An hour had passed, and the students were sprawled around the campsite, taking a much-needed break. Some lay on the ground, lazily staring at the sky, while others chatted in small groups, their voices low and hushed. The air hung heavy with the scent of damp grass and lingering smoke from the morning’s fire, the faint crackling still audibles in the distance. Though it was a moment of rest, an unspoken tension lingered—something dark was on the horizon. From the corner of the camp, the unmistakable sight of two police cars, each pair a different color, appeared on the road leading to the campsite.

The Achievers noticed first. Whispers of curiosity and worry spread quickly, sparking wild theories.

“Why are the police coming here?” one student wondered aloud. “Maybe there's a criminal nearby?” The murmurs quickly heightened the nervous energy, fueling anxious conversation across the camp.

The Mavericks, still clinging to their earlier rebellious energy, moved sluggishly as they half-heartedly cleaned up their mess. Plates and cups clattered lazily into piles, and a few of them shot defiant glares at the Achievers, as if daring them to comment.

“We’ll clean when we feel like it,” one of them had muttered earlier, waving dismissively as if daring anyone to challenge them.

One of the Mavericks glanced up, noticing the police cars approaching. “Hey, they must be here for our safety,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Yeah, or maybe they’re just marching around us like idiots,” another added with a lazy grin. The others nearby chuckled at the mockery, the humor briefly lightening their mood.

As the police cars drew closer to the designated drop point near the assembly area, Mr. Lawson straightened, a visible wave of relief washing over him. With measured steps, he approached the officers, his handshake firm, each gesture weighted with respect and deep-seated gratitude.

“Thank you for coming. Your presence here is truly an honor,” he said, his voice steady but with an undertone of apprehension. The officer responded reassuringly, ‘Don’t mention it. As long as we can keep things in order, we’ll do whatever is necessary.’ The officers then assumed a parade rest stance at the wooden podium, signaling their readiness.

Takoda and Axka were stacking their plates and preparing to clean the table when they noticed the reactions to the police's arrival. Just as they were about to start, Ms. Lyra’s voice, amplified by a megaphone, cut through the buzz.

“Attention, Achievers batch,” she announced. “I’ve received instructions from Mr. Lawson. Girls, please prepare the ingredients for our dinner, while the boys who are free at the moment, please help the Mavericks with setting up the camp for now.” Her tone was firm, motivating them to act. A few Achievers cast annoyed glances at the Mavericks, clearly displeased at having to cover for their tasks while some Mavericks still relaxed in their seats.

Right after Ms. Lyra’s announcement, Mr. Lawson’s voice boomed through the speaker near the podium, demanding attention. “All Mavericks batch, please gather here in front of me immediately!” he commanded. “Must be an introduction just like earlier too,” someone near the table muttered.

Axka glanced at the cluttered table and asked, “Then what about the table and the plates?” Aime, appearing dismissive, replied, “Just leave it, man. We’ll clean up after he introduces the officers.” Axka silently agreed to the suggestion and left the table as it was.

The walk to the podium was slow and filled with laughter until a commanding shout of “HURRY UP!” from the podium snapped them to attention.

“The fuck?” someone muttered. “What’s his fucking problem?” another person called out loudly from behind. Smitty glanced at the officers, his usual smirk faltering. “Let’s just move faster,” he suggested, his voice carrying an edge of uncertainty. The others exchanged glances, tension tightening their shoulders, but nodded in silent agreement as they hurried to comply. The mood had shifted—no one was laughing now.

When the batch arrived, most of them were panting, having hurried to form a line, while Axka and his friends were accustomed to such situations. They managed to slip into line, though it was a bit messy. The officer’s sharp command, “Make a proper line!” triggered a rush of movement as the batch scrambled to form an orderly line.

Then an officer stepped forward onto the podium, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the batch. His eyes, sharp and cold, scanned the students like prey, a predator assessing their weakness. Every movement was deliberate, oozing control, as though the mere act of standing in front of them asserted his dominance. “Before we make our proper introduction, I want everyone to hand over their phones. No exceptions!”

