“What’s in the bag, kid?” A beefy teen about my height asks me. He’s wearing an athletic top and canvas work pants(?) with some sort of weapon on his waist. Did they pull a construction worker into guard duty?
“Knives, rope, food and some trash.” I shrug and offer the bag to him. He holds out a hand to stop me.
“No clothes?”
I shrug, “Didn’t seem important at the time.”
He shrugs back. “You can take one knife, worn openly, and as much ready-to-eat food as you can carry.”
I drop into a crouch and quickly pull out the food, stuff some small stuff in my hoodie pockets and dump the chips and cookies in my hood. If I have to wear the knife openly, no reason to pick one that fits in my pocket. I pick a long, thin fixed blade with a sturdy cross guard and tie it and its sheath to my back beltloops. Zipping up Jamie’s bag, I toss it to the side and stand ready.
“I am going to put a code on your hand or forearm that links to your System Profile. You do not have personal access to the System yet, but this will gain you access to the training facilities and rooms you are granted permission to.”
I roll out my left arm and point to the inside meat of my forearm below and to the side of my elbow.
“Uh, mostly we do the hand.”
“Hands are too easily taken, though.” I see shock in the guard’s face, he looks over to the next line to his buddy, who shrugs and nods. The man takes my left arm and presses a black box to it. Something wet hits before searing pain, a brief coat of wet before more and longer pain. About thirty seconds later, he pulls the box away to show a pixelated mosaic that doesn’t resemble anything I’ve seen.
I’m ushered forward toward the building, where I see Talia waving me over to join Marcus, Jamie, and Maribelle. I frown at the familiar faces, not that I’m upset at Mirabelle, but Jamie’s a two-faced bitch and Marcus probably had a hand in my ambush, or at least knew about it. Lets see how happy they are about the snacks I got out of my rations.
As soon as I pull out the pack of cookies, Jamie and Marcus immediately looked at them and watched me eat the first one before diverting their naked desire somewhere else. It brings a smile to my face as the chewy, chocolatey treat hits my tongue.
“There will be refreshments in the meeting room, so let’s not dawdle,” Talia says, while the man standing next to her takes that as his cue to open a side door and walk through it, beckoning us to follow.
The narrow halls are well lit with a multitude of doors on either side and at a seemingly random door, the man leading stops and opens a door. Talia walks through and the rest follow, last in—because I don’t trust two of them behind me—I have the opportunity to check the room out as the other kids attack the snacks.
There are two tables with two chairs in the middle of the room and a long table with like ten chairs at the back of the room where most of the adults are sitting. My eyes immediately stop on Marcella, sitting on the edge of the table, as she gives me a small wave and winks at me in a way that tells me she’s got mischief on the mind. Well, at least she still seems happy to see me, which makes me think this is an obtuse maneuver against her co-workers rather than a lesson for me.
Parker is on the opposite end of the table, standing and chatting with some of the other adults as they look at the other three orphans, occasionally glancing at me. Though I don’t love being paraded in front of people, the looks I’m getting are way less disturbing than the assessment Parker levied at me on the outside of the Van. I shudder thinking of it again.
I shake it off with a walk to the snack table, pick up a tray of sandwiches a mug of coffee and a cup to one of the tables and sit down. I look up midway through my second sandwich half to see the other three looking at the table full of adults, waiting for them to say anything.
“Perhaps it is time to take our seats,” an olive-skinned man said and motioned for my compatriots to get seated immediately. Maribelle skips to and sits next to me before either of the other two can manage. I smile at my luck and she takes a sandwich. Marcella chuckles at my antics and remains seated on the corner of the table.
“I am Parker, head of Public Outreach, Engagement, and Recruitment. Sometimes we engage with other organizations, sometimes we interview people. The skills that we look for include . . .” and that’s when I start staring at his forehead while I eat my sandwich and wait for the next person to start talking.
Jamie perks up when a woman with frizzy hair and a tablet starts talking about Analytics and Financial Services. She starts out telling us that her program tests for different types of pattern recognition and trends to see if recruits are suited for Finance and Business Management or Behavioral Analysis and Complex Pattern Correlation.
Who organizes a gang like this? Like seriously, this sounds like some pre-fall corporation or something. I suppose that them ‘departments’ should have been a clue. I miss the next man’s presentation mulling over the pros and cons of a corporation having a thug and wet work division.
“I am called Prakesh. My department trains everything from Thugs to Enforcers. If you are not fast or strong, no need to share your interest, I will not care. You will need to pass the gauntlet to obtain my sponsorship.” He spares a few glances at me, but he mostly talks to Marcus—a physical specimen.
Even though I know Marcella is interested in me, it hurts a little to see the disinterest in the team that I would have wanted to join. I like the idea of being an enforcer, messing up bad guys to keep our people safe. Sure there is going to be some enforcing to protect some profits and whatnot, but my morality is fine messing someone up for stealing my stuff. It’s funny though, I didn’t think I’d want to do what I was doing at Our Lady Luck, but right now, the feeling of pride I had in protecting those kids and keeping them fed feels really good. It’s the responsibility of coming up with plans, and methods to achieve those aims that I’m not really comfortable with.
