September 6th, 2030, 9:12 pm

"Sergeant Larsson!" A shout bursts from close to the front of the queue. The line to the nightclub has us squeezed against the vibrating window, restricting any movement up or down the procession. No lack of space ever stopped Sergeant Brayden Lee. His beach-sand hair and faded skin illuminate against the cyan fluorescence of the name of the club above us.

I cannot remember the last time I was in downtown Woodrow for a swing of fun. Yes, I was around when I was on the run months ago, but that wouldn't fall under the jurisdiction of "fun."

Queen's City bustles in this area, with taxis and sports cars being valeted up and down. The street occupies a white and red glow from the streaming lights of vehicles that pass by us at the club. People who aren't waiting to get in are passing by without much of a care, heading for their destination. Along the sidewalks, color splashes in vibrancy along the neon beams that hang over the doors of every building. Oh, how I missed urban beauty.

Ambiance is enlightened in blue over our heads. For a reason unknown, Queen's City is the only region in the whole Empire that has the legal drinking age at twenty-one instead of eighteen. Ambiance is a nightclub that serves alcohol, so we have to be old enough to drink under region regulations. Not a single kid in either Class 29 or 30 is twenty-one, though Lee has a way to get each of us passed the bouncer. We just don't know what it is yet.

If Brian discovers the level of misconduct we are committing, he'll be more disappointed in me than he already is, no doubt. I inquired with him after the seminar if he and his class had any initiation-like events after their ceremony, to which he said no. In other words, the amount of room to make up a lie and get away with something as illegal as this is quite minimal. I doubt he would inform Master Sergeant Petry of our dishonesty to discipline us, though it's better for everyone if we stay silent.

"Yo, Larsson!" Sergeant Lee presses himself against the glass beside me and points at Craig. He clasps his hand over his inferior's shoulder and blinks a couple times. With his back turned to the bright Ambiance sign, the only thing igniting his face is the dim streetlights. There is a punctual yet distorted appearance to Lee's eyes. There is a slight tremble about him. I catch a whiff of something rancid.

"Craig, listen, man," Lee mumbles, quivering. "As Sergeant of Class 29, wait, 29, right? Right. I have to pass this shit onto the next Sergeant so that you can give it to the next Sergeant next year and he can give it to the next chick. I'm calling it, thirty-some is gonna be a chick." He giggles, raising his other hand with something burning inside his grasp. "So, you know, I got this fat fucking blunt with your name on it."

Before Brayden can juggle the blunt, Craig pulls it from his fingers. He takes a hit, coughing as he hands it back to Lee. "Holy fuck, man. That's some heavy shit."

"Dude, that's what I'm saying! Look, I gotta go back to the front of the line but come find me in like, I don't know, fifteen minutes, and you can have another hit." Brayden shoves through the remainder of Class 29 and 30 to maneuver to be first in line. Someone needs to watch him, but it won't be me. At this rate, I'll have to keep an eye on Craig instead.

I turn to our Sergeant who observes Lee traversing the line. "I didn't know you smoked, Craig."

He snickers, raising his cheekbones. "I don't."

The order of Imperial Guards proceeds toward the entrance of Ambiance. The kids in Class 29 are located closest to the door, only behind one separate party of clubbers. Class 30 was shoved in the back of our company of nineteen, though for good reason. What kind of idea could Brayden Lee, whose mind is in the clouds as we speak, concoct? The bouncer will take one look at him, stumbling over his own feet, and not allow him to enter, which will fall collateral on the rest of us.

CJ Martin, our immediate neighbor ahead, turns to me. He tugs at the collar of his loose cotton shirt, air wandering against his skin. His steel tags glare as they stick to his chest. "Hal says he's probably going to get fucked up. So much for letting him drive us."

I peek past CJ to see our Corporal rousing the crowd of girls around him. None of them hold the confusion or innocence of the girls in Class 30, chatting like they have no severe repercussions of an unsuccessful attempt to enter the club. Only one of the girls holds seniority in rank over Hal, and that's Corporal Alex Porter. Their bolted stares stay on him and his beachy glow as he kindles their mood for the night.

Maybe I have been away from the scene of parties for so long that all this seems like a bit much. Seeing someone as prominent and potent as Sergeant Lee with his soul in a different dimension is startling, to say the least. I am having a tough time picturing some of those I am closest with, especially Hal, as anything but himself.

On the other hand, I wonder what kind of drunk he is.

"I'll drive, no problem. I mean, I don't have my license on me, but I could do it," I suggest, exchanging my attention back to CJ.

He swats my offer out of the air. "Nah, I already said I would. I wasn't planning on drinking anyway." He gives me a mischievous shove. "How about you? Am I going to have to drive your drunk ass home?"