Axka’s fingers tightened around his phone, but it wasn’t fear that gripped him. It was the familiar sense of disconnection, a reminder of his past. Being cut off from Mika brought back the dull ache of isolation, but it wasn’t panic—it was something colder, deeper, like an old scar reopening. Takoda’s whisper sliced through the haze of worry, “Just give it to them for now. We’ll figure out how to get them back.”

Axka nodded, but the unease weighed like a stone in his gut as he reluctantly handed over his phone. The separation stung. As he walked by, he glanced back, noticing that not everyone was quick to comply—some clutched their phones in a defiant grip, mirroring his earlier hesitation but finally succumbed to the command.

After handing over their phones and getting back in line, Axka noticed a guy next to Smitty glaring at the officers, clearly irritated by their orders. One of the officers, observing the glare, confronted him directly, “YOU! Why are you looking at me like that? Got a problem?” The guy’s hands balled into fists, but his voice stayed silent, defiant.

The situation exploded without warning. In a blur, one of the officers grabbed the boy, slamming him face-first into the dirt. The sickening thud of his body hitting the ground was followed by a strangled gasp, almost lost under the officer's weight pressing down on him like an anchor.

“You wanna act tough, huh?” The officer’s voice was sharp, each word like a strike. “SHOW ME HOW TOUGH YOU REALLY ARE!”

The guy’s arms flailed uselessly, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as the officer’s weight pressed down like an anchor. Around him, the Mavericks stood frozen, muscles tense, but too stunned to move or speak.

The guy struggled to push back, his arms pinned helplessly beneath him. “I’m just tired, okay!” His voice muffled but the officers were relentless. “I DIDN'T HEAR YOU, ALL I SAW WAS YOU’RE CLENCHING YOUR FIST!” Despite his protests of “I didn’t!” Everyone watched in shocked silence, unable to intervene.

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“Stop,” the officer with the microphone commanded. The boy struggled to get up, trembling as he pushed against the dirt, his face contorted in pain. The officers didn’t even glance at him as they straightened, their faces cold and indifferent.

The events unfolded so quickly that some of the guys who still had their phones barely had a chance to record what was happening.

Axka’s gaze remained steady, his face unmoved. The officer’s brutal takedown stirred only the faint echo of his past, like a half-remembered dream. He had seen worse—far worse. The boy’s flailing meant nothing to him, just another scene of control and domination. It wasn’t fear or even anger that surfaced—just numb acceptance.

As the tension between the Mavericks batch and the officers finally settled into an uneasy silence, Mr. Lawson stood back on the podium, observing from the start with a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn’t amusement but a grim satisfaction that showed on his face.

Thank goodness I have the authority to back me up. Otherwise, this camp would be a complete mess. Mr. Lawson nodded in satisfaction, his arms crossed as he watched the punishment unfold before his eyes.

Meanwhile, the Achievers positioned at a safe distance but close enough to see what was happening, watched with a mix of shock and grim validation. Having frequently dealt with disruptions caused by the Mavericks, they found a cold comfort in the officers' intervention.

Among the whispers and quiet exchanges, the Achievers openly voiced their approval. “Serves them right,” one girl muttered, her tone filled with satisfaction. Others nodded in agreement, exchanging smug glances. After almost every day of dealing with the problematic students’ constant chaos, this felt like the punishment they had long deserved.

As the officer took the floor, giving way to a heavy silence. “Now! I am Officer Erdmann Schmidt, the one in charge of controlling all of you,” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the tension with sharp authority. “Beside me is my partner, Officer Ron Douglas, and the team of Correctional Officers from the Juvenile Division, Officer Herman Romero and Officer Tomás Mendoza.”

Officer Schmidt’s boots thudded slowly against the wooden podium, each step deliberate, calculated. He took his time, savoring the tension. His eyes, cold and calculating, swept across the Mavericks as if measuring their worth, or lack thereof.

“AND ALL OF YOU ARE MAGGOTS!” His voice boomed across the clearing, cutting through the tension with the precision of a knife. Officer Schmidt’s stares were so intense that Aime briefly pressed his lips, holding his smirk at the absurdity of the situation, he knew the mood was far too serious for laughter.

“From now on, forget ‘Mavericks.’ That’s a name for fighters, and you lot are nothing but scum,” he sneered. “When I say ‘Achievers,’ I’m talking about those disciplined students over there, something you’ll never be. When I say ‘Maggots,’ it’s all of you brainless, unethical, and uncivilized ones standing here. Do I make myself clear?!”

