Chapter 1

Priar's hand traced Isabella's inner thigh, working its way closer to her most sensitive area. They were both naked, pressing against one another as if attempting to take shelter in the other's warmth. Her room had grown cold with the mixture of a broken ac unit and a thunderous storm just outside of her trailer. The nipples of her supple breasts perked in waves of goosebumps washing over the back of her neck and resurfacing across her broad thighs. They would have otherwise been uncomfortable if it weren't for their body heat acting as a furnace to keep the other burning hot to the touch. Their tongues mingled for delicate conversation as he gently bit her lip, moving away her skimpy underwear. Her breath hitched upon contact. He smirked seeing her body quiver with delight.

"I don't do this very often.." Isabella pulled away, delaying the inevitable in a last nervous act.

"You sure you wanna stop now?" Priar asked, never once leaving her gaze. After a small moment of consideration, Isabella yearned for his kiss once more, pulling him closer.

This was the pattern he'd followed for the better part of a year. Going from one acquaintance to another searching for a roof over his head in any way possible. If that also entailed a sexual encounter, then he wasn't one to complain. Priar was never the kind of man that could stay loyal, having moved from home to home across the states since he was a child. To him, promiscuity was just part of life. Oftentimes leading to conflicts with enraged partners, or worse, single fathers. Attracting these women were more a skill than a natural gift. Sure, he'd been blessed with hair that seemed to never falter and a jawline sharpened to a razor's edge. But looks could only get him so far. What got him in the house was more than just charm, it was a common friend: cocaine. 

Priar never gave his age to the women he sought, letting his partner in crime do the talking for him. Isabella was a nice girl. Shy, but curious. She'd been five years older than him, but that didn't matter once they were in her bedroom. It was the place he knew best, and although every woman was different, he thought it a fun challenge to find each and every secret they kept locked away before his departure; especially if said secret involved a wallet full of cash.

Isabella lay with her head in her saliva-stained pillow, huffing shuttered breaths as Priar sat at her bedside. He looked to the ashtray at her nightstand, borrowing an unfinished cigarette. Searching his jean pocket for his lighter, he sparked the encroached end and sucked in a long drag, releasing a plume of smoke to float overhead, gathering at the ceiling. Soft hands gently wrapped around his shoulder as Isabella kissed the nape of his neck moving towards his cheek. He flicked the cigarette into the tray, releasing residue from the tip, returning it. He held no expression of curious amusement, or warmth in her comfort. The transaction between them had been completed, all that was left was to reap the benefits.

He turned, giving her a small peck on the lips then crawled under her sheets. She joined him, wrapping her leg around him, nearly begging to adventure their greatest desires once more. He simply didn't respond, closing his eyes tightly in an attempt to ignore her increasingly devious advances.

"Hey, do you have any more of that stuff?" she whispered, allowing herself to rest against him, her bare breast against his back.

"hm?" he groaned, pretending to have fallen asleep in the short few seconds they'd shared in silence.

"That powder from before." she smiled, "I wanna see how you feel when I'm high." She ran her finger across his chest. A curious girl indeed. He'd needed the coke for the rest of his journey to the Mexican border and a few grams could only get him so far, and he'd barely crested the halfway marker. So instead of falling to the whims of seduction, he opted for silence. Something he learned from a young age was in order to receive attention, he'd need to be loud. Scream and beg for it like his life would end without it. And although that was the case the majority of the time, it was all the more comforting when he wasn't putting on his best face. He was allowed to be rude, allowed to be quiet. That natural reservation became the only dream he could look towards, even on the coldest nights when a woman not lay beside him. 

Priar was a runaway. After a lifetime spent in orphanages, it made all the more sense for his selective vagrancy. Parents were nothing of the nature except the bare minimum of what was to be expected. A roof, a room, and a curfew. Little changed in each house, all having their varying rules, one underlined in multitude. "DO NOT CAUSE TROUBLE" he always did.

That was until he'd receive his final chance at a home in the form of the Mays. The wife, Yelena May, harbored seemingly no end for surprises. Painting, planting, and patrolling the halls at the night's deadest hour. She was a sleep walker. Many times Priar caught her at the corner of his room cloaked in a veil of shadow, her pink and black polka dot gown being the only discernible thing about her. She'd tell him one night after her restless strolls that their son, Abe had died in service. She smiled briefly before subsequently mentioning that Priar sleeps just like him. She offered Priar a place in their room if it got too uncomfortable in his. In her senile age, she'd more than once forgotten she was talking to a young adult.

