Arrival

The doors of Conscription Processing slid shut behind Lucas with a soft hiss that reminded him of the hydroponic pressure seals—a familiar sound made alien by context. The military sector's corridors were different from the utilitarian passages he'd known all his life. These walls gleamed with an almost organic sheen, as if the metal itself was alive.

"Recruit Morel?" The voice was warm, almost motherly. Lieutenant Caron approached with a gentle smile, her uniform pristine but somehow approachable. The silver bars on her chest caught the ambient lighting, twinkling like stars. "I'm Lieutenant Caron. Welcome to your first day at Le Bastion Military Academy. We've been looking forward to having you join us."

Her presence immediately put him at ease, dispelling the knot of anxiety he'd been carrying since receiving his conscription notice. She gestured to his tablet. "I see you've already received your equipment. How does it feel?"

"It's... different," Lucas admitted, surprised by her interest in his comfort. "Newer than what we had in hydroponics."

"Of course," she smiled knowingly. "We believe in giving our recruits the best tools possible. Your work in hydroponics was vital to Le Bastion—and now you'll be able to protect everything you helped build there."

As they walked, Lieutenant Caron pointed out the murals that lined the walls. They depicted scenes from Le Bastion's history, rendered in colours so vivid they seemed to pulse with life. "These remind us of what we're all working to preserve," she explained, her voice full of quiet pride. "Every person in Le Bastion contributes to our survival, but you—all of you—have been chosen for something special."

A piercing scream suddenly echoed through the corridor, followed by the sound of running footsteps and muffled voices. Lucas turned his head sharply toward the sound, but Lieutenant Caron smoothly guided him forward, her warm smile never wavering. "The medical wing is conducting emergency drills today," she explained, her voice calm and reassuring. "Safety preparedness is a top priority here."

The common room they entered felt more like a comfortable living space than a military facility. The ceiling stretched high above, the lighting soft and welcoming. Other recruits sat in small groups around low tables, sharing tea and quiet conversations. The scene was so different from the stark gathering spaces of the civilian sectors that Lucas found himself relaxing despite his instincts.

"This is where you can unwind after training," Caron explained, gesturing to the comfortable seating areas. "We believe in building bonds between recruits. You're family now, and family takes care of each other."

A thin boy with wire-rimmed glasses looked up as Lucas approached his table. "I'm Matthieu," he offered with a slight smile. "They pulled me from water treatment. Guess they decided soldiers were more important than clean water, huh?"

Before Lucas could respond, a young officer appeared beside them—he couldn't have been more than a few years older than the recruits. "Everyone's important here," he said warmly, placing a reassuring hand on Matthieu's shoulder. "Your skills in water treatment won't go to waste, trust me. We choose our recruits carefully."

The day flowed seamlessly through orientation sessions, each one carefully designed to feel more like a conversation than a briefing. The officers moved among them with an easy familiarity, offering encouragement and guidance. Everything was efficient but never cold, coordinated but never rigid.

During the afternoon session, Lieutenant Caron unveiled their future: the D-50 Exo Units. The massive mechs displayed on the screen drew gasps of wonder from the recruits. "These aren't just machines," she explained, her voice full of warmth. "They're extensions of you, designed to respond to your thoughts, your instincts. Each one will be uniquely attuned to its pilot."

"The neural synchronization process might sound intimidating," she continued, noting the mix of awe and apprehension on their faces, "but don't worry. We'll guide you through every step. Some of you may even find you have a natural talent for it."

Lucas noticed Matthieu staring at the screen with unusual intensity, his fingers tapping out unconscious patterns on the table. But before he could dwell on it, another officer was there, offering them both encouraging smiles and answering questions about the mechs with patient enthusiasm.

That night, as Lucas lay in his bunk, he found himself looking forward to tomorrow's training with an eagerness that surprised him. The academy felt nothing like the cold, military environment he'd feared. Instead, it felt like... home. A better home than he'd known in the civilian sectors.

From somewhere down the corridor, he heard familiar voices engaged in casual conversation—one of them belonging to someone he could have sworn he'd heard screaming earlier that day. The person was laughing now, chatting easily with friends as if nothing had happened.

From the darkness, he heard Matthieu's voice, barely a whisper: "Lucas? Do you ever wonder why the radiation readings never change?"

The question seemed out of place in the comfort of their new surroundings. Before Lucas could respond, the lights dimmed completely, leaving him alone with an odd disconnect between Matthieu's words and the sense of security that surrounded them. The soft hum of the ventilation system carried the quiet breathing of his fellow recruits, all of them safe in the embrace of Le Bastion's military heart—yet somewhere, in a corner of his mind he couldn't quite reach, a tiny voice whispered that something wasn't quite right about this perfect welcome.

Sleep came fitfully that first night, broken by the persistent hum of machinery and the occasional whispered conversations between recruits adjusting to their new surroundings. Lucas drifted between consciousness and dreams filled with gleaming corridors that stretched endlessly, each turn revealing another perfectly arranged scene of contentment.

The wake-up call came at 0600, announced by a gentle increase in lighting and soft chimes that seemed to emanate from the walls themselves. Lucas opened his eyes to find Lieutenant Caron already moving through the dormitory, offering gentle encouragement to bleary-eyed recruits. Her uniform was as immaculate as it had been the day before, not a single crease visible in the fabric.

"Morning reflection begins in thirty minutes," she announced, her voice carrying the same warmth it had yesterday. "The showers are arranged by bunk number. You'll find your designated facilities clearly marked."

