Brinus followed the guard through the prison halls toward the parole room. The shackles and cuffs on his wrists and ankles clinked in the quiet, and his icy-blue eyes glared from behind thick blond hair at the guard in front of him. He almost laughed at the fact that this man was in charge of making sure he got from point A to point B. He was at least six inches taller than the man, and could easily knock him out, or just flat outrun him. He shifted uncomfortably in the itchy orange scrubs that were two inches too short. Their only saving grace being that they were loose on his lean frame.

  He’d been drug, unceremoniously, from his cell at 9 pm by the guard sneering, “The big man wants to see you. Wants to check if you’ve reformed.” Despite his annoyance, he let the curiosity win and allowed the guard to haul him up without a fight.

  Long Ho, the prison warden, and the prison psychologist sat at a table in the parole room when they forced Brinus inside. He was slammed into a lone chair in the center of the room and the cuffs were removed. Brinus shrugged and leaned back in the chair, his legs kicked out in front of him as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. He placed it in his mouth and lit it with a steady hand as he stared down the committee in front of him. All three wore black suits and identical, disapproving scowls. The room felt like death. It was dark, and dank, the heavy air thick with impending decisions. Would it be his salvation or his doom?

  Long Ho spoke first, sitting forward with a face devoid of all emotion. “What’s your opinion of Harper?”

  Brinus took a long drag and let his head fall backward, blowing the smoke out in a cloud above him with a wry laugh. “What’s this here shitshow ‘bout?”

  A guard hit Brinus in the stomach, taking him by surprise and nearly knocking the wind out of him, while the warden stood so quickly that his chair fell backward. He slammed his hands down on the table and screamed, “Answer the goddamn question, Helios!”

  Brinus glared at the guard for a moment, then forced his shoulders to relax and sat forward. He took another drag, exhaling slowly and staring down the committee through the smoke, his face impassive as he thought of what he should say. He knew he had to tell them what they wanted to hear. It was his only way out of here. Out of the syndicate. He’d heard the Navy was recruiting ex-cons and it sounded a damn site better than three more years in this dump. Another drag and another exhale of smoke as he said, “He led me astray. I regret gettin’ with him.”

  “Why do you regret your relationship with Harper?”

  Brinus stared at Long Ho, forcing his expression to remain neutral despite the rage he felt bubbling underneath his skin. He took a deep breath and kept his voice measured as he said, “It was a mistake.”

  It wasn’t. He’d loved Harper, and he’d do it again in a heartbeat if he could.

  “What makes you think it was a mistake?”

  Another deep inhale filled his lungs with smoke that he held for a moment before blowing it out toward the ceiling. “It just was.”

  He couldn’t afford to snap right now. He needed an out.

  Long Ho handed the guard a folder. “Prove you’ve changed. You’re licensed to commit a burglary at the enclosed address. Details are in the folder. Good luck.”

  They wanted him to commit a crime, to prove that he was reformed from doing crime? Brinus smiled and shook his head, crushing out the last of his cigarette on the floor. He sat forward with his elbows on his knees and fixed his eyes on Long Ho, “I’m all ears.”

  Five hours later, the planet’s city lights were visible in the night sky as Brinus climbed the walls of a five-story gray-brick mansion like a spider. He used the gaudy marble columns as cover, keeping to their shadows as he climbed. A black backpack was slung across his back as he descended the walls. He was on a timer. The police would be there soon to investigate a physical assault on two of the servants who worked in the house.

  He landed softly on the manicured lawn below. Just as his feet touched the ground, multiple spotlights cracked to life and focused on Brinus. Two cops popped out of the tall grass, guns drawn and pointed at his head.

  “Police! Put your hands where we can see them!”

  . He felt his heart skip a beat with joy.

  Brinus realized there was no escape as two more officers flanked him from behind. He felt a sick pleasure surge through his veins at the sight of the cops. He knew there were only two ways he was going to get out of prison. Do Long Ho’s dirty work or die, and he knew which way he would prefer. With an almost manic smile, Brinus punched a cop in the face, breaking his nose. Brinus drew his own gun as the cop staggered, clutching his bleeding face. Another officer pulled out a can of mustard gas and attempted to spray Brinus in the face. Brinus pointed his gun at one of the policemen and shot twice, missing on purpose. He was ready to die; he wanted to die. The police froze. Something was off. Brinus wasn’t protecting his vitals, in fact, he stood with his arms wide open, as if daring them to shoot.

