Paul

The major looked up with shaky eyes. His hands trembled as he reached for the revolver he carried in his holster. Yet before he could grab the firearm, a sense of dread fell on him, freezing his moments. 

"Just like every other one of your kind." 

He grumbled under his breath. 

"Fine, you want my knowledge? Well here's some. First, all of you 'Blessed' are just some intolerable pricks with some small powers. Second is that there is something wrong with all of you. Now where's my biscuit?" 

Mark shook his head, revealing his empty hands.

"They wouldn't let me grab any. Go get some yourself."

He could almost swear that the major moved his arm in an attempt to try and throw a punch, but he chose to ignore the sight and continued to pierce the man with his gaze.

The unwavering pressure elicited yet another defeated sigh.

"You think that I can walk after the beating you gave me? I can barely even sit up straight right now." 

Unmoved, Mark continued to look down on the major while everyone else continued minding their own business, manipulated to be uncaring toward the conversation. There was still more information that was being held back. He couldn't tell by logic, but something intrinsic and instinctive told him. 

And so, he waited. The vault of secrets remained sturdy, but his will was much more perseverant. 

Finally, the major let up, feebly raising his arms. 

"Take me to the food. I'll tell you what you want to know on the way." 

Nodding, Mark grabbed the man's hand and pulled him up, slinging the limp limb over his back so as to support the weakness. They started to the rations, slowly at first, but speeding up as the major's movements began to overcome his wounds. 

Some distance after leaving, he spoke once more. 

"Call me Paul." 

The name was quickly committed to memory. He must have wanted to create an exterior of a friendship. Maybe it was so that he wouldn't have to deal with the stigma of brawling with lower subordinates, instead labeling the fight as a friendly quarrel.

"Mark." 

Paul grunted in affirmation and began to talk about his past.

Before enlisting in the army, he was a psychiatrist working in an insane asylum. There, he witnessed what he described as a collection of the worst moments in his life, all compiled into a single job. He tacked problems that were mostly out of hs control. The only way to deal with them is through a grim acceptance of the way things were. 

His hands were tied between trying to uphold modest standards of rights to his patients while simultaneously keeping himself safe amidst the mess. 

It was a job with many unpredictable factors, yet he worked at it with passion. Then his career was suddenly thieved from under his nose. It was simply impossible for him to the talent that had usurped his place. Except, the talent in question was simply the Blessed ability to control how others felt. 

That was his first encounter with the unique ability that seemed to make an individual rise above others. It led to his eventual termination from his job as a psychiatrist at the ward as the war effort drew him in earlier than most. 

The rest was luck and a lot of using that luck to his advantage. Only by ceaselessly hoping and searching for the best opportunities was he able to rise from a normal enlistee to his status as a major. 

Soon enough, the familiar sight of the rationing soldiers appeared before the two. 

As they walked forward, the rationers saw their approach and attempted to clear the crowd away. Seeing as that didn't work, Mark simply stretched his mind and mentally gave mental cues for the crowd to part. 

Paul mumbled, probably in jealousy as he was brought forward through the newly created gap. He put on a face of sternness as the soldiers with the food quickly saluted. 

"Major!" 

He nodded. 

"At ease." 

The rationers fidgeted in their storage and eventually pulled out another biscuit. It was certainly the freshest one they could find, much better than the stale, perhaps moldy piece that Mark was handed. Jealously burned inside him. 

While Paul didn't show any strong reaction, when the rationer came close he leaned in. Their nearly silent exchange of words could barely be heard while standing next to them. 

"I know we might be tight on supplies right now but we have to do something before it gets worse. The last thing we need right now is a widespread mutiny, ok? So go back and tell headquarters to get their shit together and provide us with proper meals unless they want the front to get crushed."

The soldier rationing the biscuits quickly nodded, whispering with slight vigor. 

"Yes, major!" 

After that, the two promptly turned around and took their leave.

Parting from the crowd, Paul turned to Mark while chewing on the biscuit. 

"What were we talking about again?"

Mark scratched his chin. 

"I think it was about you becoming a major." 

Taking the biscuit from his mouth, Paul became livelier as a faint feeling of remembrance seemed to take hold of him. 

"That's right!" 

He smiled with a semblance of sorrow behind his vivid visage. It was quickly extinguished. 

"At the time I was already on the verge of being promoted thanks to the work me and my friends put in. But, before that happened, our current major was killed in the middle of an attack. So I took charge and led all of my soldiers to victory with some on-the-stop decision making and after we won they all started addressing me as the new major."

As he talked, he turned to eventually look directly at Mark. Something sparkled in his eyes. It was hard to tell if it was the reflection of the sun or some tears. 

"You see, the only reason I was able to take control of all of those people in the battle was because of someone I knew who was also one of the Blessed."