The West Sea

Chapter 1: 5 o'clock

There was a sense of calmness within the barrage of turbulent noises shifting through the streets, Arman thought, as he woke up in his small room within the tenement buildings of the city.

The deafening blare of the Metro Hyper Train, blasting past his window in a hurry to catch it's 5 o'clock morning stop at Liberty Street, was a fitting bed side alarm for the denizens of the city slums. The Metro was alive and awake once more, the boy thought.

Armando Bruno was not an exceptional person. Orphaned by the West Sea War, he had been late many times in his twenty years of life, but this day was going to be different. After six grueling years living inside the tenements,  Arman finally had something to look forward to.

Arman figured he had a lot of time in his hands from his place to the harbor so he tried his best to look presentable while combing his unkempt black hair. He had his clothes all neatly pressed and lined up the night before, his watch, a bit old and rusted, all wound up, his bags carefully packed, his application letter to the West Sea Defense all filled up and ready to be submitted. It was a start of a new day and a new life for him.

He took a quick wash and got dressed; his white collared shirt seemed a bit small for his 6 foot stature but that was the only thing he owned that was decent. He then hauled his large canvas bag by the front door as he looked back at the empty and decrepit living space. It didn't take longer than a short glance though as he quickly slammed the door behind him and left towards the harbor. It was a miserable place to live in, the tenements, he muttered to himself.

Arman was glad he was leaving his old life as a factory worker living of minimum wage and renting a place at the 25th floor of the Metro Tenement Quarters. To him, it felt like winning the lottery.

As soon as he reached the bottom of the dilapidated stairs, the always annoying Quarter Master saw Arman and, as if on cue, started berating him about his past dues. The man's alcohol-drenched breath traveled as far as the voice it carried.

His name was Tero. A pudgy, nearly balding, superintendent who had been tasked with taking care of the living quarters by the city officials. In all actuality it was just a position given to anyone who was intimidating enough to collect the rent.

Since Arman evacuated to the Metro six years prior, he and all the other evacuees had been allocated to the tenements and used as a "viable work force" for the Metro's growing economy. Sufficing to say that none of them, even Arman, had a way to live outside of the slums and were therefore forced to back-breaking labor day in and day out.

But this day, Arman Bruno did not have to go the factory. He did not have to pay the rent, or any other past rents for that matter. Tero the Quarter Master had no knowledge of this as he hurled expletives in front of Arman's grinning face.

Arman unexcitedly held up a piece of paper in front of Tero, who was still foaming at the mouth raging over overdue credits, when the Quarter Master's eyes finally saw the contents of the intricately worded sheet and it's New Republic gloss seal laminated at the bottom corner with Armando Bruno labeled beneath it.

Tero went pale for a moment, and it was that instance Arman was looking forward to. It was the day that Arman had finally become a Metro Citizen, a real Metro Citizen, who had outranked and outclassed Tero the Quarter Master. It was by law that Metro Citizens held rights and privileges not granted to anyone in the slums, not even a duly appointed, albeit corrupt, tenement official. As soon as Tero realized this, he subconsciously stepped back away from the newly designated citizen.

Armando Bruno, the 20 year old factory worker from the east side tenements, had won one of the lottery drafts for the West Sea Defense. Tero, his jaw slowly descended to the ground, backed off so much that he hadn't realized he was back inside his own run-down flat, staring blankly at Arman who just smiled, folded and tucked his paper in his pocket, and gallantly walked off towards the streets.

Arman truly felt that it was a brand new day for him as he raised his head high in triumph. He looked at his watch and nodded that there was more than enough time as he stepped out.

The streets of Metro's underbelly was enclosed in darkness as a result of the Global Commerce District being built on top of the slums like plaster on a wound. It was chock-full of vibrant neon-blinding letters and images hanging by the side of the buildings illuminating the sidewalks' litter filled terrain. It was a fitting metaphor for the city, Arman pondered, as he navigated through the bustling crowd, weaving through every crevice; the large concrete roof that held up the upper surface of the district loomed over all of them like a giant canopy.

With a brisk walk towards the end of the street, Arman finally broke through the sea of pedestrians and into actual daylight, outside the shadows of the towering billboards. The passenger ramps rested on top of a hanging platform where the Metro Hyper Train will take him where he needed to go; the familiar blaring horn of the train whooshed past the building he previously occupied and stopped neatly in front of him, wheezing out white smoke coming from it's Amanium-cored engines.

He boarded the train and took his seat as the automated doors clanked to a pressurized lock; the convoy was eerily unoccupied for being this early, running steadily towards its last stop: the Metro Harbor Point. He gazed through the window behind him, grasping his luggage firmly in front of his chest. This was it, Arman Bruno said to himself, trying to contain both his excitement and fear. This was the day that was going to change his life for the better.

Today was his first day of orientation for new recruits to train for the 24th Aseatic Defense Division.

His watch still said 5 o'clock. Arman was already two hours late.

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