The Academy—it didn't know a name more unique; for one, it was the only one of its kind; and duly, what it represented was famous enough that merely saying these two words together invoked the right imagery. All of Bridgehead's finest had to pass through The Academy if they wished any role within HAF (Humanity's Armed Forces), and all those who wished high ranks had to pass through Ardmore: a woman who was the last of her kind, grandfathered in, if you will, as the company of Bridgehead motioned that the opposite sex would not be recruited going forward so as to preserve the endangered species of man.

Five buildings of red and blue colour scheme made up this school—two long rectangles on the left and two on the right, and at an angle to their neighbour so they formed a double arrow pointing towards the administration head—a building similar to an obelisk with a wraparound deck at the tip to survey the grounds. Beyond the main five, the campus' allotted space stretched for another ten barren acres, but at this present stage of the academy's infancy, all structures were concentrated northwest in anticipation of future progress. These structures included an armoury, a garage, a landing zone, and two training domes—barriers hermetically sealed and regularly impregnated with advanced filtering so the inhabitants of the fish bowls could breathe during their drills. The shielding, however, did not protect the cadets from the heat it magnified.

Inside Training Dome 1, fifty recruits were circuiting the edge of their confines for no purpose other than to inflict pain on their bodies and impress their masters outside.

A convoy of armoured limousines, the elite of the city, cruised past the bubble to marvel at their growing strength, each recruit—another thew in Bridgehead's arm. They parked before the west entrance, whereupon HAF troopers promptly exited their vehicles to march for the head of the procession and unlatch the door of the most prominent limousine.

Boots of solid black—the cow leather glistening under the alien sun—stamped the foreign soil, leaving behind a footprint more boastful than Armstrong's. The side of every flat palm rocketed to the visor-shielded foreheads of the escorts in line as General France Ardmore, a man worthy of her surname, strutted past them all with a back so straight it counterintuitively leaned away from her headed direction. She carried a face strained from all the times she judged the world, and on this day, she was no different. Her heading was the archway leading into the vestibule that hissed its greetings as it served up to her a cocktail of breathable air.

Meanwhile, the academy's head instructor of silver hair "set the tables" by hollering the main course into formation. An unintelligible bellow, and the cadets of peak condition turned all together to face the entryway with a collection of stamps that fired off as one. Another holler, and legs spread out and arms hid behind backs, followed by heads turning and feet scooching until each recruit fanned out from their neighbour, broadening the formation. Properly prepared, the rows of fit men now awaited inspection from their maître d.

Drawing in a satisfied inhale, Ardmore stood to take in the fledglings yet to be served on the field of battle. The instructor marched over and offered his salute. "General Ardmore."

"At ease."

His stiff arms returned to resting position. The man was close to exiting his thirties, but his physique was not. His rectangular face was chiselled from experience, where it resembled the enigmatic statues of Roman generals, having a timelessness in appeal that Ardmore did not possess. "We are honoured to have you here today, General."

"Colonel Daniyels—or should we now say 'Headmaster'? How'ya likin' the new position?"

"I'm honoured to train the future, ma'am."

She snorted. "Putting you in charge of the future… I'm sure that won't come back to bite us in the butt…" Ardmore took the moment to glance around at those who were under his wing. "And you don't find the role too demanding?"

"Every challenge is an opportunity to improve myself."

"Where'd you pull that? Your last AA meeting?"

Only the cropped threads of his silver hair fluttered as his body absorbed the invisible blow.

"You're right…" she said insidiously. "That was low of me. After all, you learned your lesson. And now you've got less lives to worry about this time around—just training some wet wipes. Would do it myself…" she remarked as she began her way down the line-up. "But I don't have the luxury. Bridgehead's demanding all of it. Don't even give me the time to do my own nails." She flicked her hand Daniyels' way.

"I wouldn't know the feeling," he opted to say.

She stopped a few paces short of a face set rigidly forward; his eyes were right on her, yet he wasn't looking at her.