I imitate his push, resulting in a breath of a smile. "I'll behave myself. I'll do my best to say sober."

"Yeah. I'll remember you saying that when I have to drag you out of here."

We travel under the radiant Ambiance sign in the direction of the entrance. The girls before us prance beside Hal in their silver and black sandals. CJ drops to stand next to Craig and I, disregarding the Corporal's activity. I can sense the shuddering of the windows from the bass of the music inside the club as I trudge to the open door.

Our trio arrives at the entrance, and the man who guards it glares at us as we pass. The bouncer resembles a certain officer who wants my head but refuses to admit it. Large arms sprout from a white polo; big enough to constrict my neck and pop off my skull like a grape. I keep my eyes plastered on the carpet that overlaps onto the sidewalk into the club. Something stings the fluff of hair above the nape of my neck as soon as my feet disappear into the darkness.

The blasting of rap music dominates my eardrums the instant the logjam through the door eases. Unlike at any school dance I can remember, the expletives are not censored. Every beat, swing of rhythm, and bass drop barrel into my brain through the tiny funnel of my ear.

To escape from the ringing of all sound, my gaze dances all around the block of a room we find ourselves in. The same blue light meshes with a golden shine above the stage of the disk jockey, strobing over the colorful floor. A great density of people is huddled in the middle of the dance floor, illuminated by the glorious blinking lights that rain down upon them. Darkness hides those in the epicenter from those on the outside looking in. No figure is distinguishable past the first row of partygoers.

The luminescent gleam of dim cerulean trim lines the bar and lounge against the far wall. The sofas and loveseats are shaded from the brightness of the counter but provide for a nice mood lighting. A few employees in casual black attire dash between customers under the supervision of the strip of blue all around us.

Craig taps my shoulder, squeezing around some loiterers. He leans into my ear, nearly brushing his lips against my skin. "Hey, I'm going to follow Lee around, try to get another hit. Where are you guys going to go?" The only thing louder than the music is his voice, lodging itself even closer to me.

"CJ and I are going to head over to the lounge area with all the chairs and stuff. If you need me, that's where I'll be."

"Okay, cool, man, thanks!" Craig yells, pulling his face from the side of my head. He presses along through the crowd of drunkards and stoners, looking to become one himself. Before too long, I lose his body amongst all the commotion. Does he even know where Lee is? He'll find him in an hour or so.

I stay close behind CJ on the way to the lounge corner. An oblong table sits idle in the center of the space, surrounded by black leather couches. There is a lavender orb smoldering on the table, bouncing some color around the dark hideaway. One L-shaped couch hugs itself in the bend in the wall next to other single seats.

CJ and I find an opening on the long couch, enough to fit half a class of Imperial Guards. We spread out our legs and stretch our arms along the back to take up all the space we need. I guess this will be the spot where we hold down the fort for the night. Now that we claimed this corner of the couch, we can't move unless we want to lose it.

This area of the parlor cuts out some of the heavy sounds that emanate from around the stage. Raised voices would be required to hear the person next to me, though there is no need to scream. A dusky haze collapses over us on the couches. Its noticeable odor is similar to the one that accompanied Sergeant Lee. I doubt he is the only one who brought the smoking indoors, much to the dismay of those who abstain; namely, myself.

Mai Rea emerges from among the herd of standing swayers. A silver saucer lays flat in her hands, carrying four full glasses of something shadowy in the absence of light around us. She slides in beside CJ and I, forcing us to extract our legs back to ourselves.

She hands me one of the glasses, and I peer into its depths. It has a sweet perfume that escapes through the rim. I can see the purple orb on the table through the emerald fluid. I put the glass to my lips and draw some of the liquid. My tongue catches something sugary, yet a strong potion within takes away from that taste. The drink falls down my throat and dissolves before it can crash into my stomach.

"No thanks, I'm not drinking," CJ says, warding away the drink in Mai's possession. "I have to drive. Besides, that shit is ass anyway."

"Oh yeah?" Mai swirls the glass in front of his face and takes a huge gulp. "How would you know? You sound kind of salty about this."

"Well, I am!" CJ snaps. He sighs and cups his chin in his hand. "Hal drove us here and he promised he wouldn't drink so much. Next thing I know, he's flirting with the girls from 29, and he claims he's going to get fucked up. Now I'm the one driving us home. He has a fucking girlfriend! Who is he trying to impress?"

Mai inhales another enormous swig. "CJ, do you ever consider that maybe he's not doing it to impress anyone? We all came out here to get hammered, and Hal is no different, even if he said he wouldn't. Maybe he changed his mind."

