To the dark future

by Overlard77

Lincoln Loud embarks on an unwanted journey into an alternate distant future, where things are totally different and he will see humanity like never before.

10. Chapter 8: Understand your place part 1

"It could've been worse. At least you didn't lose an eye."

Those words kept echoing in Lincoln's head, replaying themselves again and again, for reasons he couldn't explain.

Upon returning to the Schola, Lincoln, his team, and everyone else underwent a medical examination. Those with injuries were treated immediately, although the care was far from gentle. Lincoln had alcohol applied to his wounds, forcing him to bite back cries of pain. Next, he was given a foul-tasting medicine that induced nausea, making him swallow hard to avoid vomiting. Finally, the affected areas were bandaged. Fortunately, his injuries were not severe.

They treated the facial wounds, where the massive bat's claws had inflicted the most damage. Once they finished, Lincoln hesitantly gazed into a small mirror, fearful of what he might see. He worried that his face would be disfigured, despite his comrades' reassurances when they first saw him. As he looked, he noticed the changes to his face, specifically around his right eye, now marked with three distinct scars.

"Please, don't let it be permanent," he whispered to himself, gently touching the scars with concern. He couldn't shake off the pang of sadness that washed over him as he gazed at his altered face. Though he wasn't vain, the thought of bearing an unsightly scar on his face unsettled him.

"Hey, don't touch that," the nurse warned. The same one who had made that casual comment about not losing his eye, now continued, "You're not going to die today, so you can go. I have other patients to attend to."

They also took the opportunity to issue new uniforms to those whose clothing had been severely damaged during the trial, Lincoln among them.

Now, Lincoln, along with the other new recruits, found themselves in a vast outdoor area, outside the Schola, gathered around a massive bonfire. It turned out to be a tribute to the fallen, those who hadn't made it out alive. Everyone was huddled together, each lost in their own thoughts and emotions.

Recruits were consumed by grief, tears flowing freely as they mourned their fallen friends. Personal belongings and clothing were cast into the fire, a heartfelt tribute to the departed.

Among the assembled crowd, which included Lincoln and his fellow newcomers, several high-ranking officers were also in attendance. One of them stepped forward to deliver a solemn address, honoring the memory of the fallen and invoking the Emperor's benevolence upon their souls in the hereafter.

But Lincoln wasn't paying attention; he wasn't even listening. His mind was preoccupied with the events that had unfolded: the early deaths of two comrades, followed by two more... What would happen to him now? Could he have died there, forgotten and lost?

Lincoln overheard two nearby guards: "Not as many died this year." He turned to look at them, their conversation hushed but audible.

"Yeah, these new recruits are getting tougher," the other said. "Either that, or there aren't as many beasts in that area anymore." Lincoln wasn't the only one listening in; others turned around, drawn in by the conversation.

"I swear, if we were in Catachan, it would be totally different. Not even half of them would survive," he comments, as the recruits listen in. The guards only just realized their audience, but they don't care; they simply walk away, continuing their conversation among themselves.

"Are there really planets worse for a trial? And what in the world is Catachan?" Lincoln wondered silently. "I don't like hearing this. I don't like how these officers discuss the death of children as if it's casual conversation. How can they be so insensitive? How can they be so cold-hearted?"

Once the somber moment had passed, they were all led to a large auditorium, where they were questioned about their recent experience in the wilderness.

Afterward, they were led to another large hall, where they waited for about three hours. It was there that their fate in the army would finally be revealed. The air was thick with anxiety; many were on edge, wondering what the future held.

Among the recruits, Lincoln remained lost in thought, observing Ana, who was consumed by a deep despair. He now understood that Ana and Kron's original group never made it to the evacuation zone. At the time, Lincoln was too exhausted to realize it. The harrowing truth was that they had likely perished or failed to arrive in time for rescue, leaving Ana and Kron as the sole survivors.

In fact, Kron also seemed troubled by it, but remained silent. Meanwhile, Hannah and the rest of the group approached Ana to try and lift her spirits. Everyone was waiting to be called.

That answered a question for Lincoln, one that sent a chill down his spine. The instructor hadn't been joking when he said they'd be left in that place.

They began calling out the recruits. One by one, they announced their names, and each entered separate rooms. After a brief interval, they emerged with a paper in hand.

Time passed, and gradually, the members of the group began to be called. Darek was the first to be summoned, followed by Marlowe and Franz. Finally, Hannah, Rubén, and Kron were the last to be called. All of them would form part of the same unit: the Assault Troops, or simply the Imperial Guard.

Now they waited for Ana, who had been called and still hadn't returned. Then she emerged, and as she showed her paper, everyone gathered around to read.

"Sister of battle," Hannah read with some astonishment. The others turned to Ana, who seemed uncertain about her new role.

"Hey, don't get nervous, you'll do great," Darek encouraged his companion.

"Thanks," she replied.

Everyone already knew where they were headed, except for Lincoln. And then, "Lincoln Loud, Room 34," a voice echoed through the loudspeaker.

It was his time, the moment that would decide his future place in this crazy world he had been thrown into.

He was nervous. But there was also a thrill of excitement. Even though he didn't know why.

In front of him was the door where he would be told his place in the Human Empire. And he entered.

It was a small, cluttered office filled with papers, books, and scrolls of parchment, the entire room reeked of age. And there, facing Lincoln, was a desk, behind which sat an older man wearing a red-hooded robe, his face worn and weary.

"Sit down," he said in a neutral and emotionless tone, Lincoln obeyed, the man continued writing on a paper, without paying him any attention.

Lincoln expected to be asked questions or something, but nothing was asked. The man just kept writing. As he looked around, he saw something peculiar that instantly grabbed his attention.

Floating above, amidst the piles of papers, he saw something - a ball with small robotic tentacles. The object then turned, allowing him to notice what it was: a human skull with a red eye on the right side, plus a small roll of paper protruding from its mouth. And the mechanical tentacles. Their gazes met, and then the flying skull began to descend, approaching him. It lingered, watching him for a while, as discomfort grew within him.

The Inquisitor had once told him about the Servitors, the replacements for machines in this future, and Lincoln hadn't liked what he heard. So, is that a real skull? Or rather, was it once a person's skull? This was the first time he'd seen one, and he felt uneasy. The Servo-skull drew closer and gazed at him for a few seconds, as if driven by curiosity, as if it were a conscious being.

The two locked eyes for a moment, until the Servo-skull moved away from him and returned to its tasks, leaving the young white-haired man with a lingering sense of unease.

After a few seconds, the man in front of him called out, "Here is your document. It states where you will serve, your new schedule, and everything you need to know." He added, "Now withdraw."

Lincoln turned around and saw the man's face. The man in front of him looked tired, appearing older than his voice suggested. But what struck Lincoln most was the man's gaze: his eyes seemed empty, devoid of any emotion. It was as if he had lost his reason for living.

Lincoln remained still for a few seconds, then took the paper, and left without looking back.

After that unsettling moment, Lincoln rejoined the group, who awaited his arrival with anticipation, eager to finally know which path he would take. "So, what did you get?" Hannah asked, the others holding their breath for his response. But before Lincoln could read the paper, Kron snatched it from his hands and read it, his expression shifting from surprise to skepticism.

"I don't believe it," Kron muttered to himself. Then, he handed the paper to Darek, and the others crowded around, curious to read. With a hint of humor, Kron glanced at Rubén and said, "Too bad they took away your dream."

Lincoln didn't understand, but when his document was returned to him and he read it, he finally grasped the meaning. "Commissar" he read aloud, his voice filled with surprise.

"Who would have thought," Marlowe said, gazing at Lincoln.

Lincoln looked at his friends, who gazed back at him with a mix of emotions. Rubén also looked at him with emotion, but his eyes held a tinge of pity.

"So, we're not going to be together anymore?" Rubén asked.

"Hey, no worries, we can still hang out," Lincoln replied.

"Attention! All recruits who have received their assignments, report to your designated classes," blared the loudspeaker.

"Well, I think this is where we part ways," Franz said.

"Attention! Girls who will be sisters of battles, come here!" a tall woman shouted.

"I'd better go now," Ana murmured, her eyes cast down. Then, she raised her gaze and turned to Kron.

"Hey... Thanks for saving me from that monster by the river. And... sorry if I was a bit harsh."

Kron simply gazed at her, and before he could respond, she took off running.

Everyone stood watching as their friend disappeared into the distance. After brief goodbyes, they all went their separate ways.

It was time to attend his first class as a future commissar. When he entered the classroom, he noticed it wasn't as large as the others. His new classmates were present, mostly men, with a few girls scattered among them.

He sat at the front of the class, not by choice, but because all the other tables were already occupied.

A man wearing a crisp uniform walked into the room. He sported a small mustache and short black hair, with visible gray streaks that contrasted with his youthful face. Yet, his presence radiated authority. He stepped to the front of the class and spoke in a firm voice.

"Congratulations to all of you, for passing the initiation test successfully. You've proven that you're worth something. Or so I'd say if it were true. You survived three days in a wilderness, surrounded by beasts. Let me tell you, when you're deployed to the front lines, you'll face all kinds of enemies, in different worlds, and the battles will be much longer."

Everyone looked forward, submerged in silence as they listened to the speech. And then the teacher continued.

