"Knowledge is power, power comes at a cost." I hold the pamphlet up to my face for most of the ride. My father is bringing me along on this trip, far from home. He never told me where I was going, just that I deserve to know. I don't know what he's talking about when he says it. We are in a strange place, in a desert, in a limo, driving farther and farther away from the airport.

"Daddy, are we there yet?" I ask my father.

"No, not yet." He responds, never taking his eyes away from the window.

"But I'm bored!" I scream, throwing myself on one of the luxurious seats. "I want my laptop!" I scream again in my shrill, childish voice. My father is rich, I am spoiled. The limo comes to a halt, forcing my little body forward.

"Now we're here" my father says, "be good."

The door opens, and my father steps out. I follow him and am greeted by a gun wielding tour guide. He wears a gray t-shirt with the logo "First Contact Inc." and a baseball cap made out of tin-foil that says the same. He looks down at me, resting the giant weapon on his shoulders.

"How are you, little fella?" He says, a smile on his face.

I suddenly become shy, and lose all ability to speak.

"Here take this" he says, handing me a tin-foil hat just like the one he wore. I suddenly become excited, the gift exciting me and I put it on my head with glee. The shiny, wrinkled aluminum foil feels rough against my hand as I grab the bill of the hat. I notice it is simply aluminum foil stapled to a baseball cap, and the 'First Contact Inc.' logo stapled onto that.

"Samael" my father says. I turn see him wearing the same hat. He kneels down, his eyes level with mine. "Do not take this off, do you understand me? Do not take it off." He says sternly, grabbing the front of my hat. "Come with me" he says, grabbing my hand.

A man comes in front of him, this one down not have a gun. He whispers something in my fathers ear, and looks down at me. He whispers something again, and my father hands him an envelope bulging with rectangular paper. The man flicks through it; all I see is the number 100 in green. As I said, my father is rich. This money is almost nothing compared to what we have.

My father kneels down to me again. "We are going to be separated once we go down the stairs. I'll be waiting for you when it's over, okay?" I look and see a rock ahead of us. I notice strangeness in the rock, and realize there is a secret covering to it. I think that the stairs must be hidden there. My father speaks again, "Listen to me. This is very important. Do not take the hat off, never take the hat off. You'll go with this guy. Listen to him, for once follow instructions." My father points to the man with the gun. He takes my hand and walks with me to the rock, the two strange men walk side-by-side of us.

The man without the gun puts his hand on a part of the rock, and the rock slides open. There are stairs within, leading downward. It is cold at the bottom, and it looks like a museum. It is quiet too. There are cases with small metallic discs, and figurines of large, gray human things.

The man with the gun takes me away, grabbing my hand and walking me away from my father. I do not protest, remembering my fathers words. He brings me to a room filled with other children. All of the others are wearing hats like the one I was given. It looks like a party, with loud music, food, and noise. There is a stage at the front, and rows of seats facing towards it. The seats are metal, and arranged in a big square. There is a long table at one end, with bowls and plates and strange objects that look like discs. The floor is cement and cold, very cold. Lights hang from thick wires on the top of the room, casting a bright, bluish light down the crowd.

A girl comes up to me. I can hardly hear her above the loud music. She is dressed nicely, in a dress with small flowers on it. She is holding a red, plastic cup and a plate of cookies. "Hi," she says, "do you know where we are? They took me away from my mommy, and I'm worried." I shake my head nervously. "Oh well, thank you." She walks away to a corner and blends into a crowd a anxious children.

I hear a metallic clink behind me, and see the man with the gun walk forward. I look behind, and the door has a metal bar across the wood. The music silences.

"Take a seat, take a seat everyone" I hear the man with the gun say, standing atop the stage. I sit along with everyone else. Four children walk slowly to the four corners of the square of seats, eyes staring ahead. "Now my boss wants me to say stuff like 'Courtesy of First Contact Inc. I reveal to you' blah blah blah and stuff like that. You want me to get to the fun stuff instead, right?"

A roaring "yes" comes from the seated throng of children. The lights turn off, it is dark. I cannot see in front of me. I hear strange noise, and a child screams that he is afraid.

