all over again. Therefore, the will to end all power struggles is fruitless and futile.

Does this change the fact that the gun is any less deadly than before?

And by taking away the gun, does it make the fight for power any less brutal?

Year: Before Aftermath 20

It was the war of the end.

No one knew exactly why it started. All that anyone knew was that right before the war the three most powerful nation leaders were killed. All of them were assassinated, BANG! Just like that. A movement of a finger changed the world.

Chancellor Vajahek, leader of the Punjar territory, was shot in full daylight by Jesse Cyps, a resident of the Avalon territory. Emperor James Vice of the Avalon territory was assassinated in his home by Ambassador John Craven of the Ega territory. To complete the death triangle, President Paul Lison of the Ega territory was shot giving a speech by Senator Bevalek from the Punjar territory. The nations soon turned on each other, all bonds of peace broken, and a war ensued, the magnitude of which has never been seen before by the eyes of men. In one instant, the world went from peaceful, to an unbalanced cyclone of chaos. Invasion, attacks, threats, and fear were all commonplace, and people simply hid or ran to escape the crossfire. The bodies soon piled high, most of them were unrecognizable.

New leaders were elected; however, instead of pleading for the war to stop, the war pressured them to let it continue. Neither one of them wanted to show signs of weakness, for weakness would draw all outside forces to target their country, and force them to lose the power struggle. The war dragged on for years with no clear victor. Solders were repeatedly used as mere walls to shield their leaders with. The reason of the war was lost among the dust and screams. Once they exhausted their forces on each other, they persuaded outside countries to join their pseudo purpose, continuing the war even further.

The human race had reached its lowest point. Armies marched off to war representing their different countries with weapons and anger, most of them not knowing why. Nothing was safe. On the ground was utter chaos: metal flying at an alarming rate, soldiers running just to survive, explosions hitting the surface at seemingly random and unpredictable patterns overpowering the screams of the ones who suffer. In the air was black smoke that blocked out most of the sunlight, giving the sky a scorched, blood red appearance. Planes flew overhead, dropping as much bombs onto people who don’t fight as the soldiers who do fight.

At night, no stars or moon gave comfort to those who needed them because of the shadowy clouds. It was as if it were punishment to their race. Very little sleep was gained: the day was spent running from the indomitable jaws of death. Those who did sleep a full day lived in hiding, the chances of being killed only a sliver less than the soldiers who brandished high powered rifles.

In 20 years, the population dwindled from 8 billion to 4 billion. Because three people had different views than three other people, and decided to do something about it:

By moving a finger.

Year: Aftermath 0

20 years came and left, 20 long, cold, horrible years of blind destruction and indiscriminate death.

Once the leaders were finally seen as inadequate, the world leaders voted that a treaty must be signed immediately. An ambitious young leader from the Annexi territory, Randolph Thirel stepped before the council, and made the End of War Treaty which stated that the following actions should take place:

1. That the non-effective leaders of the Avalon, Punjar, and Ega territories should be dismissed immediately.

2. The territories of Avalon, Punjar, and Ega should have all boundaries erased, and become one territory known henceforth as the Messia territory.

3. Chancellor Randolph Thirel of the Annexi territory should be relieved of his current duties and be immediately moved as leader of the Messia territory.

4. Any and all weapons deemed as ‘a threat to public safety’ should be eradicated, effective upon signing.

Seeing this as a quick way out of the war, Randolph had absolutely no trouble receiving the signatures of all the world leaders.

On the year Aftermath 2, all non-commercial airplanes, tanks, war crafts, bombs, and naval ships were destroyed. The materials went to rebuilding new cities. Bombs no longer exist. War ceased to exist for the time being. Arguments were decided in a courtroom instead of on the dark plains of battle. However, the sky remained red and scorched as a sharp reminder of their sins.

