"Alpha! Bravo! Line up!"

Camp Orion, one of the most active basic training locations erected by the United Countries Space Command in years passed. Here, eager recruits test their mettle and hone their skills for the future. The alumni were strict, abrasive, and abundant - but through their training, recruits become soldiers - ideally. It was more like a mercenary force in the current year, regardless of their pretense.

Cedric Fuller is one of many, a fresh recruit with hopes and dreams of escaping his terrible situation and making something of himself. As per usual, the way things go are hit or miss. He wasn't good, he wasn't bad. Just an average human being trying to be more than his lot granted by society. Signing the papers was trivial, and he remembered not-so-fondly the seemingly joyous reaction his mother had to him joining.

"Private Fuller, the fuck is your problem? You had ONE fucking job, and you fucked it up. How is that even possible?"

Cedric quickly stammered to reply, but before he could say his piece, he was cut off by the yelling of the drill major.

"I-I"

"Shut your fucking mouth! In fact, don't talk at all. You're dead! Thanks to your fuck up, the rest of your squad has to carry your limp ass to the casualty collection zone! Private Tern, get this failure to the sand pit. Thirty push ups on arrival, both of you. MOVE!"

Cedric lay on the ground, his face up to gaze at the clouds. The rough hands of Tern scooped up what she could of his now limp body, and proceeded to buddy-carry him to the nearest sand pit. Cedric got a good look at Tern, her dark hair and tan skin glistening with sweat in the sunlight - a disapproving grunt on her dusted face. It was a nice thing to appreciate, the UCSC had no care of race, gender, sex, upbringing, or preferences - so long as they could pull their weight during operations. The weight in this particular case, being Cedric's relatively thin body. Tern met his gaze.

"Nice fucking job, cabrón. What made you think that lifting your head during a fake-fire exercise was a smart idea? Estúpido."

"Private Tern! Why the fuck are you talking to a corpse? Scheduling a fucking date? Just move the casualty!"

Drill Major Galena was a tough-as-nails woman, rugged angular facial features complimenting her white skin - shadowed by the traditional Drill Major hat. Similar to campaign hats of tradition, they were a badge of authority. Marking her expertise in not only turning raw recruits into hardened veterans, but also her willpower in surviving the mental debts incurred by regular operations in space. Accidents, spacings, pirate attacks, corporate espionage, and even illegal mining encounters take its toll - with no mercy shown to individuals. Many new UCSC soldiers don't survive their first year - through either death or resignation. Resignations are worse than death - permanently marking the initiators as 'Technical Traitors' and condemning them to a much harder future - proxy of their dishonorable discharges eschewn from 'Failure to Perform' violations.

Tern shook her head, and proceeded to the sand pit. This time, attempting to whisper.

"If that was live fire, you'd be jodidamente muerto hombre. Stupid. Stupid!"

Cedric stole a glance at the Drill Major, before deciding it was safe to reply.

"I know! I know! Don't have to keep reminding me. It was just instinctual. I swear I heard someone struggling beside me. If it was a serious issue I could help them across."

"Sí, well. Your shitty instincts are gonna fucking kill you next time"

"HOLY SHIT are you two still fucking talking?"

Drill Major Galena stormed to their location, her small feet quickly and deliberately moving her to where she wanted to be.

"SAY ANOTHER FUCKING WORD. DO IT!"

Private Tern remained tight-lipped, not allowing her nerves to get the better of her. Her gaze steeled the Drill Major's, unwavering, unmoving.

"You gonna fucking stare at me all day or are you gonna move this corpse?!"

"Move this fucking corpse drill major!"

Seemingly satisfied, Drill Major Galena stomped back to her previous spot - chanting both encouragement and dissatisfaction in a way only a Drill Major can.

The rest of the time between Cedeic and Tern passed in silence. As they reached the sandpit, she unceremoniously plopped him on the ground.

"Alright cabrón, let's get this shit over with."

With a nod of agreement from Cedric, the pair did their instructed task - thirty pushups. Surprisingly, this amount was reachable by most - but for someone like Cedric Fuller, who wasn't privy to gym time it was a struggle. Tern of course had no issue. It was understood that the expectations of physical exercise wasn't just to complete the number ordered, but rather to try your best. Unrealistic standards did occupy the military training regimen for a while, but did not produce effective results. Nowadays, the standard was always "Try your best despite conditions or situation." This meant that even in harsh combat conditions, soldiers were more willing to put in effort despite the odds - dramatically increasing mission success rates as a result of simply doing the best you damn well can, instead of losing focus or determination upon the realization of being unable to complete a task. This ideal, amongst many others cultivated by the United Countries Space Command military sects is what was responsible for making them one of the most, if not the most effective combined arms military force on the planet.

