Mangled corpses and dismembered limbs lined Main street amongst fallen confetti and tussles of tinsel. Such was the aftermath of the bombing of Buffer on their 30th Independence day, a terrorist attack that targeted the massive parade on this day of would-be celebration. Such was the view of Tyrod Jones.

Tyrod Jones was twelve years old when terrorists first struck. He had lost a sibling and a mother; was left to be raised by his father in the remnants of a society that had devolved to a simple refugee camp. His people would be plagued with war for the next six years. Tyrod would lose his father to another such attack. He would move camp seventeen times over those six years leading up to his eighteenth birthday. And he would not lose the cold rage that pierced his core on that day of the first attack.

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It was Tyrod's eighteenth birthday today, a day he long awaited. He was now able to join the freedom fighters of his home. Enlightened on the inside but wearing a serious demeanor across his face, he approached the enlistment tent.

"Hello, son. You lost, or are you looking for information?" asked one of the two men in full military camos from behind the desk, sitting in the shade the tent provided from the harsh sun.

"I'm here to enlist." spoke Tyrod in a matter of fact tone, making steady eye contact with the man who had spoken to him.

"Alright, glad to hear. I'm gonna need some information from you, and I'm assuming you have your ID? Do you have your papers on you, your birth certificate?" the same man inquired of Tyrod.

"It's all here." responded Tyrod firmly, while lifting a beige folder in his left hand.

"Excellent. Well-prepared, you are. We'll take your ID, and I'll need you to fill out some forms. Here, take these." the soldier handed the documents over to Tyrod, who in turn handed over his ID.

Tyrod scanned the documents silently and began to fill them out. The soldiers behind the desk examined the ID, then switched their gaze to Tyrod and studied him. Finally, the other soldier spoke. "Happy birthday, recruit. Might I ask, why are you enlisting today, on the very first day of your eighteenth year?"

Tyrod looked up from his forms. "For the people of my hometown, sir."

"It is too late to save them, son. We've no room for anymore hero types."

Tyrod stared at the man coldly. "I'm not here to be a hero, sir. You speak true, it's too late for saving. But the time is ripe for revenge."