The Compound

2011

Xander collapsed in the street, screaming in his hands as the fire blazed over Ezra's house. He smelled the rotting of the house and the burning of flesh. His eyes met the burnt corpse and his ears heard the cries from the others.

Xander turned and squinted through the floating soot. There at the window looking out over the Compound was a silhouette. There was an ominous feeling that came with the sight – a knot twisted in his gut. And then he felt hands come over him and carry him away from the perimeter, judging by the muscle mass of the arms that enveloped him – they belonged to Bronson. Xander snapped. He threw an elbow which caught Bronson in the windpipe. Xander hit the ground hard as Bronson released his grasp. He turned again to the window but the silhouette was gone.

Xander found his feet and started running toward the house. He was within twenty feet when the gas line exploded, sending one more violent blast through the Compound. As Xander flew back violently through the air, he woke up sweating from the recurring memory. Panting and sweating, Xander jumped up in bed looking around in hopes he could find his way back to reality.

It had been three months – the new year had dawned – and nothing had gotten better.

Xander's speculation grew wild, despite Hardy's announcement that Ezra had committed suicide. Hardy's words during the memorial service echoed through his head.

"Ezra was troubled. The pressure you all face got to him. Ezra gathered C4 from the Armory. Judging by the wreckage, he planted them next to the gas main in an effort to take out his whole house and him along with it. You all should consider yourselves strong for making it through where another has faltered. We have to be there for each other in this dark time in Project Sparta. This loss will help us grow closer together. This loss...will make comrades out of us," his voice trembled. Xander sat despondent, numb to everything around him. He remembered his initial thought upon hearing it.

Did he really kill himself? Or did they dispose of him, knowing that he had mentally and emotionally checked out from the Project? They wouldn't kill a dissenter would they? But then who was that silhouette? And why did they not look alarmed or surprised by the explosion? Was it Ezra's murderer?

Xander's trust in his surroundings and the program had dwindled to a faint apathy. He began to keep to himself, attending mandatory trainings and immediately retreating to his house afterwards. The memory of Ezra's death had replayed over and over like the hard drive of his brain had a glitch. The image of the charred corpse surfaced again and again, haunting him. His anger was growing for the instructors and the program itself. He founded himself adopting Ezra's sentiments of the Project before his death.

They are completely manipulating us...

Over the three months, Duke seized the opportunity to climb the leaderboard as Xander's name descended like a bird with a clipped wing. Xander fought in a clumsy manner, merely going through the motions of each subsequent battle. He acted with a poised detachment, just engaged enough to fly under the radar. There had been a battle in a rail yard, a Church, the mountains and a schoolhouse – all abandoned locations within the region. During the battles when he had a moment, he would look out to the edges of the landscape and consider running for it. He wanted to abandon the program, leaving everyone behind. But he couldn't leave behind Fiona.

Xander watched her from afar, avoiding as much personal contact with her or anyone else as possible. He continued to watch the surveillance monitors as Fiona carried on with her mornings and evenings. Through the months of surveillance he had seen no indication that she could have questionable loyalties. The only coping mechanism he had was running. Xander ran long distances around the Compound every day, alone and apart from the other Spartans exercising in the fitness center. It was the only way he could find the space and time to process his thoughts. He pounded out every ounce of anger he had into his physique, chiseling it into a built frame.

One day as Xander lapped around the Compound, Hardy approached with condemnation spread over his face.

"Xander!" Hardy barked. Xander stumbled to a stop near the Colonel.

"Yes, sir..." It was hard to make eye contact with the intimidating instructor.

"Follow me," he spun on his heel and headed south to the clanking steel stairs that lead up to the one-way window, overlooking the Compound floor. Xander unsure of himself stopped at the bottom of the stairs, knowing that the room he was being led to was off limits to the Spartans. Hardy turned at the door and eyed Xander at the bottom of the stairwell.

"Xander... get your ass up here now..." He spoke through clenched teeth and a deep tone. Xander shuffled up the stairs as if being kicked in the rear end. Upon following Hardy through the door, they did not come to room, but rather a long hallway with unmarked doors on either side – all of which were closed. It looked like a series of offices. Xander kept up with the brisk pace of Hardy as they processed to the other end of the hallway and passed a stairwell leading into the gallows of the Compound. They came to a door where an exit sign hung.

Without a word, Hardy pushed open the side exit door of the surveillance room. They emerged from the control room into a long arched, concrete passage way.

Tunnels within Tunnels.

There, parked right outside the door was Hardy's Suburban. Xander climbed up into the front passenger seat upon Hardy's lead.

"Where are we going?" He buckled his seatbelt.