For a moment, nothing. Silence hung in the air like a heavy fog. The students stared back, too stunned to speak, their bodies tense, every word sinking deep.

Schmidt’s face darkened at the lack of response. His boots thudded heavily on the wooden podium as he stepped closer, his voice a deadly growl. “I said, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?”

The sharp command snapped them out of their shock. Slowly, hesitantly, a murmur rose from the batch, weak and uncertain.

“C-clear…” Their voices were low, uneven, the words forced out of them, more a reflex than an actual answer.

Schmidt sneered at their feeble response. “Pathetic,” he spat, his disgust obvious. The silence that followed was thick with tension, their weak reply only reinforcing his sense of superiority. “You maggots don’t even deserve to speak.”

He pressed on, “I want you maggots to hand over your phones. NOW!” The few remaining holdouts, reluctantly complying, saw their devices seized roughly by the officers and placed into a basket. Each phone was collected and assigned its own holder.

“Now the whole world won’t know what we do to you,” Officer Schmidt continued, his tone grim and resolute. “And we have every right to keep it that way. Until you become like the Achievers, I will straighten all of you out in this camp, and your phones will not be returned unless there’s an urgent situation. Until then, you’ll only get them back if your teachers allow it.”

The atmosphere grew heavy with a mix of fear and resentment as the Mavericks watched their last connection to the outside world being taken away. The officers’ stern demeanor left no room for negotiation or comfort, and the sense of enforced isolation became starkly real.

The stern announcements from Officer Schmidt left Axka increasingly anxious. The thought of his brother Mika being unable to reach him consumed his mind. The temporary seizure of their phones, initially seen as a punitive measure, now felt like a serious threat to his ability to stay in touch with Mika.

“Resume your previous task and swap with the Achievers who’ve been doing your job, YOU LAZY FAT MAGGOTS! Gather here before evening, if you don’t, we got a very ‘special guidance’ for you!” Schmidt’s voice thundered, his grip on the microphone tightened. “NOW, MOVE!”

His commands sent the Mavericks scrambling to assist the Achievers with the tent setup. As Axka jogged toward the camping area, the absence of his phone felt like a physical weight in his pocket.

How the fuck am I supposed to know Mika’s update now?

Each step was a painful reminder that Mika could be trying to call him right now, the thought gnawing at him. His stomach churned, his mind racing through one worst-case scenario after another.

Axka’s thoughts raced, searching for the right moment to retrieve their phones without attracting attention. The idea of devising risky strategies felt overwhelming, but the urgency of ensuring Mika’s safety steeled his resolve. He had to succeed—nothing could happen to Mika.

***

At the entrance of Opal Junior High, Mika, who had just finished his school day, walked with his friends who were ready to head home. One of his friends offered a compliment, “You were good at passing me the ball, Mika. Too bad you got injured.” Mika chuckled and replied, “Teamwork is important, you know,” keeping the tone light and friendly.

As they passed a group of girls, cheerful greetings were exchanged. “Hi Mika! Get well soon!” they called out. Mika responded warmly, “Hi and thanks, everyone!”

At the school’s drop-off point, an UrbanWheels car awaited. The driver rolled down her window and said, “Mika, right? Your brother booked me for your transportation for these few days.” Mika recalled his brother’s mention of this arrangement and nodded, “Oh yeah, my brother mentioned this.” The driver invited him, “Ok then, hop in. Let’s get you home.” After bidding farewell to his friends, Mika said, “Alright guys, gotta go,” and entered the car with his backpack and walking stick.

The journey home began with the driver engaging in light conversation. “Your brother must be caring, not wanting you to go home alone.” Mika smiled and replied, “Not really, I usually walk home with my friends. He’s worried I might get injured again by walking.” The driver commented, “He’s a good brother,” to which Mika agreed, “He is.”

As Mika looked out the window, his thoughts drifted home. Maybe I should help him out—start by cleaning the house...

He was already planning ways to support his brother, unaware of the challenges his brother was facing at the camp—challenges that would add layers of complexity to his well-meaning plans.