Banging at the door.

“Wake up!” A woman shouts, somehow calmly.

Fucking hell man, I hate waking up. I feel like I’ve said that a lot, but it still holds true.

Grabbing my phone from under my pillow, my clock reads “1203”.

They actually let us sleep till twelve? I’m not complaining, we did get to sleep at four am, if I remember correctly.

I fell asleep in the clothes I came in, so there’s no need to change. Does feel a bit icky, now, with my sweat having my clothes stick to me.

Who cares? I don’t even know what I’m doing right now. Standing next to my bed, groggy, staring off into space. Maybe I should wake myself up properly.

The cold water shock from washing my face with the tap water here is real effective at doing that. Albeit, it did take me a good minute to find the bathrooms (toilets? washrooms? dont care im calling it a bathroom). The bathrooms themselves are large, and better than what I expected. Stalls lined up, one after another, each with a sign saying “DO NOT DISPOSE OF PYROTECHNICS OR LIVE AMMUNITION IN TOILETS”, like it wasn’t obvious not to throw a fucking grenade into the shitter. The floor is tiled with bricks, which is odd for a toilet. I think. I don’t exactly experience many toilets outside of the one in the care home (which was tiled with ceramic) and the ones at school (which use some form of floor material, probably vinyl), so I can’t say whether or not this is weird. Feels weird on the feet, though.

Once I get my boots back on, I start walking outside. The sun is obviously directly in my damn eyes as soon as I step out the door.

More importantly, most of the guys are already outside.

Leaning against the walls of the central point, none of them are talking to each other. Boring. Mildly understandable, though, since they are basically strangers. Don’t know what the point of going outside was, though. You’re gonna ignore each other, why not do it inside?

Fuck it, I’m gonna look around.

I think there was some place called “The Roysia” right from here, a restaurant according to the sign I read last night. I’m gonna assume it’s just called a restaurant to have a better look overall, but it’s gonna be some shithole canteen.

It feels real good walking down the middle of an empty road, the smell of the morning (how does the morning smell like something?!) surrounding me. It’s finally getting warmer, I think, too. About fucking time, it’s basically summer and it was reaching lows of 1 degree.

Approaching the “restaurant”, the now wooden footpath going towards the entrance seems to be in remarkably good shape. You’d assume a wooden footpath to be a piece of shit, especially with all the rain you get here, but no, this one has stood up to the test of time.

The main doors are made of glass, and there’s signs posted around with various messages. Also a massive green sign above the doors saying “THE ROYSIA RESTAURANT”. Seems a lot more like a normal restaurant than I thought.

Stepping in, it's clean, and it actually smells of food. Something like eggs, toast and sausages. Generic English breakfast.

Is there actually good food here?

No.

After a minute of trying to find my way to the actual canteen area, one of the staff members, now in MTPs (the other name for army clothes i think), spots me.

“Hey, what are you doing here so early?” He beckons at me, holding a mug that says “civvies pay thousands for this”.

“Looking for food.” I reply. Kinda obvious, is it not?

“You needed to stick with the others.”

“That’s a bit too bad, isn’t it?” Let me eat.

“Don’t get used to talking back like that.” He points to his rankslide. Three arrows, sergeant? “You’re here though, so go get some scoff.”

I walk over to where he pointed, a little room connected to the kitchen where all the food is served. Though, none of the catering staff are here.

Guess I have to do everything myself.

The plates and trays aren’t too dissimilar from school, except for the fact they give us real, metal cutlery. Finally, something that won't break when I try to fucking pick up food with it. Those wooden pieces of shit from school should be used as the fuel for the flames of hell.

The food itself, though. Nasty.

Scrambled eggs seem to somehow be fucking green? And still have bits of shell in them, the sausages look blacker than the minibus we rode in to get here, and the toast looks like they just dipped it in batter and fried it. Guess I was spot on with the food smells.

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None of these look like good options, but I still have to eat. The only slightly edible things look like the vegan sausages (did I mention those?) and the toast.

I feel sick just looking at this stuff on my plate.

Guess I’m just gonna have to get used to it, though. At least there’s a machine filled with what seems to be overdilute squash.

It’s actually quite picturesque, if you think about it. Sitting in an empty canteen, alone, eating food while the sun radiates on me. Doesn’t make up for the shitty food, but makes it slightly better.

What makes it worse is seeing everyone else start lining up outside to get their food. Can’t even eat in peace, man.