"So this is the first year's crop, huh?"

"Our top fifty."

"They look like a bunch of Marys," she commented, and Daniyels expressed his devastation in the way a muscle twitched near his left brow.

With her signature blank expression, Ardmore zeroed in on the next one in line, always sending her victims into imperceptible agitation. She planted herself audaciously one foot away from a pair of green irises, the owner outwardly holding up under the onslaught of proximity, each waft of her breath tightening his already burning skin. Her foot turned, and she continued down the line-up, the trajectory of her eyes veiled by the shadow of her flat-top cap.

"You should all be proud. You are the elite students of this academy—our first line of defence in ensuring humanity's future. The survival of our species…" She paused her walk. "Rests on your shoulders, gentleman. Don't let us down."

She scanned the young and strapping men of today who were to become the rugged and scarred men of tomorrow or, more likely in her mind, the next thing on some titanic beast's menu. Her stride resumed but slowed to match the pace of her speech.

"You will be tortured. You will be starved. You will be ripped in half if necessary—anything to prepare you greenies for what you'll experience out there." Her finger pointed in a random direction, and it would always be in the direction of Hell. "The banshee has a bite force of eighteen thousand newtons. The thanator?—sixty-eight thousand. The hammerhead weighs over sixteen f***ing tons. Think about that when you're out there in the jungle. You're the food chain equivalent of bubble gum at the bottom of a shoe. If any of you somehow survive Pandora…" She ceased before her designated aim. "You certainly won't survive me."

Spider returned her gaze, the only one in the entire line to do so, his expression as calm as his glazed eyes were burning.

"We've got a maverick in this group, gentlemen. Allow me to introduce you all to Cadet Socorro—our Hero of Bridgehead. And you know why? Why, he not only engaged a Na'vi terrorist but ended the fight without a scratch. And his opponent?—dead at his feet. Socorro saved the lives of a dozen people, including his guardian family. Very impressive what you did, Miles. Never known anyone to kill a Na'vi in a one-on-one."

He remained silent.

"What's the matter, Socorro? Cat got your tongue?"

"I was only protecting—" His voice faltered, but he retained his composure. "Protecting the people."

"And you did a fine job at that. But you still have a long way to go. That Na'vi wasn't going to last long on weak air," she chuffed in mockery. "You had the advantage. You're going to have to work a lot, lot harder to take on someone that big again—there won't be any handicaps next time."

The tension was fit to snap.

"You think you can repeat that victory?"

"I will do my best, ma'am."

"Colonel?" Ardmore called without shifting her sight.

The instructor came over and clapped his heels.

"See to it Socorro, here, is not given any preferential treatment due to his status. Wouldn't want him going soft on us."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Alright." She stepped back. "Show me what they can do."

Waiting all morning for this moment, Daniyels roared command after command to the prepared students. On his harsh bellows, they broke up, moved out, marched this way or shuffled that, each reaction of the recruits—concise and on time to the cryptic directions only they could interpret.

Left face!—Spider did. Ready arms!—Spider did. He didn't miss a beat as he held his weapon in salute to Ardmore—her heart in his scope—as she stood and watched, parrying his narrowed eyes. Present arms!—Spider did. Slope arms!—Spider did, returning his weapon to being slung off the shoulder. Right face!—Spider did. Forward march!—Spider did, and the cadet was distanced from his smirking target by the inescapable commands controlling his every action, another cog in the machine but with thoughts of another scheme.

Lunch was served at thirteen hundred hours in the mess hall located in the far left wing of The Academy's arrowhead. Here, the aforementioned recruits ate through their anxiety of having just performed a drill before one of Bridgehead's most important military figures. Their mess of scrambled yellow hash disappeared in the blink of an eye as the cadets simply inhaled, not wasting time chewing so they could prattle on about how nervous they were.

"My palms were sweatin' a storm. I thought I was gonna fling my rifle," exhaled Foxy.

