Rain dropped upon many roofs in this area, in rhythm of water striking metal. It was cold but most importantly, the smog was no more. The rain however, was sickly to touch; itchy and sticky. Activities had ceased for inhabitants of these slums sought shelter from the black rain.

Doom and gloom. Two words that aptly described this place. A place that gathered the dregs and bottom of society. Humanity had long gone to the stars above but some things were hard to change, ever-present. Prosperity coexisted with poverty. The richly privileged and the not.

A thin man wrapped some stained foil around his body to stave the cold. John Smith was his name and all that he can remember. He had forgotten his parents, his birthplace and his purpose. All he knew that he was John Smith and he called this wretched place, his home.

Throughout the day John Smith would dive into trash thrown by a nearby city, to salvage anything of value. A man’s trash is another man’s treasure. By night he tried to catch some winks if possible. Life was hard; others competed with him. Criminals and crooks were plenty.

Today was one of the worst days for him. Rain had fallen again, cutting his daytime treasure hunt short. Anyone knew to stay out of the rain. Ones that didn’t usually didn’t live long, afflicted by various poisons brought down by the rain. He could only curse the rain for falling.

He stared at collection of objects he dug out from the trash. The first was a cuboid, a broken radio of some kind. Second was a cylinder, filled with some weird chemical. The last was a small fan with heater elements. Using some wires and old batteries, he made the fan work.

Bang!

The sound of trouble. John Smith cursed in his mind again. His search was fruitless and thus he had nothing to offer. It looked like another round of beatings would be on par today. He steeled himself, waiting for the kicks to come. He waited and waited but nothing happened.

John Smith. An orphaned vagrant living in Unauthorized Sector Bee-slash-Nine for period of a decade. Stand up, citizen.

It was an emotionless robotic voice, clear amongst the falling rain. What is it now? He tried to find the source of the voice but found nothing. An illusion? No, it wasn’t; he felt his legs were no longer touching the ground. He was lifted up against his will, by something stronger.

“John Smith. Hmph, a name you can find anywhere. Get up, trash.”

A stern but female voice, with power behind it. John Smith had heard his shares of women voices but not as this. This woman sounded like she was eying her prey. A tigress in human form. As far as he was concerned, he had never encountered her before. What’s her deal?!!

“Trash, are you still sleeping?”

John Smith found his face stinging in acute pain. Why did this woman suddenly hit him? It wasn’t a lash that hit him. It was a blunt object, turning his face numb from pain. The rain only made the stinging worse. Did he offend this woman somehow? He was utterly confused.

“Sigh, another trash? Proceur, stuff him into the recycler.”

Recycler? Oshit! He bit his tongue and braved himself, “John Smith, Sir! I’ve been living in these slums as far I can remember!”

“Oh, so, this trash can actually talk. Proceur, stuff him into the transport instead.”

Next, blindness had greeted him. He never caught a single glimpse of people that captured him. He was deathly afraid, keeping his gaze low lest they beat him black and blue. He felt a sharp jab on the base of his skull and sounds of falling rain before becoming unconscious.

Sometime later, new sensations enveloped him. The ‘floor’ seemed cold, the air was crisp and he was no longer wet. His skin was not itchy as before but it didn’t change the fact that he was still weak. The pain from the back of his head was still going strong, interrupting his mind.

He tried to find his bearings but his body was aching all over as if a truck had run into him. Where am I? This is definitely isn’t the slums. The man tried all his might to reorganize his thoughts. It felt like an unfamiliar environment, strangely clean and devoid of filth of slums.

“So, our little man had woken up! Lieutenant, if only you could be less rough on him…”

“Hey, once a trash is always a trash, Major. If it wasn’t for the order, I would already tell Proceur to vapourize the entire goddamned slums.”

Unknown voices of man and female. John Smith knew the latter, the one that hit his face and abducted him to this new place. So, she was someone from the Army? Why did the Army abduct me? John Smith became more confused. A slum dweller wasn’t definitely a soldier.

“Well I believe some introduction is in order. I’m Major Karamazov and she’s Lieutenant Sasha. John Smith, welcome to 141st Corps of Interstellar Martial Army!”

John Smith found himself lifted up by a burly man that called himself Karamazov. He was decked in Army attire but his uniform can barely hide his explosive muscles. His chin was cleanly shaved and his black hair was cut short. His face was friendly but his grip was mighty.

“Umm…thank…you?” The squalid slum dweller tried to eke some words while his head hung low.

Karamazov slapped John Smith’s shoulders again, almost sending the latter to the floor, “Hahahaha! What nice spirit! Usually slum dwellers like you would be terrified of the Army!”

John Smith turned blank. What Karamazov said was true; cretins of society like him weren’t viewed as humans by most. The Army was infamous for it, occasionally having ‘accidents’ in the slums. He was utterly at loss of words; he actually responded to this Karamazov dude.

Was it due to his tolerance from daily beatings of gangs prowling the slums? Or deep down, he wished the Army to just end his life in another unfortunate ‘accident’? Whatever it was, he cannot pull back his words. He had just irreversibly responded to a person from the Army.

Wait, did he say welcome to the Army? Shivers ran across his spine. The major clearly had spoken so, turning him as one of countless recruits for the Army. Conscripted recruits, usually shuttled to far flung worlds with little civilization. Life expectancy in matter of weeks at best.

He tried to shake his head but knew it was pointless. Once the Army had caught on you, the only escape was death. He glanced around, finally catching the figure of the woman that had captured him. She had brunette hair, modest chest but unfortunately bulging muscles as well.

Why are people from the Army are muscle freaks? Didn’t they use exo-suits or something? This was a revelation for John Smith. What he knew of the Army, Interstellar Martial Army were that they were clad in augmented suits. Heavily armed and armoured, no face visible.

