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Zeke cocked his gun at the boy's head, ready to shoot. He saw the glint of metal: he didn't have to worry, he would be faster than the boy, faster than his men. If the boy was going to kill him then he would have to die before he could.
He took a knife and threw it away.
"Like this?" the boy looked up to Zeke while the soldiers searched him for bombs, triggers, weapons, anything. Zeke stared coldly back into the boy's eyes, nodding. How old was he, really?
"What are you doing here," Zeke asked. "And where are the other people?" He would just have to assume that there were other people along with the boy. Even so, he made sure that the boy wouldn't be able to tell Zeke was faking it: his face still remained expressionless, jaw hardened further by the framing of his face in the helmet. He pressed the nozzle of the gun to the boy's head. He didn't want to hurt the boy, but he needed to get as much information as possible... "Where. Are. They?"
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