You can’t escape your nationality. Believe me, I’ve tried. You can run all you want, but it will still catch up to you. Even if you’re not running that far, or escaping at all.

     My name is Phoce. I live at Deriot Capital, in the Fenictrician continent. I’m fifteen. Did that sound weird? Most continents stick to saying their homeland before anything else, while others would just shoot you. But here in Continent Fenictry, we’re required by law to say our names first, because (1) we don’t have surnames anymore, and (2) just in case you’re Continent J and you decide to reveal yourself to the idiots hunting you.

     If you don’t know what I’m talking about, here’s a little history lesson: our continent sort of started World War XI. It’s not like we wanted that to happen. You see, our deceased President had this unfortunate accident: he discovered J, the forty-seventh continent—and it still had its natural resources intact. And what do you think the rest of the world which had never seen trees would do? They’d kill the discoverer to claim it. Well of course they had this civilized meeting among the other Continent Presidents first, before majority of them decided to just eliminate ours. President Pire was killed so they could legally transfer the ownership to his newborn son. They thought the younger you are, the easier it would be to control you.

     That was poor decision making on their part.

     Thing is, their plan backfired. Fenictry refused to stand down, and they even had to fight off intruders who wanted to get supervision over the kid. There was war. Then there was World War XI. It was each continent for their own. No trading, no helping. Just waiting for the other continents to die or something.

     The kid, who was named Continent J as for continental tradition, remained in Fenictry Capital—at least for a good six to seven years. The president of Continent Omin visited him, and almost got him to leave Fenictry until some rebels kidnapped Continent J. Almost a decade later, the future President was still missing.

     And you know what? We almost shot an aircraft out of the sky to find out that the search for Continent J wasn’t over.

I was going to say that it started off as a normal day, but if you don’t think teaching kids how to handle firearms is a good idea, then I’d rather not.

     Here in Fenictry, we have this thing called Citizen Army Training—basically, they prepare you for military service whether you like it or not. So when the army’s in need, they can take just about anyone. Yep. Very fair.

     “Hey you,” a voice grumbled from behind me, “what the hell are you waiting for? Go grab a rifle and get in line for the drill!”

      And obviously, I’m no exception.

     I turned to the military proctor for today’s training. “Okay, but did it ever occur to you about the dangers of this—”

     Her eyebrows furrowed. It was scorching hot that day, but she wore her thick grey uniform proudly. She adjusted her shirt collar and glared at me with squinty brown eyes. “The other proctor told me about you. Can’t get yourself out of this drill, kid—NOW GET GOING!” 

     I scampered off as far away from her as possible, which was probably still near since the vacant lot we trained on wasn’t that big. In fact, it’s like a miniature version of the whole Deriot country: small, dusty, and crowded.

      “Terminated!” a student shouted at the front of the line. It was what we said whenever we shot a target right, so the next person in line can take over. I looked at the metal sheet up ahead, and at the circular marks we were supposed to aim for. Only the outer circles were dented. But everyone wanted to get this all over with, so they let it slide and moved on.

     A couple more sheets were more or less terminated, and I soon found myself facing the target. I took a rifle from the rusty old rack by the firing point, and focused at the smallest circle. I heard a couple of smirks behind me, but I didn’t mind it. They’ve all seen me fail horribly over and over again anyway.

     I steadied my arm and the rifle, two fingers already at the trigger. More laughter. I heard one of the proctors shouting at me to hit the damn target already. From this angle, the bullet would hit the center of the target perfectly.

     Let me tell you a secret though: if they see that you’re good, you’ll get recruited sooner.

     Right before I pulled the trigger, I tilted my rifle a bit and the bullet shot right at the wall, a few inches from the metal sheet.

     “You’d be the first to die in battle.” I turned around and saw the brown-eyed proctor from earlier. “Do you know how soldiers from the major continents like Threlta fight? Even when they are injured, they’re trained to still fire at the enemy as they bleed to death!”

