It's midnight, and the moon is high. Everybody is sleeping. Jacques sneaks out of the dormitory window and carefully slides down the wall, landing in the bushes. Then, he quickly runs across to a tree that shields him from the CCTV. He had peeked into the CCTV room earlier to learn the blind spots, and he nailed it—most of the time.
Moving through the shadows of the trees, he leaps, climbs the dormitory wall, and lands outside. Easy.
Once outside, he runs fast to the minimarket near the dorm, where he parked his motorcycle, and drives off toward Sulu's hideout.
That talk under the stars with Charles changed his life. All of a sudden, he had a dream. For the first time, he knew what he truly wanted—a romantic adventure with a partner who was also his loyal best friend, the one he could trust the most.
Anyone could do it, but never in his past had he thought that Charles could be the one. They had always hated each other. In fact, Jacques deliberately avoided doing his laundry and made sure his shoes were dusty when he returned to the dorm, just to annoy Charles.
But now that they were secretly dating, he tried to do his laundry, even though he was lazy. He started cleaning his dirty shoes and showering daily. He was making significant changes.
However, Charles didn't seem to notice. He had been too busy improving his grades. Sometimes, he grew frustrated because there were subjects he just couldn't grasp, no matter how hard he tried.
"Damn, how is this expression different from that one? And how am I supposed to know if someone is telling the truth or lying without a lie detector? Reading facial expressions and body language is bullshit! Why did we even create lie detector machines if we can supposedly tell when someone is lying just by their body language? This is a waste of time!" Charles once complained.
At that moment, Jacques was chilling, standing shirtless in front of the mirror while doing a dumbbell session. He answered Charles with patience, "Actually, body language science is legit. Remember what they said? Words can be manipulated, but expressions are spontaneous. You can't fake body language down to the micro-expression level."
"But I can't tell the difference between these faces!!" Charles exclaimed, holding up a paper with two seemingly identical expressions.
"Charles, those pictures are different. The left one shows boredom, and the right one is surprise. But if you don't look at them properly, they seem the same," Jacques replied calmly.
Charles checked the manual book that contained the answers—and Jacques was right. "How do you know? How can you see it?"
Jacques grinned proudly of himself and continued his dumbbell session. "I don't know how to explain it. Maybe I'm a natural. But I do know it's all about micro-expressions."
Jacques always tell himself that Charles need him, he can teach Charles about things that become his weakness, but Charles just doesn't seems to be able to listen to him or his argument. Whenever he try to explain how things works, in the subject that Charles was bad at, Charles would say, "no it's not like that. It's futile, I'm going out to catch fresh air."
Jacques decided, when the time he is ready to listen, Charles will come to him. Until then, he will just enjoy his things. Unbothered with his bad grades and academic lessons, they all bullshits. So many high ranked officers getting F grades when they were in academy and pass as police officer because bribe practice or with the secret help of their family in the intern.
Grades doesn't matter.
Even law can be buy.
Why bother defending the law if the law workers are betraying it?
This academy is a big lie. It makes more sense for him to focus on what truly matters—his dream.
After a one-hour journey, he finally arrived at a forest where a waterfall concealed a hidden chamber behind its cascading curtain. Inside, a massive spacecraft garage stretched before him, and a 40-year-old man stood cleaning his tools, ensuring that neither dust nor rust took over.
Once Jacques arrived, Sulu's face lights up. "Hahaha, I can't believe how stubborn he is. He show up every day." Then Sulu pretend not interested at all and keep being busy with his tools.
"Pops, I'm here, can we continue the lesson?" Jacques looked confident and ready.
Sulu looked all displeased and grumpy, "today's lesson is tools function. Clean up these tools."
"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" Jacques gave a playful salute before grabbing a tool and cleaning it up. "I wonder what this one does… but this…"
He examined a tool shaped like a gun, though it was clearly not a weapon. It was powered by air pressure, and when he read the tank, it said hydrogen.
Later, just before sunrise, Sulu returned and asked, "So, what do you think these tools are for?"
"This one tests tank pressure, this one detects CO2 leaks, and this one…" Jacques continued, confidently guessing the functions of each tool.
He got everything right, which surprised Sulu. However, the old mechanic was an experienced mentor—Jacques wasn't his first student. He knew that too much praise would lead to quick satisfaction and kill motivation. So, instead of acknowledging Jacques' accuracy, Sulu remained silent and simply dismissed him.
"That's it? You're not even going to tell me which ones I got right?" Jacques protested, but Sulu just kept walking toward his sleeping chamber.
"Great," Jacques muttered in disappointment. Then, his gaze drifted upward toward the trooper pod—a single-pilot fighter spaceship designed to guard larger vessels. It had once been Sulu's, back when he was young and still in active service, before his demotion left him with only this pod.
"One day, he'll let me fly you!" Jacques smirked confidently, pointing at the trooper pod.
He hopped onto his motorcycle, using his allowance money to refill the gas, then made his way back to campus before class began. After signing in for attendance, he promptly fell asleep in his seat while the teacher droned on about intergalactic law and the importance of police work.
--DREAM--
Jared followed The Mentor to the locker room, where they put on specialized waterproof gear that resembled thick leather. The Mentor guided him through the process of wearing the equipment and using the necessary tools.