The husband, Barnabe May, was a work horse; although he'd been on the wrong side of 70, he continued his hard labor at the glue factory on the other side of town, coming home more irritable than the day before. This didn't bode well for a trouble-maker like Priar. The two of them never got along, the marriage between Mays only worsening since his arrival. His "mother" would always be in Priar's defense, even when unwarranted. Whereas Barnabe would be the first to call him out on his misdeeds. Eventually he'd had enough. One morning, he took Priar out for breakfast with the pretense of "setting things straight", only to deliver the news that would turn his world upside down. 

Barnabe didn't wait for their food to come out of the kitchen, instead burdening Priar with the knowledge of his future-to-be as soon as they sat at the table.

"Son, I signed you up for a military program overseas." Priar nearly choked on his glass of water.

"What?!" he yelled, disturbing the patrons seated at the bar. One of which shushed them, returning his attention back to the television just above the kitchen door.

"I don't want you to fight me on this, lord knows we've had enough since you came along." he took a sip of his coffee.

"No- I'm not fucking doing this. No- that's crazy!" Priar complained, blood bubbled to a choking point. 

"Language…" he pleaded, just barely keeping himself under control.

"You have to be going stale, old man, cause there's NO WAY, I'm going."

Barnabe shook his head with a heavy sigh, "Your name is already on the list, son. Whether you want to or not, it's not up to me anymore." he shrugged, feigning hopelessness. "Deal's done. It's out of my hands."

"Deal?" Priar questioned, cocking his head in frustration. "What the hell do you mean, deal?" His "father" had always been an honest man, so much like the life he led, he told Priar the truth. 

"They offered me a sum of money to sign a contract sayin' you agree to join their ranks." 

Priar shot from his seat, silverware clanging together violently as his hands slammed down on the table. "AND YOU SAID YES!?" the man that had pretended to be his father gave a slow nod in return. Priar slumped in his seat in utter defeat, making a strained effort to not picture himself permanently scarred in the line of duty. 

"It's just a training program, son. They ain't gonna do nothin' but yell at you, and you should be used to old men hollerin' at you by now." Barnabe tried to reason, but Priar was too far gone at that point, his eyes burning a hole through the man he loathed more than life itself.

"You want me gone?" he stood from his seat, swatting the glass of water off the table with a loud crash as it exploded across the floor. "I'll leave." he laughed to himself "Of course i'll leave- Since it's all King Barnabe and what he wants. What? Would you like me to take my clothes off too?" 

"Watch your mouth, boy!" Barnabe stood from his seat, aiming a provoked finger at him. He scoffed, then made his way to the door.

"Go fuck yourself." were the last words he'd ever speak to Barnabe May.

That morning was the result of many torturous nights laid on a cold park bench in a different town each day. California was a big state, and he needed all the help he could get to cross it. Whether it was in the ever watchful eyes of a dank alley, or in the arms of a lonely woman, looking to throw the last pieces of her life away. It was a crude plan and an even more imperfect execution, but it worked. 

That was until there was a knock at Isabella's door. They'd finally found him.

The sudden jolt in the plane brought Priar's head to his knees. It was the first time he'd been airborne, and he hoped to god it would be his last. He swallowed his own saliva in an attempt to keep the depths of his stomach from ejecting onto his new classmates. 

Each of the passenger seats were full of bright eyed trainees, most excited for the lessons they'd learn at the academy. They laughed in their preformatory groups attaching their self worth to who they'd surround themselves with. After observing them for so long, he'd questioned if perhaps spewing bile onto their heads had been the world's cruel way of dishing out the justice it so lacked.

Priar's leg bounced uncontrollable, lost in his own anxious worry. He feared when the null void would inevitably take him from this world, what an afterlife would appear to be for him. He wasn't a good person by any means. He wasn't religious. Would death be a long silence or a blaring bastion of brimstone?