     I really should’ve kept my mouth shut. “Yeah, well this isn’t Threlta! I don’t remember the Fenictry army being as glorious as them anyway. Seeing as the death toll by the boundary was—”

     Smack.

     There was a stinging pain on my jaw. That’s the thing with soldiers. Insult them in anyway and they wouldn’t hesitate on punching you right on the face. Because the army is supposed to protect the people, and they’re doing a great job, really.

     I faced the proctor again, and I was really, really tempted to tell her the long list of what was wrong with the army. But all I blurted out was, “Sorry, ma’am.”

     She eyed me warily. Maybe she was expecting a fight or contemplating whether I was crazy or not (I probably was). “To the arsenal. Now.” she said sternly.

     As I walked away, I glanced at the proctor to see if she understood exactly what she had done. She sent me off to assemble and clean the other guns as some sort of punishment, but actually, it just got me out of shooting practice like I wanted. I smirked and walked faster towards the arsenal before she realized her mistake.

     When I got to the arsenal—which was really just bleachers stacked with crates of guns—the other students didn’t mind me. They were used to me being sent here. Majority of the people cleaning the weapons were those who couldn’t fight yet. The younger ones, the disabled kids, and most of the girls. It was why proctors thought it would be a consequence to send us off here, because they saw it as an embarrassment for us.

     “Here,” Catter, one of the girls who was stuck in cleaning duty, handed me an old double-barrel and a rag, “start with this, then maybe you can help me with the cannon afterwards,”

     I sat beside her and started disassembling the gun. “Who’s going to use the cannons anyway? It’s not like we actually have bombs at the moment. Or people to fire at.”

     Catter sighed and brushed her red hair from her face. “Oh believe me, we have lots of people to fire at alright,” she muttered. She looked up from her work and I followed her gaze. She was looking at the proctors.

     “What’s wrong?”

     She scoffed. “Well a lot of things! For one thing they—”

     “Oh no, don’t even try explaining it Catter,” a dark haired girl from behind us said crossly, “he wouldn’t understand it,” she added, glaring down at me.

     It was a good thing that neither of us had bullets. I ignored the other girl and looked back at Catter. “One of them punched me in the face earlier.”

     “I’m not surprised,”

     “I’m already angry at those walking tanks. It’s okay,”

     “You’re not angry at them, you’re annoyed. It’s different.”

     “Try me,”

     She stared off into the shooting ranges. I thought she was never going to bother explaining her rage towards the military folks until she suddenly grabbed my arm and pointed at the flag pole. It was at the corner of the training yard, on the opposite side of the shooting ranges. The pole was a bit rusty, but it stood tall anyways, bearing Fenictry’s flag proudly. Below it was Deriot’s flag; the colors were faded and it had tiny slits.

     “Look at the Fenictry flag,” Catter said starkly. We were the same age, but I felt like some stupid kid following orders. I wriggled my arm free from her grasp.

     She glanced at me and mumbled an apology. “See those words on it? You know what they mean, right?”

     I nodded.

     The flag was dark green. In the middle of it was an object with golden wreaths on either side. At first glance you’d think it was a shield, but it was actually an open book that indicated Fenictry’s Bill of Rights. Underneath the book was a burgundy-colored banner. On it were words sewn in gold thread that stated: Honor, Valiance, and Blood offered to Fenictry, in one of the continent’s oldest and respected languages.

     “Blood,” her voice cracked. “You know they say that the other continents think we’re silly hemophobic cranks. We were raised to believe our blood  was everything—every time someone sheds blood, we freak out. I don’t even know why, Phoce! A-and it’s not even because of medical reasons, it’s because we think it’s honor itself! We’re demented!

     “It’s so irrational, but I’m still scared of it. That’s not even the worst part. You know why most girls like me get sent off to this damn arsenal? Because they think lowly of us, unlike you honorable men, since we’re blood-shedders—it’s part of our system. It’s not like we chose that!”

     Catter lowered her head. We both didn’t say anything for a while. I didn’t know they were that affected by the continent’s gender codes.

