Year 197 | April 1 — Zero Camp / Zone 5-A
The polished concrete floor reflected the white light of the overcast sky. There was fog in the corners of the yard, but at the center of the Intermediate Drills Court, everything was clear, geometric, severe.
Thirty youths stood in formation, holding a relative silence. The fabric of their new clothes creaked softly with each nervous shift.
The uniform was a moss-green jacket of heavy fabric with visible metal fasteners and lightly structured shoulders. The sleeves, long and cinched at the wrists with velcro, were often rolled up to the elbows by some recruits. The pants matched the tone, with utility pockets along the thighs and a tight fit into the boots — black, mid-calf, thick-soled, worn from use.
Some wore the jacket open over dark T-shirts, others kept the zipper at the neck, hiding the ID tag beneath the fabric. Fingerless gloves, belts with scuffed loops, and improvised wraps were common among the more seasoned.
There was something improvised about everyone's look — as if the uniform, despite being standardized, was shaped by each person's survival.
"PLATOON 12-B, STANDBY FOR ROLL CALL! ANSWER AFTER YOUR REGISTRY NUMBER IS ANNOUNCED."
A beep sounded. Jin squinted. The sun was behind the clouds, yet it still felt like it was aiming straight at his forehead.
He was a boy with messy red hair, fair skin, and light brown eyes with a reddish tint, like they reflected rust or dry earth. Naturally strong brows made him look perpetually frowning, even when there was no threat nearby. He had the kind of gaze that measures before it judges — and almost always decides it's not worth it. His posture was straight, shoulders just a little slumped, like he carried an old kind of tired.
"I haven't even started and I already wanna leave," he muttered.
Beside him, a blond boy with a calm smile let out a breath like someone meditating on a mountaintop. His straight, short hair fell slightly to the side, with one stubborn strand touching his left eyebrow. Medium build, loose shoulders, slowed-down gestures — like he moved in a different time than the rest. Jin recognized him: Matt Lerion. He'd arrived laughing, and hadn't stopped since. Like this was just a strange field trip.
"REGISTRY NO. 006/197."
A click. A name flashed on the panel floating above the yard, along with a full profile projected in blue light:
ID NO. 006/197
Name: Kael Surn
Current Age: 13
Total Sentence: 32 years
Time Already Served: 4 years
Time Left under Youth Combat Program: 6.4 years
Entry Type: Hereditary transfer
Reason: Voluntary absorption of Ella Surn's sentence inherited from parents for conspiracy against the government.
STATUS: Active — Zero Camp — Squad 12-B
Notes: Latent leadership potential. High emotional control. Follows orders.
A thin boy with angular shoulders and rigid posture, like he'd been molded never to relax. Dark brown hair cut close, with precise lines at the sides and nape. Deep-set eyes fixed on something distant, not blinking often. Chin slightly raised, arms always aligned to his sides, an almost mechanical symmetry. His steps were quiet but firm — like someone who'd learned to move without making an impact.
"Present."
Jin watched him closely. It was strange to see someone so... quiet on the inside.
"REGISTRY NO. 028/197."
REGISTRY NO. 028/197
Name: Lune Avaris
Current Age: 14
Total Sentence: 30 years
Time Already Served: 0 years
Time Left under Youth Combat Program: 6 years
Entry Type: Hereditary transfer
Reason: Sentence inherited from parents for food deviation during crisis
STATUS: Active — Zero Camp — Squad 12-B
Notes: Performs well in group settings. Idealistic. Tendency to create symbolic cohesion.
A medium-height girl, lean and quick, collarbone and knuckles stark under the skin. Blond hair tied into two pigtails beneath a dark cap, loose strands stuck to her forehead and neck. Her blue eyes darted fast, never resting on one point for long. She walked with a slight forward tilt, like she was always ready to spring. The way she crossed her arms or tightened the elastic at her sleeve was automatic — a habit done so often it had become a tic.
"Present."
She smiled at no one in particular. Jin looked away.
"REGISTRY NO. 041/197."