With their task complete, they jogged back to the gathering of trainees amassed after the fake-fire exercise. Naturally, Galena was the first to both congratulate and bereave the duo.

"Good job. Look who decided to join us again, a corpse and the poor bastard that had to carry it."

In typical Drill Major fashion, Galena used this mistake as an opportunity to teach a lesson about real conflict.

"Line the fuck up! People box! Tern, Fuller, front! About face!"

The recruits did as they were told, following their respective orders to the letter. Understanding basic formations, military tactics, radio etiquette, and other nuances of common military operation ensured that all fresh recruits were on the same page, and smoothed operations. It is this training that also ensures that orders given are followed to the letter.

"When you fight, you lose people. This is unavoidable. However, in lieu of this, do not forget your fellow soldiers. When on a mission, you can only rely on yourself. When you cannot rely on yourself, you must rely on those around you. Don't be a bitch and pull 'superhero' bullshit. That's not how this works. You are not special, you are not better than everyone else. No matter how good you are you will, eventually, go down. When that happens, you need to forget petty bullshit arguments and rivalries and stick with the program. If you don't, you're fucking dead. People make mistakes - people are people. That's a fact. Remember that the next time someone fucks up. They made a mistake, lethal or not. Bail your buddy out then berate them later. This is one of the most important lessons you will be told here. It would behoove you to take it seriously. Private Fuller, you fucked up. If that was live fire you'd be fucking dead. So learn your fucking lesson and get your shit together, understood?"

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"Yes Drill Major!"

"Good. Back into formation. We march to dinner chow and split for the day. Be ready to train again tomorrow."

With that, all did as they were told and headed to the dining facility.

The dining halls and food at Camp Orion in the Burgoise Traning Facility were perfectly average, as were most things. The food at least was palatable, and the selection was actually varied. Healthy food choices and constant upkeep of calories were imperative to the UCSC, one of the several building blocks that created cutting edge soldiers. It was a well known fact that most of the national budget was directed to training and maintenance of the military, with the demand being so high for 'official' production, soldiers needed to not only be created in bulk, but also effectively. As the past teaches, both here and many other areas of the world, simply having numbers was no longer effective. Technology and circumstance evolve at a breakneck pace, far out-doing previous military strategies that used to be effective.

Private Cedric Fuller was but one of many cogs in the grand machine. He was physically weaker than most, training assisted with this gap. It could only go so far, though. Unlike his previous situation, he felt freedom here - to an extent. Training was regular and tiring, even slogsome - but he couldn't deny he was much better as an individual now than he used to be. Just several months ago he was working a dead end job to pay for bills that weren't even his responsibility, being yelled at by his mother - her outlet to their shitty lot in life. What he felt now, was almost like a fever dream. Was this really real? How can time pass so fast? It was bittersweet. Depressive even, at times. At least now though, he had a direction to go.

Cedric looked at what they had for a selection today, noting that they arrived slightly earlier than they usually do, meaning that at least the greens at the salad bar hadn't started wilting. Genecrop farming was a relatively new technology, and still in its infancy, but the results of that technology was already bearing fruit - so to speak. Not to be confused with previous methods of gene farming, which relied on breeding different strains of crops to achieve a desired yield quality. Crops nowadays were altered at a cellular level, gene technology allowing scientists within companies to brute-force specific plant types, rather than soft-force breeding existing strains. A side effect of this exact tampering was companies abusing the technology (of course) to also make said crops last a short amount of time, or be limited in potential - forcing potential buyers to constantly have to procure more from the respective sellers. With the birth of true genetic engineering technology, or any technology for that matter, comes those that abuse it for maximum profit. This is an unavoidable fact. This meant that in the past you could go to the grocery store and buy greens that last two weeks or more in a fridge. Now though, they barely last three days if that. Forcing consumers to constantly have to buy more, if they wanted good quality vegetables or fruits.

The entrée this evening was Salisbury steak. A very common staple dinner served in large cafeterias, whether state or government owned - like in schools. It was nothing more than slabs of unspecified meat product, mixed with artificial protein and lab-grown meat. About thirty percent of the makeup on top of that would be ground bugs, like crickets - processed to the point they were just protein dust. An extremely common manufactured 'food' product. Despite the measures taken to provide adequate foodstuffs, it seemed like the world nowadays was entirely smoke and mirrors - with no genuineness to be seen.

Cedric often pondered what his life would be like if he was born in a different time. Medical care and lifespans were for beyond now than what they have ever been before, but is that really worth it in the long run? So much of the world he knew was fake, and nothing he did would ever change that. The march of technology and progression never ceases, but at least if he was born in the past - maybe he'd enjoy his life more?

