Chapter 27: Behind the Uniform

The familiar pain grew with every step. Dozer broke something in his hand, maybe even the same something. The first time, he consoled himself in those unrelenting hours in that cell and told himself, “This sucks, but it’ll never happen again.” Yet, his hand ballooned again. Again. Fucking again.

The DI, the first-class bearded one, strolled beside him to the hospital. “We’re transferring you to Charlie Company.” That ramrod up his ass had disappeared. His arms swung with leisure, not the military metronome all the recruits picked up during drill. “I suppose you bought yourself some time.”

The eyes of the recruits in rows on the parade deck glanced at the DI and Dozer beside, not in tow. On top of that, Dozer held his arm held above his heart, and the swelling hand must have triggered some curiosity. The second-class dressed them all down for their deviation.

“Sir, is this recruit right that he’ll won’t see Private Model and Private Coldcase again, sir?”

He had to leave Model and Coldcase behind to fend for themselves against Animal’s tutelage. It didn’t seem right to split the fireteam up. They had formed a whole, and Dozer had made a part of that whole. It might have been the first time he ever belonged to anything.

“You might run into them in the field,” the DI’s gaze drifted upward, “but you’ll have Private Errorist to keep you company. He’s still recovering from conducting his successful offensive on his own appendage.”

Dozer snorted and cut his laughter short. A show of mirth meant a barrage of the DI’s wrath at full volume or worse. Three recruits headed for some destination behind them looked upon Dozer and the DI in almost horror.

The DI cracked a smile behind that maze of black and grey whiskers. “You like that, do ya?”

For a moment, the grinding pain in Dozer’s hand eased. “Sir, this recruit does, sir.”

“No need for all that formality.” The DI waved a dismissive hand. “I’m not your DI anymore. You’ll be under command of the Military Police. Central Building—and the hospital inside—is their jurisdiction. When you’ve recovered, the Charlie Company DI will take over.”

The colossus of war had melted away and left this everyday dude in his place. They became just two guys, one making sure the other got the help he needed.

“With all due respect,” Dozer put his left hand under his elbow to support his tiring arm, “I’ve always wondered what you are. You and the other Sowrivers, I mean.”

The DIs didn’t have the NPC label in the WarFace, but Dozer didn’t dare use that word. He still remembered the pain in his gut from the last time he broke character.

“I’m human. We,” the DI pointed a thumb over his shoulder at the second-class on the parade deck, “are human.”

“But there’s—what—twenty other Zahir Sowrivers here in boot.” Dozer almost gestured with his injured hand before the pain dissuaded him.

“Yeah, that.” The DI stroked his beard. “Every time one of us gets in a pod, they pool our experiences. When a Sowriver dies, a new one gets spun up from the pool, and,” he snapped his fingers, “a third-class is born.”

“No retirement for you?”

“I was—and we were—born to ready soldiers.” Zahir looked into Dozer’s eyes. Conviction stood behind those eyes, an obelisk of absolute belief.

John’s stomach tied into a knot. He took in shallow breaths. If he had been born with that same conviction of purpose, he wouldn’t have gotten himself exiled into the game.

“I know that look.” Zahir pointed to John’s face.

They approached the pair of fences and road between Bravo and Charlie. A few cooks on the Charlie side, on their way to their commissary, watched the pair.

John eyed them right back. “What look is that?”

“Coulda, woulda, shoulda.” Zahir focused on Hollow Mountain.

“Yeah.” John nodded. “Shoulda.”

“If you ask me, there is no such thing as ‘shoulda.’ Your choices led you here to our Paradise Island. Therefore, Paradise Island is where you should be.”

“If you say so.” The pain in John’s hand disagreed.

Zahir had a far off look to his eyes. “I do.”

John scanned the Charlie side, his soon-to-be home. It had the same layout as Bravo like whoever designed the game copy-pasted the buildings to save time.

A formation of Charlie recruits jogged in time along their fence, or as in time a gaggle of first-week recruits could do. Their cadence filled the air.

“Blood mama, Blood mama. Can’t you see

What Cocoon City has done to me?

Woke tied to a chair.

Pecker had no hair.

A mother-fucking killer is what I’ll be.”

John waited until the song faded behind them. “Sir, there’s only one of me here because I’m locked…” You’re breaking character! Don’t push too far! “Uh. Never mind.”

Zahir furrowed his brow. “Alright.”

Another voice pushed its way through John’s consciousness. You’ll not get another chance to ask!

John pushed out a quick breath. “Are you alive?”

Zahir chewed the inside of his cheek before he answered. “I’ve been doing this job for more lifetimes than I can count. Am I alive out there, you mean?” He glanced up. “Well, I’m here. We’re here.”

Coldcase had pointed out none of them could remember the date before they went into the game. It made sense the same disorder would afflict Zahir.

“Yeah, but—”

“No. We’re here.” The DI nodded toward the cube-shaped Central Building, its outer walls a utilitarian, concrete grey. Windows lined each floor with uniform precision, broken only on the first floor for the doors leading inside and a fenced off courtyard. The wall inside the fence had a heavy door—the only access— flanked by two wide windows.

“Oh.” Dozer had been so involved in his own thoughts, he hadn’t even noticed his surroundings.

Two recruits stood hunched in the center of the courtyard, one taller than the other. Wooden pillories shackled their necks and wrists, mounted on poles just high enough the recruits had to stand on their toes. Everywhere exposed skin showed, through the thick, black body hair, the UV burned an irritated red. The tall one with jagged scars along his scalp looked sensible enough to look distressed. Recognition smacked Dozer in the face.

Oh, shit. It’s Animal.

Dozer’s hands curled into fists until the fractured bone in his sent an electric zap of pain up his arm.

Couldn’t have happened to more deserving guy.

The stocky one locked eyes with Dozer. A Cheshire-cat grin spread across his lips. A deep, troubled insanity radiated from his face.

“Animal and the other one,” Dozer check out the stocky one’s name in the WarFace, “Vegetable? What did they do?”

“X-Rays do X-Ray things.”

“Okay?” Dozer furrowed his brow.

“Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie are for you normal recruits.” The DI stretched his neck to the side. “Or, you know, somewhat normal. But when we have enough of the violent contenders, we put them into X-Ray. These guys have done heinous things.” He scowled. “Things that make me taste chow chunks.”

“Okay.” Something pulled on Dozer’s insides. When they climbed Hollow Mountain the second day, boot had four sections. All four seemed to have movement. The last few weeks buzzed with stress and novel stimulation. By the time he had time to ponder, he had already filed the memory away. He poured all of his focus on the DI.

“These X-Rays put their teammate in the infirmary. We don’t know when we’ll even have another X-Ray Company, so we’re transferring said teammate to Charlie. Give him a wide berth,” the DI put a hand on Dozer’s shoulder, “if you can.”