The coloured line led me through the plain hallways of the central building. Most of the other kids had been filed off to their respective barracks, leaving the corridors feeling almost empty. Only a few staff patrolled their hallways, moving with urgency. I wouldn't say they were anxious; they strode purposefully. As though they were running late to an important meeting
After walking for about ten minutes, I finally found myself outside. The light of the day was waning; the sun's harsh light shifted to a softer amber. Across the facility, several groups of stragglers marched hurriedly along their designated lines. Some trailed off to the more well-kept buildings.
Mine, on the other hand, led me past fenced-off training yards, open storage buildings, and pitted firing ranges. The farther it took me, the rougher and more degraded the base became. Paint flaked off structures, lights across the paths began to flicker, and even the concrete began to sag.
The differences between the C-Grade and D-Grade sections were obvious. Eventually, I reached what I assumed was the F-Grade section, the buildings looking less and less habitable. More so, huts thrown together in heaps of worn material.
Barracks 7 sat at the end of the line. Literally. The building looked like a sawed-in-half, rusty tin can. A damn Nissen hut. It was in shambles: an old metal door that swung off-centre, and windows so thick with grime that they were opaque.
Come on... I knew that lower grades had it bad, but this was ridiculous. It was almost falling apart!
Shaking my head, I stepped forward and opened the door. Wonky scrap-metal bunks lined both walls, 15 per side. Mattresses looked thin and damp, with no pillows in sight. Old, battered footlockers sat before each bed. The lights, if one could even call them that, emitted a teeth-grating buzz. It was filthy.
There were twenty-two other recruits inside, either packing things into their footlockers or talking amongst themselves. I could tell at a glance the social hierarchy that had started to form, cadets already choosing their desired bunks.
The more confident ones took up positions in the back and packed their gear in a relaxed manner. The more anxious ones sat in the centre, perfectly sandwiched between others, trying to hide. The ones closer to the door moved with purpose, less confident, more... Restrained.
The conversations died as I stepped inside, their faces turning towards me. They watched me with quiet curiosity. I instinctively straightened my shoulders, expecting their appraisal. Yet after just a moment, their attention returned to their prior commitment.
That's new...
There was no expectation, no anticipation in their eyes. Just a quiet acknowledgement that I'd arrived and a quick glance to see what I was about. Here I was a nobody, and damn did it feel good. I even almost caught myself smiling.
My eyes caught the figure of a middle-aged man standing at the far end of the room. His eyes darted around the room with a ruthless glint, his eyes changing from cadet to cadet. On some, they lingered for a fraction of a moment longer than others.
He was measuring us.
Realising this must be the supervisor, the Lieutenant had mentioned, I approached him. As I did so, his gaze stopped flickering and sat solely on me. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and I suppressed a shiver. As I grew closer, a glint caught my eye. Three bronze chevrons sat on the man's epaulette. This man was a Sergeant.
Stopping just before him in a practised and rigid manner, I raised my arm and handed him the piece of paper. He glanced at it, then at me. Held for a moment. Then took it from my hands.
"Tiernan." Not a question.
"Yes, Sergeant," I said, careful not to call him sir.
The cadets began to murmur. However, his attention didn't leave me for a second. I reciprocated the stare, looking directly into his eyes. The pupils in his brown irises began to twitch as he scanned my face. They looked for something, trying to analyse something that wasn't there.
After a moment of uncomfortable silence, he pulled his gaze away, jerking his chin towards the far end of the bunks. Toward the free bed next to the front door.
Shit.
That was the worst spot in the entire building; exposed to every draft, inspection and footfall. He was trying to single me out, trying to tell everyone that I was different, trying to isolate me. My jaw clenched as I suppressed the anger that had begun to bubble.
"Thank you, Sergeant." He grunted and turned away.
Trying to get a rise out of me? I won't give that bastard the satisfaction.
As I walked over to my assigned bunk, I could feel the room ogling at me. If they didn't know who I was before, they definitely did now...
I ignored their gazes and approached my bunk with measured confidence. As if oblivious to their stares, I sat down on the mattress and instantly felt something sharp poking my backside. The uneven metal frame was poking me through the cushioning.
