Loud noises woke Voss up. Screams of anger and agony intertwined themselves into a dismal cacophony. Terror struck his heart. His arms desperately searched around for anything he could protect himself with from whatever danger lurked in the dark. He grabbed the first thing his hands could find. It was one of his boots. A poor weapon, but it would have to make do. It was impossible to tell what was happening in the pitch dark of the room. He backed himself up against a wall, as far away from the heart wrenching screams as he could get.
A rhythmic, swishing noise repeatedly ended with a spongy sound. The writhing screams of terror became weaker after each blow. What remained were the harrowing screams of anger and swooshing sounds. It was then when Voss understood what was happening. Someone was being murdered in the dark.
The lights turned on. Two armed guards rushed into the room. Voss scrambled to get up straight. Using one eye to scout the room for a better weapon and the other to see what was happening. One of the recruits, Moot, stood upright over a lifeless body. A bloodied shank clasped tightly in his right hand. There was a terrifying, frenzied look on his face. The guards warned him to drop the knife, but he charged them instead with a loud roar. One of the guards shot him with a stun rifle. Moot fell on the floor, writhing in agony. The guards rushed over to him, kicked the shank out of his hands, and proceeded to repeatedly stomp Moot in the head and stomach. More guards rushed in and jumped on top of Moot. They forced his arms behind his back and cuffed him. Moot was then pulled up by the guards and was dragged away. Voss caught a glimpse of his bloodied, battered, yet defiant face before they dragged him out of the room.
Voss looked down and realized his hand was seeing white from how hard it was pinching the boot. He realized how tense he was. His heart was racing; pumping high doses of adrenaline through his entire body. He took a few deep breaths. He tried to relax himself the best he could. The boot fell from his clasp and onto the floor. He’d seen a lot of things in the slums, but this was the first time he witnessed a murder. A horrific one at that. His skin felt cold and sweaty at the same time.
The sergeant bashed into the room, fuming. ‘ WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?’. He saw the collapsed body on the floor, lying in a pool of blood. The sergeant wasted not a single second. Dane, Hiyo, You two carry Derk to med bay right now. Corporal Asp’ The sergeant pointed at one of the guards in grey. ‘You lead them there.’. The sergeant turned around. ‘You two, get cleaning supplies from the janitor’s closet and clean up this mess. What are you waiting for, don’t just stand there gazing at me like some lobotomized donkey, get moving, NOW!’. It was only then that Voss realized the sergeant had been talking to him. He felt numb and foggy. Uncertain what to do, unable to move. Jabs punched him from behind in his left kidney as he walked past him to get to the janitor’s closet. The sharp pain nearly caused him to collapse, but it also snapped him out of his state. He regained control over his legs and followed Jabs.
The sergeant sped out of the room without uttering another word. The rest of the guards followed him out. The recruits were alone again. A murmur of speculation began to erupt as to what had caused this seemingly random act of extreme violence. The answer wasn’t found until Dane and Hiyo returned from med bay. Derk had died on the way there. ‘It couldn’t be helped.’ Hiyo said. ‘There was just too much blood loss. Too many stabbing wounds.’. Jabs was the first to reply. ‘Any clues on why Moot attacked Derk?’. ‘Yeah, I know why.’ Dane replied. ‘Derk made the stupid mistake of telling Tick and me that he had been taken in for gang related activities. Moot must have overheard him. Probably a rival gang of his own gang. Moot saw his chance and did the hit.’.
The sergeant barged back into the room. His face still red with anger. ‘Everyone fall in line right now. We’re moving out.’. They were led to one of the massive cargo bays where a large crowd had already amassed. The crowd consisted out of many different roles and ranks. Most had either sleepy or angry faces on them. In the center of the crowd stood an elevated platform. On it stood a bloodied and battered Moot with a muzzle over his mouth and a rope around his neck. His hands and feet were bound tightly with thick rope. Next to Moot stood the captain with a microphone drone hovering right next to him..
The captain spoke. His amplified voice echoed through the giant bay. He spoke calmly and neutral, as if he was explaining what was for breakfast. ‘Each and every one of you gets the same first lesson when you enroll. Namely that there are three golden rules in the Fifth. Rules that should never be broken. Sergeant, please repeat those rules for us.’
The drone flew over to the sergeant, who had joined the captain on the platform during his speech. ‘My pleasure, captain.’ The sergeant’s raspy voice had nothing of the captain’s neutrality. It was obvious he was out for blood. Somebody had to pay for what had happened. He continued. ‘Rule one: You will always address your superiors by their titles. Rule two: You will never talk about your life before joining the Fifth. Rule three: Under no circumstance are you ever allowed to share any knowledge or information begotten during your service with the Fifth with outsiders.’. The drone flew back to the captain as soon as the sergeant was done speaking. Almost as if led by AI. That couldn’t be though, thought Voss. AI had been strictly forbidden for hundreds of years now.
