Chapter 22- Memories

Raiden, limp and unconscious, was carried like a small child over McNeil's large, rock-hard right shoulder. His arms and legs hung lifelessly at McNeil's front and back; the tranquilizer round had done its job and more. Jack's face was one of tranquility and serenity; he was completely relaxed at the moment. McNeil, however, wore a figurative mask of a cold, uncaring individual.

If he'd been conscious long enough to do so, Jack probably would have been shocked at the least at his assumed ally's actions. He may not have been, however. Raiden was a man used to deceit and conniving; he experienced several years of just that at Solidus Snake's "Army of the Devil," as well as in his regular life before that.

Friends stabbing him in the back (sometimes literally) and supposed partners switching sides on the young warrior were almost an everyday occurrence. It happened far too often, yet he was at no power to stop it, or even slow down its progress. Jack had many a time battled against treachery, but nevertheless has yet to chalk up a victory against his worst enemy. He had no tools, no weapons to fight this invincible foe.

Life was the main element of his existence that deceived him the most. His fate was often cruel, but life almost always sent him messages of good things to come, before slapping him in the face and altering the event to something tragic and inhumane.

At the age of just fourteen years, Jack was not at the top of the social mountain, nor was he anywhere near it.

His move toward the mountain did not begin until the tender age of twelve, however. Jack was what one could call a bookworm. He loved staying in the house, reading military books; he took a particular interest in those written by great author Tom Clancy. He knew of all American wars in his World History class, from the Civil War to the Gulf War.

Mocked and ridiculed for this, among other things, he put up with only two years of torture. He never began climbing the social ladder (that is, coming out of the house under free will and meeting people) until he was twelve years of age. He put up with those long, hard two years of torment until he heard those three, seemingly magical words.

"We're moving, Jack."

His very being oozed with bliss and ecstasy at the sound of his mother's heartening statement. He would finally, at long last be parting from this Hellhole that was erroneously dubbed a "neighborhood." He'd be leaving the cruel, satanic taunting and teasing of his demonic peers.

He remembered walking into his new house for the first time, his parents and younger sister, Sara, not far behind. Jack was the most eager of the four, sprinting into the house with glee. He'd explored the whole house before the moving team had unpacked the their belongings.

He remembered the team finally finishing loading the paraphernalia in; his new house was complete, and he was eager to meet new friends, to start anew.

He also remembered the one horrendous day. Jack remembered enjoying a meal in front of the television, his PlayStation plugged in, various games lying muddled in front of the two. He remembered hearing the ominous 'thump!' at the door several times. It was no knock, however. Jack knew that. The door was dented in three times, before completely giving way to whatever was behind it and crashing in.

He remembered seeing the battalion of soldiers invade his house, similar to a pack of lions invading the grazing place of an elk.

Jack was smart enough at the age of fifteen (his birthday having occurred recently before his family moved) to conceal himself between his two-seat couch and his wall. It was an excellent hiding spot, one he used to a great extent in Hide and go Seek with his younger sister and parents.

A copious amount of masked soldiers stormed into the Jack's abode, showing no mercy whatsoever. Jack remembered peeking overtop of his leather clad furniture, watching the guards eyes move back and forth slowly, searching for anything moving. Their guns, immediately identified by Jack as AK-47s, were ready to fire, but remained silent in the soldiers' hunt for Jack and his family. Two soldiers stalked up Jack's steps; his immediate reaction would be to stop them, but he knew that he stood little if no chance, even with his well-built five foot ten inch, one hundred ninety-pound body and rather extensive self-defense proficiency, against a greatly armed squad of super-soldiers.

Jack then saw something, a mysterious figure standing solitarily behind all of the terrorists. A rather large man, wearing a black business suit, sunglasses hiding his eyes behind tinted glass. His gray hair and beard instantaneously tipped Jack off as to who he was. George Sears, the Vice- President of the United States; rumors were flying at the time, alleging that he would run for the position President at the next election.

He and the current President were supposedly in Jack's town at the time to promote a new economic plan for the country, going from city to city and informing the citizens of their proposal. Jack's city happened to be the last stop on their fifty-city tour. He knew that they were merely using that as a cover up, or perhaps to kill the figurative two birds with one stone; getting two things done in the time that it takes to do one.

