0100 Hours, February 6, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR) / Sol System, Planet Earth, Camp Menagerie

In the near complete darkness of the night, the moon casted the occasional beam of light when not obscured by scattered clouds. The wind shook the tree branches surrounding the oblong-shaped clearing, making what shadows there were shifty.

Within six rows of ten, the 1st Platoon of Class 1 stood at attention. Canines, felines, and several other types of medium and large sized carnivores faced dead ahead. They either stared off into the opposite treeline or into the back of the animal's head in front of them. They all wore the exact same tennis shoes and orange jumpsuits. The beast language equivalent of CCF was printed in black between their shoulder blades, showing their previous status as an inmate of Clausum Correctional Facility. Though almost imperceptible without some sort of night vision, all of the prior prisoners had incision lines along the sides of their necks.

The brand new unit had stepped off a CCF prison bus less than an hour ago. Each one was handed an ALICE (All-Purpose Lightweight Individual Carrying Equipment) pack as they departed. The olive green bag was for function over anything, the design meant for rugged use. Frankly, it was ugly, and despite being empty, a few keener convicts shuddered at the metal framing that connected to the industrial backpack's hip pads. This bag was designed to carry a lot of equipment for a long time.

A few eyes wandered amongst the animals, taking stock of their new comrades. All of them had been set to spend the next 5 or more years within the region's prison system when a new deal had been presented. They could be walking the streets freely within three months. In exchange for emancipation, they would be augmented with the latest Instinct Suppression Implants, complete UNSC Army Basic Combat Training, and serve four years as a reserve unit. They'd only sacrifice the occasional weekend for a maintenance recall, and even then they'd get paid for it. There was a long list of contracts and documents waiting for those who did take the deal. The legal jargon was thick, and many within the unit couldn't help shake the feeling that there was more that wasn't being said outright. Still, it was better than having to look over your shoulder while taking a shower.

Out in the open air, some shivered in the cold. Their jumpsuit's material was rather thin, but they refused to make any complaints. It's not like any of them would be listened to. They had been standing at attention for nearly thirty minutes. Five canine Drill Instructors, former members of local armed forces before being contracted by the UNSC, flanked the platoon from all corners. They constantly patrolled the edges of the rows, looking for any that did not meet their expectations.

From the quartermaster's tent on the far side of the clearing six enlisted soldiers of the "Teufel Hunden" marched out carrying large totes. The totes were placed five meters before the first line. Inside the bins was the equipment that would be issued out to each of the recruits. The last two members of the squad carried out folding tables that were set up just beyond the totes. Last behind all of them was a Spartan in SPI armor carrying an electronics hard case. He put the case on the table and distributed its contents in line with the rows of recruits. They were communications earpieces, typically only distributed amongst squad leads and officers. After the Spartan stashed the hard case beneath the table, he made an about-face, now addressing the platoon.

"You are now within the confines of UNSC Army Recruit Depot, Camp Menagerie! This is your first step towards atonement for your crimes against the peoples of this region! You will remain standing at a position of attention. That means, your hands are at the seam of your pants, feet at a forty-five degree angle with your heels touching, and your mouth shut unless spoken to!" The voice of the young man had a static undertone as it exited his helmet's speaker. It cleared up any lethargy left within the recruits from having to operate at such a late hour. He took a few steps forward until he was almost shoulder-to-shoulder with a graying Bloodhound instructor. "I am Spartan Gamma 212. You may refer to me as Junior Lieutenant Zuya or sir. When you need to make an affirmative response to a yes or no question, you will say 'Yes, sir.' When you make a negative response, you will say 'No, sir.' When I give you an order, you will say 'Aye, sir.' When one of the drill instructors around you gives you an order, you will say 'Yes, Sergeant!' When Staff Sergeant Yatsu, the man next to me, gives you an order, you will say 'Yes, Staff Sergeant!' Is this understood?"

