Opening Scene

  Kevin Krank is brought into the Judging Hall in restraints.

  The chamber is tall. Cold. Empty except for the bench and the banners of the Tang Empire.

  The Judge does not rise.

  “Kevin Krank,” he says, his voice loud but measured, filling the space.

  “You have been found guilty of treason against the Tang Empire.”

  No reaction.

  “You conspired with the Kurks to undermine the regime, misusing the resources granted to you by your Seat on the Supreme Warlords Council.”

  The words land like procedure, not accusation.

  “By decree of this court, you are stripped of citizenship.”

  A pause.

  “Your Council Seat is revoked.”

  Another pause. This one longer.

  “You are sentenced to life confinement in Silver Spine.”

  The Judge folds his hands.

  “This judgment is final.”

  No gavel. No ceremony.

  Kevin is turned away.

  Hard Cut

  Lardes stands in line with thirty-seven others.

  No banners. No silence. Just wind and equipment clatter.

  An instructor walks the line, pointing.

  “Group One.”

  “Group Two.”

  Lardes is already tired.

  “Group Three.”

  A number flashes on his wristband.

  SURVIVAL DRILL – LEADERSHIP ASSESSMENT

  No one explains what that means.

  Someone behind him mutters, “Heard a Council traitor got pulled today.”

  Lardes doesn’t turn around.

  Group Three moves out.

  Each group consists of approximately three thousand members.

  These are the individuals you will compete Whit or against in these drills —

  and in every drill that follows.

  You will be given one week to select a leader.

  After that, the exercises begin.

  All four groups will compete simultaneously.

  Performance will be measured.

  Results will be ranked.

  The better your group performs, the more points it earns.

  The higher your group’s standing, the greater your chances of being assigned to a higher-grade battalion.

  For those unable to maintain consistent communication with their group,

  a solo performance system is in place.

  Exceptional individual results will still be rewarded.

  Failure will not be explained.

  Welcome to Camp Varian.

  Camp Varian — Bunker 17

  The bunker is built for thirty.

  Metal bunks stacked three high.

  Lockers bolted into the walls.

  The air smells like disinfectant and old dust.

  Lardes drops his pack onto an empty bunk and starts unpacking.

  One by one, others drift in.

  Introductions are short.

  Julian Pyrus.

  Jeff Rockus.

  Vale Sleer.

  Jason Puters.

  No one asks where anyone’s from. That already feels discouraged.

  After a while, Lardes steps back outside.

  The camp is quieter than he expected.

  Julian falls into step beside him without asking.

  They walk between rows of identical bunkers, boots crunching on gravel.

  “This is pretty peaceful,” Lardes says.

  “Thought it’d be hell.”

  Julian snorts.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Yeah. It’s chill now.”

  A pause.

  “Gets worse when the drills start. That’s what my brother said.”

  Lardes nods.

  They pass a group sitting on crates, talking low and animated.

  A name carries.

  Krank.

  Lardes glances over.

  “What’s that about?”

  Julian doesn’t slow down.

  “What I heard? Yesterday there was a trial.”

  He shrugs.

  “Kevin Krank. Eighth Seat on the Supreme Warlords Council.”

  Lardes looks surprised.

  “Apparently he got caught committing treason. Plotting with the Kurks.”

  Lardes scoffs.

  “That bastard.”

  Julian hums, noncommittal.

  “Yeah. Guess even Council aren’t untouchable.”

  They walk a bit farther.

  Lardes exhales.

  “I’m exhausted from selection.”

  “I’m heading back. Crash for a bit.”

  Julian nods.

  “Yeah. Take care.”

  They split off in opposite directions.

  The camp stays quiet.

  Camp Varian — Night One

  Lardes is halfway through pulling his boots off when he hears it.

  A dull boom, distant but heavy enough to rattle the bunker walls.

  Dust shakes loose from the ceiling.

  Jason looks up from his bunk.

  “What the hell was that?”

  Vale shrugs.

  “Someone blew something up. Accident, maybe.”

  No alarms.

  No orders.

  Just silence settling back in.

  Lardes sits down, starts folding his jacket.

  Then it happens again.

  Closer this time.

  The floor trembles. Someone curses.

  A third explosion follows almost immediately.

  This one doesn’t sound accidental.

  Jeff is already moving, grabbing his gear.

  “That’s not training.”

  They spill out of the bunker into the cold night.

  Fires burn in the distance. Shouts echo between bunkers. Figures are running — not instructors.

  People like them.

  Jason squints through the smoke.

  “I recognize one of them.”

  Lardes turns.

  “From where?”

  “Selection.”

  Jason’s jaw tightens.

  “Group Two. I talked to him while we were waiting.”

  Gunfire cracks nearby.

  Lardes exhales slowly, pulling his weapon free.

  “For fuck’s sake,” he mutters.

  “Guess sleep’s not happening here.”

  Lardes drops to one knee and checks the spent casing near his feet.

  The marking is clear.

  Neutralization rounds.

  He looks up.

  “These aren’t lethal.”

  Jason leans over, glances at the casing, then nods.

  “Yeah. Figures.”

  Another blast slams into the side of a bunker, sending sparks and dust into the air.

  Jason grimaces.

  “Announcer probably wanted this.”

  Lardes frowns.

  “Wanted what?”

  Jason shrugs, already reloading.

  “Conflict. But no body count.”

  He snorts.

  “He never said we couldn’t sabotage each other. Or hit each other’s bases.”

  Jeff claps his hands once, sharp and loud.

  “Alright. Everyone in.”

