Pvt. Slater J. Tross, No. 305

September 5th, 2030, 4:55 pm

The casket-shaped end of my glassy, black shoes clicks against the frigid tile floor. My hands curl around one another, gazing at the men and women who trudge down the hall. They hold manila folders, intently peering at them as they pass. Some raise their sight above the documents and greet us. Then again, only a few. They understand what I'm here for, and their energy should be reserved, especially away from Slater Tross.

The Imperial Guard requires that all ranked personnel, even in the newest class, appear in the officer's wing donned in their uniform. The last time I wore this outfit, the Captain almost died and I wrote my death warrant. Perhaps this is some type of bad omen; being in the Imperial Guard is bad luck. Surely, I could ask anyone to confirm that idea. I already know several people who can testify.

So far, the experience in uniform today has been pleasant as far as comfort goes. Being swaddled away in a modern end of a building such as the headquarters is a far cry from the inferno outside of the Castle last week. Sitting here on a bench in the officer's wing, I can recollect the repugnant feeling of sweat pooling in my armpits and along my jaw as I pursued Rodney Roarke. I'm glad I remembered to have it washed and pressed over the weekend.

"Gum?"

I wheel my head to the left. Hal has one of his hands geared in my direction, a silver strip dangling from his fingers. His mouth already moves against the elastic material as he gawks at me.

I wave him away. "No thanks, I'm good."

A narrow hand stretches across the right side of my chest, palm upward. His Imperial Guard coat enlarges the width of his actual arm. "Could I have one?"

Hal sheathes the sliver back into its package and tucks it into his coat. "Nope, sorry. I just ran out."

The arm in ahead of me retracts back to Sergeant Craig Larsson, who rolls his eyes upon return. Gray circles hover over his cheeks and beneath his eyebrows. This is the first time either Hal or I saw him since the ceremony, and we first noticed the discoloration as he entered the headquarters. He possesses a constant blinking habit that coincides with slumping in his spot on the bench.

The three of us were instructed to be here an hour prior to our meeting with Master Sergeant Petry. He said that the earliest he could take us was five in the evening, but he continued to explain that things could open up and we'll meet at four o'clock. Needless to say, we're still here, and it's almost five.

I am in the middle of the great divide, and for good reason. There is plenty of space to the left of Hal, but Craig decided to squeeze in on the end beside me. Hal has been conversing with us - and by us, I mean me - about his girlfriend and buddies back home in Stanville for the past half-hour. I have had the weight of Craig's head against my shoulder the whole time, and I could only watch as his eyelashes kissed for brief moments. There is no need to shake him off, so I let him rest. Hal would urge me to wake him up, but it didn't seem right.

I throw my hands up between them. "Guys, listen. We need to at least act like we like each other in there. If we end up screaming to kill one another, we'll get our asses handed to us. If you guys can hold it together for ten minutes, we should be in the clear. A minimum sentence. Can you guys at least handle that?"

Hal leans forward, overlooking me. "Yeah, Craig, can you handle that?"

"Fuck off," Craig stammers just above the volume of a whisper. He looks through me, with the shades under his eyes baring. "I got it. No arguing."

My fingers land on my knees, releasing air from my lungs. "Good. It would probably also help if we didn't say anything and let Petry do the talking. Look, I've had to deal with this guy before when I got into a fight with that kid, Luke."

"Isn't he the one who broke your wrist?" Hal asks, adjusting his sleeves.

"Yeah, that's him. But this was way before then. Anyway, Petry is a hardass from the outside but I doubt he's as tough as he looks. If we can just keep our composure in there, he'll realize that Lee is blowing this way out of proportion." I cross my arms, glaring at the floor. "The situation should have never escalated into this. If we get suspended, I'm going to be pissed."

Craig ticks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "You know, no one ever actually gets suspended. They get sent on dangerous missions instead so that the disciplinary officers don't have to deal with them anymore. It happens all the time."

The door to Master Sergeant Petry's office rotates inward, and the officer stands firm in the way. A black polo shirt hugs his chest, accentuating the size of his biceps and forearms. If at all possible, his hair is shaven even closer to his scalp with only several light, baby hairs sticking out. The bones in his face appear sharper, too.

"Sergeant Larsson, Corporal van Lester, and Private Tross, correct?" Petry booms over the three of us, glued to the bench. I believe that the realization that this man could crush our heads like a grape has struck all of us at the same time. I could feel the wave cast over my lap and proceed to Craig. "Well, don't just sit there, get up! Stand at attention! I am a superior officer and you will respect me as such."

Craig, Hal, and I jump to our feet as soon as the last word escapes his torn lips. My arms shake from being so stiff, presented in front of the Master Sergeant. I know the other two are cold as ice under pressure, as observed from the ranking, but something is contained inside them, held hostage in the presence of Petry.

