Pvt. Slater J. Tross, No. 305

September 9th, 2030, 5:58 am

"Wake up! All of you, now!"

The burden on my left shoulder overbears me. I twist to lay on my stomach with my face propped against my flat pillow.

"I said now! Move it!"

The top half of the bunkroom reveals itself when I open my eyes. I watch as Wyatt Mallory hurdles over the edge of his bed and disappears to the floor. His absent sheets remain astray, waterfalling beyond the railings.

"Tross!" The voice shouts, her volume stifled by the cushion of the pillow in one ear. "I didn't stutter, did I? If you are not out of your bed by the time I get to you, I will use you as today's practice dummy!"

I strip my blanket off from my chest and crawl to the edge of my bunk. Every cot sits vacant with the owner standing beside it. Each person stares at me as I overlook the scene. Looking across the aisle, Hal points to the tiles under his bare feet, mouthing something.

The steel ladder leading to the floor soothes my warm palms. I descend to the ground with each pair of eyes boring into me. CJ on my right holds his hands behind his back, shooting me with a cornered glare. He hides his regard as hefty boots squeak in my direction.

"Took you long enough, Private Tross," booms Sergeant Talia Rory. "Get in behind Private Martin."

CJ hugs the bedpost and I slither by him. He glances back at me, lifting his eyebrows with a smirk. I gnaw at the skin on my lips with a shiver.

Sergeant Rory settles herself at the end of the aisle. She swings to face us with her amber braid trailing her every movement. "Good morning to all of you, except Private Tross, who thought that he could get a couple of extra seconds of shut-eye while you were all following orders. You can all thank him at breakfast for using your only strike of the day. From now on, I will not tolerate a lack of discipline from any of you. Breaches of procedure will be met with punishment."

"Way to go, Slater," Wyatt mutters on the other side of his bunk bed.

"Quiet!" Rory's squinted scowl lasers past me to my diminutive classmate. "Now, there have been adjustments in the training protocol following an announcement from the General last night. The Imperial Guard is preparing for an assault from the cult known as the Medo, likely to occur at the end of the week. The General is urging us to be ready for the attack on all fronts, and the duty has been laid on me to train you for the occasion considering you are fresh off the ranking. In order to acclimate to the expectations the Imperial Guard has for you, you will be training alongside Class 29 and Class 28."

Sergeant Rory continues with her speech but an inept shift of weight ripples through the room and clogs my ears. I peer beyond Mai Rea to observe the entry of Sergeant Lee and Frost. Lee locks eyes with me and scowls. My attention diverts to a blank tile ahead of me and I steal a quiet breath.

It's enough that I have to endure the Medo tempting me for the five days; I didn't need Sergeant Lee monitoring and judging my every move. He will watch me fail, pick myself up, and succeed, and it will never suffice for him. There is nothing I can do that will bring his friend back; that was Grayson Irons' doing, anyway. One of these days, I'll confront the Sergeant about it.

Maybe I could arrange for Sergeant Lee and Grayson to meet face-to-face.

CJ takes a step into the aisle, mimicking the other pairs around the room. I shadow him and fall into a single file line, pressing between him and Mai. Order of rank is the only line formation we use, so at this moment I am grateful I remembered something from our seminars.

Rory paces toward the door, inspecting each of our faces. "You will have ten minutes to eat your breakfast in the mess hall. You will sit according to rank. At the conclusion of ten minutes, you must be back in this room, where you will then prepare for today's instruction. I expect you to be out in the training yard by six-twenty. Am I understood?"

"Yes ma'am," Class 30 agrees at once.

"Good. Dismissed."

Craig Larsson leads the train out the door and into the musty hallway. Hal follows behind, preceding Wyatt. I walk out after Mai Rea and once the sharp lavender odor of the corridor strikes me, I look to my left to see a series of kids, all about our age, extending down and around the corner of the ranking wing. A boy and Corporal Alex Porter obsess their gazes upon me as I turn toward the mess hall.

Mai slows her pace and nears me. "Dude, everyone is staring at you."

"Tell me about it," I reply, hiding my hands under my arms. "I should be used to it, except this time, I don't know what the issue is."

"You did take ten years to get out of bed. That could be it."

"Yeah, maybe. They're expecting a lot out of me, not to mention I'm the reason they're all up this early."

"A valid reason for them to hate you if you ask me." Mai swivels to face the three boys before her.

I peer at my bare feet making contact with the faded yellow tiles and a disgusting chill slithers up my body. "I don't blame them."

Class 30 drains into the mess hall, scurrying toward one of the shorter tables. With five seats on one side and five on the other, we are just able to fit our ranks. I take the end of one side, seated next to Mai, and Max White slides in across from me. My spot has a view out to the training yard, also known as our hell for the next few days. We fall into our chairs at once as the other classes file into the room twice as fast.