A majority of the platoon sounded off with a strong voice, but some were already overwhelmed. "Yes, sir!" A few DIs rooted out individuals that had not caught on. Those poor creatures were soon seizing in pain as strikes from electrical batons landed on their backs, ribs, and shoulders. Receiving more orders to get back in line, most managed to reply with a proper "Yes, Sergeant!" One Rottweiler, however, let off a "Yes, sir" and instantly received an additional tongue lashing from the DI right beside him. The instructor loudly informed the dog that he was an NCO and shall be addressed by his rank. As soon as he was done, the Spartan started up again.

"You will scream out your response! Scream 'Aye, sir!'"

This time there was no hesitation or weak responses as they sounded off as a choir. "Aye, sir!"

"Scream 'Aye, sir!'"

"Aye, sir!"

"Scream 'Aye, sir!'"

"Aye, sir!"

"Good. Now look to the right!"

"Aye, sir!" They followed the order, snapping their necks to face one way down their lines.

"Now look to the left!"

"Aye, sir!" They followed the order, snapping their necks the opposite way.

"Now look forward!"

"Aye, sir!"

"Those individuals you just saw are going to be your squadmates for the next three months. You are all here for the same reason. This is your last hope to live a life worthy of respect. You will suffer for it, and some of you may decide incarceration is preferable. That is okay. You let me, the Staff Sergeant, or another Drill Instructor know and you will be free to carry out the rest of your sentence behind bars. This, and graduating, are the only means of leaving this camp. Try to run, attempt to mutiny, or resist orders and I will use my authority to execute you to its fullest extent. Is this understood?"

"Yes, sir!" The reality of the situation visibly impacted a few of the prior prisoners. All of their overseers had the ability to kill them where they stood should they lash out.

"Good. Now, front line, you are First Squad. Pull off your jumpsuit, leave your underwear on, put your socks in your shoes, and put your shoes on your jumpsuit!"

"Aye, sir!" The front row began stripping down, doing as instructed.

"When your shoes are down, stay in line and start moving down the rows of bins. Grab one of everything!"

"Aye, sir!" As First Squad started going through the line, the Teufel Hunden replaced the DIs on guard duty. Now free to move, the instructors descended on First Squad with ferocious tenacity. They barked and yelled at the group as they tried to sort through the sizes of clothes, trying not to miss anything. Anyone that flinched or looked away from the bins was immediately targeted with increased vigor.

"If you are found with more or less of anything, the entire platoon will suffer. Is this understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"When you have packed your ALICE, put it on, and line up before the communication devices! When I tell you to pick your device up, you will say the number of your next of kin and it will dial! That is your mother, father, sister, brother, or whoever is blood related! Scream 'aye sir!'"

"Aye, sir!" As the recruits lined up in front of the ear pieces, they all looked to the laminated sheet of paper that had been taped to their portion of the table. They all read the same thing:

YOU WILL SAY THE FOLLOWING

THIS IS RECRUIT (YOUR NAME)

I HAVE ARRIVED SAFELY AT CAMP MENAGERIE

PLEASE DO NOT SEND FOOD OR ANY BULKY ITEMS IN THE MAIL

I WILL CONTACT YOU IN 7 TO 9 DAYS BY MAIL WITH MY NEW ADDRESS

THANK YOU FOR YOUR SUPPORT GOOD BYE FOR NOW

CCF: +12085796910

"If they do not pick up within three tries then you will contact the Clausum Correctional Facility using the number at the bottom! You will follow the script on the page and nothing else! When you are done, you will get back to your place in your squad's row and wait for the rest to fill in! Scream 'aye sir!'"

"Aye, sir!" While the order to scream a response did not make apparent sense, it subconsciously made them pay attention as their minds were now waiting for the next order.

"First Squad, start dialing! Second Squad, start stripping!"

After their responses, the carnivores picked up their earpieces to call whoever they needed to while the next line of the platoon pulled their jumpsuits off. Over the next ten minutes, each squad went through the process. Any individuals that had hiccups in the process were prey for the DIs. Even while on their comms, the recruits were constantly yelled at, creating an environment of controlled chaos. Eventually, the last member of Sixth Squad filed into his row, and sixty semi-naked animals shook in the cold.