REGISTRY NO. 041/197
Name: Tyran Elt
Current Age: 15
Total Sentence: 31 years
Time Already Served: 3 years
Time Left under Youth Combat Program: 5.6 years
Entry Type: Hereditary transfer
Reason: Sentence inherited from parent for civil destruction in a riot zone
STATUS: Active — Zero Camp — Squad 12-B
Notes: Above-average strength. Expansive personality. Vulnerable to external influence.
The boy looked twice everyone else's size. Broad shoulders, wide chest, thick neck — like his bones had outpaced his age. His blond hair was shaved close to the scalp, the skull marked by natural lines and ridges. He walked in heavy but contained strides, arms loose at his sides, fingers occasionally clenching for no reason. His face, wide and round, contrasted with his imposing build: set-apart eyes, light brows, and a jaw that always seemed relaxed, like he was still figuring out where he was.
"Present!" he said, as if trying to hype up his own presence.
"REGISTRY NO. 089/197."
REGISTRY NO. 089/197
Name: Nox Hailen
Current Age: 14
Total Sentence: 64 years
Time Already Served: 14 years
Time Left under Youth Combat Program: 10 years
Entry Type: Hereditary transfer
Reason: Full sentence applied to the Hailen lineage for treason
STATUS: Active — Zero Camp — Squad 12-B
Notes: Advanced intellect. High verbal restraint. Unmanifested psychic potential — keep under continuous analysis.
His step was firm, almost ceremonial. Straight, heavy black hair fell to the base of his neck in clean lines, like polished coal. Skin pale, nearly translucent, making the intense crimson eyes stand out — cold, steady, unchanging. Posture perfect: shoulders aligned, chin level, hands relaxed along his thighs. He didn't blink much. Even standing still, he held a contained tension — like a weapon that didn't need to be raised to intimidate. His features were too symmetrical to look natural — unmistakable Hailen lineage.
No reaction. No shift of gaze.
"Present."
That name seemed to weigh on the air.
"REGISTRY NO. 107/197."
REGISTRY NO. 107/197
Name: Vika Orell
Current Age: 14
Total Sentence: 40 years
Time Already Served: 7 years
Time Left under Youth Combat Program: 6.6 years
Entry Type: Hereditary transfer
Reason: Sentence inherited from guardian for military hacking during Special Law period
STATUS: Active — Zero Camp — Squad 12-B
Notes: Refined control. Tends toward caution and group preservation. May clash with authority figures who prioritize results over lives. Sharpened protective instinct.
A girl with straight, blue-gray hair cut blunt just below the shoulders. The strands fell with precision, no bangs, like each hair knew exactly where it should be. Silver eyes moved quickly, alert but unhurried — more the gaze of a careful observer than a cold analyst. Her posture was still straight, chin slightly lifted, but there was a gentleness in the way she kept her arms folded or hands aligned at her sides — not out of stiffness, but respect for others' space. She seemed like the kind to listen first, even when she said nothing.
"Present."
Jin wrinkled his nose, tilting his head like he was trying to decode something.
"Group preservation? She's gonna be our mom."
"REGISTRY NO. 174/197."
REGISTRY NO. 174/197
Name: Jin Kuroda
Current Age: 14
Total Sentence: 50 years
Time Already Served: 0.1 year
Time Left under Youth Combat Program: 9.9 years
Entry Type: Direct and hereditary sentence
Reason: Murder of classified military guardian. Sentence unified for co-authorship and hereditary transfer after the death of direct co-responsible.
STATUS: Active — Zero Camp — Squad 12-B
Notes: Moderate impulsivity. High emotional reactivity. Nascent attachment to marginal figures within the group. Minimal record in Transitional Observation Unit. No prior formal integration.
"Present," Jin said, smiling from the corner of his mouth.
A few recruits tilted back half a step. He liked that.
Only then did he realize everyone could see the Notes. His included.
Nascent attachment to marginal figures within the group.
He huffed softly.
Of course. One week trying to keep up a sociopath act and the system already tagged him as needy with questionable tendencies.
And all for a sentence that wasn't even fully his. An inheritance — like getting a haunted house in a will.
Makes sense.
He glanced sideways at Matt, who raised his eyebrows with a half-smile.
"So you get attached easily?"
