0600 hours, or six am, comes far too early, especially after a long night out. It was at six am sharp that the bugles outside my open window began to blare, and I awoke to the taste of Iron in my mouth. I rose slowly at first, licking my lips in confusion before stepping out of bed and walking over to the standing mirror in my room. I stared in confusion for a moment, rubbing my eyes as my vision cleared. Looking back at me was the same five foot nine, bright blond haired twenty year old that always stood in the mirror: but something was different.

I didn't realize until now that apparently I had been hit the night before, though I couldn't figure out when it happened. Maybe the adrenaline had taken over and I hadn't felt it until now, but there was a long line of blood running from the midst of my hairline down the bridge of my nose and across my mouth. My head didn't seem to hurt where the blood had been coming from before it healed over, but then again I'd had my long list of injuries from boxing and dealing with the shit the guys at the academy had put me through.

Ever since the case went public through the grapevine, probably starting at Erik, I'd been the target of innumerable guys who were trying to "climb up the ladder". This was a stupid move in most of their cases; I hadn't been accepted here on a boxing scholarship for nothing, but when you get ganged up on by five or six people, sometimes even more, it tends to be pretty hard to fend for yourself. I guess people thought it would be easy to beat down on a gay guy, whether it be from stereotypes or something else, but they usually learned their lesson.

I rubbed the side of my face in confusion and eventually grabbed my shower kit, fresh uniform and towel, making my way out of my room and locking it on the way. I stepped down the long, quiet hallway: none of the other troops seemed to have gotten out of their rooms yet, and as I made my way down the stairs the eerie quietness filled the air: I'd probably be lucky enough to get enough hot water this morning to wash the blood off. I eventually found my way to the locker room, undressing and throwing my things into my locker before stepping into the empty marble communal shower and turning on the water.

There's something about hot water on an apparently fresh wound that hurts like fucking hell. Guess I should have thought about that before I turned the steaming hot water on, eh?
Then again, there's also something about standing in a hot shower, early in the morning after a nights rain, that lets peace flow through you like a river.
About fifteen minutes into my shower, and just as I was beginning to actually wake up, was when the other guys started to show up. It was piecemeal at first, some of the other early risers and platoon leaders who had to be finished up early for roll call and morning parade, and I made small talk with the few early regulars before shutting the water off and moving to my locker, beginning to get changed.

Before I knew it, the locker room was filled with guys from our dorm building, the hustle and bustle of hundreds of 18-24 year old guys completely over-extending my brains early-morning lack of capacity. I began to get dressed, and was about halfway through before trouble started. At first I took it for mere accident: someone bumping into me as they walked past my locker on the corner of the aisle, but then it happened a second and a third time. I eventually looked up to find a group of three guys standing nearby watching me: all three of them close friends of Eriks, and all three of whom looked pretty pissed.

"What's up fag?" one of them questioned.

I ignored them the best I could, at least for a little while. When it was clear I wasn't going to respond, he got violent. He stepped over and shoved me away from my locker, his voice raising and shouting out in a demanding tone;

"I said, What's UP fag?"

Two of the guys whose lockers were in the same small grouping as mine looked up confused at what happened, and one of them quickly slipped out and towards the showers. The other one, my platoon commander, stood watching as he pulled his pants on.

"Fuck off Dietrich" I responded, shoving him back. He moved back a few steps, knowing better than to get in a one on one with me, but his two friends moved forward and when he felt confident that he had numerical superiority, he moved forward again.

"What, you pissed that you don't have anyone to fuck you anymore?"

"I told you to shut the fuck up, Dietrich. Don't think I won't choke you." I responded

"Oh trust me, you'll be the one getting choked. Now that you got Erik thrown in jail and the case is over, we have nothing to hold us back from beating your sorry ass".
It was at that point that the three of them moved in. I tried my best to fight them off, throwing punches that would knock one of them backwards or the other onto the ground before they were able to corner me and pin me up against the locker. I thrashed and fought as hard as I could, kicking one of them in the groin as he moved towards me, presumably to try and punch me, but it was of little hope. I looked around for help, but there was no one: my platoon commander stood watching as he pulled his shirt on, and I shot him a glare.
Then the punches came.

They came slowly at first, almost as if Dietrich had to wind up his arm before he punched, but they started to come faster. A punch to the stomach was followed by a kick to the groin and my head being slammed into the metal locker. The three of them were clearly getting a huge high off of this, one of them laughing almost uncontrollably as he threw punch after punch into my rib cage. It wasn't that I was worried about breaking a bone: I had had so many broken in the ten years I'd been boxing that I was sure that they had calcified over, but really? Three versus one?

It came as a surprised when the both of them holding my arms up against the locker let go and threw me to the ground. I rolled onto my back, staring up at them in anger as they hovered over me, each of their disgusting smiles and annoying laughs filling the small square that was this corner of the locker room. I began to get up, but just as I did one of them sharply kicked me in the side of my rib cage with his bare foot, though it ended up biting him in the ass as he started hobbling complaining "fuck that hurt".

"C'mon guys, if this fag likes it up the ass so much, who are we to keep it from him?"