Quite organised, though. Everyone is silent (which is expected to be fair), and uniform in their movements. Literally been one fucking night here, are they already soldiers (or whatever people in this place are)?

“Oi, Hussain.” The man I recognise as Sergeant Campbell snaps at me. “You weren’t at central point for the briefing.”

“I went to eat early.” I say back. Not that it did me any good.

“Don’t do that too much, Lieutenant Hood will give you a right bollocking if he finds out.”

“Right.” I poke at my food aimlessly. This stuff is horrid.

“Oh, and head back to central point once you're done. They’ve got an icebreaker planned for you guys.”

Icebreaker? Haven’t done one of those in years, they’re just a cheap way to get people talking to each other. Works half the time though.

Forcing down the rest of the food, I start to leave before anyone else can get seated next to me. There’ll be plenty of introductions during the icebreaker.

Sometimes, it’s just nice to walk outside. The roads are still empty, with everyone eating in the canteen. You get left alone with your thoughts. Bad for me.

My head hurts.

My stomach hurts.

Man, it’s hard to come to terms with everything.

I’ve read the army medical entry requirements. Some “JSP-950” or something. Joint service manual of medical fitness.

I shouldn’t be here.

“Recurrent self-harm is usually associated with significant psychiatric disorder or personality dysfunction and is not normally compatible with military service.”

Why did they let me in? Not just that.

Why did they seek me out?

There’s something more to this organisation, I think. There has to be.

No chance they would’ve let me in otherwise. Wounded, fucking mental. I’m a real piece of work.

Yet I’m here.

Special forces? Powers of a constable?

There must be something more. Either with this place, or with me.

And I might never know.

“Why are you just standing here?” A voice rings out from behind me. Whipping around, it's Sergeant Campbell, once again.

“I- Sorry, I zoned out.” I reply. I should really look more into how I can zone out so effectively.

“No matter, everyone already walked past you and is at central point. You should hurry up.”

I give him a quick nod, and scurry off. Once again, I leave everyone waiting for me.

I’m so special.

As I walk up towards everyone else, already arranged in a circle, all eyes go on me. Lovely.

Quickly making myself part of the circle, I gesture to continue.

“Alright then, let’s start.” Lieutenant Hood seems to be leading this whole endeavour. “We’ll go round in a circle, starting with you,” he points to another one of the girls, “and ending with you.” He points at another boy, who seems to be half asleep. “Just say your full name, a fact about you and a joke if you want. Off you go.”

The girl looks slightly awkward, but I can finally get to see her properly (am I seriously just gonna figure out everyones looks now?). Black hair, small frame, stereotypical.

“H- Hi…” She mumbles.

Speak up.

“I’m uh, Emma. Emma Thompson.”

No fun fact? No joke? Boring.

“Next?” Lieutenant Hood says, somehow already impatient.

“I’m Isabella Rodriguez.” Says the girl next to her, already more confident. She’s got olive skin and black hair, once again. “A fact about me is that I once stabbed someone in self defence.”

How fun!

Once everyone recovers from that, the next boy starts to speak. He’s white, and with blonde hair. Quite large.

“Ethan Wilson. I actually once broke a piece of metal rebar by bending it.” He says, proudly

Sorry, big man.

“Robin Nova,” the guy I recognise as Robin says. These two guys couldn’t contrast any more with each other. “Why don’t scientists trust atoms? Because they make up everything.”

No one laughed.

“Carlos Santiago.” Says the boy next to him. No fun fact? Nothing interesting either, you look generic as hell, with your black hair and side fades.

“Hello, I’m Hiroshi Tanaka.” Woah, someone from a non-european country? About time. “I’m an expert in shodō, which is a form of japanese calligraphy.” That’s actually interesting, for once. Suddenly, everyone turns to me. Shit.

“I’m Amaya Hussain.” I blurt out. Joke… What should I say? “What do you call it when an Arab has the shits? Explosive diarrhoea.” Couple laughs from some of the boys. Thank god, I’m not a total deadbeat.

Finally, we come round to the last boy (the gender disparity is insane). He’s got darker skin, but black hair again. Why is everyone's hair so boring?

“Abdullah Khan,” he says. Probably Pakistani like me with that name. “My grandfather actually died in 9/11.” How is that a fun fact?

“My condolenc-” Lieutenant Hood tries to say, before being interrupted.

“He was the greatest pilot in the entirety of the Middle East.”