"Now, let me make clear what your role will be in the glorious Imperial Army. As commissioners, your duty will be to lead the army in wars. Thousands of lives will depend on you. Your mission will be to inspire your soldiers on the battlefield, ensure that every member of your unit fulfills their duty. And fight with honor."

When the man finished his speech, he stood before the class and introduced himself.

"My name is Otto, Otto Velez, and I'll be your instructor here. I'll teach you to be true commissioners. Now... hey you!"

When he shouted, everyone tensed up at the sudden outburst. The instructor pointed to a student, seated several rows behind Lincoln.

"Stand up and come here! Now!"

The recruit hastened, visibly nervous, and stood beside the teacher, awaiting his words.

"What's your name?" Officer Otto asked calmly.

"Ansel Kuttner," replied the young man, who had light brown hair, brown eyes, and stood exactly the same height as Lincoln.

"Tell me, Ansel. Why were you and your companion laughing?"

The young man named Ansel grew nervous before responding. But before he could speak, Mr. Otto abruptly interrupted him.

"I saw you laughing while I was still speaking. Tell me, Ansel, what's so funny?"

Ansel glanced at Lincoln and pointed, "We were laughing at his hair, sir. It's weird, and I said he must have gotten the wrong room, that they don't train Battle Sisters here."

This prompted some of the other students present to laugh, but they quickly fell silent when they saw Otto's severe gaze.

Instructor Otto fixed his gaze on Lincoln. For the brief moment he did, young Loud felt a chill run down his spine. Then, Otto shifted his gaze back to Ansel.

"He didn't let me finish, young Ansel," Instructor Otto said, his voice firm but controlled, with a hint of disappointment. He paused significantly and then turned to the class, his piercing gaze sweeping across the students' faces. "There are many things a commissar must have," he began, his voice gaining strength and authority. "Courage, responsibility, respect, and manners. These are the essential qualities that distinguish a true leader, capable of inspiring and guiding others."

"Your behavior demonstrates a clear deficiency in manners and respect. Interrupting my class and mocking a peer is unacceptable. Fortunately, you're in my presence, and I will instruct you on the proper conduct of a commissioner."

He finished speaking to Ansel, then turned his back on the boy. The next thing everyone saw was him spinning around and delivering a kick to Ansel's face.

The small boy spun around twice before crashing to the ground.

"What the hell are you doing on the ground?! I didn't give you permission to rest! Get up!"

Everyone watched as Ansel stumbled about, dazed, when the instructor shouted once more.

"Listen up! If you don't get up immediately, in exactly three seconds, I'll start whipping you!"

With that threat, the young boy made a supreme effort to stand up, but struggled to do so. The instructor had begun counting and, meanwhile, retrieved a rod from his desk. When he reached three, by sheer miracle, the boy managed to stand up with great difficulty.

"Very well, you obeyed my order. Let this not happen again, is that clear?"

The boy weakly nodded, barely able to articulate a word. The instructor gestured for him to sit back down. Slowly, still dazed, Ansel returned to his seat, visibly shaken.

A tense silence fell over the entire classroom, a result of what they had just witnessed, and was only broken by the instructor.

"Discipline. That's what they need, they're still young and have a long way to go. Now, everyone, pay attention, we're going to start with the basic rules."

XXX

The class had ended, and only then could Lincoln relax a bit. Fear and tension lingered after witnessing that correction, and this was just his first class. His first class with that madman. How would the next ones be?

In the hallway, as everyone headed to their next class, Lincoln felt someone brush past him roughly, shoving him with force. It turned out to be the same boy who had been humiliated by the instructor moments earlier.

"Wow, he doesn't look happy," Lincoln thought as he continued walking.

After that class, they headed out to their next one, but were stopped by Instructor Otto himself.

"Young students. I'm sure you're eagerly awaiting lunchtime, aren't you? Well, there's still time before lunch. But not for you," Otto paused, his eyes scanning the group.

"Consider this a lesson. You will be the next commissioners, leading our soldiers. You must set the example of discipline. If you're worried about missing other classes, don't worry, I've already spoken to the other teachers and they understand the situation." Otto concluded with a cheerful tone, as if he had just shared a casual anecdote with a friend, his gaze settling on Ansel.

The entire class of commissioners was put to work cleaning the floors of a large hall, which Lincoln had never seen before. He figured it was some kind of training area, since it was almost empty of furniture. They were ordered to clean the entire floor until it shone, and the space was quite vast.

This was exhausting. He already knew how exhausting it felt to scrub floors. When you have ten sisters, mess and dirt are a daily thing, especially the floor of a house like his. For a moment, he paused at that thought. He clenched the rag with some force, and then continued as if nothing had happened.

As Lincoln continued scrubbing the floor, he glanced around at his classmates and saw Ansel, the same boy who had mocked him and caused his punishment. Ansel occasionally turned to glance at Lincoln with a hostile look, although Lincoln knew he shouldn't be angry with him, since it was Ansel's fault that the entire class was there.

After a long day, the time to rest had come. Tired, with sore hands from the exhausting scrubbing and with an empty stomach from not having been able to eat, Lincoln headed to his room. He remembered where it was, and upon arriving, he found his companion Harold.

"Lincoln!, you're back!" Harold exclaims with emotion, then approaches him and places his hand on his shoulder. "I heard you passed the test, along with Rubén and Kron. But I couldn't go see you because I was in the middle of classes, I'm sorry about that." He finishes speaking, his last words tinged with a hint of sadness.

"Hey, that doesn't matter, seriously. I'm glad to be back," Lincoln reassured his companion. Just as Harold was about to respond, someone else came out of the room, and to Lincoln's surprise, it was someone he already knew.

"¿Darek?"

Upon hearing his name, the boy turns towards Lincoln and greets him with a smile: "Lincoln! Great to see you, even if it was just today that we last saw each other," he adds with a touch of humor. Then he approaches and extends his hand, and Lincoln shakes it, returning the greeting.

"What are you doing here?" Lincoln asks, with curiosity. And the answer he receives makes everything clear.

"Oh, right, we were supposed to tell you when you arrived, I've been transferred. This will be my new room."

"What?!" Lincoln exclaims in surprise. And it's Harold who responds.

"Yes, you see, they told me you're going to be commissar. And since you're from a different branch, they transferred you to a new room. Today they came and gave me this." He hands Lincoln a paper. Upon reviewing it, he sees a number, his new room, along with some addresses. Then, he looks up and sees Harold again, noticing a hint of pity on his face and a shadow of sadness.

"Oh well, I guess I need to pack my stuff," Lincoln said, but before he could continue, Darek spoke up, "Oh, don't worry, we took the liberty of packing your things. They're in this bag." He hands Lincoln a bag with his belongings.

Lincoln gives them a grateful nod as he packs up his stuff. "I'm beat, guys. Need some shut-eye," he says with a weary smile. Darek and Harold get it, having had their own fill of the day. They exchange goodbyes, make plans to catch up tomorrow, and Lincoln takes off.

It didn't take him as long as he thought. When Lincoln arrived at his new room, he was surprised to find that it was a single occupancy room, smaller than his previous one. However, this made sense, since he wouldn't have to share the space with anyone. For a brief moment, Lincoln felt like he had stepped back into his old bedroom, which was essentially a small closet in his family's home.

He dumps his bag on the floor and face-plants onto the bed, totally drained. A softer bed would've been nice, but fatigue takes over. He doesn't fight it, letting sleep wash over him, and he's out cold in an instant.

The next morning, precisely at 7:00 AM, Lincoln sprang out of bed. With no need to change, having slept in his uniform, he quickly tidied himself up and checked his schedule. Noting he was running short on time before his next class, he hastened out the door.

Upon arriving at the designated location, Lincoln entered a room distinct from his first class. Although equally spacious, the layout was unconventional: students sat in a circle. In the center of the room, a large map sprawled across the floor, with various tokens strategically placed. Just then, Mr. Otto arrived, proceeding to explain the objective of this particular class.

A class to test their strategic ability.

"I'll present you with a hypothetical scenario, a battle, involving an army of heretics who have risen up, in a desolate world, and you must say how you would act in that situation."

There were two types of tokens of different colors: the red tokens, which were the majority, represented the enemy, and the green tokens represented their own troops.

Mr. Otto taught tactics for commanding troops and then posed a challenge to the students: "How would you command your army in this scenario?"

Before long, it was another recruit's turn to be questioned.

"So, how would you act?" Otto asked.

"Uh, well, it's obvious they outnumber us, sending the entire army would be pointless," said the Asian-looking boy, then continued, pointing to a part of the map, "Is that a fortress, right?" He asked, to which Otto confirmed.

"Alright, so I'd send all troops there and wait for their attack. Holding out is our only option, given the enemy's numerical superiority. It wouldn't make sense to engage the entire army head-on."

"Ah, what's your name, recruit?" Otto asked, jotting down notes in his notebook. "Tod Radcliffe, sir!" the recruit replied with a crisp military salute.

Lincoln gazed at the map, lost in thought. This was like a game of strategy.

"I think we can divide the enemy," Lincoln said, unaware he had spoken aloud.

"Elaborate," Otto commanded, his eyes fixed on Lincoln, who suddenly felt self-conscious about having spoken aloud.

