The Assignment Interview

"Sorry," the girl's father said while holding my hand. "I have a question."

"Yes," I said.

"What tasks did you get?"

"Tasks?"

"Yes. Your assignments. What work did they give you here? I want to put in a good word."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

He frowned.

"What do you mean what do I mean? What did Lydia assign you to do during the day? Everyone gets something. Where are you working? Who's your coordinator?"

I looked at him, confused. He looked back at me, just as confused.

"Did I say something wrong?" he whispered slightly under his breath. Suddenly, he froze.

"Wait. Were you not assigned anywhere?"

"Assigned how?" I said.

He stepped back like I had just told him the sun wasn't real.

"Don't tell me you haven't been here before," he said. "Where did you spend last night?"

"Not here," I said. "Definitely not here."

The man rubbed his face hard with both hands.

"Then there are more survivors," he said. "From last night, outside the camp."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"We were told no one outside the shelter made it," he said. "That anyone who stayed out in the open died. We were told not to go looking."

That hit all of us at once. It explained the emptiness when we left the ruins. It explained the bodies on the way back to camp. It didn't make it easier to hold.

He grabbed my hand with both of his.

"Stay here at this shelter," he said. "Don't go back out there. It's not safe alone. Not even during the day."

"Slow down," I said. "What is this place? Who's in charge? How is this set up?"

He glanced toward the center of camp.

"Lydia set it up," he said. "Right after we were teleported here and that voice told us we had six months to prepare, she believed that we can't survive six months unless we cooperate, so she created this shelter. In the beginning there weren´t many people here. She made a basic system. Everyone gets a daytime task. You work, you get food. Some collect wood, some fetch water, some cook, some build, some guard, some hunt. Last night a lot of new people joined this shelter—we thought they were the only survivors from yesterday`s night. Now it's overcrowded. It would be better for you if you stay here too, there's no safer place than this. There are elven knights, dwarf warriors, orc barbarians, and even policemen and soldiers with weapons from Earth who got teleported here while on duty. Thanks to them, last night there were only injuries and no deaths in the shelter."

His words convinced me. We were lucky to have survived last night at all. If Daisuke and I hadn't gone to explore those ruins that day , we probably wouldn't have made it through the night.

"If you decide to join," the man said, "go to Lydia. They're doing intake over there."

His finger pointed straight ahead, and I followed his hand until my eyes landed on a hut unlike the others. While most of the shelters looked like crooked piles of branches and leaves, this one stood solid, its walls built from upright logs fitted tightly together, a roof of cut wood laid across in neat rows. It looked far sturdier, almost like a real cabin compared to the fragile lean-tos scattered around the forest.

In front of it stood soldiers with rifles, keeping watch. They stood straight and quiet, eyes moving across the crowd. Beside the hut stretched a long line of people—humans, elves, even a few dwarves—waiting their turn. Some held bags or baskets, others just stood with tired faces, as if whatever was inside that hut was something they all needed. From where I stood, it looked more important than any of the other shelters.

Before doing anything else, I went back to the others to hear their opinion about all this. Whether they would agree to stay here from now on. I felt a little fear before I asked them, worried that our group might break apart once we settled here. I actually felt comfortable with them, and I wanted to hold onto that feeling a little longer.

They were standing near the small hut of the little girl and her parents, which looked identical to all the others in the shelter. My head still couldn't process how they managed to build so many of them in just a few hours. Amina and Carmen were playing with the little girl, her mother watching nearby. Relief showed on her face, softened by a gentle smile. A little farther away stood Daisuke, Nikita, and Cealith. Honestly, it was the first time I had seen Daisuke and Nikita not fighting.

I gathered everyone to me and told them what the girl's father had explained to me. At the end I asked for their opinion. Whether they wanted to stay in this shelter from now on.

"It makes sense to stay here for now," Amina said.

"I feel the same," Carmen added.

One after another they started agreeing, and it quickly became clear we'd be spending the next six months here.

I nodded. "Let's see this Lydia."

So we got ready and went to the hut the girl's father had shown me. When we arrived, as expected, two soldiers stood guard with rifles in their hands. Crowds of people surrounded the hut. Luckily, there were fewer waiting in line now than when I'd seen it earlier.

