“I pledge my loyalty to the Greater Walmart Regime. I will fight the enemy and protect my allies. I will follow orders without question for one cause: honoring our leader. I am willing to die for the Greater Regime. I am not willing to give up. With loyalty, justice, and certainty of peace.”

This is what we all chanted on the curb right outside the entrance to our facility.

It’s true, I guess. Every morning, we would line up in rows in front of our facility—or base—before our Head Manager to recite it, either as part of the daily routine or after a battle had finished, right between our garages and hangars, which were usually located outside each facility across the lands.

Then, we were dismissed to our stations. Under the Walmart Regime, there were maybe 350 soldiers guarding our facility in total.

As I entered, I looked up at the flag, which was blowing in the wind. It was a deep ocean blue, with what seemed like an icon of the sun in the middle—just without the actual sun but the rays surrounding it.

I saw some riflemen enter their concrete nests in the entry zone, which was surrounded by barbed wire and numerous barriers. These were some of the more important soldiers, as they alerted us when an invasion was coming. I, however, was not as important. I was stationed inside the facility itself, in my own nest. I was still vital, though, in my opinion, at least. 

We were all vital in our own way.

I traversed the aisles, passing various items provided by the Manufacturing Department under the Regime and items traded by allied states and their manufacturers. Soon, the facility would open to people who lived in homes constructed of metal sheets and bricks nearby. People only cared for the hand that fed them; it was just a matter of whose hand we fought for.

For example, one of our major enemies—the Krogerians, as we like to call them—have notoriously fought against the Regime, attempting to diminish our power. As far as I know, they don’t have any allies, so they make their own products. They are fully self-dependent, which makes them vulnerable. I am grateful to fight for the state, which has many supporting allies, including the powerful Sam’s Empire and the Republic of CVS, which recently took over the Walgreens Dynasty after it collapsed.

I reached my nest, built high on a structural pillar, which gave me a great vantage point over the facility’s many open aisles.

I, myself, was a Marksman—unit 0050. My job was to sit high above everything else and fire at enemies at a safe distance with pinpoint accuracy. I did my job well; I’ve done this my whole life.

I climbed the rungs of the pillar to my nest, which was filled with empty bullet shells. I had used the same nest my entire life, constantly firing at the enemy during raids or battles, resulting in these shells.

Every time I climbed up into the nest, I heard some shells fall out and hit the tile floor below. They covered the entire nest’s floor about a foot deep. Many of them were boxes of actual ammunition from which the shells originated. 

It’s not that I didn’t want to clean it; it’s just that I didn’t feel like it. Cleaning it up wouldn’t change how I’d lived, fought, or felt.

I took the time to put on the armored uniform that all Marksmen wear: a thick, camouflaged, bulletproof suit that covers everything except the eyes. Yes, it was hot, but it also took time to put on, which isn’t efficient when you’re being raided without warning and need to take action immediately. So, it’s good to have it on at all times.

I looked at the corner of the nest and saw the large rifle leaning against the wall. The intricate design made it stand out from any other marksman. I had earned it for playing an essential role in conquering the Democratic Hobby Lobby and Target. 

I sat down next to it and then held it. My eyes grew heavy, and I began to drift off. It was quite early in the morning, anyway.

Then, an alarm blasted over the speakers.

“Warning! Raid incoming! Warning! Raid incoming!”

I stuck up immediately and didn’t hesitate to move towards the nest’s opening. I took the rifle and put it into position.

It was the Krogerians. They raided every other week, and I’m not sure where they got all their men, as they never seemed to win. They seem to have increased their interest in the facility, but I wasn’t sure why. 

It was all the usual. I scoped the store and looked at the other Marksmen’s nests. There were three nests, each covering a wide area of the facility. Yet, I rarely saw the other marksmen outside of the daily pledge.

Once the Krogerians entered the store, it was nothing special. They have a habit of doing the same thing over and over again, expecting the outcome to be different. It’s insanity. So, I did my job; it was nothing I wasn’t used to. 

With each shot, the nest continued to fill with the shells—more and more, as if it’d ever change.

Once we had finished off the raiding Krogerians, I continued to scope around the store for any remaining enemies that may have been hiding in an aisle.

I looked over to the clothing section, where the wooden flooring stood out. I stared over the racks and aisles of clothing, waiting for the slightest movement.

Then I saw it: someone silently slipped in between an aisle, crouching, attempting to maintain stealth.

It was a Krogerian; I knew it. Their uniform was barbaric.

Something about this Krogerian, however, felt quite strange. I didn’t know why. It may have been their look or their lack of a weapon. But I knew my job and pledged to fight the enemy daily. So I would.

I held my breath to keep steady and hesitantly fired.

I pulled the lever back, and another shell hit the nest floor. I let the rifle down and looked as they stumbled behind an aisle out of my view. I may have hit their hip, but I couldn’t recall as it was done mindlessly. I stood up and grabbed a knife to investigate. There was something that had drawn me to go and see this Krogerian up close. I wanted to know who they were.

A few shells spilled out as I exited the nest and hit the tiled floor below.

I swiftly made my way to the clothing section, approaching the aisle where I saw them. Cautiously, I peeked over the aisle, and the Krogerian stumbled behind me.

They were still there, silently lying on their back with their hand on their hip. I stepped towards them and looked down as they took off their mask to breathe. It was an older soldier. In fact, it was an older lady. 

She looked up at me, and her eyes widened. She took a breath and said:

“I still know those eyes, Edward.”

I hadn’t heard that name in years. I was only ever referred to as 0050. But it slowly came back to me. Perhaps she was an old caretaker, but it wouldn’t make sense why she would be a Krogerian as I had spent my entire life under the Regime.

“I’m proud of you.” She added, closing her eyelids. I wanted to do as I was ordered but I couldn’t for some strange reason. She still lay there breathing; perhaps I could leave the job to someone else.

But in her face, I could see my own in it. There was a slight resemblance, yet I couldn’t tell how. She may have been my mother who abandoned me before I could remember her face. A singular tear ran from my eyes that I couldn’t control. 

The speakers in the facility beeped, indicating a message:

“Attention: all Walmart soldiers report outside for the pledge.”

I stepped back and quickly walked off, leaving the old lady lying there.

Then, I made my way outside, where everyone was gathering. It was time for another pledge to honor the raid we had just won.

I lined up next to my fellow soldiers and wondered what the old lady was doing. I had simply left her there and lent no assistance.

I did not see my soldiers the same way. This encounter with the lady made me feel shifted and alienated despite my not knowing who she was.

As everyone finished gathering, I could still picture the shells in my nest piled there, as if they would ever change.

The pledge started as the anthem played, and everyone chanted the exact old words I had spoken my entire life.

But this time, I didn’t say anything.