Capt. Brian W. Manchester, No. 002

6 September 2030

8:23 QCT

Major Levi Talbot emerges from the depths of the cylindrical water tank with a stagnant countenance. His flowing, black hair is matted against the top of his head, wiped smooth by the streak of his hand. Some excess liquid slips between the crevasse of his lips and back into the pool. His pruned fingertips discover the steel ladder behind him.

A branched-out man in a knee-length, white coat, approaches the tank. A nurse with fox-like hair makes no haste in his trail with a clipboard in her grasp. "Talbot, your submarine aptitude test is down ten seconds from last year, but you're still in acceptable range for your age and size. I'm glad to say that you will be a Major for at least another twelve months. Warner, record four minutes, seventeen seconds."

The nurse clicks her pen. "Well done, Major."

"Captain, you're up next, my friend." The doctor escapes the presence of Levi and motions at me. "You know the drill; clothes off, jump on the platform."

I slip my gray tee over my head and onto the floor. The platform in question is raised only a couple inches off the ground by a rubber incline. The surface is lined thin with metal strips that leave grill marks on your bare feet. I step forward, fiddling with my belt.

"Yeah, take it off!" Someone calls from behind me. The only one around who would dare to say something like that is a certain immature Colonel. A mirror ahead of me, uncovering my body to all in the room, reveals him restraining a snicker.

Then again, I yelled the same thing when it was his turn to be tested.

Every year, on the first Friday of September, the four high officers of each region are put to trial in order to determine their current fitness. Although our work has transitioned to signing documents and taking phone calls, emergency situations may call for assistance from us on the front lines. Of course, in any normal circumstance, these tests would seem like a nuisance, though nowadays, something about our society has me wondering if this will finally be the year our proficiency will be required.

Us higher officers have a little more leniency when it comes to these assessments. All members of the Imperial Guard must be examined, but we have options when it comes to what we are evaluated on. The kids have to practically redo most of their ranking tests, excluding the pressure of life-changing results. With rank comes the choice to do one trial and have it count for all five. Levi completed the underwater test, the same one I will decide to undergo as well.

Dr. Oliver, one of the top surgeons with the Imperial Guard, conducts the evaluations every year. I rave about how brilliant James is, but the doctor knows more than any of us ever could. Speaking of the Colonel, Oliver always rests an eye on him whenever they are together. I notice whenever he disapproves of his sometimes outlandish behavior. Most of us do the same. After all, James is married to his little sister.

"Now, Manchester, I know you are aware already, but it is by law I must add that you have the right to privacy during these assessments if you request." The doctor adjusts his glasses. He glances in my direction for a brief moment, awaiting a response.

I circulate my left shoulder for a stretch. I won't dare attempt to budge the muscles on my right side. "And my answer remains the same. This is fine."

"You know I have to ask." He maneuvers around my entire frame, examining each scar and every inch of exposed skin. "You appear to be in fairly good shape, save for the obvious recent incident. How is your shoulder?"

"No complaints. Just a little stiff, is all."

"Full range of motion, I presume?"

I hesitate. "You know, now that you mention it-"

"That's what I thought. There's no shame in asking for help, Brian, you know that." Oliver returns to my front, an arm-length from me. He swivels his head to find a hidden body behind me. "Warner, did you get the measurements?"

"Oh, of course, doctor. I apologize, it's just... his back. Those appear to be burns."

My fingernails, absurdly overgrown to my liking, pierce through the tough skin of my palms. The sweat in the crease of my elbow sticks my arm to itself as my quaking body is pressed against the stone wall. Chains around my wrist keep me bound on my knees. My position has become aching but it is favorable to the alternative.

Searing hot licks scathe the skin right above my spine. Malicious chuckling, almost as fierce as the lashing on my back, rattle from a couple yards behind me. My blood sizzles on the trail down to my tattered trousers.

"Damn," James huffs, "I didn't know Nicolette had such long-ass nails." Keira jams her elbow into his rib cage, only accessible due to her proximity.

The doctor clears his sticky throat. "Your numbers haven't changed since last year, Brian. You are the same man you were three hundred sixty-five days ago."

