Lessons In Survival

This has been the longest day of my entire life, Halo thinks as she sluggishly climbs the stairs to the barracks. 
          Thorn is too angry to give her a tour. Benji avoids her, and Dosei is already passed out in his bed, hopefully still alive. Only Norio, tall and muscular with dark skin and striking white hair, is brave enough to speak to her after word of her “herbal shop of horror” spreads through gossiping mouths. 
          He leads her into the shared quarters, guiding her toward a quieter corner near the back. He says something, his tone kind, but Halo is too lost in her thoughts to register the words. She just smiles and nods, pretending she understands. 
          The room is plain and worn, cracked tiles underfoot, patched walls that carry the weight of too many repairs. An old mirror leans against one corner, its surface warped and fogged with age. She pauses, catching her reflection. For an instant, the distortion makes her face seem too smooth, too sharp, like an android staring back at her. She rubs her eyes and squints. The image clears, her reflection returning to normal. But the warping glass leaves just enough wrongness to unsettle her. 
          Halo sits down on the side of the bed, exhaustion pressing on every muscle. Her gaze drifts to the backpack beside her. She unzips it slowly. 
          “Are you okay?” she whispers. 
          Rubble’s voice is low. “If you get caught with me, you’ll be thrown out. Or worse.” 
          “Then I guess we can’t get caught.” 
          She shifts the blankets aside and sets the backpack on the pillow next to her, so they face each other. With a careful tug, she pulls the covers over them both. 
          “Stop staring at me,” she murmurs. 
          “I don’t have eyelids.” 
           They both snicker quietly. 
           “I think this is the softest thing I’ve ever sat on,” Rubble says after a moment. 
           “You’ll get used to it.” She smiles faintly. 
           A pause lingers between them. 
          “Thank you, Halo,” he says softly. 
          “For what?” 
          “For not leaving me behind in that apartment.” 
          Rustling noises come from the other end of the barracks. 
          “Lights out, folks!” Norio announces as he blows out the lanterns. 
          “Goodnight losers,” Benji calls out. 
          Halo’s blinks grow slower, heavier. Within moments, sleep carries her away. Not long after, Rubble goes into sleep mode. His eyes flicker, and for the first time, instead of static, he experiences something like a dream. He’s standing in a sunlit garden, the colors too vivid to be real. Halo is there, sitting under a tree with her hair loose, laughing at something he can’t quite hear. She looks up at him with the same green eyes Halo has now, though softer, less burdened. She says something but he can’t quite catch it; the sound distorts, breaking into static. When she reaches out, her hand glows faintly, glitching between warmth and the cold touch of metal. 
          The sun rises over Ossamaris, spilling gold across the barracks windows. 
          “It’s training day!” Yumi’s high-pitched voice rings out, startling everyone awake. 
          “Gooo get dressed! Gooo get breakfast!” she continues, bouncing from bed to bed with boundless energy. 
          She must’ve been a cheerleader back on Earth, Halo thinks, groaning as she rolls over straight into the yellow backpack. 
          “Oops. Good morning,” she whispers into the bag. 
          “Good morning. I hear it might be training day today,” Rubble replies, his voice dry with sarcasm. 
          “Yeah.” Halo side-eyes the blonde girl now leaping across someone else’s mattress, shouting something obscenely cheerful. 
          With a sigh, Halo gets up, stretches, and hoists the backpack into her arms. “I’ll have to hide you under the bed for now. I’ll find parts for you soon.” 
          “It’s okay. Thank you for helping me.” 
          She bends down to slide the bag out of sight, but leans too far and bangs his head against the bedframe. 
           “Ow—hey, that’s my face!” 
          “Sorry!” she winces, stifling a laugh. 
          Halo follows the others down to the docks, where a row of small, brightly painted boats waits for them. She steps carefully onto the narrow deck, rocking slightly as she takes her seat. Oars dip into the water with a gentle rhythm, sending ripples across the glassy surface. The boats glide forward, drifting one after another like beads strung on a necklace, weaving their way through the city’s canals. Children wave from balconies draped with drying laundry, and lanterns left burning from the night still glow faintly. The water catches it all, the color and light, reflecting back into shimmering fragments as they paddle toward the training grounds. 
          The space is a wide, sun-baked courtyard bordered by half-collapsed stone walls. Targets made of stuffed straw line one side, their surfaces riddled with spear punctures. Weapons gleam on racks in the shade, their edges worn but well cared for. 