As we enter Petry's office, a fire under the sleeve of my coat ignites. The uniform is so thick that the cloth prohibits revelation of the glow, which could prove to go over badly if anyone witnessed it. I still can't predict how Craig is going to interpret seeing it light up for himself. Scornful, I'm sure. But the fact that Petry is twice my size means that any kind of sign of alliance with the Medo could result in crushed ribs and broken legs. So it would do me good to keep it under wraps.

"Take a seat, boys," he invites, gliding around his desk. The leather couch, facing the officer's nameplate, looms ahead of us. Once again, I take the middle cushion, while Craig and Hal diverge from one another. They lean against the arm of the sofa, eyeing each other from opposite ends. "We have a lot to discuss."

Master Sergeant Petry slumps into his chair, staring out at us. "Now, from what I gather from Sergeant Lee's report, you three got into a scrum the night before the ceremony in the barracks. What was that all about? Any of you care to explain?"

It will have to be me. Hal is going to tell it from the side that he wants to defend me and attack Craig because he wants me dead. I expect Craig to be the more truthful of the two. I saw what happened and the only one who could fabricate the event would be Hal because he knows he was in the wrong. If Craig so much as raises his voice, the Corporal will be on him to argue within seconds.

"I awoke from a nightmare in the middle of the night and ended up raising everyone else. Craig started saying how someone wouldn't give their life to protect me, and Hal disagreed and they started yelling at each other." I pause, switching my gaze between the two of them. Neither budge for any objections. "Right as Craig was walking away, Hal pulled him back and started beating him up. I jumped in and stopped them but that's when Sergeant Lee walked in. And that's all he saw."

The boys next to me remain restrained, holding their bodies still. The weight of their burning sight scorches the edges of my cheeks. The mark hidden beneath my Imperial Guard jacket and dress shirt dims in heat. The tingling trickles down to my fingers, capping over my knees.

Petry inspects the two officers. "Can you boys confirm this?"

"It's true," Hal agrees. Craig nods in approval.

"And what was the reason this all started? Sergeant, what is the background for your animosity toward the Private?"

All heads twist to Craig who does not revert his vision from the dust on the window shades. I know I told him to stay neutral but I certainly don't expect him to now. Who knows, maybe he'll keep his promise and pull through for the greater of the group. I hold my spot on the couch in case something incredulous reaps from his mouth and Hal wants a retaliation.

"You know, looking back on it, it wasn't all that important. I was hung up on something I was angry about for a while. I should have never let it get to that point."

"Please elaborate, Sergeant Larsson." Petry folds his hands on top of his desk. "The only way to extract the root of this issue is to bring it out. We can't make progress from restriction."

Craig exhales, resting his chin in his hand. The blinking resumes. "I was under the supervision of Major Talbot when his wife was murdered at Slater's hand. Since then, I never looked at Slater as any kind of ally. There was nobody I hated more. But once he got ranked I realized that I had to show him some respect as his Sergeant. I had no choice." He turns to me, leaking a frown. "I don't know if it's something that I will ever overcome. It's too personal."

"So this event has fueled your hatred for these two?"

Then, without hesitation from Craig, "Yes."

Petry exchanges a glance with Hal. "Corporal van Lester, under what grounds does this hostility involve you? What are the means for siding with Private Tross in this situation?"

"Craig wouldn't stop picking on Slater in the barracks. Saying how he didn't deserve the help and being rude in general. I had to stand up for him because Craig wouldn't listen to anyone else." Hal sneers. "I've had it with him treating everyone like dirt."

"But you do agree that what Private Tross did before his time in the Imperial Guard is reason enough to incite this response, correct?"

Hal squints at the Master Sergeant. "What? No, that's not what I said. I mean, yeah, but he's changed. It's not like he's still killing people."

"Considering he's sitting here right in front of me, I would say that his antics haven't seized. He's still causing problems."

"Sir, do you have something against me?" I blurt out, gripping the smooth cushions beneath my legs. "Look, I know I'm not entirely worthy of forgiveness, but-"

"Sir, Slater is not the same person he was over the summer." Craig chimes in. "Going back on the way I have treated him, I have realized that there was nothing he could have done to stop this from happening. I don't think Slater ever wanted any of this to happen. Hal is right; he's changed. I lived in fear that he would hurt one of the kids in Class 30 but now I know that I was the one being partial. And with all due respect, sir, you are being just as partial as I was."

A collision of relief and humiliation leaps into my veins and freeze my view onto the Sergeant. I can sense Hal's gaze blazing through my skull to see his rival for himself. In my peripheral, Petry sits back in his revolving chair, taking a deep breath. Craig does not roll his head from his only superior in the room. The swamp in his eyes has found another victim, and it's not me this time.

"It made it ten times worse that Hal and I were supposed to be enemies. Major Talbot and the Colonel initially challenged us to outrank the other. But when the Colonel gave Slater the OLC, Major became furious and told me to defeat Hal at all costs. I guess when I saw him starting to become friends with Slater, I snapped. I wanted to make my mentor happy because that's what he would have wanted. Now I realize that treating Slater like that only divided me from everyone else. Hal was only being a good friend when he defended him. I mean, yeah, he shouldn't have beaten me up but I think I finally got what was coming to me. It was my wake-up call that whatever was keeping me from showing Slater respect can't control me. I can change, just as Slater has."