The events after Aftermath 5 proved to be a hard challenge for Randolph, as it was soon discovered that thousands of rebellious citizens had grouped in several locations in the Messia territory, all of them armed with the guns that weren’t returned to the government. When two important government workers close to Randolph were killed through assassinations, Randolph made the harsh decision to recreate 10000 high powered rifles, and issue them to the military. In addition to this, he ordered the government to specially train 12 special agents, specifically assigned to find the leader of the terrorist group: Lan Hale.

Along with extensive training, they were given the most powerful weapons on the earth.

The gun was about 13 inches in length, and had a sleek, flawless finish. Shaped almost like a rifle, it has a 28 round clip with semi-automatic firing. Its easy clip loading allows for less time of vulnerability. With optional laser sight and side attached scope, it has sniping capabilities from over 100 yards away. Its compact design allowed it to be concealed easily, and the bullets can be altered in almost any way to fit the needs of the user.

Only 12 were made, and they were labeled the Trigger series.

The 12 agents were sent into battle along with the ten thousand soldiers armed with their new weapons.

It was a success: Lan Hale was captured at the battle of Kashev by the 12, and brought forth in front of the Superior Court. In a swift trial and a unanimous decision, Lan Hale was sentenced to death on Aftermath 6, January 2.

Before his execution was carried out, he shouted to the few who watched “It’s not right that we, the poor, the hungry, the weak should be trampled beneath the oppressive feet of our leaders. There is, and always will be, no peace, not the way the world is working today.”

His words barely grazed the deaf jury, and traveled on to fill the minds of his twelve captors. The sentence was final in its painful irony.

BANG!

Afterwards, on Aftermath 7, the 12 agents inexplicably disbanded. No one knows where they went, or what they did, except that they kept themselves secret, along with their assigned Triggers, and their respective boxes of 40 clips. And as a result, the rebellious citizens were allowed to regroup its forces, and maintain the government’s use of blue-uniformed soldiers. Some travelers say that there was a big argument between the agents. Others say that it was what Lan said that night that finally drove the 12 to rebellion.

However, only the 12 knew what really happened, and for what reason.

Year: Aftermath 10

Jack Roberts woke to the sound of silence and the sight of darkness. He stared at the expressionless, blank, white ceiling above his head with his cold, depthless blue eyes. Willing himself to get out of bed, he pulled his off-white sheets off of him, and stood up to scratch his back. Stretching his arms, he kicked aside a leftover box of chicken, eaten from yesterday, and went to the bathroom. He looked himself over in the dusty mirror, and washed his toothbrush before putting the white, opaque paste on it. His eyes had faint dark circles beneath them from staying up last night to finish his ‘school work’, if he could call it that.

All in all, he had a pretty dull life, void of action, absent of interest.

He rubbed a hand through his short, light blonde hair as he started pacing around the room, right hand moving the bristles back and forth almost mindlessly. Coming to a stop in front of his bedside table, he spotted a picture next to a calendar. Wondering slightly, he picked it up and examined it.

Ah yes, it was a very old picture, taken around 5 years ago of his old man in his mid-thirties with an arm around his son, a young boy with short blonde hair, blue eyes, and a thin, non-intimidating figure. The young boy was Jack. Jack didn’t look happy, as well he shouldn’t: his father decided to go off to the war on the terrorists. As a result, he left Jack to live on his own at the age of thirteen. Sure, he’d come home and visit from time to time whenever he got a break off work, but it still left Jack to fend for himself. He had to manage his finances, the house, himself all on his own. Then again, if his dad hadn’t gone to war, they might not have this modest house to begin with.

Still, Jack wished that he could join the army and finally be able to move around. He counted the days, the months, and the years when he could get the chance to fight. Well, the wait was over: when he finally had his birthday tomorrow, he would join the army. He would fight for what he believed in.

He hated the gun, and for good reason: his mother died in a gristly shoot-out between two groups of soldiers about 15 years ago. She got caught in the crossfire, and she never got a chance to escape. Her screams were never heard over the gunfire.