He picked his typical bench in the dining facility. Mulling over the world in his quiet little spot. Well, quiet being a relative term. He was surrounded on all sides by various recruits and trainees, who've also completed their trainings for the day. They formed into their groups and cliques, meeting acquaintances from all over the world - all together eating the same slop in the glorious pursuit of getting more out of their lives. Cedric never really fit in with the rest of the meatheads, his drastic mindset differing so much from the more immature rabble, that he naturally tended to keep distance. The mindsets were just so different, that they were plain not compatible. Cedric's preference for animated entertainment and diverse music was often seen as 'creepy' or 'weird' to the rest of the recruits. If his disinterest for common sports and women separated him from the rest, so be it - just as long as they had his back when the inevitable happened.

To his genuine surprise, a familiar figure sat across from him - with a similar food selection. The sweat-glistened tan skin and raven black hair of Private Alex Tern was unmistakable.

"¿Qué pasa?"

Cedric was unsure of what to say, as he was far more used to eating his food in silent contemplation.

"Nothing much, I guess. My bad for earlier."

"Yeah no shit chico, it's cool but you need to fix your shit for next time."

He shrugged, he didn't have a good response. He made a mistake, all he could really do is apologize. It'll be one of many marks on his theoretical record, but he tried to ignore them. Constantly wondering what he could have done different was apt to emotionally charge him. He wished he was a psychopath, so at least he'd know his emotions wouldn't constantly weigh in their opinion when he didn't want them to.

"Yeah I know."

A few moments of silence passed by, the pair eating in silence.

"You can talk you know, you're always sitting by yourself."

"Yeah. Though to be fair, the only reason you're sitting across from me now is because you had to carry me to the sand pit."

It was Tern's turn to shrug - no doubt also struggling to find an apt response.

"I guess. But hey, I'm here now."

Cedric was never good at small talk, and any topics he brought up were quickly dismissed - as others often didn't share his views, let alone his preferences. Or, they followed the distain of the rest of their cliques. An unfortunately common occurrence.

"True, though I'm not sure why you decided to sit across from me."

"Do I really need a reason?"

"You have a reason, else you wouldn't be here."

She sighed, somewhat stressed. Cedric sensed apprehension, he probably came off as rude. In the moment though, he didn't realize it. Even after he did, he already said what he said. Another mark to try and forget.

"Curiosity then. You keep to yourself, and don't talk a lot. At least not that I've noticed. Hell I didn't notice you existed until today. So what's the deal with that?"

Cedric was halfway done with his food. He appreciated that someone actually gave enough of a damn to talk to him, even if the only reason for it was because of his screw up.

"I'm different than others, so I tend to keep to myself."

"Different? How you figure?"

He thought for a moment, still finding the encounter strange. Sitting before him now was an opportunity to maybe find someone to talk to regularly, or hang out - or at the very least, get him introduced to others that will or would be willing to.

"I like animated shows and video games. I don't prefer sports or going to the gym, which isn't exactly ideal for a military occupation."

"Why can't you go to the gym? Takes no time and you get stronger. No reason not to."

'Here we go.' He thought. Whenever he was asked questions like this and gave a response, he'd always be berated. He just didn't enjoy going out or working out, but of course because of his peers and superiors preferring them - he'd often be heckled. Always the weak link, always the weirdo. It was tiresome, having to deal with the hive mind. However, he couldn't very well leave now could he. He'd be marked as a technical traitor, permanently crushing his chances at a normal life after service - assuming he didn't stay in.

"I just don't enjoy it. Even if I did want to go, I don't like doing it surrounded by people. Kinda hard not to be at the gyms. Makes me uncomfortable."

Alex pursed her lips for a moment, finishing what little of her food remained.

It was an awkward moment of silence between them as they finished off their trays, their time limit to eat set to end soon.

"Okay well, after we graduate here we can go together."

"That's assuming we get shipped off to the same place."

"Hm, fair I suppose. Well if we do, we can go together - I can show you the ropes. It'll be less awkward for you if you have a partner."

Cedric decided that if that was the case, maybe he'd try. That was a big 'if'. The chances of them shipping to the same location was high, getting into the same unit though? Not so much. The last phase of their training was soon - marksmanship. The flechette based caseless M129-C was a staple carbine, capable of piercing light armor and not leaving brass behind. Of all the things one could potentially look forward to during training, this was the one that excited him the most. They finished their trays and regrouped with their training formation - refiled and ready to rest, to take the next day of training head on.