The Price of Tardiness
The selection to train in this prestigious facility hinted at the high-quality resources and training I would receive. It was a clear sign that I was expected to become part of an elite force. Fort Haven itself was vast, with a blend of historical fortifications and modern military buildings. I knew there were other military bases scattered throughout the states of Crestwood and Granitia, as well as states across Alstropia. However, the fact that I, an Awakened recruit, was assigned to Haven's Bastion suggested that this was where the military was concentrating its efforts on those with the ability to interact with Mana. It seemed that the Awakened were being gathered here, perhaps because this base had the most advanced facilities to nurture and develop our unique abilities. The rumors I had heard about this place being at the forefront of the military's efforts to understand and utilize Mana appeared to be true, and the thought of being part of such a crucial endeavor filled me with both excitement and a sense of responsibility.
The memory of my acceptance into the program yesterday was still fresh in my mind. I had been instructed to report to Haven's Bastion immediately, but here I was, arriving a day late. The weight of my tardiness hung heavy on me as I took in the quiet base, the silence a stark contrast to the bustling activity I had expected—and missed.
As I stepped out of my Evergreen, the cool night air greeted me, a stark reminder that I was far from the comfort of my mother's house in Elmridge. The entrance to the military base, which I suspected was a hive of activity during the day, was now eerily quiet, with only a few figures moving in the distance. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the late hour was the culprit for the lack of a welcoming committee. The stillness of the base at this late hour only heightened the sense of isolation that came with being a new recruit in a place that was both awe-inspiring and intimidating. But despite the quiet, there was an undercurrent of anticipation. This was Haven's Bastion, the heart of Alstropia's military response to the global upheaval. Like other nations grappling with the transformation of our world, Alstropia was fortifying its defenses and harnessing the potential of the Awakened.
Inside, the harsh light of the fluorescent bulbs illuminated the reception area, casting a stark glare over the scene. A single table was manned by a lone clerk, behind whom two other recruits were fumbling with their paperwork. As I drew closer, they glanced up, their eyes widening slightly at the sight of another latecomer. From their youthful faces and the easy camaraderie between them, I guessed they were fresh out of high school, perhaps even best friends. Their familiarity with each other was evident in the way they stood close together, unburdened by the awkwardness that often accompanies new acquaintances.
I pulled out my own set of signed documents, the proof of my enlistment as an Awakened recruit. As I handed them over to the clerk, a thought struck me: why were we still using paper in this digital age? It seemed absurdly archaic, especially when touchscreens had been around for what felt like forever. I suppose some habits die hard, especially within the government's rigid bureaucracy.
As the clerk, a middle-aged man with a face that had seen one too many all-nighters, glanced over my papers with a disinterested eye, one of the two boys behind him caught sight of "Awakened" on my paperwork. His eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of admiration—or was it envy? crossing his face as he looked at me with newfound respect. The clerk, without looking up, addressed me in a gruff voice, "Carter, proceed to Training Facility 1 immediately. Your training commences now."
Training at this hour? The thought was unexpected. I exchanged a glance with the other two recruits, who likely had just been given the same instructions by the clerk before I came in. Their lack of surprise suggested they were still processing the information, just as I was. I tried to keep my spirits up, telling myself that their sleep schedules were just out of sync with mine. After all, with Mana's energy coursing through my veins, I could handle a little sleep deprivation.
With our paperwork squared away, the three of us set off towards the training facility. I figured it wouldn't hurt to make some early allies in this new environment. I extended a hand to each of them, my voice low but steady. "Ryan Carter. Just rolled in here."
The one with the black hair gave a nod, his handshake firm. "Tristan Calloway," he replied, a hint of curiosity in his eyes as he glanced at my paperwork.
The blonde recruit, whose athletic build was hard to miss, flashed a quick grin. "Marcus Leary," he said, his voice carrying a note of excitement. "Hey, Carter, Tristan here saw on your paperwork that you're one of the Awakened, aren't you?"
Tristan started to interject, a look of mild reprimand on his face, but I cut in with a cheerful nod. I couldn't help but smile at Marcus's enthusiasm, even as he stumbled over his words, trying to clarify what he'd seen. "Yeah, I am. Just got my Core formed not too long ago." Internally, I couldn't help but think that these two were fresh out of high school. Their energy, their eagerness—it was almost palpable. I felt a twinge of surprise at their youth; shouldn't they be starting college or enjoying a gap year instead of signing up for military service? It seemed like they were barely adults, yet here they were, ready to face whatever challenges the military had in store for us. Weren't they a bit too young for all this?