  “Go on! Fuckin’ kill me!” screamed Brinus — pointing the gun at another officer.

  The officers exchanged looks and one nodded, pressing a button on his radio just as Brinus fired two shots at his feet.

  “Are y’all a bunch of cowards!? Do it!”

  Not a minute passed and they heard the whir of an engine followed by the appearance of a police air-cruiser that touched down on the well-manicured lawn. Just as the sergeant stepped out of the car, the officer to Brinuses left lunged and slammed his taser into his back, but Brinus hadn't spent the last three years in prison knitting. He was six feet four inches and 220 lbs of solid muscle, his body seized, but he didn’t go down. A second cop jammed another taser into his pistol hand, causing him to release the weapon. The officer with the broken nose took his chance and lunged, beating Brinus until several of his teeth were damaged or broken. Within minutes, he was covered in blood and bruises, and all the while, Brinus laughed with a manic glee. There was no way the syndicate could touch him now. As he slipped into unconsciousness he thought, “”.

  They picked up his unconscious body and threw him into the back of the cruiser. He remained unconscious for the entire ride to the station, only coming to when they manhandled him from the back seat. They went through the full booking process — strip-searching him, scanning his thumbprint and microchip, taking his mugshot, and getting his ID. They signed him up for his cigarette rations and gave him his prison garb.

  After what felt like hours the giant of a nineteen-year-old was pushed into yet another cell, this time in a bright yellow jumpsuit that at least fit him better than the orange scrubs of the syndicate prison. His eyes darted around, and he placed a Tarken Tea cig behind his ear as he sat on the bunk of the holding cell.

  Blood dripped down into his lap from his mouth and nose, and he sighed. This time he was busted. There was no getting out of it. The pain and metallic taste in his mouth from the blood were overwhelming, but there was a sort of satisfaction that stemmed from it. His plan to leave the syndicate worked. Now, he would wait and see if the Navy would take an interest in him or if he would be in prison for the rest of his life.

  Three months passed, and a ginger catperson who was an anthropomorphic humanlike cat dressed in a Navy Uniform entered the city jail's visitor lobby. He was wearing Navy blue pants and a light blue shirt. The shirt's brass buttons were undone to reveal the cream-colored undershirt, and a nametag over the left pocket introduced him as Captain Plato of .

  The booking sergeant, who had been reading a magazine, jumped to her feet in a rush and saluted the captain, the navy captain. He touched his hat and gave a curt nod.

  “What can I do for you, captain?” asked the sergeant.

  “Sergeant,” the captain sneered. “I need your criminal records and police files on prisoner four-five-four-six arrested and booked for crime fifty-seven. He has his bail hearing in about two weeks. Our profiling software has identified him as a person of interest.”

  The sergeant’s eyes widened and she stared at the captain with an open mouth. Crime 57 was code for a minimum of four felonies against a nobleman’s estate. It came with a mandatory life without parole after being found guilty. After pulling herself together, the booking sergeant sighed and went to the computer terminal, cursing under her breath all the while. She sifted through arrest records until she found the file in question and transferred it to the proper terminals. When she’d finished she turned back to the captain and said, “You can wait here while the interrogation room is prepared.”

  The captain gave her a condescending smile, and the sergeant rolled her eyes. “Will Corporal Simous retrieve Prisoner four-five-four-six, who was booked for crime fifty-seven? Put him in interrogation room four,” she said into the chip in her wrist. She looked at the captain and said with a scowl, “The amount of paperwork this visit will generate will keep me busy for hours.”

  She snapped her fingers at the captain to get his attention and motioned for him to leave. He scowled at her, turned on his heel, and walked out of the office.

  Brinus had his right arm under his thin, scratchy, pillow. He had a smile on his face as he reached for his personal hologram album by his bunk bed. He teared up as he hovered over the hologram of Harper in the park drinking beer together. His eyes watered and tears went down his cheeks as he remembered the fun they had in the Saffron City park, outsmarting cops who tried to arrest them. Harper was his party buddy; they would go out drinking late at night. He taught him to loosen up and be himself, the young rebel he was today directly came from his first relationship.

