Code of Conduct


Her arm was crushed. It was bent into a misshapen collection of bone and flesh. It was twisted backwards, her fingers abnormally facing her. Agony and utter shock wrecked her features, her eyes wide and watering as she stared down at her arm in fright. Tears began to fall endlessly down her cheeks as she screamed and cried out in trepidation.

I saw it – the arm being forced back. I heard the bones snap and crack with a disgusting and stomach-churning pop. And I couldn't look away no matter how much I wanted. My eyes were glued to the scene. The others around me managed to tear their eyes away, but I couldn't. I tried, but I couldn't – my body wouldn't let me. It wasn't her arm that caught my attention. It was her face. Emotions mingled together to form an unexplainable expression. I could almost feel her pain.

She crumpled to the floor, her uninjured hand gingerly protecting her other one as her knees hit the hard ground, screaming out her pleas of mercy. A part of me was disgusted by her. She was supposed to be honorable and unbreakable, yet now salty bags of pain and fear were falling from her eyes as she asked for life. My eyes glanced up at the man who had shattered her arm, rendering her defenseless and withering with agony. His eyes were cold and distant, uncaring and merciless. You could see the kill in his eyes. He was a born killer, willing to take life without hesitation. He stared down at the woman, his eyes a black pool of empty feelings and emotions.

The woman seemed to see that this was the end of her life and there was nothing she could do to keep it. Her breaths began to come out in short, ragged inhales and exhales. Her nose was red and moist, her eyes red and puffy, her hair a blonde, tangled mess and her dark clothes torn to shreds. She was sobbing now; her pleas had ceased. Without a look of reconsideration, the man reached down and placed his hands on both sides of the woman's face. Shutting her eyes, her sobs became louder. I couldn't help but wonder if her life was flashing before her eyes. And then with one, swift, effortless movement, the man snapped her head to the side, breaking it, and ending her life.

The crack hit my ears and sent both a chill of discomfort and excitement up my spine. Those black pools turned to look at me, and I froze in my stance, feeling as if my very breath had been stolen from me. It was only a fleeting moment, but my heart had skipped a beat. The group around me began to mummer in low voices, whispering things I didn't even bother to try and pick up. My eyes were glued on him as if I was entranced. We had won the battle, and killed someone who surrendered.

Was this the code of conduct?