There was a pause in the conversation.

"Dude... I'm not gay" one of them remarked

"...You moron." Dietrich remarked. He looked down at me with his shit-eating grin, and firmly said "as slowly and painfully as possible"

I quickly jumped up from my back, bouncing forward and going for Dietrich's legs, knocking him to the ground before me before scrambling forward as I felt him fall to the ground on my legs. I struggled to get up under his weight, and just as I did I felt a hand grab under my armpit and pull me up. I sighed, looking around, hoping it was someone that was there to help.

It wasn't.

A fist flew into my face, and I was launched back into the metal lockers, slowly sliding to the ground as I felt blood begin to pour out of my nose.

"Ah fuck... get the fucker!"

I tried my best to fight back, but I could tell there were more than three. At least four pairs of hands grabbed me and I was thrown onto my stomach on the ground, and after a moment they were stripping my and kicking at my sides.

It hurt.

A lot.

This was the kind of blood they loved, the kind where someone can't defend themselves and is attacked in such an unusual manner that it embarrasses them beyond end. All other sorts of middle-school grade pranks were dished out by them because they couldn't defend themselves in a one-on-one fight.

They chose to do this to me because they knew, from experience, that every time they tried I was able to overtake at least one of them and throw them into the toilet head first, so they chose something personal that they could all partake in. What was this, the jungefolkschule? Pranks?

They were those kinds of douchebags.

They pulled me up to my feet and Justus made eye contact with me, smiling from the side of his face that still bled. He drew his fist back, and launched it up into my stomach. I cried out in pain, but they kept going, tortuously so, for what seemed like five minutes, occasionally shouting out innumerable slurs about my sexuality. When I eventually yelped out in pain, I could hear Dietrich spark up, responding;

"Oh come on Friedrich, we all know you love it rough! So rough so you-"

"Drop him. Now." A stern voice said from behind all of us.

There was silence in the air for about thirty seconds, before the voice repeated itself.

"Did I fucking stutter, Private? Drop him now" the voice demanded

I slowly slid to the ground, before clamoring towards the corner of the lockers. I tried to catch my breath as I watched the conversation that was going on. Standing in the entrance to the group of lockers stood a guy about six foot three, towering over everyone else. His head was shaved and he had a very athletic build, his uniform clad in shimmering medals and ribbons, and he held an officers visor cap in his left hand. He glared down at Dietrich and his group, and began to yell.

"How fucking DARE you perverted sons of bitches not only choose to torture him, but four on one? What, are you guys too much of fucking pussies to be able to handle him one on one? Oh wait, thats right, you are! I swear to the fucking emperor himself if I do not see you outside running fucking suicides at four this afternoon I will literally mount you all on spikes from your assholes outside the fucking gates of the school!"

They were all dead silent, but one cocky one tried to speak up.

"You can't ord-"

"Yes I fucking CAN order you and I will order you to do whatever the fuck I want because I'm a fucking DC you morons" he yelled. A group of spectators had formed behind him, some of them trying to hold back laughter.

"Now get your pansy asses the fuck out of here and line the fuck up before I hand you all up to dry!"

The group of four quickly dispersed, and as the Divisional Commander turned around, the group behind him rapidly thinned out. He eventually looked back at me as I sat on the bench between the two walls of lockers, and spoke in a much different tone.

"You alright Corporal?" he questioned.

"Yes sir" I responded, rising out of respect of the rank.

"Sit down" He ordered, pointing to the bench. I nodded, sitting.

"Now, are you actually alright or are you just acting tough".

"I'm fine sir, I've had much worse against other troops boxers" I responded.

"Good. Now watch out for yourself, alright?" he questioned.

"Yes sir" I responded respectfully.

He nodded, saluting and walking off. I wiped the blood that was beginning to dry from my face, and grabbed my towel, walking over to the sink to wash my face off as I tried to run through all of the divisional commanders I knew. He was my age, tall, black hair, athletic... maybe that was Christoph?

I sat . Usually commanders smile on that sort of thing: it "thins the herd", as some say, and "creates unity" in groups. That usually means that people who aren't the highest in terms of rank or popularity, those who can't defend themselves with their fists or with their wits, have the shit beaten out of them until they ran out of the school.

My mind decided very rapidly that that was, indeed, Christoph Schneider, one of the divisional commanders. The DCs were all close with each other, mostly because there were only five of them, and they kept a few regimental and platoon COs, and even the occasional normal NCO. They were the most respected guys, both when in-rank and out of rank, and were usually the ones that held the craziest parties. Their social circle was led by Albrecht, the brown haired officer who also happened to be the son of our Emperor and the future Emperor himself.

'He's gorgeous...' the voice in my head decided to remind me.

'God damn it, stop thinking like that!'

My mind wandered back to what I had been going through, and what I'd likely be forced to go through in the future. I'd thought of leaving the school several times in the past semester, after all there were so many reasons for it. I'd gone through so much already, and if this sort of thing was going to pick up in frequency, it was going to get rough.

Then again, I had nowhere else to go, not after what happened at home. Leaving was out of the picture.