          The team moves easily among the obstacles, their bodies slick with sweat, their motions sharp and practiced. To them, this is routine. To Halo, it’s another world. She hesitates at the edge of the courtyard, clutching one of her braids over one shoulder as she watches a fighter vault off a wooden beam and slam his spear into a dummy’s chest. 
          “Don’t just stand there,” Thorn calls, his voice carrying across the yard. “If you’re going to stay in Ossamaris, you train.” 
          Halo swallows hard and steps forward. This is where she will work with her teammates for the first time, the people she will fight beside in the future. 
          Dosei rubs his temples as if a drumline is marching behind his eyes. He has no memory of why he feels this way, just that the world is a little too bright this morning. Still, when Thorn orders him to explain Skelloid behavior to the newcomer, he clears his throat and begins. 
          “The yellow ones,” he starts, “generally require close proximity to notice a target. Their awareness is limited, so they’re considered less aggressive.” 
          Halo nods earnestly, jotting notes into a small journal Thorn had given her. 
          “Orange Skelloids,” Dosei continues, “demonstrate greater mobility. They’re faster, more erratic, and considerably more aggressive in their pursuit.” 
          Orange equals angry jelly, Halo writes in her notes. 
          “Red Skelloids, however, are the most dangerous. They show consistent signs of higher intelligence. Not only are they more durable, but they’re hunters. Strategic, deliberate. They will go out of their way to pursue prey rather than wait for chance encounters.” 
          Halo’s green eyes widen, her pen hovering before she scrawls: Red, don’t even try. 
          The projector flickers, casting a stuttering image of a Skelloid across the cracked wall. Its skeletal frame looms, slime glistening in translucent layers over bones that shouldn’t move. 
          “They appear to possess organic tissue,” Dosei explains, tapping the image, “but it’s powered by a hybrid synthetic-slime system. Without new organic material, the Skelloid weakens and dies.” 
          The projection shifts to show a massive figure. 
          “The more people it consumes, the larger it becomes. Growth is directly tied to feeding.” 
          Murmurs ripple through the group. Halo grips her pen tighter. 
          “As for their origins,” Dosei pauses, adjusting his glasses against the glare. “We don’t know how many exist. We don’t know if they’re natural inhabitants of this world or… something else. But one thing is certain: they are a threat. And if we want to survive, we have to hunt them. Every last one.” 
          The projector sputters, the Skelloid’s empty sockets staring down at them before the image dissolves into static. 
          They move on to the next area, where Norio stands before a rack of weapons. He lifts a small handheld device and holds it up for everyone to see. 
          “This,” he announces, “is our most effective weapon against the Skelloids.” 
          A spear shoots out from the device, extending to full length in the blink of an eye. The sound slices through the air, sharp and final. 
          “It may look old-fashioned,” Norio continues, rotating the weapon so the sunlight glints off its steel tip, “but bullets have proven useless. So we’ve gone back to these.” 
          He paces slowly, the extended spear balanced easily in his grip. “If you’re close to a Skelloid, you can hold the spear compact in front of you and activate it. The instant extension delivers enough force to pierce them on impact.” 
          “However,” Norio pauses, his voice dropping into a grim tone, “this technique is not recommended. If you misjudge your angle or stance…” He lets the words hang before adding dryly, “You can very easily stab yourself.” 
          He clears his throat. “Rest in peace, George.” 
          A hush falls. Then the Benji mutters, “He was dumb,” earning a ripple of uneasy laughter through the group. 
          Norio spins the collapsible spear with practiced ease, his movements sharp and fluid. He twirls it once, lets the tip whistle through the air, then collapses it back into its compact form with a snap. Not a drop of sweat marks his brow as he turns to Halo and holds it out. 
          “Your turn.” 
          Halo swallows and takes the weapon. It feels heavier than it looks, the balance strange in her hands. She fumbles with the switch, and with a metallic ting the spear snaps open too close to Yumi, who yelps and stumbles back. 
          “Sorry!” Halo blurts, panic flushing her cheeks. 
          She tries again, this time swinging it in a clumsy arc. The blade crashes into a candle lantern, knocking it sideways into the straw, lighting the dry pieces on fire. Everyone disperses, some back up and other run toward the fire to stomp it out. 
          “Gods above, watch where you point that thing!” Thorn shouts. 
          Halo grips the spear tighter, her face burning. “I’m so sorry!” 
          Norio, arms crossed, watches her with unreadable patience. Finally, he says, “Well… at least you’re not afraid to use it.” 
          The others groan, brushing dust off their clothes, while Halo forces a shaky smile. 
          First day of training isn’t going so well.