Update day! Ready for more action!
Of course you are! You're here, aren't ya?
I realized I didn't include the little indicator of which POV the chapter is from in the last one, mea culpa. This time I've got it down.
Read on!
Chapter Seven – Kai
To put it simply, Army is easy. Training, while exerting, is not incredibly physically challenging, and the only thing that would be difficult, shooting, is made facile with my improved shooting method. I've risen from a pretty good soldier to a better-than-average soldier, better than most in my group, and no one can really avoid it now, which leads to sparks of enmity. And so I'm stuck in a predicament – pretend to dumb down my skills, stay squad-less but un-tormented, or perform well, hope to make rank, and face my squad's jealousy every day.
It's always small things that they do, and they're very careful about it: petty enough to avoid being reported, but annoying or painful enough to get their message across. One day all of my clean jumpsuits vanished and I found them that same day during training, suspended in the rafters by the ropes course. Locking doors, swiping my food, trying to trip me when I'm not watching. Although their small torments are certainly annoying, I get small bursts of pleasure to watch them try to break me. They're admitting their inferiority and try to bridge the gap by pleasing themselves. Watching me flourish, oblivious to their jabs, laughing at their attempts… Although it's the only way for me to stay above them, it keeps my enemies infuriated, and I know that only too soon will their attacks turn to violence.
As always, it's Rhys who leads the assault. I still don't know what I've done to him personally that rankled his so – maybe my comment on his breath, but to be fair, it is rancid – but I can see by the glint in his beady eyes when I enter the barracks after training that he has a new wave of torture in action against me. Surprisingly, I make it to my bunk without incident, and then undo the rope lock I've made to keep out intruders after they took my clothes. The knot is a very intricate one, but my fingers fly in compliance with the code as I slide the fabric out and open the metal door. Again, I'm pleased to see that my personal items haven't been tampered with. The knot will keep most out, but a simple knife could cut it away easily. Now I feel a seed of worry in my stomach and wonder what Rhys has planned today You have to be light on your feet. Watch out.
For free time I exit the barracks, not wanting to give Rhys and his gang an opportunity to strike, and work in the gym. After only a few days in the rebel base the gym equipment's exercises have become rote to me, and I fall into the rhythm of working for almost half an hour before I take a break and shoot. To make the targets more difficult I try sprinting past them and shooting them, and use the wall port to make them move around. The ports really are awe-inspiring technology, and I know I can use some of the handy tricks embedded in the code in case anyone from Rhys' gang tries to fight me here. I was somewhat disappointed that the ciphers in the ports weren't more challenging, but now I have lots of tools at my disposal, and with the days ticking down before Rhys officially strikes I can use all of the weapons I have.
Some other soldiers train on the climbing wall, from a different barrack, but I don't go join them. Still, no one has made any attempt to even socialize with me, and although I don't like to admit it, the loneliness is beginning to wear at me. I can't say I can guess Thrace's plans, but what is his strategy here? Grind all of the emotion from me? I'm probably just another soldier in his ranks. Then what would saving me be worth? Daphnes would have his own squad by now if here were here. We all have a purpose, right?
I can sense the tension in the barracks when I return just before dinner, and the expressions of the soldiers only confirm my suspicions. Rhys and his known followers are nowhere to be seen. Before anyone can jump out I take a lift up as high as I can with soldiers' clearance, to a Mechanic's lab floor, and dine there with the scientists. The scene is amusing as I eat bland hamburger meat and watch the rebels work; most of them have taken their laboratory equipment and brought it to the cafeteria, mixing chemicals and resetting Bunsen burners and occasionally disappearing behind a puff of cobalt-blue smoke. I can glean from their experiments what they're trying to solve, what projects they're tasked, and for fun try to race one of the scientists to the conclusion of a certain problem, one concerning ozone-penetrating bolts and their reliability, and I'm satisfied when I come to a conclusion before he does. I'd be happy to stay and watch the other rebels eat, but Rhys taunts me from the barracks and I know I have to return. There's some free time between the end of dinner and lights-out, and I tarry as long as I can in the cafeteria before a Service lady comes in to clean for the night and says that I really do have to go. As I walk back to the barracks I keep my head high, refusing to show any sign of weakness to any soldier who might be watching. The paranoia might drive me mad, but Rhys has startled me in places unexpected, and I can't be vulnerable like that again.