The lights turn back on. The four children at the corners of the square of seats have changed. They are tall, taller than the man in front, with eyes bigger than my hand. They are thin, with a brownish gray skin color. They have long arms, with only two blunt fingers, like a dull pitchfork. They look like they are kneeling, their legs are bent. A thin line of brown skin connects the top and bottom of their legs, forming a sort of triangle. Their toes are like their arms, only two of them like a dull pitchfork. They have long slits of glowing, red eyes. There is no nose, and they are naked.

I run for the door. It is locked, and cannot be moved. Five others join me, screaming and crying for freedom. The rest are hypnotized, walking towards the front. I notice a door has opened in the middle of the stage; colors are coming from it and a bright light. Some mist comes from it, slowly filling the cold, cement room. I scream louder.

The four start to converge the five of us. They don't walk, but waddle. One of the children banging against the door drop their hat. He drops instantly, screaming about voices and that there is too much of something. He is shaking, begging for it to stop. The man with the gun rushes forward, and puts the hat back on. The child's screaming stops, and he walks like the others toward the front.

The four things come forward again, and I watch in horror as they touch the foreheads of my three other companions. They walk forward as well, dazed and hypnotized. I scream the loudest I have in my life, begging for freedom, or for the things to leave me alone. I now know fear, I am so afraid. I see an arm come towards my head.

It is like a dream. I see only fragments, children playing with anti-gravity toys, a four dimensional puzzle that stumped me, a piece of paper that wrote out my thoughts without me having to move, a hat to go over the one that I was wearing.

I wake up in the limo, my father staring out the window. It is cold now, and I know I am almost home. I feel different, smarter, artistic. I see a pad of paper with drawings that look like a professionals work, and know I had drawn them. I flick through the pad and see mathematic equations, biology sketches and notes, and much more. I know I have made all of it.

I look up stunned, looking through the window. I see my reflection in it, and the cap I was wearing. It was made of tin-foil with the logo "First Contact Inc."

He knelt in the grass, hiding in the shadows of the trees. His sword unsheathed, and archers to either side of him with arrows notched, Jaime tapped his shoulder. He turned around to face him, a boy no more than four and ten, he had yet to shed a man's blood. He wore a light cloak of red cloth and a leather jerkin with a dagger at his hip. "Shall I give the signal?" he asked in his boyish voice.

Barret faced forward. There was a fishing village nestled in an area lacking trees up against a giant lake that looked like it was burning as the noon's light bounced off the dancing waters. The putrid smell of fish hung in the air, and children played in the distance. The lake was lined with a few fishermen lying with rods in hand, and a single boat out in the water. The village couldn't have been made up of more than twenty log houses, and a circle in the middle that stood as a pathetic excuse for a market.

He didn't want to do it, but it was a job. The Golden Dragons always agreed to a job.

"Light arrows," he whispered to the archers next to him. They took out their flint and struck it up their steel daggers, the sparks catching on the oiled arrowheads and lighting them in yellow and orange. Around the village, other archers did the same. He spied a small group of his men mingling in the small crowd just ahead, filthy rags thrown over chain armor and hiding daggers on their thighs.

"Raise arrows," Barret whispered. The two archers did as they were told, and the rest followed suit.

"Fire," he whispered.

The first ones flew into the air, not a sound to be heard, and then more soared. The first arrows didn't even land yet before the archers had lit arrows, notched and readied. "Fire," Barret said again, not bothering to hide his voice. More flew into the air just as the other hit their targets.

A woman screamed as a cabin lit aflame. Men turned to the chaos as more arrows hit and more homes were lit. The men abandoned their rods at the lake to run into the town, a couple carrying buckets of water.

Barret stood and raised his sword, a clean steel longsword that he found in the city of Midgar on a merchant's table. "Charge," he said, not a hint of bloodlust or excitement in his voice. The archers put away their bows and took out swords.

Barret ran, Jaime just behind with dagger in hand and the two mercenaries at his side. More emerged from the bushes, until all his men were charging the village, all hundred of them. None made a sound, using the distraction of the fires to sneak in.

