Subordinance

Chapter Four

Chapter Four

“You have all been trained to shoot a gun,” the Sector Leader begins, his feet firmly planted on either side of him. His gaze traverses the crowd of Subordinates clustered around him. “You all have been taught how to block a punch, stop a bullet, and preserve your life in the most dire of situations.” He pauses in his speech, his hands clasping behind his back. “You’ve learned strategy in battle, analyzed every possible thing we know about the Enemy, and know exactly how to pinpoint the weaknesses of your opponent.” An excited murmur ripples through the crowd, a few excited calls emerging from the more eager Subordinates.

“But,” his stare roams the crowd, looking for an eye to catch and hold with his piercing gaze, the very one that will either make you cower and sink or rise and defy, “you have never been tested of these strengths. You’ve drilled, you’ve trained, you’ve been taught and absorbed every single thing we’ve told you in lessons and in the Dome; but you’ve not had the opportunity to marry your instincts with your training. The labyrinth trial this morning was a bit of a prequel of what is to come, you could say, in the next couple of hours. In two months, you will be assigned your official Regiments and soon after, your positions.” Anticipatory whoops and shouts bubble up from the center of the crowd, the pack of war-eager Subordinates in the front pumping their fists. “This afternoon, we will begin the first of the simulation trials, where you will experience near-exact conditions of the warfront, in which you and I will be able to see whether nearly two years of training and instruction has paid off.” The Sector Leader gestures to the weapons wall behind him where a variety of guns, knives, and bundles of ration packets hang. “You will be allowed two weapons of your choosing, but I doubt you will be needing ration packets for half a day of simulation.” The giddy expressions of the war-hungry Subordinates in the group contrast with the grave expressions of others. As for myself, my stomach was tying itself in knots, half excited to prove myself, half afraid of shooting the bullet. Next to me, Rho’s expression is unreadable, but the set of her shoulders tells me she’s ready.

“After choosing your weapons, myself and the Division Leaders will leave the Complex to you, in which the warfront simulation will begin. You will all be in the Dome together during the simulation; you must, therefore, be able to differentiate friend from foe. Your goal in this trial? Get to the safe base first. You’ll know what I’m talking about when you begin the drill.” He lifts a shallow paper cup filled with a violet liquid, showing it to us and gesturing to the table behind him, dotted with identical drinks. “This,” he explains, pointing at the cup in his hand, “is the simulation fluid. You will each take one of these before beginning, which will stimulate your senses and alter your perception of the dome until this reality becomes a battlefront in every sense possible.” Motioning for us to come forward and take one, he grins a crooked smile, his eyes cold and assessing. “Bottom’s up.” I stare down at the milky fluid in my cup, swirling the drink and wrinkling my nose at the smell of masked chemicals. Looking at Rho beside me, whose mouth is puckered and twisted, I cringe and throw back the drink, the fluid sharp and burning as it makes its way down my throat. I cough, shivering at the feeling of it racing down my back. Black spots pepper my vision with darkened holes.

Once I right myself, I realize that the Dome has visibly darkened and is unusually quiet. The spots in my vision fight for dominance and I double over again, blinking furiously to clear my vision as my stomach burns.

“Weapons!” someone calls; I assume it’s the Sector Leader. My hands on my thighs, I physically push myself upright and strain to see the weapons wall in the midst of my tunneling plane of view. Soldiers block the wall, but I wiggle my way in between them and heft one of the first guns I see off of the wall, slinging a cartridge magazine over my shoulder. I slip one of the titanium knives into my boot before righting myself and forcing my way out into the open again. The spots are clearing and the inferno in my stomach has lulled to a bed of coals. The sky overhead is grey, swirling with a noxious haze I know if I continue to breathe in would not end well. I already hear the sound of coughing from a not-so-fortunate Subordinate—my signal to get away.