Bunkhouse Echoes

The bunk above him creaked again, metal groaning under restless weight. Reid's eyes snapped open. Rough snores sawed the air, punctuated by wet coughs and the rustle of shifting bodies in the cramped darkness. A raw, metallic tang, like blood gone stale, hung thick in the humid air, overlaid with the cloying scent of cheap disinfectant that couldn't quite mask the underlying grime. This was wake-up call in District Four, Redwood style.

He sat up, stiff joints protesting, and surveyed his new reality. Cramped barely covered it. Maybe twenty bunks crammed into a space meant for half that many, stacked two high, leaving barely enough aisle room to navigate sideways. Still, better than District Five. Definitely safer than a Stonefang alley.

A grunt from the bunk beside drew his eye. A hulking figure, all shaved head and thick neck, shifted, muttering in his sleep. Most of the occupants were men, built thick and rough, faces etched with the city's usual brand of hard living. Potential Redwood recruits. Potential meaning muscle, mostly, Reid figured.

The Shattered Gate presence in his mind was silent, but he sensed it, like an idle current waiting beneath the surface.

Sitting on the bed, he let out a long breath. For the first time, he could properly reflect on his bizarre powers. "What exactly are you?" he whispered. "This…Shattered Gate?"

No response. He wondered if the Gate only spoke during moments of tension or conflict. He closed his eyes, recalling the feeling of glass shards swirling around his forearm. The system's interface was intangible, but he'd seen or "felt" descriptions of the bracer's abilities. Maybe there was more.

He tried focusing inward, imagining a mental space where the shards might be stored. Gradually, the darkness behind his eyelids brightened, replaced by a swirl of reflective surfaces. He felt like he'd stepped into a hall of mirrors, each fragment drifting in an inky void. At the center was a single bracer shape, faintly pulsing with light. This was presumably the "First Mirror: Reflection of Motion." No other mirrors floated around it—yet.

[Host has established a partial connection with the Shattered Gate's domain.] A soft mental whisper, different from the usual mechanical announcements.

He swallowed. "So… I can do this on command?"

[Yes. Once awakened, the Host can meditate to enter this reflection space. Additional mirrors appear upon meeting certain conditions or passing certain thresholds.]

He looked around, wondering if there was a menu or a list. "Are you going to explain these conditions?"

[The Shattered Gate's nature is to challenge and refine. Each mirror manifests from a reflection of the Host's experiences and desires. Seek adversity, strive for mastery, and the next mirror may reveal itself.]

Cryptic. Typical. He sighed, letting the reflection space fade. Opening his eyes, he found himself back in the small room.

He swung his legs over the side of the bunk, the metal frame groaning in complaint. He tapped his phone, the balance glowing back at him. Five hundred credits. A fortune or so he had thought.

His gaze snagged on a tattered flier taped to a nearby locker – 'Unlock Your Potential! Soul Force Manuals – Discounted for Redwood Affiliates!' Beneath it, a price tag: 5,000 credits. Five thousand. The cheap version, apparently.

A hollow laugh escaped him. Seven hundred credits felt like a mountain until you faced a sum like that. Five thousand credits for a book. A book that might unlock… what, exactly?

He sighed. Getting his hands on that wouldn't be easy at all. That's one of the reasons he joined the Redwood talents. It should help him with a better pay. Though he wasn't sure how to he earned his keep at Redwood and what they payed. He had his homework cut out for him.

Reid quickly pulled on his worn boots, mindful of the rough figures around him, and left to satisfy his growling stomach.

The thin gruel at lunch tasted even more metallic than usual, but Reid forced it down, his gaze scanning the noisy mess hall. He wasn't just eating sustenance; he was absorbing information.

Most were loud, boasting about their imagined prowess, or complaining about the training. Jax and his cronies held court at a nearby table, their laughter booming, their eyes occasionally flicking towards Reid with veiled contempt. He ignored them, focusing on the bland food and conversation flowing around.

One recruit, a wiry man with tattoos snaking up his neck, bragged to his table, "Once you're in, really in, things change. Better quarters, decent rations, maybe even some… perks from the Redwood girls down in District Two." He winked, eliciting crude laughter from his companions. "Heard some Enforcers even get their own rooms, private stalls in the mess, real food… and credits, real credits that don't vanish the second you blink."

