The Army

“Give us the money, or we’ll chop your bloody head off!” Challenged Nova while pacing in a slow, precise circle, around the poor beggar. He wore only a pair of tattered, dirt-crusted pants, and a makeshift pair of shoes. His entire body was brown, from either dirt, or from the long hours under the unforgiving sun. His face was wild with disgust.
“You and your worthless Army can all go to hell. This planet would be better off without you.” Spit the beggar, now on his knees. “Aynsley, kill him. Now.” Ordered Nova, coming to halt while doing so, so that the beggar had no choice but to look at her.