Inside the recruitment tent, the air was stagnant, smelling of heavy ink and the nervous sweat of a hundred men. Twenty desks were arranged in neat, cramped rows, each occupied by a civilian hunched over paperwork. Where there once had been a variety of ballots for different branches, there was now only one box, stark and demanding: AIRBORNE.
Jack approached the front desk, where a Beastfolk soldier with thick, furred forearms and a weary expression presided over a stack of documents. Without looking up, the soldier slid a folder across the scarred wooden surface.
"Fill out the identification forms first," the soldier said, his voice a practiced, rhythmic drone. "After that, read the contract. Read it twice if you have to. It officially waives your rights to a civilian trial and binds you to the Republic's Military Code of Justice. If you have questions about the form, ask me. If it's the contract, I can't help you—legal won't let us. You still have the right to refuse to sign. You can walk out that flap right now and go back to being a civilian. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Jack said, his fingers tightening on the edge of the folder.
The staffer looked up then, a small, tired smile breaking his professional mask. "Good. Pick an empty desk. Report back to me only after the ink is dry."
Jack moved to a vacant station, followed by James, Philip, Tavros, and a hesitant Kenlil. The tent was silent save for the scratching of pens and the occasional heavy sigh. Jack worked through the standard identification—name, address, blood type, next of kin. Then he reached the final question on the personal history sheet: What is your sentiment regarding the Grendheich Empire?
Jack felt a cold flicker of memory—the stories of the border raids, the arrogant demands of the Imperial ambassadors. He curled a small, grim smile and wrote three words in sharp, jagged script: Fuck them. Forever.
He flipped to the final page: the Contract of Enlistment. He "snapshot" read the clauses, his eyes darting over terms like unconditional service, military asset, and subject to court-martial. It was exactly as the soldier had described. From the moment he pressed pen to paper, his life was no longer his own. He would be a gear in a massive, violent machine, his movements decided by men he would never meet in rooms he would never see.
Fuck it, he thought. He signed his name with a flourish, tucked his identification papers into the folder, and stood up.
Kenlil looked up from his desk, his eyes wide with surprise at Jack's speed. "You're already done?" he whispered frantically. "I'm still on the clause about 'forfeiture of personal property'!"
Jack didn't answer. He walked to the ballot box, dropped the folder inside with a hollow thump, and reported to the front desk. "I'm finished, sir."
"Good job," the staffer said, stamping a ledger. "Welcome to the service, recruit."
The soldier handed Jack a small, stiff card and a cloth armband. The band bore the logo of the Luminschier Republic Army: the three-headed bird with two crossed swords over the country's silhouette, topped by three stars.
"You are given three days to settle your personal affairs," the soldier explained. "Say your goodbyes, pack a single bag, and get your head straight. That card is a travel voucher; it'll get you on any bus or train in the state for free for the next seventy-two hours. After three days—not a minute late, not a minute early—you report back here for processing and transport to your division. Understood?"
"Question, sir," Jack said. "Will I know which division I'm assigned to by then?"
The staffer looked past Jack at the group of friends still signing their lives away. "It depends. You'll be roll-called by officers from the various regiments. You'll know who wants you by the insignia on their uniforms. But I'll give you a tip, kid: it's extremely rare for friends who enlist together to stay together once the processing starts. Don't get your hopes up."
Jack felt a pang of disappointment but nodded. "I understand. Thank you, sir."
Outside the tent, the sunlight felt different—colder, more permanent. Jack slid the armband over his sleeve and stared at the voucher. Soon, James and Philip emerged, followed by the rest of their ragtag group. They all wore the same distant, haunted look.
"I guess you feel it too, huh?" James asked, standing beside Jack. "That weight in your chest? Like the ground just got a lot further away?"
"Yeah," Jack replied. "I was hoping we'd all stay in the same basket, but the clerk said it's not likely."
"Who knows?" James mused. "The army is a strange beast."
Luke and his two companions approached, nodding to the group. "Alright guys, we're gonna take a look at the city while we still can. Last taste of freedom and all that. We'll see you back here in three days."
Tavros shook their hands. "See you around. Don't get arrested before you enlist."
As the group split, James offered his hand to Jack. "I gotta head out too. My girl is waiting for me in the city, and I've got a lot of apologizing to do for being away so long. See you in three days, Sterling."
