The day starts off with the reveille, bright and early. Then, we make our beds and tidy our barrack before Reznik comes in to scream at us. Zombie tells me that he enjoys screaming. I don't doubt it at all.

Reznik makes an appearance a few moments later. We're all standing in front of our bunks— Teacup is next to me and her hair is down around her shoulders and I know what is coming.

"What the hell is this?" Reznik stands in front of the young girl now. He picks up a tuft of her gold hair and yanks. She gasps. Gets back into position before he can yell at her for breaking it. "Did you see that? Did you see how easy it was for me to grab your effin' hair and use it against you?" Teacup nods. Something shines in her eyes. Regret, maybe. Burning pride could also be it. "So why is it still down, private?!"

Her hair is pulled back with a thin black buckle a minute later. Reznik doesn't move from his spot until it's tight against her head and even when it looks like her face is being stretched back, he says it's not tight enough. Splits her hair in two, pulls. Hard. Teacup's eyes sparkle with tears. Reznik steps back. "Better."

She's the toughest seven-year-old I've ever seen.

He's in front of me, now. His eyes fall down to the boots I worked hard on last night and I briefly wonder if he gave me the shittiest boots because he wanted something to yell at me for when he had the chance, and I have to swallow my pride when he sees the shine. Ha! Take that.

It was a small victory and the feeling of accomplishment is whisked away as he finds something much smaller to punish me for.

"You tired, Ghost?" His face is inches from mine. Spit flies out of his mouth. Lands on my cheek. I resist the urge to gag. "The fun hasn't even started yet! Are you that weak?"

"Sir, the private is not weak, sir!" Is my response. It irritates me that he would even say that.

"Prove it," he sneers. "Get down on the floor."

I do as he says. I point my toes and rest the weight of my body on my knuckles, as he instructs. I can feel my arms already struggle to hold myself up. I am strong, sure, but I spent more than a week doing nothing in the Convalescent Wing and it has taken it's toll.

He instructs me to do twenty knuckle push-ups. Part of me wants to stand up and throat punch him for making me do this because I apparently looked tired, but I know listening would end better. If I respond, he might make me do more.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

My eyes fall shut. I let out a shuddering breath. Knuckle push-ups are killers.

Six. Seven. Eight.

Reznik presses his boot against my back and I grit my teeth. I continue with the added weight.

Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

He presses down harder. I can feel the skin of my knuckles scraping against the cool concrete. Heavy breathing. Reznik leans down, voice low and full of authority. "Come on, Ghost. You survived for six months in the wilderness, all alone." He lets out a bitter chuckle and I want to punch him. "You killed three guys before the first one hit the ground."

He must have seen my Wonderland profile. Suddenly, I feel naked. He has seen parts of my life that I wanted to forget about, to burn out of my memory. He has seen them and he is using them against me. Asshole.

Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.

More weight. My stomach almost touches the floor. I won't let him force me down. I can do four more. I have to do four more.

"You tired, private?!" Reznik screams. "You can't even do four more little push-ups!"

"Sir," I gasp out. "Sir, the private can do four more push-ups!"

Seventeen. The heel of his boot digs into my spine. My elbows wobble. Eighteen. My body shakes. My eyes shut. Nineteen. Beads of sweat drip down my neck. Is this payback for calling him funny yesterday?

Twenty. Finished.

The weight is lifted off of me. I force myself into a standing position, hands clasped behind me. He's in my face again. "Are you tired now, Ghost?"

I wasn't tired before. "Sir, no sir!"

"Good. The fun is only beginning."

__

The others are sympathetic about my first morning, I can tell. Dumbo keeps sending me uneasy smiles. Poundcake is as silent as always, face as passive as ever, but his eyes show the anger he has towards Reznik. Whether it is because of what he did to me or something else Reznik has done, I'm not sure. Oompa pats me on the back before he gets into the single file line we must always be in on the way to the yard.

Zombie is the last person, I am in front of him. Teacup is in front of me and I'm tempted to reach forward and loosen her hair, but my arms are still aching from the knuckle push-ups and I know I can't.

Reznik instructs us to do three laps around the entire yard. Since we are the last squad, we are in the back while Reznik is in the front with the first. This makes it easy to break formation. Those who are slower-- Oompa and Nugget-- fall behind with Zombie. Zombie urges them on with soft encouragements and, he too, takes pity on me.