Jack wasn’t there to witness that event: he was about two miles away, cowering under the bed, wondering if the next person to enter his house would be a soldier, waving his hand to signal his team to search the place. He didn’t know where his father was then. Quite frankly he wasn’t too motivated to leave the bed and search for him. He just knew that everyone was killing one another, and nothing could be done to stop it.

His father came into the house that night, carrying the body of his mother. Yes, Jack cried. He cried his soul out, wishing beyond all reason to have her breathing again.

When his father told him that she was shot in nearly five different places, Jack simply cried even more, telling himself that the gun was a terrible weapon. There was no reason, and no excuse for the gun’s creation.

That was the past. Today he is more worried about the weather outside than the presence of soldiers.

Putting down the picture, he checked the calendar. Wiping away a glob of mustard, he checked the date. Sure enough, it was his eighteenth birthday tomorrow.

“Heh, my old man’s coming home.” he muttered, walking back to the bathroom.

Putting on a plain white shirt and brown jeans that Jack picked out for himself not too long ago, he picked up his blue book bag. Looking inside at a few unnecessary books, he figured “I don’t need all of these today. Some of these are way too heavy anyway.” He took out two thick books that weighed around 10-20 pounds, and tossed them aside.

The books fell slowly. They carried all the momentum in the world: twenty pound objects moving at the speed of gravity. They were almost like a wrecking ball: large moving mass. Still falling ever so swiftly, they landed with a harsh BANG!

At the sound of the books hitting the floor, Jack snapped his head to look at them. The ‘BANG!’ caught his attention. Just like a gun would.

Shaking his head, he zipped up the bag. Standing up, he hauled the bag on his shoulders and started to leave. His hand was on the doorknob when he took one more look at the place. It was relatively filthy: clothes were strewn about, posters of random subjects lined the wall, boxes of leftover food were places on every table or desk, and his bed stand supported so many objects that he could barely see the polished wood beneath.

Sighing, he nodded his head and said aloud to no one in particular “I’ll clean it when I get back.”

He opened the door to the outside world. It was like stepping between portals. The world inside his house was quiet and dark. This world had a blazing red sky, even past dawn. Jagged clouds reflected the harsh light giving them an ugly glow. The gaps between the cities were as scorched as the sky, barren and desolate. The little vegetation that was left was tinted with age. They clung to life, surviving on the sour groundwater, which in turn filled their veins with black dye. Ruins of old buildings littered the landscape, long since destroyed by the events of the war.

The buildings left standing however, gleamed with a silver glow. Shining even in the night sky, they were the jewels of the horizon. They clashed with the red sky like a sign of defiance. Starting from his house on the outskirts, Jack could walk easily to the city of Chron in about five minutes.

Chron was given its name after the war. Most of the gun metal that was melted down was used here to build an amazing city of silver steel. The city itself however was nearly devoid of sound, save for the chrome cars that whizzed by on the street. The few people that were on the sidewalk never went out of their way to greet anyone. Everyone kept silent: they were still shaken up from the war, and the uprising of the rebellious gun-wielding vigils. Out of respect, they never uttered a word outside, for it was said that the buildings were filled with the dead souls of the victims that fell to the city’s materials. Jack grew used to this when he moved here five years ago, and so when he walked down the street, no one else paid any mind to his existence.

After the war, school was only given to those who wanted to become high placed in society. Jack, wanting to become a military man, barely fit the curriculum for the school. Anyway, classes were expensive, and Jack could only afford it because his father made a lot of money for being part of the army. Many were home schooled instead.

Jack’s school, if you could call it schools now, was a small chrome building with three floors, and looked like any old apartment building. It was almost identical to the surrounding buildings if not for the size. The classes inside however were far different nowadays: the rooms were very small, and would usually only accommodate the teacher and two students. Blackboards were still very common, however materials were sparse and students were encouraged to bring their own supplies to class.

