Memories of Bren’it’p played in Fletcher’s mind as he jogged through the ruined city. Most of them were unpleasant, reminding him of when he was on the run after the assassination attempt or a few months later when he was running away from the Mixed. Both times he was heavily injured, which was probably why he related to them so much at that moment.

  His clumsy bandages weren’t doing all that much good against the cuts given to him courtesy of Trevor. That cycat really needed to trim her nails, but she probably didn’t get much time to do such things with two little cubs.

  If he had the energy, Fletcher would have face palmed for all the stupid thoughts like that running through his head. Chances were that the blood loss was starting to affect him, so he needed to hurry.

  With each ragged breath he cursed Hugo, Hernandez, Norton, Palacios, Jana, and about a dozen others including his parents for him ending up in this situation. He was mostly furious with the first three names on the list given they literally left him behind to die. He knew Vesi Station didn’t have much by way of discipline, but surely that crossed the line. Once he was back at the outpost and he got his injuries taken care of, he was going straight to Major Palacios about the incident. Hopefully having someone with more authority and respect than him enforcing things would make it easier on him going forward.

  Eventually he was out of the city boundary and on his way to the nearly obscured fence only a mile away.

  It might as well have been a hundred. His legs felt like jelly, and his lungs screamed at him. Even with [Frenzy] active, his body was shutting down. Fletcher wasn’t too sure he would make it that last mile.

  No.

  He had to. How embarrassing would it be to lie down and die less than a mile from safety? That was too much shame for him to endure, even in death. If he was going to die, it was going to be a better show than that.

  As he ran, a notification popped up in the corner of his vision. Oh, crap. Was [Frenzy] ending already? Surely not yet. His [Skill] was normally rather astute about his circumstances and remained active when he most needed it, especially since he had a little experience controlling it now. But that’s not what it was.

  [Level up: Frenzy]

  [Frenzy, Level 2]

  Oh, that was actually useful. He was happy about that. And with the level up he felt a tad bit stronger and more energized. That worked out well.

  Onwards Fletcher pushed until at last he reached the gate. The lock was broken so he easily opened it enough to slip through, not bothering to close it after himself. From there he walked across the pavement with unsteady steps.

  But his mind sharpened as he caught sight of the three soldiers who put him in the situation to start with.

  “Hugo! Hernandez! Norton!” Fletcher yelled, ignoring the dizziness in his head.

  They lounged near the jeep, waving to him as though this had been some fun little adventure.

  “Hey there, Lieutenant! How did you enjoy Trevor?” Hugo asked.

  “Don’t start that crap with me,” Fletcher spat. “This was not funny.”

  “Not to you, maybe.” Hernandez chuckled. He grinned at him. “What, didn’t they teach you about outrunning cycats at that fancy officer training you came from?”

  Fletcher had a lot he wanted to scream at them right then, but he knew it would be a waste of breath. They didn’t respect him, and yelling at them wasn’t going to change that. Not to mention he was aware of blood leaking down his back again, so he wanted to worry about not bleeding out instead.

  “Where’s the medical office? And the medic?” he asked in a huff.

  “Towne’s our medic, but he’s probably hammered at this time of day. Norton can handle something this minor,” Hugo answered, gesturing to the woman beside him.

  “Come on, sir. Let me get you patched up.” She walked to the warehouse which housed the entrance to the bunker.

  Fletcher followed her, his anger continuing to simmer. It flared up even more once they got to the medical center and Norton stitched him up without any kind of numbing or anesthetic.

  “Be careful changing and showering, and avoid anything too physical for a week or so. Find me or Towne to get them removed in six or seven days.” She patted his back and turned away.

  “Thanks,” Fletcher muttered, sitting up from the table. He was tired, but he was safe, which meant he could finally turn off his [Skill]. It only took a well placed thought.

  [Deactivating: Frenzy]

  His body became more sluggish, and he was more aware of the aching in his back, but he didn’t pass out which was a relief. There was a lot he still needed to do today.

  Norton said nothing more, so he left the room behind and made his way to the officer quarters to shower and put on clean clothes. After that he went straight to Palacios’s office, ready to file a plethora of complaints. He was excited to see Hugo, Norton, and Hernandez punished for this idiotic prank.

  He knocked on the door and waited for a response.

  “I’m busy,” the Major said from the other side.

  Fletcher entered anyway.

  “Sir, I need to talk to you,” he said as he walked inside.

  Palacios glared up at him with red eyes, holding a glass of strong smelling alcohol. “You again? I thought we agreed that if I let you run a patrol or whatever, you’d leave me alone for good?”