'What do they want with me... or us?' Jack remembered thinking.

He also remembered hearing the horrendous shrieks coming from a room up the stairs of the house. They were more death gurgles than anything else.

He remembered seeing the atrocious sight of his parents' bloody, limp bodies being dragged down the stairs, painting them an ill-omened red over the white carpeting. He also spotted the lifeless body of his younger sister; he was unsure of her state. Was she dead or alive? The absence of blood on her body tipped Jack off that she had a chance of being alive.

He remembered seeing his mother reach out to him; Jack had no clue as to how she knew his position. She started to say something, but her skull was caved in by a well-placed blunt strike using the butt of one soldier's AK- 47.

Something deep down inside of Jack then sparked. His very being snapped, and he crossed the border to insanity. He abruptly leapt over the couch, clutched a metal pipe that was an accessory to his vacuum, and smashed the makeshift weapon against the cranium of an unsuspecting soldier, his anger fueling the attack. The unsuspicious warrior plummeted to the floor like a brick, a depression in his helmet showing the fact that his skull was viciously dented in.

The other soldiers turned hastily at the low sound of metal-on-metal as the conduit weapon rebounded noisily off of the soldier's helmeted head.

Jack's ears filled with the sound of clicking of the soldiers' assault rifles, an unpromising noise that meant immediate danger. They all, including Sears, then realized who he was as he stood motionless, his hands as well as his weapon red with the blood of the dead soldier lying in front of him.

"No!" Sears' voice was stern and hardhearted; he meant what he was saying, and his lackeys knew it. "Do not kill the kid!"

Jack knew that he was "the kid," and he could use the fact that they wanted him alive to his immediate advantage.

He swung the weapon like a cudgel, whipping it through the air with excessive velocity until the wide-open jaw of a nearby soldier cut off its course. Jack could hear the cracking and breaking of the numerous bones upon the impact of his attack.

One soldier mimicked Jack in his actions, and swung his own gun in a similar manner. The attack was aimed at Jack's white-hair-enveloped skull. It would have, more than likely, rendered the young man unconscious, had it connected. However, Jack's feline-like instincts and agility overcame the strike, as Jack was able to bring his head close to the floor to successfully evade the attempted blow. Consequently, the butt of the rifle crashed against another soldier's temple, knocking him, as well as a small piece of his helmet to the floor. Both lay immobile.

Jack was immediately attack after that as another combatant grabbed Jack in a crudely done chokehold; he used his gun as a garrote, cutting off Jack's supply of oxygen that flowed to his brain. One of his hands were planted tightly on each end of the gun which was placed in the middle of Jack's neck and pulled back with tremendous force. Had the attack worked, it wouldn't have killed him. But Jack's free hands allowed him to escape the grapple as his elbow collided with the nose of his captor. The third elbow strike broke the nose and forced blood to drip from the wound as the soldier's grip on the gun weakened, as did his ability to stand; both he and the gun crashed to the floor, unmoving.

The soldiers then took this time to take Jack down as he was recovering from the attack. One fighter's knee almost destroyed the insides of Jack's stomach, the pain driving him to one knee; both palms dropped to the floor, an instant, subconscious reaction, to avoid a further fall.

Jack's long, white hair was soon in the grasp of the gloved hand of a soldier, the right hand clutching Jack's flowing locks and lifting him up off of the floor against his will, though he was too weak after the blow to the stomach to resist. He was held up by only his hair by one soldier as another readied a rather long syringe, filled with a clear fluid, unrecognizable by a semi-conscious Jack.

The needle stabbed through his skin without much fight and the liquid was injected into the helpless teen's bloodstream via a vein in his forearm. It immediately altered Jack's state from semi-conscious to unconscious, as his eyes closed and his body appeared lifeless; he was in a moderately deep coma. The condition was similar to that of one who has been under the influence of nitrous oxide, commonly known as laughing gas. Jack could hear everything around him (be it faintly), but could not see nor could he operate or feel his limbs.

