Ever since the night they shared that moment together, they began to build a relationship built on trust. They both felt the pain of being forced to take a life.
The child soldiers unit was finally going to be promoted to an official unit of the Pale Hand. They finally began to earn money.
Sam was 15 and Zola was 17. The other survivors of the Child soldier division were all adults.
Despite earning money, they are still bound to the Pale Hand.
All of the former-child soldiers found no problem with being bound to the Pale Hand. But Zola and Sam started to have their own ambitions.
For two years, Zola and Sam have been going to the lake and sharing their sorrows with each other. The pain of killing so many people had always been unbearable. But now that they have each other, it has become more bearable.
Right now, Timo had gathered all the survivors of the original unit and prepared to send them off.
"You 5. Of all the brats we brought, only you 5 managed to survive this long. I've watched you all grow and become stronger. Now, you are all ready to become one of us."
The 3 of them had smiles of pride. Only 2 were not proud.
"Pierre, Diego, Amar, Zola, Sam. 4 of you will be awarded your own code names. Sam, you already have yours, Canvas."
The 3 had excited looks on their faces. Zola was still stone faced.
"Pierre, you are 'Stoneheart.' Diego, you are 'Fiend.' Amar, 'Sandman.' Zola, 'Whitesnake.'"
The codenames are almost always based on the quirk one has. Pierre had stone hands, Diego could transform into a chupacabra, Amar could manipulate sand, and Zola could Sense anyone and move around them like a snake.
"I wish you good luck. You're going to need it." Timo says as he leaves them.
"'Stoneheart?' I like it." Pierre smirks.
"'Fiend?' Is that really all they see me as?"
"I like 'Sandman.' I'm like that guy from Top Gun."
The three others of the original child soldiers unit were busy discussing their new names and Zola and Sam were just standing to the side, watching them take pride in murder.
"So… I'm 'Whitesnake' now?"
"No. Just as you call me 'Samuel,' I'll call you Zola."
"But it still is a name that represents what I am. A snake. One that will kill and kill again."
Sam could relate to her unease. Being called Canvas and being feared as one of the most dangerous mercenaries of the younger generation is not enjoyable.
Sam could only Lament how Canvas has become a famous name among mercenaries. They all see him as the quirkless kid who hasn't been beaten.
2 years ago, Sam wouldn't have cared. But the moment he remembered what despair and sadness felt like, he hated it.
These 2 years did nothing to make the name Canvas be forgotten. Sam couldn't allow himself to lose. He would get shot and stabbed but he would always overcome. And with him being able to trust Zola to have his back, he was now more confident.
As they watched the 3 survivors talking, Zola and Sam just looked at each other. The look was one with a secret message.
'Same time. Same place. Past midnight'
They both nodded and went their separate ways.
The Pale Hand didn't forbid mercenaries being friends and even domestic relationships, but they are highly discouraged. Pale Hand always makes sure to highlight that 'every person on the reservation was a tool and that they should use each other and abandon those that are no longer useful.' That is the saying all new recruits are told.
For Sam, he knows that he is being watched. After regaining the memory that night, he understood that his memories were sealed. He told this to Zola and she advised him to not act any different in the camp, and only when they were able to get away from observers, would his act be allowed to end.
By night, and the other 3 survivors already went to sleep. Zola went into the forest first. Sam followed after 30 minutes. They made sure to carefully go when guards weren't close.
Sam walked through the dark forest and he finally returned to the lake. Standing by it, watching the stars was Zola, in her tank top and cargo pants.
"It's beautiful, isn't it Samuel?"
Sam looked up.
"Yeah…"
"This was our last mission as child soldiers." She said with a tremor in her voice.
Sam noticed it, but ignored it.
"Yeah…"
She turned around and showed Sam her face. Her beautiful yellow eyes were glossy. Likely trying to hold back tears from falling.
"We killed a lot of people again."
Sam recollects the last mission as child soldiers. They were in Liberia and were tasked with assassinating the general of the Liberian army. A psychopath who would burn prisoners alive for fun.
