Overcome With Uncertainty

Noah struggles against the chair to which he’s tied. His arms are bound behind his back with rope, and his legs are tied to those of the chair. There’s no use escaping – he’s held there extraordinarily tight. Enough to make Noah’s wrists and ankles ache just from the pressure.

Aiden must have called his robots. Two stand behind Aiden, a menacing visual backing for an already menacing character. Beams of brilliant light from their helmets bear down on Noah, making it difficult for him to make out Aiden.

Noah, amused at this setup, lets out a forced chuckle.

Aiden doesn’t take this kindly. He marches up to Noah and grabs his jaw. “What’s the matter?” he snaps.

Noah barely has enough strength in his neck to yank his chin away from Aiden’s grip. “Needed to call for backup, did you?”

He doesn’t see Aiden’s arm move, but he certainly feels it when he’s smacked across the face. It wipes the condescending grin off his face.

Aiden steps back, the light from the robots hitting Noah directly in the eyes. “I don’t know what they teach you here, but I’ve never seen such a pussy move in my life.”

Noah doesn’t take any offense to this – he’s had his fair share of being called a coward in school and in his social life. Hugo’s been the only one to defend him anytime such a thing was said.

“What’s going on?” Noah hears Simon’s drowsy voice from the hallway.

Aiden sighs and exits the room for a few seconds. Noah hears them engage in a short conversation. Then, the bathroom door slams shut and Aiden appears as a silhouette in the light again.

“Your father gave me permission to do this.” Aiden jumps up, rotating his entire body. His leg blurs through the light, and Noah’s struck in the head by hard metal.

The chair almost topples over, but Noah’s too preoccupied to worry about its balance. Dazed, he shakes his head hard in an effort to get his mind to work.

“We’re meant to be working as a team here,” Aiden says. “But if your heart’s not in it, we might have to do something about that.”

A robot steps forward, hands Aiden something, then steps back into place. Neon orange lights appear in front of Aiden’s silhouette. He approaches Noah, a black, metal gun in his hands.

“You tried to take one of these before, didn’t you?” Aiden lowers his head to Noah, smirking right in his face. “I knew it.”

Noah growls and tries to headbutt Aiden, but the chair keeps him in place.

Aiden looks satisfied with Noah’s response. “I didn’t make these, but I do know how to mess around with them.”

“Who cares?” Noah’s had enough of Aiden’s intimidation.

But in response, Aiden kicks Noah hard in the chest. The chair topples over backwards. Noah’s hands are squashed momentarily by his own body weight. After the chair rolls to the side, he stretches out the pain.

“You should.” Aiden walks around so Noah can see him, his boots clicking calmly against the floor tiles. He squats down to Noah’s face. “Because, if you turn the energy settings right down, they become real fun.”

The gun whirrs softly, sparking a couple of times at the muzzle. Aiden lowers it to Noah’s neck.

Noah stretches his neck away from the gun. As it gets close, he squeezes his eyes shut and braces for what’s about to come.

A couple of seconds pass, but nothing happens. The gun stops whirring. Noah opens his eyes, about to say some kind of sarcastic remark.

But as soon as he does this, Aiden presses the trigger. Lightning shoots through Noah’s entire body. He chokes on nothing. He gasps for air, tries to shout, but he can’t do anything except endure the pain.

When Aiden finally releases the trigger, Noah’s chest heaves. He coughs while trying to breathe in. In the next second, his stomach heaves as well, making him to throw up on the floor next to his head.

Aiden leaps back, making a noise of disgust. He grabs Noah by the hair, yanking him upright, chair and all. “Filthy.”

Through Noah’s splutters, he hears the gun whirr again, but doesn’t dare look in its direction. He begs in objection, but has to abruptly stop – his entire body tenses from the shock on his sternum.

After seconds in agony, Aiden leaves Noah to regain his breath.

Noah doesn’t throw up this time. He’s glad, particularly because he doesn’t think he has anything left in his stomach. He mumbles something, soft enough for Aiden to not hear him the first time.

“Huh?” Aiden takes a step towards Noah. “What’d you say, punk?”

“You’re the pussy.”

The comeback is weak and childish, but it’s the only thing Noah can think of. Luckily, though, it’s not the comeback that he needs.

Noah’s right leg – unbound in his struggles – shoots up between Aiden’s legs. The area is soft, and Aiden grimaces and staggers backwards in pain. He leaps onto Noah, pushing Noah off the chair and sending them both crashing to the ground.

Aiden throws punch after punch. Noah’s hands are still tied, so he can’t do anything but take the hits, shouting out as each one lands.

When Noah’s entire face is numb and aching, Aiden rolls him onto his back. The cool tiles soothe Noah’s face as he’s pressed down on them. Or they make it hurt even more – he isn’t sure.

“Which hand was it that tried to gouge out my eye?” Aiden roughly inspects Noah’s hands, making Noah wince as he brushes over the cuts. “This one?”