 Knowing that he'd be in the business where that fate was most common sent his thoughts on a journey exceeding the bounds of earth. There were few who appeared as anxious as Priar, but none sat alone, accompanying their worries to lack luster words of reassurance, all that would end in vain by the time they'd land. 

No one had paid attention to him. No one had known his name nor his face and he appreciated that fact. There'd be no masks to put up that time, no deceit, and no rules. He'd finally be free to think and feel what he wished, no one to interrupt. No one except the trainee seated beside him who'd watched him with a slight grin, akin to how a child would watch an animal at the zoo. He was a shorter student with wild blonde hair that came to a halt just above his ears. His features, gaunt. He wore the uniform they'd given to the freshman class. The boys were made to wear a light grey collared shirt with the Bramblewood crest etched over the breast pocket. The ends of the shirt tucked into navy blue dress pants, each trainee receiving their exact measurement. Bound tightly around the neck would be a thick black tie keeping with traditions of formal appearances. Dress shoes were preferred; although many of the students wore the standard sneakers for the inevitable exercises they'd be required of. The blonde boy did the very same, only his shoes were hosts of vibrant green and yellow, standing out like a sore thumb. He wore, his collar popped and top two buttons loose, revealing a sparkling jewel around his neck instead.

Priar would've much loved to do the same, but he was forced to change in front of the recruiters that tracked him down, "thoroughly checking him for contraband" after Priar's relationship with rationality had sailed and sunk beyond the point of no return. 

He sat straight in his seat, averting his gaze elsewhere. Friends were not in his deck of cards, he hadn't planned on staying long enough to maintain them. At new schools all around, it was best to not stand out if he'd known his time there would be short.

A rumble rose throughout his throat, exiting his mouth in an acidic belch. Tasting what was to come next. He dug his nails into the arm rest attempting to swallow down what he could. 

From beside him he heard a laugh. The very same blonde had taken notice of Priar's unrest. 

"First time?" he asked with a grin. 

"You could tell?" Priar replied with a faked laugh.

"Well, when you're panting like a dog, yeah- I can pick up on it." Priar laughed off the comment to distract himself from the tension bubbling in his body. "Name's Slug, like the bug." He held his hand out to Priar, offering some amount of comfort. He could infer almost immediately that Slug was one to always make light of a bad situation; Although infrequent, it was not company he was opposed to keeping. The air around him would be enough for the average person to crack a chuckle. Priar had to watch other's behavior for months to mimic that energy, Slug had it naturally.

He shakily shook his hand, "I'm Priar-" the words were choked back. His skin turned deathly pale, his brow creasing at the discomfort. Slug's smile faded almost instantaneously. He knew what was coming next. 

Priar stood from his seat and raced to the bathroom further down the aisle, barely holding himself together. In the same motion he opened the door, vomit ejected from his lips and nose, filling the toilet in a putrid yellow. All eyes aboard the plane pointed in the direction of the sickly boy heaving in the toilet.

By the time the plane landed, Priar had dispersed his stomach over two of the 4 bathrooms, several times. He stepped off the vessel, a seafairing wind forcing its way to his nostrils. The heavy heat beared on the crown of his head, breaking out into an immediate sweat that slithered down his skin until eventually finding a home on the back of his shirt. They'd been taken hundreds of miles off any coast known to him. He was used to rambunctious cities and forsaken farmland. Priar could not take comfort in the oceanic breeze. Having never set foot on a beach before, the crunch of sand intermingled with dirt had caused his legs to tense in a shudder. 

The officers guiding their journey did not allow them to carry their own bags. Each of them sported a pointed cap, covering the tops of their shaven heads. Instead they ushered the trainees along like lambs to the slaughter. 

The first thing Priar noticed about Bramblewood was the size. The academy had taken the form of a fantastical manor spanning over 1,000 acres. Every square inch closed off with hefty metal bars that ended in spikes, connected to one another with thick iron strips. The tops of the manor were an assortment of spires, each housing their own glassy viewpoint where faces had been threatened to break the threshold. There were only two floors, but it was so impossibly large that even a 2nd floor felt surplus. An assortment of vibrant fauna lined the exterior, from bright reds, to deep purples, all culminating to a gazebo at the far end of the lawn. From beyond the gate Priar could even see the occasional gardener attending to each delicacy with heartfelt care.