"Funny," for some reason, Jin didn't mind Matt's joke.
"REGISTRY NO. 212/197."
REGISTRY NO. 212/197
Name: Rell Sivak
Current Age: 14
Total Sentence: 38 years
Time Already Served: 0 years
Time Left under Youth Combat Program: 7.6 years
Entry Type: Direct sentence
Reason: Sentence inherited from guardian for willful incineration of a confidential file in an act of protest
STATUS: Active — Zero Camp — Squad 12-B
Notes: Constant skepticism. Pragmatic intelligence. Performs well in unstructured environments.
"Present," said the boy with reddish-brown hair, cropped short at the sides and lightly wavy on top. A thin scar tugged the left corner of his mouth, pulling every smile a little off-center. Long face, scattered freckles, faint under-eye shadows like he was always a bit late to his own life. He spoke with his head slightly tilted, neck loose, hands moving naturally — shoved into pockets one moment, gesturing lazily the next.
"REGISTRY NO. 297/197."
REGISTRY NO. 297/197
Name: Matt Lerion
Current Age: 15
Total Sentence: 50 years
Time Already Served: 11 years
Time Left under Youth Combat Program: 7.8 years
Entry Type: Hereditary transfer
Reason: Sentence inherited from guardians for intellectual conspiracy within family unit — penalty extended for generational recidivism
STATUS: Active — Zero Camp — Squad 12-B
Notes: Marked adaptability. Chaotic behavior within operational limits. Uses humor as a shield — risk of passive refusal.
"Present. But if we're dying today, I'd rather it be after lunch," he said, raising a hand.
The sergeant didn't laugh.
"REGISTRY NO. 298/197."
REGISTRY NO. 298/197
Name: Luke Lerion
Current Age: 12
Total Sentence: 50 years
Time Already Served: 11 years
Time Left under Youth Combat Program: 7.8 years
Entry Type: Hereditary transfer
Reason: Sentence inherited from guardians for intellectual conspiracy within family unit — penalty extended for generational recidivism
STATUS: Active — Zero Camp — Squad 12-B
Notes: Quiet but observant. Analytical mind in formation. Fraternal loyalty may interfere with group decisions.
Luke stepped forward almost without a sound. He was the shortest in the formation, with thin limbs and a light, near-floating gait. His blond hair had the same simple cut as his brother's, but it was always mussed at the back, like it never fully dried. His light green eyes were wide and steady — looking straight ahead without hesitation or shadow. He wore the same uniform, the same last name.
"Present."
The list went on. More names, more voices answering, profiles flashing too fast across the hanging screens. Jin didn't pay attention. He was too busy trying to memorize the faces that mattered.
When roll call ended, all thirty names of 12-B glowed high above, lined up like a sentence none of them chose.
12-B was formed.
Twenty-four platoons. Fourteen weeks. One goal: survive and come out less scarred than the rest.
Jin angled a look at Kael, who still stared at nothing with the firmness of someone carrying more than a military pack. Nox hadn't moved. Lune smiled. Vika pressed her fingers together. Rell was already yawning. And Matt, who apparently couldn't stop talking, couldn't help himself.
"Yeah. This'll be fun. Or a disaster. Probably both."
The big screen went dark. Boots adjusted. Bodies relaxed — or pretended to. A second silence spread across the yard like someone apologizing just before they scream.
"TWELVE-BEE, READY POSITION!"
The command detonated in the air, and formation turned into chaos pretending to be order. Jin tripped over his own foot, recovered, and decided to act like it was part of the warm-up.
Up front, the sergeants didn't even need to yell — the screens did it for them. A new projection hovered above: a countdown ticking 00:03:00. Beside it, the word ENDURANCE in pulsing red.
"Tell me when we get to the survival part," Matt muttered, already jogging beside him. "I'll leave the endurance to electricity."
"Worse is her," Jin puffed, nodding toward Vika. "She looks like she'll scold you for not stretching before the torture."
Matt laughed. Almost genuinely.
They'd crossed the first hundred meters when Jin saw the side braces unlock.
