Chapter 12
Regina Carlos
The view in the distance gradually sharpened as IAM and Ryan drew closer, their boots crunching over the sand that seemed to sigh under each step. The strange fog began to thin slightly, just enough to finally give them a clear look at the place whispered about in tension-filled tones across Hope's End.
The Hold.
It stood out like a scar on the land, its massive form unmistakable among the otherwise desolate sprawl of barren sand and strange, distorted shapes lingering in the distance—shapes that teased the eyes and warped into illusions if stared at too long.
At the heart of it all stood a colossal dome, looming like a silent warden over the surrounding chaos. The dome was a muted black, but only because of the unnatural grey hue that painted the air of the Deadline. It was crafted entirely from reinforced steel, smooth and impenetrable, with no visible seams, windows, or openings—almost like it had been poured into existence. It exuded a single message: nothing gets in without permission.
Crowning the top was a long, needle-thin pole where a flag flapped gently, unnaturally, given the still air. It was blood-red, shockingly vibrant compared to its bleak surroundings, with a stark satin-black H at its center. Hope, IAM guessed, though the irony wasn't lost on him.
Surrounding the dome were scattered camps, smaller but no less serious. They varied in size and shape, some tents, others steel structures. One of the larger tents bore the same red flag—but instead of black, its H was a deep forest green. IAM figured this had to be the medical ward, the place where bodies were dragged after battles, broken but breathing.
Another building stood out: a steel cube, cold and geometric, like someone had dropped it from the sky. It had no windows, only a single door, and was frequently visited by soldiers dressed in black uniforms adorned with blood-red badges. The flag atop it bore no green, no blue, no symbol of peace—just the same bright red fabric, ominously unadorned except for a single, jagged tear fluttering near the edge.
IAM didn't know what that building was, but it unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain.
The rest of the camps were smaller, simpler. They looked like barracks, barely wide enough to hold a dozen people each. Spartan. Efficient. Temporary. They weren't meant to comfort. They were meant to let the living rest just long enough before becoming the next ones to fight, or fall.
IAM inhaled deeply, but the air here felt heavier—denser. Each breath seemed to pull in not just air, but tension, despair, urgency. His spine prickled with instinct.
"Damn…" Ryan muttered beside him, eyes narrowed. "It's bigger than I imagined."
IAM nodded slowly, eyes fixed on the dome. "Yeah. This place… it doesn't feel like somewhere you live. It feels like somewhere you survive."
Ryan smirked faintly. "Well, welcome to war, partner."
They walked forward in silence, letting the weight of it all sink in.
IAM noticed something… something that nearly shocked him as much as the first time he saw the nine moons.
It was a truck.
His eyes widened, and his jaw slowly dropped. It wasn't exactly like the modern trucks from Earth's 21st century—but it was close enough. Boxy, rugged, and functional, the vehicle rumbled forward with a low mechanical growl before halting about ten meters in front of them.
For someone who had just spent the last week riding in a horse-drawn carriage and living in a slum where homes were cobbled together with wood, sticks, and prayers, the sight of an actual vehicle felt like a punch to the brain.
"I thought… I thought this world was primitive," IAM muttered, almost to himself.
Ryan glanced at him, brow raised. "Slums'll do that to you. That's Hope's End, not the world."
Upon closer inspection, the truck looked like it had been built for hellish terrain. Its body was completely grey, dulled by dust but armored in places with steel plates. The front had no headlights, which struck IAM as strange, but the tires were massive—clearly built to handle shifting sands and rugged ground. The undercarriage was high off the ground, and the whole thing seemed like it had been constructed to survive a warzone.
IAM blinked a few times, still trying to reconcile what he was seeing. The contrast between the carriage he had arrived in and this military-grade monstrosity in front of him was almost offensive.
"This is a huge jump… what the hell..." he murmured. "We were riding like villagers and now there's a sand-ready beast parked in front of us?"
Ryan gave a dry laugh. "Welcome to The Hold, man. Things are… different out here. You'll see more surprises before the day's done."
IAM shook his head slowly, still staring at the truck as though it might vanish if he blinked.