So much for home sweet home.
As I waited on the edge of my bed, more recruits trickled in. Some of the cadets flinched as the Sergeant stared them down; others walked more confidently. With each new victim the Sergeant had gotten to flinch, his stern face twisted into a hungry glare. I watched from afar as he found the weakest links and pounced on them, nitpicking at every. minor. detail.
"Why aren't your boots shined Cadet?!" He lambasted.
"I only just got them..." One of the girls meekly replied.
"Only just got them— Sergeant." He corrected, venom clear in his words.
She blanked for a moment, unsure of what to do or say. The Sergeant's grin only widened.
"Bugger got your tongue? You'll end your sentences with my rank. Am I clear, cadet?" He pressed.
"Uhh... yes, Sergeant. I'm sorry, Sergeant."
"Better." He replied, clear amusement in his voice.
This happened several more times, causing the atmosphere in the bunks to drop several degrees. It didn't even matter if his criticism was true; he just seemed to enjoy picking on the most vulnerable in the group. Yet he didn't assign anyone else a bed, just me.
Bastard.
Eventually, the final bunk was claimed, and the Sergeant walked to the centre of the room. The quiet conversations stopped.
"Listen up." His voice was not loud, but it carried the authority of one accustomed to command. "I'm Sergeant Vance. I will be your instructor for the first three months. Any questions?"
A boy raised his hand, but the Sergeant ignored him.
"Basic training will include conditioning, combat fundamentals, academic theory, and introductory cultivation." He paused, letting the list settle. "After that, if you're still here, you move on to mech simulation training and a different instructor."
He let that sit. Assuming you're still here.
"Schedule is simple. 0500, wake up. 0530 to 0800, physical training. 0830 to 1200, combat drills. 1300 to 1630, academics. 1700 to 2000, cultivation. 2100, lights out. Any questions?"
No one raised a hand this time.
"Good." He checked his watch. "It's 1930 now. You have an hour and thirty minutes till lights out. Use them wisely, tomorrow starts early."
He walked out without another word.
The door closed, and voices erupted. Nervous chatter, introductions, the social jockeying of kids trying to establish hierarchies. A few laughs echoed, too loud and too forced.
An hour and thirty minutes.
I lay back on my bunk and sprawled. My body ached, as a heavy fatigue washed over me. I hadn't managed a proper night's rest in over forty-eight hours, only surviving through adrenaline and spite.
Around me, the recruits bickered. Someone bragged about combat scores from prep school. Probably a scholarship kid. Another complained that the mattresses were too thin, and at the far end of the bunks, a scuffle broke out, kids shoved and pushed. I did my best to drown out the cacophony of nonsense.
Idiots...
I closed my eyes, letting the fatigue and darkness take over. Yet something intruded on my peace, something alien and foreign. Yet, it felt so familiar. My vision flickered, and I recognised the presence. The same one from the arena. I held my breath and willed it forward.
[TRUE-NOOSPHERE PRIMER]
CONNECTION: 0.001%]
[STATUS: INITIALISING...]
The text began to bleed as my senses unmoored, my consciousness pulled from my mind. Panic began to well up. I tried to clamp down on my being, trying to hold it in place. Just as suddenly as it came on, it vanished.
As my mind stabilised, new symbols materialised across my vision; cold and unassuming.
[TRUE-NOOSPHERE PRIMER]
[NAME: MARCUS]
[GRADE: F (ENLIGHTENED CLASSIFICATION)]
[RANK: 0 — AWAKENED]
[PROGRESSION TO APOTHEOSIS: 0.00%]
Apotheosis... Was it talking about the final stage in cultivation?
Beyond what even the Great Lydia Tiernan had reached.
