Contrary to his short height and delicate appearance, the youth on the left was holding a great number of heavy-looking convenience store plastic bags in both of his hands. Gunnison took note of the large amount of small scars on his left index and middle finger. The youth proceeded to give an uninterested glance in Gunnison's direction before laying the bags on the floor and throwing himself on one of the bunk beds. Whatever kind of shopping trip he had been on, it was a tiring one.
Gunnison wasn't surprised by the unnamed youth's almond eyes and dark hair: Intraea became a refuge for a great number of foreigners after the chaos that followed the Great Wars in the previous century. It was common to witness people of different ethnicities mingling together, especially in New Intraea, which was built purposely for the sake of hosting new inhabitants.
The boy's surprise was instead directed at the figure on the right: he recognized the tall and dark skinned youth as one of his friends from school.
"Zatch."
"Yo. Glad to have you back in the world of the living." Zatch greeted Gunnison with a chuckle. He then directed his gaze at Sven.
"What did you do to this guy?" He said while dropping the paperbags.
"He tripped." Gunnison lied.
"Yeah, sure." Zatch helped Sven up and comforted him. They seemed familiar with each other, and Gunnison once again wondered about what happened while he was unconscious.
"A lot of shit went down in these two days, you know?" Reading Gunnison's mind, Zatch spoke up, spreading his arms in a flashy way. Oh no.
Zatch was about to execute his most powerful move: the Surprise Shit Talking. Once he started, Gunnison knew he couldn't be stopped.
"After that weird-ass shock, the Ruler came out. The Ruler! See, with his own Citizens crawling the ground screaming and tripping balls, he just started speaking like he was talking about weather forecasts. He's got balls of steel, that old dude. Still hate him though."
Many of the New Citizens bore some kind of ill will towards the City Ruler, Nero, because of the unfavorable treatment they received. It wasn't to the extent of ostracizing them, but the City Ruler certainly didn't believe in absolute equality.
"Ah, so you felt it too? How was it?" Gunnison worried over his friend's condition. Fortunately the shit talking didn't seem too bad this time around.
"I was out cold for at least two hours. I woke up when old guy Nero graced us with his presence. Found this guy at about the same time," Zatch patted Sven's back "he was completely fine though."
Gunnison mulled over the new information he received. It appeared the 'Shock', as he decided to call it, didn't have an omogeneous effect on the Citizens. For example he had been knocked out for two whole days, while the Ruler seemed largely unaffected. And both Sven and Zatch didn't look to be suffering from any after effects like Gunnison's muscle pains. 'Ah', after thinking for some time, Gunnison connected the dots: the pain the Citizens received was probably proportional to each person's physical condition, muscle mass and body build. This would explain why Sven, being a huge pile of meat and bones, wasn't affected much. On the other hand the weak and sickly Gunnison was completely wrecked by the Shock's effect. The same logic would apply to both Zatch and the Ruler: while not as fit as Sven, they surely conducted a healthier lifestyle than Gunnison's coffee-and-couch conduct.
Believing his assumption to be correct, the boy mentally praised his own acuity. Nevertheless, he still couldn't understand why he suddenly woke up in the Dormitory. He required more data.
"So," Gunnison started. "What did Nero have to say?"
"Hah. Well, I'll tell ya, but you better hold on tight, midget. Papa Zatch is about to dump a huge shit of knowledge on your lil' head." Gunnison's eyes rolled. He wished the idiot would just get on with it and give out the information he wanted quickly, instead of treating it like some form of state secret. Truly, stupid people were the bane of his existence. Furthermore, he had been sitting cross legged on the bare floor for some time now and his butt was starting to hurt.
"Are you ready? 'Kay then, I'll start from the beginning. When our great Lord and Saviour Master Nero came out everyone just went silent. Like, dead silent. One moment they were all losing their shit screaming like the end of the world was coming, and the other they were looking up at Nero like he was Jesus or something. Anyway, so-"
"Shut up. No one cares about your story. Just get to the point and let me sleep." The voice that suddenly interrupted Zatch's long winded explanation originated from the small frame lying on one of the lower bunks. The stranger managed to stop Zatch's endless chatting without even rolling in the bed to face him. Gunnison was impressed.
"Fuck off, Kuri. I'm gettin' there." Zatch made a shooing gesture towards the stranger, Kuri.
"As I was saying, Nero began talking about Intraea, the recent economic and military developments. 'The glorious pride of each Citizen!'" The black skinned youth added that last part with flair, imitating the Ruler's manner of speaking and tone of voice.
"Yanno, the usual "Rome of the North" stuff. Same as usual. Everybody was pretty riled up at this point. But then he dropped a bomb." Zatch paused.
"'But alas, Citizens. A truly inexplicable hazard has befallen on Intraea, the proud: our glorious city, along with its prized buildings and people, has been transported!" Zatch put emphasis on the last sentence. The Ruler liquidated what looked like an important topic in quite the short period of time. That, or Zatch's memory was failing.
"Transported, as in being forcefully made to change locations?" Gunnison sought clarifications. Zatch nodded. His face donned an extremely serious expression, and Gunnison couldn't understand if he was being made fun of or not. The incredibility of the matter suggested the first option was correct, but neither Sven or Kuri denied Zatch's statements: Sven was instead gazing instensely at Gunnison, waiting for him to voice his opinion.
"Are you shitting me? Am I being rused? That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard." Gunnison said, somewhat hesitatingly. He tried to form a mocking smile, but for some reason his facial muscles were locked into a doubtful frown.