"Ah, well, I'm just saying that what I would do is divide the enemy. We could draw the attention of part of the army, lure them to our position, and eliminate them, and we can keep doing this for a while. Until the enemy has few numbers, and then send in all our forces."

The rest of the class continued to stare at him, and he went on.

"We can also flip the script. We bunker down in the fortress, while a separate team lays in wait outside, ambushing the enemy as they approach. We keep repeating this tactic until the enemy is depleted." "Your thoughts?"

Lincoln finished outlining his strategy, and Otto continued to stare at him with an analytical and stern gaze, causing a hint of panic in the boy. He wasn't the first to suggest dividing the enemy, but he was the first to propose doing it gradually.

Instructor Otto simply continued with the lesson, discussing factors such as resources, battle duration, and so on.

XXX

Finally, lunchtime arrived, and since they weren't in trouble, they could head to the Mess Hall without any issues.

As Lincoln arrived, he picked up his tray and was fortunate to find a table with space. His acquaintances - Darek, Rubén, Harold, Kron (keeping to himself), Franz, Hannah, and Marlowe - were already seated. The table was spacious enough for an additional person.

As he took his seat, everyone greeted him warmly, except Kron. Lincoln felt more at ease, surrounded by his classmates, and happy to be among them, though he wouldn't say it out loud. He simply felt a stronger sense of belonging.

"Look who's arrived, it's the commissar," Marlowe announced dramatically, and everyone gazed at Lincoln, who blushed as if embarrassed. He glanced around, spotting Harold, "So, you've met the gang, Harold?" he asked his former roommate, who responded.

"Ah, yes, Darek and Rubén introduced me to everyone", Lincoln scans the table, and that's when he realizes someone is missing.

"Hey, where's Ana?" he asks. An awkward silence falls over the table, and Rubén responds, "We don't know. We didn't see her at lunch yesterday either." Hannah adds, "Maybe it's something related to her sister's class." Turning to Lincoln, she asks, "We didn't see you at lunch yesterday either. Did you have an extra class or something?" Lincoln explains how they were punished the day before due to a classmate's mistake, forcing him to clean a large room and miss lunch.

The rest of lunch was spent asking each other questions. The group asked Lincoln about the Commissar class. Rubén showed particular interest, but Lincoln downplayed it. He then asked about their experiences, and they shared that they did the same exercises as when they first arrived. The difference was that they were together with Harold, as they all followed the same path: becoming a soldier in the Astra Militarum. Meanwhile, Lincoln was on his own.

Lunchtime ended, Lincoln hadn't realized he finished his entire meal, compared to other times when he barely touched it. He was hungrier that day, and even if he felt it was just as bad, it didn't bother him much. After saying their goodbyes, it was time to head back to class. Today they would probably practice with swords; he was curious about tomorrow, what exactly would they do? It shouldn't be a big deal, he thought.

XXX (next day)

"Class, you are all gathered here for a purpose. Today, we will assess your combat effectiveness. We have enlisted volunteers from upper years. Your objective is straightforward: Take down these opponents. We will evaluate your coordination, teamwork, and ability to handle adverse situations."

After the explanation, they were divided into groups, facing recruits older and larger. Their task was to take them down. They were grouped in teams of five, five against one. Lincoln's team included Ansel. They were given free rein to strategize, as their opponent wouldn't hold back. And to make matters worse, Lincoln was still recovering from his leg injury, sustained fall during the previous survival test.

With everything explained, the combat test began, and as expected, the situation quickly turned into a disaster. Lincoln tried to coordinate his team, but they didn't listen, especially Ansel, who outright ignored him.

When they said their opponent wouldn't hold back, they didn't expect him to be so brutal. Two of Lincoln's teammates tried to tackle the opponent's legs, but he quickly shook them off, striking each one.

Lincoln, Ansel, and the other member tried to attack from behind. Ansel managed to climb onto the opponent's back, while Lincoln and his teammate attempted to take down his legs. They succeeded, but the older opponent fell on top of Ansel.

Lincoln stared at the large boy knocked to the ground, as his teammate prepared to attack. But before he could strike, his opponent quickly recovered, and his teammate received a kick that made him stumble and fall again.

As the older recruit began to rise, Lincoln saw his chance and tried to climb onto his back. However, his opponent anticipated the move and delivered a powerful elbow to his face, sending him crashing to the ground.

Ansel, still writhing in pain on the ground, was lifted up by his opponent, only to receive a crushing blow to the face.

Lincoln's two teammates, who initially grabbed onto their opponent's legs and were the first to be taken down, began to get back up, only to be met with a kick from the older recruit.

Lincoln realized he was alone; his opponent saw him and approached, clenching his knuckles for the fight. Lincoln looked around, desperate, and did something he never thought he would do. The fear and pain from the previous blows consumed him, and in an act of instinct, he reacted unexpectedly.

"I give up," Lincoln pleaded, kneeling down with a mix of desperation and drama. He knew it wasn't noble, but he couldn't think of anything better. Accepting defeat was hard, especially since he never considered himself good at hand-to-hand combat.

He kept his eyes closed, waiting for the worst. When he opened them, he saw confusion on his opponent's face, clearly not expecting him to surrender. But the surprise lasted little, as the face transformed into a scowl and approached Lincoln, clenching his fists. Lincoln flinched, ready to take the hit. However, what he didn't know was that someone had witnessed his plea for mercy, and didn't like it.

The class ended. All the students were bruised and battered, without exception. Some clutched their arms or massaged their sore areas. Then, the instructor spoke, looking them straight in the eye.

"All of you...", he paused to sigh, and continued, "disappoint me. I knew you wouldn't succeed in the first test, but I expected more from you." He finished looking at everyone, and then fixed his gaze on the only white-haired boy, and a tone of annoyance escaped his voice.

"You come here!" the instructor ordered, pointing directly at Lincoln. He limped forward, and when he reached the front, he stopped, trying to straighten up as much as he could, though pain made it hard for him to maintain his posture.

"Tell me, what's your name?"

"Lincoln Loud, sir" he replied with as much firmness as he could muster, rendering a military salute. Instructor Otto simply looked at him, and then asked.

"Answer this!: Why did you beg your opponent for mercy?" When Lincoln heard the question, he looked at the instructor's face and saw undisguised anger. This made him swallow hard, and trying to hide his nervousness, he replied...

"I... Tried... Tried to make the enemy let his guard down, sir"

He blurted out the first thing that came to mind, and when he realized what he had said, he would have preferred to be swallowed up by the earth rather than face the instructor's scathing gaze.

To his surprise, the scathing gaze he was receiving suddenly shifted to one of joy and satisfaction, leaving Lincoln utterly bewildered and perplexed.

"Hey, I wanted to ask you something. Is that how you passed the test in the wild zone? Did you beg the beasts not to kill you?" Mr. Otto asked with a hint of humor.

"Ah... No, sir, I didn't beg" he replied with some nervousness.

"Oh, really? Didn't you beg the creature that gave you that scar on your face to stop?"

"No, sir" Lincoln replies, touching the spot where the bat's claws scraped him, recalling that experience.

"Ah, you didn't beg?, hmm... then, why did you do it now?" The white-haired boy didn't know what to say, but before he could utter a word, the instructor delivered a knee strike to his stomach, sending him crashing to the ground as he doubled over and clutched his abdomen with a pained groan.

"Who gave you permission to rest on the ground, Loud?! Are you going to beg me or what?" he yelled with rage as everyone watched.

"You didn't know how to answer me because you didn't want to admit you're a coward, right?" he asked mockingly and continued.

"When you're on the battlefield, your enemy won't play fair. If you're going to beg, then you deserve to die like a fool and a coward. No quarter will be given, no mercy will be shown! This isn't a game, it's about survival!"

After saying those words to Lincoln, he turned to the class and shouted:

"That goes for all of you! Is that clear?! I don't want to hear any of you begging! None of you, while you're here! Was I clear?"

With that said, the entire class responds with a loud "Yes, sir!" Upon hearing the confirmation from his students, his gaze returns to Lincoln.

"And why are you still on the ground? I thought I made it clear that no one rests in my class, Get up now, you filthy vagrant!" With that, Lincoln begins to stand up, still clutching his abdomen where he received the knee strike.

It took him effort due to the pain, and just then, he sees Instructor Otto extending a hand to him.

At first, he hesitated, but eventually agreed. He felt himself being lifted up, but his relief was short-lived. When a fist struck his face, and he fell back to the ground.

The instructor touches his face, then kneels down, moving closer to Lincoln.

"Did you really think I'd help you up? Think, Loud, think". Then he stands up and continues, his voice full of disdain: "Don't expect me to help you, you'll get up on your own. Did you hear me?"

Lincoln doesn't respond, merely nodding. "Good, now get up immediately, or believe me, you'll feel real pain".

With that threat, the injured boy makes an effort to get up on his own, his face contorted in pain and effort.

Once he's finally standing, Instructor Otto orders him to return to his post, then turns to face the senior volunteer students and thanks them for assisting his class. After that, they withdraw.

"You know, because of Lincoln's lack of respect, I'm willing to punish all of you again and make you clean the great hall. But, in the state you're in, you wouldn't be able to clean efficiently. So, this time, you won't clean. However, due to Lincoln's lack of courage, all of you are punished: you won't eat today, tomorrow, or the day after tomorrow."

The instructor finishes, and in response to the punishment, murmurs of incredulity arise, which the instructor immediately silences.

