The recruits surged to their feet, a tide of gray uniforms and clinking gear. Zerek shuffled toward the exit, the weight of his pack pulling at his shoulders. The hallway was a narrow chute of concrete and steel, its air heavy with the acrid tang of disinfectant and the faint, coppery scent of old blood linger in the air. Holoposters flickered, showing grainy footage of a Juggernaut's leap, its roar muted but no less terrifying. Zerek reached the gear table, checking his pack: a dozen magic rounds, a dozen armor-piercing rounds, fifty water and ration pills, three black suicide pills, a med pack, a steel dagger, and a comms link. He tucked each item into his uniform's pockets, his movements methodical, born of years surviving on Eagle City's fringes.
He was about to search for his teammates, Brakk and Drake, when a gloved hand tapped his shoulder. Zerek turned, his breath catching as he faced Commander Varyn. The man's mask gleamed under the hallway's lights, its surface unmarred, reflecting Zerek's own wide-eyed stare. Varyn's coat rustled softly, the sound unnervingly precise in the chaotic murmur of the corridor. Up close, the commander's presence was overwhelming, his height and silence radiating authority. Zerek's mind flickered to a childhood memory—hiding in an alley as a masked enforcer dragged a thief away, the man's screams echoing long after he vanished.
"Recruit Zerek," Varyn said, his voice a low rumble, each syllable deliberate. He reached into his coat and produced a small metal case, no larger than a ration tin. "Take these."
Zerek hesitated, confused and lost, his hands hovering over his pack. "Sir?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying his nerves. Protocol demanded a salute, but his arms felt leaden.
Varyn opened the case, revealing five bullets, their casings a dull silver that caught the light differently from standard rounds. "High-density rounds. Expensive. For you." He extended the case, his gloved fingers steady.
Zerek's brow furrowed, confusion warring with caution. "For me, sir? Why?" High-density rounds were rare, whispered about in the slums as luxuries only elite soldiers could afford. He'd seen a smuggler once trade a single round for a month's rations.
"You lack powers," Varyn said simply, his masked gaze unyielding. "These level the field. Five shots. Use them wisely when push to the corner." He closed the case with a snap and pressed it into Zerek's hand, the metal cold against his palm. "Return to the briefing room. Further instructions await."
Before Zerek could respond, Varyn turned, his coat sweeping behind him as he strode down the hallway, his boots clicking against the concrete. The commander's presence lingered like a shadow, heavy and inscrutable. Zerek clutched the case, his heart pounding. Why him? Why now? The questions gnawed at him, but the hallway's bustle pulled his attention.
Nearby, two recruits—a wiry woman with a shaved head and a stocky man with a scarred jaw—whispered, their eyes darting to Zerek. "High-density rounds," the woman muttered, her voice laced with envy. "Five of 'em. Those cost more than a year's pay for grunts like us."
"Commander Varyn handing them to a nobody?" the man scoffed, his scar twisting. "What's a powerless runt gonna do with those? Waste 'em, probably."
Zerek's cheeks burned, but he kept his head down, slipping the case into his pocket. The murmurs followed him, a chorus of resentment and curiosity from other recruits who'd noticed the exchange. He remembered the orphanage again—older kids sneering when he'd scrounged a rare battery, their jealousy a prelude to fists. He pushed the memory aside, focusing on Varyn's words. Five shots. Level the field. The weight of the case felt heavier than his pack, a promise and a burden.
The hallway stretched ahead, its walls scarred from years of use, the air thick with the scent of pollution from all the nuclear radiation lingering in the air. Zerek adjusted his gear, his mind racing. Varyn's mask, his curt gesture, the bullets—they made him feel like this battle wouldn't be easier as he imagine. Most people will definitely lost their lives. He glanced back, but the commander was gone, swallowed by the crowd. Taking a deep breath, Zerek stepped into the hall for more briefing.
****
After more than 15 minutes of briefing, Commander Varyn left the hall, followed by the soldiers. Eagle City being the last city of humanity made the counsellors of elders to make a drastic rules of forcing all people below the years of 10 to train and those at 15 to enter the battlefield.
During the 5 years of training, those who's talents are discovered were scooped into the factions of each of those counsellors of elders and trained extensively with the resources of their factions. Becoming not only the backbone of the city but also of their respective faction. At first, Zerek who came to this city with Rika, had lot of people observing him as they thought since he was a friend of Rika, he wouldn't be a ordinary human but as days turn to weeks and weeks turn to months and years they finally gave up on him and turn their attentions to rising stars. Due to this, Zerek didn't even have the chance to attend any of those five years classes and if not due to the talent of Rika which gave her some influence to help her ask for him to learn some skills to protect himself, then even his gun skills would have been nothing but a joke in the presence of everyone.
With his bag sludge on his back, Zerek who just stepped out of the hall took a turn but suddenly he came face to face with a certain person he didn't know.
"You are?" The man with light gold hair asked with cold expression showing his displeasure as he saw the lowlife of a recruit looking him straight into his face.
"Me?" Zerek asked. Baffled at why this person was looking at him with a expression as if he was owning him some money.