We approached from the side. A voice snapped at us before we got close.

"If you're here for Lydia, line starts back there!"

We went to the end of the line. As we stood there, it grew quiet, a strange kind of tension filling the air. It felt like waiting in school for test results to be handed back. I felt the tension too—after all, these assignments would decide what my everyday life would look like for the next six whole months.

Suddenly my stomach growled. I hadn't eaten in a long time.

I remembered the meat the dwarves had cooked and handed out earlier, the one I'd seen with Cealith. My mouth watered, hunger twisting sharper inside me. I shook my head. Aleks, stop thinking about food. Focus on the moment. Soon we'll get our tasks assigned. What would I even be good at?

I thought for five seconds, then slipped back into thoughts of meat—how much I wanted to eat it, how the dwarves would hand it to me, and how I'd devour it. That's it, Aleks! How did I not realize sooner? The dwarves' job is cooking that meat. I need to be a cook like them, then I'll always be around the meat.

A grin spread across my face. Then I could sneak bites whenever I wanted. The grin twisted into a dark laugh. "Mwahahaha."

Amina shot me a disgusted look. "What the hell is wrong with him?"

The line moved slowly, one step at a time.

"What do you guys think they're doing in there? How do they even decide who does what?" Daisuke suddenly asked out of nowhere.

Before any of us could answer, a rough voice cut in from right in front of us. A dwarf, broad‑shouldered with a thick beard, turned his head just enough to glance back.

"My friend already went through," he muttered. "They ask you a few questions, then decide where you belong. Doesn't take long."

"Questions? Easy. I'll get some great job for sure. Soldier, I'm definitely thinking something heroic. Then girls will finally notice me." His gaze slid toward Carmen, his grin shameless. "I'd guard you every second, y'know. Risk my life and all that."

Carmen rolled her eyes, but before she could answer, Nikita scoffed. "Soldier?" Nikita barked a laugh. "You? They'll put you on trash duty before anything else. I can already see you carrying buckets of waste through the camp."

"What the hell did you say?" Daisuke snapped, stepping toward him.

The two squared off like always, trading sharp words and glares. The dwarf frowned, shifting uncomfortably, and looked at the rest of us.

"Shouldn't you stop them?"

"No," Cealith and I answered at the same time.

We didn't even look at each other. We both knew what would happen next.

Amina's voice cut through the air like a whip. "Enough! Both of you, shut up before they throw us out of the line."

And just like that, Daisuke and Nikita froze, grumbling under their breath.

The line kept shrinking, one person after another disappearing into the hut. Before long, the dwarf ahead of us was waved forward. He disappeared inside, and when he came back out, his face looked heavy, his eyes fixed on the ground. He didn't say a word as he walked away.

My chest tightened. I was next.

I whispered to myself, over and over. I have to answer correctly. I have to make them think that I would be a perfect choice for a cook.

The soldier at the door raised his hand. "Next."

I stepped inside the hut, and the noise of the camp faded behind me. The room was simple—two wooden benches facing each other, a table set in the middle. On one bench sat two women, both in their thirties. The first one I noticed made me stop for a second. Long black hair, sharp eyes, a face I recognized right away. I knew there would be a Lydia here, but I hadn't expected this Lydia. Lydia Reyes. Former UN peacekeeper, viral warzone correspondent, and the face of a global movement that once rallied millions to protest the last oil wars. She'd been on magazine covers, podcasts, newsfeeds—and at the end of her career, she had become a news anchor.

Seeing her in person felt unreal. Back in school, guys in my class had gone on and on about her, some with actual crushes. I had never paid much attention, but now that she was right in front of me, it was strange. She looked older than she had on TV, her long black hair hanging a little messy, her sharp eyes dulled by exhaustion, but still she carried a presence. Attractive, yes, but in a way that showed she had lived through too much. Next to her sat another woman, brown hair tied back, glasses slipping down her nose, a pencil and notebook in her hands. She looked ordinary, not someone who drew attention, but focused, ready to record every word.

A half-empty bottle of wine sat beside Lydia on the table, and her posture showed she had already been drinking. She leaned on one arm, her gaze shifting toward me.

