Damned Lands

For the first time in what feels like an eternity—

Luke feels peace.

Real sleep. Unbroken. Dreamless.

Just silence, warmth, and stillness.

But it doesn't last.

His body, like a well-worn machine, jolts awake.

He blinks once. The barracks lights hum faintly above. The room is still steeped in pre-dawn dimness. But Luke doesn't need a clock.

 4:00 a.m. Right on time.

He sits up slowly, eyes scanning the room. Rows of bunks still filled with sleeping bodies. Quiet snoring. The occasional murmur.

Then, to his right, someone is already awake—arms extended, twisting his torso in a practiced motion.

Caelan.

Stretching in near silence.

Luke rises and approaches quietly. Caelan turns his head slightly and smirks.

"Oh. You're up. I was just about to wake you after my stretch."

Luke chuckles, running a hand through his hair.

"Called it. A mercenary's instincts, huh? Never disappoint."

Caelan shrugs, the smirk fading into something calmer—more natural.

"You know how it is. Sleep light. Wake earlier."

Luke nods as he begins his own warm-up beside him. The two stretch in silence. Two bodies scarred by survival. Two minds already alert before the day begins.

 Even after everything… I still wake up like I'm back home. Even in this place, in this body, I'm still me.

They exchange a glance. No words needed. An understanding already formed.

Luke breaks the silence first.

"I'll wake the right side. You take the left."

Caelan nods. "Got it."

Then, in one smooth breath, he fills his lungs and bellows:

"WAKE UP! WE'LL SUFFER A FATE WORSE THAN DEATH IF EVEN ONE OF YOU IS LATE!"

The sound ricochets off the metal walls like thunder.

Bunks shake. People groan. Some shoot up in bed, wide-eyed and confused.

Luke blinks… then chuckles.

That… wasn't the subtle approach I had in mind. But it works.

"WELL THEN—"

Luke breaks into a jog, weaving between the aisles, slapping the edges of beds and grabbing at sheets as he passes by.

"WAKE UP! IT'S TIME FOR OUR LIFE TO BE TESTED—LITERALLY!"

Caelan joins in on the other side—pulling sheets, knocking on bed frames, making as much noise as possible.

Cries of annoyance fill the barracks.

"Wha—?!" "The hell?!" "It's still dark!"

Luke laughs, a genuine grin stretched across his face. The sound surprises even him.

It's stupid. Immature. Pointless.

 But after monsters, blood, loss, and madness… yelling like a school prankster feels like the greatest thing in the world.

And somehow… amidst all the shouting and rustling sheets…

The air in the room changes.

It's no longer thick with dread.

People start to move—not because they were ordered to, but because of the energy around them.

Because they hear laughter. Not screams.

And for now, that's enough.

Luke runs past another bunk, slaps the metal post, and shouts one more time:

"GET UP! WE'RE NOT DYING OVER A DAMN CLOCK!"

And behind him—

Voices rise.

Steps hit the floor.

Sleep fades away.

And the barracks comes to life.

___ 

The cold buzz of fluorescent lights flickers faintly overhead, casting pale shadows across the rows of bunk beds.

One after another, the barracks comes alive—not out of choice, but necessity.

Caelan stands at the front of the room, barking out stretches with the sharp authority of someone who's led squads before. His movements are crisp, precise, and every syllable cuts through the early-morning haze.

Behind him, Luke moves like a restless ghost—springing from bunk to bunk with unnerving energy, eyes scanning every face, every half-hearted movement.

"Stretch deeper. Rotate. Wake your bodies now, or you'll regret it when the real pain starts," Caelan growls.

Luke's voice follows, amused but sharp.

"This is for your own good. We don't know what kind of hell they're throwing us into later, so you move now—while your muscles can still listen."

Murmurs grow. Discontent brews under the surface.

Then—

"ENOUGH WITH THIS SHIT!"

A loud voice booms from the back of the room.

A tall, burly boy steps forward, shirt half-

clung to his chest, face twisted in anger.

"It's not even six yet. Not even five. Why the hell are we doing stretches like idiots? What gives you the right to boss us around? You think you scare us? We survived those monsters too!"

The room stills. All eyes turn.

Luke drops from a bunkbed in a single, effortless motion—thud. He walks toward the boy, his steps calm, deliberate.

He raises his bionic arm.

Click. Hiss.

