August 12th, 2030, 12:15 pm 

The mass of recruits marches down the barracks hall in a single-file line. The girls walk on the left, and the boys on the right, respectively, according to rooms. Our names are supposed to be posted outside of the room we are assigned to, although after about ten doors, my name is nowhere to be seen. I don't know how many bunkrooms there are, but there is still a vast number of us boys, still searching.

The girls' line was swallowed up in mere minutes. There were only a few rooms to the left side of the hallway, and they all dove into those. I guess there is such a small amount of female recruits that they don't need a whole lot of space for them. As for the guys, we must be high maintenance, considering that I can still see vacant rooms down the hall from where I still saunter in line.

How big are the rooms, actually? I keep looking at the lists of names posted by the doors, and it's nothing short of enormous. There has to be over sixty names in one grouping. Being pushed in the back by the guy behind me, I couldn't get a good look at the inside of one of the rooms. Drake ahead of me is creating a gap between us, too, so I can't dilly-dally and soak it all in.

The barracks hallway is confined and narrow, with rod lighting above our heads. The seaweed-colored paint is chipping away at the walls, with the frigid, pale yellow tiles forming bubbly mold along the bottom edge. The scent of sharp lavender fills the air as if someone just came through here and sprayed the place down seconds before we got here. This place could use some work.

Next to a door labeled 116, the list of names draws out. The very last one on here says, Slater Tross, and again, with an asterisk northeast of the final s. At the bottom of the page, all it mentions is the word "caution." I guess I'm dangerous to them. That must be there so that the ranking officers can know where I am in case shit goes down.

I break out of the line and enter room 116. The area is now encased by a dark gray paint, but keeps the tile floor beneath my feet. In the center of the room, there is an aisle between two rows of bunk beds, to my right and left. Both walls have sixteen double beds, meaning there are thirty-two beds on each side. Sixty-four beds for sixty-four teenaged boys in a single room. Great.

Facing the center aisle, on every bunk bed, there is a tag plastered on the metal rods. On the each tag is a name. So, I guess we're also assigned beds, now. No picking and choosing around here. I start on the right side, perusing through all of the names, trying to locate mine. Some kids have already found their beds, so that eliminates a few options.

On the top bunk of the eighth pair, I see my name against the glare of the box lights over our heads. I read the whole tag, to be certain that it's mine. It sure is, except now my name is changed to "Slater Gross." The T was replaced.

I hear some cackling behind me. Upon twirling around to see who it is, my attempt at a straight face reduces to a frown. Luke, Don, and Richard are all standing there, next to their bunks, glaring at me. Don't get yourself into trouble, Slater. They're just trying to stir the pot.

I give them a slight nod, turning back to my bed. "Good one, guys."

While I examine the rest of the tag, trying to ignore them, I catch wind of heavy footfalls coming my way. Before long, Luke hovers over me to my right, and the twins stand stoutly to my left. If they don't back up, I'll make them. I've already had enough of these idiots.

"Looks like we're roomies, Slater," Luke announces with a snake grin. "That means we're assigned to the same group, too. This is gonna be a fun two weeks."

I maneuver my body around him, around to the side of the bed, where there's a short ladder. In two steps, I reach the top and sit down. From where I'm perched, the ceiling is a foot or two above my head. That should be enough room so that I don't crack my skull open. That is a healthier alternative than listening to these guys the whole time, though.

Besides my pillow are two neatly-folded stacks of clothing. On the top is a white, cotton t-shirt, and underneath is a pair of thin, navy blue shorts. The other pile contains long, white socks and black running shoes, along with sweats that match the shorts. This must be what we'll wear for our training. The only minor issue I have is that we only have one set of clothing. What if it all gets dirty, especially that white shirt? That'll be just a damn mess.

"Don, Rich, and I are all right next to each other, on the other side of the room. So, if you ever start having nightmares, you know where to find us." The twins chuckle to themselves. Luke does not surpass a smile.

"Do you guys ever shut up?"