“Oh, who do we have here?” Lydia’s voice cut through the silence the moment I stepped closer. She leaned forward, a crooked smile spreading across her face. “A kid? Really? Why is a child walking in here?” She gave a small laugh, almost mocking, then waved her hand. “Doesn’t matter. Come, sit down.”

I hesitated before sitting opposite them, the wooden bench cold under me. Lydia’s gaze followed me the whole way, amused and curious at once.

“Hello there,” she added, her tone drawn out, words slurred just enough to show the wine’s effect. “Don’t be shy. We’re not going to bite. Well…” Her smirk deepened. “Not unless you give me a reason.”

The woman with the notebook finally spoke, her voice calm, level. “Lydia.” She gave her a look, as if to remind her of the task. Then she turned back to me. “We’ll begin once you’re ready.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lydia muttered, brushing off the note-taker with a lazy flick of her hand. Her eyes stayed on me, sharp despite the drink. “Alright, boy. Let’s not waste time. Let’s start this interview.”

“What’s your name?”

“Aleks.”

“Age?”

“Sixteen.”

She nodded once, then looked me over. Our eyes met. I couldn’t hold her stare for more than a second before dropping my gaze to the floor for the rest of the questioning.

“Injuries?”

“Uhh… I don’t think so.”

“Good. Now tell me—what can you do?”

My brain almost froze. This was it. The trick question. I can’t just blurt out that I want to be a cook—that would make me look greedy. Besides, no real cook would answer that question by saying they can cook. Of course they can cook. Think like a cook, Aleks. What is it a cook can do best?

I swallowed. “I’m… steady with my hands. Careful. I don’t rush things.”

Yeah, that’s good. Kitchens need steady hands for cutting. I think I’m getting closer to being placed as a cook.

Lydia tilted her head slightly. “Go on.”

“I notice details. If something’s off, I usually catch it. I don’t know how, it just… stands out to me.”

Good. Noticing when food burns, when water boils over, when meat’s undercooked. Useful in a kitchen. Let me think—what else are cooks good at?

“I can work long hours on one thing. Repetitive stuff doesn’t bother me. I can keep going if I know it’s important.”

Like chopping onions forever, or stirring a pot. That’s definitely a kitchen strength. Come on, this has to land.

Her assistant scribbled something on a sheet. Lydia’s eyes didn’t move from me.

“How do you handle pressure?” she asked.

I hesitated. Say something that sounds good for food. Food is pressure, right? Timing, precision.

“I don’t break down,” I said. “If things get hectic, I just keep my focus on the task in front of me. I don’t need to talk much. I just… do it.”

Perfect. Kitchens are chaos. This sounded exactly like a kitchen answer.

“Can you use tools?” Lydia asked.

“Yes,” I said quickly. “Knives, mostly. I’m comfortable with sharp things if I know what I’m doing.”

I nailed that. Knives = cooking. Easy. She’s already picturing me in a kitchen peeling potatoes like a pro. Maybe even stirring soup. I think it’s as good as certain that I’ll get that job.

She finally leaned back slightly. “What about endurance?”

“Not great for running,” I admitted. “But I can stand for long stretches without complaining. I’m used to being on my feet.”

Kitchen! Kitchen! Standing all day in front of a stove. This is going perfectly. I’ll be in food service before dinner.

The assistant whispered to her: “Sounds like food prep.”

Thank you. Someone got it.

Lydia raised a hand to silence him. Her eyes narrowed on me again. “Blood?”

I stiffened. Shit. Careful.

“Not comfortable,” I said. “But if it’s necessary, I’ll deal with it. I don’t look away.”

Good enough. She’ll think I can handle cutting raw meat. Food safety. Nothing more.

She tapped her pen on the table. “Teamwork?”

“Yes. I don’t want to lead. I’d rather follow directions and make sure it’s done right.”

That’s a kitchen answer if I’ve ever heard one. Every kitchen needs someone like that—quiet, efficient, not bossy. I’ve nailed this interview. This is a lock.

She sat back, silent for a moment, then looked at me like she’d made up her mind.

“Alright. I know exactly what to do with you.”

This was it. The big reveal. Kitchen duty. I could already see myself eating this delicious meat.

“You’ll join the hunting division.”

My brain short-circuited.

“…Wait, what?”