A steel-gray tray drops in front of me and nine more around the rest of the table. The source of the meal disappears before I can turn to find who it was. Sausage links lay toppled over golden scrambled eggs, shadowed by a ripe orange and a tall glass of water. My fork beside the glass beckons for my hand.

Max White already has two sausage links lodged in his mouth before I can pick up my utensils. He chews them to mush with quick bites, keeping his eyes plastered on his tray. The eggs are his next victim, fluffing away from the larger portion with a chop of his fork. He swallows them down after only two nibbles. He inhales some of his water and grabs the orange with a greedy hand.

He tears the porous skin from the fruit and glances at me. "Are you going to eat? We don't have a lot of time, you know, so you better get started."

My fingers seize the fork on my right and I stab the first sausage, tearing my eyes from him. "Yeah, sorry. I've just never seen you eat so fast before; you must be hungry."

"Dude, I'm starving. I just don't know if they're going to give us lunch. We might not eat until dinner, so it's better to stuff my face now."

"Maybe not so fast; you might get sick."

"You're not my mom," Max spits between chews.

Dalia beside him jabs her fork into the space between his mouth and his food. "Yeah, well I am, so cut it out. Slater basically holds the key to the Imperial Guard, so it doesn't hurt to listen to him."

I hate having that kind of weight suffocating me, even more so now that Oltima's potential doom is on the horizon. The Medo approaches and we have nothing to defend ourselves. It's my fault for letting the situation perpetuate as it has, to the point it finds itself now. If only I had accepted my responsibility earlier, we could be more prepared for the assault on the Empire.

But at this moment, we are powerless.

I poke at my scrambled eggs. "You don't have to listen to me, Max. I'm not any smarter than the next person just because I know about the Medo."

"Slater, you have to stop doubting yourself," Dalia says, aiming her fork at me. "Whether you like it or not, you hold a lot of leverage around here. The fact that you know anything about the Medo makes you the most important person in the Imperial Guard." She focuses on her own tray, slicing her eggs. "And, look, I hate to say it, but if you can't be confident, then neither can any of us."

Max's eyebrows scrunch together with his gaze jumping between his food and Dalia. "Uh, Dalia, we're just talking about me eating too fast. It's not that serious."

"You know what I mean." She shoves a clump of the fluffy eggs into her mouth. "In general. I've been meaning to tell you this, Slater, because it pisses me off when you throw away your confidence so easily. It's nice to see you be humble, but you have to have some kind of fighting spirit if we want to stand a chance."

"I'm trying my best to be positive," I announce over the surrounding volume. The others at the table stop their conversations and turn to me for a moment before returning to their own business. I lean over the cluttered surface into Max and Dalia. "But it's really hard when a crazy fucking cult is following my every footstep and listening to everything I say. Every time I do something that is a step in the right direction, they threaten my life and send me back." I straighten my back again and reach for the orange on my tray. "Sometimes I wish the Imperial Guard would have just killed me instead so I wouldn't have to worry about it."

"Don't say that," urges Max. "You're really lucky to be here. And honestly, I don't know if anyone else in the Imperial Guard would have handled this as well as you have so far."

Dalia gestures with her fork at her neighbor. "Agreed."

As I consume the remainder of my meal, I contemplate what my classmates have proposed. I never considered that they cared for me so much. They have the impression that I must possess a wealth of knowledge, assuming my affiliation with the Medo. As much as I want to be confident like they say, I cannot bring myself to improve my valiance. Beyond my apparent composure, according to Max, the idea that the Medo could wipe me from existence if they so please does somersaults in my head, crashing against the walls of my stability.

My guess is that times have changed around here in the Imperial Guard headquarters. Those who once despised me now revere me. On my first day at the ranking, Max White told me to fuck off when I approached him. I didn't think I would remember that instance until he was ranked alongside me a few weekends ago.

As for Dalia, our thoughts about one another have shifted, too. At least on my half, they have. I admit that I must have been wrong about her having a crush on me; I was too sensitive to friendliness that I thought she liked me when all she wanted was to be kind and nothing more. She's only a friend and a fellow recruit.

The ten of us in Class 30 rise from our seats around the table and begin to march toward the barracks. I need to get out of my sleepwear; the sweat of sleeping through the knowledge of what occurred last night is drained into the cotton of my t-shirt.

"Private Tross, a word."

My heels screech against the floor as I come to a halt. CJ barrels into me from behind, and I stumble forward, coming close to falling into Mai. He apologizes as I twist my head back toward the tables underneath the massive Queen's City eagle. Sergeant Rory lures me with a curl of her hand. She stands firm beside Lee and Frost.

I stray from the line of my classmates and they continue into the bunkroom. Sergeant Rory looms by the table in her black training attire and a white ball cap. Her male colleagues next to her are donned in the same black tee and trousers, but they expose their straggled golden-brown hair to the room. Me, I stand in the middle of the mess hall in my black boxers and bare feet.