  The bunk bed Brinus lay on had a hard mattress, a thin, scratchy blanket, and a pillow to match. The jail cell was ice cold and a standard concrete six-by-eight prison cell. It had a food replicator, a toilet, and a bookshelf. Overall, it was bland and lifeless.

  Brinus wiped his eyes. Today would be Harper’s birthday. They would celebrate by getting blackout drunk. He was so much fun breaking rules with. The next hologram was of Harper smoking his first cigarette. It was a funny moment for Brinus because he almost fell from the dizziness and coughed for twenty minutes. He laughed as he recalled this memory.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Brinus was going through his memories one after the other when his cellmate coughed. “Is that Harper?” He asked with a sneer in his voice.

  “Yeah. Today would be his nineteenth birthday. We were both 16 when we met.”

  “It’s a shame what the syndicate did to him. Was he worth trying to kill yourself over?” The cellmate cocked his head back and laughed a good belly laugh for a moment or two, showing his stained yellow teeth.

  Brinus put the hologram back on the side table and crossed his arms. “What do ya want?”

  “I want the tax we discussed. It’s time to pay up or else.” The cellmate smiled a wide, toothy grin.

  Two men came into the cell and blocked out the door. Brinus handed over the commissary goods. He could take on one of the three men, but not all of them.

  This sort of thing was regular. Ever since people found out he was a gay syndicate member, gangs had been extorting taxes from him. He felt powerless and hopeless as if he couldn’t defend himself.

  “Pleasure doing business with you. Remember who runs this ward and it ain’t the Orin Syndicate.” All three men snickered.

  Brinus gave his screw-you smile and sneered, “Have an awesome day love, and may the temple spirits bless your heart my sweet summer child.”

  The three men looked at him for a second with confused looks. Did he just throw sarcasm and insults at them? The lead gang member studied Brinus with a furrowed brow for a few moments, wondering if he was disrespected or not. They all three left the cell a moment later.

  Brinus attempted to put the incident out of his mind. As he headed to the common room, two prison guards came up to him and put handcuffs on him.

  The ward sergeant said, coming up behind Brinus, “I need you to come with us.” She guided him to an interrogation room.

  The room had bars on the windows, two chairs, a metal table, and a plastic ashtray in the center of the table with about a dozen cigarette butts in it. The floor was cold, slick tile, with a drain under the single, bright, fluorescent light. The room was chilly and sterile with four, white tile walls. There was a shatter-resistant one-way window at the end of the room.

  After a few moments, a Navy Captain came into the interrogation room.

  The Navy Captain entered and sat across from Brinus, sitting at military attention. “My name is Captain Plato of Her Grace’s Starship Victory. I am here to discuss your draft in the Confederate Navy. You will address me as sir, or Captain, or Captain Sir. Understand?” He crossed his legs and looked him in the eyes.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Captain Plato crossed his arms, and legs, and twitched his whiskers. “I went through your file. You were booked for breaking and entering, possession of burglary tool. The list goes on and on and on. You need to convince me why I shouldn’t let you rot in prison.”

  Brinus shrugged, “I could do with a new ’venture.”

  Brinus put a cigarette in his mouth after an awkward moment of silence and clicked his lighter.

  The captain snapped, “You sure?”

  “The Navy sounds like a fresh start,” he tilted his head back and blew smoke to the ceiling.

  “You won’t be thieving on my ship?”

  “Life in prison’s a wake-up call.” Brinus looked out of the windows at the end of the room with a thousand yard stare.

  Captain Plato thought.

  The captain rose from his seat and looked out the window with his paws behind his back. “I am going to draft you and give you a trial run. You will be a Naval Cadet starting tomorrow. Clear?! I will move up your bail hearing to the first thing tomorrow morning and pay your bond with the ship’s general fund. I will talk to the judge in charge of your case this evening. Guards!!!” He banged on the door.

  The Captain left the room.

  Brinus was alone in the room and took a few moments to reflect. He realized adapting to the rules and regulations of the Navy would be difficult. He wondered if it would’ve been wiser to join the Army Troopers. They had a more lax attitude towards discipline but were just as tough as far as basic training. His plan worked and he was no longer with the Orin Syndicate and could leave the life of crime behind him.