He leans back against the leather cushions and folds his arms over his chest. "Seriously? Am I the only one not drinking?"

"I can't believe that you're surprised that they made you DD. You never say that you're not drinking. They'll use you every single time."

A hand lands on my knee to my right barely concentrated on remaining still. I turn to the stranger and find a grinning Craig Larsson looking back at me. His eyelids hang over the jade meadow irises like blinds on a window, containing hardly enough power to open any further. He slumps on the couch next to me with a couple inches of space from the open end.

I take a sip of my drink and place it on the floor by my sneakers. "Hey, Craig. Did you find Brayden?" I don't have to shout like he did when we were closer to the entrance now that we are in the lounge. Good thing, too, because he contracted Lee's wavering stench.

He chuckles, tickling the back of my hand with his fingers. "Yeah. He's somewhere, over there." Craig twists his body to point into the crowd on the dance floor, slipping off of the couch.

I grab his wrist and retract him beside me. "Woah, watch out! You're going to fall."

His laughing doesn't cease until our gazes meet. He wavers more than me, glancing farther down on my face, but they always return to me. His cheeks become a shade darker as the blue trim lighting over our heads highlights the contours of his face. He slithers his fingers between mine, curling around each other.

"Slater, can I tell you a secret?" Craig gathers himself closer to me. I watch how his lips sound out every word.

"Yeah, anything," I murmur. A wave of heat cradles the side of my head and washes down my forehead. I blink, sending the draining sensation through the rest of my body. It hides away in my stomach as it should.

His free hand falls over my shoulder and strokes my shoulder blade. It travels down my short sleeve and halts promptly at my elbow. His thumb traces the rough skin over my mark; the same one he despised the moment we first met. He does not flinch from it.

The thumb ponders over the prickly patches under the crease of my elbow. "I think you're the hottest guy in our whole class. When I first saw you, I hated you, but the more I was with you, the more I started to like you." He breathes in puffs, trying to fill his lungs. He takes in a deep barrel of air and moves his stare below my nose. "And I don't know why, but I really want to make out with you right now."

I place my palm on the side of his neck, hiding the skin from the blue glow all around us. My thumb prints itself on the point of his jaw. The magnets of our mouths enchant each other and unite among the pounding of harsh music colliding with our ears.

His lips are lax and smooth against mine, lacking any unnecessary force. I seal my eyes and feel the sensation of him on my face and my hand trickling down his neck. My traveling palm drives through his pillowy hair, fingering tiny strands and tangles as I find them. The taste of the drugs infects my insides the longer we are together. I repel for a moment, and the heave of my chest is suppressed by his proximity to me. Our lips bridge again, though this time, a force on the other end attempts to penetrate into the center of my mouth.

I careen from him and blink to regain vision. Craig stares at me, releasing my arm. "Sorry, Slater, I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's okay. I just wasn't expecting it, that's all." I swing my arm around his neck and dangle it over his far shoulder.

"I mean, that was the first time I ever kissed someone I wanted to kiss. I'm sorry you didn't enjoy it."

"What? What do you mean I didn't enjoy it?" I lean into him, my face inches from his. Not that the distance matters, considering we were once much closer. "You don't see me complaining, do you? It's just that I don't do tongue. At least not the first time."

His responsive smile is overshadowed by a figure towering over us. Craig glances up at the man who glares down at me. The skyscraper of a human has a lean frame; a carved face with a body that slims into his clothes. His white button-up hugs his sharp chest like a glove and he has the sleeves cuffed to his elbows. His dark hair is curled with bouncing strands falling over his forehead. He grasps a tall glass of something opaque in his left hand.

"I had to wait until you were done," the man announces, unfaltering in his dominant stance. "Slater Tross, I would like a word with you."

"Oh yeah? Who are you?" I enclose myself, pulling my arm from Craig and sitting forward. "Look, buddy, this better be some kind of joke, because-"

He switches his drink to his right hand and wrings his left arm. A black M traces itself under the sleeve of his button up. It blinks violet. "Does this look like a joke, Slater?"

CJ jumps to his feet, diving between the man and I. "He's not going anywhere. If you want to talk to him, we come with."

"Pathetic, powerless human. Move aside or this will get violent."

"CJ, let me go." I stand, keeping my breath to myself. The man and I level at our noses, though he has the advantage in mass. "This is something I have to take care of."

"Okay, fine," CJ sighs. He points to the man. "If he's not back in ten or fifteen minutes, I'll come for you."

The stranger smirks. "I'm sure you will, human. Should the need to defend your compatriot arise, we will be in the northside alleyway." He lurches his head toward the bar, his mark flashing once again. "Come now, Slater."