Utter shock envelopes me as I refocus on my shoes. All I asked was for them to be neutral, not necessarily side with me. The last person I would expect to say these kinds of things would be Craig, and now that those words have escaped him, I am at a loss. I thought he would never even consider the idea of showing me any kind of respect.

It has to be a trick. An incredibly fabricated tale so that he saves our asses. Should that be the case, I must say, our Sergeant is bolder than I imagined. Lying in the face of a superior officer is no walk in the park. He makes it seem so real too; an unwavering span of attention and exquisite posture to suggest truth.

But, then again, what if he's not lying?

Master Sergeant Petry nods at Craig before switching to Hal and I. "Thank you for that, Sergeant Larsson. I guess. Now, boys, from the look of it, you three just need some more time together to really start to understand one another. So, I will propose this to you." He holds up one finger. "One month. The three of you will be in charge of inspection on yourselves and your fellow classmates."

"What?" Hal exclaims, an inch from rising out of the cushion. "You want us to be snitches?"

"Patience, Corporal. You boys will supervise cleaning for your whole class. Every Wednesday is barracks inspection and your job is to make sure they are in the best shape possible. None of the other new recruits should receive anything lower than a one-hundred percent on their neatness grade. It falls onto your responsibility if they fail. This also includes tidying up after meals and scrubbing the bathrooms."

A guttural noise flees Craig's throat. "Seriously? Scrubbing the bathrooms?"

"Keep complaining, Sergeant, and I'll make it two months. I typically wouldn't be so lenient on aggression in the barracks, so don't toy with my mercy. Just be lucky that your mentors have more power than I do and be on your merry way. If you three don't make the progress I would like, expect to be on duty for another month. If that all passed through your cognizance, you are dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Craig asserts, inclining to his feet. The two Sergeants take hands in accordance. "Thank you for your time. I assure you that we will not disappoint."

Hal and I copy our leader's movements to thank Petry. The Corporal curls around the couch and makes for the door when my opportunity arises to come face to face with the man behind the desk. He grabs my hand but does not release it. Burning coals infect my face as I find my gaze attached to his brutal face. The heat spreads to my left arm and a small plating on my chest.

"Mr. Tross, count your lucky stars that you have friends that will look out for you. You may be ranked but you're still on thin ice around here."

I swallow, clenching my jaw. "Yes, sir. Understood."

My lumbering feet carry me out to the hallway where Craig and Hal await my arrival. We take a sharp right and pace toward the front atrium. Escaping the dense corridor of the offices leads us into an open space, illuminated by the dying light of the evening. The tiles below our constricting boots have a gloss that allows me to see a cloudy figure of myself. The ceiling towers a house-height over our heads, a dazzling emerald hue with a lustrous gold trim. Any tangerine light is creeping through the frosted glass of the windows, rising all the way to the ceiling.

Historic pieces are strewn about the room in an organized manner. One work, located on the left wall, across from the windows, there is a painting of a mustached-man in an antique Imperial Guard uniform, peculiar from our's now. The room is so wide that, from our track in the middle, I cannot read the silver plaque hung underneath him. A display case beneath his chin contains some kind of scripture, yet I don't have binoculars for eyes. He must be important; just a wild guess.

Craig pivots to us on our right. A grin sprouts under his nose; the first in a while from our Sergeant. "I think we got out of that one pretty easy. I'm going to hate being the class butler but I'd rather do that over being suspended."

Hal peers over me as if we were still on the bench. "Dude, you fucking saved our ass. Even if you were lying. Lee can shove it, he's just trying to get us in trouble because he hates us."

"Like a power trip," I add. "He's finally superior to someone so he takes pride in doing his job. It happens to a lot of people but he ends up being the worst of them all."

"Eh, I think he could be worse," Hal explains, scratching his temple beside his black shaved hair. "It's just how he thinks about you, Slater. The rest of us are just collateral, unfortunately."

The Sergeant snickers. "Well, we're the superior class, so he should watch his ass. One day, I could be General, and he'll be, well, not." He tugs the door to the staircase toward him and allows his inferiors to pass through first. "Hey, do you guys want to head out to town? Get some dinner or something?"

"I would, but my girlfriend called me earlier and said she wanted to see me at her house. Whatever that means, you know?" Hal nudges me, a fanged smirk etched across his face. "Maybe next time, fellas."

I turn to Craig as the door slams on its own behind him. "I'll go get dinner with you. I haven't eaten all day."

I accept the release of the words from my mouth without once considering them. One week ago, I wouldn't even let Craig within ten feet of me. I guess things change when you aren't expecting it. Perhaps Craig and I really could be friends.

Even the thought makes my brain retch.