I've always liked the forested areas of the Field.
It's peaceful in the same way that the Cafeteria gardens are, but better. It feels more real. The trees shade us from the harshest sun, the branches brushing together in the breeze fill the silence, dead leaves crunch under my bare feet, and I know if I pick any rock to flip over I'll find all kinds of odd critters and creatures.
During free time on the weekends I tend to wander here. I have no idea just how big this simulated environment is, but I've tried and failed to find its limits.
In my aimless wandering, I once found some old ruins deep in the heart of the woods, where the trees are tallest and the shadows are deepest and the air runs cold with a quiet chilly reverence. As if the woods that deep have a magic to them, as childish a notion as that is.
I don't know what the ruins are, who built them, or for what purpose, but I'm content to wonder. Sometimes I even dare to imagine. It is my favorite place in the Archway Complex. It's where I feel the most alone, and therefore safe.
I'm barefooted now. My socks are in my pockets. They always give us fresh ones after cardio, but I can't stand dirty socks for even a second. And I love being barefoot outside. Feels like I'm an animal.
Mister Mason waves us over again, bringing the ten of us to the foot of a tall cliffside. His short black hair and beard are a constant fixation for his hands to fidget with. Seeing him fixing his hair makes me pull fingers through my own shoulder length dark brown hair and fix my bangs.
He asks, "Questions before we start? Eight."
The monster's hand falls to her side. "What did the Captain mean by all of that?"
"I thought she explained it pretty well, didn't you?"
"Yes, I understand what's happening and why, but what does it mean? We've only ever fought against the Simulations, so why change it now?"
She's probably scared to lose.
"There's insight and experience from seeing what you're capable of on even footing, and the Archway Program is eager to see how you match up against each other. Yes, Zero?"
Our Deca's leader is a lanky redheaded girl, deceptively strong, and her face is always in a serious scowl. "Do you believe it's to determine who's superior among the Centa?"
"Like the Captain said, you will be graded on Combat Readiness, and yes, I believe you will then be compared with each other based on the results. Potentially even across the Kilo. Two, go ahead."
He's a cold-eyed boy with dark hair and sharp features who generally only ever speaks when spoken to. "Are the other Centas doing this?"
"Yes, but only within Centas. For now, you'll only be facing the Five Hundred's ranks. Six, your question?"
Six is a wispy, tiny girl who requires thick glasses and has been passing with restrictions on low body weight for the past ten years. I don't know how she does it, but she keeps up.
"Who are–Who are we facing? Which Deca?"
"That, I don't know. They don't want you guys knowing that information ahead of time."
Zero sharply nods. "In case of sabotage. We could trip them up ahead of time."
"Sure, something like that. Five?"
My hand lowers. "What happens if someone gets hurt? Or killed?"
Eight grumbles, "Freaking creep, thinking like that."
Mister Mason snaps his fingers a couple times at her.
"Very good question. The consensus is that since you're all still so young and your abilities are so unrefined, the danger is minimized and within measures of containment. You'll have heightened Cortex Shielding for one thing, and the Orders will be there to protect you as well. Essentially, you kids can go all out. Hold nothing back. This is your chance to show them what the Five-Fifty is about."
"We're so done for," she sighs.
"Who's gonna lose?" Four mutters. "Zero, One, Three, Five, of course."
"Of course that thing is gonna lose."
I keep my head down. Ignore it.
Still hurts anyway. Really hurts…
"That's enough questions for now," Mister Mason announces. "You kids need to focus on what's in front of you, which is… cardio training! As always, we have three and a half hours in this period until refresh and then the drills begin. A bit of advice? Go a little easy here this morning. I won't push you kids much. Save some steam for Combat Readiness Training, yeah?"
"Yes, sir," we all say, though not in unison.
Mister Mason prefers things not to be all too formal, unless we're around other Leads or the Captain. There's an unspoken agreement that none of us will ever mention it. I've kicked around the idea of reporting him for breaking the rules over the years, but now this is one of my closest guarded secrets. As it is all of ours. Not even Eight is evil enough to spill it.
"Good," he says, brushing his hair back, then gesturing behind him. "Climb this cliff. Then climb the tree at the top. Then climb back down both. That's one lap. Each of you needs at least twenty before time is up. Okay! Get started!"
He swipes a hand and taps a few times on his holographic display, then the training modules in our implants kick to life. Our Visual Overlays come online, an elaborate, configurable, and modular interface built right into our eyes that appears within our vision. Like a heads up display in a video game. It's kind of cool.