Another, quieter voice, countered, "Don't get ahead of yourself, Krell. Most of us will be lucky to end up as perimeter guards, shivering in the cold for scraps and orders barked at us. Enforcer is a pipe dream for slum rats like us."

Krell scoffed, pounding his fist on the metal table. "Speak for yourself, Dren. I ain't no perimeter guard. I'm Redwood material. Instructor Karras saw my moves in sparring. He's got an eye for talent." He puffed out his chest, glancing around as if expecting agreement.

Reid internally rolled his eyes. Krell was loud and arrogant. But the conversation was revealing. Redwood offered a tiered system, a hierarchy with tangible rewards at each level. Perimeter guard was the bottom rung, grunt work, barely better than the slums. Enforcers… that was where the real power, the real benefits lay. Beyond Enforcers, there were Captains, Lieutenants, and more.

The flier for 'Soul Force Manuals' flashed in his mind again – 'Discounted for Redwood Affiliates!' That was it, wasn't it? Access. Redwood wasn't just offering food and shelter; they were offering access to something more. Access to training, resources, knowledge, perhaps even the secrets of the Awakened, locked away behind a 5,000 credit paywall for outsiders, but possibly within reach for Redwood members.

The thought was tempting, incredibly so. He craved knowledge about the Shattered Gate, about his own awakening. He was stumbling in the dark, relying on instinct and cryptic system messages. Formal training, even just a manual, could be a game-changer.

But caution held him back. Redwood wasn't charity. They weren't offering handouts out of kindness. They expected something in return. Loyalty, obedience, ruthlessness. And judging by Karras's training methods, a willingness to inflict and absorb brutal violence.

Afternoon drills were even more punishing: close-quarters combat training, focusing on brute force and aggressive tactics. Karras emphasized intimidation, ruthlessness. "Make them fear you before you even throw a punch," he barked, demonstrating a brutal elbow strike that sent a training dummy flying. "In the Redwood zones, hesitation gets you killed."

Reid found himself facing Borak in the sparring ring, the sheer size difference almost comical. Borak was a monolith of muscle, a fully grown man sculpted from granite. His shoulders were broader than Reid's entire torso. Standing opposite him, Reid felt like a sapling facing an oak, a scrawny fourteen-year-old against a seasoned brute.

Borak moved like he looked – a slow, deliberate avalanche. His punches were telegraphed, yes, but when they landed, the impact was bone-jarring.

Each block, each parry against Borak's massive fists sent tremors up Reid's arm. Yet, he held his ground. He moved with a surprising agility, dodging the slower blows, weaving around Borak's bulk, focusing on speed and footwork.

Borak grunted, his brow furrowed in concentration as Reid evaded another clumsy punch. "Fast," Borak rumbled, his voice surprisingly deep. It wasn't a compliment, exactly, more like a grudging observation.

Reid just nodded, focusing on his breathing, his movements. It felt like awakening had changed him somehow. It wasn't just the bracer. Something fundamental had changed inside him. Greater strength, more control over his body, and he could even react faster.

The bracer remained dormant, thankfully. He didn't want to reveal his hand too soon, not in this chaotic environment. Let them underestimate the skinny kid from District Five. Underestimation was a weapon in itself.

As the sparring session wore on, a few eyes started to drift towards their match. Borak, despite his size, was getting visibly frustrated. Reid, despite being constantly on the defensive, wasn't breaking. He was nimble, elusive, absorbing the blows without falling.

Jax and his cronies watched from the sidelines, their earlier arrogance replaced by a simmering irritation. "Look at the runt, dancing around like a… a cockroach," one of Jax's followers sneered. "Still can't land a decent punch."

Jax just watched, his expression unreadable, a vein throbbing in his temple. He didn't like being outshone, even subtly, even by someone he considered beneath him. Reid could feel Jax's gaze burning into his back, a silent promise of future unpleasantness.

The training day finally ended, the whistle a welcome reprieve. The recruits dispersed, heading back to the bunkhouse, a tired, sweaty mass. But a hand stopped Reid. "Eulison, isn't it?"