The lights in Barracks 7 slammed on with a violence I wasn't prepared for. I'd been in a deep sleep, unaware of the world around me. One moment, I closed my eyes; the next, they were open, stinging as the harsh light assaulted my senses.
A split second later, a siren shrieked a repetitive drone, setting my teeth on edge. To add to my early torture, the front door banged open, and its rusty hinges screamed in protest, threatening to fall off. A familiar figure stepped through the boundary.
"Drop your cocks and grab your socks!" Vance's voice cut through the shriek. "Hands off it, eyes on me! Move it, Greenies!"
I rolled off my bunk and hit the concrete with a thud. My body screamed in protest. I'd finally gotten a good rest, but it wasn't quite enough. Behind my eyes, a dull headache protested. Maybe it came from the sudden accostment. Maybe it was because I hadn't drunk any water in the past day.
Around me, I saw the other recruits tumbling, stumbling, and grumbling. They were much slower than me; it looked like my early night proved to be at least a little fortuitous. Grabbing the fresh uniform from my locker, I slipped it on and quickly tied my boots. Quickly, I folded my now-dirty, worn clothes, placed them back into the locker, closed it, locked it, and stood at attention.
CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
The sergeant had swung his baton across several bunks, their metal frames groaning in the process. He skipped mine completely, despite being the closest to the door.
"You are slow! You are dead! The Buggers are eating your entrails because you wanted five minutes of beauty sleep! OUTSIDE! NOW!"
We spilled out into the pre-dawn darkness. The air was frigid, biting through the thin fabric of our fatigues. We were a chaotic mess of kids, with no clear structure. Several other bunks that surrounded ours poured out, forming their own blobs of bodies.
"Squad! Fall in!" Vance roared from the doorway. "Three ranks! Move yourself!"
Quickly moving, I headed toward a spot in front of the sergeant. The other kids quickly followed suit, filling the ranks around me. A few collided with me in a chaotic struggle to get into place. It was clear that most of these kids hadn't had much training in their respective academies. Which made sense, I was sent to a prep academy for legacy and scholarship kids. These were F and D Grades, likely receiving no extra education.
"Get your dressing!" Vance barked, his voice cutting through the panic. "Right marker, stand fast! Remainder, left dress!"
The words likely meant nothing to the other kids and only reinforced the confusion. The other squads and groups that surrounded us weren't much better off. A mix of confusion, disorientation, and tiredness crept in. Eventually—after what felt like an eternity—the groups finally started to resemble a squad at parade. I quickly checked my posture and let muscle memory take over.
Heels together. Feet forty-five degrees. Thumbs down at the seams. Eyes forward.
"Three minutes," he spat. "Pathetic. In a drop scenario, you just bought it. You're all dead. Squad... Squad—shun!"
The ragged sound of a hundred heels slamming together, mostly out of time, echoed off the barracks wall.
Vance stopped infront of me. I stood rigid, my eyes locked onto the roof of our barracks. He stared at me for a long and uncomfortable second.
"Stand at ease," Vance ordered the group, the tension in the air dropping slightly as bodies relaxed into the open stance. "Stand Easy."
"Look at Recruit Tiernan," Vance announced, walking down the line. "He knows the drill. He's ready. He's waiting."
I clenched my jaw, trying to suppress the buildup of anger; either he was doing this on purpose, or the system still hadn't updated.
"Squad, squad— shun!"
We snapped back to attention.
"Since Tiernan is so eager to prove he's hard-charger material, he will set the pace."
Vance pointed toward the north wall. A guard tower loomed in the distance, a red light blinking atop it. It had to be three miles out. Three miles there, three miles back.
"Six miles," Vance said. "Tiernan runs first. He is the Rabbit. The rest of you are the Pack."
He leaned in close to a kid, who was shivering in the front row.
"The rules are simple. The Pack must finish within five minutes of the Rabbit. If you fall behind… You don't eat."
He blew the whistle.
"Step off! On the bounce!"
I took off.
I didn't think about the squad. I thought about the Test.
Show them, a voice in my head whispered. Show them you aren't weak. Show them you aren't F-Grade trash.