"See you, James."
Once the others had dispersed, Philip turned to Jack, Kenlil, and Tavros. "So, shall we head home? The bus ride back is going to be a long one."
"Yeah," Jack said, his mind already drifting. "Hey, Ken... we still have more of that whiskey back at the apartment, right?"
Kenlil groaned. "Yeah, why? You want to go blind before the first jump?"
"I'm going to drown myself tonight," Jack muttered. "I want to wake up in three days and find out this was all a dream or find out I'm already on the military truck. Either way works."
"Count me in," Tavros added. "After I tell my folks. My mom's going to howl, and my dad's gonna be bragging his friends that I finally enlisted. I'll need the drink."
Philip smiled thinly. "I guess I'll have to pass on the drinks for now, boys. I have to speak with my grandmother and my father. After that... well, you'll probably find me at the Smith's. I have a promise to keep."
Jack chuckled. "You really are committed to that girl, aren't you?"
"When a man decides who he wants for the rest of his life," Philip said, his voice dropping into a tone of quiet, unshakable resolve, "he should commit himself to that person until the end of time. War or no war."
"I don't know who's luckier," Kenlil remarked. "Her or you."
"It's me, of course," Philip said with a wink. "But I'm still just a friend. For now."
From a distance, hidden behind the tinted glass of a military transport, Major Stanley watched the four boys walk toward the gates. He puffed on a cigar, a faint smile on his face. "Your son's all grown up now, Jason," he whispered to the empty air. "He's got the look. Just like you."
Meanwhile, back in the officer's tent, the atmosphere was far from sentimental. Captain Javier was massaging his temples, his desk buried under a fresh landslide of transfer orders.
"Millie!" he barked.
A young female Beastfolk orderly appeared instantly. "Captain?"
"Get me a cup of black coffee and two sandwiches. If I don't eat, I'm going to start signing these papers with my own blood. I'll be wrestling with these files all night."
"On it, sir!" she chirped, rushing out.
Javier was just settling back into the rhythm of the paperwork when a shadow fell across his desk. "Sir, Major Stanley is here to see you."
Javier straightened his tunic, his exhaustion momentarily replaced by professional alertness. "Let him in."
Stanley sauntered in, his aviators still on, moving with an enthusiasm that felt out of place in the grim tent. "Javier, Javier! Look at you, doing the Republic's dirty work. It's a beautiful thing."
Javier stood and offered a sharp salute. "Sir. It's... a surprise to see you back here."
"At ease, at ease," Stanley said, waving him down and taking a seat opposite the desk. "I'll get straight to it. I need you to do me a small favor. A little administrative nudge, if you will."
Javier sighed. "I'm already up to my neck in favors, Major."
"I need you to funnel a very specific drop of liquid into my division," Stanley said, leaning forward. "Specifically, the 506th Regiment. I want a hand-picked manifest for my battalion."
"Since everyone is being funneled into the Airborne anyway, I have some flexibility," Javier admitted, intrigued. "Do you have a list?"
"Just a group of boys from Marmello," Stanley said. "The ones who just walked out, and a few more coming in. I want them all in the same basket."
Javier raised an eyebrow. "Marmello? Isn't that the old veteran town? The town where the air smells like gunpowder and old medals?"
"The very one," Stanley whispered, his voice dropping. "I've been ordered by a... certain General to keep these particular eggs together. It's off the books, Javier. If you make this happen, the brass will see to it that your next posting is much more comfortable than a recruitment tent."
Javier smiled, the first genuine expression he'd worn all day. "I can do that, sir. Honestly, I'd do it just to get out of this tent. This paperwork is going to be my grave."
"Great!" Stanley stood up, moving with a grace that was almost like a dance. "I'll message that General. Consider yourself transferred to the 506th as well. You won't complain if I ask you to handle a company in my battalion, will you?"
Javier's eyes lit up. "Not at all, sir. I'd be honored to serve under you."
Stanley shook Javier's hand firmly and turned toward the exit. Before stepping out, he paused and winked from under his glasses. "See you in a few days, Captain. Don't be late for the war."
Javier watched him go, feeling a sudden, strange surge of energy. He looked back at the piles of paper and began to work with a renewed, frantic speed. The trap was set, the manifest was locked, and the boys of Marmello were headed straight into the eye of the storm.