A sharp pain erupts from one of his fingers, and Noah yells in agony. It’s like it’s been cut in two, the pain from before seeming shallow in comparison.

“It was, wasn’t it?” Aiden explodes in maniacal laughter. “I think it needs it again.”

Noah, sobbing into the floor, tries to object. He shakes his head violently and begs Aiden to stop.

Yet the pain erupts anew as another of his fingers is snapped in half.

Noah lifts his head, then slams it back down on the tiles. He repeats this, over and over, trying to transfer the pain away from his fingers.

“What do you think?” Aiden’s calm, deep voice washes over Noah’s head like a wave. “Can we work as a team now?”

Noah grits his teeth and makes some kind of animalistic noise. He spits as he says it: “Fuck you.”

He hears Aiden sigh.

“Shame.”

Noah’s thumb is ripped away from his hand. Or at least, that’s what the break feels like.

This time, however, Noah doesn’t bang his head or writhe in pain. Instead, he feels himself start to lose consciousness. He closes his eyes, welcoming the darkness and the peace that it brings.

* * *

When Noah finally wakes, the pain makes him wish he never did. He smells blood and vomit, causing him to feel nauseous. As he lies on the ground where he lost consciousness, he cries silently for a few minutes. The whole time, he gazes vacantly in front of him, tears blurring his vision. The floor of the bathroom is much grimier up close in the daylight – and not from his own fluids.

Once he lifts his head, Noah feels his hair stick to the tiles. He turns his head, blinking out teardrops, and sees a pool of semi-dried blood around where his head had been. He must’ve split his head when banging on the floor earlier. But the ache in his head pales compared to the pain in his hand, which is still as sharp as it was hours prior.

He sits upright, but can’t move his hands – his wrists must still be tied. Instead, he crawls over to a broken pipe under the sink. He turns away from the wall, positioning the pipe between his wrists. In the process, he sees the mess of body fluids on the floor – something he’s been trying to avoid – and dry retches.

Turning away and blocking the image out of his mind, he uses the pipe as a saw. After several grueling minutes of effort, his hands are free from the rope. He brings them in front of him.

His thumb, index finger, and pinky finger on his right hand are purple and swollen. A joint on each juts out at an unnatural angle.

Noah tries to curl up all fingers in that hand, but has to immediately stop. Not only does it feel like he’s cutting them anew with a knife, but they physically won’t even curl up.

He rests his back against the wall under the sink, his injured hand resting gently in his lap. In limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness, he doesn’t react when the door opens and someone enters the room.

A pair of legs walk in front of Noah’s vision, turning to stop directly in front of him. The legs – appearing to be propped upright by an invisible force – wear techwear pants. They’re the kind of pants worn by Aiden, but Noah knows that posture.

“How are you feeling?” The owner of the legs squats, his face entering Noah’s vision.

Noah can’t remember the last time Simon asked him something like that. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if it’s actually the first time. But Noah can’t find the energy to even think about a reply.

Simon places down three metal sticks, a roll of surgical tape, and a set of clothes. The clothes are of a similar techwear style to those he’s wearing now.

Noah wants to yell at him to go away, but can only exhale in discontent.

“I only hope you’ll be more receptive to our situation now.” Simon picks Noah’s injured hand by the wrist.

Noah jerks his injured hand away, hitting himself in the chest with his broken thumb. He violently fights off the urge to well up with tears.

Simon sighs, clenching his mouth in pity. “You have to understand – everything I’ve done is for you. To create a better future for you.”

It’s a ridiculous proposal. Noah looks to the side, avoiding eye contact with him.

“You must think of me as the bad guy,” Simon continues. “But I get it – it’s what our society has taught you.”

Noah manages to scoff gently.

“It’s true. Aiden understands and he’s trying to help you understand too. New Kansai can become so much better than it is now.”

“You’re a liar.” Noah barely recognises his own voice. It’s gruff and whiny.

And it makes him feel like a true coward.

“You always criticize me when I’m trying to help you.” Simon shakes his head in pity. “But once you realize you’ve been brainwashed, you’ll realize how wrong you are. This hatred for me, it’s all misguided.”

Confusion clouds Noah’s mind. In his injured state, he finds it hard to process words, let alone think critically about what his father’s saying to him.

“Get out,” he demands.

Simon pauses for a few seconds, their eyes locked in a silent but fierce argument. But it’s him who looks away first, standing with a sigh. Noah turns his head slowly to watch him leave.

Simon stops by the door and holds up a hand. “This, by the way, is your own fault. You’ve always been sensitive, so I thought you’d have given in before it got this far.”

Noah cowers his head in shame and utters a simple word in apology. He doesn’t know why he says it. He doesn’t know who he says it to. His father? Himself?