"Yeah, I wish." I roll my neck, initiating some gentle cracks. "Things were much simpler last year."

"I see," he muses. "It's impossible to convince one to not be stressed, though my advice would be to find healthy ways to use your time outside of work. And so we understand each other, that does not include alcohol or smoking. Get strung up in that stuff and you definitely won't be the same man a year later."

I grin, watching figures swarm my body in the mirror. "Understood."

"You're in good shape for your age, so let's keep it that way, all right?" Rugged fingers trace over my worn shoulder, contracting the muscle. "And you're driving with this? It certainly needs more rest than your civilian doctor prescribed. Refrain from using it as much as possible for a while, okay?"

"Of course."

He expresses amusement with a hesitant twirling of eyes. "Now, will you actually listen to me, or will you rush your recovery? Continuing to strain yourself will slow the healing process."

"Come on, Adam. I have nothing to rush back to. I promise I'll take it easy for a week or so."

"Fine enough. You know the consequences of your actions, so make the best decision with what you're given." The clipboard of my metrics falls into his possession from the nurse. "Considering your condition, I will only allow you to do the underwater air capacity test. No overexertion on your part. Please just give us time to drain and refill the pool."

I pivot to the tank recently occupied by Levi. That trial is known for its lack of exertion, anyway, hence why I planned on conducting it in the first place. All that is required is the air in your lungs and a cool head. The others are combat-oriented or sprints that may strip you of your senses. The aquatic apparatus is most popular amongst those who don't give a fuck about these tests.

What the Imperial Guard fails to realize is that the four of us are always in adequate physical health. In our business, it's not difficult to remain in this condition. It is what's beyond that is dynamic. Until these past few months, especially with one peculiar teenaged boy, we have seen things that morphed into something ugly. Three weeks ago, I observed a corpse for the first time in years. The lifeless body of a young man, murdered in a devious cult's name of heresy.

The surface of the water sinks into a drain at the bottom of the tank. Levi strides my way once Dr. Oliver and Warner leave for the chamber along the wall. He massages the nape of his neck with an evergreen bath towel, right above a tattoo of a soaring black eagle. His vulnerable chest rises and his gaze is trained on the medical personnel.

"How about it?" Levi glances at me with a sardonic smirk, his voice not exceeding the weak snapping of a finger. "That nurse, Warner, is really something, huh? She was checking me out during my evaluation. I watched her staring at me through the mirror."

"She's a nurse, Levi. She's supposed to look at you."

"Yeah, well, when Oliver was behind me, she was in front of me, touching me like this." He loosens the grip on the towel under his hairline and streaking his hand down the middle of my chest beside my dog tags. Once he reaches the end of my sternum, I swat his hand away. "Exactly."

"Well, if you don't like how she's treating you, tell Oliver." I witness her and the doctor noting something on the clipboard as the tank refills itself through pipes around the curves. "He'll talk to her for you."

His pointy knuckles connect with my left shoulder in a soft jab. "I didn't say I didn't like it. I'm going to talk to her once Keira is done with her test."

"What are you trying to do, hook up?" I scoff.

His shoulders raise to his ears and he shuffles away from me. "Don't start doubting me, Brian. Women always fall for my chiseled physique and gorgeous face. Not to mention the whole Imperial Guard thing that some think is attractive. Hell, I'd fuck myself if I got the chance." He returns to the Colonel and Lieutenant waiting along the wall beside the automatic door. Covering his black undergarments is a towel in the same shade as the one around his neck.

What a bizarre statement. From what I have investigated, Levi is more confident these days than he was all summer. I don't blame him; losing his wife, someone who he cherished so dearly, left him with an ugly scar. He tumbled into a pit he could not escape from, so it seemed. Once Slater was admitted into the Imperial Guard, I thought he would never recover enough to come back to the offices.

Now he wants to fuck himself. It's progress.

I constrict my dog tags under my hand, melting them in my grasp. I give them air, only somewhat reflecting the light from high above our heads. It's curious how the Binets manufactured the tags to glow in heat. That's some science I am nowhere near capable of. I propose updating old identification should the Medo wage war. It won't do me any good if I'm dying and the doctors can't read my blood type.