The seed of worry has grown to stress once I reach the barracks. Sleep is the time I feel the most open, the most defenseless, because if Rhys attacks while I sleep… I wouldn't be able to stop him. Like always, I assess the scene for danger before entering, making sure that I'm safe for now, and besides Brock, one of Rhys' followers, lounging on his bunk, I don't see any other obvious threats, and walk to my bunk, dodging a protruding foot as it tries to tangle with mine, then grab my toothbrush and go the bathroom to clean up before bed.
Spirits sinking as I enter, I spot Rhys and a cluster of his cronies gathered by the urinals and watch them for a moment. They notice me, of course, but just sneer and turn away after a short glance. After spitting my toothpaste in the sink I turn to see that they are gone, but I can hear their laughter from the barracks and wonder what form of twisted enjoyment they have planned.
I don't find out until after lights-out, when I lie in my bed tense and unable to sleep, just waiting for the first sound of someone shifting, moving from their bed and softly walking towards mine.
I'm jostled groggily from sleep and first feel cold metal underneath my feet, then the gag in my mouth as I turn my head, trying to take in my surroundings. My feet and hands are bound and someone is standing close by, and I expect he sees me moving and trots over.
"'Ey, look here! He's up!" The thick, drawling voice of Jex revels what I was fearing all along – Rhys has finally struck. Hands push me up roughly and I balance quickly, fingers working at the knots that bind my hands. For all he is Rhys is not clever, and the knots he has tied are standard nautical knots that can be easily and quickly undone, although they appear strong. I smirk for a second before a hand whips out from the darkness and lashes across my face. Spitting blood, I push my way up, hearing the laughter of the soldiers through the ringing in my ears. Again I'm pulled upright and take the opportunity to look around quickly, taking in the scene with wide eyes.
I'm standing on top of a platform on the catwalk that runs over the training room by the barracks. The height is staggering, something I never noticed before until now, when I'm in danger and with adrenaline pumping through my veins. Six soldiers stand around me, three on my left and three on my right, blocking my exits. If it were just three on one side I could take them, but with the others behind me I know I won't stand a chance. Still, I manage to land a solid, swiping punch that knocks Jex to the catwalk, cursing and blinking to clear his head, before someone grabs me from behind and knees me so hard in the stomach that I'm paralyzed for a moment, gasping wildly for air. And still they laugh, laughing at my pain and their dominance, at the best soldier in the barracks lying at their feet.
"We could hurt you, Burns. Hurt ya real bad, so you'd be a Service, an' what good'll you be then?"
"I call dibs." Jex says, his voice breathy, and a crushing kick to my ribs follows.
"Same!" A thick-headed soldier named Wyatt interjects, but I roll to avoid his kick and swipe my legs and tangle them with his. The heavy boy drops and I'm up in an instant, then nail Brock with a punch to the stomach and nearly clear Wyatt's fallen body before Rhys grabs my wait and slams me to the catwalk again.
"Hold 'im!" He screams, and hands fasten on my arms and legs. Pinned, I can only glare at Rhys as he bends down, a sick smile twisting at his lips.
"There we go. That's better." He smiles, and I laugh bitterly, feeling blood drip down my chin and stain my jumpsuit.
"You're so brave, Rhys. So strong. I can't believe six guys could subdue me – in fact, it seems a miracle. No honor in this victory, is there?" Rhys roars and his knuckles dig into my scalp and he throttles me again, but I'm too busy laughing to really care. Taunting them will only make them feel more inferior. Never give in.
"Stop laughing!" The gang leader shouts, and I only grin in return.
"Try and stop me!" I'm rewarded with a battery of blows, each like being hit with a truck, but I just keep cackling madly, held down on the catwalk. Breathing hard, Rhys restrains his anger – I can see him trying to force it down, and when he speaks again the strain in his voice is deep.
"Riddle me this," Rhys begins, his voice soft yet malicious. "Why are you laughing? How can you… Laugh?" I only shake my head, his lack of understanding staggering.
"Don't you get it?" I ask, laughing even more now, and if he hits me again I can't tell. Rhys doesn't understand that each blow is a sign of his weakness. Sending five guys with him to fight me is a sign of his weakness. Him asking me why I laugh… It all shows how little power he possesses.