"You must understand this: all of you are in this together. One mistake can cost the group dearly. And fasting for a few days will help you reflect. Well, that concludes our class. You may dismiss and wash your faces, I see a lot of blood."

Lincoln was young, but not foolish. He had already gone through several bad experiences that had taught him how cruel this place was. And now, this new punishment: three days without eating. The reality was inescapable.

"Seriously?", Lincoln thought with genuine frustration. "Are there no laws or human rights here? Is there no law that prohibits this cruel treatment?"

The rest of the day passed without incident, with regular math and history classes. However, Lincoln received scathing glares from his classmates. He didn't blame them; he could understand their resentment to some extent. Something inside him told him that, if not for the injuries from the combat class, they would have physically harassed him, lucky that they couldn't exert themselves much for the rest of the day. Finally, the time came to return to his quarters, where Lincoln could finally rest. Although the pain from the blows made it hard to find a comfortable position, he just longed to sleep and for all this to end once and for all.

XXx

A week had passed since the admission test ended, and Lincoln had been chosen as a commissar. There were no rest days, only tasks and exercises, he couldn't bear it, he just wanted to leave this place, it was worse than a boarding school, not to mention the days he went without eating as punishment. Well, he wouldn't lie if he said he enjoyed some classes, he got to use real weapons, and some of the history classes, and especially the strategy class were fun for him.

He didn't talk much with his fellow comrades, future commissioners, especially Ansel. In fact, Lincoln would sometimes hear him mocking his white hair. He even heard him say once: 'mutant'.

At one point, he too was teased by other kids for his hair color, who laughed at him. It bothered him, but over time he managed to overcome it. He even saw his hair color as something special now, a feature that made him unique. But now, in this place, they were bothering him again for it, reviving memories he thought he'd left behind.

No. He wouldn't let it get to him, not again.

Although he wasn't alone, he still met up with his other comrades during meal times, and they shared some classes together, like history, math, or language. Everyone was present, except Ana. When he asked if they knew anything about her, they replied that they hadn't seen her again since she was taken to serve as a battle sister.

He wondered why he didn't end up with them, why he was chosen as commissar. He considered himself 'the guy with the plan', ideas were his strength, but leading... that was a different story. He had learned it with his sisters: although he had managed to control them to some extent, something always went wrong. He remembered that time he organized a mutiny against Lori. Only for all his sisters to get out of control and force him to release his older sister.

And speaking of his family, Lincoln started a small project to keep his mind occupied. Although it wasn't much, he wanted to take advantage of the scarce free moments he had, especially during his sleeping hour. He got a feather and a sheet, and began to draw. He knew it would be hard to draw someone without a photo, but he trusted his memories. He started to sketch his family, and although it wasn't his best work, it would do for now. It was a way to keep them close, even if only on paper.

Not to mention how he drew using ink and quill. He still found it amusing how, in this future where laser guns were common, they still used quills and ink to write. It was as if they had regressed to the Middle Ages. He found it ironic that, while they advanced in lethal technology, they still used such basic tools to record their thoughts.

Now it was time for exercise classes, he didn't know what they would do, but he just had to endure. As long as it wasn't another fight with a student several years ahead, everything would be fine.

XXX

"Run, and don't stop!" Otto yelled, through a megaphone, from a vehicle in the middle of a straight road.

The class was outside the schola, under the rain, which didn't help improve the mood. It wasn't an intense storm or torrential rain, just a steady drizzle. The exercise consisted of a military jog along the road, holding rifles, and they'd been jogging non-stop for a while. The instructor wouldn't stop yelling, demanding more effort and speed.

"A commissar must lead their troops on the battlefield, and if you can't keep up with your own soldiers, you're useless!" he yelled from his vehicle.

Lincoln was almost at the end of the road, trying not to fall behind, he tried to accelerate. Just then, the officer saw him and approached him with his vehicle.

"What's up, Loud?... Are you tired already? You're not going to beg for a break, are you?" He said the last part with a hint of humor and malice.

He turned to look at him, and through the raindrops, he saw the instructor's malicious smile. Since the combat class where he begged for mercy, he began to notice how the instructor seemed to bother him more than the others, he'd say it was to test him.

Just then, he felt a push and, upon seeing who it was, he discovered it was Ansel. He passed in front of him, looked at him with arrogance and stuck out his tongue. Faced with the instructor's abuse and his classmate's provocation, Lincoln could feel frustration and anger. However, instead of falling behind, he felt a new surge, like a second wind, and began to accelerate his pace, determined not to be outdone.

Lincoln was not typically a competitive person; that was more Lynn's style. However, in this situation, he couldn't afford to fall behind. Perhaps it was the time he spent here, seeing others be more athletic than him, that frustrated him and made him unwilling to lag behind his peers. Or maybe it was the harsh environment that drove him to strive harder. Or maybe he simply didn't want to face unbearable punishment for being deemed incompetent.

Lincoln continued jogging, overtaking Ansel, who accelerated to surpass him. A small competition emerged between them. Instructor Otto watched the scene with amusement. For a while, both runners maintained their pace until they began to falter. Just as they seemed about to stop, Otto, with a malicious smile, began firing near their feet, forcing them to resume the race with greater urgency.

"They'll be able to sit and rest in a vehicle when they're real commissioners! Now, everyone run or I'll have you trotting on your hands!"

After finishing the military jog, they returned inside the school. Now it was time to practice with swords. They reviewed each movement as they had been taught. Then came the time for team training. Instructor Otto chose the groups, and when Lincoln's turn came, he could only contain a sigh of frustration upon seeing who he would have to work with.

"Lincoln Loud, you'll be with Ansel Küttner," Otto said.

Everyone was practicing with their partner. Lincoln tried.

At first, they exchanged blows as they had learned. Then, one had to take a defensive stance while the other attacked with the sword. When Lincoln's turn came to defend, he felt Ansel strike forcefully, trying to break his guard.

"Come on, what's going on? No strength left?"

Ansel goaded Lincoln, striking harder. As the next blow approached, Lincoln swiftly dodged and sidestepped. Ansel's sword hit the ground, nearly making him lose balance. Their white-haired partner spoke up:

"Now it's my turn."

"Not yet."

"I think it is," Lincoln said, trying to appear serious, although he wasn't as upset as he seemed. His expression made him look angrier than he felt, but that didn't mean he was ready for a fight if his partner wanted to take things further.

His annoyed partner agreed to switch from offense to defense. Lincoln began striking, but not as forcefully as Ansel had. This prompted his partner to mock him again.

"Tired already? Your defense sucks, and your attacks are worse!"

Lincoln intensified his attacks, but still struggled. They kept at it, switching to other drills until class wrapped up.

XXX

Lincoln lay in bed, staring at his family drawing. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. He was beat after today's class, like every day.

That was good, being tired would make him sleep without a problem. Would lull him to sleep instantly. Still, he missed his stuffed rabbit, Bun-Bun. Having it back would ease his loneliness at night, allowing more restful sleep. Despite his sisters' teasing, Lincoln openly cherished his childhood companion. He unapologetically cherished the stuffed rabbit. Yet, considering circumstances, its absence might be for the best. They could take it off or worse.

Lincoln's thoughts drifted back to today's class. Did he really dodge that sword? Perhaps his reflexes were improving. He also kept pace with Ansel during their brief sprint.

But remembering his past, he too had done dangerous things or had been pushed to his limits. Surviving in a house with ten sisters was no game, and he also had resilience; he energized his household when his sisters scolded him for making them save electricity when he hadn't. He didn't know why he recalled that moment, but the truth was that it had annoyed him at the time.

Lincoln acknowledged his fault, yet felt resentful toward his peers. He craved acceptance, but they didn't understand his large, chaotic household.

And also, why did they ask to use your house? They don't have a family as large as him. Wouldn't they use less energy?

It didn't matter; he no longer wanted to think about that. He was tired. Now, it was time to rest. He did something he hadn't done in a while; he took off his clothes until he was in his underwear, as that made him feel more comfortable. He lay down on the bed and began to close his eyes.

He would have liked something to drink before sleeping, as his throat felt dry.

...

"Wake up!" echoed through the corridors, followed by an urgent voice: "Everyone, rise quickly!"

Lincoln rose clumsily, still drowsy, and opened his room door. In the hallway, he saw fellow cadets hastily dressing.

Lincoln followed the others, but soon realized he was still in his underwear. Some recruits noticed and laughed. Mortified, Lincoln turned back to dress hastily.

After the embarrassment, Lincoln and the others headed to the gym, finding an obstacle course.

There, they found Instructor Otto standing, visibly displeased.

"Twenty minutes late! What if it was a real attack?" Otto's scowl unnerved the class. "Tardiness disappoints me, but there's more." Tables with glasses behind him sparked curiosity.

"You're here for an evaluation, focusing on resilience and reaction to challenging circumstances."

The instructor approached one of the tables and asked them to gather around. 'Everyone, take a glass and drink,' he commanded."

Each recruit took a glass. Lincoln was among the last. Upon seeing the contents, he noticed a deep red liquid and couldn't help but ask, "Uh, Mr. Otto, what is this?"

"It's a homemade shot, Loud; you'll all drink it."

