Musicians/Music Groups Fan Fiction >> Avenged Sevenfold
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The Danger Line
The door of the training room slammed open as PFC Matthew Sanders slammed his wrestling opponent to
the mat. The men came to order immediately.
“Private Sanders!” the messenger shouted.
“Yes, sir!” he replied, standing.
“Clean up and report to the captain's office in thirty minutes. He requests to speak to
“Yes, sir.” Matt acknowledged, saluting him. The messenger left the room, and Matt
rushed for the showers.
Thirty minutes later, he was outfitted in full uniform, knocking on the door to the captain's
personal office. Captain Ramos opened the door personally, then seated himself at his desk where he
had been filling out paperwork. Matt, uneasy, stood at attention.
The captain looked up at him. “At ease.” he directed. Matt relaxed into the less formal
Ramos scrawled his large signature at the bottom of the page he held and cleared his throat.
“During your training, you were acknowledged as particularly proficient in your use of
projectile weapons, is that correct?”
“Therefore, you, among six other men, were selected by the commander himself as marksmen for a
particular assignment. Based on your performance in this assignment, this position could become
permanent. Do you understand?”
Behind the simple words, Matt's mind was reeling. They wanted to make him an assassin. He was hoping
to make it through his draft term without killing. Now he was being specifically called on to kill.
“We need exceptional shooters for this job, and you have proven yourself one of the best in
our ranks. Your scores were some of the most outstanding we have seen in the entire draft, and it
would do very well to have you as part of our squad of marksmen.” Captain Ramos continued.
“The task will be difficult, even disturbing, but you will receive an extra sum to your
conscription wage and you will be assigned to a new company with the other marksmen, directly under
Commanding General Winsley. Do you consent?”
Private Sanders thought for a moment. He should say no. He should continue his term here and stay
safe. He could go home to Val in one piece, not crippled and broken like some of the men he'd seen.
He could stay among his equals, the common draftees. But his country needed him. (The country he
hated for endless spending, wasted on extravagance for the rich and the useless attempt to hold this
shattered foreign country together.) If this job was so important, it must be some foreign
politician he'd be shooting. And the faster their government was gone, the faster the United States
could carry out their stupid plan to take over, and the faster it would all be over.
“Then sign this form. You will report to my office tomorrow at thirteen hundred hours and I
will accompany you to the Commander's office for further instruction.”
Matt stared through the sight of the rifle at the far off figure. Just a job, he thought.
Best get to it over with, and then he could go back to base.
But this man was so vulnerable. Standing unaware in the open sun, entirely oblivious to the fact he
was being stalked.
Matt was a hunter. He was going to kill this man.
An enemy. A threat. He needed to be disposed of before he caused any more damage.
But all the same, just a man. A human being. This was murder.
Justified murder, he argued with himself. This man was a leader in the corrupt system, one of the
reasons both countries were ruined.
He didn't want that ruin for his family, did he? For Val, and their unborn child? No. He wanted a
good life for them. The economic depression was worsening. If he did this now, it would be over
soon. The troops would pull out. He could go home. Less money and less time would be poured into
these foreign people, and more to his own people.
The politician's back was still turned. In a surge of righteousness Matt sighted again, aimed, and
“Private Sanders. I must congratulate you on your recent success. It is not easy for a draftee
to handle the horrors of war, and with regards to your exceptional position you seem to be doing
better than most.”
Commander General Winsley himself, congratulating Matt. There was no higher honor in the army. But
what was he saying?
Better than most? Has he seen me at all? I have committed murder. There is no
The scene played over and over in Matt's mind. The way the first man crumpled to the ground like
paper in rain. The astonishment of the people surrounding. The way each of them fell, one by one, to
his bullet or one of his allies', while trying valiantly to pinpoint the source of the shots. The
whizz of the single bullet that missed his head by an inch. A bullet he deserved.
Matt kept his face blank. “Thank you, sir.”
“I have another task for you.”
Matt completed eleven sharpshooting missions over the course of five months. He was beginning to
adjust to the complete focus of the job, pushing all other thoughts from his mind. His consciousness
was calm, clear water, with a single ray of light shining through to illuminate his target. But as
each bullet thudded home, the water stirred up murky and black as he believed his soul had become.
After each mission he emptied his stomach into whatever obscure corner or basin he could find, his
face burning with shame and guilt.
It was his last month, his last mission, his final trial. After this the foreign government would
come undone, and he could go home to see Val and his new daughter.
Even so, he knew he would never be the same.
His company was stationed along a rooftop with tall molding to shield them and large cracks to shoot
through. It was the perfect place. The streets were too narrow for most vehicles, so the quarry's
escape was unlikely.
He was positioned next to the new recruit, as always. The rumor was that each one that positioned
next to him turned out a better shooter. How ludicrous. He was no teacher. He just let them watch.
This one was fidgety, however, and wasn't paying particular attention to the task at hand. He seemed
obsessive about cleaning his gun.
“Keep your eyes on the target, kid.”
The young man's head snapped up and located the man in question… who had spotted one of the
novice snipers. The man began to shove through the bustles of people in the square, desperately
racing toward one of the only two exits. A shot rang out, and the novice fell limply from the roof,
dead. It seemed the enemy had snipers as well this time.
Winsley's voice came sharp through Matt's earpiece. “Fire at will! Target in motion.”
Matt took aim, his inner peace intact. He was by now accustomed to the sharp orders, the buck of the
gun in his hands. He aimed… and was distracted by a tiny glimmer streaking toward the young
man next to him.
“Get down, kid!” Matt shoved him aside.
He wasn't fast enough. The bullet embedded itself in Matt's side; he felt a searing pain through his
abdomen. He reached for the wound and his fingers were slick with blood. The kid's face was a mask
of horror through the red haze over Matt's vision.
“Target down.” Said the voice in his earpiece. Matt relaxed. The job was done. Val and
their baby could now live in peace, and Matt received the justice he believed he deserved.
Private Matthew Sanders died content.
“Tell my baby girl that it's all right, I've sung my last song today.
Remind the Lord to leave His light on for me… I'm free.”
--Avenged Sevenfold, Danger Line
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The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.