What kind of world is this…?
And from the vehicle a clear voice is heard from the inside :" are you lost.... This is a war zone and if you are not supposed to be here I recommend you leave, for both your mental and physical health. "
From inside the vehicle, a clear, commanding voice rang out:
"Are you lost? This is a war zone. If you're not supposed to be here, I recommend you leave—for both your mental and physical health."
The voice was unmistakably a woman's. Cool, sharp, and utterly unimpressed.
IAM and Ryan exchanged a quick glance. IAM fumbled into his pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled piece of paper before shouting back, "We're here because we enlisted to join the war effort!"
The truck's heavy door creaked open with a metallic groan, and out stepped the woman.
IAM's first thought was that she looked like she belonged here—not just physically, but mentally. The battlefield had carved itself into her posture, her eyes, her voice.
She was of Mexican descent, with skin kissed by the sun but dulled slightly by the grey pallor of this place. Her light brunette hair was tied back in a low, no-nonsense ponytail, and her sharp light brown eyes scanned them with the disinterest one might give a dull rock. Her face was striking, not because it smiled—but precisely because it didn't. It looked like it hadn't smiled in years.
Her uniform matched those IAM had glimpsed on other soldiers—black, durable, and clearly military-issue. The material was unfamiliar, some kind of reinforced fabric. The top was a fitted hoodie layered with six bulky pockets from her chest to her stomach, three on each side. She wore black cargo trousers, each leg boasting two massive utility pockets, and on her hands were black gloves with chunky metal knuckles, clearly meant for more than just warmth.
Pinned proudly to her chest was a red badge with a black "H", and just below it, two small black stars—subtle but unmistakable marks of rank.
She looked them up and down once. That was all it took. Her eyes narrowed with a barely-concealed sneer.
No aviens. No presence. No threat. Just meat.
She gave a low, derisive snort, the kind that didn't even attempt to hide what she was thinking.
"Figures."
IAM swallowed hard. He felt like he'd just been cracked open and dissected in a single glance.
As she stepped closer, a strange glint shimmered in her eyes—like something arcane flickering just beneath the surface. Her lips curled ever so slightly into a sharp, knowing smirk.
"Do you know what the biggest aspect of our lives is... the thing that both restricts us and guides us, the thing that limits us, but also empowers us?" she asked slowly, her voice coated in mystery and authority.
IAM blinked. "Uhhh..."
"Rules."
The word landed like a hammer. As it left her mouth, that glint in her eyes flared, and suddenly IAM and Ryan were hit by a pressure that couldn't be seen but felt. Like the weight of invisible chains had coiled around their bodies and tightened. Their knees buckled slightly. Gasp—
And then… it was gone. Nothing visible had changed, and yet something was different. They could feel it. Something unseen had marked them.
Regina gave a small, satisfied nod, as if checking an item off a mental list.
"Both of you, as well as every other recruit who arrives after, will be bound by the Rules Path method I've just used. It ensures loyalty. You are bound not to betray your fellow soldiers or your superiors." Her tone hardened.
"If you attempt to break the rules I've established, you. Will. Die."
There was no flair to her words—no threat, no dramatics. Just certainty. Cold, hard certainty.
"The only way to shake off this method is to either reach my level—Experienced—or to wait for the day I return to the earth I came from. Neither of which will be happening any time soon."
IAM's mouth went dry. He felt exposed. Vulnerable. Powerless. That invisible stone in his heart—the one named fear—grew heavier, sinking further into his chest.
"What the actual..." he whispered, stunned. The gap in strength, in control, in existence—it was like looking up from the dirt at a stormcloud that could decide whether or not to strike you.
Regina's lips curled into what might have been a smirk—or just her version of one.
"Oh, and by the way—name's Regina Carlos. Seeing as you're both still starless..." She tapped the two dark stars beneath the badge on her chest with mock sweetness. "And I've got, let's see... two stars? How lovely. That makes me your superior. Huh."
Ryan: "...."
IAM: "...."
For someone who gave the impression of never smiling, she seemed to hide a subtle brand of humour—dry, biting, and entirely in control—behind her otherwise cold exterior.