He was dragged to a truck outside of his house, the every fabric of his being telling him to protest, to do something other than be taken into this truck to go to who-knows-where. But it was hopeless, a waste of time. Jack was thrown into the truck, and the other soldiers piled in as the truck took off to go... somewhere.

Jack's next direct memory came in a place that he'd never seen before. His bleary eyes slowly opened, quickly adjusting to the excessive amount of light into which he was forced to stare. He found that he could not move any of his body, excluding his eyes. He could still feel everything around him. From what he could tell, he was probably laying on some type of bed. His thoughts were discontinued, however, by the voices of two others, one male, and one female.

"Complete amnesia?" the male asked, his question assumingly directed toward the female.

"No, not complete. He can still remember things that happened to him; direct memories," the woman informed him. "He can't seem to recall facts, however; anything that he learned is gone, including his own name."

"Interesting. Know why?"

"No. We were unable to establish a cause."

"I see. Wake him up. Get him ready."

"Will do," were the last words between the two before the man walked out of the room, the sound of the sliding door ringing in Jack's ears. He'd actually heard the partners' conversation, and he'd also not heard it at the same time. The sounds had resonated into Jack's brain, but he did not and could not interpret them. They meant nothing to him... now. Not a lot did.

The woman, on the other hand, remained in the room with the disoriented young man. She looked over him as he groaned slightly; his motor skills were coming back. She did not want to do what she was about to.

"Jack? Jack, wake up." She shook him slightly, not enough to hurt him, but enough to, somehow, speed up his motor skill recovery.

Jack only groaned in response, his mouth dry like sandpaper, his senses fogged up, hazy. His arms and legs were numb, but not as badly as at the time when he'd first woken up. He brought his barely-movable hand up to his forehead; it was shaking and slow to come up. He dabbed his brow with his palm; he felt nothing and brought his limb in front of his cloudy view. It was sweat-soaked, the fluid dripping from his hand onto his shirt like a heavy rainfall.

The woman saw in his eyes that Jack was obviously nervous and uneasy. She put his hand back down to his side and clasped it in hers. Jack could feel nothing else except the tender touch of the woman's slender fingers. It was somehow reassuring, as was the melodious sound of her voice reverberating in his ears.

"It's alright, Jack," she told him. "You'll be fine." She almost cursed herself for lying, although it's not really lying when you're not sure of the truth.

Jack said nothing in reply, and only gave a low sigh... of relief, perhaps?

"Glad to see that you're moving, though. You're doing alright so far."

The woman was surprisingly nice to him. He wondered, subconsciously, if it was all an act. He was unsure, but he ignored his feeling and listened to her.

She then realized something, something that she'd forgotten to do. "Please, Jack, forgive me. I've neglected to introduce myself. My name is Dr. Stephanie Hendrickson.

And let me tell you that you are here for a good reason. Although we can not tell you those reasons as they are considered classified information, you must take our word for it. You must.

"Now, Jack, I know it's early and you're still probably still very tired, but we need to start with your rehab and get some baseline data for your physical capabilities. We'll need them for comparison tests."

Jack looked slightly confused; he had no idea what was going on. All of this information flowing into his brain at once, while he couldn't remember his own name.

"Don't worry, Jack," she comforted him. "Everything will be explained later. I promise. Now, let's get to work. Can you get up?"

"Uhh..." was his reply as he swung his shaking legs over the bed and the sole of his boots touched the floor with a loud 'click!' as leather met tile. He was about to stand until he was met by a sudden, unexpected swarm of nausea. His stomach did backflips as the queasiness overwhelmed him. A chill overcame his senses, although the sweat continued to drip.

Jack had to use every ounce of his energy to run over to a toilet, conveniently placed all the way across the room and bend over in front of the bowl. Whatever he'd eaten last came up through his system and he puked up red-orange slop. It immediately fell into the toilet bowl, creating a low 'splash.' He continued to throw up for another ten seconds until the woman approached his side. He was breathing heavily, the nausea gone, but the chill still sweeping through his body.

"You alright, Jack? I know how you feel, believe it or not. Now, before we begin, I have one question: what is your full name?"

Jack gave Dr. Hendrickson a confused, rather depressing look. She tried not to show her emotion, but it was hard. Tears were fighting to come out, but refused to fall. She could not afford to neither like nor feel sorry for her subjects.