"Got it? This one opens the valve to the drainage, and this one unclogs blockages," The Mentor said, making sure Jared memorized the tools and their functions. "Now, repeat it back to me."
Jared repeated the instructions, listing off each tool and its purpose. He got everything correct.
"That's great! You remembered everything. See? You're a clever boy!" The Mentor smiled, and Jared found himself momentarily stunned by how beautiful that smile was. One day, I'll be brave enough to hold your hand.
"Now, let's go. Our task today is simple—dirty, disgusting, bad for my nails, and life-threatening. But if we don't do it, the whole bunker will be in trouble." The Mentor shut the locker and double-checked that it was locked, ensuring their valuables were secure. He clearly didn't want anyone stealing his earrings—even though, realistically, no one else would ever want to wear them.
So, the bunker is a human-sized ant colony house. But it was carefully structured to keep living underground possible and safe. No landslides when they sleep, no bug attacks when they bathe, and no one dies from choking on CO2 due to vent failure.
What are they doing right now?
It's dirty work.
The toilet septic needs unclogging because some idiot thinks they can throw plastic into the toilet, flush it, and expect it to disappear. And there are quite a few of these idiots. Somebody needs to go down there, swim in the black pond of human waste that has been there for months, and unclog the drainage, cleaning out the trash that isn't supposed to be there.
Once Jared sees how disgusting the place is and what they have to do, the gas mask suddenly makes sense.
He stands there, stunned, just staring at the pile of human waste before turning back to The Mentor. "I have to go there? I mean, DOWN there?"
"Yes. Don't worry. Just shut your hysterical brain down and focus on doing what you've been instructed to do. I did the same when I was your age. The sooner you do it, the sooner it will end," The Mentor pats Jared's shoulder to encourage him.
Jared hesitates at first. Even with the gas mask attached to his face, he can still smell how awful it is. And he has to go down there. He has to become one of them.
At first, his brain panics, screaming at him to save himself and avoid this filthy work. It's like trying to tame a male dog smelling a female dog in heat.
As soon as the tip of his shoe touches the surface of the wet, stinking mud, he smells it—and he wants to throw up.
He actually gags without throwing anything up. Once both his feet are submerged in the wet mud, he feels the coldness of it covering his toes.
"Damn... why did I agree to do this?" Jared feels his head spinning.
The Mentor holds down the nylon rope attached to Jared's belt around his stomach and encourages him. "Go, Jared, go! I got you!"
Jared tries to move toward the clogged drainage, but on the way there, he's trying so hard not to throw up that his face turns red. He feels dizzy, suffocated by the stink. But as his brain overloads with hysteria, rejecting what he is doing, Jared learns to shut down the voice in his head and just act.
Suddenly, it all feels like watching TV.
His body moves—no more stench, no more disgust, no more emotion. Just him, following instructions: collecting plastic bags and any other debris clogging the drainage and stuffing them into the bag attached to his side. One by one, the water starts flowing into the open drainage and free-falling. The more trash he removes, the stronger the current becomes.
"Keep doing it! Don't worry, I got you!" The Mentor shouts from the safe zone.
Jared can feel his brain start screaming again, but he shuts it down once more and keeps working. That's the only way he can get through this.
However, before he finishes, he stops as he notices movement out of the corner of his eye. Jared turns around—and sees someone. A man, covered in shadow, releasing a lever that is only supposed to be pulled after Jared reaches the safe zone.
"No!!" Jared shouts at the shadowy figure, but he doesn't listen. He pulls the lever anyway, and a rush of water storms in, flooding the tank.
"Jared!! Forget the clog! Drop everything and run back here!" The Mentor calls, his voice no longer playful but urgent. He moves as fast as he can to pull Jared back into the safe zone.
The water surges before Jared even reaches the stairs. Suddenly, a massive wave slams into him, sweeping his body away with the current.
The nasty, disgusting mud now mixes with the water, and Jared is drowning in it. Holding onto the rope—the only thing connecting him to safety—he struggles to keep his head above the raging wave.
"Charles!!" Jared calls out. The Mentor is the only one who can save him now. And he fights hard to pull Jared in, refusing to let go.
"Why do you fight so hard for him?" The mockery returns to The Mentor's head. "He doesn't even remember your name."
"Because..." The Mentor grunts, clinging to the rope and the pole that anchors him to the safe zone. There's no way he's letting go—no way he's letting Jared get swept away into the drainage.
"Because... he forgets," The Mentor grits his teeth, fighting the mocking voice inside his head. It lingers because he knows it's right. "That's why... this is the time when he needs me the most! There's no way I'd let him go!"
The current is so strong that Jared's gas mask is ripped from his face, forcing him to swallow a mouthful of the filthy water.
"Don't let me go! I don't wanna die!" Jared screams, desperate.
But then—he sees it again. The man who pulled the lever before its time. The shadowy figure—standing there, watching.
He appears behind The Mentor, gripping a sledgehammer.
"Charles, look out behind you!!" Jared screams, no longer caring about whatever is entering his mouth.
The Mentor turns in horror—just as the shadowy figure swings the sledgehammer straight at his head.