Neptune sighed deeply before writing an overly large “365” beside the already large “365” he wrote a year ago in his notebook.
“...Another goddamn year just passed by.”
Several months flew by when he stepped into Ravens Camp, where a new metamorphosis had taken place, changing the face of this once innocent program into one with two faces. He wondered why he even bothered to believe in the words that the propagandists in white would fight in their stead. He looked at himself in the mirror, noticing how this uniform attire had become a mainstay in his life since shedding that Bronco one-piece. There was a difference between them, but they shared the same symbolic meaning.
“What have I accomplished in the past two years…?”
The answer to that question? He did not want to admit it, for the answer was pathetically obvious.
Absolutely nothing.
These months they spent learning how to fire an assault rifle.
The long procedure of learning how to toss a grenade a week ago.
That insane amount of time they wasted learning how to move in urban warfare tactically.
And that final assessment that stood in their way, Field Camp. Do these things warrant a pat on the back?
That question answered itself, too.
Carmelo ran into the bunk, startling his batchmates from their idleness. “Boys, did you hear? We are getting vocational training! Some of the batches were discussing it earlier in the hallway.”
Bronston turned his head toward Carmelo.
“What’s with that stupid face, Bron Bron?”
“Say that again and I’ll mess you up, Melo.”
“Did you even hear what I just said? Vocational training! We’re getting–”
“And where did you hear that from?” Bronston’s face conveyed a look hovering between interest and disinterest. Most would deduce it bordered toward the latter. He then kicked up from the bed to a vertical base. “Sometimes, I have trouble believing anything anyone says nowadays. Are you sure the news source is authentic?”
Finn started laughing. “Honestly, we are past the point of caring.”
“To be fair, does it matter to us soldiers?” Bronston asked.
“Damn right, Bron Bron.”
“Not even you, Finn. Stop calling me that.”
“Life’s too short. Let’s just enjoy life as it is until we die or get our faces skinned off for some god-forsaken reason.”
Where did Finn get that sadistic idea? Nobody wanted to know.
“That’s dark as hell, Finn.” Bray felt a little chill in the bunk thinking about faceless soldiers.
“My brothers…We are all going to die on the battlefield,” Carmelo pretended to drop dead on the bunk’s hard floor, spreading his limbs. “Any of you have any last wishes? How about a visit to the red light district with me when we book out?”
“It’ll only be a matter of time before your little brother gets chopped off, Melo.”
“Shut up, Bray! Don’t police my little brother! You’re starting to sound like Tasha.”
“Wait, what? Even Tasha, too?!”
“All of you…”
That stark contrast in his tone caused Batch 123 to turn towards Bronston, who seemed on edge.
“Woah, Bron Bron, what happened to you?”
“Yeah, Bron Bron, are you deprived or–”
Casting his gaze downwards, Bronston spoke in a low, monotonous voice unusual for an idiot like himself.
“Is there any difference between dying on the battlefield or living in this concentration camp until they tell us what we’re getting indoctrinated next?”
Everyone looked at one another without speaking. The invisible guillotine hanging above the recruits had become unveiled to their eyes. They knew it, yet nobody dared to address the truth. Carry on this lie. Live without consequences. How simple their minds were! They had rationalised internally to avoid it for as long as possible.
Until they could not.
For nearly two years, Neptune accepted this death sentence when his soles first landed in the North’s dormitory.
Each citizen of the United Atlantea Federation–regardless of which region they lived in–had a personal identification number. A number marking their existence as belonging to a country, like soldiers associated with their bunks’ batch numbers. They were no different from livestock. Cattle. Subjects of a regime.
Regardless of an individual’s complexity and personal struggles, their life had become reduced to a screen’s graphic binary display of zeroes and ones, immutable, yet carrying no weight in anything. A number representing their life on a soulless blockchain network, easily lost into the eternal abyss of an expandable digital hell–the ocean of obscurity where their lives served no purpose. Yes, they could have every facet of their lives written and recorded. But did it matter? Those meaningless days of their lives where they spent doing nothing for two years as a good slave?
They could live noble lives of honour and integrity–but was that sufficient to live forever? How would the Drazen Empire treat their corpses once they had discarded them in a pile of rotting flesh? Most importantly, would history remember them as brave warriors who fought to defend their homeland? How foolish to think history would treat them any differently from those snuffed out in a revived superpower’s new renaissance…
Thanks to you, I have found it.
These questions filled his mind, tormenting him for an eternity until that day–a date worth remembering–when a special someone hijacked their broadcast, unknowingly changed his life. Regardless of circumstances–birthright or genetics, the opportunity had presented itself on a silver platter. He knew only a fool would not capitalise on it to become a legend like those enshrined in gold as proof of their deeds.
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
And as they say, fortune favours the bold.
“Then, what? Are you all going to sit there and sulk? Are all of you going to carry on your pathetic, meaningless existence and just wait to die?”
Neptune broke the silence, causing his bunkmates to turn their attention toward him.
“Does it mean we allow the enemy to come onto our shores and do whatever they please to our fellow countrymen? You should all know this better than I do: there are worse fates than death itself.”
‘...............................”
The green light to continue without interruption.
“Imagine this. The Drazen Empire lands on our shores and has a field day on us, soldiers who failed to pick up the training we received. Instead, we blamed everyone else for our problems. The Empire rolls up and sees a bunch of soldiers who can’t even throw a damn grenade…” Neptune threw a dirty look at Dom, who, a week ago, stumbled and got into a verbal argument with the trainer as he had forgotten the grenade-throwing procedures. “They are not going to slaughter us. Do you think they will let us off this easily? Have you all forgotten that we bear the sins of our past?! The Drazen Empire might be the only one taking action toward us, but the rest of the world has all forgotten what we, as the survivors, had done in the past?”