The classes themselves consisted of the basic teachings of arithmetic, history, and English. Science was taught only to those with a career interest because the government figured that anyone else might get ideas. Even though Jack never had to put up with science, he still hated classes. His teacher, Mr. Demoque was a boring old man that droned on and on about lessons that Jack could care less about. And at the end of every lesson, he would assign worksheet upon fruitless worksheet that seemed to reflect his teachings. It was boring, monotonous, and pointless. But no matter: tomorrow, Jack could leave school for the army, and he’d never have to sit in that steamy classroom again.

Recently, Jack’s classmate and dear friend Fred Van had left to become a businessman, more specifically an apprentice for the restaurant business. He hoped Fred was having fun, because Jack knew he would have to sit through Mr. Demoque’s boring lecture alone.

He remembered one time Fred had actually folded a paper airplane in class while Mr. Demoque was reading their morning lecture. When he threw it, it circled once around Mr. Demoque’s head, and landed on his desk. Surprisingly, he did not react to this act of mischief, and continued to read the lesson. He remembered the brown haired boy laughing after class, saying that “Mr. Demoque was an arrogant old bean who could lecture to students through the apocalypse.”

However, they were mere memories. Jack hadn’t heard any news from his best friend since he left a week ago. After today, he would also become unknown to these doors and hallways like everyone else who was taught here.

Weighted down by his bag, he entered the dark hallways of his school. The walls and the floor of the building were as blank as a sheet: spotless and white. Every few feet, there would be a brown door leading to an enclosed room that served as the classrooms. In the middle of the hall were a series of stairs that would lead to the higher levels, or into the lower level where the boiler room was. Jack has only seen one room of this school however, and that was the first door on the left: Room 1001. He always wondered what room 1000 was, and now he really didn’t care, for soon, he reminded himself, he would be helping the government stop the terrorist threat, and not listen to some old man drone on and on about things that were very limited in their use.

But today, he had to endure 4 hours of ranting and acting like he was paying attention.

He opened the door, and stepped into the small, empty classroom, save for a desk, a chair, and a blackboard. Setting his bag down next to the desk, he took his seat and pulled out his books. Staring at the blank blackboard, Jack could already feel his eyelids grow heavy.

A few minutes later, Mr. Demoque himself walked in wearing a speckled gray suit and carrying a brown folder. He was tall man with sleek, graying hair and wore glasses that covered a serious face. “Good morning, Mr. Roberts.” he said, not turning to look at him. Instead, he sat down and opened the brown folder and pulled out several papers. He studied one particular sheet, and said almost glumly “You never did like my classes, didn’t you?”

At this, Jack snapped to attention and replied hastily “Well, they weren’t, bad,”

But Mr. Demoque simply waved his hand and said “Ahh, don’t try to hide it; I can see it in you eyes. Besides, they never do. Regardless, I suppose I should join you in celebration.”

“Sir?”

Mr. Demoque smiled at Jack and said “You know Jack, this is your last day here.”

All Jack did was nod in response, and say “Yes, I know that.”

Mr. Demoque then looked at another sheet of paper and said “It says here you want to become a soldier. It’s a very fine profession, but I suppose it’s not because of the pay?”

It was as if he could read Jack’s mind. Jack felt a newfound respect for his teacher. “Yes, I do plan on joining the army because finally I will be able to help fight the vigilantes that terrorize this nation.”

Smiling, Mr. Demoque said “I know that’s not your only reason Jack. I’ve known you for too long. You’ve been cooped up in here everyday listening to me, and meanwhile the whole world is moving around you. Yes Jack, I am aware that you continue to ignore my lectures, but before you leave, I want you to remember one thing.”

“What’s that sir?”

At this, Mr. Demoque looked long and hard at Jack, and finally said “Stop once in awhile and take in what the world offers you. You can’t ignore everything forever. You have to be able to learn something, and if you keep your eyes closed and your ears shut, you never will. ”

He cleared his throat and put his papers away. “You may go now. There’s no sense keeping you here for four hours with nothing to do.”

Moving slowly, feeling like he would rather stay, Jack put his supplies away and carried his bag out of the building forever. He took one last glance at Mr. Demoque and left, wishing that he hadn’t slept off during his lectures.