"Wait, sir, are you suggesting we drink alcohol?" asked Cynthia, a young girl with dark skin and short hair. Her most distinctive feature was the absence of her left pinky and ring fingers. The story behind this loss was a mystery known only to her. A tragic incident had occurred during a test, but nobody dared ask her about it. Those who tried suffered physical repercussions, a silent warning against prying.

"Yes. Is that a problem?" Otto replied.

"Won't we have problems?" another boy asked.

"No, you won't have problems, and consider yourselves fortunate. Many would give anything for a good drink. Although I admit, this isn't our finest liquor; it's just a more accessible version. You recruits won't receive the best, you must earn it."

"What's the point of this?" Ansel asked, earning a near-irritated glance from Instructor Otto.

"Why so many questions? This is an order: drink now!"

"I'm still amazed," Lincoln thought, gazing at the glass. Fear of the instructor and potential punishment compelled him to drink, despite knowing his parents would be appalled. "Children shouldn't consume alcohol; nowhere in the world is it acceptable... except maybe parts of Europe," he reflected, recalling stories.

He was forced to drink the glass's contents, and just as he thought he was spared, Mr. Otto ordered him to take a second, and then another; numerous glasses filled with liquor remained.

Initially, nothing happened. Then, dizziness struck unexpectedly, and the world spun around him. Lincoln wasn't alone; his classmates exhibited intoxication symptoms, stumbling and laughing uncontrollably.

"Hehe, good thing Mom's not here to hip see me like this," Lincoln muttered, struggling to maintain balance.

"Do you know something? I didn't think this was going to happen. Me, drunk, at such a young age... I probably drank before some of my older sisters," Lincoln continued murmuring to himself, with a mix of astonishment and irony.

"Well, well, well. Look who's here, the phenomenon Hip," Lincoln heard, turning to face his arch-nemesis, Ansel.

"Ansel Kugger, don't you have anyone else to bother?"

"Is Kuttner, hip, fool."

"Yes, well, I'm drunk, and I remind you, I'm no phenomenon." Lincoln clarified

"It doesn't matter; you can't fool me," Ansel declared, swaying slightly. "Who do you think you're deceiving? I could knock you down right now." he threatened, though his instability was evident.

"By the way, what kind of name is Lincoln Hip Loud?"

As the two drunkards continued their quarrel, the rest of the inebriated recruits dispersed into chaos. Some spoke incoherently, others wandered aimlessly, and several became lost in thought, consumed by alcoholic stupor.

"Well, it seems they're ready now," Otto said, sipping from one of the leftover glasses.

"Everyone, listen up!" Otto declared in a loud, firm tone. "It's time I brief you on your test."

Everyone gathered around him, striving to focus on his instructions despite struggling with intoxication, their heavy eyelids barely staying open.

"Very well, there's a reason we're gathered in this training room. Your mission is straightforward: divide into two teams and capture the opposing team's flag. However, the path is fraught with obstacles. You'll need to collaborate, devise strategies and execute them precisely to seize the enemy's flag."

"As you can see, on the battlefield, there are no schedules or ideal conditions. You must always be prepared to act. That's why tonight we will simulate a nighttime situation, and considering your... current state, we will evaluate how you respond under pressure and in adverse conditions."

"And to motivate you, let me add this: the winning team will be rewarded with a break, while the losing team... will go without food tomorrow," he said with a cunning smile, allowing the gravity of the consequence to sink in.

After the explanation, Instructor Otto divided the recruits into teams. Lincoln felt relieved not to be paired with Ansel again. He knew he had to win, not only to avoid going hungry but also to avoid the humiliating task of cleaning up the mess and the vomit of his drunken comrades, as that would be another punishment for the losing team.

Instructor Otto distributed wooden sticks as weapons. 'Remember, injuries are possible, but avoid life-threatening ones; you're still valuable assets,' he cautioned with a stern gaze.

The teams formed, tasked with capturing the opposing flag. Each occupied opposite ends of the gym, armed solely with sticks. Lincoln's team flew the red flag, while their rivals bore blue. Color-coded belts, provided by Instructor Otto, distinguished the teams.

After receiving a brief time to prepare, Lincoln tried to plan with his team, but his ideas were ignored. The annoyance and resentment from his teammates over the previous three days of fasting still weighed on him. Additionally, his strange hair generated distrust in some, although the widespread drunkenness prevented this from being a main issue.

Lack of focus and confusion plagued the team, hindering planning. Lincoln realized he faced a two-fold challenge: proving his worth to teammates and defeating the opposing team.

The starting shot fired, signaling the test's commencement. One group would defend their flag while others ventured forth; Lincoln among them.

This wasn't ideal for Lincoln, as he wasn't a skilled fighter, and his current state rendered him ineffective.

"Everyone, stay vigilant; the enemy could be hip lurking nearby," one of the boys warned.

Lincoln was about to speak when a battle cry echoed, and they were ambushed by enemies hidden among obstacles, sparking a fierce skirmish.

Chaos erupted, engulfing Lincoln in turmoil. Sticks clashed, screams echoed, and bodies collided, with some losing restraint.

A teammate of Lincoln's was struck in the stomach, prompting instant retaliation: he vomited on his attacker's face. Others fought mercilessly until they collapsed, exhausted or injured.

The surrounding scene was similarly chaotic: cries, blows and stumbling bodies.

Suddenly, an attacker emerged, poised to strike Lincoln, who froze for a second before fleeing.

His pursuer followed closely, but stumbled over a minor hindrance and collapsed.

Amidst the chaos, Lincoln seized the opportunity to hide behind a nearby wall, but his relief was short-lived as another adversary emerged, ready to strike.

Just in time, someone jumped in, hitting Lincoln's attacker from behind.

"Take that hip" when Lincoln saw his savior he recognized her, it was Cynthia, the girl who was missing two fingers.

"Oh. Thanks for saving my butt!" Lincoln said. "I owe you!"

"Don't get distracted and keep hiccup... Moving forward, we must take the flag" she told him hurriedly.

Lincoln nodded, surveyed his surroundings, and realized the fight continued, albeit disjointedly, as intoxication rendered the scene almost farcical.

The display of errant blows, trips and unintelligible cries would likely evoke amusement rather than concern in any onlooker.

Lincoln swiftly advanced with Cynthia, evading several rivals, but upon turning a corner, he received a blow to the head.

"Oops, sorry," the blond, slender boy apologized before Cynthia's swift retaliation landed on his face.

"Wait, wait, we're on the same team, hip!" Lincoln was hurt and Cynthia saw the guy and recognized him, and if he was indeed one of their group, they were together when they signed up for teams.

"What are you doing here?" Cynthia asked.

"I hid, okay, and when I heard footsteps approaching, I thought it was someone from the opposing team. My heart was racing as I waited, ready to defend myself if necessary." He said this last part somewhat dramatically, though that could've been the alcohol.

"Certainly. If you don't mind, we should capture a flag," Lincoln replied, wincing in pain from the blow to his head.

"Listen, why don't you follow me? I think I know the direction. When I hid, I saw those guys and noted their direction, I can guide you," he said, stumbling.

The two were uncertain, but with limited options, they followed him. As it turned out, he was correct, leading them past opponents and to a guarded path.

"Stop right there!" said the red-haired boy, who had seen them, approached them, and that was his mistake, Cynthia quickly struck him in the stomach with her staff, making him fall to the ground clutching his stomach.

"Hey, why did you hit me? I just wanted to warn you to retreat or I'd shout for help."

"Sorry," Cynthia apologized, watching as the boy writhed in pain on the ground.

Lincoln peeked around and saw that no one was listening to them, now he had to think about how he would get them out of the way and reclaim the flag.

From his vantage point, the flag was invisible, but he knew its general direction due to the rivals guarding the path, among them Ansel.

"Ugh... If only we could drive them off, we'd be able to seize their flag," his partner grumbled.

"Wait, what did you say?" Lincoln asked.

"I said I wish we could get them out of there, but they outnumber us."

"Maybe if we could deceive them... But how?" said his companion Cynthia.

Lincoln gazed at the guards blocking the passage, then shifted his attention to the boy still writhing in pain from the stomach blow, who didn't seem likely to get back up anytime soon. His eyes then landed on the staffs, and that's when a plan began to take shape.

"Remember, don't let your guard down," Ansel warned the group.

Just then, a blond boy from the rival team emerged from the darkness, with a defiant smile on his face. "Hey, listen up! I'm here! Come and face me if you've got the guts!", he taunted with disdain.

The group stared at him, then exchanged glances among themselves.

"Seriously?, What's the catch?" one of the guardian boys asked incredulously.

"Obviously, it's some kind of trick," a girl from the group replied.

"Either way, we're going to teach him a lesson," another boy added.

Just then, the blond boy tried to make a run for it, but his pride vanished when he slipped while turning around. He struggled to get back up, only to find the group surrounding him, ready to take him on.

"Last words," Ansel said with a cruel smile, his gaze piercing the blond boy.

"Uh... Can you let me go?"

The group remained silent, and then the girl spoke.

"No"

After his plea was denied, blows rained down on the blond boy, who covered himself to protect himself. Though they weren't fatal, the pain and humiliation were palpable.

Just when it seemed like the situation couldn't get any worse, one of the boys spotted a suspicious movement. He turned around and saw a girl walking away with the flag, taking advantage of the distraction.