The claws emerge—thick, syringe-like blades that shimmer under the lights. Tubular, sharp-edged. Forged to tear steel and carve bone.

He waves the arm once, slow and deliberate.

"That," Luke says quietly, "should be enough of a reason."

The boy's bravado fades in an instant. Shoulders sink. Eyes drop.

A full-grown body, yet still… a child inside. Like all of them.

Luke watches him fold, and something flickers behind his gaze—pity, maybe. Or understanding.

This isn't strength. This is trauma. Those monsters broke more than bodies... it broke wills.

Luke exhales slowly, then turns to address the room.

His voice rises—not in anger, but something deeper. A thread pulled from survival itself.

"Listen. I'm not your leader. I don't need to be. But if one of you fucks up… we all suffer. We've seen what that means. Some of you are still haunted by those screams."

He pauses, letting the silence sink in.

"I'm not here to scare you. I'm here to keep you alive. And if I have to play the villain to do it, so be it."

He steps back, retracting his claws with a mechanical shhk.

"Now follow Caelan. Warm your bodies. Breathe. We don't get second chances here."

The burly boy nods slightly—ashamed but listening. The others follow, one by one, tension breaking like ice in early spring.

Luke climbs back onto a top bunk, crouching like a sentry. Watching.

We're not soldiers. Not yet. Just broken kids in a cage. But if this cage is our forge... then I'll make damn sure they survive the heat.

____

The stretching ends. Jokes fade. Silence settles in like a breath held too long.

One hour has passed. Hundreds stand now in rankless rows, facing the metallic double doors at the edge of the barracks. Their faces are pale from stress. Their bodies—coiled. Ready.

Then—

WEEEOOOHHHH! WEEEOOOHHHH!

A mechanical siren screams from the walls, rattling through bone and brain like a drill.

A voice follows. Cold. Uncaring.

Laced with malice veiled in protocol.

"ONE MINUTE UNTIL ALL SUBJECTS MUST BE OUTSIDE.

IF ONE—EVEN ONE—IS LATE, YOUR ENTIRE BARRACK WILL BE SUBJECTED TO PRIORITY TESTING.

SIXTY… FIFTY-NINE… FIFTY-EIGHT…"

The count ticks down.

A wave of panic cracks through the room like lightning.

Then Caelan moves first, voice snapping like a whip.

 "EVERYONE MOVE! OUTSIDE—NOW!"

 "IF SOMEONE FALLS, CARRY THEM! IF YOU STUMBLE, KEEP GOING! WE DO NOT FAIL THIS!"

Like a war cry, his words awaken muscle memory.

Luke bolts forward as well, leaping from a bunk and pulling two groggy kids to their feet. "MOVE! THE EXIT—GO!"

The barracks erupts into chaos—but it is focused, frantic order.

Footsteps slam against the metallic floor.

Dozens crash into the corridors in a stampede of survival. Boys drag each other up from the floor—no names, no friends, just comrades in urgency.

One child drops—trampled by mistake—only to be lifted by three others without a word.

 47… 46… 45…

The doors to the barracks hiss open.

Outside, a pale blue field stretches into the distance—sectioned into metallic squares, lines of black markers, scaffolds, and surgical stations visible like blades of execution. Overseers in black coats line the perimeter.

The boys burst out like a crashing wave.

Luke makes it out with Caelan at his side—eyes wide, blood pumping, teeth clenched.

His clawed hand retracts automatically as he checks over his shoulder.

Everyone's moving.

 23… 22… 21…

"DON'T STOP UNTIL YOU'RE IN FORMATION!" Caelan shouts, his voice 

hoarse.

 10… 9… 8…

They make it to the square, panting, shaking.

Hundreds of feet slow. Silence begins to creep back in.

 5… 4… 3… 2…

One last boy stumbles across the line.

1. 

The siren stops.

The voice returns.

 "...Subjects Barracks 1… arrived on time. 

Physical tests commencing shortly."

Gasps of relief ripple through the crowd.

No cheers. No high fives. Just heavy breathing, sore legs, pounding hearts—and one shared look among all of them.

They made it.

Luke inhales sharply, already surveying the field. The gym was still there but accompanied with dozens of tools, gates, and strange machinery . This wasn't a simple test. It was conditioning—perhaps even culling.

 And this is only the beginning…

He looks at Caelan, who nods grimly.

 We'll keep moving. Until there's no more road—or no more of us left.