Chapter 15
Welcome to Hell
Hazel found me in the final holding area, sitting on a bench with other prisoners waiting for transport. Most looked shell-shocked or resigned. A few had the hard eyes of career criminals.
"I won't lie to you, Fischer. It's bad."
"Why bother telling me?" I asked, voice raspy from screaming. "Not like I have options."
"Professional courtesy. You performed well in assessment. Better than expected for a freshy."
"The Shattered Front is a dying dimension," she continued, voice low. "Reality is fragmenting. Physics changes every few meters. The fractures connect to beast dimensions. Your job is to hold the line, stop anything that comes through."
"For how long?"
"Until you die, most likely."
"Fantastic."
"The current Sergeant has been there two weeks. The previous record was three. If you're smart, you'll learn everything you can before they die."
"Such optimism."
Hazel's expression hardened. "This isn't a joke, Fischer. The Front is hell. The only people sent there are the ones SDC wants to disappear forever. You'll face hundreds of beasts daily."
"Why tell me all this?"
She hesitated. "I looked into what you said. About Mikkel."
That got my full attention.
"There are... inconsistencies in the records. Similar cases over the decades." She stood up. "I can't do anything official. But I wanted you to know—I believe something happened. Something the SDC is covering up."
"Why would they cover for him?"
"Politics. Power. The Houses have fingers in everything. If Mikkel is what you say, he's valuable to someone important." She checked her watch. "Transport's boarding. Good luck, Fischer."
Guards began moving through the holding area, directing prisoners toward a heavy door. Beyond it, I could see a loading dock where a strange vessel waited.
"That's a dimensional transport?"
"Mark VII Reach Traversal Vehicle," Hazel confirmed. "Designed to survive passage through unstable dimensions. Probably the last comfortable ride you'll ever have."
As I stood to join the line of prisoners, Hazel caught my arm.
"One last thing, the Front is a one-way trip for most. But there are stories. Sacred who survived long enough to earn transfer to less lethal assignments."
"How long is 'long enough'?"
"Five years, minimum. No one's done it in decades."
I nodded, understanding the message. If I wanted any chance at revenge against Mikkel, I had to survive the unsurvivable.
"Thanks for the tip…"
Hazel released my arm. "I never had this conversation with you."
She walked away without looking back.
The guards herded us onto the transport, securing us in seats designed to hold even the largest Sacred. As the transport's doors shut, I looked around at the other prisoners. Most avoided eye contact. A few sized each other up.
The transport rumbled to life.
Through small viewports, I watched the loading dock recede, replaced by swirling darkness as we entered the dimensional gateway.
The Shattered Front awaited.
I'd need to be more than lucky. I'd need to be ruthless.
◆◆◆
The transport shuddered as we punched through the dimensional boundary. My stomach lurched, and for a second I thought I'd puke. The guy across from me wasn't so lucky.
He vomited, but instead of splattering on the floor, the chunky mess just... hung there. Suspended in midair. A perfect globe of half-digested prison slop.
"What the—" he started to say, right before gravity came back.
The vomit splashed back down, directly into his face.
"First-timers, Grav gets fucky in the portal. You learn to keep your mouth shut during transitions."
"Welcome to the Shattered Front," announced a mechanical voice over the speakers. "Prepare for landing."
I looked through the small viewport.
The ground below us shifted between a wasteland, densely packed forest and frozen tundra. In the distance, jagged tears in reality warped the sky. I could see dark shapes emerging from them.
"Pretty, ain't it? Name's Decker."
"Fischer…"
The transport rocked as it descended toward a massive black fortress. Around it, smaller buildings formed defensive rings, and beyond those, what looked like battlements.
We touched down with a thud on a landing pad surrounded by armed guards. The doors hissed open, and the guards began barking orders, pushing us out.
"Move, prisoners! Single file! Keep your hands in front!"
We were marched across the landing pad toward a processing facility. Guards at our sides. These weren't SDC uniforms; these were Front personnel, hardened by years in this hellhole.
Inside, we were separated into groups.
