The 'academy'—officially called the Indictment Program—was a three-month trial period designed to train recruits into becoming elite Exterminators.
At least, that's what the posters said.
In reality, it was closer to torture than training.
Students slumped over, sweat trickling down their exhausted faces, their eyes rolling in their sockets. Some had already collapsed. Others hovered in a half-conscious state, probably seeing sounds and hearing colors.
"Doesn't seem like a great batch to me." Massiah muttered, surveying the recruits across the field, their metallic training suits glinting under the sun.
Gran, standing beside him, grimaced. "Yeah, but making them wear metal plates to 'condition' their bodies? Sabrina must really want them to understand how much this whole thing costs her."
Massiah turned, finally giving Gran a proper look. His bandages had been loosened, revealing his frame—a tight shirt clinging to his torso, a coat slung over his shoulders.
"She got you too, huh?" Massiah muttered.
Gran sighed. "Told me she'd consider my retirement plan if I did this."
"Should've read your contract."
"Yeah."
Massiah exhaled, turning his focus back to the recruits. One of them was still moving.
She dashed through the grueling course, her body pushing against exhaustion.
The program had three training methods meant to drill the terror of myutants into recruits. This one—the first one—was a repeated sequence of brutal exercises, all culminating in a final test. Getting punched in the gut.
Normally, that duty fell to Lovecraft or Theresa.
But now, it was his job.
The recruit ran up to him. Short brown hair, hazelnut eyes, an impressive physique even through the weighted suit.
She stopped a few meters away, grabbing the front of her metal plate and pulling it up, exposing her stomach. Bracing herself.
Massiah hesitated. Holding back was tempting. Hurting a girl wasn't exactly something he wanted to do. And punching at full strength? That could easily rupture his stitches.
But if he didn't give it everything, if she didn't learn what real impact felt like—
She'd freeze when facing a myutant. And then she'd die.
His fist shot forward, slamming into her gut.
She skidded backward, feet dragging through the dirt before she collapsed, coughing violently.
Neither Gran nor Massiah moved.
Their injuries alone were proof enough of how terrifying myutants were.
If this had been a real fight, the myutants hand wouldn't have simply knocked the recruit back. It would've impaled her like a fruit.
Slowly, the recruit pulled herself to her feet and without hesitation, she sprinted back to the start of the course.
Gran watched her go, eyebrows lifting. "Tough nut?"
Massiah exhaled, still watching. "Nah, she's got potential."
"How much?"
"Maybe a two. Maybe a three. Hard to say for sure."
Gran shot him a look. "A two?" He raised an eyebrow. "You really think she could get up there? I mean, yeah, I'm not in my best shape after fighting that Raval thing, but I can take down a nasty T-level four on a good day."
Massiah didn't look away as the recruit reached the halfway mark of the course. She leapt between steel beams, swinging herself from one to the next. Below her was nothing. No padding. No second chances.
The entire exercise was designed to mimic the real thing.
"She probably could too, in due time that is."
Gran scoffed. "No way. What's her name?"
Massiah finally glanced at him, then sighed. "Rue Gravenberch."
Gran turned back to the field, watching as Rue reached the end of the course, panting, the metal plates on her back rattling with each step.
"Hello, Rue," Gran muttered, stepping beside her. "How's training?"
Rue barely looked at him. "What do you want?" Her voice was dull, like she had no patience for small talk.
Gran's face twitched slightly. "How do you feel about a spar?"
Rue blinked at him.
"It's part of the program anyway," Gran continued, shrugging. "Why not get a head start? You against me—a feeble man with no arms."
Rue squinted slightly, her gaze flicking between Massiah and Gran before settling. "No thanks, I'm tired."
She shifted the front plate of her suit, signaling Massiah to just get on with it.
Gran exhaled loudly, turning to Massiah with an exaggerated shrug. "Told you she doesn't have what it takes to be an exterminator."
Massiah sighed softly. He's goading her.
"I'm waiting." Rue's voice was steady, her front plate still shifted.
Massiah hesitated, watching her. She wasn't taking the bait.
His gaze slid to Gran, reinforcing his earlier words. She has potential.
Then he outstretched his hand.
Gran hummed, his lips curling into a devilish smile. "So you're doing this for your brother?"
Rue's expression stiffened.
Massiah froze mid-motion, exhaling sharply. Here we go.