  People gather, weapons half-raised, eyes darting.

  Jeff crouches, dragging a finger through the dirt.

  “They’ve got range and numbers. We’ve got cover.”

  Julian comes sprinting back through the smoke, breathing hard.

  He skids to a stop beside Lardes and shoves a blaster into his hands.

  “Group Two’s pushing from the east.”

  Julian’s jaw is tight.

  “Those scum.”

  They regroup fast.

  Vale scans the dark.

  “There’s twenty of us here, maybe.”

  “Who knows how many they’ve got.”

  For a second, no one answers.

  Then Jeff straightens.

  “War doesn’t care if you’re outnumbered.”

  He checks his weapon.

  “It only cares who’s left standing.”

  Another explosion cuts the air.

  Jeff nods once.

  “Positions.”

  They take positions fast.

  Bunker 18 and 19 move in from the west, linking up with Bunker 17’s line.

  A tall figure steps forward, already issuing commands.

  “You—cover that ridge. Spread out.”

  Jason mutters, “That’s Andreas.”

  “Bunker 18.”

  Jeff stiffens.

  For a moment, it looks like a challenge.

  But Jeff says nothing.

  Bunker 17 falls in, bringing their total to around sixty-five.

  Andreas keeps talking, directing movement, assigning angles.

  Then he makes a call Jeff doesn’t like.

  Jeff steps in.

  “No. That leaves the flank open.”

  A pause.

  Andreas looks at him.

  Just long enough for it to feel like a test.

  Then Andreas nods.

  “You’re right.”

  He adjusts the plan without comment.

  Jeff blinks once.

  That… wasn’t expected.

  Andreas splits the group.

  Half goes with him.

  Half stays with Jeff.

  “We hold here,” Andreas says.

  “Jeff, take them wide.”

  Julian, Lardes, and Vale stay with Andreas’ group, holding the forward position while Jeff and Jason disappear into the dark.

  They wait.

  A soldier nearby cries out, clutching his leg.

  Without hesitation, Andreas drops down to him, dragging him behind cover.

  Lardes glances at Julian.

  Julian smirks.

  “Yeah. Total propaganda move for leader votes.”

  Lardes snorts quietly.

  “You’re reading my mind.”

  He watches Andreas work.

  “Still—at least he knows what he’s doing.”

  Julian shrugs.

  “Even if it’s Jeff’s plan.”

  Gunfire erupts behind the enemy lines.

  Jeff’s team.

  They hit Group Two from the rear — only about forty of them — catching them completely off guard.

  Fires start.

  Shouting.

  People scrambling.

  The distraction is enough.

  Andreas’ group pushes forward, overwhelming what’s left.

  Minutes later, Group Two is disarmed and herded back toward their own base.

  A message without words.

  Lardes, Julian, and Vale stay behind, clearing the area.

  The smoke hangs low.

  Lardes exhales.

  “I’m starting to fucking hate it here.”

  Vale nods.

  “Yeah.”

  Julian zips up, shaking his head.

  “Same. I was mid-meal when those bastards attacked.”

  Lardes almost laughs.

  They reach Group Two’s location with the prisoners between them.

  Andreas steps forward first.

  The base is already alert. Weapons are visible, but lowered.

  “This is what happened,” Andreas says, voice controlled.

  “Your people attacked our bunkers. We responded.”

  “Consider this a warning.”

  A figure steps out from the group.

  Relaxed. Confident.

  “Jackson,” he says.

  “I’ll handle it.”

  He looks over the restrained recruits.

  “You’ll be punished accordingly.”

  He gestures lazily.

  “All of you. Inside.”

  The prisoners are pulled away.

  Andreas doesn’t move.

  “And compensation?” he asks.

  Jackson tilts his head.

  “Compensation?”

  “Your people bombed us.”

  Jackson shrugs.

  “And?”

  A few people nearby smirk.

  “Isn’t that the point of training?” Jackson continues.

  “Getting the upper hand?”

  “We didn’t break any rules.”

  Andreas’ jaw tightens. His fist clenches.

  Jackson notices.

  “Easy,” he says, voice darkening just a bit.

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  He steps closer.

  “You’re outnumbered at least a hundred to one here.”

  Andreas’ hand moves toward his weapon.

  Before it clears the holster, a pistol is pressed to his face.

  Jackson’s.

  “Are you deaf?”

  “Did you miss what I just said?”

  Jeff grabs Andreas by the shoulder and pulls him back.

  “We’re done here,” Jeff says quietly.

  “Let’s go before this gets worse.”

  Andreas glares — then exhales.

  “Yeah,” he mutters.

  “You’re right.”

  They turn and walk away.

  Inside Group Two’s base

  Jackson watches the prisoners stand awkwardly.

  His smile vanishes.

  “What the hell were you thinking?”

  No one answers.

  “Day one,” he continues.

  “That was the dumbest thing you could’ve done.”

  He shakes his head.

  “You should be praying the instructors don’t decide we’re responsible for this mess.”

  One of the recruits scoffs.

  “Who made you leader anyway?”

  Jackson turns slowly.

  His voice is calm.

  “You did.”

  He steps closer.

  “Now get out of my face before you can’t anymore.”

  Outside

  Andreas kicks a rock hard enough to send it skidding.

  “We got nothing for the damage they caused.”

  Jeff walks beside him.

  “Not everything goes how you plan,” he says.

  “At least you didn’t fold.”

  A beat.

  “I respect that.”

  Andreas glances at him.

  Then smirks.

  “Thanks.”