Moonlight gleaned off the Spartan's dome-like polarized visor as he passed in front of the forward row. "Looks like some of you are cold. Don't worry, you will be warm in just a few minutes. First, put your ALICE packs down in front of you to retrieve your black shorts and green short-sleeve shirt."

"Aye, sir!" The platoon scrambled to put on the PT outfit.

As everyone started to stand up straight, now clothed, one of the DIs called out from the fourth row. "Why do you not have your shorts on, recruit?"

"I… I… it…" The male Lynx pathetically sifted through his pack, hoping that he truly hadn't made such a blunder this early on. Try as he might, he had never grabbed his shorts.

"'You' what recruit? Did you eat it? Did it walk away? Did it phase out of reality!? What. Did. It. Do, recruit?" The DI was practically screaming in his ear now, and she looked to be on the verge of tears.

Damon spoke up once more. "Alright! Seems like we have the perfect opportunity to learn our first lesson. As a unit, the failure of one is the failure of all. Everyone pull those shorts off now and put them back into your packs!" There was a small echo of moans, one of them being from a female gray wolf that stood right next to him. She was young, barely an adult, and reminded him of Juno. Within a heartbeat, he had taken the shock baton off of his back and planted into her solar plexus. Her body convulsed as her nervous system was hijacked by the electrical current. She felt her heart practically restart, attempting to compensate for the forced arrhythmia it had been subjected to. On her hands and knees, she looked up to the armored man with an aura of abhorrence, but he no longer paid her any mind as he addressed the platoon. "This is where we learn our next lesson! Suffer in silence! Take the punishment as a lesson and learn from it! Now, put your shoes back on and lock in! We got a long morning ahead of us!"

"Aye, sir!"

0100 Hours, February 22, 2553 (MILITARY CALENDAR) / Sol System, Planet Earth, Cherryton Academy

Damon focused on his paper with all of his attention, trying his damnedest to keep himself awake. The days were fine, but the nights since his talk with James had been long. It had only been two weeks, but it could have been a year as far as he was concerned. Since the Petty Officer had gone off to Zebuth City to start cracking down on a whole new web of underground operations, he needed someone to take over the training of his new recruits. With Tina already having her hands full attempting to sway elements of the Sublime Council into partnering their regions with the UNSC, the responsibility fell to the medic. His current schedule was PT with the 701 dorm from 0500 to 0600, get done with breakfast at 0700, nap until 0800, classes until 1600, nap until 1700, and work from 1800 to 2200 (sometimes midnight during large shipments). Then he would train the FNGs from 0100 to 0400 before turning them back over to the regular drill instructors. Finally, he'd be back at school in time to start it over again. Nothing to complain about though, you did this all to yourself. Just had to ask for more… 'Suffer in silence.' Take your own lesson, Spartan.

On the upside, he was now a Lieutenant Junior Grade. This put him in official command of any forces in the city so long as Tina wasn't around. Since the start of the month, their forces had doubled. A whole extra platoon of carnivore military contractors had been vetted by James and were now being taught English and UNSC history at Camp Menagerie, along with the "volunteers" from the class currently being trained. The teachers were eggheads on lease from SolTech who practically frolicked in the wealth of human knowledge. They spoke English now with nearly no accent, and were constantly translating human writings to redistribute, thanks to Ana's exabyte of stolen data on her tacpad.

Due to its prevalence in literature, and the greater mass of human media now at the public's disposal, the concept of 'feral' animals was now blowing up. Nature documentaries and classic depictions of the brutality of the life cycle were taking the internet by storm. It sparked debate amongst skeptics, created new conspiracy theories concerning the origins of humans, and started a wave of support for SolTech's Instinct Suppression Implants. Much of the backing came from herbivore Beastars who championed the CEO's ideals of self-evolution.

