Chapter Text
The morning sun casts long shadows across the archery field. The air is still, save for the distant cry of a hawk. Ninurta-apal-Ekur, his lean frame radiating a quiet intensity, walks with a deliberate, thoughtful pace, a bow already in his hand. Beside him, Ili-pada, father of Ninurta, his expression one of respectful concern, listens intently as he strings his own bow with practiced ease.
Ninurta: [sighs, a low, dramatic sound] Another sunrise. Another day to carry the weight of... well, everything. Honestly, Father, sometimes I feel like I'm just an unpaid intern in a truly chaotic startup, except this startup involves actual empires and extremely sharp bronze.
Ili-pada: [a faint, knowing smile plays on his lips as he expertly snaps the string into place] An intern who also happens to be the CEO, yes. But it's your enterprise, my son. And unlike most interns, your 'decisions' tend to involve more than just organizing the papyrus scrolls. Best to make them with a steady hand. [He gestures to the bow.] This helps steady the hand.
Ninurta: [nods, eyes fixed on the distant target] I know, I know. "The future demands more than just patience, Ninurta." It demands, like, an entirely new level of caffeine intake. I just want to binge-watch some newly transcribed clay tablets and forget about the geopolitical hotspots for, oh, an hour. Is that too much to ask?
Ili-pada: [walks beside him, unperturbed, the sun catching the silver in his beard] You'll have plenty of time for contemplative leisure when you're my age, believe me. For now, we shoot. And we think. And we prepare.
Ninurta reaches the target line, setting an arrow to his bowstring. Ili-pada follows suit, his movements fluid and confident. Just as Ninurta draws his bow, a rustle of movement behind them, followed by mature footsteps, announces a late arrival. Putur-sin of Mari, slightly disheveled but grinning sheepishly, hurries onto the field, fumbling with his quiver.
Putur-sin: [panting slightly, adjusting his tunic which seems to have been hastily thrown on] Morning, gentlemen! Or... almost morning for me, it seems. Massive apologies! Traffic was absolutely savage. A whole herd of goats decided to have a spontaneous flash mob right in the main thoroughfare. You wouldn't believe the bleating.
Ninurta: [without lowering his bow, voice flat] Goats, Putur-sin? Really? Is that a new one? Last week it was a rogue chariot wheel. The week before, "my dog ate my papyrus scroll of battle strategies."
Ili-pada: [sighs, lowering his own partially drawn bow, a hint of amusement in his tone] Putur-sin, my friend. Are you aware that the sun has been up for at least an hour? We're on the third round of warm-ups. My creaky knees are practically limber.
Putur-sin: [finally gets his quiver sorted, narrowly avoiding dropping an arrow] Oh, I am *acutely* aware! My apologies, truly. But hey, I'm here now! Better late than never, right? And I brought... [He checks his empty hands] ...my unwavering spirit! And an almost-dry tunic!
Ninurta: [lowers his bow, turns slightly, a faint smirk playing on his lips] Your unwavering spirit, Putur-sin, often seems to involve a very comfortable pillow.
Putur-sin: [grinning wider, utterly unrepentant] Guilty as charged! But a well-rested archer is a *focused* archer, I always say! Now, don't let me interrupt your zen moment. Carry on! I’ll just... [He fumbles with an arrow, successfully nocking it with a slight grunt] ...get myself in sync with the cosmic energy of the bullseye.
Ili-pada: [shakes his head, a fond exasperation coloring his voice] Just try to hit the target this time, Putur-sin. Not the imported cedar tree behind it. The one we paid good shekels to acquire.
Putur-sin: [gasps dramatically, clutching his heart] That was *one* time! And the wind was particularly... *judgemental*! [He lines up an arrow with exaggerated, almost theatrical, focus] Alright, alright. Deep breaths. Focus. No goats, no rogue chariot wheels, just... the bullseye.
Ninurta: [turns back to his target, re-sets his arrow, a wry smile now on his face as he pulls back the string] Just the bullseye, Putur-sin. *Just the bullseye*!
The sound of arrows continues, a steady rhythm under the rising sun, as the father and son continue their practice, each in their own way, preparing for a future that demands more than just patience, while Putur-sin starts practicing lately, occasionally letting out a surprised 'Oof!' or a triumphant 'Aha!' from his own target line.
A week later, Mesopotamia Land Corps, recruit camp.