“Imagine once the Empire gets a hold on us, what would they do with us…or what would they do with our women?” Neptune added on for dramatic effect, causing his batchmates to wince at the vivid implications.
How did I? Never mind.
His ability to give a speech worthy of a propagandist surprised him, nearly scaring him with his unlimited potential to sell the dream.
…Unknown to him, that seed of persuasion had lit a flame within a lost sheep, sparking a revolution he had no foresight to imagine would eclipse him
“You…are right, Neptune.” A lost sheep had seen the light, and the shackles placed upon him had come undone.
“Bray.” Neptune did not expect someone to resonate with him.
“Guys, we can’t do much since we’re all stuck in this camp. Let’s do our best to ensure the next generation gets all the good stuff promised to us.”
“Let’s build the world for the future,” Finn spoke with his eyes closed. “We’re all in this together.”
“I agree, bro.” Bronston agreed.
“Aye.” Dom seconded.
That was…certainly easier than expected.
For the past two years, all they had was one another after losing everything on the day they enrolled in the GEP. Since Ravens Camp and the GMT, they exchanged what remained of their sanity for a statistic for the government to play around with. However, there was a fork in the road. If everyone worked together, believing in the bond they had forged as a batch, anything they dreamed of could become a reality.
“Together, as one.” Neptune declared.
“Sounds good, bro.” Bray nodded.
I’ll create a future of my desires–
Even if building for a brighter tomorrow consisted of a slim chance of toppling the mightiest conquerors in the realm’s history, he would do anything to ensure this dream turns into the future he envisioned.
However, one question remained…
Is it him? Or were they in charge?
“We will do our best to become proud soldiers of the United Atlantea Federation!” Neptune exclaimed in harmony upon establishing common ground as his batchmates cheered him on like good sheep herded by the shepherd.
–And become a god!
*
“I don’t think we’re ready for Field Camp.” With his batchmates leading the way toward the dining hall, Neptune shared what was on his mind as he recalled the final assessment awaiting them before they graduated.
“What’s that?” Damian asked.
Neptune held his breath. What other response could he have expected from his clueless batchmates?
“Think of it as some ‘rite of passage’ for recruits.”
“Oh, cool. It can’t be that tough, right?”
He had watched movies and documentaries about jungle warfare during the weekends. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling that these shows weren’t a good representation of what was to come.
“Do I look like I have a crystal ball…?”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Never mind, forget–”
From a distance, the sound of chatter filled the hallway.
“Why is it so noisy?” Bronston called out from the middle.
“What the hell’s going on? Dom tilted his head to the side to catch what was happening in front.
Finn reached the dining hall’s entrance and stood there. “Holy shit.”
“Why are you standing there–oh, I get it.”
“Holy shit.”
It seemed they weren’t the only ones excited about the vocational news. The dining hall was noisier than usual, possibly from the other batches eagerly discussing their fates. The idea of receiving specialised training upon graduating from GMT sounded like music to the recruits’ ears.
“Damn, it’s loud!”
“Shit, what did you say, Finn?”
“It’s getting louder in here!” Neptune acknowledged the rising voice levels from the batches discussing their fate in this enclosed dining hall.
“Yeah…We need seats, boys.” Carmelo rubbed his belly.
“Damn, not even an empty table?. Dom jumped up and facepalmed himself while trying to find an empty table in the oversubscribed dining hall.
When all hope seemed lost, Carmelo waved his hands frantically to capture Batch 123’s attention, knowing the noise levels had drowned their voices. “Guys, over here! I got one.”
“Good job, bro!”
“You're a real one!”
Except for Bray, who had his eyes fixated upon something.
“Guys, wait.”
Dom glanced over irritatedly and clicked his tongue.
“What is it? We’re hungry, mate.”
“Shut the hell up, Bray. Let’s choose a table and whack some food. What do you guys say?” Bronston asked as he rubbed his belly.
“Hell yeah.”
“Sounds awesome, Bron Bron.”
“Don’t call me that, you little–”
“Solid ass suggestion, homie.”
“Fine, I’ll let it pass, Melo.”
“...Isn’t that the batch whopping our ass every week?” Bray pointed his finger in a specific table’s direction. He did not notice someone eyeing him with a look of disbelief mixed with surprise.
“Let’s go grab some food before everything gets cold!” Bronston challenged Carmelo to see who got their food first.
“Yo, you wanna join us to grab some first?” Finn noticed Neptune taking a seat.
“You guys go ahead. I’ll stay behind. Just help me to get a plate of food.”
“What would you like? I’ll help you, bro.” Finn offered.
“No preference. Anything will do.” Neptune had more urgent matters to settle.
“Alright, then.” Finn fist-bumped Neptune and joined the rest.
“Hey, wait for me–”
A vice-like grip stopped Bray abruptly.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
An unfamiliar frosty chill enveloped Bray, shaking him to the core as goosebumps began to form. The haunting aura from that individual felt devoid of emotion, as though the devil had possessed his batchmate after fleeing the gates of hell.
“...Is-is something the matter?”
Bray felt fear upon gazing into Neptune’s cold brown eyes, which seemed to drag his soul into the madness of the abyss that spiralled within.
“Let’s talk.”
“Now?”
“Yes. Just you–” Neptune licked his lips as he could barely contain his excitement. A chess piece far more valuable than any pawn on his chessboard had presented itself. “–And me.”