"So, Carter, you're one of the Awakened, huh?" Marcus asked, his eyes wide with curiosity. "What's it like? I mean, how does the super strength feel? Like, can you bench press a car?"
"It's okay, really," I said, attempting to downplay the significance of my abilities. My mind raced with concern; I didn't want to inadvertently encourage Tristan and Marcus to rush into forming their own Mana Cores. They were fresh-faced, barely out of high school, and I couldn't shake the feeling that they were too young to grasp the gravity of the risks involved. The process was grueling, and the fatality rate was alarmingly high. I had no desire to be the catalyst for their potential misfortune. "It's not as dramatic as you might think," I added, hoping to temper their youthful enthusiasm with a dose of reality.
Tristan gave a slight shake of his head, a gentle admonishment to Marcus. "Marcus, we've been over this. It's not just super strength."
"Oh, right, right," Marcus said, scratching his head sheepishly. "But there's gotta be more to it than that, right? Like, is there some kind of tingling feeling? Or maybe you can see Mana differently now?"
"Yeah, I can see Mana differently now," I said, trying to downplay it. "But it's not a huge difference, really. It's more like... a slight adjustment to my vision."
As we walked deeper into the base, the quiet of the night seemed to vanish. The compound was bustling with activity. Groups of people, their bodies honed and sculpted, were running, jogging, or simply walking with purpose. I noticed a few people suddenly stopping mid-stride, their expressions focusing intently. It was as if they were concentrating on something invisible, then just as abruptly, they'd resume their exercises. I realized they were likely absorbing Mana. It was a common sight now, people harnessing the energy that permeated the air.
The enormous building that housed Training Facility 1 loomed ahead, its silhouette a dark outline against the night sky. Tristan, Marcus, and I had arrived later than anticipated, our delay marked by the keen eyes of fellow recruits. As we stepped over the threshold into the facility, the drill sergeant's voice, booming from a stage at the far end of the room, stopped mid-sentence. A hush fell over the space, signaling our arrival had not gone unremarked. The recruits, seated in rows of chairs, turned their heads to stare at us. Some looked tired, as if they had been abruptly woken up from a nap. The air was thick with the scent of stale coffee and a faint hint of disinfectant, evidence that a briefing was still going on when we walked in.
A muscular man, likely the Drill Sergeant given how quickly everyone stood at attention, raised his hand, signaling for us to stop. His gaze, as piercing as an eagle's, swept over us, taking in our casual clothes with a look of disbelief and annoyance. "Hold it right there!" he bellowed, the command bouncing off the walls. "What in the hell do you think you're doing, showing up to training in street clothes? And what's with the hair? You think you're on vacation?"
We exchanged nervous glances, each of us fumbling for an appropriate response. Before any of us could muster a word, the Drill Sergeant cut us off with a wave of his hand. "Let me guess, you three were supposed to report here yesterday, but you're just strolling in now, are you not?"
I swallowed hard, feeling the weight of our collective mistake. The Drill Sergeant's face hardened, his jaw set in a stern line. "You're late, and you've failed to follow basic instructions. That's strike one and two right there. And you didn't even bother to get a haircut. That's strike three."
Internally, I steeled myself, ready to endure whatever physical punishment he deemed fit. A few push-ups? Sprints around the track? No problem with Mana's healing ability. But the Drill Sergeant had other plans.
The Drill Sergeant's voice cut through my thoughts, his words sharp and unyielding. "Carter, you'll be raking leaves in the open field. Leary, you get the pleasure of emptying the lake out back—with a bucket. And Calloway, you'll be polishing every shiny surface in this facility until it gleams like new. You'll be doing these tasks for four hours. After that, all three of you will report to the barber inside the compound for a head shave. Leave your bags here, and remember, I'll know if you slack off. Other recruits have gone through the same thing, and I expect no less from you three."
A chill ran down my spine. These tasks were pointless, the kind of busywork designed to break down the spirit rather than build up the body. We stood there, absorbing the gravity of our situation, until Marcus, unable to contain his curiosity, blurted out, "Where should I begin with the lake, sir? And where can I find a bucket?"
The Drill Sergeant's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched. He didn't answer Marcus's question, but instead, his voice dripped with disdain as he added, "An extra two hours for all of you for questioning orders. Now, get moving."