"So thaaat's what I'm smelling," Jojo snarked. He didn't bother with a utensil but put the tray to his lips and tipped. When Foxy tipped it more, all of it went down his shirt.

"Saving it for later?"

Jojo shot forward to snatch Bear's tray, but the heavyweight was surprisingly quicker, pivoting on his seat and making a show of eating while tolerating his friend, who was still reaching across the table to smack his turned back.

"Should I risk hanging out with you rejects again, or have I learned better by now?" commented Dodger as he stood right behind them with his tray of food.

A spoon dangled off of Sike's nose. "You're just in time to get more demerits."

"Yippee," he replied, and the standing man scooted in next to his squad mates to commence lunch.

Foxy cocked a curious lip at Dodger. "So where's your Friendly Neighbourhood Spider-Man?"

"Pardon?" he asked, spoon halfway to his mouth.

"Mr. One-on-one."

"I just initiated the invite. It's up to him if he wants to come back," he said after swallowing.

"Thought you'd at least be keeping tabs—Hey, wait—" Foxy did a discrete whistle and jostled Dodger by the shoulder. "There he is. Ready to make the same mistake twice?"

On the other side of the crowded mess hall, in the shadows cast by the bars of the wraparound windows, stood the famous cadet. He was searching out a table with an empty seat, preferably one with many other empty seats.

Jojo got up on his chair and did a very obnoxious wave. "Hey Spider, yoo-hoo! Over here!"

"What's with you guys?" Dodger asked, confused by their sudden eagerness.

"We were talking this morning, and Bear made a good point. Tell him your point, Bear."

"We think he could be good luck. Like, if we hang out with him more, his five-tier status will rub off on us."

"If that's what you guys are after," the man in question remarked as he sat down, "you can have it."

"What's the matter, Spider? You're elite now, brother. You should appreciate the good juju you got going for yourself."

"You're 'Bear,' right?"

"That's right." He smiled, delighted to have been remembered.

"Then, listen, Bear. Take it from someone who knows. It's all s***."

Awkward lip working or side-eyes mixed with blinks was the only response the boys could give.

"Easy for you to say…" Sike eventually said under his breath, scraping his fork around his food.

Foxy scrunched his mouth in disapproval. "You know, maybe us three-tiers wouldn't understand, but, uh, what's a guy with your privileges got to bitch about?"

"I don't know, maybe the hundred-foot wall surrounding all of us?"

"That's to keep enemies out."

"And us in," he chuffed back. "We're all just prisoners here," he mumbled before downing a bite.

Dodger felt vindicated. "See, fellas? I made a good call. Doesn't let power go to his head."

"Yeah, he's slumming it with us rejects," Jojo echoed in agreement.

"You wouldn't be rejects if you tried harder to get in the top fifty."

"F*** off."

"How are you guys 'rejects'?"

Jojo smirked at their new acquisition. "I twitch and sniff too much."

"That's…bad?"

"It is according to my vovó," he laughed.

"'What's a vovó'?"

"Jojo's grandmother. They share a space," Bear answered with his mouth full.

"My only family I got left."

This caught Spider's attention. "You lost your family?"

"We all did. It was my vovó who carried me in a sling across her back and trekked a whole mountain to get us to a refugee camp. She had to nab me from under my sh***y parents' eyes. They didn't care about all the warnings, so she snuck into my room one night, slapped my hip and whispered, 'Vamos!' Our home was bombed a week later…" Reflection had the cadet briefly stall on mournful thoughts until he realized it was noticeable. "So now we're here. I was defrosted—got her defrosted too—only this time, I'm doin' the providing."

"Defrosted?"

"Waking up outta cryo? You specify if you got family in pods, and that automatically unlocks them from hypersleep."

"That's how it works?" Spider asked.

"That's how it works," Dodger elaborated. "It's to keep families together and not create time paradoxes. But even now, there's still tons of people in cryo—not projected to wake up a century from now."