I lost sight of Decker as he was shuffled into a different line. Eventually, my group was directed through a heavy metal door into an auditorium.
"Orientation," muttered the guard. "Try not to piss yourself when the Warden speaks."
The room filled quickly with prisoners from our transport and others. There were at least a hundred of us, all looking equally shocked and scared. A stage dominated the front, empty except for a podium.
The lights dimmed, and a hush fell over the crowd. A man walked onto the stage.
The Warden of the Shattered Front didn't look like I expected. He wasn’t a hulking brute or sadistic monster. He was a lean, immaculately dressed man. His black uniform bore no rank insignia. His face was sharp, and his eyes were cold.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the Front. My name is Adrius. I am the warden here, and for however brief your remaining existence may be, I. Own. You."
He paced slowly across the stage, hands clasped behind his back.
"You are not here for rehabilitation. You are not here to serve a sentence with the hope of release. You are here because your lives have been deemed less valuable than the functions you will serve."
A holographic display activated behind him, showing the landscape I'd glimpsed from the transport.
"The Shattered Front sits at the convergence of seven collapsing dimensions. Those tears you see—" he gestured to the pulsing rifts on the display "—are doorways to places that would make your nightmares shit themselves. The beasts that emerge would reach Earth eventually if left unchecked."
"That's where you come in. You will be assigned to units. Each unit will be responsible for a specific tear. You will fight what comes through. You will collect the cores from the beasts you kill. And most of you will die doing so."
The display changed, showing a collection of crystal objects of various colors and sizes.
"This is your currency, your value, your only purpose here. Soul Crystals—beast cores—harvested from the beasts you kill. Each bridge has a weekly quota. Meet it, and your unit gets extra rations, maybe even basic comforts. Fail, and you all suffer."
He leaned forward slightly, eyes sweeping the room.
"Some of you were Sacred on Earth. Some awakened in prison. Your powers are the only reason you're here instead of rotting in a cell or being executed. Use them well… they're the only advantage you have."
Adrius straightened, adjusting his already perfect cuffs.
"Become valuable enough, and you might earn privileges. Live long and exceptional enough and you may earn transfer to less lethal assignments."
His voice dropped slightly, becoming almost intimate despite the size of the room.
"But I do expect you to die and to die well. Die killing. Die making yourselves useful. Because the moment you cease being useful is the moment I stop wasting resources keeping you alive."
He nodded to someone offstage, and the display changed to show unit assignments.
"You've been sorted into units based on your abilities and our current needs. Report to your assigned sergeants immediately following dismissal."
The Warden's eyes scanned the room one final time.
"Welcome to hell, maggots."
With that, he turned and walked off stage, leaving the room in stunned silence.
Guards began barking orders, directing us to different exits based on our assignments. I found my name on the display and headed to my bridge unit.
I followed the indicated path, along with about twenty others.
We emerged into a large room that looked like a combination of barracks, armory, and medical facility.
A group of hard-eyed prisoners was waiting for us. They looked at us with pity and amusement.
A guard shoved me toward a tall, broad-shouldered man who stood apart from the others. His face was a battlefield map of scars—one particularly vicious slash ran from left temple to right jaw, bisecting his face—his eyes were an unsettling shade of amber that seemed to glow.
"Fresh meat for you. Try to keep this one alive longer than a week, Kaz."
Kaz didn't acknowledge the guard. Those amber eyes locked onto mine, assessing me. His head tilted slightly.
"Fischer," I offered.
"I don't care about your name. Care about what you can do. Our unit loses three auxiliaries a rotation. You'll be dead by the end of the week unless you're useful."
"I can fight…"
Kaz barked a laugh. "Everyone says that. Then they piss themselves the first time a beast crawls through the tear."
His hand grabbed my wrist before I could even react. He squeezed, hard enough that the bones ground together.
I let the worms rise just beneath the surface of my forearm. Just enough for the outline of their forms to be visible under my skin.
Kaz's grip tightened momentarily, then released. A thin smile crossed his face.
"Interesting. Maybe you'll last three minutes out there."
As he walked away, I heard him mutter, "Welcome to the unit, Fish."