  He sat in silence as he continued smoking until a guard came in and removed him from the interrogation chamber.

  After court the next day at 9:30 am, Brinus found himself at the bustling Confederation spaceport shortly after his bail hearing. The orbital spaceport adhered to the familiar template of a standard Confederate facility, complete with a bustling dry dock, maintenance droids going about their day, and a dedicated pit crew of starship engineers. It was in orbit over the planet and had as well as two titan-class battleships in dock.

  The dry dock itself was colossal, stretching across twenty city blocks and in space overlooking the tropical planet of Otis Datis in orbit. This imposing expanse was tailor-made to accommodate vessels of staggering proportions, including carriers, command ships, and formidable titan-class battleships.

  Captain Plato yelled across the drydock, motioning for Brinus to come with his right arm, “Brinus, quit your dawdling and get your ass to the docking bay!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Captain Plato scowled, “I didn’t hear you, cadet!”

  Brinus yelled, “Sir, yes sir.” He figured it was either to be yelled at or spend the rest of his life in prison.

  He ordered his first officer, “Commander! Take the tall kid to the data center and then commissary! I want him at shark attack tomorrow, first thing!”

  The Commander turned to the Cadet and flicked his head towards the door. “Follow me!”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Brinus felt a sense of relief wash over him. He would not be in prison for the rest of his life.

  Brinus smiled and his muscles relaxed as the commander guided him to the Shark Attack area.

  The shark attack area was a concrete hallway with brown and white laminate flooring. It had beige walls with posters about military life. The one that caught Brinus’s eye was a poster about chronic smoking and how the navy tolerates a max of a pack a day. The hall had brutalist architecture and fluorescent lighting. It seemed lifeless and plain.

  The instructors lined him up against the wall with ten other people. They then got into each cadet’s face and screamed.

  “Fresh meat!”

  “What do we have here?”

  “Lookin’ sexy young man!”

  A lieutenant and two petty officers went into Brinus’s face screaming and shouting after Brinus clenched his fists, “What the fuck is your problem cadet? Terra cat got your tongue boy?”

  A terra cat was a domestic house cat.

  They forced him to do twenty push-ups after he balled up his fists even more. All three instructors screamed in his ears.

  “How fucking dare you!”

  “What the fuck is your problem cadet?”

  “Drop down and give me 20!”

  After casing the cadets, they ran them to the commissary with their bags.

  Upon arriving at the ship’s quartermaster, Brinus began the next phase of Shark Attack. As Drill instructors screamed at him, the ship’s quartermaster provided him with his commissary account details and the rations required for his service. Soon after, the ship’s tailor took measurements of Brinus.

  Additionally, Brinus found himself registered for Tarken Tea cigarette rations. These were AA nicotine-infused herbal smokes. The plant contained AA nicotine but was devoid of tar. They had only twenty-three chemicals. None of the byproducts produced upon combustion were harmful to humanoids.

  The medical team revealed several dental issues that required attention. Specifically, Brinus needed bridge dental work between two of his teeth. His three left molars needed replacement with dental implants, and his wisdom teeth had to be extracted.

  The dental procedures meant that Brinus would spend two days recovering in the ship’s medical bay following his surgery, ensuring that he received the necessary care and monitoring.

  Because of Brinus’s syndicate training, he was up to date on his vaccines and he had adequate scores on his testing from when he was 16.

  Brinus reported to the Ship’s Librarian. He had his microchip scanned and information entered. However, an error message appeared on the librarian’s TriQuarter.

  Brinus looked a little surprised as the librarian scanned again. She then said, “That’s odd. Do you know who your family is?”

  Brinus shrugged. “I never met my family. ”

  “There’s a weird error message.”

  “What error message?”

  The librarian snapped, waving her hand dismissively. “We’ll let the Magi sort it out.”

  Brinus realized there was no point in trying to get answers.

  After spending an hour entering the information, Brinus came out of the library. He was very much surprised and wondered if his childhood fantasies were not fantasy at all. Maybe...No, it is just foolish talk.