     I glanced back at the pole. It was a bit windy now since it was getting late. I watched as the flag fluttered in the wind, and in the background, the sound of shots being fired seemed like an anthem. It was the sound I never wanted to hear, but we were all used to it anyway.

     “I’m sorry,” I finally said.

     She didn’t look up. “It’s not your fault, you know,”

     “The military proctor that punched me was a girl. See? Maybe the army didn’t mind it anymore,”

     “They send the female soldiers to do the light work. Like training students, food service, and clean-ups.”

     Over by the drill lines, I saw a girl with black velvet hair nailing the targets accurately with each shot. She was in different classes, but I knew we were in the same batch. She was always the one that got all the drills right, but had never been recruited.

     “Hey, um, some of the people out there by the shooting ranges are girls—”

     “Phoce, shut up!” Catter yelled all of a sudden. I was stunned for a moment. Catter was the nice kind of girl that talked to me whenever we get stuck in cleaning duty or in the same classroom. I’ve never heard her this mad until today.

     I stood up, holding the still dirty double-barrel and the rag. “I was just trying to help,” I murmured as I turned away.

     “No, wait!” she called after me, “I didn’t mean it like that. Keep quiet and listen!”

     I froze. There was some sort of faint, rumbling noise—like an engine. And it was coming from above. The other students heard it too. More and more were stopping whatever they were doing and looking up.

     The girl behind us muttered something I didn’t understand.

     “What did you say, Oxi?” Catter asked, keeping her gaze up at the sky.

     “It’s um, I think it’s a Fenictry airship, maybe? Scouting around or whatever,”

     My grip tightened on the double-barrel. “It’s not Fenictry’s,”

     They both looked at me cagily. “What?!”

     “Well if it isn’t,” Oxi said, looking back and forth between me and the now visible speck of an aircraft, “how would you know?”

     “I-it doesn’t matter!” I shouted as I began running off towards the shooting ranges. “Just go and get all the weapons ready!”

When I found her, she was still yelling at some poor guy to fix his aim.

     “Hey! Tell them to go in defense positions!” I shouted.

    She faced me and clenched her fists. “Was that an order?! You little—”

    A guy from the line interrupted her. “No, ma’am, he’s right,” he said, pointing upwards, “we’ve got trespassers.”

     The proctor didn’t need to look up. The roar of the aircraft’s engine got louder and everyone on the training grounds became still. Her eyes looked frantic, but she regained her composure, and with two words, she sent everybody moving: “DEFENSIVE MANEUVER!”

     The others rushed toward the arsenal, where the kids and the girls were already handing out weapons, and some took the rifles from the shooting range. Someone even grabbed the double-barrel I was supposed to clean. We’ve practiced this five times before, and I remembered how everyone was snickering to their selves because we looked silly pretending to fire at no one. But now we were all in a frenzy.

     I looked up again. It was getting nearer and nearer, and it was bound to pass overhead. Unlike Fenictry’s aircrafts, this one was massive—it was so solid and bulky that it was impossible to just penetrate it with guns. We needed something more destructive than that.

     Like cannons.

     “Catter!” I yelled as I started to run for the arsenal again. People kept bumping into me, but I was too preoccupied to bother apologizing. We had to get the—

     I staggered backwards. Something had hit me right on my stomach, something big and metallic. “Ow,”

     “Move it!” a voice yelled. I looked up and saw a girl, the sharp-shooter from earlier. And she had the cannon with her.

     “Okay great, I’ll take that,” I said as I tried to grab the load from her.

     She struck my hand away from the cannon. “You? Aren’t you the one that’s always firing at everything except the target? Sorry, but you could end up killing yourself with this. Now move over, I’m trying to get this to—”

     “The north. I know. Best position to fire it since that’s where the aircraft’s heading, now let’s go!”

     She hesitated at first, but soon we were rolling the cannon towards the flag pole, our landmark for the northern side.

