Coalition of idiots

03:26 24/05/2023

aya: hi idiots im gonna be gone for a while

dont miss me too much

morz: back to fucking jail you dirty ghori

the garbanzo: dont worry we wont miss you

finally going to jail after coming to my house with knives

goddamn

aya: im not going jail twats

meharab that was an accident too i left them in my bag

also maaz shut up i couldnt see you when we turned the

lights off during lockdown

no rights mf

also why are you two awake

hassan: we’re jacking off

the garbanzo: we’re revising

hassan eat shit

not all of us are as horny as you

wack ass shia

hassan: meharab you cant even see your tiny dick over the layers

of fat you have

morz: im thinking about how the industrial revolution wasnt all

good

like think abt it

the west had its own industrial revolution and ruled over

the poorer undeveloped countries in the east

but now when the east is going through its own industrial

revolution they’re not letting them do the stuff they did

kinda fucking biased

aya: what the fuck

ok i need to do shit now go tell everyone im dead

That should keep everyone from spamming me with messages - at least for the next while. I need to start packing up my shit.

They practically forced me out of the hospital once I gave the signed sheet back to Dr whateverthefuckhisnamewas (arent documents signed by minors not legally binding?). I’m not complaining though, it was literally one day and I was already sick of being there. Though, Ariq was kinda upset that I was leaving so fast.

Ah well, I really do need to start getting my shit together. The guys who dropped me off are still outside. They’re taking me straight to the army reserve centre. Slightly sudden, but I don’t mind. No time like the present, or whatever they say. I am tired as hell, though.

Trying to pick out everything that I care for shows me how little I actually have. They said to pack underwear, a single pair of clothes, and any other personal possessions. Definitely lacking in terms of clothes, but I could not give more shits. I have just about no clothes I truly care for, so all I can really pack is a hoodie and cargoes.

Personal possessions, on the other hand.

Stolen story; please report.

My guitar is already packed in its gig bag, so that's not a concern. My phone, charger and, like, 3 packs of pads are already in my bag, too.

All I have left to pack are my knives.

Stereotypical for a British teenager, I know. Still, they’re pretty useful. Not for “cheffing the opps,” or whatever, but as a utility. God knows how many times I’ve had to cut something open, only to be saved by the pocket knife I carry.

I’ll admit, I have no excuse for carrying my other knife.

It’s around six inches, a fixed blade, with a shattered crimson web pattern on it. Pretty sure it’s from a game, but I can’t recall which. Who gives a shit, though? It looks cool, handles well, and is nice to have.

I shove that into my bag, and I think that's all. You can’t really own much in a place like this, lest it gets stolen by the other kids. The amount of money I’ve lost because they raided my room still dumbfounds me.

Either way, that’s in the past.

Walking down the stairs, I can see the carer from the morning waiting at the bottom.

“Hey,” I say to him. He looks real stressed (probably because of me :p).

“So, this is goodbye, Amaya,” he replies. “After, what, just 2 years? Setting a record for leaving the fastest, eh?”

“Hah, I wish.”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t change the fact you’re leaving, probably for good.” Damn, really trying to hit my heartstrings, isn't he? “You’re definitely one of the more unique cases coming here.

The adults here can still remember the day they dropped you off. What was it, four am? We get a call about two hours in advance and they just leave you here. Definitely unusual. Then again, your case was always unusual. Police officers, firstly, dropping you off. ‘That's strange,’ we all thought, but we shrugged it off. With how ragged you looked, we thought you had a scrap with your social worker.

But no, that was just you.

Only the lord himself knows how you got to this point.

Antisocial beyond words at the start. Half the time, you didn’t even go to school. A real piece of work, we tho- ”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve heard enough.” I do not need a reminder of the past. Especially not some long ass tangent.

“Ah well, then. They’re waiting outside for you. Better not keep them waiting." He says, with a sense of finality in his tone. Finality, what a major word. Never thought I'd actually use it anywhere but English class.

Not that I did work there either.

The cold breeze envelopes me as I step out with my, seemingly infinitely heavy, bags. The BMW M5 is still parked outside, idling. Waiting.

"Shove your shit in the boot," shouts the woman in the front passenger seat, while rolling down the window. Bit rude, no? I do as told, though, carefully placing my guitar in the back, and then throwing my bag in.

