Mirror Sky. Part 1 - Blissful Nemesis

09 - Boot Camp Junior

Gost had a few comfort memories he liked to recall to lift his spirits. His favorite one was his cadet youth. Such simple times! He overcame hardships, forged friendships, loved and dreamed - lived a joyful life of a brainwashed teen in the black-and-white world. He had prepared to go to war for his family, friends, and homeland. He fought for all the good things against all the bad things. Ignorance was bliss, and everything made sense.

The knowledge came later, and with it guilt and emptiness. His youth and naivety were used to inflict terror and destruction. He fought at the behest of the cold and the faceless against the afraid and the powerless. Some embraced it. The better ones did so for the friends they lost, as even the afraid and the powerless could occasionally kill. The worse ones did so for the many perks that came with a fighter jet, armor, and guns.

Others, like Gost and his friends, left, and when they did, they suddenly found themselves to be the enemy: crushed, pushed to suicide, hunted, and killed. Gost did not look this far in his trip to the comfort memories. This period of life remained in his subconsciousness only, in the lessons learned.

A few minutes after Gost finished observing Dan's struggles that he inflicted on him, he already wore a different disguise, checking on another part of his plan.

He was now a high-ranking officer responsible for Boot Camps. Gost's current subjects were cadets, boys and girls sixteen years old. What choices would they make, he mused? Would they stand by their convictions and indoctrinations or abandon them when tested? The fog of ambiguity was too thick to see their self-written fates far, but what Gost observed short-term gave him hope.

He just needed to apply a couple of nudges.

He approached the doors of the boy's dorm, and an orderly, fully armed boy sixteen years of age, saluted him.

"Any runners?" asked Gost.

"No sir," responded the boy. "They're all beat."

"When did they get back to the dorm?"

"Two hours ago."

"Sooner than expected. I will take a look around."

The orderly nodded, opened the door, and stepped aside. Gost entered the room.

A blue nightclub sign shone through the only window on the two rows of double-bunk beds and the sleeping sixteen-year-old boys. Normally, there would be runners: boys and girls sneaking in and out to engage in an awkward teenage romance. However, the orderly was right. Neither boys nor girls had any energy or desire to do that. By 4:00 a.m., they only had a chance to sleep for two hours. The next day, just like the day before, promised to be grueling, tiring, and miserable. They signed up for that when they joined the military ranks in Libra. Little did they know that these were their best years.

This boys' dorm was a part of Boot Camp Junior. Juniors were all experienced cadets. They were tested by Camp Freshmen and Sophomores, proven capable, and moved full speed to their Senior year. Most of the weak had dropped out and the remaining youngsters were determined to see the training through to the end.

Gost walked down the row of double-bunk beds to the end of the room, where he saw two cadets who slept by the window on the top and bottom bunks – Tom Jason and Artur Huber. A bright blue light from the outside hit their faces, and the exhilarating life of Lux District unceremoniously pushed its way through the soundproof window, but neither Tom nor Artur cared. In the Boot Camp, they learned to sleep in any condition and under any circumstances.

By the end of the day, they would unlearn it. Gost cringed at the thought.

Artur slept on the lower bank in a fetal position and caved his bed a fair bit. His friends believed that if he tried to stretch out in his bed, Lepers would trip over his feet in the Twilight. The boy was six and a half feet tall and three hundred pounds - the largest and strongest boy in the Boot Camp. He carried most of his weight in his chest and broad shoulders. His arms were as thick as one's legs. His face looked dangerous and imposing, a collection of sharp features as if carved out of stone, topped by brown hair.