The twenty-something boys in the room go completely quiet. My eyes pan the area, watching half of them swivel around to see what's going on, while the others try their best to not get involved. The three guys stare at me in silence, holding back from saying anything. Someone, please speak up.

Luke peers back at his buddies. "Ya know what, guys? He's right. Let's leave him alone before he becomes the first kid to go ballistic at the ranking and shoot up the place." A couple of kids outside of that friend group laugh to themselves. The three escape to their side of the room, glancing over at me every few seconds.

This better not be how these next two weeks will go. Luke and his two thugs over there can not leave me alone for the life of them. I want to go through this without any major issues, and these guys are already threatening my patience. I need to make some friends, and it will surely not be those idiots. I just need to forget about them and they can't throw me off.

I just need to make some friends. Drake isn't with me anymore, and Dalia is in another room. Who knows when I'll see those two again. But I need to become acquainted with guys in my own room and group, except for those three. I should try talking to someone first. Maybe if I become friends with one guy, I can befriend with his buddies, too. I just need someone to follow around so that I don't look like a total loner.

I hop down onto the floor, bracing my legs before landing. A lot of guys in the room are chatting with each other beside their bunks. Hopefully, these guys are as friendly as Drake and Dalia. I just wish someone would accept me as a friend. If they think I'm going to hurt them, I won't. I'm above that now.

I don't blame them for being scared of me though. You can't expect the most infamous criminal in the recent history of the known world to be a normal civilian twelve days after his arrest. Any normal felon would have likely hardly changed after that, but I can assure you that I'm clean. The thought of killing anyone right now is so far back in my mind that it's unreachable.

But what scares me the most is the motive of the murders themselves. There was no motive. I killed those innocent people against my will. I don't remember ever doing anything. I can't recollect "bashing someone's head in," like the Captain said when he was talking to me the morning of my arrest. It's almost like I fell asleep one night and woke up, hearing on the news that there was another dead person. I thought nothing of it until people confirmed that it was me. My record grew, as did the bounty for my head or prosecution.

That is what I am afraid of. What if I go to sleep tonight and wake up in the morning with someone dead in the room? There would be nowhere to run. I'm sure all of these guys would be willing to knock me out if I act up again. The fact is, I can't control it. I don't choose if I want to murder someone. It's whatever Roarke wants, and I think he is done with me doing the dirty work.

I completely forgot about Roarke today. I guess that's for the best. I don't want to have to worry about him while I'm here, and what he's going to make me do. I haven't seen him since our encounter that one night alone. I heard his voice speak to me right before Anthony fell into Tyson's Gorge. But that's it. The last week has been nothing. I almost disregarded the fact that I had the mark in the first place. My daily reminder was the news about another dead body. A crying family member. The Captain leaving for the headquarters again.

As I pace toward the door, I pass by someone seated on their bed, alone. Anyone around him is talking in a circle, excluding him. I don't know if he just doesn't feel like conversing, much less with me. If I greet him and he ignores me, or whatever, at least I can say I tried. I need someone to sit with lunch, which is apparently right after this. I don't want to look like a complete fucking loser on my first day.

I wedge myself between some guys next to the kid's bunk and sit down across from him. The beds are pressed so close together that our knees almost touch, but that's not much of a surprise. Half of this guy's body is his legs, which aren't that much thicker than a forearm. At least that's how it looks. It's a bit hard to see with the shadows of all of the other boys around the beds.

"Isn't this crazy, man? There are so many people here." I watch him as his eyes don't levitate upward. Some of the guys around us walk away, illuminating the area. His coal-colored hair flows out over his face, which is pointed at his knees. "I'm Slater. What's your-"

"Fuck off," The kid grumbles. He lifts his head, whipping his hair to one side. His face is a colorless shade, made lighter by bright eyes that are spread far apart from each other. Ears hidden by his dark locks poke out only slightly on the sides.

Whatever, Fish-Face.

If people don't want to accept me even if I'm being nice to them, then fuck them. They're in the wrong. I'm not a criminal anymore.

At least, I don't think so.