Vortex

  The ship groans as it settles, metal joints screechin’ like some beast draggin’ itself ashore. Soon as my boots hit the ramp, the air switch up on me. That cold, sterile ship air? Gone. Now it’s thick, sticky heat, like the isnd tryna choke me out before I even step foot on it.

  Bacteria Isnd. Man, even the name sound like a death sentence. I flex my fists. Ain’t no turnin’ back now.

  Up ahead, recruits movin’ in a long-ass line, slow like cattle. They steppin’ up one by one, names gettin’ called off. I hear voices nearby before I even see ‘em.

  "Commander Romeo is hot," some girl scoffs, soundin’ real amused.

  "Yeah? You have a thing for statues?" some dude shoots back.

  I gnce forward. There he go. Romeo. Built like somebody carved him outta gold and bronze, standin’ there like he own the sun. He don’t gotta try—his stance just solid, effortless. A commander. A soldier. A hero. That’s all I know ‘bout him. That, and what these two runnin’ they mouths about.

  The girl walkin’ like she own the whole damn isnd. The dude got that kinda smirk that say he don’t take nothin’ too serious.

  "Name: Lanny."

  Dude steps forward, mock-salutes, walks like this all a joke.

  "Name: Canny."

  Girl flick her hair back, walkin’ smooth like she on a runway.

  "Name: Vortex."

  I step up. A scan washes over me—height, weight, all that. They don’t ask. They just take. The examiner don’t even look up. Just another body in a line.

  Next room colder. Smell like antiseptic and somethin’ metallic—blood? The examiner’s hands cold as hell, pressin’ into my skin like he tryna calibrate me or some shit. A needle jab my arm, fast and careless. No warning. No expnation. Just movin’ through the motions. I flex my fingers, sting still sittin’ there, but he already done with me.

  "Healthy," he mutters, barely even soundin’ interested. "For now."

  I step out into the sun again, jaw tight. Out in the field, rows of recruits standin’ in formation. I spot Lanny and Canny, slide up next to ‘em.

  "What’s goin’ on?" I ask.

  "You new?" Lanny grins.

  "We all are, idiot," Canny sighs.

  Lanny chuckles. "Yeah, yeah. They’re splitting us into squads. About thirty per unit. We’re getting a trainer. Bet he’s a real lovely guy."

  Lovely ain’t the word I’d use.

  A man steps forward. Big as hell, barrel-chested, beard looking’ like it’s carved outta iron. Scar across his nose, cigar hangin’ from his teeth, smoke curlin’ zy in the air. When he talk, his voice shake the ground.

  "You will sleep standing," he grunts. "Eat hanging. Die ughing."

  I squint. Front right, a recruit strugglin’ with his belt—dude tryna hold up his pants without makin’ it obvious. One bad buckle away from fshin’ the whole squad. Canny nudges me, sees it too. I bite my lip.

  "You think war is some glorious march?" Kus growls. "You think you’re heroes?"

  Dude’s belt finally gives up on life. His pants hit his ankles.

  A stiff breeze. Nobody breathes.

  Except Lanny, who chokes out, "Bro…" before I lose it. A sharp exhale, barely a ugh, but enough.

  Kus’ gaze snap to me like a gun barrel turnin’.

  "You."

  Shit.

  His boots pound the dirt, until he right over me. That cigar still burnin’, ember glowin’ like the devil’s eye.

  "You find that funny?" he asks. “Tell me soldier, what are you doing here?”

  I freeze up. Mouth open, no words. My brain screamin’, but my tongue? Dead.

  Kus leans in, voice droppin’ low, like he pryin’ my ribs open with sound alone.

  "Why are you here?"

  Heat pressin’ down. Eyes on me. The whole damn squad watchin’. My heart smmin’ against my chest. And then, like my body decide before my brain can catch up—

  "I wanna be a hero!"

  Everything go quiet.

  Then—

  A wheeze.

  Laughter.

  A wave of it, crashin’ over me. Some folks chucklin’, others straight-up howlin’.

  "A hero? Oh, that’s rich!"

  "What, you tryna be in a movie?"

  "Bro, you lost?"

  But Kus don’t ugh.

  He just stare. Long. Hard. Like he lookin’ past my words, past me, tryna find somethin’ buried deeper.

  Then he straightens up, turns away.

  "Then act like you mean it," he says, voice sharp as steel.

  And just like that, he roll right back into his speech.

  "You are meat. Flesh and bone, waiting to be devoured."

  I exhale, chest tight. Ain’t no rewind button on what I just said.

  But maybe I don’t want one.

  ‘Cause that ain't a lie.

  I mean it.