"Just try your best," he says to me as I jog lightly in front of Oompa, Nugget beside me. "The last person always has to take another lap. I'll take it. Just stay ahead of me."

I was in cross country and had to run far longer than this for warm ups, every day for three years, and then I busted my knee out and had to quit in fear of damaging it further. Turns out it would have been fine, considering that I ran three hours from the gas station before it actually gave out.

"No problem," I mumble to myself. My pace quickens and soon I am at the front of the group, lung aching and legs shaking. Just sitting and eating and healing in the Convalescent Wing has taken its toll on my endurance and I know I need to get it back up for the training I will have to do here.

"Woowee! Did they finally send someone to squad 53 that doesn't resemble a soggy shit sandwich?" Reznik shouts as I finish first in the group and settle into position. I can feel the eyes of the others on me and I am not sure if it is because they are mad the new private passed them up or they are relieved that I won't bring them down any further than what they already are. "Making the little brother proud, private!"

Face hard. Eyes straight ahead. Wisps of hair hitting my eyes. I manage a little nod as I watch Zombie take the last lap-- he took it instead of Oompa and Nugget. He's sincere. That's rare nowadays. It will also get him killed.

I don't look at him when he finishes the lap. He stares at me for a moment, dark eyes trying to dig into my soul and figure out who I am. I don't show him anything. My walls are titanium and built fifty feet high and a hundred feet below. There's no getting past them. I made sure of that.

He looks away as he draws the same conclusion. Nothing good about her. Or, maybe, nothing about her at all. Maybe he sees that I'm so far gone, I don't even look like I am there anymore.

Is that what people see when they look at me? Nothing? Blank eyes with dark purple indents beneath them, and hollow cheeks. Yellow, healing bruises still along my jaw and beside my eyes. That's it. Nothing. Just there. Just existing.

Just waiting to die like the rest of humanity.

Breakfast happens in a big mess hall. Each squad sits at their own table. Never any mingling, never any talking unless it is with a member at your table. Dumbo tells me it is because the competition here is fierce.

"Competition?" I ask, because what is this? Summer camp? Are we going to fight each other for a pretty little trophy that will be lost on the way home because no one actually gives a damn once the deed is done?

"Every squad is working to get in the top four," Zombie informs me. He sits beside me with Nugget on the other side of him. Flintstone is on the other side of me. "We get points for everything we do right, and we get points and rations taken away for everything we do wrong. At the end of November, the top four graduate."

Before I can ask what we graduate to, Teacup is sending me a huge grin. "Graduation means active duty-- killing Teds out on the field."

Teds. Infecteds. Non-Teds. Not-Infected. You get the idea.

"Doesn't matter." Tank grunts. "We're in tenth place and we have been for weeks."

"Not bad, but not good enough," Zombie tells me. I suddenly know why Reznik said there was finally someone decent in squad 53-- they suck at most things they do.

"Definitely not good enough," Flintstone says, sighing. Silence for a second and then I swear to God, I can see his brain shrinking beneath his unibrow as he decides that he wants to ask me about my past. "So, what Reznik said to you. Was that true?"

I squint at him. "Was what true?"

"He said you killed three guys before the first one hit the ground. That true?"

Everyone is waiting for an answer. I don't know what to say. It was true, but Reznik made it sound like I did it because I wanted too-- which I kind of did, but for a good reason. They tried to force themselves on me. I did what I had to do.

That's what I keep telling myself, anyways.

Tank scoffs. "Course it's not true. Look at her. How could she kill anyone?"

Look at me. A thin, sorry excuse of a girl with big bruises and dead eyes. How could she kill anyone? How could Ghost kill anybody, let alone three guys. Right? She's not a Sofia anymore, that's how. Ghost knows how to survive. Ghost knows how to kill and how to do it quickly. But she doesn't tell him that, no. She just does what she does best, according to Vosch. She gets angry.

"Would you like to find out?"

Tank glares at me, opens his mouth to say something, Zombie cuts him off. "Stand down, Tank. You too, Ghost. Stow that shit."

"Why should I?" I snip, turning to the boy who had supposedly crawled straight from the grave. He's scowling at me like 'Jesus Christ, private, it's your second day here and almost everyone wants to punch you in the face'. I almost laugh because it is true.

"Because that is an order, private," Zombie whispers, voice hard. I almost roll my eyes. I don't care if it is an order. When someone asks about my past, or anything about me, I get angry. I will continue to get angry when someone does it, and his orders won't stop me from punching anyone out.

"Whatever."