Jojo made a face at the thought. "S***, that'd be weird. Imagine remembering the apocalypse like it was yesterday, but it's ancient history to everyone else."

Foxy, the gossip of the group, opened his mouth to say something, but the opportunity was seized by Dodger again. "They're trying to lessen that gap so the wait's shorter, but the city's only so big. It's why they want to build more."

Putting the pieces together, Spider then asked, "So how come you guys were defrosted early?"

"We're 'able-bodied men'," Foxy quoted sarcastically. "All the people down here?—either super-intelligent scientists or regular Joes because they're related to guys who can be drafted."

"Like yours truly. You see this inky mug?" Jojo used his hand to bring attention to his face. "Something I 'acquired' during the nine years we were stuck in camps. There was never enough to eat except for the gangs who knew how to fight to get what they want. These tats should've automatically disqualified me from the academy, but because I got all this sweet muscle…" He then blew kisses to his assets.

"Yeah… It's all about use," Dodger admitted with no pride. "It's why you were woken up too and, in your case, since you had no family, assigned a guardian one."

Spider hid his ignorance with a head bob.

He continued. "Jojo and I were both kids when the End of All Wars hit. He was four, and I was about five. For me, it was my crazy mom who got me into one of the camps."

"So camps are…?"

"Boy, this guy really remembers nothing…"

Spider thought fast. "My… My memory is really bad…"

"Yeah… You wouldn't be the first guy to have amnesia after cryo," Sike unintentionally corroborated. "I wish I could forget everything…"

Dodger read between the lines of his comrade's melancholy, recounting himself what he was forced to endure at the tender age of five. "They were called 'Savior Camps,' ironically. Crowded, depleted, smelly… Being woken this early, I've had time to build new memories, unlike others. Helps with distancing from the pain."

"We're lucky, in a way." Bear shrugged. "We don't know what we lost. I never really knew what Earth was like before the war. I only remember the fallout…" To keep himself from drifting, he thought of his anchor. "I promised my three sisters I would do anything I could to keep us alive until the RDA made good on its promise."

"I guess I was lucky too…" Foxy regaled with delicacy. "My family was given a boarding ticket to the Xenogenesis Fleet right after completion. Then again, like Dodger said, it's all so recent. I've only had two years down here. You can call it a prison, but it's a step up from where we came from."

"Compared to Earth? This is a paradise," Jojo proclaimed in earnest.

Sike expressed his usual joie de vivre. "It's amazing what the human body can get used to. I choose to think of it like this—thanks to cryo, I preserved my handsome looks. I was born June 30th, 2142."

Bear counted on his hands. "Whoa, you're actually thirty?"

Their leader smirked. "Yeah, this is where those time paradoxes come in…" Dodger thumbed around while looking at Spider. "I'm the youngest, but because I was greenlit right away, I'm now the oldest."

"Okay, okay. Everyone shut up. I got something to share now. I heard one guy was left to sleep by his family on purpose, and now he's years apart from them," Foxy whispered.

"Holy s***, that's nasty. How does something like that even happen?" Jojo asked.

"The dad lied. Heard he was a brain, so that's why he was summoned. And then he just 'didn't remember' the kids he didn't want. When the city finally caught wind, it was too late. The RDA doesn't want us to think about it, but the whole system is bugged s***. I mean, what if your family hates you?"

Dodger had genuine sympathy for the stranger. "How do you know about this kid, Foxy?"

"He attends the academy. Couldn't give you a name—picked it up from some teachers' gossip."

"Speaking of gossip…" Sike teased, having latched onto the perfect segue. "Have you third-graders heard about the latest Na'vi attack?"

"Aww, yeah. Give us the deets," Jojo urged.

The showman wiped his hands with a napkin, having finished his meal, and commenced. "This is coming to you right from the mouths of our moonlighting brothers—heard it before the match. Oh, that reminds me, Bear. You lost, so I'll be expecting payment soon."