     When we reached the flag, we began assembling the cannon. Then I realized we didn’t have anything to put inside it.

     I kicked the side of the cannon. “This is useless; we don’t have any shells or missiles!”

     “No, no, no…” the girl muttered as she inspected the machine. “Wait, there’s something inside the barrel… two! We’ve got two!”

     She was right—there were still two missiles jammed down the barrel. It was barely enough, but it was all we had. We looked at the sky again. The intruding aircraft would soon pass the training grounds. The girl took a deep breath. “Hey, um…”

     “Phoce.”

     “Daye.” she said. “So um, Phoce, have you ever fired one of these before?”

     “No but,” I knelt down by the cannon and turned on its control pad, “I think we’re about to.”

     I scanned the others who were aiming their firearms up at the sky, waiting for the proctor’s signal. “Wait, the defense they taught us was for something like Fenictry’s crafts.” I looked up at the approaching airship. “That is nothing like Fenictry’s. If we fire at them with our stupid bullets, they’ll counter with something worse.”

     Daye bit her lip and nodded. “Do you have a loud voice?”

     “What?”

     “HEY IDIOTS!” she roared at the confused mob before us. “DROP THE GUNS OR WE’LL BLAST YOU ALL TO PIECES!”

     The rest of the students lowered their rifles, and I saw Daye grin a bit. After this maybe the army would actually recruit her. But then I saw the proctors. They didn’t look impressed at all—they were mad.

     “If we drop our weapons, we would never be able to penetrate that aircraft!” a buff-looking proctor shouted back at us. “As the proctor for army training and the only superiors present, we command you to step away from the cannon!”

     They advanced towards us. Daye had struck a nerve on all of the proctors, and she would be in big trouble, so I figured, well screw it. “Yeah but,” I cried out, “as the one holding the huge cannon, we command you to get out of the way!”

     The proctors stopped moving towards us. “Everyone drop!”  one of them ordered while glaring at me. Okay, we’re going to die right after this. Daye nudged me on the shoulder. "Phoce, we’ve got about a minute left,”

     We quickly raised the barrel and aimed for the impending aircraft. I put my hand over the button that would launch the missile, waiting for the craft to come within range. It was seconds away.

     Thirty-five.

     “STOP THEM!”

     Daye looked from behind the cannon. “Are you kidding me?! We have this under control so stay out of it you—”

     “STOP! DO NOT OPEN FIRE!”

     Twenty-four.

     I removed my gaze from the control pad real quick to get a glimpse of the person shouting. Soldiers. The real ones, not like the proctors, but the soldiers right from Fenictry Capital.

     Eighteen. The aircraft was almost at the perfect position.

     “That airship up there is not trespassing. It has been allowed to land in the continent by the government! Stand down!” the general—well he looked like one—bellowed.

     The craft was a clear shot from here, and now the government’s saying they were some sort of guests? Do they have any idea what that sounds like, after all those years of trying to keep the outsiders out?

     Seven.

     I looked at Daye. “Do we still shoot?”

     “I was going to ask you the same thing!” she said, horrified. “I mean, Phoce it doesn’t seem right to just let them parade around here but—”

     Bullets whizzed by a few inches from where we stood.

     Daye and I both ducked behind the cannon. I kept my hand on the control panel. “Are they shooting at us? The Fenictry army?”

     “Damn it, it’s overhead! What are we supposed to do?!”

     From the corner of my eye, I saw the Fenictry flag. Daye noticed it too. I put down the control pad, and we looked at each other grimly. Proctors and soldiers under the direct order of the government were two completely different things.

     “We can’t disobey,” I muttered silently. After commanding the proctors earlier, it was humiliating to be stopped by inborn morals.

     Slowly, we stood up and raised our hands in surrender. The soldiers stopped shooting, and started trudging towards us. For a moment, the lot was covered by the aircraft’s shadow.

     And during those few seconds in the dark, I told Daye the aircraft’s continent. She leaned towards me and whispered, “We should have shot them.”