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They slowed to a walk, and neared the edge of the building. A sign on the border wall read ‘Faction 13 Military Compound – Authorized Persons Only’ on the outside. But on the inside, facing Stanley, it read: ‘Deserters will be found. Deserters will be caught. Deserters will be shown no mercy.’

Stanley turned towards the other figure, said softly, in a barely audible whisper, “Jack, you sure? You can-“

Cutting him off, the other figure said to Stanley, “F13 can rot. But I won’t be here to see that happen.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Stanley shot a grappling bolt at the sign, swung off the building, and landed on the wall. He reeled in the line, and fired it again at the top edge of the building, where Jack waited. The bolt found its mark, again with barely a sound.

Jack pulled out a chain, and looped it once around the line. As he slid down, he could see many sleeping quarters of the soldiers of F13. It was an amazing sight to see, sliding down a cable, quickly, suspended 200 feet in the air, on a starless early morning. But the sight quickly passed, as he alighted on the wall next to Stanley.

As one, they walked to the room created by the sign’s base; that both warned those who wished to break in, and warned those wishing to break out.

They had two minutes to go until the shift changed at 4:30. Waiting silently; calm but elated at being so close to finally leaving the horrid place they lived and drilled in for the past 2 years, Stanley and Jack waited.

As the time grew closer, they waited, still silent, still unmoving.

10 seconds until the change… 5 seconds until the change…

Stanley and Jack hoped they hit it right, not too early, not too late, as they rushed out from under the sign, tied a rope to the wall, and slide down; quickly, efficiently. They hit the ground running: for freedom, for being able to say goodbye to F13 forever, but mostly for their lives. Dawn had become close at hand, and the Hunters would be tracking them before midmorning. Everything they ever did depended on that hour of panting, sweating, and navigating the desert.

The 12^th Faction was on the border of Canada, Stanley remembered, and miles and miles of unforgiving tundra north would stop pursuers. But F12 was also much nicer. No need to break out of it.

Minutes raced by, blending into a rhythmic pounding of free hearts and slamming of flying feet.

They had to find a place to stay, a place to hole up, before dawn, or the Hunters didn’t even have a challenge.

After a seemingly endless flat-out race, they found a cave that they found after 10 minutes of tireless searching. They fell asleep once their heads hit the ground of their carefully-concealed desert cave. The only sounds around the quiet hollow were the clicking of beetles, and the soft sound of water dripping into a small basin.

You can guess what their last thoughts were before falling asleep. Free, at last.

A dark figure snuck along the roof of a low-lying building. It was 4 AM, and a cold winter night in mid-west America, UCNA. The sky was still dark, but the stars were gone. It wasn’t yet past the New moon; the sky was an unbroken black ceiling.

As a figure ran long the roof, he slipped, sliding through rainwater. Brushing himself off and mumbling softly to himself, he moved along. It was still a mile and a half to the edge of the compound, and the southern side of the building. He had a long way to go.

Another figure had been seen scaling the side of a building. It was a long way to the ground. Slowly, surely, he made it to the top, just south of the running figure. Being early, he sat on the rusting metal railing, and waited.

The running figure slowly started to be able to see the figure sitting on the rail. He continued running; determined.

As he drew closer, he slowed. Knowing it was his friend, Stanley didn’t need caution around the sitting figure. He stopped, and took a brief rest and sat down.

As both figures got up from the rail, they shared no words, but just nodded and continued to move south quickly. They had to make it before dawn, or the whole compound would be covered in soldiers and guards would be covering the entrances and exits of the compound, alert for deserters. Guards weren’t required because nobody would go into the desert at night—or nobody should. Hunters were aware at night.

But Stanley and the other figure had been observing the movements of the Hunters. Shifts changed between 4:30 and 4:35. It would be a tight squeeze, but if they could make it out, they’d have a chance.

The two figures were running quickly in silence; but for the soft footfalls of Stanley and co, the cool July morning is quiet.

Finally, after 20 minutes of running, they reached the southern edge of the Faction 13 Military Compound.

June 14, 2509

They’ve told us when we stop drilling. They say we stop November 8^th. But they say these drills are nothing compared to what we’ll be up against when we deploy. The battles can’t be as bad as they say in the stories; stories are always half exaggerated.

Michael didn’t finish his last lap. He’s been executed.

June 30, 2509

I can’t go on. I can’t. I can sustain myself for no more than another week, but I have to get out, and soon. Hunters or not, I’ll take my chances.

July 1, 2509

They’ve let us rest for a week. I plan my escape. In three days I will try my luck.

July 2, 2509

Jack says he’s been pulling a tough face, but he’s really cracked. He must be really beat if he dares admit that. I’ll share my plan with him tomorrow.

July 3, 2509

Jack and I leave at dawn. This will be my last official log as a serving soldier in Faction 13.

Logs retrieved from soldier 00113, Stanley Jayson, GESFI