In the makeshift hierarchy Eran had developed, there were four higher officers who answered to Syme. They were each a leader of a club or team: Ky, who captained two martial arts clubs, Ellen, who captained women's football, Nier, who captained men's football, and Ally, who captained the baseball team.

It was unwieldy. He would reform the military command structure into something that more resembled an actual military, but he'll deal with it for now to appease Eran and the rest.

The volunteers were mostly boys, but there were girls. They all followed Ellen, of course. 

They tried to put up appearances around him, sympathetic to his "past", but it was obvious that they and their members weren't serious. But, at least, they gathered in the same place. 

Syme called for the four's attention with as many of the volunteers around as possible. This needed to be as public as possible.

"Why aren't we sending guards with the foragers anymore?" he asked, feigning anger.

"We don't really think it's necessary," Nier replied.

"Not necessary!? Are you joking?"

"Look, Syme, I'm sorry, but we haven't seen any of those creatures you've warned about," Ellen said.

Syme crossed his arms. "What about Cily, then?"

"Alright, I take that back—but look at her, she wouldn't hurt a fly." She brushed back some of her hair. "It's just a bit far-fetched—"

"We've been teleported to the middle of a desert, but this is far-fetched?" Syme rebuted. "What are you going to do when some of the foragers end up dead?"

"We'll take responsibility, then. But it's not going to happen, or at least not because monsters attack them," Nier replied. 

"We're dealing with lives here—I don't think you're taking this seriously enough," Syme said.

Ally interjected. "If you're so concerned, then why don't you go?"

Perfect. "You know what? That's exactly what I'm going to do," Syme said, marching off afterwards. He couldn't ask for a better opportunity.

Ellen scowled at them. "There's no reason to take that kind of attitude, he just wanted everyone to be safe."

"What the hell are you doing!?" a voice cried.

Syme kneeled over and puked, dropping his bloodied weapon. Revulsion poured from every pore of his body. His muscles locked up, his mind drew blank in pain, his vision began to black out—it was as if his body had begun to reject itself. He had never felt so intense and so awful a pain as he did now.

There was something wrong. There was no physical reaction to murder, he knew that. How could there be. It's not like his body could know that he was stabbing a person and not, say, a cake, but even if it did, he was fairly sure such a reaction was not evolutionarily favorable.

Damn. The problem was that he'd never killed anyone before. He would know for sure if it was strange or not then.

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But he couldn't afford to stay still right now; the one still alive could tell the others or just kill him. Either way it'd be over for him and he couldn't let that happen. Clutching his abdomen, he focused his wavering vision and stumbled up, just in time to see a punch thrown at him. He barely ducked in time, nearly falling over in the process.

Good. He had a chance in a fight; with the condition he was in, chasing after someone healthy would be impossible. He needed to stall until he was fully recovered. He reached for the weapon he had dropped, but his hand was kicked out of the way. A punch followed, and he was forced to run the other way. He stumbled on the sand, dropping to a knee. He took a hit to the shoulder, but managed to throw some sand into his pursuer's face and scramble away.

The boy was screaming something at him throughout, but he didn't care enough to listen. The terrain proved to be both a blessing and a curse, as it impeded his pursuer as much as it impeded him. And yet, he was still clearly losing. He had yet to even counterattack. He knew he needed an advantage to win the exchange, so he gradually led the chase back to the place where had dropped his weapon.

It was close, so close, only a meter or so away. But he misstepped in the sand and the boy did not miss his chance. Syme took a punch to the eye and then the abdomen. A flush of pain went through his body and he crumpled. The boy grabbed him by the collar.

"Why!?" the boy screamed at him.

There was no way for him to win a fight anymore, he knew that, so he shifted tactics. He had to come up with some explanation, though he knew it'd sound incredibly weak in context. At worst, he might have to escape and find another school.

"I-I... it was a hallucination, I thought he was one of those imps—"

The boy slammed his head against the sand. "Like hell I'd believe that!"

Bad, bad. Damn, would things end here? He closed his eyes; he'd have to go with the brainwashing defense.

As he prepared for more blows, he found none. Instead, he felt a drop of warm blood fall on his face. Opening his eyes, he found a dull silver blade grotesquely pierced through the boy's face. It was Cily—she must've followed him. But what strength she had! The make-shift spear wasn't all too sharp to begin with, but she'd lodged it through both ends of his skull. He'd fought with their kind before—they're not that strong.

He rolled the boy's body off of him. Cily looked at him with a worried expression. 

"I'm fine," he said, stroking her hair. "I misjudged you; it seems you'll be more useful than I thought."

Then, he looked at the dead bodies and sighed. It was really hot out here.