"Hey, she's stealing the flag!", he shouted, alerting his teammates.

Everyone turned around, shocked, and saw the girl walking away with the trophy. Their faces reflected incredulity and anger.

"We've been played," one of them exclaimed, his voice filled with frustration. "I knew something was off about this, but I didn't see it coming."

"You think we're fools? Let's catch her!" Ansel said before kicking the boy on the ground.

"Don't act like the boss," one of them accused before chasing after the girl.

Everyone went after the girl, and no one noticed a strand of white hair hidden among the obstacles.

Cynthia ran with a triumphant laugh, the plan had worked perfectly. "I just need to get as far away as possible," she told herself, her heart racing with excitement.

But her euphoria was interrupted by a wave of dizziness that overwhelmed her. The alcohol was stronger than she thought, and everything around her was spinning.

"There she goes! Catch her!", someone shouted.

Cynthia looked desperately around and saw several recruits from the rival team emerging, their faces determined despite their intoxication. Although some stumbled, others ran steadily towards her, with a resolve that made her feel cornered.

Cynthia abruptly changed direction, trying to lose her pursuers in the maze of alleys. Her intoxication made her stumble, but her survival instinct kept her moving.

Just as she seemed about to be caught, her teammates appeared, ready to defend her. The brief skirmish that ensued allowed Cynthia to make a break for the finish line.

The scene was chaotic: shouts, shoves, and punches mingled with the dizziness and revelry of the night. Cynthia pushed her way through the turmoil, her heart pounding with excitement.

"And then..."

"I've got you!" said a girl who grabbed her legs, as others closed in to pin her down and snatch the flag. She struggled, but it was no use.

"I've got it!" a boy shouted, successfully snatching the flag from her, but someone nearby took the flag to examine it closer and noticed something strange.

"Hey, hip, wait a minute," someone said, and slowly they began to examine the flag and realized something. It wasn't a flag.

"It's a shirt, tied to a stick."

XXX

Martin clutched his stomach, where the girl had struck him with force. The pain and dizziness from the alcohol he had consumed kept him on the ground, but he knew he couldn't stay there. He had to get up and retrieve his shirt, which the white-haired boy had taken

XXX

"Where's the flag then!", a girl shouted, shaking her head to clear the dizziness that was overwhelming her.

Meanwhile, a white-haired boy slipped stealthily along the edge of the group, trying to go unnoticed.

"Look over there!", someone shouted.

Everyone turned around and saw Lincoln holding the flag, his momentary victory.

Upon realizing he had been discovered, Lincoln took off running as fast as he could, with a crowd of rivals hot on his heels. Some of his comrades, loyal and determined, stood their ground against the mob to give him time, forming a protective wall.

They managed to block the way, but one of them managed to break through the defenses.

Victory was within reach, he just had to keep moving forward.

"Halt!" Just then, a figure pounced on Lincoln. It was Ansel.

"Hand over that flag," Ansel growled, as he lunged at Lincoln, trying to wrestle it from his grasp. Lincoln resisted, clinging tightly to the flag. His opponent persisted, and a fierce struggle ensued.

Both of them stumbled, pushing and pulling, each determined not to release their grip. The flag waved wildly in the air, like a trophy in contention.

Slowly but surely, Lincoln was losing the battle. He couldn't let Ansel claim victory, especially not after coming so close to the finish line.

With a supreme effort, he tried to regain the flag, but his strength failed him. Ansel took advantage of his weakness and managed to wrest it from his grasp.

Lincoln felt overwhelmed by frustration and guilt. He knew his recklessness had worked against him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he had failed.

Lincoln's comrades were also in dire straits. The situation seemed hopeless: more enemies arrived every moment, and with the enemy flag recovered, morale had plummeted.

Or so they thought.

Ansel felt a jolt as the flag was ripped from his hands. He hadn't noticed the blond boy sneaking up on him.

It was too late. The blond boy, the same one who had distracted everyone so Lincoln could grab the flag, now smiled triumphantly as he walked away with the trophy.

Ansel stood stunned, his fleeting victory vanishing in an instant.

In an instant, Ansel sprang to his feet, stumbling, and took off in pursuit of the blond boy. The rest of the group joined the chase, creating a chaos of shouts and frantic footsteps.

The race for victory was at its climax. Ansel gained ground step by step, closing in on the boy, who ran with desperation.

Sweat and adrenaline fueled Ansel forward, but it was too late. The blond boy crossed the finish line, exhausted and triumphant.

Ansel arrived too late. Victory slipped away in a sigh.

A shot rang out across the grounds, and then Instructor Otto's voice boomed over the loudspeaker.

"The Red Team wins!"

There was a moment of silence followed by cheers of joy, which was quickly stifled by the instructor.

"Silence!"

The order echoed through the air, and everyone fell silent at once. Yet, joy and excitement still shone brightly on their faces.

"Yes, yes, you won. Congratulations, Red Team," he continued, with an ironic smile. "You can dismiss now and get some rest, but first, go wash up. You smell terrible. Not to mention you have classes tomorrow."

With that, the members of the Red Team began to chatter, with several approaching the blond boy, Cynthia, and Lincoln to congratulate them.

"Hey, I wanted to say great job," Lincoln said, smiling, as he extended his hand to congratulate his teammate. "We did it, thanks to you."

The blond boy smiled, accepting the congratulations. "I couldn't have done it without you, Lincoln. You were key to all this."

Lincoln laughed. "You're the one who retrieved the flag. Not to mention you managed to sneak up without a problem. That was brilliant."

"Yeah, but you came up with the plan, just don't use me as a distraction next time, okay?"

"Of course, no problem."

"Guido"

"Excuse me?"

"My name is Guido."

"Oh, right, thanks Guido," Lincoln said, smiling.

At that moment, Guido gave him a strong slap on the back, full of joy and confidence. However, Lincoln wasn't prepared for it. His stomach, still sensitive from the night's drinking, couldn't take it.

Lincoln doubled over and vomited.

"Oh, sorry, I think I went too far," Guido lamented, concerned.

Lincoln straightened up, still recovering, and looked at Guido with a mix of amusement and pain.

"Next time, warn me before giving me a champion-sized slap," Lincoln said, smiling weakly.

After the Red Team's victory, the winners withdrew, leaving behind the defeated team.

Ansel and his companions stayed behind to clean up the mess, facing the daunting task of eliminating the remnants of the "battle": vomit, scattered sticks, and other debris. And to make matters worse, they wouldn't be eating tomorrow.

"This is the price of defeat," Ansel said, sighing.

"And of alcohol," added another companion, smiling.

Ansel just gave him a tired look, and soon they returned to their task, knowing they had to leave the place in order.

"These kids can't hold their liquor," Otto muttered, shaking his head as he watched the losing team start to clean up.

As he jotted down the results in his report, his gaze shifted towards the winning team, who were leaving the area amidst laughter and celebrations. Among them, Otto noticed the white-haired boy, Lincoln Loud, walking with a triumphant smile, albeit a slightly pale one.

Since his arrival, the young man with white hair, Lincoln Loud, had drawn attention. His appearance sparked curiosity in everyone, from his peers to the instructors and supervisors.

When the time came to take his blood sample, as was standard procedure for all newcomers, the anticipation was palpable. Many expected to find a scientific explanation for his white hair, perhaps a rare gene like the Pariah gene or a mutation. But the results were astonishing: his blood was completely normal, with no anomalies.

That left more than one person perplexed, what could it mean?

Otto wasn't oblivious to the way some of his comrades treated the boy, and he didn't blame them since he had initially thought the same - that Lincoln was some kind of mutant or had a mutant gene in his veins. But he decided to let it be, figuring the boy needed to develop character. After all, some results showed Lincoln didn't excel physically, although his reports and Otto's own observations highlighted positive traits in strategy classes, which could prove useful.

Although if he begged again, he made sure he would suffer a punishment unlike anything he had ever known. Cowardice was not tolerated in the empire.

XXX

Two days had passed since the alcohol tolerance test, but Lincoln still felt the aftereffects. Mild nausea persisted, though he was certain it was just a residual effect.

Lincoln took advantage of this as a break to immerse himself in reading, away from the exhausting training and constant orders from his superiors. The library was his sanctuary, a refuge where he could get lost in books.

The magnitude of the library impressed him. It was enormous, with shelves that stretched up to the ceiling and row upon row of volumes that eclipsed his school's collection. The comparison wasn't even fair; this library was a treasure trove of knowledge.

It was a shame that certain areas were off-limits, as students in general were prohibited from approaching certain sections.

But that didn't diminish the impressiveness of the place. Lincoln took advantage of the opportunity to read some history from a book he found, while searching for information for his exam. And what he read confused him.

He remembered the story told by Inquisitor Balerius, the Emperor's appearance, Horus' heresy, and more. But here, certain parts were omitted or altered. Yes, the inquisitor had mentioned that historical records may not be entirely reliable, but it seemed they simply omitted a lot.

Lincoln furrowed his brow, perplexed. The book made no mention of demons, nor the name of the brave warrior who sacrificed himself for the Emperor. Ollanius. The Horus Heresy seemed to be described in a vastly different manner. Yet, he also recalled the inquisitor's words, that certain information remained hidden from the population.

He remained that way for a while, until it was time to leave. Lincoln followed the group, lost in thought. He was so distracted that he didn't realize someone was standing in front of him until they collided.

