I felt weird. Stepping out of the green tank full of bacteria was weird. All the tanks in the hospital section were filled with my fellow peers who had also gotten injured in just making it to Martyrdom. Some were missing arms and others were missing bits of their face. Usually a death sentence in New Brisbane, but here with the med tanks it would just a few hours to regrow. The pods were full of stem cells. Cells that could become any cell. I never understood the exact science behind it but if you put a drop of your blood into the DNA scanner it will send an electric pulse through the stem cell-filled liquid and they will attach where body parts are missing. The ones missing limbs will need several hour-long sessions but for me, with only broken bones I quickly healed. With my enhanced genes already healing my body would take some time, but in here only a few hours. I even had my tooth back.
There was a girl outside my body, she looked to be slightly older. An upper year? If I had to guess probably second or third. There were surprisingly a few of them tending to the several kids in the pods.
One of the second-year students handed me a towel and my clothes. They must have been instructed to care for the first years for the first day, a small mercy.
“Head to the cafeteria. The Headmaster will address you for breakfast at seven and considering it’s a quarter till then I suggest you hurry.” She said leaning against the tank I just came out of. She was quite shamelessly looking at my clothless form. Body shame wasn’t really a thing for Slayer candidates. All our genes were picked and chosen all the way from our hair and eye colour to muscle density and even the size of a certain organ she was staring at. Being the peak of human capability none of us really felt any shame and in the preschools nudity and sex were common. Still, it was incredibly rude.
“You’re cute, I like blue eyes. My advice, avoid the porridge, a couple of first years always fall for it.” She added before going off to check out the other first years. Gross. I put on my clothes quickly before anyone else could harass me, today was already a nightmare. Today? I spent the night in the tank so now I suppose it would be morning now.
The cafeteria was remarkably bland. What used to be a completely white room was now more dirt grey as the whole room was covered in stains. Did this place have no janitors? It was filthy. The room was filled with my peers all sat down at table and completely ignored the self-service buffet in the centre. There were some people who had plates of food but it was very little.
It was strange considering that the buffet almost made dying worth it. It had everything including things I didn’t know existed. Bread that wasn’t mouldy, rarities like sugar or milk and even dehydrated meat that wasn’t rat or some sort of pest. The preschools only gave us nutrient bars and steroids to maximise our growth, but this was real food.
Had I died when I fell? That would make so much more sense. A little bit of drool dripped out of my mouth as I approached. I didn’t care that people were staring at me, they could suck it. I greedily grabbed a plate and reached towards an apple. I had only read about them in books, sugary crunchy delights that only grew at the top of New Brisbane above the thick layer of smog that clouded the lower levels. Before I could even reach my hand towards the beautiful red treat it was grabbed by another.
“What the fuck!” I growled. Perhaps I should have punched instead of growled as the overwhelming urge to hit something was felt when I saw who grabbed my wrist. The same asshole that pushed me.
“What is your problem now!?”
“My problem?” He raised a brow. “I’m saving your life you ungrateful jerk. You’re welcome by the way.”
I ripped my hand from his grasp. His grip was weak and he had no real intention of constraining me.
“So what? Now all of a sudden you want to save me? From what, the eggs. Cause last time I checked more people die getting pushed out of helicopters than they do from breakfast.” The other boy at a lost for words. I would like to have thought it was me genius and quick-witted remarks that left him speechless. It wasn’t though, his face got red and his eyes went wide. The reason he was quiet wasn’t cause he felt embarrassed but more so he was furious and was probably resisting the urge to strangle me.
He quickly reached for a knife and before I could get my arms up he threw it towards the apple I was about to reach for. What followed was a short moment of awkwardness between the two of us as nothing happened. Just two boys at a buffet standing awkwardly.
“So… what was th-” Before I could finish my sentence a centipede-like creature fell, it was coloured red and had perfectly blended into the colour of the apple.
A wiggler. A type of small Seraphim that infested the metal walls of New Brisbane like termites. Not only did they ruin the infrastructure but they gladly prayed on helpless workers already working twenty hours a day just to barely make rent. My body was quite tough but these things could easily tear through Slayer's flesh and turn my body into a maze of tunnels.
These things were hiding in the food? No, it wasn’t just them. It took a second but I noticed that there were plenty of things wrong. The way the toast crawled out of the corner of your eye or how the strawberries had a nasty habit of always managing to be exactly where you look.
“There was such a rush this morning it was only after the fourth kid did we realise.” The boy continued. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what they realised. The lack of food, the stares as I approached. They knew what was going to happen and no one stopped me… except him.
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“Why?”
“What?”
“Why? I thought you were quite fond of the idea of me being dead. What’s changed?” Clearly, I got something as the boy’s face soured in response.
Looking away the boy mumbled quietly, “Cause you are my last option.”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you see the groups that have already formed?” True enough I did. Despite all the room many tables were fully taken up by kids spacing themselves so they had whole areas to themselves. I was too late, me and the rest of the injured kids won’t be able to make it into the early groups.
