Ash regains consciousness as he's dragged through an alley by a cloaked man who holds a bag with the other hand.

"My... gold," Ash mumbles as he reaches out. Another cloaked man is dragging Baro along too.

"Leave them alone!" Two alley folk said as they ran in. A hopeless effort. Two other men in cloaks throw the alley-folk aside like twigs. Those poor guys were no match, Ash realized the second he felt those cloaked men's qi fluctuations. Whoever they are, they're about to give them a rough time. On the bright side, Ash got to rest a bit. He's so tired he can't think straight. Sleepless nights take a serious toll on a person's psyche. When the time comes for trouble, he should be ready. Ash closes his eyes and falls back to sleep.

His dreams were quick and sporadic. More akin to sensations than anything else. That feeling of pulsing qi from his feet, his brain kept repeating it over and over and over and over. It experimented with little differences in output, calculated trajectory after trajectory. Ash can't smile in his sleep yet what little of his awareness was there was buzzing with glee. His body is already internalizing the lessons from his battle with Baro. Images flash. His arms turn to trees, which fracture and splinter into thousands of pieces, before spontaneously combusting. The stings rise and rise until Ash shakes free from the flames, he rolls over and opens his eyes.

He's in a cell, a jail cell, and Baro is next to him. Two cloaked men share drinks and laugh up by the table. They must be his kidnappers. Ash clenches his fist as he runs his qi, but he nearly screams as his face reddens from the pain. His arms are in no condition for any manner of effort, forget combat encounters. A baton clangs on his cell. The two cloaked men are smiling as they look down on him.

"What's wrong pipsqueak? You were so spunky while carryin all that gold around,"

"Then ya went and threw some trash," the other man said, banging the gate with his baton.

"Shoulda thought twice about making so much noise."

They laugh as they leave. Ash scurries over to Baro, reaching out to his fallen comrade. Baro's eye opens, and he stares deeply at Ash.

"You idiot, now that they know we're awake. They're gonna send someone in. We lost the opportunity to plan and strike first." Baro said.

What is he talking about? Has he been awake the whole time?

"What do they want with us?"

Baro shrugs.

"Your gold, our organs, ransom, who knows," Baro said. He yawns, and rolls over.

"Just get your energy up while you have the chance."

Honestly some more sleep doesn't seem like a bad idea. The cells are dirty, and the straw mat bed is flat. Despite it all, the cell is looking much more comfortable than what Khal sect disciples sleep through during hell month. Compared to the slimy, smelly, trash bags that may contain jagged rusty metallic innards, these straw mats are nothing short of luxury. There aren't even any cicadas hiding and singing. It's an endless concert with those damn cicadas. There are no creepy crawlers in this jail cell. That's a huge plus. Ash drifts away, recalling his time persevering with the other disciples through thick and thin. Sticking together and watching each other's back in the endless landfills of the forbidden state. This was before sect master Khan accidentally isolated him from everyone else in the sect. His friend's shunned him for learning the ways of the snobby highborn, and the highborn shunned him for not knowing his place. Sect master Khan never taught him what his place was.

He was only told that surviving for a month meant he had what it takes to stick by the Khal sect through all manners of garbage, holding it together even in the face of danger. Unfortunately the Khal sect disciples were not raised like warriors, who are always ready to face death. Though a Khal sect disciple after hell month will have the necessary qualities to confront the most dangerous forms of waste, safety protocols lower the health risks of the job significantly. When practiced correctly, there is little to no chances of injury in trash disposal. However, if trash is not respected and handled with care, then there are serious risks of injury, contamination, and poisoning at almost every turn. Hell month is meant to be a crash course into this danger, something which will drastically weaken individuals while also preparing the body for the poison-demon ritual, while also preparing the mind to desire an outwards solution towards waste management. The ideal candidate by the end of the month will recognize the need to develop their body and mind in pursuit of trash disposal.

Ash took it a step further by recognizing the need for a martial form which can manage trash as efficiently as possible, his thoughts similar to the great fourth progenitor of the Khal Sect; The patriarch who created Re-scrapjitsu nearly six hundred years before the Khal sect finally understood what the purpose for it was. The fourth progenitor's unparalleled wisdom sought a solution the Khal Sect never knew it needed. He revolutionized the recycling process before the recycling process was even created. The fourth progenitor is deeply regarded as the greatest of all times. Ash's hero. Though Ash tried to avoid thinking on the implications, for fear of arrogance, kaimen garbage vision could be applied and integrated into the system too in a revolutionary way. It may not have a six hundred year wait behind it, but... does it even matter? That reality can never come to be, he died. What was it all for then? Why did sect master khan isolate him so much within the sect? For a time, he had it all. Friends who shared a common goal with him, and a strong purpose. That night reels through his mind as clear as clear can be. They swore on those endless heaps of garbage, made a promise, to try their very best to keep the world clean.