"You don't know? I'm not surprised. You must still have some memory impairments."

A beeping sound could then be heard, and a large, red light lit. The woman's head turned instantly toward the noise. She got up quickly to respond to the call after telling Jack,

"Wait here. I'll be right back."

As she walked over to the device, Jack saw her push a button and say something to whoever was on the other line.

"Yeah. He's up and moving."

Jack used this time to ignore Hendrickson's conversation and wipe the barf from his mouth with the top of his forearm. That's when he first realized it. After he'd cleaned his mouth, he gathered a look at his attire. He was shirtless, with brown camouflage pants covering his legs. He looked on his naked top, and saw a surprising sight. His body was plastered in strange tattoos. Bar codes that made things even more difficult to understand.

Jack then inspected his left forearm. It said something that he could barely make out.

LOGAN 018

"Logan"? Was that his name? His last name, perhaps? He knew, or at least assumed that his first name was Jack, as that was the only was that Dr. Hendrickson had identified him. And what was the number about? "018?" What significance did this figure have?

He though nothing more of it, though, and looked back to the mystery woman, who was ending her exchange with whomever she was conversing with. The doctor turned back to him and said,

"Let's go, Jack. We need to start your rehab now." Each of their right hands met and she helped him up, showing an unusual amount of strength for a woman, especially one her size. He rose quickly to his feet, with her help, and shook off the cobwebs and followed the woman to the door. When she got to the door, she snatched something off of a nearby table and tossed it to the young man.

"Put this on," she told him. Jack caught it and examined it, finding that it was a shirt that matched his pants. Upon further examination, he found that a nametag was stitched onto the collar, identical to that on his left arm. Inscribed on the shirt was what he presumed to be his last name and the number "018."

After he'd placed the shirt over his bare chest, he continued to follow the woman out of the room and into another. He had no idea what this building was and why he was here, and he figured that he wouldn't be finding out anytime soon.

The two entered a new room, a similar design as the previous room in the fact that it was tiled and was a dull gray color. There was however, a large breach in the floor, a gap far too large for anyone to jump across without assistance of some kind. Jack turned around and spoke.

"Wha...." He cut off his own sentence, as the doctor was no longer at his side. He looked around him until he heard his name being called.

"Jack! Up here!" He looked up, to his right, and saw a large glass booth, an array of computers filling the room. Dr. Hendrickson kept a sharp, eagles eye on Jack, notepad and pen in hand.

"Okay, Jack. Here it is. The obstacle course. Now, you can plainly see the large opening in the floor in front of you. You need to find a way across it. Then you must simply complete the course.

"Good luck, Jack."

But the second the word "simply" escaped her lips, she could be considered a liar. The course was far from simple. Jack knew that this would take him a while and considered whether or not he should cooperate. He decided against his better judgment to go rebel and chose to complete the course.

He examined the hole, first. It was too wide to jump across and too deep to drop down and climb up on the other side. It wasn't as if he could have, anyway. The bottom of the pit was full of visible landmines. If he were to fall down, Jack would become mincemeat.

He thought about his options, looking around for anything to help him out. He saw nothing, no foreign objects, nothing. The only thing there was the pit of doom in front of him, just waiting for the moment that something or someone would be stupid or clumsy enough to fall down.

Jack then had a spark of genius. He wasn't sure if it was possible, and one flaw meant dire consequences. However, it was the only way that he could think of getting over. He had to try it.

He took one final breath before his chancy sink-or-swim attempt to jump over the break in the floor. His knees bent and Jack sprinted forward, towards the hole, the leather sole of his boots giving off a monotonous 'clack, clack, clack' sound. His feet left the floor after the sixth step as he leapt with the grace of a bird... towards the wall to his left. The underside of each of his combat boots hit the wall for a split-second before he pushed off of the wall with all of the strength that his fifteen- year-old legs would allow.

Jack had known that one mistake could, and probably would mean instant death. He was right. His actual goal was to be able to, by using the wall for leverage, make the jump across the bridge. He was unable to achieve this aim, conversely, and ended up falling short of landing on the other side. But Jack was able, barely, to grab the edge of the other end... while hanging backwards. He'd mistakenly completed a one hundred eighty degree turn, causing him to wind up facing the side at which he started.