The shower facilities were unlike anything Lucas had experienced in the civilian sectors. Instead of the communal washrooms he'd grown up with, each recruit had access to a private cubicle with actual water—not the sonic cleaners they'd used in hydroponics. The water itself felt different too, softer somehow, carrying a subtle fragrance that reminded him of the artificial gardens in the upper levels.

As Lucas dressed in his new uniform—a sleek grey affair with subtle blue piping that seemed to shift colour depending on the light—he caught snippets of conversation from nearby recruits.

"—better than the med bay, that's for sure—"

"—never seen anything like it in engineering—"

"—just disappeared for three hours yesterday, came back looking—"

The mess hall continued the theme of understated luxury. The tables were arranged in perfect geometric patterns, each surface gleaming under lighting that somehow managed to feel both natural and enhanced. The food was served by smiling staff in crisp white uniforms, each plate carefully arranged with nutritional balance that looked almost too perfect to eat.

"The protein ratios are different," Matthieu commented as he settled beside Lucas, adjusting his glasses with one hand while studying his breakfast with scientific intensity. "Higher quality than anything we got in water treatment. And look at the colour variation—I've never seen vegetables this vibrant."

Before Lucas could respond, a tall recruit with close-cropped hair joined them, his movements carrying the fluid grace of someone already familiar with military precision. "Jules Bouchard," he introduced himself, his smile practiced and perfect. "Former atmospheric maintenance. You'll get used to the food—it's designed to optimize our performance for the neural sync training."

Lucas noticed how Jules' hands moved with mechanical precision as he ate, each gesture measured and efficient. "Neural sync training?"

"The D-50 integration," Jules explained, his voice taking on an almost reverent quality. "We start today. Lieutenant Caron says I've got promising compatibility ratings." He paused, tilting his head slightly. "Though I don't remember taking any compatibility tests."

The morning's training began in what they called the Harmony Chamber—a vast circular room with walls that seemed to breathe, surfaces rippling with patterns that made Lucas's eyes water if he looked at them too long. The recruits were arranged in concentric circles, each assigned to a meditation pod that curved around their bodies like a protective shell.

"Neural synchronization begins with understanding the rhythm of your own thoughts," Lieutenant Caron explained, her voice carrying perfectly to each pod despite its soft volume. "The pods will help you visualize your neural patterns. Don't be alarmed by what you see—every mind creates its own unique signature."

As the pod activated, Lucas felt a gentle warmth spread from the base of his skull. The interior surface of the pod came alive with swirling patterns of light that seemed to pulse in time with his heartbeat. Colors—blues, greens, and golds—danced across his vision, forming shapes that felt both alien and strangely familiar.

A gasp from somewhere to his left broke his concentration. Through the translucent shell of his pod, Lucas caught a glimpse of another recruit being quietly led from the chamber by two officers he hadn't seen before. The recruit's face was blank, eyes wide and unfocused, but there was something about their expression that sent a chill down Lucas's spine. Ten minutes later, the same recruit returned, smiling and apologizing for what they called a "minor dizzy spell."

The afternoon brought them to the Exo Bay—a cavernous space that made the Harmony Chamber look tiny in comparison. D-50 units lined the walls, each one a towering marvel of engineering that seemed to dwarf even the massive chamber itself. The mechs stood in various states of activation, some powered down to a dull grey, others humming with an inner light that pulsed like a heartbeat.

"Each D-50 is a unique entity," explained Captain Mercier, a broad-shouldered woman whose presence commanded attention without effort. "They aren't just machines—they're partners. The neural link goes both ways. As you learn from them, they learn from you."

Lucas watched as Jules was selected for a preliminary compatibility test. The cockpit of the nearest D-50 opened like a blooming flower, each panel sliding away with liquid grace. As Jules settled into the pilot's seat, Lucas noticed Matthieu scribbling furiously in a small notebook he hadn't seen before.

"What are you writing?" Lucas whispered.

Matthieu quickly closed the notebook, slipping it into his pocket. "Just observations. Things that don't quite..." he trailed off as Lieutenant Caron approached, her smile as warm as ever.

"Recruit Morel," she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Your preliminary test is scheduled for tomorrow. We have high hopes for your compatibility ratings." She paused, her expression softening further. "Your work in hydroponics showed remarkable attention to living systems. That sensitivity will serve you well here."

That evening, as Lucas lay in his bunk processing the day's events, he found himself struggling to reconcile the sheer scale of change from his previous life. Everything here was incredible—the technology, the comfort, the efficiency. Even the air felt precisely calibrated, carrying none of the metallic tang he'd grown used to in hydroponics.

A quiet shuffling sound drew his attention. In the dim light, he could make out Matthieu's form hunched over his tablet, likely reviewing the day's training materials with the same intensity he'd shown during the demonstrations. From somewhere deeper in the complex, he heard the muffled sound of boots on metal and what might have been voices raised in argument—or something else entirely.

"Lucas?" Matthieu's voice came as barely a breath. "I can't believe how different everything is here compared to water treatment. Makes you wonder what other sections of Le Bastion are like, doesn't it?"

Before Lucas could formulate a response, the lights dimmed smoothly to darkness, leaving him alone with thoughts of tomorrow's compatibility test and the soft, rhythmic hum of the ventilation system. As sleep began to take him, his mind wandered to the D-50 units standing silent vigil in their bay, their massive forms waiting to be awakened. He wondered what it would feel like to sync with one—to merge consciousness with something so powerful, so perfect.

In his last moments of wakefulness, he thought he heard someone walking past their dormitory, laughing softly with friends—the same voice he'd heard screaming that morning. But the memory slipped away as sleep finally claimed him, replaced by dreams of gleaming metal and pulsing lights.