Now I’m nervous for what Marcella has in store for me. Speaking of, I missed a few short presentations in my musings, and she’s up next.
“If you’ve been seeing people looking at me after their briefings, it’s because I basically never look at new recruits. I’m a specialist and I typically train members of Warram that have spent their time in another department. I’m responsible for security systems, protocols, and special forces training. From hacking and infiltration, to long-cons and espionage, I’m who the departments send people to so they can get a little more out of them. That said, I’ve spent the last three years developing a program that should be able to get a new recruit to specialist in a little over two years and if my Protegee succeeds, I’ll get a line item in the budget and a golden ticket.”
She pauses to take a sip from an insulated cup. “That’s what’s in it for me. I’m not going to tell you what’s in it for the four of you because I’ve already picked my Protegee, and I gave my brief.” Marcella looks me dead in the eye and walks over and hands me a sheet of paper.
The room breaks out in murmurs while I read the document.
/Marcella Fontaine, your adoptive Mother, wishes to take you as her Protegee.
Are you willing to supply your maximum effort toward this task?/
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
“I am.” I say to her, the document glows yellow for a second and she rolls it up and clutches in her hand.
“Then come along Kimber, we have work to do.” The tone was satisfied and expected to obey.
I of course grab an extra sandwich before scuttling after her. I should be paying attention to where I’m going, but for the life of me all I can do is look up at her expression and wait for it to tell me things. While munching away, of course, I don’t know when my next meal will be, but I still have the snacks in my pockets.
“I hope you didn’t eat too much, because one of my least favorite people is trying to . . . bury me in legalities and put you back in the pool of recruits. It’s not likely, but we should put an extra nail in that coffin.” She starts jogging away and I follow suit as my motion causes the food in my hoodie to cause crinkly slapping noises. I chuckle over how ridiculous it sounds as we run through the hallways.
We run to an events center with bleachers and everything, save for the main floor has been repurposed into a massive gym with a much smaller sparring area in the middle. If the whole building can hold a cavernous volume like this, it must be one of the massive casinos on the strip. I really should pay attention when people lead me places.
“Alright, see that outside ring with the little arrows on it?” I nod, “Good. Start running and if you get to twenty laps, alternate lunges and jogging on each leg of the square until you can’t jog or lunge anymore.”
Instead of saying anything, I just get to it. Her instructions were simple and I’m not dumb enough to fight back or hedge my efforts. I drop my hoodie full of snacks into the last chair in the row next to the track and get to running. Now I don’t know how running long distance is for other people? But shit sucks. As far as I can tell, this loop is between a quarter and a third of a kilometer, so I set out at a pace might be able to keep up for an hour? I’ve never run that long before, but Marcelle led with I was going to have to put in the work.
That just gets me thinking about the effort to funding tie that she mentioned on the van roof. I have zero benchmark on her training routine, so maybe my sessions for a while will be to absolute exhaustion? In the street, that’s a good way to die. Here? Maybe I’m safe. As soon as I think safe, I hear a wet crunch and see a splat of blood as a boy’s nose gets obliterated by his sparring opponent. Well, safer than I’ve ever been, maybe.
When my twentieth lap comes in, I’m plodding with my every thought to shift my feet as much as I can with every step, to keep moving at any cost. I may have hit the first ten a little too hard. I get distracted by the refreshment table for the third lap in a row, and yet again my stumble almost takes me to the turf.
You got this, Kimber, we go get some water, maybe see if I have a pack of fruit chews or something and try to do lunges without kneeing myself in the face.
I maintain my shuffle pace to the bottle of water I was eyeing and shuffle back to my hoodie and slump into a chair while I search for a candy while sipping water. I find a small pack of gummy bears and destroy those chewy bastards. I figure I’ll get a good five minutes of thinking out of this before I have to focus on the simple things to keep moving again, but it should be enough.
I finish the bottle and prop myself back up on my stiffened legs and start with the best lunges I can handle. Less than half a side of the square-ish track, my form devolves significantly. My shuffle between lengths is pathetic, and I realize I’ll be lucky to make it two laps. My legs are a shaky mess and two lunges is taking me a minute at this point.
“Alright Kimber, you can stop now.” I hear Marcella say and I stop, drop, and mop the floor with my face. “Well, you did better than I thought you might as underfed as you are. Good intel though, which means we’re going to use today as the standard you’ll keep as we bulk you up. Twenty laps, two laps of lunge and jog.” She starts to walk toward the ring and I start crawling after her. When she pauses, I don’t have the energy to look up.
“Climb into that chair and I’m going to hand you things you will be eating between set groups, and how to manage your electrolytes and your water going forward.” I do as she asks, glad that the folding chair is sturdy. She hands me a tube a bar and a little pack of goo.
