A few blocks from Major George's office located his quarters. Nica opened the door before him and ten bunk beds filled the room, resting military men randomly engaged in an unkempt spate of activities, permeating chaos inside. Meanwhile, the others just hunkered down on their beds, reading, or musing about with their phones. Surprisingly, the age range of the majority was about eighteen to twenty-five years of age.
As Nica entered, they were startled and cold stares fell to the visitor. "Everyone, this is Luke, our new Virus Evolver. He will be staying in this room with you, guys. He is Jameson's replacement and I want you to treat him like you treat the late Jameson."
Seeing his future bunkmates, a throbbing chill crawled on his skin. Cold sweat started to loom on his forehead. The aura of bully masters pervaded the atmosphere, squeezed into one barrack with an unwilling target standing by in their midst.
"He's young to be a virus evolver." One spoke, shirtless with tattoos on his chest, bald head, and thick eyebrows.
"Well, he's a rare bloodline, all right. We are lucky to have another virus evolver in our hands." Nica responded to his defense.
"Hope you aren't going to shit on your bed when the war comes. The Bugmen are bloodthirsty," the same soldier said, inviting his colleagues to join an embarrassing exchange.
Luke could not respond to a hostile approach. Standing up against bullies did not fit his description. He grew up in an orphanage, adamant about values and religion. The foster homes made him soft, evident also with his other orphan mates frequently subjected to tormenters.
"I believe that Luke had undergone basic survival training in the camps, so he can manage," Nica said, a frail statement for his defense.
"Yeah. He can run!" Another soldier interjected and the rest erupted into laughter. So, it started. Luke anticipated this. The question would be; Could he withstand this kind of attitude for the rest of his stay in this timeline?
"Sergeant Nica, don't tell us that we are going to protect this deadweight, right here," another soldier spoke.
"Yes, instructions from Major George," Nica responded almost neglecting the verbal attacks, "We will protect him. He is a priority. Command believes that the evolvers can help end the war. I am sure that they are looking for other candidates that would fit the role. Unfortunately, a rare bloodline is one in a hundred million. So, let's not get our hopes high. We work with what we have. Aren't we trained to survive against the harshest conditions? So, this is no biggie, my friends." Nica elucidated. She had a way with the boys that would listen and follow her.
"So," she continued. "Welcome Luke whether you like it or not... He is not deadweight, people. He will undergo training with me tomorrow. We will make a warrior out of him."
Soft cheers and claps emerged from them. Something about the training that made them excited. Perhaps, it presented the opportunity to mutilate the neophyte.
"Roger. Show Luke the workarounds inside the barrack. I will head now to sleep," Nica commanded and a bulky, scar-faced guy nodded. He was rather silent than the others but his scar contributed to a fearsome look.
Nica touched Luke's shoulder and she smiled right before she turned towards the door.
Luke just stood there, still soaking wet with the rain outside. An awkward silence pervaded the air for a few moments, all eyes were piercing through him. Then, Roger spoke. "This is your bunk bed," He sauntered across the soldiers and showed Luke his bunk bed located near the door. "That door over there is our comfort room. If you want to sulk into tears in there, be my guest.
Luke saw light brown stains on his white cushion bunk bed and a musky smell invaded his nostrils.
"I know, it's a little wet. If the rain is heavy, there is leaking in our roof that would seep inside and little droplets would drop in this bed. Before you complain, we already told Major George about this. If you want to change quarters, you can ask directly to Major George."
"Nah, it's good, Roger. Thanks." Luke said. Meanwhile, the others went back to their destressing distractions.
"Hey, don't thank me. These guys are relentless," he whispered. "In your training, they are going to pound you hard. So, you better toughen up, kid."
"Don't worry about me. I can manage."
"I hope so," Roger clapped Luke's shoulder so hard that it would leave a red sore in the morning. But he knew it was the way of the military. One should withstand physical challenges to survive.
"I bet you haven't tasted the training yet," Roger taunted.
Luke shook his head.
"Yeah. The training is rigorous. You will eat gravel, you will eat sand. You will choke on your own blood and bodily fluids. You will die if you won't endure. That is how we are trained back at the camps. And the training doesn't stop there. It will break you mentally. So, I suggest don't be a sissy here."
"Show me, Roger. Show me during the training. I can endure it," Luke sneered and held a confident look plastered on his expression. Deep inside, he could barely survive.
Luke placed his knapsack below the bunk bed and seated himself on his bed, his back leaning against the concrete wall. He watched them. Luckily, their attention shifted to something else.
Then, a small laughter loomed, assuming that they badmouthed him once again. He could not stand those faces. They preyed on the weak. The challenge would be to toughen up, as Roger suggested. Despite his physical appearance, he should show them that he could be a warrior too. He could gain muscle and endurance.
He took out his book from his knapsack. It's about the Science of Virus Evolution. He started to scan the pages haphazardly. However, the mood to read escaped him. He felt the pull of sleep on his drowsy eyes. His stomach growled. He barely fathomed the feeling.
He had comfort growing up. The Foster home staff would prepare their food every meal, wash their clothes, and provide them with basic needs.
These foster homes had a budget honored by the Government because of the disheartening growth of the orphan population year after year due to the wars. Parents were the first ones to be chosen and participated in a deadly conquest. For years, the wars persisted with a survival rate of fifty percent or even less. The circumstances drove the younger generation's motivation to be enlisted on an endless war.
But why? He always questioned it before the evolvers existed.
As soon as he took off his shoes, one officer went inside their quarters and alarmed everyone again. "It's bedtime already!" The officer, in his mid-thirties, had a thunderous voice that quickened everyone's pace and settled into their bunk beds. "Luke. Welcome to hell!" His deathly stares darted toward the newcomer. It was haunting. He went out again, banging the door shut.
As darkness invaded the room, Luke could not sleep. Such a frustration. Just after a few moments, his bunkmates slept. Occasional snoring emerged from various corners of the room.
A few hours passed and sleep never visited him. His bunkmates slept only inches away, and the loud snoring orchestrated a musical tune. A farfetched analogy, though. To Luke, they probably got used to the noise during sleep or their bodies just underwent tremendous exhaustive training.
He suddenly missed home. Surprisingly, he never anticipated the feeling of missing his timeline. He missed a few of his beer friends. They all had undergone military training. He missed college, despite the ever-present bullies. He missed the lessons, and the annoying bell after classes would hype every student to loiter on school grounds just to pass the time. He dropped his Chemical Engineering course as soon as he was called by the Command and gave shocking news to the people who ran the foster home. His reverie played for hours.
Then at 0015 H, he felt the pull of sleep.