"He's weak, isn't he?" Gran said, his eyes closing on the brown-haired boy struggling to stay conscious on the ground. The kid's breaths were shallow, his gaze locked onto Rue. "And he can barely pass the first trial? That's... disappointing."
The sound of metal plates slamming against the ground cut through the air.
Massiah turned just as Rue launched herself at Gran, fist cocked for a punch.
She had strength. But she was tired. And worse. She wasn't thinking.
Rage was the worst thing to feel in battle. It made you stronger, sure, but it took your mind off what mattered. Positioning. Form. Body placement.
Gran shifted effortlessly, dropping low.
Rue's swing missed.
Her momentum carried her forward, tumbling over his body and slamming onto the ground, gasping for breath.
Gran straightened. "That didn't feel how I wanted it to." He tried extending a hand. He couldn't.
"Dickhead."
Massiah walked past Gran, extending a hand to Rue but she didn't take it.
She pushed herself up on her own, steadying her stance despite the tremble in her legs.
Gran sighed. "I'm sorry, okay? I just wanted to test her mettle a bit—"
"Take it back."
Rue said, panting.
Gran turned. "Hm?"
"He's not weak." She steadied herself, legs trembling. "Take it back."
Massiah sighed. Then, without hesitation, he balled his fist and slammed it down on Gran's head.
Gran winced. "Fine, fine! I take it back!"
Massiah glanced over at her brother, slumped on the ground, his chest rising and falling in short breaths. Yet, his eyes never left her. Sharp. Focused. Like a hawk.
Something about him felt familiar.
"I'm sorry about that," Massiah muttered. "You can go back now. You don't have to take the punch—"
She was already moving. Strapping the metal plates back on, stepping into position, lifting the front panel once more.
Massiah frowned. "Why are you doing this?"
She didn't answer. Just raised the plate higher.
He exhaled, then struck. His fist slammed into her gut, sending her stumbling to the side. She collapsed, coughing violently, clutching her stomach.
"Alright, that's enough for today—"
She was already pushing herself up.
"No," Rue panted, her hair falling messily over her face. "I need this... I need to get stronger. It's the only way I can move forward. The only way I can protect what I hold dear."
This was why Massiah hated recruits.
Their drive. Their desperation. Their refusal to see reality for what it was. They focused so much on their goals that they ignored everything else—even themselves.
Rue turned back toward the course, dragging the weight of the plates with her. Step by step, she forced herself forward.
Gran sighed. "Now I really feel bad. But in my defense, I was just guessing about that being her brother."
Massiah watched Rue's trembling frame. "She has the eyes of someone who'd throw herself into a volcano if it meant reaching her goal."
"Is that a good thing?"
"In our line of work? Where knowing when to stop keeps you alive?" Massiah shook his head. "Fuck no."
The clouds darkened overhead, and within seconds, a drizzle slammed against their faces, light and fleeting, but in the distance, the storm's true force rumbled.
Gran scrunched his face, glancing at the darkening sky. Massiah followed his gaze.
Nothinggoodeverhappenedinastorm.
"Alright, recruits, pack it up!" Sabrina's voice carried through the courtyard as she approached. Behind her, the heavy door leading back into the company shut with a soft click, barely audible over the rising wind.
Gran turned, watching her stride toward them. "Didn't you say something about an incoming Haven war? We can handle this."
"I'm sure you can," Sabrina said. "But that's not why I'm here." She motioned for them to follow.
By now, the storm had arrived in full. The recruits who had been slumped over the courtyard were gone, either back to their homes or tucked away in the small dormitories within the company grounds.
As they moved through the hallways, Gran glanced around, noting how empty the place felt. Half the staff had vanished. Not even the hot nurses were around.
Still, neither he nor Massiah spoke. Sabrina, leading the way, didn't seem in a talking mood either.
They passed through the corridors until they reached a door. Above it, a sign read: SANITARIUM
The letters were outlined in red, a reminder that the past owners had never actually built it—opting instead for multiple infirmaries.
Sabrina pushed the metal door open. The three of them stepped inside.
The room was massive, lined with rows of white coats standing in silent formation. But in stark contrast to their presence, near the podium at the far end of the hall, stood a black box.
Bold letters were etched into its surface, listing the names:
QuaglificoEmma
InakiFruenz
RossSalaemakr
Andthe2,023citizensofRaval.