When he reached it, he saw that the men he sent ahead under the guise of fisherman had already done much. Blood splattered the burning log walls and bodies littered the ground as his men swung their daggers this way and that, cutting down anyone that came in their way.

"We're under attack!" a fisherman screamed, wielding a homemade maul, a stick with a fist sized rock tied to the end.

"Run!" A woman screamed. "Save the children!"

A man lunged at Barret from behind the corner of a building. Barret had just enough time to raise his sword before the hoe swung down on him. He blocked it, and broke the wooden handle in the process. The fisherman was stunned, and Barret plunged the sword deep in his belly.

He slid it out as another one came at him from behind, with a rake. Barret sidestepped and it hit the bloody ground. The farming tool dug into the wet red dirt and lodged itself in, stuck and sticking out like a small, bent tree. The farmer was stunned as he pulled and it refused to budge. Barret swung his sword down and took the man's head off.

He turned back to the village to find every building lit like a candle. There was not a single safe cabin, and the flames danced far into the wind. Smoke stung his eyes and filled his nose, and he ran to the market, where the fighting was worst.

People screamed, metal clanged against metal, blood spilled, and and heat blew into his face. Barret ran in, cutting down a fisherman from behind as he tried to maul a mercenary. He ducked as the fisherman with the homemade maul took a swing at him. Barret lifted his sword, just for it to be knocked out of his hand. He charged the man into the wall of a burning cabin, and his screams were deafening as the flames took him. Barret grabbed the man's weapon and used it to smash another in the chest.

He spotted Jaime, at the other end of the village. Three men surrounded him, backing him towards the water. Jaime tried to block their blows, but his dagger did little. He was wounded; Barret saw how he clutched his side.

Barret charged them, maul in hand. The first one didn't expect him, and Barret heard a satisfying crunch as he hit the man in the back of the head. He wasn't as lucky with the next one, and he was hit with a hoe. It became wedged in his chainmail, and Barret swung. The maul caught the fearful fisherman in the stomach, causing him keel over and let go of the hoe. Barret swung down at the man's head, and he went limb. He swung to face the other one, and smashed the wedged hoe in the man's side.

Using the moments distraction, he took the last man's feet out from under him and crashed down onto his chest with the maul. He stopped breathing, and Barret turned to Jaime.

"Are you okay?" he asked, panting.

"It's nothing," Jaime replied, trying to stand straight up. "Just stings a bit."

"Fine," Barret responded, and turned back to the homes.

It was no longer a village, with crumbling cabins and bodies sprawled on the ground as the clanging of metal on metal died away and his men walked out of the charred rubble without a scratch. Soon, the only sound was the roaring fires and the only smell was smoke and death.

"Looks like the battle is won," Jaime chuckled. Barret turned to face him, and saw the waters of the lake had turned red.

"Not a battle, a slaughter," Barret said, his voice cold as stone. He walked off. "Get yourself looked at," he called back as went to his men. Instead, Jaime followed at his side.

He found Hearty Hobb, a big man with more fat than muscle, but knew how to handle himself in a fight. His sword was dripping with gore, and scarce a mark was on him. "Barret!" he called when he laid eyes on him. "How are you?" Hobb said as he walked up.

"Did we lose any?" Barret asked, already knowing the answer.

"No, at the most Freckled Fred has a bruise from when he tripped over a fish." Hobb let out a loud, hearty laugh.

"Get me my mount, I need to see Ashtagar," Barret said. Hobb turned to fetch him it.

Ashtagar was the man that hired the Golden Dragon, Barret's band of mercenaries. They were a hundred twenty strong, always did what was asked off them, and always got the job done. Ashtagar was the lord of the city of Midgar, and said that the village was on Midgar land without paying taxes. He wanted them gone, and Barret had no choice but to accept when he laid out the gold and contract.

"Barret, why did we do this?" Jaime asked behind him, standing straight with his side no longer in pain. "Couldn't there have been some sort of agreement, something other than killing?"