He hung, by one hand, above imminent disaster. He brought his other, right hand up and, using it, took hold of the corner that his left hand held up... he was lucky. The second that his right hand grabbed the edge, his left hand dropped, unable to hold up his one hundred pounds of body weight.

Now, hanging from one hand, be it his dominant, Jack prayed that he wouldn't drop. Why would they even do this to him? Were they trying to kill him?

It appeared that his prayers may have been answered, as Jack suddenly found the strength inside of himself, deep within his soul, to pull himself up, "skinning the cat" as some would call it, and flipping over the edge on his two feet.

He immediately, instinctively fell back away from the hole. His perspiration rate increased greatly, as did his adrenaline, pumping at the maximum, pushing his body to its limits and perhaps beyond. He stood, after falling down when backing away from the bridge in the floor, and looked behind him. He saw the rest of the course, complex and multifaceted.

He started quickly, climbing the single rope in front of him, which may have been a feat in and of itself, considering the toll that his body had recently taken. The rope was approximately twenty feet high, and it took Jack about ten seconds to climb it.

Upon reaching the top, Jack found himself on a small platform, no more than six by ten feet. He looked down and saw a rope net, and slowly grabbed it with both hands, placed his feet into two different spaces and climbed down a forty-five foot drop.

When he reached the bottom, he hopped off and slowly turned around. He saw nothing in front of him except a wall with a small hole placed at the top; it looked barely big enough to fit his body.

How am I supposed to get through that? He thought to himself.

He then looked up and saw a thin, metal pole, and he knew what to do immediately. He leapt into the air and grabbed the pole with both hands and went hand-over-hand across towards the perforation in the wall in front of him. He brought his legs up similarly to a sloth before he approached it, as to fit through it. As a result, he moved more slowly, but it was the only that he'd fit through the aperture.

He swerved his body through the multiple twist-turns before he saw light and came out of the dark, tight maze. He dropped down, falling to the ground from higher up than he'd thought, but he ignored the shock that his feet absorbed from the impact and eyed the area in front of him.

He found his eyes fixated on a large, immense body of water, right in the middle of the room. He looked around for another route, and found one. A pole was attached to the wall to his right that he could easily go hand- over-hand across to traverse the water.

However, before he decided to do so, he spotted a small, trap door past the shimmering surface of the water. His curiosity overcame his laziness and his want to take the easy way out, and he dove into the water, although he absolutely detested swimming, or, for that matter, coming in contact with any large amount of water... although he was a very good swimmer, actually. The learning wasn't without its hardships, however, considering his hatred for water.

Regardless, he swam quickly and hastily towards the minute, hidden door underneath the door. He reached it and clutched it in both hands and turned the handle clockwise and pulled it open, swimming into the diminutive room, which was dry, save for the little bit of water that snuck in before Jack shut and sealed the door. It was large enough for him to walk through, but only while crouching. Jack then felt his BDU (Battle Dress Uniform). It was completely dry. Not a drop of water could be felt.

That's cool... He thought to himself.

As he resumed navigating the passage, he got the surprise of a lifetime. A blade shot out from the wall to his left, ready to impale his skull, an experience that he would not likely live through.

His reaction time was quick enough for him to avoid it as he hugged the wall to his right. The blade's sharp, gleaming tip was centimeters from Jack's brow, between his eyes, menacing and intimidating.

Jack's breaths were quick and heavy, more gasps than actual breaths. Sweat poured from his skin faster than it ever had, his heart pumping his blood a thousand times every second.

He waited a few seconds before continuing and then finished his journey through the course, keeping his back attached to the wall and praying that no blades happened to come through the right side of the duct.

None did, and Jack came out and wound up standing in a small room, still perspirating intensely. He found a ladder right in front of him, and he proceeded to climb it, expecting another surprise, ready for it, whatever it may have been.