"Sorry!" Lincoln exclaimed, looking up.

He didn't know who he expected to see, only hoping not to bother anyone. Lincoln froze, in front of him, a chilling vision left him petrified.

It had been a long time since he had seen a Servo skull, an image that still disturbed him. But this was different. A machine, similar to a robot, stood before him, holding a stack of books in its metallic arms.

But it was when he looked closer that his heart almost stopped. The head, or at least most of it, was human. The eyes, nose, mouth... everything seemed to have been grafted onto a mechanical body, with cables piercing the facial skin.

Lincoln felt trapped in the servitor's gaze. The human eyes, embedded in a mechanical body, watched him without any expression.

The silence lingered until the servitor moved and continued on its way. Lincoln remained frozen, struggling to process what he had just seen.

"Lincoln? Are you okay?" a voice broke him out of his trance.

He turned to his companion, Guido, who was gazing at him with concern.

"Yes, I'm fine... just distracted", Lincoln replied, forcing a smile.

But his mind was still fixed on the servitor, wondering what that creature.

"You were staring at the servitor," Guido said.

"Servitor?" Lincoln asked.

"If you already know what that thing is", Guido gestures towards the walking machine, he just looks at him and then asks:

"Do you mean the... Machine?" Guido gives him a strange look, and then replies, "Uh, no, it's a servitor. Haven't you ever seen one before?"

"Oh, yeah, I saw one recently."

"Uh, hey, shouldn't we get going? We're running late." Lincoln quickly changes the subject. Guido nods, remembering their next class, and they take off.

Lincoln felt a chill run down his spine and just wanted to get out of there.

XXX

Days blended together in an endless blur of exercises and tasks. Lincoln felt his energy dwindling, but he refused to give up.

For days, alongside hundreds of fellow comrades, they attended solemn masses in honor of the Emperor God. The grand cathedral was packed with faithful seekers of the Lord of Humanity's guidance and protection.

The Emperor's statue, majestic and serene, towered over the altar. Its tranquil face seemed to gaze upon each of the attendees, while grasping the sword that symbolized his power and authority.

Lincoln stood firm in line, recalling the lesson learned. A recruit had been struck with a rod on the back for not standing straight enough.

As the instructor approached, Lincoln tensed up, ensuring he maintained perfect posture.

As he walked by, Lincoln let out a sigh of relief, but his respite was short-lived.

"Don't relax!" an instructor yelled, as his fist slammed into Lincoln's face.

Lincoln's head spun to the side, and his vision blurred for an instant.

"You should be ashamed to sigh in the middle of formation. Look at the Emperor! Do you think he sighs, considering the great sacrifices he makes for us every day?"

He remembered that and since then made an effort to stifle his sighs on such occasions.

Days ago, Lincoln and his class were on the training field, under the relentless sun. Their mission was clear: assemble a weapon in under eight minutes.

The instructor gave them final instructions on how to assemble it.

There were also nearby explosions and gunfire to distract them, but that wasn't the main concern - the reason they had to finish in under eight minutes was that those who didn't would be beaten by older students, who waited eagerly for time to run out.

Currently, Lincoln and his class were engaged in armory and maintenance work.

Lincoln dragged himself, exhausted, with heavy boxes in his arms. Guido had helped before, but now he was alone. Since the test where he got drunk, Guido was one of the few people in his class he still spoke to.

His mind was cloudy, his body aching. All he wanted was to drop the boxes and rest.

Besides being nervous, something recent was also weighing on him, triggered by the sudden news from Mr. Otto.

They were told that as commissioners, they would be evaluated to determine who would be sent to other worlds. It was a common practice for commissioners to be sent to other planets at a certain age as part of an exchange program. But Lincoln didn't want to leave. Perhaps there wouldn't be much difference in treatment or food, but he felt a strong attachment to this place, and his friends would be another reason to stay.

He hoped to stay, at least until his sister came to take him out of this place.

"Stop thinking like that and focus now," he ordered himself, trying to shake off the anxiety.

Exhausted, he found a secluded spot and sat down, ignoring the risk of getting in trouble if he was discovered.

For now, he just needed to rest, even if only for a little while. He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes and breathed deeply, letting the silence envelop him.

"Doesn't it seem a bit early to be resting?"

Lincoln's eyes snapped open, and he found himself face to face with an imposing figure. It wasn't Instructor Otto, but someone far more authoritative.

Standing before him was the Head Instructor of the Schola, Mr. Okenred Pock. His presence was intimidating, and Lincoln felt his heart racing.

"Y-yes, sir," Lincoln stuttered, as he stood up firmly and executed a perfect military salute.

His heart pounded forcefully, but he maintained his composure, awaiting Mr. Pock's reaction.

The head instructor watched him for a moment, his face impassive. Then he continued

"A young recruit taking a secret break is a serious offense," Mr. Pock said with a firm and authoritative tone, without needing to raise his voice.

His low, controlled voice resonated with a gravity that made Lincoln shudder.

"Do you know what this implies?" Mr. Pock asked, his gaze piercing.

Lincoln felt nervous, fearing punishment.

"A physical punishment, sir? Or...?"

Mr. Pock took one step closer.

"May I know your name, recruit?"

"Lincoln Loud, sir," he replied firmly.

"Answer me, Lincoln," Mr. Pock demanded, his voice firm and decisive. "Who gave you the right to rest? Or what reason did you have to take a break without permission?"

Lincoln felt cornered, searching for a response that wouldn't sink him further.

"N-no one, sir," he stammered. "I felt tired and just needed a moment..."

Mr. Pock interrupted him, his brow furrowed.

"A moment", he repeated. "A moment that could cost you your place at the Schola. Do you realize the gravity of your actions?"

"Yes, sir, I'm very sorry," Lincoln said, with his head down and his voice filled with remorse. "I... know I didn't do right, but... I'd been carrying boxes for a while and I just couldn't anymore. I thought if I rested just for a bit, I could keep going better afterwards."

Mr. Pock observed him, his expression severe at all times.

"Continue," he said finally, at which Lincoln was encouraged to go on.

"I wanted to do it right, sir. I didn't want to fail. But my body couldn't take it anymore. I felt weak and... and I didn't know what to do."

"You gave up long before the real battle even began, Loud," he said, causing the young man to lift his head. "In war, taking a break like that can cost the lives of many, if not thousands. Do you understand what I'm saying?" Before the young man could respond, someone shouted.

"Loud! Come here, if you're resting...", Mr. Otto shouted, but his voice trailed off abruptly when he saw Mr. Okenred.

His expression changed from irritation to respect instantly.

"Mr. Okenred, what brings you here?" he asked, approaching with a mix of curiosity and caution.

Mr. Okenred turned to him, his face impassive. "I'm evaluating young Lincoln. I was on my way to the supply room to attend to a matter, although I admit I took a detour," Okenred replied.

"Didn't this young whelp give you any trouble?" Otto asked.

Lincoln felt fear take hold of him, anticipating the yelling and punishment that was to come. Under Mr. Okenred's stern gaze, he felt defeated, his spirit crushed by the brutality that reigned at the Schola.

He flinched slightly, bracing for the blow or rebuke that could alter his fate. His heart pounded fiercely, and his mind filled with dark thoughts.

"Not at all," Mr. Okenred said. "In fact, young Loud was working when I encountered him, and I struck up a conversation."

Lincoln lifted his head, his face clearly perplexed. Had Mr. Okenred just covered for him? He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I shouldn't be interrupted, sir," Otto said, his voice firm but respectful. "My recruits are in the middle of their work right now."

Mr. Okenred nodded, understanding. "You're right, which is why this young man will not only return to work immediately, but also do a set of push-ups as compensation after finishing his task, what do you say?"

"Sounds good," Mr. Otto said, nodding. "And you, what are you staring at? Get back to loading those crates, now!"

Lincoln startled, remembering his task. He quickly sprang into action, lifting the crates with renewed energy.

Mr. Okenred watched Lincoln for a moment, then turned to Otto.

"Tell me, Otto, have they taken the drunken test yet?"

"Yes, as usual it was a disaster," Otto replied with a wry smile.

Mr. Okenred also smiled, sharing the humor.

"Well, if I may ask, what was I talking to that boy about?"

"Nothing important, just asking him some questions to assess him. How's this boy's development coming along?"

"Hmm, so far he's not exceptional in anything, just average classes, and in strategy classes, he did help his team win during the drunken state test. Nothing remarkable, though. Oh, and according to the interrogation reports from his peers during the test, he and his plans did help the group on a few occasions."

"I see," Okenred muttered to himself.

"Very well, it doesn't matter. I'm busy and these recruits have more work to do."

"I understand, Otto. Carry on with your work. My evaluation is complete," Mr. Okenred said. "Make sure these recruits continue with their training and hard work. We need more soldiers, and we need them battle-ready."

Otto nodded firmly.

"Sir," Otto bid farewell, turning sharply and departing with military precision.

Mr. Okenred watched him depart, his expression impassive. Then, he checked his watch and nodded to himself.

He too had somewhere to be. With a brief gesture, he turned and headed towards his destination. As he walked, Okenred thought about the white-haired boy, hoping he hadn't made a mistake by covering for him.