"Keira seems kind of upset," James assures, moving in my direction. His unkempt hair, still soaking in sweat, swipes back on top of his head. The white t-shirt he just slung over his torso meshes to his chest. The sprint test was not kind to him.

I glance over him to Keira, who exchanges a look with Levi. She conceals her chest with her arms. Her smooth, gentle eyes are burning dim beyond the surface. I spoke with her earlier during the Colonel's examination, and she seemed fine. "Well, last I checked, she was doing okay. What did you say to her?"

"I didn't say a word," he scorns, inching into me. "You two hung out yesterday. Did she seem off then?"

"Depends on what you mean by off." I switch my gaze from the Lieutenant to James. "She was bothered that we hadn't talked since the ceremony. And," I stop, disguising our conversation by increasing proximity. "Look, did you really have to tell her that I slept with Nicolette? Now she thinks I'm a scumbag."

His fingers course through his slick hair. "Sounds like you two need couples therapy."

I lack the energy to narrow my eyes at him.

"I didn't think it mattered, considering you two aren't dating. Who you fuck is your business and she shouldn't worry about it."

I grin, snarling. "Okay, so if it's my business, why did you tell her?"

"Good point," James admits, swiveling his head. "Listen, Brian, I have to tell you something. It's about Slater."

"What's wrong? Is he all right?" The last time I spoke with Slater was the evening at the MacTavish household. Since then, he has taken residence at HQ for the seminar that will be held in less than an hour. He participated in a disciplinary meeting with Petry last night, and I haven't heard any results from that incident. My guess is that he, once again, was given a slap on the wrist, considering I didn't see him on my doorstep after the fact.

"Uh, n-not necessarily," he stutters. If something can force James' voice to shake, it must be imperative. "The Medo is toying with him, using him as a pawn. Apparently, their leader has spoken to him face to face and has given him these powers. He told him that there are these creatures coming that are-"

"How did you hear about this? He never said any of this to me."

He exhales, cracking his neck. "He told me the other night at my place. Apparently, I'm the one person he's ever opened up to about this."

After all the effort I put into trying to be something to that boy, at the moment he needed me most, I deserted him. How the hell did James get the luxury of being Slater's confidant in time of crisis? How could my cowardice lead me to abandon him as I did? Sitting at that dinner table, glare piercing through my steak after Slater stormed outside, I allowed James to take my place.

What kind of a dad am I to him that he can't even find the trust to disclose his tribulations with me? The answer is a terrible one. I don't blame him for being conservative on the drive back from James' house. But he hardly made an effort to confess to me or Celestine.

"Manchester, the pool is ready for you," Dr. Adam Oliver announces beside the nurse, Warner. He digs a pen from the pocket in his white coat. I have no time to make idle chit-chat anymore. Urgency is essential.

I saunter to the water chamber, stranding James. In a giant step up the ladder against the wall of the facility, I gaze down through the churning surface of the pool. My shoulder restricts the climb, but I power through the torment. The depth of the pool only exceeds my height by a foot, so the thought of being submerged is not as daunting.

Oliver unveils a timer from the same pocket, glancing up at me. "Whenever you're ready, Brian."

Being able to hide underwater for a period of time is an art form that requires practice to perfection. The secret is to embrace tranquility and take my mind off of the drowning sensation. Survival instincts will not let me die in my trance. Whenever I take the aquatic aptitude test, I transfer my thoughts into a memory, whatever it may be, and allow it to run its course.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale again. I plunge into the pool and shut my eyes once my feet touch the floor. The simulation begins once I uncover my peace.

My palm slams onto the dinner table beside Mom, separated by only a smudged piece of paper. She peers up from the stack of taxes and invitations from today's mail. Her husband, Ken, shoveling leftover pasta into his mouth, freezes in place to my left. The two trade a stare, but I remain focused on Mom.

"Brian, what is this?" She slips her hand on top of the paper and tugs it from my stamp.