While Rhys silently rages I free my left arm and jam my elbow into a soldier's face, then twist and break the nose of the one holding my right arm with a well-placed punch before Rhys floors me with a kick so strong it knocks me against the catwalk barrier. "Stop!" He screams, and I roll on my back, laughing silently, each breath sending a knife into my ribs.
"Make me! Make me stop!" I mutter, and Rhys doesn't hit me this time. Or maybe he does, I can't tell. Everything is beginning to grow fuzzy now. Can't black out now, stay in it! Rhys is the only soldier I haven't attacked yet; the others are still recuperating. This I can use. Slowly and gingerly, wincing from spikes of pain in a thousand different places, I stand and face Rhys. The gang leader is turned away from me, so I kick out high, my sturdy boot connecting at the base of his neck, and Rhys crumples. As I walk off of the catwalk and climb the ladder down I'm relieved none of the other soldiers try and stop me. I barely remember falling into bed.
When I wake up I realize I'm still in my clothes I wore yesterday, and when I attempt to stand every part of my body screams in protest. Forcing myself upward, I realize my sheets are bloody and collect them for cleaning. Some of the other soldiers who are still awake toss me strange looks, but I remain as dignified and in-control as always, then grab a new jumpsuit and walk into the bathroom to change.
Once I reach a mirror I see what the soldiers were staring at. Dried blood drips down over my chin and stains the collar of my jumpsuit. Both of my eyes are brilliantly blackened, and bruises and shallow gashes cut across my face. Hastily I clean the blood off and when I smile I see my teeth are tinted red, too. When I get in the shower I see my abdomen is a patchwork of black, purple, and green, battered from the fight last night, and I wash out any wounds I can, then dress in my jumpsuit again and prepare for morning training after breakfast.
During the meal I see Rhys and his gang eating at a table, all showing marks from our encounter last night, and by the way some soldiers' eyes flick back and forth between the two of us I can tell they are drawing conclusions. And they'll know that I've won. Nothing can really make up for the post-fight injuries, but I feel that same spark of pleasure that momentarily covers the pain. They'll know I've won.
Training is positively torturous, and while Ream notices the injuries of many soldiers in his group, he doesn't make any comments. Every motion I make is like dragging broken glass across an open wound caked in salt, especially when we have to cross the monkey bars and climb the ropes, like I'm being torn in two pieces. Rhys and his friends can't conceal their limps or winces as they practice, but I keep a straight face all through the day, staying impassive for anyone who might be watching. And today, Rhys doesn't fight back.
After training I use my free period to report to a Service member for moderate treatment, and while they try to put me in the hospital for a night I manage to get off with pain meds and minimal stitching.
"But, sir," The flustered nurse says, glancing down at my evaluation in disbelief, "it says here you have fractured ribs, six stitches… We're required to hospitalize you for this!"
Painfully I shake my head. "No, really, I need to train. Is there anything else you can do?" Thankfully she sends me off without much bravado, only giving me a paper pass to bring back in case I tear my stitches.
When I return to the barracks after dinner I notice most of Rhys' gang is gone and ask my bunkmate where they've gone.
"Hospital!" He replies cheerily. "Oi, did you get cornered by them? You did a number on 'em! Then again, they did a number on you, too, eh?"
I shut the pass in my locker, retie my knot locking it, and relax on my bunk waiting for the lights to snap off, ignoring the pulsing pain from my injuries. Now everyone knows what I've done, that I'm stronger than Rhys is. Will he come back for revenge? I'll take longer to recover than he will. Or will he bide his time, planning a better, more complete attack. He wants me gone, he said so. How can he achieve that?
The lights click off and I lie silently in my bunk, closing my eyes, blocking the events of last night. Ream meant what he said when we first met, I have been pushed around. But replacing the pain is determination. I will make rank. I will get out of this barrack and fight, and no one will ever be able to push me around again.
An emotion I don't want to admit then overwhelms me, and I bite my lip when I identify it.
I am… afraid.
I guess the rebel base isn't panning out to all they were hoping it to be...
Well, my lovely readers, what did you think? If you fancy, go and drop in a review and tell me your opinion so far! Much obliged.
As for news - there is none, frankly. If this keeps up we may resort to writing random facts again.
*screams in distance*
I'll take that as a no. (Just kidding. Or am I?)
Well, I guess I'll see you around. Until next time!