"Shut the hell up, Xander!" Xander's lips sealed. The scathing words humbled Xander, for Hardy had always remained patient and kind, despite being more distant since the beginning of the Project. It was almost as if the world had stopped turning for the moment and they drove through a suspended stillness toward the daylight. As they sped off down the tunnel toward the light, Xander could slowly feel the warmth creep over his skin again. They emerged from the tunnel fully consumed in the daylight.

It was so bright Xander couldn't see, but from his head to his toes he felt the sun's rays embrace him through the open window. It was in this moment Xander felt a strange ecstasy, as if freed from the confines of Project Sparta if only for a moment, unhindered from any thought of a battle to come, just the mystery of the ensuing one-on-one field trip.

After a ten minute drive, Hardy and Xander arrived at a busy city park. The spring flowers had begun to bloom as the fresh breezes swirled down the walking path and toward the far side of the park in the distance. Xander watched the squirrels collecting their bounty and the bees harvesting their honey. Hardy's pace had slowed to a stroll. Together they walked down a path, hands in pockets as Xander awaited Hardy's first move.

"Xander, tell me what you see..." His voice broke with softness. Xander kept his slow pace and scanned his surroundings.

"I see colors ... children playing ... nature ..." Just then a five year old stumbled and fell, scraping his smooth knee on the asphalt. Immediately, a worried mother ran to his aid and helped him up. The five year old's eyes began to well up and his bottom lip sprouted out and down like a wave crashing, but the comfort from his mother stalled the tears before they broke. She dusted him off and kissed him in an embrace. Hardy offered commentary to the scene.

"I see justice."

"But isn't that just an abstract word that we use to define whatever we want to define... does it even have a real meaning? Or is it just a plug value that helps our expression of ideas?"

"Just because we often use the word 'justice' incorrectly does not mean there is not a real meaning behind it – a real meaning that in many ways still needs to be discovered but in every way needs to be protected." Hardy countered his logic.

"So what is justice?" Xander asked.

"Justice is inextricably connected to carrying out the Common Good, within oneself as well as on behalf of society. Justice is doing what is right, no matter who opposes you," Hardy explained.

"Sounds like Plato's Republic..." Xander recognized the sentiment.

"Why do you think I planted that text for you?" Hardy asked with a smile. It was the first time the text hidden inside the Fox and the Grapes had been spoken of.

"Honestly, I don't know... I've memorized the whole book, but I can't understand it all."

"I thought it could offer you some perspective. And I knew you wouldn't be able to fully understand it all, it's philosophy not math. That's why you have to always be asking yourself the highest questions." Hardy added, reiterating his message to Xander on the title page of the book.

"So if justice is about fulfilling one's role... what is mine?" Xander asked.

"Xander, your role will be revealed to you over time, but right now you are the one that must hold the other's together. The Spartans are nothing without a leader and a leader is only a tyrant if he doesn't live the just life," Hardy explained to Xander's silent contemplation.

Xander surveyed his surroundings but this time focused on more particular sights – the toothless smiles of the children playing in the flowerbed, the mothers gossiping behind their baby strollers, the ducks crossing the walkway ahead. He recognized nature at play in all forms. Xander's walk slowed as if shot by a bullet.

His eyes lifted from the ground to the distance. Two hundred yards away on the far side of the park stood a flag pole with an American Flag dancing in the same breeze that swept by him.

"Xander, we are not CIA, we are not FBI or NSA or American military. We are contractors and that allows us to do things the other agencies cannot do. It allows us a significant amount of freedom. A freedom that we must be careful to not misuse. We have to live the just life in order to self-govern ourselves in a way that promotes the Common Good of the country." Some of Hardy's musings flew over Xander's head but nevertheless Xander nodded, caught off guard by the depth of the retired Colonel, walking alongside him.

"Colonel Hardy, what happened to Ezra?" The question was posed with such depth that Hardy could tell he had his speculations.

"Xander, he's gone."

"But how? How he died does matter." Hardy stopped in his tracks and for the first time turned to face Xander straight on.

"You want the truth, Xander?" A nod followed. "The truth is that Ezra killed himself because he was fighting for himself and nothing else. He refused to believe that something out there was bigger than himself to fight for. This unwillingness drove him crazy. To make it in Project Sparta you have to be all-in. You can't have one foot out." Xander noticed the emotional crack in his voice and the sadness upon his face. Hardy's heavy eyes lifted back to Xander as he continued.

"I didn't train him well enough. And I will have to live with that..." Hardy explained through difficulty.

Xander could see the guilt, regret, sadness and rage on his face, all encapsulated in one crevassed expression.

"Ezra must have realized he did not have hisfooting in reality and folded under the pressure. That is why I am asking youto not lose yourself like Ezra. Get your feet back on the ground and your assback in gear." Hardy's tone adopted the intensity of a drill sergeant. Xander nodded,eyes lost in the distance.    

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Do you trust Hardy? Or was Ezra murdered?

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