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‘Thank you sergeant. Three very simple, yet necessary rules to ensure the Fifth runs like a well oiled machine. Today I’d like to focus on rule number two. “Don’t talk about your past”. Sounds very simple, but apparently it’s too difficult for some recruits to memorize. It seems that one of our esteemed recruits forgot about it. He told some of his fellow recruits about past affiliations of his. A costly mistake. Next to me stands one of his fellow recruits. A man whom he was supposed to serve alongside like brothers. A man who instead took it upon himself to murder his fellow recruit over some gang related petty squabbles. Let this be a reminder to you all. There is a reason why all of you are physically cleansed before you join. There is a reason why the past is off limits. On Fosfat you were amongst the lowest of the low. Out here you are amongst the elite of the elite. These two realities do not mix. Let what happened here be a reminder of that. After this man has been executed for his crime of high treason against the Fifth, each of his fellow recruits will receive three lashes to remind them of all three golden rules. Sergeant.’
The captain gave the sergeant a small sign. The sergeant sprung into action. He pulled a lever and a hatch underneath Moot opened. There was only a minor drop. Not enough to snap Moot’s spine. Instead his helpless, bound body bungled through the air as he was visibly fighting asphyxiation. They weren’t going to let him die comfortably. He’d be punished and humiliated to the last breath.
Two steel poles rose out of the platform next to where Moot was fighting for his life. Two guards pulled ropes through rings that were attached to the pole. Two high, two low. At the end of each rope was a cuff. One by one the recruits were called forward to receive their three lashes. Each recruit had the cuffs placed around his wrists and ankles. Several guards would pull the rope, causing the recruits to be lifted from the floor with arms and legs outstretched like some Vitruvian man. This left the recruits completely defenseless against the lashes they were dealt by a particularly large and nasty looking brute in a grey uniform. Each lash was followed by a tormenting scream. None of the recruits before Voss made it off that stage without tears in their eyes. Each recruit that got back down from the platform struck more fear into the recruits that were yet to receive their lashings.
Voss was one of the last recruits to receive his portion of unfair justice. When his name was called out, he walked onto the platform with wobbly knees. He’d never been lashed before. He had no idea how well he’d be able to take the pain. A guard stepped forward. He pushed a wooden block into Voss’ mouth and pulled down his overall until his back lay bare. Voss looked over at Moot whilst he was being strapped in for his lashes. Moot was close to death now, his movements had become faint and his eyes seemed to have resigned to their fate. Voss found it hard to find pity for the man that had caused his own predicament. If anything he had hoped to leave the senseless violence behind now that he was out of the slums.
Without warning, the first lash crashed into his back.It was as if lightning bolts flew through his body in every direction. Voss bit down as hard as he could on the wooden block that one of the guards had put in his mouth whilst the others were strapping him in. It was all he could do to stop himself from screaming in agony. The second lash followed. It partially overlapped with the first, causing an even greater pain than when the first lash hit. Tears were long flowing down over his cheeks before the third lash came. Another gruesome shot of pain, but at least now it was over. The guards relaxed their grip and he fell back down to the floor. He took one last look at Moot when they released him from the cuffs. Moot had stopped moving. Life had departed from his eyes. ‘Serves him right’ Voss thought to himself. Whatever pity he had felt for Moot was now long gone. Replaced by the blaze that had been set to his back.
Voss limped back down the platform stairs. Two more recruits received their lashes after him. Weirdly enough, Voss felt slightly better now that he had gotten his lashes. At least now there was just the pain and no more fear caused by the anticipation of the unknown.
After the final recruit had received his lashes, Moot was pulled down from the platform. His lifeless body hung limp over the shoulders of the guards tasked to take him away. The sergeant, with his voice amplified by the suspiciously autonomously operating drone, proclaimed. ‘His name be forgotten.’. The audience dutifully replied. ‘His name be forgotten.’. And that was that. Nobody ever mentioned Moot’s name again.
The captain, with the drone dutifully hovering around him again, made a final announcement. ‘Everyone back to their regular schedules. The changing of shifts is in two hours and twelve minutes.’
Voss and the other recruits were escorted back to their barrack. A long and arduous journey. Voss' overall chafed his bloody back with each step that he took. After what felt like forever, they finally reached their barrack. There they found that ointments and bandages awaited them. ‘Standard procedure after corporal punishments.’ the sergeant informed them. ‘Day starts in thirty minutes, so you’d best make good use of your time.’
‘Yes sergeant.’ Their voices sounded weak and miserable. They had been given a lesson that none of them would ever forget. The next thirty minutes were mostly spent in silence as each man tended to his own, and his fellow recruits’ wounds. Not even Wago or Jabs had any quips to spare. They had a rough night, but they knew they were in for an even rougher day..