His thought was broken by the coarse voice of Karamazov, “I’m sure you just thought we’re a bunch of freaks now, hahahaha! But worry not, even you can be like us! Serving the 141st Corps is one of the highest honours in the Dynasty!”

“I…I can be... healthy? S-s-strong?” The slum dweller tried his best to talk again. His head was still pulsing with pain.

This time, the stern-looking woman, Lieutenant Sasha interjected, “Of course, trash. Why would we bother picking you up otherwise? A sick trash is a burden to all of us. You have a purpose now, and that purpose is serving us, the 141st Corps.”

“Lieutenant Sasha is correct. At least in the Army, you get three square meals a day, fresh clothes, warm bed, free testament service and absolutely no rain either! It’s a good deal, don’t you think?” Major Karamazov wore a smug expression.

John Smith already knew the implications of joining the Army, especially for slum dwellers like him. But did he have any choice to begin with? He can only agree to it, “Uh…that’s…that’s…right. Re-re-recruit John Smith re-reporting, Sir.”

“Lieutenant Sasha, I believe you picked a gem this time! Now then, I leave him to you, teach him the ropes. You have my permission to be…. a bit rough.” The burly man left soon after, leaving John Smith with the tiger woman.

The lieutenant grumbled but only after the Major had left, “God fucking damnit, now they told me to train this trash?”

“Uh…Recruit John Smith re-reporting to Lieutenant S-S-Sasha.” He stuttered. It was all too fast.

Sasha then reverted to her usual stern demeanor, “Huh, at least you know some propriety. Well listen up, maggot. If I tell you to die, you die, got it? But remember, whatever you do will reflect on me so don’t fucking slip up! If you fuck up, we both are going to get the boot. Did I make myself clear, Recruit John Smith?”

“Re-recruit J-John Smith u-u-understands.” He tried to nod all his might, despite leaning to the walls.

Sasha stared at him, “Hmph, all the better. Take this kit and go to your room as listed on it. I expect you to be ready, in full uniform here, at three hundred hours. Don’t disappoint me, maggot. Or into the recycler you go.”

John Smith nodded vigorously as she stomped her way out. He then looked at the briefcase left by the two Army personnel. It was the standard grey-coloured Recruit Kit, emblazoned with logo of 141st Corps. He fumbled around and found a room key card with a number on it.

John Smith glanced his vicinity; so, he was brought to this gray room with tiny window slits. There were a single table with two chairs, one door and a single holographic clock near the ceiling. The time was then eleven in the night. So, I am supposed to be here at three A.M?

At least the bulky briefcase had some wheels, allowing him to push it around. But it was sure heavy, almost taking his all to tug it. His room key was numbered 325th, Wing C. Here was apparently Wing A… well, he did agree being a recruit. He can only preserve to get to his room.

At first, he didn’t know how to go there but after observing other personnel in the area, he used the key card as his guide. Throughout the way, he went through various corridors and lifts, meeting with various kinds of people. Most were indifferent, others just ignored him.

Above else however, none tried to kick him or physically hurt him unlike in the slums. Army discipline was surely different. They were like busy bees, not minding him at all. Due to this, he had almost got squashed to death when one of many couriers mistakenly ran into him.

What are they preparing for? John Smith noticed increased frequencies of such couriers, Army personnel directing wheeled robots loaded with various boxes of some kind. He also spotted others that had same briefcase as him. It seemed the Army had gone into recruiting overdrive.

He was truly curious but he felt he didn’t have time for it; it was just a few hours before the designated meeting time. Lieutenant Sasha did say his actions will reflect on her too and so he needed to be punctual. He needed to go to his room now and prepare for said meeting.

Click!

John Smith had found his room at last. He waved the card in front of the door and it parted in the middle for him. The room was spartan; a single bunk bed, shelving with table, a mini kitchenette and a separate toilet-cum-shower. For him however, this was paradise on earth.

As he dragged the briefcase inside, the door behind him closed and the lights were switched on. He sat on the bed; it was slightly soft, solid throughout. With the briefcase in front of him, John Smith then opened it by pressing its two buttons on top. What could be inside of this?

He found there were several pairs of clothes, presumably inner uniform and standard outer service ones. There were also several green matte blocks, labeled as Rations. Three pair of boots, a small communicator and a simple medical kit. Last were some helmets and a knife.

John Smith spurned his mind; this kit alone could let him live luxuriously for couple of months in the slums if he can smuggle it out of here. Then again, he was dead center in the Army base. Even though the personnel ignore him, that didn’t mean the security cameras would do so.

For now, he planned to just go with the flow, see where this Army would send him. It was infinitely better than getting beat up every single day. Death risks were real in the Army but it could be instant, sparing him from suffering. He slapped his cheeks and walked around.

His stomach grumbled so he ripped open one ration, munching on what seemed like a kind of protein block. Finally, some actual food, not some random rat or geckos! Another two blocks were eaten but then he stopped. What if these were all of them now? He would starve then.

John Smith convinced himself this wasn’t the end of it, there should be more. The Army need healthy people, not famished ones. He proceeded to assemble the attires and associated into the shelving. He didn’t touch the mini kitchenette as he was more interested to wash himself.

The thin man stared at a mirror; he just noticed he wasn’t wearing his old patched clothes but instead a pair of light gray clothes. Did someone change me when I was out cold? Oh, man, I was seen naked! His face was bit swollen; hair was messy but he didn’t smell of filthy trash.

There was no use crying over spilt milk so John Smith decided to just prepare himself; shave his excess facial hairs, take a bath, change into new attires and have some rest before going back to the designated meeting point. He had like three hours remaining, more than enough.