"I want to set one thing straight, Private," Rory asserts. "I am expecting a lot out of you. Everyone in the Imperial Guard is looking at you again, and we want you to be a leader around here. The fate of the Empire is riding on these next few days, and all we ask is that you cooperate with us and act as someone for the others to follow. I can speak for my class and I'm sure these guys can too; some of the people here are terrified of what's coming. If you can show them that we can be strong, it'll do wonders for their self-esteem."

It'll be tough putting on a brave face and telling others to do the same when I use all the effort just to apply a plastic mask. I can't drop all of my problems and be the hero they expect me to be. The matter of the Medo tormenting and threatening me still lingers, and I cannot ignore that while commanding a squadron of my closest friends to their potential demise.

"I'll try my best, Sergeant," I claim without any fluctuation in my face. "I'm not good at being a leader, but I'll try."

She shows me a flat smile. "Thank you. For the record, I know you have it in you. I'm only being harsh on you this morning because I want you to work up to that level of being responsible. I can see you becoming somewhat of a figure around here as time goes on as if you aren't already. People are learning to respect you."

I glance at Sergeant Lee when Sergeant Rory concludes her statement. His eyes dart to the eagle overhead and he crosses his arms. He inhales enough air that I see his chest rise from under his shirt.

I've had it.

"I know you want to say something, so just say it." I stride toward Lee with my arms tight by my side. "Say it while I'm right here; I'm tired of you being shady."

He ejects from his seat and rises to my height. The creases in his face run dense as I watch his irises darken. "I'm not being shady; you know exactly why I don't like you. I don't understand how the Imperial Guard expects me to respect someone who murdered one of our own. One of my best fucking friends, too." The corner of his eyes spring a leak, but he shakes his head. "I hate you. And nothing is ever going to change that."

"I'm not going to wait for you to like me. The fact of the matter is, we have to work together if we want to get rid of the Medo." I pause, itching behind my arm, contemplating my next comment. "Look, your friend died because of the Medo. Someone was controlling my body when I killed him."

Sergeant Frost ricochets between both Lee and I. "Brayden, I think you owe it to Otto to help us out with this."

"If I was the one killed, Otto would have clocked this motherfucker by now." Lee inches closer to me. I can see his whiskers beneath his nose in this proximity. My stomach plummets.

"Well, you're not Otto, are you?" Frost approaches the vicinity of our quarrel. "Give it a chance. Otto would have done anything to avenge you. I think you should do the same."

Sergeant Rory slides into the conversation, pointing at her younger counterpart beside her. "Parker's right, Brayden. And at this point, you're either in or your out. Either commit to this now, or get out."

Lee clicks his tongue, shaking his head at the other Sergeants. "Who do you think you are, telling me to get out? I can make my own decisions."

Frost grins. "Yeah, well, in terms of seniority-"

"If you don't choose to stand with us, I'll order you off the premises. And if you decide to disobey that, I'll file a complaint with Petry." Rory draws herself toward Sergeant Lee, who stands eye level with his superior.

Lee smirks, scanning her immobile body. "You wouldn't."

"Don't count your luck, buddy."

I glance at Rory with the lift of an eyebrow. "Buddy?"

She glares at me, shaking her head. She turns back to Sergeant Lee. "Brayden, please. Don't think of this as serving beside Slater, this is more than that. You would be getting back at the people who killed Otto."

"This is no longer you versus Slater," Frost edges, "this is the Imperial Guard versus the Medo. The choice should be obvious here."

Lee snarls in my direction, squinting his eyes. "I'm not working with him."

I squeeze between the Sergeants and stand before Lee. "I didn't want to work with you, anyway." I twist to face Rory and Frost behind me. "We can work separately as classes. That's what they were created for originally, yeah?"

Rory and Frost shrug with a nod.

"You won't have to work with me. But Sergeant, if you can't get behind us, the entire Imperial Guard, because of me, then I have nothing to say to you." I escape the triangle of the Sergeants and pace toward the barracks corridor. One of my ears remains open as I keep my eyes trained on the hallway.

After all the convincing, peaceful statements from Sergeant Frost and the threats from Sergeant Rory, Lee stays invariable. From the moment I met him, ignoring my greeting on the first day of the ranking, he has hated me. In fact, he's hated me longer than that; the moment I was finally arrested was when he began his loathing. The kid remains untouched by any of this as if there was no soul on which to paint an impression.

At the very least, Craig Larsson reached deep within himself to find an ally in me. An unexpected change, but he could understand the greater goal of all this. It was painful, putting the death of the Major's wife behind him, yet he turned a new leaf and continued on with his life.

I cannot fathom how someone who has been in the Imperial Guard for an entire year could refuse to do the same.

I step into the hallway and become enclosed by the tight walls. No words leap out from the cafeteria, so I continue my walk. I restrain a grin, knowing damn well that he's going to be kissing my ass by the end of the week.