Breaking the System

So, Where are We?

"Welcome to B.R.O.K.E.N." A projector buzzed and flashed an image of the acronym on the screen. 

"What's it stand for?" I blurted, forgetting about the rule. I just got a glare as an answer.

The Important Man continued. "I am Admiral Percival Greene. You will refer to me as The Admiral, and when spoken to will reply with sir. Understood?" Nobody answered, given his frightening disposition, the fact that he kidnapped us, and his face in general. If only he were a general, then that would have been funny. 

"I said UNDERSTOOD?" 
Well, since everyone was rather afraid of him, we replied shakily, "Yes, sir!"

"You are the first teenage recruits at B.R.O.K.E.N. We chose sixteen of whom we believed to be the best. You will be trained in certain skills. You are asked to interact as colleagues. You will begin training in one hour. Your uniforms are on your bed. Breakfast is down the hall. Questions?" Nope. "Good. Dismissed."

Nobody moved.

"I said DISMISSED." 
"Yes, sir." 

Flop caught me on the way down. We're friends now, so I guess we have meals together, too. 

"Yuch, oatmeal." He stuck out his tongue at the grey stuff plopped in his metallic bowl. He was handed a water in a tin cup, then it was my turn.
"Put some cinnamon in it," I offered.
"Do you really think they'll have cinnamon here?" A questioning eyebrow was raised as he slid down the bench at one of two tables.
"You're right."

K slid in next to Flop and dug into her oatmeal.
He leaned in between us and dramatically whispered, "So what do you guys think about The Admiral?" You could hear the capitals in his voice. 
K, after swallowing, said, "He seems nice."
Flop dropped his spoon. I stared at her with wide eyes. "What?" we uttered simultaneously. 
"You are talking about a literal drill sergeant here." Flop still hadn't picked his spoon up, nor had he made a very big dent. 
"Well, he did provide us with food, a bed, people to talk to, a job..."
"You're certainly an optimist," I commented, watching her swallow her oatmeal with ease. Mine is stuck to the back of my throat, still.
She shrugged.

Our uniforms consist of one t-shirt with an eagle or something and a pair of leggings or athletic shorts. I am almost late for training, but honestly I don't care. Training began when it did, and I was on time, straight auburn hair in a low ponytail. We did several boot camp exercises and it was incredibly boring. Tomorrow we were promised a lesson in psychology. When we left for rest hour, I caught up with the nicest looking instructor.

"I haven't gotten an item yet."
"What do you want?"
"I said I-"
"Yes, I know, what do you want as an item?"
I had to think for a moment as the instructor flipped out a little pad of paper and tapped his toe.
"A journal and a pen." Wait, what? Who said that? Oh, me. 
"You got it. Probably."

I did find a leather journal and a nice pen next to my bed the next morning.

Psychological training was twice as hard as physical training. No food or water, just reading each other's faces. I wasn't very good, but the boy who drew, Gerard, was. 

Damn, you're good. He blushed. I remembered this was the thought reading training. Oops. He chuckled. 

So what do you do special, that makes you so great at it?

He made faces I couldn't understand.

"Oh, right." His bright green eyes crinkled. "I just watch people."

Huh.