I'd trained for this my whole life. Compared to the unawakened kids behind me, I was fast. I set a hard pace, boots pounding concrete. The cold air burned my lungs, but I welcomed it as a familiar friend and pushed harder.
I am Marcus, and I'm not done yet.
My bounds and breathing began to sync, deep through my nose and controlled out my mouth. This was easy, too easy. I visualised the finish line, me coming first, proof that I wasn't just another F-Grade destined to become another statistic. Every step a rejection of my Father's words. Watch me live, James Tiernan, watch me succeed.
Soon, I reached the turnaround point at the tower. I touched it and pivoted, then began my run once more. My breath was laboured, but I wasn't gasping. Sucking in a deep breath through my nose, I saw the pack a mile off in the distance—a chaotic mass of grey uniforms. Some of them were even walking. A smile crept up on my lips. I was beating even the D-Grades.
They looked at me as I passed them on the return leg.
"Slow… down…" someone wheezed.
I didn't slow down. If I faltered, it proved them right about me. If I couldn't handle the training, they would think I'm just another failure.
I accelerated, not caring about my breathing; I just wanted to win. My breathing and steps slowly moved out of sync, but I didn't care. My lungs burned, and my legs were sore. I was here to break the record.
Eventually, I crossed the finish line. Alone. My chest heaved as the sweat froze on my skin. I raised my arms behind my head and began to suck in great bellows of air through my mouth, my regular breathing method out the window. After about five minutes, I finally got it under control.
I looked back over the horizon and saw no sign of the other kids finishing. Vance stood next to me, checking his chronometer. Another five minutes passed, and his eyes didn't waver from the device and the horizon.
Ten minutes later, the first of the Pack stumbled across the line. It was one of the kids who bunked in the back. He collapsed into the dust, dry heaving.
"Forty-five minutes, not bad, Miller." The sergeant said.
Then the rest came—stragglers, limping, crying. The squad lay scattered, a portrait of absolute defeat. Vance stepped forward.
"Tiernan," he said.
"Sergeant."
"Thirty-three minutes, a great time," Vance nodded. "A new bunk record."
He turned to the groaning pile of recruits.
"The Pack finished in sixty-three minutes. Far more than thirty minutes behind the Rabbit."
Silence.
"Tiernan, go to the mess hall. Get your rations."
I blinked. "Sergeant?"
"You passed the test. Go eat."
Vance turned his back on me, addressing the squad.
"The rest of you… You failed to keep up. In the field, if you can't keep up with the point man, you get left behind. And those who get left behind do not get supplies."
He pointed to a pile of entrenching tools near the fence.
"Dig a latrine pit outside the fence. Ten by ten. Six feet deep. When you're done, you can drink water. Move."
I stood there. The smell of victory suddenly tasted like ash.
I looked at the group. The boy who finished second looked at me; his eyes were cold.
"Go eat, Rabbit," Miller spat from the ground.
I turned and walked toward the mess hall alone.
0800.
The mood in the training yard was toxic.
The squad was exhausted, hungry, and blistered. They had dug for almost two hours while I sat in the mess, enjoying my nutrient paste and sweet, sweet water.
"Combat Drills!" Vance shouted. "Hand to hand, let's find out how much you know. Find a partner."
No one moved toward me.
Recruits paired off quickly, shooting glances in my direction. They were avoiding the Rabbit.
Shit... Maybe I went a bit too far.
"Tiernan," Vance called out. "Since you're so advanced, you get the open ring. Miller, you're with him."
Miller stepped forward. He looked tired, dirt smeared on his face from the pit, but his eyes burned with a distinct desire to hurt me. Well, if he was going to be so hostile, then the next part was easy.
"With pleasure, Sergeant," Miller cracked his knuckles.
We stepped into the centre of the yard.
"Begin!"
Miller didn't hold back, lunging quickly as soon as the match began. His step was uncoordinated, along with the follow-up haymaker that he swung wide towards my head. Sloppy and emotional, fighting like an animal on pure instinct. I dropped my head and shoulders, entering into the first form of the prep-academy stance. As he approached closer, I stepped left and moved into his guard.