  “I took Norton, Hugo, and Hernandez out on the patrol with me, and they decided it would be fun to douse me in rotten meat and leave me to fight off a cycat completely alone,” Fletcher succinctly explained.

  “Okay…?”

  “They need to be punished. I nearly died. That’s unacceptable behavior,” he continued. Surely Palacios saw how big of a deal this was.

  The Major shook his head slowly. “Punished? For what? Teaching a snotty lieutenant his place? You aren’t dead.”

  “No thanks to them. They intentionally left me in harm’s way.”

  “You don’t look too worse for wear to me. I’m not your mommy. I’m not going to solve your bully problem, kid. Man up.”

  “Worse for wear?” Fletcher turned around and lifted up his shirt, revealing the rows of sutures. “Look at this! Are you really okay with some of your personnel nearly getting someone killed all for a stupid prank?”

  “I have an understanding with everyone on this base. They don’t bother me, and I don’t bother them. I’m not going to break it just because you’re a giant wimp. You chose to come here. This is how it is.” Palacios snorted. “The way I see it, you got a story and some cool scars and they got to show you what they think of your ideas. That’s called a fair trade. Now go away, and don’t bother me anymore. I’m not your nanny. You should have gone to a real posting if you wanted to be worshiped.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Fletcher sucked his cheeks and nodded. “Fine. Thanks for nothing, sir.”

  “Anytime.” Palacios sipped his drink and waved him off.

  Walking back into the corridors, Fletcher really wanted to hit something. Those three idiots were going to get away with it, and he couldn’t do anything about it. This entire station could burn for all he cared for.

  He took a breath to calm himself. He happened to find some bad apples among the bunch, but that didn’t mean everyone here was as terrible at them. It would just take a little searching to find some other dedicated soldiers he could relate to. That was it.

  Fletcher stepped into his office, determined to do something productive with the rest of his day, but he gagged as soon as he was inside.

  “Deities.” He buried his nose into his elbow, but even that couldn’t stop the scent from coating his airways. It was some combination of every horrible smell that ever existed, and it permeated the entire space.

  He grimaced as he glanced around his office which only a few hours ago had been relatively clean. Now it looked like it was the bottom of a dumpster. Or maybe the bottom of a sewer. To be precise, it looked like a cross between the two, and smelled ten times worse.

  It wasn’t just garbage they tossed around the room. Actual crap was smeared along the walls and floor. Every surface was coated in something.

  Fletcher exited into the hallway and caught the bile that was in his throat. Maybe things would have been better if Trevor had killed him. That was awful. And a strong signal of how little respect anyone here had for him. Not even as an officer. Just as a person.

  Taking a deep breath, Fletcher held the air in his lungs as he reentered his office to more closely examine the damage. Yeah. This was going to take a lot of work to clean, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever trust the room again.

  Back in the hallway, he allowed himself to breathe again, gagging slightly from the remnants of the smell that followed him into the hallway.

  Jana walked past. “Dicks, how are you?”

  “Awful,” he answered, still trying to convince his body not to vomit.

  “Good to hear. Bye,” she said, walking on.

  “Wait, Jana,” he called out. Maybe she could help him. Or at least offer him some sympathy.

  “What?” She stopped and stared at him, her hands on her hips.

  Fletcher briefly recounted what happened on the patrol and then the office disaster.

  Jana laughed. “Oh, boy, they got you good. I told you they’d love you. I appreciate you livening up the place. The past few months have been so tedious. Keep up the good work, Dicen.” She patted his shoulder and walked away without waiting for his response.

  Right. Jana didn’t care either. No one did. Fletcher was going to die by getting pranked to death, and not one person on this base was going to bat an eye at it.

  Fletcher left the office behind. He was too tired to worry about that now. He just wanted to relax and maybe sleep a bit after the cycat incident.

  In the small bedroom, he flopped on the bed, rubbing his hands through his hair. This sucked. His dad, Captain Yusuf, Hajji and Campos… they’d all been right. This was a huge mistake, but it was too late for him to change that now.

  He sat up and moved to the small desk. Maybe it wasn’t. Sure, he’d have to suffer a little longer, but he wasn’t just any soldier. What was the point of having connections to a general if he didn’t get to abuse them occasionally?

  Pulling out a piece of paper, Fletcher quickly penned a letter to his mom.

  General Anders,

  Vesi Station is awful. Please get me out of here. I’ll go to whatever posting you choose, as long as it’s far away from here. Sorry for the trouble.

