Breakfast was brought to his room. Brown, tasteless porridge. Afterwards, two guards escorted him through dark, metal corridors into a windowless classroom. The grey paint on the walls was in dire need of a new coat and revealed dark concrete wherever it had peeled off. There were four lamps in the ceiling that had protective metal bars surrounding them. Their painfully white light unable to adequately illuminate the class room, giving it a sense of permanent dusk.

They showed him to his seat, a metal chair with a desk arm. There were several others already seated. All men of varying ages and posture. All of them were residents. Voss could tell by their hardened faces and bodies. It was hard to tell who was what, but he knew he was surrounded by a mixture of gang members, murderers, violent criminals, subordinates and a few unlucky souls who were at the wrong place at the wrong time. All these things were equally bad in the eyes of fourth branch.

They cared as little about you selling life destroying substances like Kerosine or Dream to underaged residents, as they did about you murdering your neighbor and raping his wife. The only thing they really cared about was how it affected production and their authority. Hence why a subordinate worker who shoved a citizen supervisor could receive the same kind of punishment as a serial killer. Crime was just a statistic to them. Something that you had to keep low enough so it wouldn’t affect production too much. Other than that, it was a free for all. Especially when you got towards the older, real slums where nothing of value was being produced anymore.

A few more men were escorted into the classroom. Every man that walked in got eyed up by the others, and they all returned the favor. There was tension in the air. The kind of tension you get when you put together a bunch of dangerous men into a confined space. Voss couldn’t tell who was a potential friend or foe. His first instinct was to engage with others. Test them out. See who he could turn into allies and who he’d have to watch out for. He couldn’t though. There was a big sign on the electronic board at the front of the classroom that read “talking is prohibited”. Four armed guards stood next to the board. Two on either side. He looked at their hostile faces and knew they felt the same tension as the recruits did. They were just as on edge as everyone else. A dangerous situation. The last thing you want is a highly armed, anxious guard with a natural hostility towards residents. Prime recipe for excessive violence.

He had no clue why fifth branch allowed such a powder keg to develop. All it took was one recruit to get funny ideas and things could get nasty real fast. He knew he was surrounded by the worst and most violent that the slums had to offer, but they were still residents. He’d still pick their side over that of haughty, dough faced citizen guards. It wasn’t like he had a choice anyhow. The guards would probably start blasting indiscriminately if the situation got out of hand.

Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.

The tension dissipated slightly when a somewhat older man dressed in a Fifth Branch black uniform walked into the room. His face looked a tad friendlier than the other Fifth Branchers he’d seen thus far. He seemed relaxed, like this wasn’t his first rodeo. At the same time there was something in his eyes. Something that told the recruits that instigating problems wasn’t a smart move. He turned to the guards. ‘Thank you, you may leave now’. The guards seemed relieved and made haste for the exit. He then turned to the recruits. ‘Listen up. I’m instructor sergeant Radklif. I will be teaching you lot for the next month. Before we start, I want to go over three ground rules.

It was a bold move by the instructor sergeant to let the guards go. He was now alone in a classroom with thirty two hardened prisoners. A fact that he either seemed to miss, or simply not care about at all. This man was something else.

First rule: You will use ranks when addressing your superiors. Anything coming out of your mouths directed at me better ends with sergeant, or it will end in punishment. Do I make myself clear?

A dutiful, unanimous ‘Yes sergeant’ followed.

‘Good. Second rule is that, no matter what you may have done to get yourself stuck here doesn’t matter anymore. This is a clean start. You are all given a chance to build up a new and better future. Under no circumstances are you allowed to discuss your past or crimes. Doing so will result in severe punishment. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Yes sergeant.’

‘Excellent. I have a feeling we’re going to get along just fine.’

Incredibly, the sergeant had somehow managed to get the recruits to fall in line with ease. He wasn’t the biggest man, nor did he look very aggressive, but he had an aura that commanded respect.

‘Now the third, and most important rule. Under no circumstances are you ever allowed to talk about anything you see or learn in Fifth Branch with anyone that doesn’t have the proper classifications. In your case that means you aren’t allowed to talk with anyone except for me. You are not even allowed to discuss anything I teach amongst yourselves since you haven’t earned your first stripe yet. Failure to comply with this rule will lead to a fifty year sentence in a torture pod followed by death. Is that clear?’

He made the entire classroom attentive with his final rule. Voss doubted any of them had ever seen a torture pod, but everyone knew about them. They were one of those boogeymen that everyone was afraid of. People would cut you off if you’d start talking about them, as if doing so was an act that taunted fate. Yet somehow everyone still knew about them. Whispers of how horrendous the fate of those unlucky enough to get sent to one would be whispered in bars or at home when residents felt unobserved. Residents held an unhealthy fascination with torture pods. Everyone knew someone who’s cousin had a friend that had been in one. There never seemed to be a consensus on what they did exactly, but everyone knew that whatever it was, it was horrible.

The sergeant’s third rule awoke Voss’curiosity. If the punishment for breaking it was that severe, then whatever the instructor sergeant was going to teach them had to be exciting.