“And you didn’t make it into a group because I outed you. No one wants to pair with an attempted murderer.” A small smirk came to my lips, a rather sick sense of satisfaction. “Maybe you should’ve pushed a little harder.”
I could see how much it irked him hearing it from my lips. The bruise from my punch may have faded but it left quite a mark.
“So you want to team up? You realise that’s insane right? I’m not going to put my faith in the person who tried killing me just for slightly better chances at survival.”
“Better to team up with your attempted murder than no one at all.”
“That’s just untrue.”
“It’s absolutely true!”
He was wrong anyway. There were still several kids still suck in the medical bay all missing teams. They all missed out too and all were as desperate as me. I may have missed out on the first picks and now left with all the kids who got injured but it was still better than Mr. Betrayer. The only benefit is that he was a sure thing.
I was going to turn him down. We were still being watched even now by the other teams. Leaving him alone now would be quite a satisfying end to our little shared story. I just had to ignore the desperate look in his eyes. He wouldn’t betray me twice, would he? It was stupid and wrong and I felt immediate regret but I parted my lips.
“Fine,” I growled.
My regret almost completely disappeared when I saw the look of relief on his face. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. He didn’t get injured so clearly he is somewhat capable and he did save me, so really the attempted murder gets cancelled out.
“My name is Fornax. But most just call me Fox.” The deceitful nature certainly fit well with his name.
“Canis.” I greeted as the both of us sat down hungry in our own little corner.
Our conversations were strangely pleasant. He talked about his time in a different preschool and I did mine. We talked about our favourite Slayers like they were celebrities and went over our favourite videos that the government released over the web of their most successful missions.
A few minutes later an elderly man entered the room. Ever since the Seraphim no one died by old age. Even the best of Slayers eventually get unlucky and the regular people inside New Brisbane died to toxic fumes or the small Seraphim that snuck in. It was hypothesised that Slayers could live up to two or three centuries off our perfected genome but others argued that due to the number of steroids that get injected into us throughout our lives would cause our hearts to give out the second we make it past our prime. Too bad none of us lived long enough to find out. I suppose that was one benefit as our bodies would never live long enough to see the negative effects of all the drugs they pumped into us.
It was hard to tell his age as Slayers didn’t leave their prime as easily as regular folk did. The best slayers died in their forties to fifties but only looked to be in their thirties while the average life expectancy was twenty to thirty. Though this man was probably in his forties, the steroids and drugs had kept his body strong and muscular. The only indication of his age was the stress that had turned his hair white and gave him a wrinkly face.
As the older man walked past the food I saw the food literally reel itself back away from him. The Seraphim were afraid of him and he didn’t bother giving the food a second glance taking an apple from it without fear.
“Good morning, I am the headmaster of this school. My name is Deimos, I myself graduated from Myrterdom and have been a Slayer for my whole life much like the teachers here. As you may have noticed the only staff here are the teachers. There is no reception, no janitors or caterers. One of the teachers will bring out food for meals but beyond that you are adults, you have autonomy. You don’t like the filth? Clean it. Martyrdom is separated in years so each year has its own facilities. Each of you can pick up a timetable at the dorms, as you might notice there are no requirements to show up to classes. Show up or don’t, it’s really up to you. If you think you can learn better by yourself then do so.”
The Headmaster. Deimos I suppose took a deep tired breath. His voice was monotone, not from a fear of public speaking but from a tiredness of doing the same thing over and over and over again. He was bored.
“I’ll start by making this clear. Martyrdom is not a place to make friends, it’s a place to survive for four years. You will be taught more by the Seraphim that hide under your beds than you will by any teachers. The teachers are not here to keep you alive, they are here to teach you the basics. You might think those are the same thing. They are not. If you are being attacked by a Seraphim do not expect one of us to risk our lives to save you, we have seen thousands of you die. In fact we are ordered not to intervene, a Slayer who relies on others is a Slayer who will only drag you down to your own death. You are not an exception. Our job is to make sure enough of you survive so that we reach our quota. No more, no less.”
I wondered just how true that no more was. Martyrdom has a quota, they can’t let too many die or else they wouldn’t have Slayers, but too much and suddenly there is a surplus. Now the quota rises. Would they intentionally let kids die so their quota doesn’t rise? I wouldn’t be surprised.
“You did not ask to be Slayers, you, like me were born in a vat. Since birth you were taught nothing more than to be killers and as I’m sure many of you have realised have had propaganda shovelled down your throat. I am a Slayer, you are Slayer candidates. There is no other life for us. In return you will be rewarded with all the sex, drugs and money you could ever need, provided you survive these four years. As a Slayer you will be given a life of luxury in an otherwise shit world provided you risk your life for it, I don’t expect any of you to like this but there is no other option. You can run but I assure you that the Seraphim outside these walls have learnt to be patient and have killed far better Slayers than yourselves who have tried to run. Graduating is your best option and only option. Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori.”
“Dulce et Decorum est Pro patria mori” We all repeated. It was the Slayer code. It is sweet and proper to die for one’s country.