I was dragged through the rusty metal doors of the hangar, which slammed shut behind me with a resounding clang. The interior was larger than it appeared from the outside, but no less bleak. Dim yellow light emanated from lamps hung haphazardly from the high ceiling, casting long, dancing shadows across the dirty concrete floor and walls covered in graffiti and oily stains. The air was stagnant, carrying a faint musty smell mixed with the scent of old metal and chemicals.
The hangar wasn't empty. Long metal tables were lined up along one side, manned by individuals in worn grey coats, apparently lower-level staff. In front of the tables, an irregular queue of about twenty other people shuffled, resembling me in their lost and neglected appearance. They wore ragged clothes, their faces bearing expressions ranging from fear and apathy to desperate defiance. They seemed to be other "potential recruits," gathered from the city's dark corners.
The two guards who had grabbed me pushed me towards the end of the line. "Wait here. Don't cause any trouble," one said in a rough voice, before stepping back to stand near the entrance, their rifles held ready.
I stood in line, trying to appear calm and inconspicuous while observing what was happening at the front. Each person in the queue eventually stepped up to one of the tables. The grey-coated clerk would ask them quick, direct questions, typing notes onto an old-fashioned datapad. Then, the person was directed to another area behind the tables, where they were stripped of any meager personal belongings they might possess – a worn bag, a rusty tool, a colorful scrap of cloth. These items were tossed carelessly into large plastic bins.
After that, the individual was shoved towards what looked like a large metal shower cubicle. They entered, the door closed, and then came the sounds of powerful hissing and sprays of water or chemicals. After a minute or two, the door would open, and the person would emerge shivering, covered in a foul-smelling foamy liquid, only to be handed a rough cloth to dry themselves and a simple uniform – dull grey trousers and shirt made of coarse fabric.
It was a systematic process of stripping and humiliation. Stripping away identity, the past, anything that might connect these people to their former lives. Turning them into mere numbers wearing the same uniform, ready for the next stage of "processing."
A mixture of anger and indignation surged within me. I wasn't just some vagrant or petty criminal. I was Aryan Zephyrus Ironwood, a former Guardian of the Giran Empire, a Metal-mage. This treatment... it was insulting. But I curbed my anger. Showing strength or resistance here would only be counterproductive. I had to play the part, endure this temporary humiliation, until I understood the rules of the game and found an opportunity to change my situation.
The line moved with painful slowness. When my turn finally came, I stood before a clerk with a pale face and weary eyes behind thick glasses. He didn't look up at me.
"Name?" he asked in a monotone voice, tapping on his datapad.
"I don't have a registered name here," I answered quietly.
"Temporary Identification Number?"
"IS-03-8847-Gamma," I said, repeating the number I'd heard from the Peacekeeper.
The clerk typed the number into his device. My temporary data appeared on the screen. "Unclassified energy anomaly..." he muttered to himself. He finally raised his head and looked at me for a moment, a gaze devoid of any real interest. "Origin?"
"I don't know," I lied. "I lost my memory." It sounded like a weak lie, but it was better than trying to explain the impossible truth.
The clerk sighed, as if this answer was common. "Any special skills? Abilities? Modifications?"
Here, I had to be careful. "None that I know of," I said. I didn't mention the metal magic. Revealing my true power at this early stage, in this manner, seemed far too dangerous.
The clerk made his notes. "Alright. Proceed to the stripping area." He gestured with his hand towards the next section without looking at me again.
I moved to the next area. I had no possessions to be stripped of, except the tattered remnants of my Guardian uniform. Another, sterner-looking clerk ordered me to remove them. I hesitated for a moment, then complied, tossing the worn pieces into the designated bin. I stood there for a moment, naked under the dim yellow lights, feeling the chill of the air and the harshness of the clerk's gaze. It was a deliberate moment of vulnerability and humiliation.
"Into the booth," the clerk gestured towards the metal cleaning machine.
I entered the cubicle, and the door shut. Powerful jets sprayed from all sides, releasing a cold, viscous liquid with a sharp chemical smell. It wasn't water, but some kind of disinfectant or solvent that stung my skin slightly. The spraying lasted for what felt like a long minute, then stopped. The door opened, and I stepped out shivering, the liquid dripping from me.
The rough cloth and the grey uniform were tossed at me. I dried myself as quickly as possible and put on the new clothes. They were scratchy and uncomfortable, but at least they covered my body.
"Next," the clerk said coldly, pointing to another door at the far end of the hangar.
I joined a small group of others who had gone through the same process, all of us now wearing the same dull grey. We were now a collection of anonymous ghosts, stripped of our pasts, awaiting our unknown future.
Another guard led us through the door into a different corridor. This one was narrower, darker, and seemed to be dug underground. The walls were raw concrete, with pipes and wires dangling from the low ceiling. We walked in silence, only the sound of our footsteps echoing in the damp passage.
After a short walk, we reached an area resembling cells. A row of solid metal doors, each marked with a number and a small observation slit. The guard stopped in front of one door and opened it using an electronic keycard.
"This is your spot for now," he told me, gesturing inside. "You'll be called for the next evaluation when it's your turn. Don't make noise."
I looked inside. It was a tiny cell, barely large enough for a simple metal bunk bolted to the wall and a metal toilet in the corner. There was no window, and the light came from a small glowing panel in the ceiling. It was filthy and smelled foul.
"How long will I be here?" I asked.
"Until you're called," the guard repeated tiredly, then pushed me inside and slammed the heavy metal door shut behind me with a loud clang. I heard the click of an electronic lock engaging.
I found myself alone in the relative darkness of the cell. I sat on the edge of the cold metal bunk, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on me. Stripped, classified, and thrown in a hole. "Potential recruit"? "Energy anomaly"? This was my new identity in this world.
But amidst the despair that began to creep in, I also felt something else. A flicker of defiance. I had survived the end of my world. I had survived the fall through time. I had survived bandits and cold bureaucrats. I wouldn't let a filthy cell and grim-faced guards break me.
I had my power. Metal magic still flowed in my veins, even if it was faint and hidden now. I could feel the metal in this bunk, in the walls, in the door. It was part of me, and I was part of it.
I closed my eyes and began to focus. Not on escape – that was premature and too dangerous. But on sensing, on exploring. I quietly extended my magical senses, reaching beyond the confines of the cell, exploring the surrounding corridors, the structure of the building itself. I felt the flow of power in the wires, the presence of unknown machinery nearby, the presence of other guards in the passages.
And there was something else. A very faint feeling, distant, but disturbingly familiar. A dark, distorted energy, carrying an echo of rage and pain I knew too well. Could it be...? Could Wraith, the demon incarnate, be near? Or was it just remnants of my own energy still clinging to this place?
I wasn't sure. But that faint feeling gave me a purpose. I had to get out of here. I had to reach the real Arcanum Tech Academy. I had to find out more about this world, and about this mysterious student who might hold the key to my past and this era's future.
The next evaluation... whatever it was, I had to pass it. I had to prove to them that I wasn't just disposable "raw material." I had to prove I had value. Even if I had to reveal a fraction of my true power.
I waited in the darkness, not with despair, but with cautious anticipation. I listened to the sounds of the building, felt the flow of energy and metal around me. I was preparing. The real fight for survival in this future... had just begun.