The child soldiers unit did a frontal assault in order to keep them occupied. Sam was then able to sneak in and kill him. Sam felt no remorse for killing him, and did it with prejudice. But he saw that one of the men he was torturing was still alive.
Sam went to his side and saw him reaching for a burnt book. A Quran. He was a devout Muslim. Sam saw the agony he was in. He brought the book and put it in the man's hands. Sam then aimed his glock at the man.
The man, despite the agony, began whispering verses. His gaze as he looked at Sam was something Sam would never forget. Relief. With a pull of the trigger, the man was put down.
While recollecting that, Sam suddenly feels tears fall from his eyes. Zola sees that. She knew this last mission was hard for him as she saw him with empty eyes and he was covered in dirt.
She looked back to the sky.
"Let me guess… a prisoner?"
Sam nodded.
"Yeah. A devout Muslim. Seemed a good man. He knew he was dead… and when he saw me aim at him… he only looked relieved as he chanted prayers."
Zola and Sam would always come to this spot and share with each other the painful events of the mission they returned from. They would both remember and mourn the lives pointlessly lost.
Not long after Sam, she begins to let her tears fall too.
"…I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"
She does the same routine as before. Apologizing to each man she killed.
Sam stands beside her as she apologizes. He doesn't speak, but having someone nearby was comforting. They both learned that after that night 2 years ago.
They understood that sharing each other's pain makes it more bearable. It doesn't erase their sins, but it makes it easier to endure it.
"…How many this time?"
"I… I counted 23."
"Then we have 24 people to mourn tonight."
Even some repugnant people they killed would still be mourned by them. But even they can't mourn some true monsters. The Liberian general was a sadistic pyromaniac who burns for fun. He burnt a foreigner apart of a charity program for the needy. He found this cute and decided to take one of them and burn them to try and get them to condemn foreign aid.
This time, he chose the son of a wealthy American businessman. He hired the Pale Hand and for the final test, they had to assassinate him.
After seeing piles of charred bones and the terribly burnt Muslim man, he concluded that the general was not human and unworthy of anything other than condemnation.
For the next couple hours they would allow their true feelings to free themselves as they tried to cling on to the last thread of humanity in them.
This was the only way they believed they could save their souls.
After that, they cleaned up their appearances. Cleaned their eyes and noses and made sure that any trace of sadness and despair was cleaned.
After washing his red eyes with some water from a water bottle, Sam looked at Zola who was using a handkerchief to clean herself up.
"…thank you."
She puts her handkerchief away and turns to Sam.
"For what."
Sam looked her in the eyes.
"For everything. For allowing me to join you here. For having my back on the battlefield… for reminding me of my mother. Thank you, Zola."
Zola's eyes softened hearing this. She never thought she would ever find someone to befriend in the Pale Hand. Everyone she met was fine with killing and feel no remorse for the lives they took. But Sam was different. He was disgusted with his past behavior.
She thought it was an act, but she knows what despair looked like and his face back then was in true despair.
"You don't need to thank me, Samuel. I think we both are just using each other. You need someone to help you with your pain, and I need someone to help me with mine. It's a give-and-take relationship."
Sam looks at her as she turns to look at the stars reflected on the lake.
"I don't believe that. I think we understand each other… I may be pressing a bit too hard, but I think of you as a friend."
Zola's eyes widen and she turns back to Sam.
"Are you mad?"
She looks at Sam with an irritated face.
"We could die during a mission. We can't have friends as mercenaries."
"And yet… I think you're someone I would mourn if I saw dead."
She clenches her teeth.
"And you think I would give a shit if you died?"
"I do."
Sam replies with no hesitation.
Zola clicks her tongue at that.
"…then you're delusional."
"No I'm not."
She stares him right in the eyes.
"I-"
She tries to say 'I don't care about you.' But she can't bring herself to say it.
"Fucking bastard…"
Sam smirks as she relents.
"Wipe that smirk off your face Samuel!"
"No."
Zola sighs and rolls her eyes. She turns back to the lake. But as she watches the stars and moon shine on them, she lets herself let out a genuine smirk for the first time.
'Damn you, Samuel… My friend.'
She thought as she felt less lonely as she acknowledged it.