"So, over here is Dr. Grey. He's the lead medic for our specific unit, meaning we take our direct operational orders from him," Garry explained, pointing toward a middle-aged man who was intensely peering through the lens of a high-tech electron microscope inside an enclosed lab.
Garry had been officially tasked with showing the young new intake around the facility, helping him familiarize himself with the active members of the medical unit. Over the past few days, Garry had guided a few others, though he couldn't help but notice that this year's medical intake was abnormally low for some unknown reason. The young white-haired boy he was currently showing around was doing remarkably well, though he seemed a little more quiet and reserved than the usual intakes, who were typically ecstatic just to have made the team.
Graves, meanwhile, silently followed his senior through the endless corridors. Garry had been introducing him to a dizzying array of personnel, jumping from high ranks to low ranks and back again. He had been explicitly instructed to memorize every single name and face, a task that was already giving Graves a massive headache. I can barely even remember my own birthday! he grumbled internally.
"And finally, here is your assigned quarters," Garry said, sliding open a heavy metallic door.
The room was exceptionally smallso cramped that it felt like it could barely house a small bird... Wit what's a bird? It contained nothing more than a basic military bunk and a single vertical locker meant for his clothes and other valuables. Graves didn't mind the size; he hadn't packed much anyway, considering he didn't own much to begin with.
Stepping further inside, he opened an adjacent door to find a combined bathroom and toilet, complete with a automated bathing machine he recognized from the academy. The glamorous life of a non-combatant soldier, Graves thought with a wry smile. But that didn't mean he didn't appreciate it. To him, this was absolute luxury. The mere fact that he was being granted his own personal, private space was incredibly exciting.
"Don't worry, you'll get used to the tight fit," Garry spoke up, a half-smile playing on his lips.
Garry had seen this exact look on plenty of new intakes before, usually accompanied by an expression of pure disgust. Most recruits born inside the safety of the massive city walls had spent their entire lives lounging in spacious, luxurious rooms, so transitioning to a claustrophobic military cell was an absolute shock to their systems. But as Garry watched the boy, he caught the almost unnoticeable glimmer of genuine excitement in Graves's eyes.
Then, it suddenly clicked. Ah, he must be an outskirt kid, Garry realized silently.
Handing a stack of physical orientation documents over to Graves, Garry pulled a sleek digital tablet and tapped the screen, prompting the boy to finalize the paperwork. Signing documents in this advanced era was a unique, highly secure process. Because individuals with opened Gene Locks possessed enhanced brain capacities, they could easily memorize and flawlessly forge a person's handwritten signature after seeing it just once. To combat this, the military strictly relied on uncopyable biometrics: thumbprints, ocular iris scans, and direct DNA verification via blood samples.
For this standard intake tablet, the system simply required a physical thumbprint. Graves pressed his thumb against the glowing glass sensor until it beeped in approval.
"Well, Cadet, I wish you the absolute best of luck out here," Garry said, pocketing the tablet. "And a very happy future promotion... assuming you manage to stay alive."
"Thank you, Senior. I wish you luck as well," Graves replied politely as he stepped fully into his new home, letting the heavy door slide shut behind him.
After collapsing onto the stiff mattress and resting his aching body for a while, Graves remembered that he needed to touch base with his friends. Pulling out his standard-issue communicator, he began dialing them one by one.
The calls were a chaotic whirlwind. Winter answered first, her voice thick with worry as she continuously fussed over his well-being, repeatedly lecturing him about needing to eat more nutritious meals to rebuild his strength. Gamby, on the other hand, was deeply wistful—though not about his injuries. She seemed entirely focused on the tragic fact that he was no longer around for her to roughly pat his hair, rambling about it so much that Graves's eyes practically began to twitch in exasperation.
Then came Apollo. Damn it, Apollo... The stoic fighter immediately demanded that Graves tell him another one of his outskirt survival stories, before strictly ordering him to begin a heavy daily exercise routine to accelerate his body's cellular healing.
Graves spent a solid five minutes repeatedly assuring him that the medical tech had already completely healed his bones, but Apollo wouldn't hear it.
And finally, there was Julius. By the church, Julius was an absolute nightmare. The handsome man completely turned up the heat, mockingly claiming that when Graves had charged blindly into the horde of Spider Devils, the monsters had probably gotten confused because Graves looked exactly like one of them. The insult left Graves absolutely pissed off. Because he was trapped on a digital screen and couldn't physically fire back or throw a punch at Julius's smug face, Graves had to abruptly terminate the call, shivering in pure, unadulterated frustration.
"Damn that Julius!" he snapped to the empty room.
Shaking off his annoyance, Graves stripped out of his heavy duty camo and took a quick, refreshing shower before changing into a set of lighter, loose-fitting military pajamas. His stomach let out a ferocious growl, prompting him to stride back out of his quarters and make his way toward the secondary cafeteria to get something to eat.
However, navigating the corridors proved to be an absolute nightmare of military etiquette. Adhering strictly to the protocol drummed into him at the academy, Graves felt obligated to snap into a crisp salute for every single senior officer he passed. At one point, his exhaustion was so severe that he accidentally saluted a junior officer who held the exact same rank as him. By the time the glowing doors of the cafeteria finally slid open, Graves was genuinely terrified that if he had to raise his right hand one more time, his arm might actually fall off.