  - Fletcher

  He set the pen down and stared at the words. His escape, a way out of the hellhole and back into the normal world, even if it meant going to some base where he would actively be fighting the Unhumans.

  Sighing, Fletcher crumpled up the paper and tossed it to the floor. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t surrender himself to his mother’s control yet. That was too much. Maybe he’d get there eventually, but he wanted to hold out a little longer.

  But then he remembered his office, so he picked the crumpled paper back up and smoothed it out. His choices were her or here, and he wasn’t so sure that she was the worse of the two choices.

  Caught between the two options, Fletcher settled for folding it up and sticking it in a drawer. He didn’t have to decide yet. He had weeks until the mail would go out.

  But maybe Hazel wasn’t his only way out of this. He had another important connection, even if it wasn’t quite as big of a deal as his mother. Taking out a clean sheet of paper, Fletcher wrote another letter, this time to his father.

  Dad,

  Hey. Sorry for the delay in writing, but that’s how things are at Vesi. I just wanted to say I’m sorry and that you were right. Coming to Vesi was a huge mistake. Is there any chance you can do something to get me out of here?

  It’s not that I hate it, it’s just—

  Fletcher paused for a moment. He did hate it here. He hated everything about this place, especially the people. This was his father he was writing to. He didn’t have to pretend. His dad understood him, he always had.

  So Fletcher scribbled that line out and started again, this time admitting that he did hate it here. And after that sentence was down on paper, all the frustration from the past few days poured out of him, right onto the paper. He detailed everything that occurred, from the snide remarks, the terrible food, the cycat prank—including his decision to leave Trevor alive and why—the lack of disciplinary action, and the poop-covered office. And he didn’t hold back, he told his dad how angry he was and hurt and how much he regretted his decisions, going all the way back to Bren’it’p even. It was the most honest he’d been in months, with both his father and himself.

  And it felt good.

  He liked venting all his problems and feelings out. It justified his decision to ask for a way out.

  After signing his name, Fletcher looked over the letter, feeling better than he had all day. As he folded it up, a memory played through his head. His father when they spoke on video call less than a week ago. When his dad called him a mistake and a waste.

  Hesitantly, Fletcher put the letter to the side instead of setting it in the addressed envelope he’d prepared. He couldn’t send that and burden his father further. He couldn’t prove his father right.

  Emotionally exhausted after that letter, Fletcher decided to do something to relax, so he turned to his books which were still in one of his bags, waiting for him to find a good, protected place for them.

  And there it was too. The photo album his father had given him at Christmas in what seemed like another lifetime. He forgot that he brought it with him to officer training, a stupid decision that could have blown his cover, but he wanted the reminder of his family, even if he never opened it. He hadn’t looked through it at all since receiving it at Christmas, not even when it was returned to him in Finnack at his birthday.

  But Fletcher could open it now. There was no one around to see, so he took it with him to the desk and flipped through the pages.

  Tears sprang to his eyes as he discovered that his dad had added new photos to it, pictures which included Nora. The one and only Anders family photo was in there, him just a toddler and his sister a little kid as they were carried in their parents’ arms. And there were more of just his sister, alongside little notes that were clearly written by the child-version of Nora. At the back cover, he discovered a stack of letters. The letters she wrote to him while he was in the colony, not even knowing she existed.

  Fletcher tore into the first one, eagerly reading the words. And then the next one. And the next one. All of them. He read every single one, some of them twice even. She stopped writing once she turned twenty, but that still left him with almost thirteen years worth of letters. Normally she wrote only once or twice a year, but he learned so much about his sister through them. Her hopes, her dreams, her relationship with Caesar, the way she considered Jeric a brother. She shared all of that with him.

  Setting the last letter down, Fletcher got another piece of paper out. This time he wrote to Nora. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, but he had to say something. So he just responded to questions she asked in the letters and the things she told him about her life in them. And he told her about his life, all the prominent memories of his childhood from befriending Javier to making the track team in middle school to winning his first medal in cross country. And then he folded it up and set it to the side with the other ones.

  Letters he would never send. How could he? He didn’t want to become Hazel’s puppet, and he didn’t want to prove his father correct about being a mistake, and it was silly to respond to letters that were over a decade old.

  Grabbing all three letters he penned, he set them in the front cover of the photo album and then set it in his desk drawer, buried under other supplies so he wouldn’t have to see it without specifically looking for it.

  Now he was officially exhausted. He changed his clothes and crawled into his bed. He fell asleep within a couple of minutes, grateful to escape the misery of Vesi for a few hours.