"There's proof. Huh, for example, you see, before the sky went black, the weather was bad, uh, cloudy and stuff, right? But when I woke up, the sky was blue and, um, how do you say it? Cloudless?" Sven added. Gunnison's eyes widened. If the situation was so serious that the giant had decided to speak more than twenty words to explain it, then he couldn't simply dismiss it as an elaborate joke.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"A-aah. But the weather could've just cleared up naturally, right? That sort of thing happens all the time."
"That's right. But the weather forecasts said that it would rain for six days straight. This is the third day, and we have yet to see a single cloud." Zatch explained. He was now making what he thought was a 'cool guy' pose, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed and his head lowered. Gunnison's eyes rolled for the second time.
"O-okay, let's suppose this 'transported' thing is true... That doesn't explain why am here. There is no reason for us to be here in the Barracks. Unless..." Gunnison had a realization. "Sven, do we know where Intraea has been transported?" He asked his neighbor, the least likely person to bullshit him. Sven shook his head. Word limit reached.
"All our satellites aren't responding. We know that there is a forest outside the walls, but that's it." Kuri butted in. Weren't you asleep?
"No way..." There was a single reason for them to be here. Gunnison tried to find a flaw in his own train of thought. But he couldn't.
"Military scouting. We have been made to enroll in the military by the Ruler with the scouting of the surrounding environment as the objective. Am I correct?" His voice trembled slightly, but all the evidence brought him to this realization. First, one would have to give military service once they reached twenty years of age. Therefore, there was no reason for him, a teenager, to be there. Second, his new roommates' attire. The only people who wore grey camo pants, black tank tops and black boots were idling soldiers. He hadn't noticed before, but someone must've changed his clothes in his sleep, because he looked like a child soldier from Central Africa now.
"How'd you guess that?!" Zatch couldn't guess his friend's simple reasoning, and was thus surprised. The other two didn't look nearly as baffled.
"Gut instinct." The boy answered absentmindedly. He was annoyed. The puzzle wasn't complete; he felt as if someone had hidden a few pieces to play a prank on him. For example, why would the Ruler need so many scouts? Was the situation that desperate? Even if they were 'transported' in an unexplored tropical forest of sorts, isn't the four thousand strong Intraean army enough for some simple scouting?
If the Ruler recruited only Citizens in their prime, the total amount of new additions could reach five thousand total. Taking the freedom of so many youths like that, was the Ruler stupid? Discontent would instantly spread among the subjects and his public image would crumble. This meant that the need of fresh human military resources exceeded the importance of his subjects' loyalty. Granted, it was possible that the 'transport' was more of a threat than it looked like and the City was in great danger, but everything happened way too suddenly. The Ruler shouldn't have been able to analyze the situation and think up a countermeasure that quickly.
"If you say so. Well, you haven't eaten anything in three days, so you should get some cup noodles from the store bags over there. We have a few hundred of them anyway. In case you need to shit or something, go right after the door until the end of the hallway. A bathroom's there." Gunnison followed Zatch's advice and stammered towards his meal. His legs felt numb after sitting for a long time.
"Ah, wait. Now that I think about it, you should just go to sleep again. It's midnight right now, and we need to be out in the patio at six in the morning. Boot camp is starting tomorrow."
Gunnison froze.
-
'I WANT TO DIE.' Gunnison tried to focus on his suicidal thoughts rather than the eighty push-ups he had been burdened with. If his concentration wavered then his arms would surely give out, and he would be awarded with twenty laps around the training grounds as punishment. The Sergeant's voice was annoyingly rippling in his ears like background music. Up, down, up, down, up, down, up, down, up...
Still, the day wasn't going badly before that. In the morning Sergeant Baum, a short and easily excited man, explained that they would be divided squadrons and sent to do physical training in preparation for some 'security missions'. Gunnison didn't pay much attention, and instead pleaded to be assigned to a... less physical kind of task, but all he got in response was a particularly vicious glare by his superior.
The newly appointed soldiers were subsequently made to line up to get their hair cut, and Gunnison was able to determine that the total number of recruits didn't exceed three thousand.
Gunnison hazily recalled arriving at the training camp and laying on the ground.
But his memories didn't go any further.
A snapping sound and a thud.
'This is how I die.' Such a thought raced across Gunnison's mind as his face hit the ground. He couldn't feel his arms anymore. He just faced the dirt waiting for the reaper to collect his soul.
"What's wrong, blandee? You tired? Huh? Come on, get up. Fifty more." This accent was seriously getting on his nerves. 'It's not blond: it's flax.', Gunnison wanted to retort, but couldn't. He now felt like he truly understood the sentence 'I have no mouth, and I must scream'.
"I consider myself a scholar, sir."
"Thirty laps."
Wrong answer.
"Come on, lad. Get up, get up." Baum pricked the lying boy's back with the walking stick he carried.
"You too." Another figure collapsed, another dull sound resounded in Gunnison's ears. Baum beat the ground with his stick.
"Who told you all to stop! Don't slack off, soldiers!"
Gunnison had never so strongly wished to install a pole in someone's colon.
-
Hello. It is I, Crying Lightning.
I typed this chapter in a single sitting, laying on a bed, with a single functional hand. This took me five hours. I have no idea how authors manage to put out one or two chapters a day without sacrificing their quality. Do you have some sort of secret? Did you perhaps sell your soul to Dantalian, the Seventy First Demon Lord? Please answer fast. I'm dying.