However, that feeling soon passed away as Jack looked on the horizon. “Soon, that’s where I’m going to be; away from this dull, boring town.”

He knew exactly what to do next: he would go back and eat lunch, then wait until tomorrow when his old man would arrive. Then, they would drive into town, and sign him up for the army. It was going to be perfect he thought as he whistled his favorite tune.

Was he ambitious, or foolish, or maybe a bit of both? It never crossed his mind.

Jack thought he would return home and sleep some of the day off before grabbing lunch since it was still early in the day. He figured he needed it, and he had to be in top shape for tomorrow.

When he came upon his small one man house however, there was a strange camouflage print Humvee parked right next to it.

“What the hell?” thought Jack; he wasn’t expecting anybody, except for,

Dropping his bag, he ran inside the house, and sure enough, there he was in an old sweater vest and gray pants, brown hair blending to gray. His father, just like he remembered him from last year. He was sitting on his bed, looking at the photo on his bedside table. “Ah yes, I remember this photo; you wouldn’t smile. We kept trying to make you smile, but you were set on being sad.”

Jack felt unusual; he thought he would feel happy at this moment; after all, his old man had come early. However, something ate away at him, and it made it so that he couldn’t feel happy.

His father set the photo down on the edge of the bed stand, and looked around the house. “I remember the first time I saw this house. I figured it was easy for you to manage. Hmm, but you’re not keeping it very tidy, are you?”

Jack shifted his hands in his pockets, and shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess I’m not really the best at housekeeping.”

His father let out a small laugh, and said “No, I guess you’re not.”

Getting up, he looked at his watch and said regretfully “Well, I’m only authorized to be here until about noon tomorrow, so I was thinking one quick birthday lunch, dinner, and then I have to go back. I only wish I could spend more time with you.”

Jack suddenly knew what he was feeling: he knew this was probably the last time he was going to see his father for a very long time. Now that either one of them could die on the field of battle, this moment would probably be their last together. And even if they both survived through the war, what would be the chances of their off-days falling together?

That’s if they survived together. Jack wasn’t kidding himself: he knew his father was getting older, frailer, slower, whilst he himself was inexperienced in fighting.

So Jack pleaded “Dad? I want you to at least stay for my birthday tomorrow.”

His father curled his mouth in thought. “I don’t know son, I don’t know if I can.”

Jack took his father’s hand, and begged him “Please? It would really mean a lot to me. After all, you know we probably won’t see each other again. Please?”

His father sighted, and said “Okay, but let me think about how I’m going to do this.” He paced the room for a moment, accidentally kicking a leftover box of fries and ketchup next to the bed stand.

Then his father snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it! Since you’re signing up for the army tomorrow, why don’t I take you there? Granted, the trip will take up most of the day, but believe me: you’re going to have to get used to staying up for long hours.”

Jack smiled and asked him “So, when do we go?”

His father smiled with him, and said “Finally, now you’re smiling. If we leave right after lunch we can rent a room somewhere. I can also introduce you to a friend of mine I made during the war.”

Jack nodded, and thanked him, saying “That sounds great dad. That sounds great.”

“Good. Now, pack whatever you need because you probably aren’t coming back for a while.”

Minutes later, Jack was rushing as fast as he could, packing sets of clothes, money, toothbrush, towels, and other necessities, throwing them into his bag untidily. His father yelled form outside “Son, are you ready yet?”

Taking his red duffle bag, he yelled back “Yup, I’m all set. Let’s go!”

He ran past the photo that laid forgotten on his bed stand to jump in the Humvee and leave for the army.

The breeze from his body as it passed the photo finally made it tip over the edge. The photo flipped once because of its unusual shape, and now the side with the boy and the father was facing down. It slowly made its way towards the floor, falling like a leaf, where it clipped the box of French fries and ketchup. The edge of the box acted as a teeter-totter, and the photo flipped again so the boy was now facing the sky while the father’s face was smeared in the red sticky substance.