Mesopotamia Land Corps, recruit camp, military barracks, morning. Sunlight streams harshly into the crude, functional barracks. A line of young, slightly bewildered recruits stands rigid, their postures a mix of determination and fear. Archery Sergeant Irsu walks next to the recruits who are standing rigidly at attention.
Irsu: I am Archery Sergeant Irsu, your senior drill instructor. From now on, you will speak only when spoken to, and the first and last words out of your unpleasant sewers will be "sir." Do you fools understand that?
Recruit: [in unison] Sir, yes, sir.
Irsu: [still walking] Nonsense. I can't hear you. Sound off like you got a pair.
Recruit: [in unison] Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu: If you ladies leave my land and survive recruit training, you will be a weapon. You'll be a minister of death praying for war. But until that day, ashes. You are the lowest form of life on Earth. You're not even goddamned human beings! You're nothing but unorganised, mummified pieces of Osiris' limbs.
Irsu walks around them, surveying each face.
Irsu: Because I'm hard, you won't like me. But the more you hate me, the more you'll learn. Hard to admit, but I'm fair. There is no cultural slur here. I do not look down on rebels, barbarians, raiders, or terrorists. Here, you are all equally worthless. And my orders are to blast out all non-usurpers who are sick and tired of the government that my beloved Corps protects. Do you fools understand that?
Recruit: [in unison] Sir, yes, sir.
Irsu: [still walking] Nonsense. I can't hear you.
Recruit: [in unison] Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu stops in front of Uras.
Irsu: What's your name, cadet?
Uras: Sir, Uras of Temen, sir!
Irsu: Nonsense. From now on, you're Private Clay. Are you fond of that name?
Uras: Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu: Well, there's one thing that you're not fond of, Clay: They don't serve scribal paper and stylus daily in my mess hall!
Uras: [voice] Sir, yes, sir!
Ninurta: [with a slight smirk barely hidden, whispers to himself] Hey, is that you, Putur-sin? Is this me?
A view of military barracks. Irsu’s head snaps up.
Irsu: [voice, from off-screen] Who said that? [Irsu appears, his eyes drilling down the line of recruits, stalking forward] *Who the Sphinx said that?!* Who's the pesky little friend of the traitor Gilgamesh down here, ugh, who just signed his own death warrant? [Irsu glares at the recruits, stopping near Ninurta.] No one, uh? No one, uh? The screwing love goddess Inanna said it. Out-freaking-standing. I'll punish you all until you freaking *die*! [He addresses Ninurta and the other recruits.] I'll punish you until your perverted self will swell a woman's cleavage above the line of the bandeau bra! [Irsu grabs Ukkura by the collar, pulling him forward. Ukkura is standing next to Ninurta.] Was it you, haughty little wanker?
Ukkura: [next to Ninurta, to Irsu] Sir, no, sir.
Irsu: You piece of shit. You look like a freaking worm. I'll bet it was you!
Ukkura: [to Irsu] Sir, no, sir!
Ninurta: Sir, I said it, sir!
Irsu releases Ukkura and turns slowly to Ninurta.
Irsu: Well, no shit. What have we got here? A screwing bird. Private Wing. I admire your honesty. Moloch, I like you. You can come over to my house and lick my wife's midriff between the undergarment lines! [He slaps Ninurta hard across the face, sending him tumbling onto the floor.] You little bastard! I've got your name! I've got your arse! [He points a finger directly at Ninurta, who is scrambling to get up.] No gossip. No tears. You'll learn by the numbers! I'll teach you! Now get up! Get on your feet. [Ninurta quickly stands up, rubbing his jaw.] You best unscrew yourself or I'll unscrew your head and shit down your freaking neck!
Ninurta: Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu: Private Wing, why did you join my Corps?
Ninurta: Sir, to kill, sir!
Irsu: So, you're a killer bird!?
Ninurta: Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu: Let me see your war face.
Ninurta: Sir?
Irsu: [yelling at Ninurta] You've got a war face?! [He yells, demonstrating a distorted, terrifying grimace.] Ahhh! *That's* a war face. Now let me see your war face.
Ninurta: [yells weakly] Ah! [He gives one with a not-so-convincingly-fierce yell.]
Irsu: Nonsense. You didn't convince me. Let me see your *real* war face.
Ninurta: [yells loudly, trying harder, but Irsu is not impressed] Ah!
