Ryker Musil - Capitol / ex-PK - WIP

The most striking thing that one first notices about Ryker would be his brown eyes that reflect the sorrows of someone that can’t forgive himself, has seen too much, or has deep internal struggles. His face is quite worn and one might attribute it to the scars and lines that are etched into the handsome visage, but it’s something more than that. His hair is cut short, cropped out of habit from his long service with the Peacekeepers -- it’s still of a full, dark brown colour. They are accented by deep bags under and leading up to his lids, caused by long, restless nights. His nose is somewhat longer, with a strong, crooked (from various exercises) bridge that ends nearly straight though with a very slight bulb at the end. It’s angled slightly upwards above a small mouth and strong, accented jaw. Cheekbones that are also visible, high, are a decent bit above the facial hair that he sometimes sports.

Ryker is not a big man, and one could argue that his ‘listed’ height of 5’7’’ is a bit generous. He is stocky though, tipping the scales close to 180 pounds, and athletic, something that was required of him at an early age and perhaps forced upon him with rigorous training. He has neither long arms, nor long legs, both being decidedly average and well proportioned to his body. In terms of clothing he has always been fairly minimalist, not partaking of the lavish lifestyle most Capitol citizens have, perhaps due to his time served and the uniform he was so used to wearing.

Once, Ryker had a very strong personality. He was a natural leader, headstrong, good instincts, well spoken and trustworthy. Growing up in the Capitol made it easy to indoctrinate -- in fact he didn’t need to be indoctrinated at all. He was always of the belief that the Capitol was merciful in allowing a people that they’d conquered to live. Even as a child he’d had dreams of grandeur and viewed himself as becoming a decorated hero of the Capitol that would be recognized by the president.

Things change.

He is a shell -- more morose, depressed and moody than he once was. There are still glimmers of his old self shine through when his wife and daughter are involved, but even then they have noticed him slipping further and further into his own darkness. Nightmares haunt him constantly, and when awake flashbacks are becoming more frequent. It is rare to find him sober anymore, if his daughter is not around, and it has affected his socialization as well as his mind. His experience has left him with more knowledge than he’d like to have. While he puts on a good act for the Capitol his allegiance has long been gone.

Longing for an escape, Ella (his daughter) and Jewel (his wife) still tie him to the city, and really, this life.

I was born 42 years ago into a wealthy family to two young, loving Capitol aristocrats. As a child I was happy, life was good, I never wanted for anything. Popularity in school came easily as I was often one of the leaders amongst most sports and games. I did well enough scholastically, too.

Unfortunately my father was a gambler, one of his many transgressions, and despite being originally quite wealthy life in the Capitol seemed to be a bit too much for him. It wasn’t long before the family’s fortunes were wasted, and debt of a veritable size was accumulated. Soon things began to fall apart, and thought it was supposed to be quite the occasion for a young person, my 16th birthday was monumental for a different reason -- it was the last time I’d see my parents or my home. I was given up to the Peacekeepers as recompense, in part, for the debts.

This is my story.

1. Training Camp

Right. Left. Right. Left. Right. Left. My eyes were trained down, making sure not to miss a single opening in the hard, treaded rubber. Tires were hell. It all was. I was one of the lucky ones; I was made for this. I managed to pull my right leg over the black hump and run off again -- sprinting towards the hanging rope infront of a vertical, smooth wall.

“MOVE IT SOLDIER!”, I heard the screaming of the drill Sargeant. Someone was falling behind.

Gripping the rope hanging in front of me I started climbing. The threads tore into my hands; a painful experience. It didn’t take that long to get up and over the slab of concrete, and the short fall wasn’t so bad to roll out of. More running. More sweat. It really wasn’t so bad. Obstacle after obstacle, training hadn’t changed much from the earlier days in society and we were expected to be in the best shape possible. It didn’t always work out, but the methods were tried and true. It was really hot out, and I could see some of the other trainees eyeing me. I was new, I was young, and I was eager.

Daigo and Rufus were waiting for me at the end. They’d started much ahead, and I’d nearly caught up. “Take it easy there champ...lots more training ahead of you.” Rufus said with a smirk, patting me on the back as I doubled over to catch my breath.