It operates through our implants' wireless connections to the Archway HoloNetwork. Grades, homework, assignments, note taking, studying, accessing the Library, looking things up, medical records, messaging, everything goes through either our VOs or our HoloDisplays.
In this case, Mason activated the cardio training module. It's way too cluttered so I clear everything away with just a simple thought.
I usually keep the topographical minimap at the bottom left. It's neat. Also, I like knowing exactly where Eight and Four are, and I keep my Deca's positioning overlay running so I can avoid the two of them. The compass line at the top is another keeper.
At the very bottom right, minimized, is the Portal–essentially our access to the intranet, messaging, and communications. The dashboard below it holds all the different modules we can pull up and utilize in our VOs.
I get my media library open, pin it to the right, and play some of Chopin's Nocturnes. I'm about to dismiss my vitals display but I hesitate. My blood pressure and blood sugar are low. I didn't eat breakfast. Damn it. Hopefully Mister Mason doesn't catch on.
With that, I begin the climb.
It's steep. The topography reads a seventy nine degree vertical incline. Roots and vines and small trees are the only handholds, my feet and digging into the dirt as I pull myself upward.
I take hold of a root but it pulls right out, nearly sending me off the cliff face. Whoops. I have to swing my leg wide to hook a heel on an oak sapling, dragging myself ever higher.
My mind wanders. Eight. My food. Pass–with restrictions. I need to fix this. Right away. I cannot fail another inspection. I will not. If I do, I will lose my perfect record, and then my grades will slip, and my health will deteriorate too, and my performance will wane, and then I'll get dropped from the Program.
Failing means I am a failure.
The Archway Program has no need for failures.
I will die if I can't fix this.
On the cliffside, I pause and keep hold of some thick roots, searching for a way up. Everyone else is going over to the right and climbing the stretch of low hanging vines. That looks hard. But if I go left, there's a patch of roots that's shaped almost like a ladder.
I'm going left.
It's a lot easier going. Once I reach the top of the cliff and start to climb the giant and sprawling tree, I stop and get out of the way for Eight to pass. I'm anticipating a stomp on my hand or a tug on my leg, but she just moves past me.
Thank you, Dog. We're not allowed to say 'God'.
I substitute it so I don't get in trouble.
By lap ten, I'm really hungry.
By lap fifteen, I'm kind of dizzy.
By lap eighteen, I'm cramping up.
By lap twenty, I'm nauseated and faint, about to pass out if I have to stand up for another second. Dropping to sit on the forest floor, I hold my head in my hands and catch my breath. Think I might be about to throw up. My stomach hurts. My body hurts. My head hurts. I'm hungry. I'm so hungry it hurts.
"Hey, Five," Mister Mason says above me, coming over. "Your vitals are all over the place. Are you feeling alright?"
"Yes," I lie, insistent on maintaining my perfect record. "I'm okay, Mister Mason. Just a little tired is all…"
"Yeah, well," he begins, swiping open his HoloDisplay and poking through the multicolored interface's many tabs. His Holo is always cluttered. "This looks pretty consistent with inadequate nutrition intake. Did you eat your breakfast today?"
"Yes…"
"In full?"
"Y–Yes…"
He gives me a long look. "You can talk to me, Five."
No, I can't. I've tried. If I tell anyone what Eight does to me, it will only get worse, and she'll hurt me even more. I'm scared of her and I'm even more scared of getting her in trouble. I will be the one who suffers as a result.
"I–I guess… The Orders said I was… underfed."
"Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah, I see that here." He keeps flipping through tabs on his HoloDisplay, then nods. "Okay then. Here, I'll get you something extra to eat during refresh. I know you did your twenty laps, so take a breather until then."
"Okay…"
He turns and whistles up to the others climbing the cliff face, where everyone pauses their climb. "Four, how many do you have?"
She's only a few body lengths up off the ground. "Twenty three."
"Your partner's not feeling well, so come back down and keep an eye on her for me."
No, no. No! No. Not her! Why her?
"Yes, sir." She drops down and rolls through the impact, coming to a halt next to me and scoffing a disgusted, "What's wrong with you?"
Dang it. Dang it! "I… I don't…"
"Good work, both of you," Mister Mason adds. "Help each other out, make sure you're in top shape for this afternoon." He pats me on the head and messes up my hair. "Take it easy. Relax. You'll be back to normal in no time."
I want to protest but I don't. Hanging my head, I resign to my fate. It isn't fair. We all have assigned partners by numbers, but mine is so mean to me.
I'm stuck with the second worst person in the whole world.