As he ascended the ladder, the own sound of his boot sliding off of a rung made him jump, nearly falling off. But he continued, startled, with butterflies the size of pteranadons in his stomach. He reached the top and found a hatch that he knew not where it led. He pushed it open anyway, and peered over the top, only revealing his white-haired head above the surface, acting as a human periscope.

Seeing no immediate danger, he climbed, unhurriedly, over the top of the door, and found himself... at the exact place at which he'd started.

"Not bad, Jack, not bad," he heard from above. He spotted Dr. Hendrickson, scribbling on her notepad.

"You did good, Mr. Logan. Sorry to push you so hard, though, but please work with us. Everything will be explained in time.

Now it's time to break for lunch. Go back to your room; we've left you a little something to eat. You've earned it."

Jack was tired and planned on resting as soon as he finished his meal. He ran to his room as quickly as his tired body could and spotted the meal that she must have been speaking of. It consisted of a cheeseburger, a small cup of water and a smaller bag of potato chips.

He hungrily scarfed down the cheeseburger and ripped open the bag of chips afterwards. The chips were fresh, as was the burger, a refreshing, be it small, meal. Finishing the chips, he washed it down with the water. After taking a sip of the ice-cold fluid, he felt a lightheaded sensation and a sharp pain stabbed his stomach as well as his head.

The throbbing in his stomach soon turned to nausea, great enough that he could no longer stand because of it. He collapsed face-first on his bed, conveniently positioned right next to him as dizziness clouded his vision. Words from a, as far as he was concerned, disembodied voice then invaded his mind.

"It's alright Jack," the doctor's voice echoed in his brain. "We just gave you something to help you rest." There was a pause before her next statement, which probably wasn't directed to Jack.

"Yeah, definitely. We can use him..."

This was all he was able to perceive before his psyche entered oblivion.

His next immediate recollection came as he was ripped from his sleep by a loud, stern, male voice.

"Wake up, trainees!"

Jack simply rolled over in his bed, not caring who was talking to him, only trying to drown it out.

"I said up, oh-one-eight!" After these words, Jack felt caught a high- voltage shock in the stomach courtesy of a stun prod. Jack doubled over in his bed, gasping for breath. He looked up and saw a menacing, looming African-American man. His hair, hidden underneath a camouflage cap, was brown with gray along the sides, showing that he was likely a seasoned veteran.

"For those of you who don't know, I am Lieutenant Major Lawrence Chambers," his bass voice boomed across the room. Jack then looked around said room and saw that he shared it with about five other children, approximately his age.

"The other men are your instructors and you will do as we say at all times.

"At this time, you will all wash and then return here to dress. No slacking, trainees! Double time!"

As the others jumped out of their beds, one boy refused, but not for long. Chambers was quickly on him with his stun prod, shocking the young man in his ribs, dropping him instantly, lightning surging across his chest.

"Get up, trainee!"

The boy knew better than to stay down and he ignored the pain and triple- timed it to the showers.

As Jack approached the showers, he eyed the other children around him. They looked scared. Had they been through what he had? Jack had no time to think any more of the question, however, as the showers were turned on after everyone had stripped of their gear and found a bar of soap and a washcloth.

They all washed their bodies in an icy cold spray. Many shuddered in the iciness of the water, but Jack didn't complain. It took too much energy to do so. He simply washed and rinsed, and rushed back to his quarters, drying off with a damp towel while doing so. He threw on a BDU identical to the one, which he'd worn before with the exception of the top, which had short sleeves.

"Outside, now! On the double!" Chambers instructed.

The frightened children rushed outside into the frigid air; the sun hadn't even risen yet.

"Line up in five rows of twelve, trainees," they all heard their instructor bark. Jack stepped into the fifth row, where he saw a friendly-looking kid, about his age.

"I'm Jack," he said as his hand extended for a shake.

The young black man shook his hand.

"Ryan."

"Trainees! No talking! Are those lines formed yet?"

After examining the work of his young men, Chambers commented,

"Good job. Now, jumping jacks! Everyone, count off from one to one hundred! Anyone loses count, we start over and do two hundred."

Jack had never done so much work in his life. He barely had the breath to count off, but fought the pain.

The trainees shouted in unison,

"Ninety eight, ninety nine, one hundred!"