Tristan, who had remained silent, shot Marcus a look that was equal parts frustration and understanding. I couldn't help but share that sentiment. We all knew the rules: you follow orders, not question them. But Marcus's youthful exuberance had gotten the better of him, and now we were all paying the price. Internally, I felt a surge of frustration toward Marcus. His impulsive question had just cost us an additional two hours of labor—six hours of raking leaves, a task that felt as pointless as it was tedious.
We turned to leave our bags by the door, the weight of the Drill Sergeant's punishment hanging over us. As I picked up a rake and headed toward the open field, I couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. The task ahead was daunting, and the additional two hours made it all the more grueling. But as I began to rake, I found a rhythm in the motion, a small comfort in the face of such absurdity. Despite my irritation, I knew that dwelling on it would only make the time pass more slowly. I focused on the rake's movement, the rustle of leaves, and the cool night air, trying to channel my frustration into something productive.
The night air was cool, and the moon cast a pale glow over the field. I worked in silence, the only sound being the rustle of leaves under the rake's tines. Every so often, I would glance over at Marcus, who was diligently scooping water from the lake with his bucket, and Tristan, who was meticulously polishing every shiny surface within the facility. Despite the harsh punishment, there was a certain diligence in their actions, the kind that spoke of youthful determination and the makings of a soldier.
As the hours ticked by, the initial shock of our predicament began to fade, replaced by a stubborn resolve. We had been thrust into a world where obedience and discipline were paramount, and if raking leaves and polishing surfaces was what it took to prove our worth, then so be it. We would endure, adapt, and overcome, just as we had been trained to do.
In the quiet moments, my thoughts drifted to Alex. We had exchanged messages here and there, but the reality of our interactions being confined to the digital realm left me feeling disconnected. Alex had been the first person to reach out to me, the first to share in the mystery of Mana. The temptation to distance myself from him was there, a desire to cut ties and focus solely on the challenges at hand. Yet, I recognized the value of our unique bond. Alex had been among the first to notice the Mana, and his early experiences could hold valuable insights.
I suspected that Alex might have some special abilities of his own, or perhaps he was simply more attuned to the energy that now permeated our world. After all, I knew from my own experiences that not everyone perceived Mana with the same intensity. Compared to others, whose descriptions on social media often spoke of fewer Mana specks and a delayed ability to absorb Mana, I had been able to interact with it from the very first day. Forming my Mana Core had come easier to me than to many others, who often endured multiple failed attempts before succeeding. The pain of forming the core had been the same, but my progression felt swifter, more intuitive. These differences made me curious about Alex's capabilities and how they might align with or surpass my own. Keeping tabs on him, even from a distance, could provide valuable insights into how we could both harness and refine our connection to Mana. As I raked, I resolved to keep the lines of communication open with Alex, despite the uncertainty of our future interactions. In this ever-changing world, where everyone could now see Mana, it was essential to hold onto any ally, any source of knowledge, that could help me navigate the path ahead.
By the time the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, the field was still a sea of leaves, the lake's water level hadn't budged, and the facility looked as though we had never touched it. We had poured our energy into the Drill Sergeant's arbitrary tasks, our bodies protesting with every rake of the leaves, every scoop of the lake water, every meticulous polish of the surfaces. Yet, the results of our labor were nowhere to be seen. It was a disheartening realization that we had just spent six long hours on a Sisyphean endeavor, our efforts amounting to nothing more than a cruel joke at our expense.
As I stood there, surveying the unchanged landscape, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of anger at the waste of time. The Drill Sergeant's punishment had been a blatant display of power, a reminder that we were at the bottom of the food chain here at Fort Haven. The futility of our tasks was a stark contrast to the sense of purpose I had hoped to find in the military. Instead of honing my abilities and contributing to a greater cause, I had been relegated to meaningless chores that seemed to mock my aspirations.
Despite the frustration that gnawed at me, I understood that this was all part of the process—a test of our resilience and our ability to follow orders without question. It was a harsh introduction to military life, one that I would need to adapt to if I wanted to survive and thrive within these walls. As I regrouped with Tristan and Marcus, I could see the same mix of emotions reflected in their faces. We shared a silent camaraderie, a bond forged by the absurdity of our situation and the unspoken promise that we would endure whatever else the military had in store for us.
With the dawn came a renewed sense of determination. I refused to let this experience break me. I would find a way to rise above the petty power plays and focus on what truly mattered—mastering my connection to Mana and becoming a valuable asset to the Awakened division. As we trudged back to the training facility, our bodies weary but our spirits still intact, I vowed to make every moment count, to ensure that my time at Fort Haven would be defined by growth and achievement, not by the pointless tasks assigned by a Drill Sergeant with a penchant for mind games.