Compartments opened along the yard walls, revealing rows of metal cases. A conveyor fed them into the center. Three popped with dry snaps, revealing — among straps and mounts — first-gen tactical gear: electric batons, wrist holsters, modular shields in light gray polymer.
"So that's it," Matt said. "Big-kid toys for children."
Jin ignored him for half a beat. His eyes were locked on a collapsible baton, slotted in like a toy piece inside too much surveillance.
"Think they break easy?"
"Yeah... I wouldn't bet my life on them."
An awkward silence landed between them. Matt kicked an imaginary pebble. Jin drew in a breath — and with it, some courage.
"You saw the red-eyed guy? Nox?"
Matt dipped his chin. Jin was already turning.
"Hey," he called, stepping up to Nox, who was studying the shields without touching them. "You think this thing takes a full-charge hit, or does it blow and take us with it?"
The crimson eyes slid to Jin — slow, precise. No disdain. No answer.
Just silence.
Jin blinked.
Matt coughed a containment attempt.
Nox turned back to the gear like Jin had been a momentary UI glitch.
"Charismatic," Jin muttered.
Before they could go on, Jin caught movement to the side — a short kid with calm eyes stepping up a pace from Matt, like he already belonged there.
"Who's that?" Jin asked with a chin jerk.
"Luke. My brother," Matt answered, like it was obvious.
Jin stared for a second.
"You come in a bundle now?"
"It's the economy pack. Only people without one complain."
The little one looked up but said nothing. He just stayed there, half pressed to his brother, like the space between them was reserved territory.
Jin shrugged.
"Fine. But if he tries to sleep in my bunk, I'm strangling someone with this ridiculous belt."
Matt smiled.
"You first, functional sociopath."
Their laughter still hung in the air when a voice cut through:
"You two."
The girl had a narrow face, hair pulled into three thin braids crossing her nape like veins. Her uniform looked less new; her gaze, much sharper.
"If you wanna talk that much, you can book a hearing with the Disciplinary Punishment Council," she said. "East wing. Third door after 'you're screwed.'"
"How kind," Matt whispered.
"A true delight," Jin shot back.
"They haven't even turned on the behavior sensors and you're already clocking in," she went on, arms crossed. "Congrats."
"Who made you commander?" Jin retorted.
"And who made you two the MCs for not shutting up?"
She pivoted on her heels and walked off. Jin huffed, but Matt — watching the girl's expression — looked more intrigued than annoyed.
"She doesn't just sound cranky," he said. "She looked... scared."
"Or indoctrinated," Jin said.
"She mentioned behavior sensors. That a real thing?"
"Of course it is," a third voice answered from the other side.
It was Vika. She seemed to appear out of nowhere — or maybe she'd been there all along. Her eyes seemed to take in the whole scene, like an eagle guarding a nest.
"And if you want to know who's reviewing the sensor data, it's them," she added, pointing to the sergeants up front barking orders.
Matt frowned.
"Who are they?"
Vika gave a half-smile, almost sarcastic.
"State agents. Or, as people here like to call them, Husks. They're staff from the disciplinary sector. They don't answer to our chain."
"They're not inmates?" Jin asked.
"Not even close. They're here to mold. Not to serve time."
"Comforting," Matt said. "An audience of sadists with tech certificates."
Vika looked at him, then at Jin.
"Not just an audience. They pick who gets to rise."
"Rise to where?"
"You'll see. If you make it past the first two weeks."
And then, farther ahead — after the back-and-forth with Jin, Matt, and the girl — one of the agents shouted:
"If the 12-B Strays are done clowning around, maybe we can start training before the next solar cycle!"
And the reaction:
Matt turned his face away, trying to hide a smile.
"Day one and we're already the official mascots of public humiliation. Go us."
Jin lost his smile.
"Do they always talk like that?"
"Only when they're being patient," the girl said — gently.
Jin looked around. The timer read 00:00:34. The sergeants stood in formation. Weapons were being handed out. The braided girl was back in line, staring straight ahead. Nox hadn't so much as twitched.
And for the first time, Jin felt a kind of silence inside — like his rehearsed certainty was starting to slip.
"Great," he murmured. "First day and we've already got hierarchy, secret surveillance, and un