"S***"

Jojo rolled his eyes. "C'mon, man, just get on with it."

"Alright, here goes. The baboons have gone guerilla. Last month they took down four Wasps—stripped the whole things naked. No survivors. Just charred corpses thrown into a pile."

The account made everyone wince with dread, while Spider's brows only knitted. "That doesn't sound like the Na'vi."

"What do you mean it doesn't sound like the Na'vi? They're brutal."

"They don't burn bodies. It's against their belief. They let the dead decompose so it feeds the land."

Stares were the responses before Dodger suggested, "Maybe they're adapting?"

"Oh, they're adapting all right," Sike kept going, "Say goodbye to those Hell's Gate monkeys. Sully clearly ain't f***ing around no more."

"What's his beef with us anyways? Hasn't he already gotten his revenge?"

Spider went very quiet.

"If you kids are referring to the Tree of Souls battle…" Sike clacked his fork methodically. "Let me be the one to enlighten you. Guess who was leading the charge during the blackout raid?"

Foxy had no clue. "Who?"

"Mary Queen of Scots—Your mother! It was Jake Sully, you idiot!"

The others gasped. "It was him again?!"

Spider did not attempt to interrupt any of the information that was freely flowing, for he had always been so hung up on his side of events from that night that he never considered Jake had come in direct response to his mistake—he wouldn't expect anything less from the man he knew he was. But Spider couldn't buck the bitterness that the devoted father's rescue did not include him.

"Does that mean he had something to do with The Blackout?"

"I asked every buddy in HAF, even squeezed some of my connections on the outside, and the verdict's the same—those numbers were impossible to arrange unless the man knew ahead of time that something was going down."

"Just like how all those animals knew to attack the RDA when they tried to bomb that tree. Even now, we don't have an explanation for it except… Well…" Foxy trailed off.

"That this Eywa business isn't some superstition?" Dodger finished.

"A real-life earth goddess protecting her children…" Bear said to himself as he bobbed in agreement. "That's some cool s***. I kinda believe it."

"What? Bear, you louco?"

"I dunno. Maybe's it's because I have three sisters. I understand her motivation."

"And that's good on you, brother," Jojo complimented, reaching across the table for a fist bump.

"Nah, nah. Nope." Sike shook his head. "I've seen way too much s*** to believe in some altruistic higher power. She ain't real."

"I know how we can settle this. Let's ask the Na'vi aficionado. Spider? What do you say? Spider…?"

"Huh?"

"What's your take on this 'Eywa'?"

His eyes were as cold as the colour they possessed. "She protects the balance…making sure everyone remembers their… place." Fingers slowly rubbed the utensil it held. "And Her children are the Na'vi. We don't count." The fork was laid back into position without seeing use.

"So…you do believe in her?" Sike inferred.

"Can't afford not to."

"Am I tripping?" The inky cadet squinted his eyes. "Why does it sound like you had a falling out with their goddess?"

"I don't know… Maybe I did?"

"Okay, C'mon, man. Tell us what really happened." Foxy urged, knowing something juicy was afoot. "I'm sensing girl trouble."

"With Eywa?" Spider sharply grimaced.

"Yeah, the goddess was your girlfriend… No, man, I mean whoever it was that's gotten you all religious. A dude only does that after a breakup. That—or hit the gym. Hard. Hey, wait. Hold up—!"

"What are you talking about?"

Dodger decided to take over before Spider could be thrown deeper into confusion. "We think you're getting over a girl. Are we right?"

He was quiet but severe as he looked back at Dodger.

"Now that is the face of a guy who was cheated on," Foxy asserted, waggling his finger in four-four time. "No wonder you're always ripping into the bag! Brother clearly needs our help. What do you guys think? Should we help him unwind a little?"

Dirty expressions were shared around the table except for the one innocent who had much to learn about military culture and was just signed up for a crash course.