In the end, though, it doesn’t matter – Noah’s doubting himself, his emotions, and everything he once thought was right.

* * *

It turns out Emily doesn’t actually know anything about Eugene and Casey’s relationship. In fact, it seems as if she knows less about her own brother than Hugo knew about his. From the information he could get out of her over the past month – in-between training exercises – Hugo gathers they’re much more distant than he and Eugene ever were.

Regarding the actual training of the first month, though, Hugo could barely keep up with the strength and endurance training, all while trying to remember the intricacies of handling the military’s incapacitatory firearms.

By the beginning of the second month, only half the recruits remain in the program. Most who’ve chosen to leave until this point are those who’ve discovered they aren’t suited for the military. A small number were ‘recommended’ to leave the program which – Hugo’s certain – is synonymous with being strongly asked to leave.

On this day, Squadrons E and F are instructed to gather in the morning at a location on the edge of the training base. One of Hugo’s squadron members bangs on his bunk bed to wake Hugo up. Hugo’s thankful for the effort; still sore from yesterday’s physical training, he has to throw himself out of bed in order to be ready in time.

The squadrons, consisting of up to twenty-four people each, share the same dorms. This way, they can get to know each other and can learn to hold each other accountable.

Hugo’s dorm is Squadron F. This constantly amuses Emily because, out of her two squadrons, Squadron F is clearly the “worst”. Despite having the largest number of people having left the program thus far – with fourteen people gone – Hugo still doesn’t really know anything about the members of his squadron, apart from perhaps their names.

In the morning mist, the two squadrons assemble at the beginning of a dense forest. The second Hugo’s watch hits the hour, Emily and a couple of other instructors emerge from the forest.

“Attention, Squadrons E and F!” Emily barks in a bright tone.

The recruits immediately turn their attention towards her. Naturally, the recruits don’t want to be in her line of fire; despite her cutesy and cheerful demeanor, she’s built quite the reputation for being trigger happy. Not trigger happy with actual ammunition, of course, but with punishments of physical fitness.

“We’re starting the second phase of the program,” Emily continues. “Today, we’ll be conducting an exercise using some of the tech you’ll use in the field. With me today, I’m joined by the instructors of Squadrons A through D. They’ll act as assistant instructors for the joint exercise between both squadrons. You heard me – from now on, squadrons E and F will consolidate permanently.”

This announcement causes a stir from the recruits. Hugo hears members of Squadron E complain; it seems like they’ve become a lot closer than those in Squadron F.

But it makes sense to consolidate the squadrons like this. The combined body count of both squadrons comes to twenty-four – what Hugo knows the military deems ideal.

“Alright, quiet, quiet. If I wasn’t in such a good mood, I’d give all of you pushups!”

This shuts everyone up.

“Actually, that sets a bad precedent,” Emily backtracks with an awkward chuckle. “You all get a hundred pushups each after the exercise!” She continues speaking cheerily, as if she didn’t just dish out a punishment to every person standing in front of her. “I’m also joined by one of New Kansai’s most skilled scientists. You can reveal yourself now.”

Emily turns behind her to face the forest, but there’s nothing but trees.

An awkward moment passes where no one is sure who – or what – they’re looking for. Then, Hugo spots a disturbance in the front row of trees. It’s a shimmer like those of the holograms, before a person appears in its place.

Beside him, Hugo hears several recruits gasp in shock. But he – having noticed the shimmer in the air – is intrigued more than anything else.

The first thing Hugo notices about the woman is her dark purple, braided hair. She wears the tight-fitting jacket and pants of a farmer, but is strapped in a black, full body exoskeleton. As she turns around once to show it off, the spine and neck support curve freely with her body.

“Hi, everyone,” the scientist talks in a squeaky voice. “I’m Maria. I do a lot of things, but I’m mostly an ecologist and experimental physicist. I specialize in the development of nature-influenced military technology. It’s good to meet you.”

Maria locks eyes with Hugo, her smile widening from ear to ear in recognition.

It sends a burst of fear through Hugo’s spine. She knows him. And he knows her. But only barely; they haven’t met in years, and Hugo didn’t think he’d ever see her again.

Maria continues speaking, occasionally catching Hugo’s eyes and shooting a wave of panic through him again and again.

“This device I’m wearing now is called an exoskeleton. It acts as a form of armor and is used for a lot more things, including transferring body weight from the user to the frame. It also heats and cools, as well as using holographic tech for stealth purposes, like you just saw.”

She then pulls out one of the earpieces Eugene borrowed – apparently called a hololens – before explaining its purpose.

The whole time, however, Hugo’s mind acts on overdrive, trying to figure out how someone like her has this job and wondering whether she poses any form of risk to him.

Even as Emily takes over, explaining a variation of Eugene’s exercise to the newly-consolidated squadron, Hugo finds it hard to focus on her words.

After all, Maria knows a lot more about Hugo than Simon ever could.