I’ll admit, I’m not the strongest of people. But god fucking damn, did they fucking steal this door from a jet? It takes a good 10 seconds of struggling (and a death stare from the woman), before I can barely open the door enough to slip in.

“Took you long enough,” says the lady, driver next to her oddly silent.

Shut up, lady. Can’t expect a poor girl like me to do all the work.

As soon as I slam the door shut, he revs up the car, and pulls out the driveway..

The highbeams of the car reflect on the passing scenery, which passes by in a blur.

How did I get myself into this shit, again?

What even is REMSC again? Kids, in the army?

My head hurts, man. I can’t even comprehend all the changes. I’m just here for the ride.

Well, I’m definitely in for a ride. Fucking hell, this M5 is nice, with its polished leather seats, laptop mounted on the side and the lights panel up in the middle.

I remember, once, the police brought over some vans and cars to our school to let us take a look around in, and we messed around with it so much that the 999 response systems broke.

That was one hell of a shouting-at we had.

All of that, in the past now. This new life, whatever it is, is what I’m gonna go through now.

Holy shit, this is getting way too deep for me. I’m meant to be excited about this, I think.

I’d assume so.

“We’re almost there. Everyones already there. They’ve been waiting 2 hours for your special ass,” finally says the woman. Me, special? They’re really trying to drive home the fact that they think I’m autistic. I can barely see glimpses of the reserve centre, the British flag (did you know that its only the union jack if its on a ship?) peeking over the slope.

As we approach, I can see that there's already about eight kids inside, laying down on their bags, probably asleep.

My bad, guys, but sucks to be you.

As we pull up front, another guy from inside the reserve centre opens up the gate, and then the car door for me.

“Out you get, ya fucking mongrel. Took you long enough.” He barks at me, gruffly.

Sorry, big man. Didn’t know I was that much of a nuisance.

I still quickly scurry out the car, and grab my shit. Can’t take risks when the guy towers a good nine inches above you.

Being inside the army reserve centre’s courtyard is a slightly surreal experience. All those times I walked past it, reading the intimidating warning signs telling people to keep out. And yet here I am, walking in these forbidden grounds.

Obviously, while I’m mesmerised by this new experience, they start shouting at everyone to line up at the front.

I drag myself over there, trying to analyse the other kids here.

There's about two other girls here, and about 6 boys. They all look like regular kids, albeit a bit tired and shell shocked (they just like me fr). They’re each carrying a single backpack, leaving me as the outlier for bringing a guitar. Lovely, I get to be the outlier wherever I go.

“Alright, listen up,” says the guy up front, dressed in full camouflage. I can see on his rank slide that he has two diamonds, which is what, a lieutenant? I play too many milsims…

“First off, I’m Lieutenant Hood. This’ll be your first step to becoming a better you. Someone who can fight. Nigh all of you were selected from the fitness exam at the open evening we held, and so we expect nothing but the best. I’ll admit, it’s late, and as such we’ll get moving. Just get your asses on the minibus over there.” He points over in the distance to a parked van, jet black.

Cool, more fucking drives. At least I was right about his rank.

We all stagger ourselves over to the minibus, while I intentionally lag behind.

I’m trying to get a grasp of what these people are like. They all walk in an insecure manner, heads down and small steps. Most of them seem to be quite boring in terms of looks, nothing remarkable.

Perfect sleeper agents, I’d say.

As we shove ourselves into the minibus, it becomes apparent that lagging behind maybe wasn’t the best idea. I’m left up front next to one of the boys, a fairly small guy with long-ish black hair.

Ah well, I don’t care.

“Hey,” I try to say to him. I use ‘hey’ a lot, I know.

“Hi.” he replies meekly as I drop myself next to him, guitar in lap.

“You good? I’m Amaya, by the way.”

“Yeah, I’m fine…”

“I didn’t get your name.” Come on, be a bit social, man. You’re worse than me, and I’m usually the most isolated.

“Robin.”

“Robin, cool.”

Y’know, I think it might be best to leave it at that. The minibus is starting to move, and I can see up front on the GPS that they’re taking us to some place called “Bassingbourn.” Sounds cool.

I’m still tired as hell, man. And a bit worried.

Has all this really happened in a matter of two days? And joining the army, should I be scared of being shot? Will I just be cannon fodder?

No, I’m not scared of that. What they said about me in the hospital, what they reminded me of.

I’m scared of what they know.

I’m scared of how they’ll use it.

I’m scared of how they’ll use me.