Barret looked down at Jaime, his brown eyes glistened in the fire and sun, and his black curly hair blew in the wind as his cloak flapped behind him. He was a lean lad, lean and kind. Barret wondered why he had ever taken him in with the Golden Dragons; the boy didn't belong in mercenary work. "We just did what was told of us, Jaime."

"We were told to get them to leave; couldn't we have done something else?" Jaime said with aspiration and confusion in his voice.

"You weren't there Jaime, we weren't told that. Ashtagar wanted this, not I."

"Couldn't you have refused him?"

"No, the Golden Dragons never refuse." Each word was a knife plummeting in his heart. The look of the fishermen, their scared faces, the red lake, the burning homes; he didn't want it. He wanted to settle down; he had lost his hair and was starting to feel age catching up with him. He wanted a family to settle down with, not pillage innocent villagers.

Hobb returned with his mount, a black stallion that whinnied and shook its head at the sight of fire. Barret comforted him and took to the saddle. To his surprise, Jaime climbed in with him. "What are you doing?" Barret asked.

"I want to see Midgar, I don't remember what a city looks like," Jaime said.

Barret huffed and turned his mount. "Just be quiet," he said and dug his feet into the stallion's sides. It charged off through the men and onto the well-kept road, to Midgar.

The ride was smooth and quiet. The smoke was always seen behind them, no matter how far they rode, but the sounds and smells were soon gone. They met no one on the way, and soon the walls of Midgar came into sight.

They were huge things, built of red brick and without as much as a scratch on them. The road led up to the north gate, and there Barret and Jaime came face to face with the guards. They were clad in tunics with the standard of Midgar, a white eagle soaring down on a blue field, over chainmail and had longswords at their hips.

"You 'ave to stop 'ere," one spoke in a gruff voice. "No 'orses in the city."

Barret dismounted in front of him and Jaime followed suit. "I have business with your lord Ashtagar, mayhaps you'd be so kind and stable my mount for me."

The guard scowled but grabbed the stallion's reins as Barret walked through the gates, Jaime at his side. The buildings rose high, cement with red shutters. The roads were cobblestone, and the putrid scent of waste filled Barret's nostrils as he walked past an outside privy. A child ran past them, and the screams of the market could be heard from afar. Huge towers rose from the corners of the walls, and the people were clad in thick furs and wools.

Barret found Ashtagar's living quarters and entered, Jaime at his side. He showed the guards the lord's insignia and they let them through. Ashtagar was at his desk, huge and wooden and carved with monsters and heroes of old. He had slight stubble on his chin, and wore fine red silk as he bent over a piece of paper and a quill shook in his hand. He looked up when Barret walked in and sat back in his chair.

"It is done?" he asked with a sly smile. The man must have lost his wits; you can see the smoke through the window.

"Indeed, I have come for payment," Barret replied. Ashtagar sighed.

"Come, sit Barret. I know you must be exhausted." Barret sat across from him on a rickety wooden seat. "I must admit, I had wondered how I was going to procure your payment of… how much?"

"Ten thousand gold pieces, sir," Barret replied business-like.

"Ah, yes. The amount you agreed on upon."

"The amount we agreed upon, Ashtagar." Barret started to smell a trick.

Ashtagar's smile grew to a wide grin. He stood and gathered various scrolls and papers that rested on his desk and cleared his throat. "You see, Barret, your company is cheaper than you."

"The Golden Dragons…" Barret started to object, agitation in his voice.

"Are mercenaries, or have you forgotten that?" Ashtagar finished. He smiled even wider than before. "It's been a pleasure doing business."

Barret's eyes widened when he connected the dots, but it was too late. He went to stand, only to feel cold steel slide across his throat and feel the warm crimson splatter onto his mail.

Ashtagar walked out as if nothing had happened, scrolls in hand as Jaime walked in front, a bloody dagger in hand. He had a look of stone on his face.

"I like this about as much as you do, but it's just another job," Jaime said with icy cold words. He plunged the dagger through Barret's mail and into his chest.

Barret blacked out, dreaming of a family.