I tried to access more. Unsure what to do, I tried to will it to expand. The menu dissolved and reformed in purple light and binary. After a moment, it solidified itself once more.
||[TRUE-NOOSPHERE PRIMER]||
[SKILLS] — LOCKED
[ITERA—6.6260̷̢7̵͇015×1■■... ERR_OR...]
||[TUTORIAL] — LOCKED||
Just three things, and they were either locked or incomprehensible. This 'True-Noosphere' had finally decided to wake up, but gave me nothing that actually helped. I pushed harder, frustration building. Eventually, the interface shuddered, the words fell into darkness, then reformulated.
||[STATS — AVAILABLE]||
Finally. Something I could actually see.
||[TRUE-NOOSPHERE PRIMER]||
[RANK EVALUATION: LOW-AWAKENED]
[STAT POINTS: 0]
[BODY]
Strength: 4
Agility: 4
Vitality: 5
[ETHER]
Capacity: 1
Sensitivity: 1
Control: —LOCKED—
[MIND]
Willpower: 10
Intelligence:8
Perception: 7
[Calculating...]
[Calculating...]
[Calculating...]
[SETTING RATE IN ACCORDANCE WITH ENLIGHTENED STANDARD]
||[CULTIVATION RATE: 0.3x baseline]||
Were these good? Bad? Average?
The interface offered no explanation. I tried focusing more on the numbers, but got nothing in return. It had mentioned something about a tutorial before, but I remembered it being locked. WHY WOULD YOU LOCK THE TUTORIAL?!
No answer.
Ok, ok... Let's try and rationalise this. I was one of the top students at the prep-academy, matched only by Wei and Yukiko. This must mean that these stats can't be low. The evaluation of 'Low-Awakened' makes sense; even just progressing through rank-0 gave massive benefits.
I haven't even started cultivating yet, so that accounts for the low Ether stats.
Enlightened standard? I suppose that makes sense. If Ether was gifted to us by them, then following their measurements would be consistent with that.
The cultivation rate being 0.3x stung, but that was to be expected. I was an F-Grade; I was always going to have a slow growth rate. It just means I'd have to— Wait...
Stat points... Does that mean I can increase my stats without having to cultivate? This could be my golden ticket. I can imagine it now, staying at rank 1 but having the might of a Luminary...
No, that doesn't seem right. It had mentioned something about 0.0% progress to Apotheosis. Would I be able to break through?
I tried to focus on the stat points, my brow furrowed as I tried glaring at it. Nothing. I tried willing it to give me an answer. Nothing. I sighed internally and had almost given up when the words began to move.
||[QUEST AVAILABLE]||
I focused on it.
||[TRUE-NOOSPHERE PRIMER]||
[QUEST: SURVIVAL PROTOCOL]
Objective: Survive until week's end.
Duration: 7 days
Reward: [SKILLS] unlocked
Note: Requirements for full True-Noosphere awakening are in progress.
Join Mech Corps — COMPLETE
Survive initial processing — COMPLETE.
Survive basic training week one — IN PROGRESS.
|| [LOCKED] ||
The text hung there, impassive.
Skills? This wasn't what I asked for...
I tried to go back, hit the figurative back arrow. Nothing changed. Eventually, I gave up and read through the details.
Survive until week's end... Does it know something I don't?
I knew that Mech Corps training wasn't easy, but the quest was just to survive. My thoughts began to wander as a flash of recognition struck me.
...Assuming you're still here...
...Sixty-three per cent washout...
The words rang out in my mind loud and forboding. I began to draw the dots together, low-grade training was going to be more brutal than I could have imagined.
The interface shifted.
||[QUEST ACCEPTED — Y/N?]||
I almost laughed. As if I have a choice... if I survive, I get something out of it. If not... I'd be dead anyway.
Yes.
||[QUEST ACCEPTED]||
[TIME REMAINING: 6 DAYS, 23 HOURS, 57 MINUTES]
||[OBJECTIVE:SURVIVE]||
The interface dimmed.
Six days, twenty-three hours.
The previous fatigue that washed over me earlier came on in tidal waves. My body was exhausted, but my mind yearned for answers. This 'True-Noosphere' had created more questions than it answered, but at least it had given me a way forward.
Survive.
I thought of Wei, probably sleeping in silk sheets somewhere, surrounded by handlers planning her future. I thought of Alexei, drowning in attention, the kind he didn't want. I thought of Diana, already gone to wherever Resonators went. I thought of the Nest, and the promises we had made.
Two years...
I had to survive.