Submission in the Stars

Chapter 2: Enter, Ice Man

Valentin was still a nothing—but he was a nothing that was surviving. His gaunt frame and sunken eyes hadn't surprised the recruitment officers. After all, many desperate nothings had passed through their doors before, seeking a way out when life had offered them no other options. What had surprised them was the absence of track marks or the telltale signs of substance abuse on Valentin's body. The streets were flooded with quick escapes for those looking to numb their pain, and the officers had clearly seen many succumb to it. But Valentin had steered clear of that path, not out of moral superiority, but because he knew he couldn't afford it—not physically, not emotionally. Drugs offered an illusion of comfort, a high that masked reality, but to Valentin, they were a slow death. And he'd already spent too long fighting just to survive.

The physical exam, however, had been a different story. Embarrassing and exhausting, it had forced him to confront how thin and frail he had become. He struggled to maneuver his skeletal limbs through basic exercises, his muscles aching from the strain of motions that should have been simple. The attending physician, though polite, couldn't hide the subtle flicker of judgment in his eyes as he noted Valentin's condition. There was pity there, perhaps even disappointment, but none of that mattered. What mattered was that Valentin had passed—barely, but it was enough.

He was a nothing, but he was a nothing who could fill the boots. And so it was, with no fanfare or celebration, that Valentin was given his assignment and a one-way ticket to basic training. Afterward, he found his way back to the alley where he had taken shelter before. Sitting against the rough brick, Valentin knew he had to soak up all the rest he could get. Soon, the real test would begin.

The days leading up to his departure passed quickly. A week later, he boarded the bus that would take him to the base. The seat fabric was crusty, worn from years of use, but Valentin barely noticed. His mind was elsewhere. He stared out the window as the scenery changed, feeling a mixture of dread and resolve. He was determined to survive this too—just like he had survived everything else. This was his chance, perhaps his only chance, to be more than a nothing. He had to seize it, even if it killed him.

The officers at the base didn't care about the pasts of the men standing before them, and for the first time, Valentin felt an odd sense of relief. Here, it didn't matter where you came from or what your story was. For once, Valentin wasn't defined by his past, by his abandonment or the years spent in the group home. He was just another recruit, another nameless face in the crowd, expected to perform and meet the same standards as everyone else. There would be no pity for his skinny frame or the burdens he carried. But that was fine with Valentin—he didn't need pity. What he needed was strength.

While others complained bitterly about the meager rations and the blandness of the food, Valentin quietly savored every bite. It was more than he had ever eaten in a single sitting during his time on the streets, and for the first time in months, he slept without being woken by the gnawing pain of hunger. His body slowly adjusted to the routine, and while some cursed the early mornings and relentless drills, Valentin embraced the challenge. Every day, he pushed himself to the brink, knowing that he had to get stronger if he wanted to survive. This was his shot, and he wasn't going to waste it.

Five and a half months later, Valentin found himself on a military plane, heading to the desert for his first deployment. He had come to respect the men in his unit, even if he kept them at arm's length. Just as in the group home, he had maintained a distance. Trust was a dangerous thing, and Valentin knew better than to expose himself to the vulnerabilities that came with it. He wore his mask of indifference like armor, shielding himself from the camaraderie that came naturally to the others. When they laughed and joked about their lives back home, Valentin gritted his teeth and kept quiet. He clenched his fists when they teased him about his quiet nature or his features, not out of anger, but because it was easier to endure than to let them in.

His companion in this new world was Jace Hopper, the only one who had managed to break through his walls. Jace was different. He was loud, unapologetic, and refused to be ignored. From day one, Jace had taken a liking to Valentin, despite—or perhaps because of—his cold demeanor. It hadn't taken long for Jace to start calling him "Ice Man," a nickname Valentin had grown to tolerate. Jace was everything Valentin wasn't—open, outgoing, a natural leader. But beneath Jace's bravado, Valentin saw a man who, like him, was trapped by circumstance. And despite his initial resistance, Jace had wormed his way into Valentin's life, and somehow, it felt less lonely because of it.

As they sat on the plane, the low hum of the engines filling the air, Jace caught Valentin's attention with a chuckle. Valentin glanced over, his amber eyes narrowing as Jace turned to face him with that signature smirk.

"What?" Valentin grumbled, his voice low, unamused by whatever joke was brewing in Jace's mind.

"You're freaking out, Ice Man," Jace teased, leaning in with a mischievous grin. "I can see it. My Valentine's shaking in his boots under all that ice."

Valentin rolled his eyes, exhaling in a huff of mock exasperation. The nicknames never ceased to annoy him, but Jace's good-natured teasing was one of the few things that kept the tension at bay. Still, Valentin shot back with his own dry humor, unwilling to let Jace win so easily.

"If I'm shaking in my boots," Valentin said with a smirk of his own, "then I'm sure you're pissing in yours."

Jace feigned offense, throwing his nose up in the air. "Well, I never!" he proclaimed dramatically, drawing the attention of the nearby soldiers, who looked at him with amusement and judgment. Most avoided making eye contact with Valentin. Jace was the approachable one, the glue that held their duo together, and Valentin was grateful for it. Jace handled the social side of things while Valentin remained the quiet, intimidating figure in the background. It worked, and Valentin had grown to appreciate Jace's company more than he would ever admit out loud.

Despite the banter, there was an unspoken understanding between them. Valentin knew that Jace, like him, was nervous—terrified, even—about what lay ahead. Their mission was simple on paper: find the threat, eliminate it. But Valentin wasn't naive. The thought of killing a real, living person made his stomach turn. He had been trained to shoot, to defend, to kill if necessary, but standing on the precipice of that reality was different. Shooting at a man-shaped target was one thing—pulling the trigger on someone with a heartbeat, someone with a family, was another.

He adjusted his posture, running a hand over the short stubble of his crew cut. He missed the way his dark hair used to fall over his face, hiding him from the world. Now, with it cropped short, there was no hiding, no shield. It was strange how something as simple as hair had once been a comfort, a small barrier between him and the eyes of others. His fingers twitched, remembering the habit of running them through his messy locks. But that life—Valentin's life before the military—felt distant now, like a half-forgotten dream.

As the plane continued its journey, Valentin closed his eyes, letting the hum of the engines lull him into a light rest. He couldn't afford to dwell on what lay ahead for too long. The fear was there, gnawing at him, but so was his determination. He had survived worse than this—he would survive this too. That was what he did. He survived.

Jace, ever the persistent optimist, gave Valentin's shoulder a friendly nudge, breaking him from his thoughts.

"No matter what happens out there, Ice Man," Jace said quietly, the smirk replaced with a more serious expression, "we've got each other's backs."

Valentin nodded, giving Jace a brief but sincere glance. He had no choice but to believe that. After all, survival had never been a solo endeavor. But even as Valentin appreciated Jace's presence, he knew one thing for certain: dependence was dangerous. Nothing, and no one, was guaranteed to come back from this mission alive. And Valentin had learned long ago that trusting too much, caring too much, only made the inevitable losses more painful.

But for now, in this moment, Valentin allowed himself a small sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, this mission would be the start of something new—something more than survival.