Irsu: Nonsense. You don't scare me. Work on it.
Ninurta: [yells angrily] Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu moves on, stopping in front of Ukkura.
Irsu: What’s your excuse?
Ukkura: Sir, excuse for what, sir?
Irsu: [enraged] I'm asking the freaking questions, private. Do you understand?
Ukkura: Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu: Are you shook up? Are you nervous?
Ukkura: Sir, I am, sir!
Irsu: Do I make you nervous?
Ukkura: Sir...
Irsu: Sir what? Were you about to call me an arsehole?
Ukkura: Sir, no, sir!
Irsu: How tall are you, private?
Ukkura: Sir, 175cm, sir!
Irsu: One hundred seventy-five. I didn't know they stacked shit that high. You try to squeeze an inch in on me somewhere, huh?!
Ukkura: Sir, no, sir!
Irsu: Nonsense. It looks like the best part of you ran down the crack of your mom's arse and ended up as a stain on the mattress! I think you've been betrayed! Where in the corrupt Hittite's Lair are you from, private?
Ukkura: Sir, Shupria, sir.
Irsu: Holy Cimmerians. Shupria? Only the chieftains and tribes from Shupria, Private Lake. And you don't much look like a chieftain to me, so that kinda narrows it down. Do you lick bare legs?
Ukkura: Sir, no, sir?
Irsu: Are you a peanut butter?
Ukkura: Sir, no, sir!
Irsu: I'll bet you would kiss and lick a woman's bare midriff and not even have the goddamn common courtesy to give him a reach around. I'll be watching you!
Irsu walks to Ea-nasir. Ea-nasir, a slightly nervous-looking young man, tries to hold his composure.
Irsu: Did you sell the low-quality copper?
Ea-nasir: Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu: I'll bet they regret that. You're the most hated young copper seller whom Nanni accused of making fun of customers. What's your name, bad copper jerk?
Ea-nasir: Sir, Ea-nasir, sir!
Irsu: Ea? Ea what, the craft god?
Ea-nasir: Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu: That name sounds like intelligence. Are you intelligent?
Ea-nasir: Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu: Do you lick bare legs?
Ea-nasir: Sir, no, sir.
Irsu: Nonsense. I'll bet you could lick a woman's bare back above her bandeau bra.
Ea-nasir: Sir, no, sir!
Irsu: I'm not fond of the tricky name Enki. Only chieftains and soldiers are called Enki. From now on, you're Copper.
Ea-nasir: Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu: Do you think I'm ambitious? Private Copper? You think I'm blunt?
Ea-nasir: Sir, no, sir.
Irsu: Wipe that disgusting grin off your face!
Ea-nasir: [tries, but a nervous twitch of a smile plays on his lips] Sir, yes, sir.
Irsu: Well, any-freaking-time, baby.
Ea-nasir: Sir, I'm trying, sir.
Irsu: [angered] Private Copper, I'll give you three seconds, exactly three freaking seconds to wipe that mischievous grin off your face, or I will pinch your ear and bitchslap you! [Ea-nasir clenches his eyes shut, his face contorted in a desperate attempt to erase the grin.] One, two, three!
Ea-nasir: Sir, I can’t help it, sir!
Irsu: Nonsense. Get on your knees, coward! [Ea-nasir quickly drops to his knees.] Now, choke yourself. [Ea-nasir awkwardly reaches for his own throat.] Oh, Moloch! With my hand, screw-face. [Ea-nasir tries to grasp Irsu's right hand, but Irsu pulls it back, looking pissed.] Don't pull my hand over there. I said, choke yourself. Now lean forward and choke yourself. [Ea-nasir bows his head, and Irsu grabs his throat with his right hand, squeezing.] Are you through grinning?
Ea-nasir: Sir, yes, sir.
Irsu: [angered] Nonsense. I can't hear you.
Ea-nasir: [trembling, louder] Sir, yes, sir!
Irsu: [pissed off] Nonsense. I still can't hear you. Sound off like you've got a pair!
Ea-nasir: [yells, a desperate roar] Sir, yes, sir! [Irsu releases his grip.]
Irsu: That's enough! Get on your feet. [Ea-nasir scrambles up, gasping for air and exhaling raggedly.] Copper, you had best square your arse away and start cutting off the plants, or I will mess you up!
Ea-nasir: [sobs] Sir, yes, sir.