“You’re never...going to...go...anywhere with that...attitude…” I replied, between long, laboured breaths.

Both of them shook their heads and started walking back towards the Academy. I had somewhat caught my breath again, and was following in stride before taking a half step ahead of them and turning. “I’m serious guys...I’m going to lead a force my own one day.” I had stopped, arms folded over a puffed out chest -- it might have seemed a bit comical, but I was very serious.

“Really...and what are you going to do with that?”, it was Daigo’s turn to poke fun at me.

“Well...I’m going to lead expeditions to round up deserters, rebels and criminals.”, I paused, looking between the two of them in the eyes. “I’m going to become a hero. I’m going to go down in history for my contributions to the Capitol and the president.” Delusions of grandeur. Oh how naive I was. Looking back, I can’t believe that I didn’t see it. Most of the people at the Academy were forced there, indoctrinated by the Capitol. There was no glory, there was no ‘going down in history’. There’s only lies, death and fear.

“Be careful what you wish for, pup…” One of the older Peacekeepers happened to be towing the line, and had caught up to us in our discussion. He looked weathered, older than his age could be. Half-closed globes that belied a weary man, surrounded by coarse black and silver hair. “...you’ve led a privileged life, Golden Boy.” That was all he said.

As he passed us, we fell back in line. “That’s Oakley,” spoke Rufus, who had been there longer than us, “I heard that he fought in an uprising, and had to quell a district near revolt before.” My eyes remained trained on him as we continued our trek back to our bunks. Seems like a bitter old man to me.

2. Reality

It was mayhem. Complete mayhem. I had been out a few times to different postings, nothing really of note that had gone on, but I was on the fast track to become an officer of some kind and I never lasted long at any one place. The worst I’d seen, up to this point, had been lashings and floggings. Obviously, I didn’t always think it was necessary, but they were a lot easier to handle than what was currently going on. Everywhere I turned my head there were people either fighting Peacekeepers, my brothers in arms, or running from them. Fire, smoke and screams filled the air. This was by no means an uprising, but even a small group of people could cause issues. This small demonstration against the Capitol and President had to be snuffed; the people made examples of.

I’d never killed anyone before. It was a weird feeling -- I had been training for this since I was 16 years old, exceedingly well, and yet when it came time to pull the trigger...I hesitated. The man was in a frenzy and I was wearing the white of the Capitol. I had never done anything to this man, his face ragged, he was scrawny and malnourished, but I represented them and to him that was enough. Did I deserve to live over this man? Pop! That training and self-preservation had kicked in and now the man lay lifeless at my feet, my weapon still smoking and a strange feeling in my arms from the recoil.

A strong grip on my arm and a tug, as the fog was lifted from my head. “KEEP MOVING!” It was Oakley. He was leading this troop, it wasn’t his first time, and we’d become somewhat close over the years. He was like a mentor. Despite everything he had said to me about battles, death and glory it had never really set in until now.

I followed closely behind him as we wove through the crowd. This wasn’t much of a fight; it was more like a slaughter. They had no way of fighting the firepower that we possessed. What in the world are they doing? Why do they keep fighting? This is a question I’ve asked myself many times since. Surely some life is better than none at all? Or at least, that’s what I used to think.

More gunfire, people being rounded up; children, men and women all screaming. It wouldn’t be much longer now.

Suddenly I was falling sideways as a sharp pain went off in the side of my leg. When I hit the ground my rifle escaped my hands and was flung a few feet away. I didn’t panick; I was top of my class, the best of the best. What would unarmed, untrained barbarians do against a lethal weapon like myself? I rolled onto my back and I could feel the pressure of someone that had jumped on me, but my adrenaline was pumping. A shiv was descending towards me, and instinctively I reached out to grab the slender, weak arm.

That was when her face caught my eyes. She was only a child, maybe 10. Brainwashed by rebels? I was frozen. There was so much hatred and anger behind those young eyes. Soot covered her face. She couldn’t move out of my grip and I felt pity. She would receive lashings for su---

Bang! Blood splattered on the visor of my helmet.

Bang!

Bang!

I relive that moment every day of my life. Every night. Every waking moment. I see her face in my dreams, when I walk and in my daughter’s own face. There was no glory here.