Slug stood at his side watching each of the mysteries of the island unfold before his eyes. He'd been so enamoured with it, his jaw swinging from his face. "Have you ever seen something like this?" he asked, his amazement unwavering.

"Never." Priar responded, sharing his bewilderment. As much as he hated to admit it, he was impressed by the spectacle of it all. Had the building not been the precursor to his death he might've enjoyed the sight tenfold.

The gates to the manor were closed, a bulky man in an officer's uniform stood at attention, facing the large group of 60. "Form a line! I'll be checking you in. You give me your legal first and last name. DO NOT make this difficult." Priar could feel his surveillance from down the trail.

The line moved quickly for only 1 man to check off 60 nervous teenagers. When Slug had been next in line, Priar clung off a simple curiosity. Slug can't be his real name. 

"Go" the bulky officer hastened

"Slug," he whispered. 

The officer's brow fell to a furrow. "Legal name." he demanded. "First and last." 

Slug sighed, "Simon Andrews…" The guard signaled for him to go through. Priar stepped up to the plate next, without much defiance. There was nothing he could accomplish by beginning conflict, besides, the attitude had spewn out of him at that point. He wanted nothing more than for the day to be over with.

Idling around the lawn were others in uniform similar to Priar, his classmates. Each eyeing them with a smug expression. One by one the trainees were brought into the fold, entering the manor at its grandiose entrance; both doors had a corresponding spire of their own. made of stone and with intricate detailing, the spires peaked just below the first window to the second floor. Within its center held two electric lights, beaming with excitement at the behest of a darkening sky.

The dense wooden doors opened revealing a lavish red carpet lined in gold detail, surrounded by a polished redwood floor. Trainees all around watched them enter, from the balcony above, to the corridors off to the left and right of the foyer. None spoke outwardly. None made the comments he'd grown used to hearing over the years. Instead opting to stare as an outsider looking in at their own home as strangers waltzed their decadent halls. An overwhelming sense of dread draped on the back of his neck as he started up the staircase ahead, following the leadership of his group. 

They entered a dim auditorium much akin to an opera house where audiences could watch from balconies that encircled the stage. The new faces to the academy were of course placed in standard seating. Priar found his place beside Slug, the only other person he could stand the company of and it made it all the more simpler as it was an end seat, an easier departure than those cornered from all sides. When all 60 of the new trainees entered the auditorium, the lights waned almost entirely, radiating a spotlight on the stage before them

From the left of the curtain, a clacking of heels echoed throughout the hall. A middle aged woman stepped from beyond the veil of red, her greying hair curled over her shoulder. She

"Good evening all of you new faces. You may address me as Headmaster Dahlia. I'm sure most of you are tired from your long trip over, so I'll be accommodating and keep it short. Some of you have come here looking for guidance. Others might have familial ties, and I'm sure quite a few of you offered yourselves to this academy with the intention of making this world a better place. To make the lives of sickly mothers and disadvantaged siblings easier to get by. I am here to tell you, you will not accomplish that goal. Not alone at least. 

Slug exhaled a worried breath.

Bramblewood is the catalyst to this change- to making the world a greater place, together. You will make enemies, and you will make friends. You will learn to love, and learn to fight. We may all be here for our differing reasons, but we are all here regardless. Whether you hate or love this place, you are here together and there will be nothing that changes this irrefutable fact. 

I ask you to remember that in the coming years. In a world like this it is easy to lose sight of why. Why you live, why you fight, why you die. Which is why it is paramount you look to those around you. Remember their faces. Remember that when you are exhausted, beaten, and afraid, your family is there in the shit with you. Feeling those same fears. Asking those same questions. You're never alone, and at Bramblewood, you never will be again. 

She paused, a nervous smile rising from the corners of her lips. "That's all." Claps from the balcony filled the hall, the trainees apprehensively followed suit. Headmaster Dahliah shuffled the papers on the podium, watching the crowd in admiration. 

Then, lights cut from the stage plunging all into a sea of darkness. Soon after a red hue replaced the silence. A deafening siren blared loud enough to pop Priar's ears. One by one the trainees quickly rose from their seats in surprise. Headmaster Dahlia spoke, through strobing red, her smile unwavering.

"There is now an active threat in the building. Escape by any means necessary"