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The endless landfills are meant to instill within disciples a sense of respect towards the many forms of waste and the potential risks they pose to the world, and further build a sense of unity among the members by reminding them just what exactly it is they are doing, and how important that job truly is. Those who can't handle the stench will likely leave by the end of the first day. Those who handle garbage without respect will inevitably expose themselves to harmful substances, weakening significantly over the course of the month. The weak-willed will want medical treatment and a shower, failing to realize that the Khal sect keeps trained medics on site. Their leaving early, without sticking through no matter what is proof of failure. Prior to hell month, experts comb through the landfills, removing extremely dangerous wastes and leaving behind what's most capable of causing sickness and stress. Those with weak wills will quickly succumb to the abhorrent conditions, and are weeded out for the benefit of the sect. Those spoiled by the luxury of fine bedding will be driven insane by their inability to find anywhere clean to sleep. Every year, thousands of disciples seek glory within the Khal sect, but find themselves weeded out by the process. The Khal sect has no use for members who lack the mental fortitude to stick through their commitment to keeping the world clean. Still, experts and medics are kept on sight for supervision. Hell month is supposed to be extremely hard, not life threatening. It's true that disciples are physically and mentally trained into fierce trash handlers, with incredibly high poison resistances and physiques, but none of these forms aren't built with the intention of combat.

A man who lifts rocks daily may eventually build himself a spectacular body on par with the greatest athletes, but that man will still struggle to churn butter for the first time, potentially getting tired in the process. Likewise, that man when facing a martial arts genius will quickly lose, even if that martial artists is as thin as a twig. The Khal disciples are trash disposers first and foremost, not warriors. Yet Ash used the sacred art of press for combat. The great pain in his arms must be the result of this treachery against the tenants of garbage disposal. He diverged from the known and safe road, and this excruciating pain is the result. Sect Master Khan would be disappointed. These actions will break and hinder him, not help his cultivation as he develops the Khal ways. Ash can hear the sect master's scorns in his sleep. A most brutal onslaught of insults.

Clang!

"I said get up you worthless piece of trash," said a gruff voice.

Hell month must be over, the drill sergeant is back. Ash never understood why, but the other guys took to calling him pops.

Pops always had an angry face when he'd hear the nickname, but never seriously chewed anyone out when they called him that. He'd beat a cadet with a stick for mishandling trash, but he just yells a bit when people call him pops. The thing is, he's always yelling. He might as well have done nothing about it. The cadets all had secret theories why. Some thought he had a son who died, others said his wife left him before he could have kids, others said he can't have his own babies. Ash thought they had too much free time to think about the kid their "pops" may or may not have. Unlike the others, Ash did get some kind of answer, it was the day pops was showing Ash how to separate the recyclable plastics from the nonrecyclables.

"This here is Polyvinyl chloride, or PVC. It's form can be recovered and altered with Junk-fu, but Sect Master's Re-Scrapjitsu can repurpose it into any shape he wishes."

"Pops we're done sorting back here, we gon' take a dip at the lake," the leader of cadet group C said. They were the first to finish. It was the first and last time Ash caught the Sarge smiling.

"How many times do I have to tell you little trash pickers to stop calling me that!" Pops said, tossing the whole bag of trash at the group. He stormed off, telling Ash to pick up after the mess he made. Ash was too busy eyeing the intricate qualities of Polyvinyl chloride, or PVC. Sect Master Khan's wisdom took over.

Popular for it's resistance to corrosion, chemicals and UV light, the PVC is durable, lightweight, and cheap to produce. First you produce some vinyl chloride monomer. A simple formula, just make a chlorination reaction with ethylene and chlorine, and purify the stored gas. Then make some PVC resin by feeding the vinyl chloride monomer into a reaction vessel along with a catalyst like peroxide. After adding the Khal Sect's secret additives and mixtures, the PVC is colored and ready to take any shape. A miracle product which is too hardy for the environment to naturally dispose of. It's a good thing re-scrapjitsu can mechanically recycle them into other forms of rigid plastics. A true miracle form.

Pops is losing his patience. His tapping foot growing louder and louder.

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang!

"Five more minutes, pops," Ash said. It's an act of absolute disrespect to tell a superior to wait when they specifically request you to do something, but Ash really wished to unravel the toxic profile of PVC plastic. It's the type of act which Sect Master Khan would only allow when Ash is surpassing his expectations with curiosity, however the sergeant did not see it that way.

"The fuck you call me, you little shit?"

"I said five more minutes, pops," Ash said, tossing hay at the iron bar door. His arms scream with pain, and force him wide awake.

That's not pops.

A thick cloaked man tears the iron bars off his jail cell and throws it through a nearby stone wall.

That's not pops at all!