"Alright, sit ups! No slacking, trainees! Count off to one hundred. If anybody quits, they'll run the three-mile lap around the compound and come back to do three hundred push ups. Count!"

Jack sat down in the grass, wet with dew and light rain and started his sit ups, counting off with the others.

He finished the exercise, well aware of the consequences of quitting. He stood and threw up, and got a baton whip in the stomach for it. Pain swept through his stomach, but he somehow fought the agony and stayed on his feet. He got another baton whip for that, which dropped him to the grassy ground beneath him. Jack played possum, hoping not to get another whip, and stayed down.

"Up, trainee!" the instructor who had shocked him snapped at him. Jack stood and finished the exercises.

Squats and push-ups followed. One hundred of each. Jack couldn't go on, but he knew he'd get a stun prod to the stomach, or worse, if he didn't continue. His limbs were weak, only sluggishly responding to what his brain told them to do.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he heard the best word that he'd heard in a while.

"Rest," Chambers told the trainees.

All of the children slumped on the ground as soon as the word escaped his lips, and the Lieutenant Major turned to the trainers.

"Trainers, get the water."

They nodded and ventured into the compound, returning with crates full of bottled water. Jack instantly found himself in front of a crate, snatching a bottle and gulping the salty, lukewarm water down. He didn't care, however. It was the best, most refreshing water that he'd ever had.

He looked at the others. Most were doubled over, clutching their sides, gasping for oxygen. Empty water bottles littered the floor around them. One child asked for more.

"What do you think, water grows on trees, trainee?!" Chambers asked. "One bottle for each of you."

Normally, young men their age would probably have let out respective groans of dissatisfaction, but knew that a baton whip would follow. Silence filled the air after those words.

"Good start. Now we'll run. Up, trainees, on your feet. March!"

Batons were readied for anyone who protested. No one did.

The children broke into a run behind Chambers, the trainers behind them.

Jack paid no attention to the surroundings. He tried to think about what happened, how he got there and what would happen next, but he could not think straight. He only felt the blood pumping intensely through his body, the aches in his muscles and the growling in his stomach. He was hungry... very, very hungry.

Before he even knew it, however, Jack and the other children arrived at another building, and a woman stood at the entrance, garbed in a white dress-shirt and a matching skirt. A long mane of red hair flowed from her scalp to the small of her back.

She took that time to introduce herself.

"My name is Ms. Wilson. I'll be your teacher. Please come in. Class is about to begin."

The last thing that the children wanted was school, but it beat the calisthenics that they tried to kill them with. Thus, they complied, piling into the "school."

Jack paid no attention in the class. He could barely stay awake after the morning workout. But he knew that if he fell asleep, he'd be awakened by a shock from the trainers' stun prod. So, he stayed awake and pretended to pay attention for the hour of class.

When the lesson ended, the marched outside and were instructed by Chambers to follow him for a "short walk," which ended up being a two mile jog. They then approached another obstacle course.

"This, as you all know, is an obstacle course," Chambers told the trainees. "Your objective is to ring the bell." He motioned to a bell right above him, about twenty feet above the ground. "There are many different ways to achieve this goal, but I'll leave it up to you to find the best route.

"Now, teams. Trainees, form ten lines of six. The first person in each row will be team one. The second will be team two. If you do not understand, say so now."

Silence.

"Good. When your team has rung the bell, please come tell me and I will determine a winner after you've all finished."

One trainee spoke up. It was the first time someone outside of the adults had said anything.

"A winner? What do you win?"

"Good question," Chambers responded. "The winner gets to eat. The team that comes in first will win a turkey, mashed potato, and ice cream dinner.

"But with winners, there must come one or more losers. Finish last, and you do not eat."

Jack's team, in the end, wound up losing. They came in last, and when they went into the mess hall, each member of his team was given a bottle of the same salty, warm water; it did nothing for their immense appetites, however.

Finally, at long last, the day was over. Jack was hungry, tired, and hurting, but took no time to whine about it.

He simply collapsed into his pillow, sleep instantly enveloping his consciousness.

He would participate in this same, droning, tedious schedule—exercise, school, obstacle course game, sleep—for many, many more years. This was his new home... the battlefield.