In opposition to this, various carnivore advocacy groups challenged the very idea of an implant. They argued the potential loss of individuality and a decline in self-expression amongst those who had been treated, though the actual evidence was shoddy at best. Unfortunately for them, every time a devouring hit the news, their concerns were drowned out by the desire for security.

Damon rubbed the bridge of his nose, snapping himself out of the ever evolving situations that seemed to be popping up around him. He contemplated whether or not he had enough time for a nap before heading off to work. A click from his door and its rapid opening brought him to attention.

"HIT THE DECK, NUMBNUTS!" His brother's voice commanded.

The medic had been in enough field operations to know better than to try and question such an order. He dove for the floor and planted half of his face on the surface. With one eye he watched a flash of metal soar over his head before planting itself into his desk. He quickly turned over onto his back to see just what it was. Bewilderment appeared on his face when he identified the threat to be a tomahawk, now lodged into the wood of his desk by approximately a half foot.

"I think I am going to court martial you, Ensign." Damon said calmly as he got to his feet.

The realization that he technically just assaulted a superior officer appeared on Nomad's face. Even prior to his brother's promotion, he knew he was pushing the limit with this stunt. Now, he straightened himself and stood at attention. "Apologies, sir. Wanted to give you your birthday gift in a memorable fashion this year."

The Lieutenant just sighed, he really didn't have the energy to be properly pissed right now. "At ease. Just… don't do that again." He used his foot to maneuver something out from under his bed. It was a black hard case, similar to that which they used to receive their smoothers in. He kicked the container over to his brother. "Don't spend them all in one place."

Intrigued by the package, Nomad squatted down and flipped open the clamps keeping the case closed. Pulling the top off, he couldn't hide a growing smile that reflected off of the cylindrical brass casings that were revealed. Four 40mm Grenade Launcher rounds sat in their individual felt fabric pockets. Two had yellow bands that wrapped around the neck of the round, separating the casing from the head. The other two had orange bands. Yellow is incendiary. Good for lighting a fire. Orange is thermite… good for melting through basically anything.

Damon then tossed him a little spray bottle, the same one he used for masking his scent. "Make sure to give the case a little spritz before closing it back up." He then went over to his desk and grasped the handle of his new tomahawk, giving it a firm yank to retrieve it from its embedded state. The Spartan nodded in approval of the craftsmanship. The weapon had a carbon fiber handle that ran all the way up and encapsulated the head, keeping it in place. On one side of the head was a squared ended blade, and on the other side was a spike. The head looked to be made out of carbon steel. Hopefully shock resistant. "Thank you, she's beautiful, but you can just hand it to me next time."

"Noted. Speaking of beautiful…" Nomad said as he pulled one of the shells out to examine it more closely. He was surprised to find the casing had etchings. Along the length of the round, it read 'Fuck' on one side and 'You' on the other. The demoman let out another chuckle. "Where did you get the time to make these?"

"Broke into a Black Market gun store and used their equipment in the night." Having already shown his willingness to adventure beyond set parameters, Damon had figured it didn't really matter where he went in the city so long as his priorities were maintained. Probably could have talked my way out of it if worse came to worse, or at least shot my way out.

"You feeling well, man? You're starting to act like me." Once Nomad had gotten his eyeful for the time being, he placed the round back in its place, sprayed the edges with the scent block, and clamped the container closed.

"You may be right, but I pull it off better." The medic smirked as he walked up to his twin. Before the other Spartan had a chance to retort, he wrapped his arms around him in a hug. "Love you, brother. Happy Birthday."

Nomad's body stiffened for a moment before relaxing and returning the gesture. "Love you too, blood."

Damon gave him a pat on the back before breaking away. "Now get the hell out of here, can't you see I'm trying to get some work done?"

The twin carrying the case just shook his head as he turned for the door. "Yeah, yeah, you get to work on all that senior officer garbo.

The medic waved off his brother and went back to his seat, looking at the new gash in his desk.