I retract my arms and hold my fists behind my back. "It's my application into the Imperial Guard. Could you sign it?"

With the same force in which she received the paper, she returns to it to me. "Absolutely not. You know you aren't allowed to join them."

"Well, I'm a rule breaker. Come on, please?"

"I gave you my answer. And it's no."

"But Mom, this is letting me take the summer program. I could rank and be out of the house by September. You won't have to pay for me to go to high school anymore. I promise if I make money I'll give you some; help pay for Aubrey to go to college. I know that's far away-"

"Brian, no. You keep forgetting that your father was in the Imperial Guard and he's dead. He wasn't even twenty-one when he was killed. God forbid if the same thing happens to you."

"Mom, I swear I'll be careful."

As I open my eyes, through the surface and the bleeding light above my head, the perception of time is vacated. I have no recollection of how long that memory was, perhaps no more than a minute. My black undergarments shimmer against the reflection as they are held tight against my thigh.

The continuation of that reminder would result in harm to my peace. I promised I would take care of myself, and she caved in after the third attempt. Nothing I told her was a lie; I said I would rank and I did, plus, I moved out and into the Imperial Guard headquarters. Not to mention, the money that was saved on my behalf was used to get my half-sister into college. My only exaggeration was when I said I would be careful. Fate found me only six months later.

Fate is a striking concept. My mother always reminded me that things happen for a reason, whether they benefit or break us. Was this the life I was supposed to lead? That boy, begging his mother and stepfather to let him join the Imperial Guard, never considered that he would one day be a Captain. I'm sure he never pondered the thought of being locked away in an underground prison camp, either.

So, was it fate that Slater was dropped on my doorstep again? He and the Medo came as a package, an unwanted one, at that. Their intent was to torment the boy until he caved in, but the suggestion that I would be taunted as well must have never crossed their conscience. Now, my nightmare has become his problem, and this problem is spreading like a disease across the Empire. We are the only ones who can help fight back.

I cannot be afraid of what might hurt me anymore.

My knees bend and I spring myself from beneath the surface of the bath. I wrap my palms around the silver rungs of the ladder, spitting water into the pool. A cloak of liquid cascades to the platform overlooking the tank as I use the power in my left arm to lift myself onto it.

Dr. Oliver approaches me, tapping the clipboard with the end of his pen. Warner scurries along behind him with a towel. "Brian, you hardly reached three minutes. That's nearly two down from last year."

I grab the towel from the nurse as it is range. "Listen, Adam, it's an emergency. I'll retest next week if that works, but right now, I have somewhere to be. I need to talk to Slater."

"What's so urgent? I'm sure he's fine," Levi remarks amongst the group of officers. "I promise that he can be separated from you for more than a day. He'll survive."

A disgusted click flees James. "Figures you would say something like that, you insensitive prick."

"The fuck did you just call me?" The Major whips his towel off from his neck and builds a stance against his only superior present.

Keira Hill squeezes away from the continued exchange of expletives and slithers in my direction. "Brian, what's going on? Is Slater okay?"

"The first seminar is starting at nine. I should be able to catch him before then." I swipe my clothes on the floor beside the platform, tugging my grayish-black pants up to my waist. My t-shirt is thrown over my shoulders before collapsing over my slick abdomen. "You don't understand now, but Slater is the key to getting rid of the Medo and I think he knows how. I know it sounds crazy but I wouldn't lie to you about this."

"But Brian, why does it have to be now?"

I reach for her hand, capturing it in my faint grasp. "Look, Keira, we don't have time. Come with me. The sooner we get to him, the better. We need the answer."

"Manchester, Keira still has to take her test. You can't take her away, too." The doctor slides the pen under the clip, tucking it at his hip. He scowls at me, not my female counterpart.

"I'm sorry, Adam, but this groundbreaking. Crucial. The longer we wait, the more dominant the Medo becomes. We can't waste any more time, especially if I can stop it. Come on, Keira." My feet move faster than my mouth as we approach the sliding doors out of the facility. The weight of her body becomes less and less upon me the farther we get from Dr. Oliver and Warner.