  Brinus donned his freshly issued uniform. It consisted of a light blue shirt and navy blue pants adorned with black beading that ascended along the sides. A navy patch on his right arm bore the ship’s name and a lightning bolt. It had a gold name tag with Cadet Helios on it over his left shoulder.

  Amidst the excited atmosphere of the crowded mess hall, Brinus sat alone, surrounded by fellow midshipmen and cadets. The mess hall was a large space, accommodating up to eight hundred people. It featured a generous buffet of ten different dishes unique to Otis Datis.

  The mess hall’s design was functional and traditional. Rows of tables and chairs were meticulously arranged to seat the diners. The decor was simple, with milk chocolate brown porcelain tiles contrasting with light brown tile walls and pristine white tile ceilings. There was a smoking section with tables that booths meant sat eight people. Two cashier droids were at the end of the buffet and people paid in credit chips. The trays and uneaten food were disposed of in replicators which were next to the vending and drink machines.

  The other cadets, midshipmen, and acting lieutenants sat in groups. Brinus was tapped on the shoulder from behind and he immediately jumped up and rolled off the side, and took a fighting stance until he realized it was just a midshipman who wanted to speak. For a few moments, the entire mess hall went silent.

  The midshipman scoffed, stepping back, “Dude, chill.”

  Brinus put his fists down and relaxed. He put his hand on his chest.

  “You scared me.”

  The midshipman looked at Brinus with squinted eyes. “That was obvious. Man, what you gotta be scared of?”

  He shrugged, “I guess nothin’ now.”

  The midshipman asked, “Do you wanna sit with us?”

  Brinus shrugged again, “I guess.” Uncertain of what to do, he decided to go with the flow.

  Brinus carried his tray to a group of midshipmen, feeling the weight of their collective scrutiny. Some cast curious glances his way, while others remained tense as Brinus took his seat. Brinus was silent as he absorbed the conversations all around him.

  Before long, one of the midshipmen asked Brinus a question, breaking the ice.

  One of the men turned to Brinus, “What’s your opinion on the new reforms?”

  Brinus wiped his mouth, “I ain’t got no opinion. I just got drafted.”

  The midshipman laughed. “Why the fuck should I care?”

  Brinus gave a rude and condescending laugh. He sneered, “I certainly give zero fucks about you.” He came up from his seat and left his tray on the table. He thought, his pupils dilated in pure rage.

  The midshipman laughed and said mockingly, “Who cares about you? You’re just cheap labor!”

  Brinus ignored him. he thought to himself. Armed with his room number, he left the mess hall and approached his quarters. With a swipe of his key card, the door opened, unveiling his new living space.

  The room featured essential amenities: an HVAC unit with a humidifier for climate control, functional furniture for comfort, a subspace communicator for connectivity, providing a private refuge on the starship.

  An adjoining bathroom held vital facilities: a toilet, sink with a mirror, a grooming vanity, and a sonic shower for personal hygiene. A sonic shower uses sound waves instead of water for bathing.

  As Brinus settled onto the bed to gauge its comfort, he quickly realized it was far too soft for his accustomed tastes. He sank into the mattress, and it offered no support.

  With a sigh, he adjusted the room’s HVAC unit and humidifier, striving to create an atmosphere more conducive to his rest. Just as he settled in, the subspace communicator rang out, interrupting his quest for a peaceful night’s sleep. Brinus promptly answered the communication, ever ready to attend to the demands of his new role within the starship’s crew.

  The person who called was Brinus’s new training officer. “Lieutenant.”

  The officer looked annoyed and then yelled, “Cadet. I heard there was an incident in the mess hall. Tomorrow, we will perform a general knowledge assessment when you arrive by tomorrow at 0500 sharp. I also want to start basic training as well. I don’t want any bull shittery. The midshipman you were interacting with will be chastised accordingly. I want you to remember that you are a cadet, not a syndicate member anymore. Dismissed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Throughout the night, Brinus lay on the soft bed, his mind drifting into a world of daydreams. He envisioned himself residing in a grand palace, surrounded by an army of servants catering to his every desire. These dreams extended to opulent formal dinners, with a dedicated footman assigned to each guest. Yet, at nineteen, he couldn’t help but recognize these dreams for what they were—fantasies that would likely never materialize.