Chapter 11
Caleb scraped the last bite of dense protein from the plastic hospital tray. He swallowed the gritty mass dry.
His bruised right arm moved without resistance.
The torn muscle had finished rebuilding itself overnight.
Rubber soles squeaked against the linoleum. An orderly in a faded blue uniform reached over the mattress to collect the empty tray.
Mid-reach, the man's spine snapped rigid. The plastic tray clattered onto the metal table.
Caleb shifted his weight against the pillows, keeping his hands above the blankets.
The orderly turned his head. His eyes glazed over, swallowed by a milky fog. The human focus was erased, replaced by a vacant stare.
"Rest up, Caleb," the orderly whispered. The voice sliding out of the man's throat lacked any natural cadence. It was too smooth. "The draft is approaching. The right hands will reach for you."
A blink shattered the trance. Stumbling backward, the orderly shook his head. The man stared down at his own empty hands, blinking rapidly, and hurried out the door without another word.
Caleb gripped the edge of the mattress. Three times in ten days. A nurse. A physical therapist. Now the orderly.
The anonymous viewer who bought his stream was always watching.
-----
The underground deployment bunker smelled of floor wax, weapon oil, and nervous sweat. Eighty recruits stood in aligned rows. White bandages, black medical slings, and crutches dotted the formation, putting the physical toll of the urban zone disaster on full display. The Defense Force demanded attendance. Standing meant eligibility.
Ten yards to Caleb's left, Kikaru held her position in the front row.
Her white prototype armor was gone, replaced by a standard gray academy uniform. A heavy carbon fiber brace locked her left leg straight. Thick medical compression wraps bound her torso, concealing the spot where the bone spike had impaled her. Leaning hard on her good leg, she declined the crutch offered by a passing medic with a sharp shake of her head. Her face was chalk white. Her jaw locked. Her chin angled up toward the elevated viewing boxes.
Hiro stood in the second row, picking at the tape wrapped around his wrist. Beside him, Iharu tapped his boot in an impatient rhythm. A white bandage covered the redhead's broken nose.
Wearing his faded disposal jacket over a standard black undershirt, Caleb kept his right arm resting at his side.
"Attention on deck."
Captain Ren Kade stepped to the edge of the raised metal platform. The man who had flattened the invisible Kaiju with a localized gravity strike now wore the dark formal dress uniform of the Seventh Division.
High above the dirt floor, eight reinforced glass observation boxes jutted out from the concrete wall. Shadows obscured the Division Captains sitting inside.
"The replenishment draft will now commence," Kade's voice boomed over the PA system. "Due to heavy casualties sustained across the grid, the divisions require new blood. The format is a snake draft. First Division selects first. I'll select for the Seventh. The Eighth Division will conclude the round before reversing order. Stand by for assignments."
The digital board above the blast doors flared to life.
The First Division insignia flashed on the screen.
[First Division selects Kikaru Shinomiya]
A murmur rippled through the recruits. Kikaru offered a crisp salute toward the first glass box. Her posture went rigid.
The board shifted.
[Second Division selects Ren Kawakami]
[Third Division selects Iharu Furuhashi]
Iharu pumped his fist, grinning wide for his personal camera drone.
The digital board chimed again.
[Third Division selects Hiro Okuda]
Hiro exhaled hard and let his shoulders drop. He shot a quick relieved look toward Caleb. Caleb offered a short nod.
The board chimed four more times in rapid succession. Names flashed in bright text. The recruits with the highest sync rates stepped out of formation. In the third row, a boy started bouncing his knee. Another recruit wiped his palms repeatedly against his trousers. The Captains dug deeper into the middle of the pack. The boots of the remaining applicants shuffled in the gravel.
Round three. Round four.
Captain Kade stepped forward to the microphone. "Seventh Division selects Kenji Sato."
[Eighth Division selects Mina Arisato]
The digital board flashed a solid, blinding red.
[DRAFT CONCLUDED]
Thirty unselected recruits remained standing in the dirt.
Captain Kade lowered his datapad and looked down at the crowd. "That concludes the intake. Those unselected, turn your temporary access tags into the quartermaster at the gates. Clear the field. Go home."
A kid two rows ahead dropped to his knees, burying his face in his hands. A quiet sob echoed over the gravel.
Caleb stared at the red text. A rejection meant a permanent return to the containment bays. He would be hauling rotting intestines and dodging bone saws until the family debt collectors finally broke his legs.
He stepped out of the formation. The gravel crunched under his surplus boots.
"Wait." He tipped his chin toward the elevated observation boxes, his voice echoing off the concrete walls. "I want an explanation. I scored twelve confirmed hits with a shattered shoulder. I survived a Danger Class 6 zero zone breach. Why am I standing in the dirt?"
Gasps rippled through the remaining recruits. Questioning the Captains bordered on treason.
A shadow moved in the second observation box before the glass panel slid open.
A man built like a tank stepped up to the railing. Broad shoulders stretched the seams of his immaculate white uniform. Thick silver hair swept back from a weathered face. The Second Division Captain.
"Because nobody knows who you are, son," the silver-haired Captain rumbled. His voice carried an almost casual weight. "Your private broadcast feed went black during the breach. Nobody watched your stream. The grid never formed an opinion on you."
Caleb locked his jaw. The hacker. She had cut his feed.
"We review the physical data," the Captain continued, leaning his forearms against the railing. "You look like a banged up scrubber operating on a one percent sync rate. Your IQ and battle sense scores are high, I'll give you that. But raw tactical intelligence is a prerequisite for senior leadership, not frontline cannon fodder. We need weapons. You just look like a liability."
Caleb's hands tightened into fists. He had nothing to counter with.
A microphone crackled to life in the first observation box.
"The First Division requests the floor," Elara's voice cut through the murmur of the crowd. It was crisp and authoritative.
The silver-haired Captain shifted his gaze toward her box. "The draft is closed, Captain."
"The First Division sustained a thirty percent casualty rate during the last subjugation raid," Elara countered smoothly. "I'm requesting an emergency additional pick to replenish my vanguard. In exchange, the First Division will accept an automatic one point deduction in the end of year inter divisional rankings."
Whispers erupted from the glass boxes. A guaranteed point deduction in the annual rankings was a real political sacrifice.
"A formal vote is required for emergency amendments," Kade announced from the staging platform, his tone administrative and flat.
"Call the vote," Elara demanded.
Green and red lights illuminated sequentially across the observation boxes as the Captains locked in their decisions.
Kade checked his datapad and gave a stiff nod. "Four in favor. Three opposed. The motion passes. First Division, make your selection."
"I defer my selection to the Proctor," Elara stated.
The silver-haired Captain scoffed. "Passing the buck, Elara?"
"Captain Kade is acting Proctor this year because the Seventh Division placed last in the previous cycle," Elara replied, her voice ringing with confidence. "That position grants him the sharpest eye for talent in this room. We've worked together for years. I trust his judgment."
All eyes dropped to the staging platform.
Kade stood motionless. His attention shifted from the datapad to the First Division box. He let out a slow sigh and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose.
"I'm being politically pressured," Kade muttered into his microphone. "And I despise politics."
He lowered his hand. His sharp eyes swept over the remaining recruits, skipping past the weeping teenagers and locking directly onto Caleb.
"However," Kade grunted. He tapped a final command into his datapad. "It's a good idea to have another old head to talk to among all these young bodies."
The digital board above the blast doors flared a brilliant blue.
[Seventh Division selects Caleb Mercer]
A sharp crackle of static popped directly behind Caleb's right ear. The military HUD inside his cracked visor dissolved into deep purple text.