Lack of discipline is a luxury they can't afford, Okenred thought. The empire faces enemies who surpass us in many ways. To survive, we must bring out the maximum potential in these recruits.

In his mind, he recalled the bloody battles and horrors they had faced. The need for rigorous training and iron discipline was crucial.

The methods may be harsh, but they are necessary, Okenred reminded himself. However, he acknowledged that, on occasion, only on rare occasions, they could be excessive for minor infractions.

The young man, though immature, deserved compassion. After all, no one is perfect, only the Emperor comes close to perfection.

A flicker of nostalgia crossed his mind. He remembered when, in his youth, he had taken unauthorized breaks as a newly arrived recruit. But with time, he learned to be responsible and understand the duty to improve.

The duty to improve is a path that each must walk, Okenred thought. He had learned it himself, and now it was the boy's turn. That's why he showed mercy to Lincoln, just this once. He gave him a chance to learn the meaning of duty.

But Okenred also knew that indulgence had its limits.

"If he doesn't learn and continues to act like a slacker...", his thought turned resolute. "I won't show mercy. I'll correct him with force, and that Loud boy will wish he'd never been born."

Everyone will serve the empire, one way or another.

XXX

Time passed, and the days turned into a succession of grueling and exhausting trials. Lincoln lay in his bed, surrounded by the darkness of night.

Despite his body crying out for rest, his mind wouldn't let him. His head was filled with thoughts, and above all, weariness and frustration.

With the days leading up to the initiation test counted down, that night officially marked one month since his arrival at the Schola Progenium.

A month, barely a whisper compared to the years he was supposed to spend at the Schola Progenium. Yet, Lincoln couldn't take it anymore. The exhausting work, constant testing, and awful food had pushed him to the limit.

But he had to be patient. He knew his sister Lisa was working on something to get him out of there. Although their relationship wasn't perfect, Lincoln trusted that she would help him.

Despite the arguments and disagreements, Lincoln knew that deep down, his sisters loved him just as he loved them, and he wasn't perfect either. They might cause trouble, but they also worried about him, like when they fussed over him as if he were ill when he'd only hurt his finger. ONE FINGER.

They couldn't leave him there, "They can't leave me here!" He raised his voice, echoing through the empty room. Anger and frustration erupted in a sudden outburst.

Fortunately, he was alone in the room, since his sudden outburst would have drawn unwanted attention.

Lincoln collapsed onto the bed, his breathing ragged. "Lisa, please," he whispered, "I need you to get me out of here."

He began to think and recall all the events that had led him to this place. From his arrival, to the cell, and then to the Schola.

He remembered the mental process of the inquisitor, who forced him to learn a new language quickly and efficiently, although with some headaches. Then came the survival test, the fear and adrenaline that coursed through his veins.

Lincoln's mind turned to the instructor who had pushed him to his limits, and to the Schola Progenium, where suffering and discipline had become his reality.

And with all that came questions. Why him? Why did he end up exactly there? Was there a purpose, after all?

He remembered his encounter with Instructor Okenred some time ago, how he had taken pity on him and covered for him.

Then his mind began to go back further to the time he was with Balerius.

("Listen, in life we must make choices we don't want to, but we know are necessary. It's something we must learn to live with and accept. Over time, you'll see it can be the best option. I know you didn't intend to end up here, but you did, and here we are.")

That snippet of conversation came back to him, and then another memory surfaced.

("You believe your sister can rescue you from this place, fine, maybe you're correct. But I don't think it'll happen overnight, and wouldn't it be more productive to use that time to make yourself useful somehow? Not just for your own benefit, but for others as well?")

His sister would be late, she had hinted as much, but he also remembered the other part: "Being useful?"

Lincoln was someone who wanted to help, always brainstorming plans and seeking ways to be useful. Yet, he found himself in a place where survival was a challenge, and he was aware that the advice of a child like him might not be of much use in a grand battle. To make a real impact, he would need years of experience and growth.

And, moreover, there was the matter of the divine vision that had led him there, to that school. The Emperor himself had revealed it to the inquisitor that night, but was it truth or just manipulation, or mere delirium? Lincoln still didn't know what to make of it. He was plagued by doubt and uncertainty.

"Was that... the reason?" Lincoln got out of bed and walked to the window, still wearing his uniform, having only removed his boots and gloves. After what happened the last time he slept in his undergarments, he had decided not to make the same mistake again. No matter how uncomfortable it was.

The immense blue moon shone outside the window, illuminating the urban landscape with an ethereal light. The silhouettes of buildings stood out in the distance, creating a breathtaking view. Lincoln marveled once again at the alien moon's grandeur, whose beauty had captivated him since his arrival.

There, Lincoln began to reflect on his situation. The vision that spoke of a purpose in that place, was it reality or a delusion? And what if it were true? Perhaps he had a role to play, like a chosen one in a larger story. Though, of course, he didn't see himself as the center of the universe, but rather as a small piece in a larger puzzle.

The people here are very different from where I come from, thought Lincoln, the humanity here is so... Cold.

That's how he saw his stay here, until now he had only seen one side, the military side. But then he remembered the server, the image of that being or thing looking at him with an empty gaze. Just remembering it sent shivers down his spine. Others had seen it too, like Guido, but they hadn't shown as much disgust or terror as he had.

"Was it because they were already used to seeing such things? Were they so desensitized in this time that these things were normal, even before entering this schola?" Lincoln wondered if the others' indifference was a result of constant exposure to violence and cruelty.

How long would it take before he got used to this place? Or, worse still, what if he never got used to it? The idea of adapting to a place where violence and cruelty were the norm was terrifying.

In other words, they threw children to their fate, to a trial, in a wild zone, full of beasts and other dangers.

But not everything was so cold and dark. Despite the cruelty surrounding him, Lincoln had found companions with whom he had formed genuine friendships. And during rest hours and lunch, he saw students laughing and chatting with each other, just like someone from his time would. Even the older students, who had likely gone through even tougher experiences than his own, showed joy.

Maybe he has a true purpose to fulfill here. Maybe he can't get used to this place, but he'll try. His friends like Rubén, Harold, and Kron move forward, why can't he do the same?

He also remembered what Okenred said.

("You gave up long before the real battle even began, Loud,")

Give up? No, it wasn't an option. This place was cruel, he didn't deny it, and if he could leave, he would do so without hesitation. But it seemed he couldn't escape soon. However, he was persistent, always had been the kid who pushed forward with his plans. So, if there was a vision where he had a purpose here, he would show these people how he would make it happen.

Several thoughts passed through Lincoln's mind. But he would leave them for later.

Finally, Lincoln lay down again, ready to face another day. His struggle continued, but he was determined to move forward. As he drifted off to sleep, for some reason his last thought was a small hope: that in this place, where everything seemed so cruel, they might celebrate Christmas or some other holiday, and thus enjoy a moment of joy and peace.

XXX

And so time passed, days turned into weeks, weeks into months. At some point, Lincoln officially turned twelve, but no one noticed. There was no celebration, no gifts. In this place, only one thing mattered: survival. Other trials came and went, but the time had come for Lincoln to prove whether he was truly special here.

Before I answer some questions, I'd like to say a few things.

Originally, this episode was going to be even longer than the previous one, but I decided to split it.

You've already seen Lincoln as a commissar; believe me, when I started this story, I struggled to decide what to make him. Something I should mention to those who expected Lincoln to be a Space Marine: my goal is to put Lincoln through wild situations and adventures. Maybe it will become something more in the future.

I have an idea for Lincoln that will help him, and it's not something common, but I might not use it. We'll see how it goes.

Look, I'm trying to develop Lincoln's character, and I know that might take time. But my intention is not to spend the next ten chapters in the Schola Progenium. Focusing the entire story on that place is not my goal.

One thing I've tried to avoid since I started reading fanfics is that I've seen many stories, whether crossovers or characters placed in abnormal situations or witnessing things they've never seen before, and they assimilate everything so quickly, or the writer doesn't show their reactions, or simply omits it. I've seen this in many stories and I try to avoid it.

Also, in this episode, a female character named Cynthia appears. Just to clarify, no, she is not Lincoln's future love interest.

The laser pistol was indeed powerful; I admit I didn't fully utilize its potential in the fish scene, except when it blew the fish's eye out. As for the giant reptile, its skin was thick, I wanted to make that clear. The weapon could have helped against the bats, but Lincoln lost it prematurely.

And PD: no one asked about the reason why Lincoln found a bullet in his canned food in the previous chapter.

eduardo.bettin26: I'm glad you enjoyed the episode. If Heather was manipulative, her death could have been cruel, but she could have also caused problems for the team. And to answer your question, no, I don't plan on writing a separate story where the Louds react to this one; if someone wants to do it and likes it, go for it.

SupremeDarkTrooper: thanks for the advice. I actually re-watched Avatar: The Last Airbender to get some ideas, though it's on hold for now. Regarding food, you're right that the galaxy is vast. Personally, I believe certain foods like pancakes or ice cream should exist on some planet, but I wouldn't be surprised if they're hard to access. There's decent food on Thel Amar, Lincoln just doesn't know it yet.

kingbean777205: thanks

I read your criticism of the laser weapon, above there I left the reason, why it would not be as effective against the giant reptile and how it could have been more useful but Lincoln lost the weapon

¡Oh, Owen: very Thanks

That's all for now. Don't forget to comment and share your opinion.