Miller's fist cut through empty air as he lost his balance. I reset my guard and didn't fight back. The kid already hated me, I didn't want to exacerbate that any more than I had to.
"Fight me!" Miller screamed, swinging again.
I parried his arm by striking his bicep with my forearm, stopping the strike in its tracks. Much like my last dodge, I slipped into his guard and around the boy as his momentum carried him forward. I lashed out with a small kick behind his knee, making him stumble forward into the hard concrete.
"Stop playing with him!" Vance shouted from the sidelines. "Hit him!"
I wasn't playing. I was fighting correctly. Why waste energy on a strike when he was defeating himself?
Miller scrambled up, face red. He charged, head down like a bull. I side-stepped again and hooked his ankle. Gravity did the rest. Miller had fallen for the same trick three times in a row; it was getting a bit embarrassing.
"Point, Tiernan," Vance called out, sounding bored.
I stood over Miller, extending a hand to help him up.
"Good effort," I said automatically. It was what the instructors at the Prep Academy taught us. Sportsmanship.
Miller slapped my hand away.
"I don't need your pity, Legacy trash."
I felt a twinge of anger as my hands began to ball into a fist. I was ready to strike him properly as he asked, I raised my arm ready to strike when—
"Enough." An unfamiliar voice cut through the noise.
A figure stepped out from behind the equipment shed. He was smaller than Vance. Leaner. He wore the same black fatigues, but where Vance moved like a tank, this man moved with grace.
He had no cybernetics, just scars. A thin white line ran from his ear to his chin.
"Instructor Kael," Vance nodded respectfully.
Kael ignored him. He walked onto the central part of the yard, his eyes locked on me as he strode.
"The way you fight is interesting," Kael said softly.
I resisted a sneer; there was that damn word again.
"Let's put it to the test, shall we?" He gestured for me to attack.
He spoke with an unsettling calmness that put my teeth on edge. I hesitated for a moment before resolving. I sank back into my form one stance, but before I could, the man shoved my shoulder, knocking me off guard before I even had a chance to find a rhythm.
Frowning, I quickly recovered, lowered my stance, and strengthened my core, preparing myself further. Yet once again, I didn't have a chance. 'Kael' swept out towards my front foot with blinding speed. I barely had any time to react, and I pulled my foot up, barely dodging the sweep.
I managed to dodge it, but I didn't once have a chance to find a rhythm. I couldn't find my stance. Each time I tried, Kael managed to stop me. Growing frustrated, I decided to just attack. Still off balance, I decided to strike out. After a well-timed shove that pushed me off my stride, I threw a weakened hook towards his side.
In the same way I had humiliated Miller earlier, he didn't dodge or block, but moved into my guard and struck my bicep. Not with his forearm like I did, but with a closed fist. He moved so fast that I didn't even have time to react or make any adjustments. The strike came, but he didn't put any true force behind it. Despite that, I felt my entire arm go dead instantly as pain shot up through my arm.
"Gah!" I stumbled back, clutching my arm.
Kael didn't stop this time; he hooked my ankle before I could escape his range, and I fell back hard. Before I even had a chance to recover, I felt his boot sit on my chest, pinning me to the ground. A few snickers echoed out from the other kids; they were getting enjoyment out of watching me get my ass handed to me.
"You are low-grade soldiers. You are not duelists. You do not have the ability to trade blows. You do not have overwhelming Ether to shield yourselves."
He looked at me, then at the squad who hated me.
"You survive by being a pack. Today, the Rabbit ran away. And because the Rabbit ran, the Pack starved."
He looked directly at me.
"A lone wolf is just a dead wolf, Tiernan. You might be faster and smarter now, but when the grades start to matter and if you don't have them…" He pointed to the glaring recruits. "…you're just rabbit meat."
Eventually, he took the boot from my chest and walked to join Vance, folding his arms as he watched.
I stood up from the ground. Alone.
I looked at the squad. They weren't looking at my skill anymore. They were looking at the guy who cost them breakfast.