“That first pack are energy chews, they’re sweet and salty and require water intake. I recommend those between set groups to pick you up and make sure your salt levels don’t tank all at once. That second one is a protein and oat bar. It’s going to make your weight training a little harder as your stomach needs to get used to having something in it, but it’ll help you sustain into the second hour of your workouts and help you recover faster for your afternoon combat training. That little tube? That’s sugar, caffeine and salt in a liquid of yoghurt-like consistency. It’s for sprinting, max sets, and getting light headed between sets. If one and some water don’t help stabilize you, stop working out and message me.”
I have a brief thought of having nothing to message her with, but I can’t be bothered to string sense-making words together right now. That’s okay though, my mentor is really pretty and it’s easy to just stare at her face while my head meat won’t brain.
“Ah, damn. Get the chew out, and then attack the bar, putting two water bottles in you while I message the doc.”
“I’bbe fine, miss font . . fonti? Fontan! No need for meds.”
“Empress’ hangnails, your body is eating your brain.”
Oh no! Better do what she said Kimber!
I jam a couple of chews in my face and put a mouthful of water in there for good measure. Next, the bar. It’s chewy, chocolate on top with oats and . . . something sticky-sweet on the bottom? The bottom is super tasty, but the top tastes like flavored foam board. I take a good look at it and the brown part actually looks like foam board! I glare at my trainer as I hate-chew this bar. The first bottle of water is over before this dry-ass bar is and now I know why she said to constantly sip water while I’m doing this.
“Kimber you back? Or am I going to have to leave a trail of snacks to the bathroom?” I’m not quite back enough to interpret her tone.
“That would be gross, but I’d probably chance it.” She snorts at my not-joke.
“Not going to test that today. However, we are going to break for now. I didn’t realize that starting this way can actually send your body into shock and that would be a mandatory stay with the doctor. So, you are going to take a shower, then I’ll talk at you as we go through some more things. Go get your hoodie and meet me in the member locker room.”
She walks away as I collect myself and stuff the remaining items she handed me and an extra stack of chews and a water bottle. The thought of a shower motivates me, hoping that an organization as big as Warram doesn’t make their ‘Members’ take cold showers. I hope, I hope. By the time I get to my grungy top, I’m moving with purpose.
Marcella is tapping menus when I arrive and she walks into the actual locker room without saying anything. I shrug and I follow to see a few banks of lockers with long benches between them. She taps on a locker labeled P-1. “This is your locker. Until you are a member, this will always be your locker. Wave your coded tattoo in front of it to see if it works. Your soap and shampoo are in there with your first compliment of clothes and shoes.
“There’s a phone-sized data pad in there that has a dozen or so contacts you should have, it’s linked to your profile. It has a language app and various training games and apps pre-loaded. Now, this is an important tool as it is one of the two things you will be doing when I am not with you. Meaning, if I am not around to direct you, you are working out, training, or eating. No exceptions, no excuses. Between set groups? Eating. Collapsed on the ground from your workout? Get your phone out and train Russian while you recover. I’m aiming to make you a specialist faster than some teams train their raw recruits into members. You will simply not have time to waste. We have dinner together, and after that you can have free time. From dawn-till-dinner, you’re working toward initialization and your track.” She pauses and looks into my eyes for questions, comments, or concerns. I have none, she is being very direct.
“There is also an incidentals card in there that links to a side account I made for you. Don’t abuse it. There are a variety of reasons I won’t transfer it to you specifically, but settle for I’m lazy and paranoid. We’ll fit you for your kit and we’ll take that to your room after, but for now, get clean.”
She walks out, I swipe my arm by the smooth black area and it clicks open for me. Great success. The space is completely occupied by a black duffel with a blazing red “W” on the side. I pull out the toiletries and flip flops out and start stripping.” I stuff everything back in my locker, wondering where the heck I get a towel while I walk into the white-tiled area with better lighting.
Found the towels, and huge mirrors displaying my skinny, naked ass, and a sign for soiled laundry. Well, hell, let’s do that then. I go back, get my hoodie and pants and see a sign to scan before and after and follow the instructions. I take a towel and move on to the array of stalls with two sets of curtains one for the shower space and one for the changing space. Cool, I don’t have to go full naked parade. I shrug and pull some curtains closed and turn on the water and point the handle to “H”.
In no time at all, I see steam coming off the water and I’m so excited that I don’t even test it before hopping in. I shriek and hop out while desperately trying to turn the heat down. Breathing heavy, I stare at the silver shower head like the bloody dragon that it is and flick my hand through its hellish stream a few times before the temperature starts to adjust. When I get it to the place that feels good, I remember the position and just soak a minute before soaping up my body and scrubbing the devil out of it. Rinse and repeat three times. I consider going for a fourth round, but then I think better of it.
There’s dirt on me that can’t be scrubbed clean.