"Give him back, now!"
The anguish in his father's voice cut through the morning air with unexpected force. A rare show of energy and life from the usually reclusive old man.
Hill wished he could unhear it.
He watched as his father pushed and shoved at the Asiran Guards who held him back. The old man's eyes were wet with tears, another unusual sight.
Just give it up, old man. I'm a goner.
Hill knew things would never be the same no matter how hard his father tried. The guards—two soldiers in gray fatigues with the Asiran Government Health and Containment division's white insignia on their shoulders—wouldn't yield to the begging of one man.
Especially when the stakes were this high.
The metal cuffs bit into his wrists, reminding him of what would come. He hadn't committed any crime that warranted these restraints.
His only offense was being young and healthy enough to be caught in the latest conscription.
The Asiran government, like all nations under the World Government, needed a lot of healthy bodies to throw against the growing threat on the other side of the world, across the deep blues of the Scissian Ocean and to the lands of Peridia.
The once mighty empire was the victim of the wretched disease known as the soul plague, and it was the epicenter of the calamity that was befalling his world.
This disease didn't target the body but attacked the soul. As a result, there was no cure, treatment, or defense against its might.
When the first outbreak hit Peridia's heartlands, nothing could stop it—not their famed armies, advanced technology, or their powerful leaders.
The videos of the carnage had spread through the internet like wildfire, depicting victims instantly transforming into mindless monsters that destroyed anything and everything in their path.
These mindless, relentless creatures had overwhelmed the world's greatest military power within months.
Despite their animosity towards the Peridians, the world government tried its best to save the crumbling empire, but it was too late. Around one billion souls were vanquished within three months.
Then came hope: the awakened. Mysterious survivors began emerging within the Peridian heartland, defeating scores of monsters and successfully slowing the spread of the horde.
These survivors were said to have survived the plague and, as a result, awakened powerful soul arts that they used to fight against the horde.
They became humanity's hope, pushing back just enough to create a fragile stalemate along Peridia's devastated coastlines. But it wasn't enough. The monster territory kept slowly expanding. Clearly, more awakened people were needed, and much stronger ones were required.
After capturing several of the awakened, the truth was revealed—a small fraction of those exposed could withstand the initial overwhelming surge of rinshu—the term used by the awakened to describe soul energy.
This was akin to those who were naturally immune to certain illnesses. In other words, survival of the fittest.
However, it was also revealed that the awakened could infect others, causing them to be afflicted by the plague.
As a result, the world government decided to gamble the lives of millions and ordered their subjects to begin infecting groups of people to extract the awakened from the fodder.
And so came the conscription. Governments worldwide, using captured awakened to create controlled infections, began rounding up their youth and sending them to their probable demise.
Hill closed his eyes as the transport vehicle's engine rumbled to life. His father's cries faded behind him.
Hill never got the chance to say goodbye. It didn't bother him; he was used to his father's facade. Perhaps, as messed up as this situation was, he could escape and become something.
He didn't know what that something was; it could be death, and it could be life.
Hill was fine with either option.
----
The journey to the containment facility was a tiring one. Hill lost track of time, lulled into exhaustion by the train's endless rhythm.
He was crammed between other young men and women. Their faces were drawn and pale under the flickering emergency lights of the windowless carriage.
Their eyes held no light and seemed to contain an ever-growing darkness. Hill understood why. There was no guarantee that anybody in this carriage would survive being infected.
They were merely cattle, being led to an uncertain slaughter, desperately hoping that they might somehow emerge as something more than a mindless beast.
A harsh screech of brakes jerked Hill awake. The train shuddered to a stop.
Heavy bolts slid open on the carriage doors, flooding the dim space with sterile light.
"Out! Move, move!" The Guards barked, their voices rough with impatience.
Blinking against the brightness, the conscripts were organized into a single file line and walked down a metal ramp onto a concrete platform.
The air was cold and damp, a heavy fog masking the towering structure of the facility up ahead.
As they got closer, Hill's eyes widened. It wasn't a building but a massive fortress that seemed to reach the heavens, vanishing into the foggy atmosphere.
A sight like this would have awed him if it weren't for the heavy weight of his impending death.
Watchtowers dotted the perimeter, and Hill could see the exposed barrels of rifles poking out of dark slits.
They were herded through massive blast doors that clanged shut behind them. Inside was a maze of stark corridors filled only with the sounds of guard boots and the shuffling feet of hundreds of conscripts—Hill guessed three or four hundred had been packed onto the train.
The guards directed them with sharp gestures and barked incoherent commands, followed by the occasional insult. The cuffs stayed locked tight around Hill's wrists. There was no mistaking his status: he was a prisoner.
Eventually, they were channeled into a huge assembly hall. Rows upon rows of simple metal benches filled the space like rippling metal, facing towards a raised platform at the end of the hall.
The lighting was bright and harsh, glinting off the metal and casting long shadows that seemed to dance with nervous energy. Many guards lined the walls, rifles ready. Hill gulped.
I guess this is it, huh.
As the conscripts were organized onto the benches, three figures stepped onto the raised platform, finalizing the already present silence in the hall.
Hill didn't even need to look at them to feel their presence. It was as if the air had suddenly thickened, a subtle tremor passing through the ground as the three figures stood facing the audience.
Their faces were displayed on television screens and bolted to the walls behind them. Hill could see their faces clearly now.
The first figure was an older woman with eyes that seemed far too ancient for her face, wrapped in layers of dark fabric.
The second was a lanky youth who seemed barely older than Hill, fidgeting nervously. The last was a built man with crossed arms and scars crisscrossing his knuckles.
These were the awakened ones. The survivors of the soul plague. The ones who had faced the rinshu storm and returned changed.
However, in Hill's eyes, they were simply the harbingers of death. And if he somehow didn't die from infection, the future that would come after that would surely finish him off.