Troopers rushed in from every direction, from the grandiose gates, from the cascading stairways, from secret passageways embedded in the decorative reliefs along the walls.

  Like the emergency announcement decreed, all residents should lock down in place. The initial panic subsided, replaced by a mutual realization: With all the Stormrunners and Troopers guarding this place, there was nowhere safer.

  A hushed understanding began rippling through the families. One by one, parents pulled their children into tight embraces, hands clasped, tears falling, like weeping statues against the backdrop of the white uniforms. Perhaps the Troopers’ presence added a layer of gravity, or perhaps the security inside this building contrasted with the forlorn outdoors, but the families understood. While they sat in their shelter, their children must risk their lives outside.

  As Zora and Damien approached their own families for farewell, Shon stood awkwardly on the side, watching the raw human emotions unfold. It seemed almost ironic. Stormrunners had always lived with the shadow of death, yet these families had all pushed them towards this path. Why was it only now, with the danger pressed against their walls, that they seemed to grasp their children’s mortality?

  He bit his lip. Was that resentment?

  His family had understood the risks. That was why, after his disqualification, Lydia had begged him to return home, to give up the dreams of Stormrunners. Yet, when she had uttered those words, Shon could only feel betrayal at her seeming relief, at her doubts in the dream the whole family had fought for.

  So what did he expect? Shon did not know. He looked around, accepting his solitude in silence.

  Perhaps it was for the better. Lydia and Mom were far away from this storm.

  To Shon’s surprise, the Troopers in the Reception Hall were remarkably patient. They silently stepped past the families making their farewells, weaving through the crowd with fortification beams on their shoulders and bags strapped to their backs. Many approached the walls.

  Shon turned from the emotional scene and observed the Troopers’ work. A few of them climbed atop the cornices, revealing hidden levers by the ceiling. A few mechanical contraptions slid down from camouflaged panels. Hundreds of intersecting steel beams and synthetic cables unfurled, interlocking into a giant wireframe that hugged the interior walls. On the outside, the same contraptions fortified the outer walls.

  Shon nodded to himself. These wireframes were impressive. Not only could they hold the walls together, but they could also absorb shock from winds and debris.

  A few Troopers slid long, flexible wooden beams into the wireframe mesh, further strengthening the openings. Outside, the Troopers boarded up the windows with thick sheets of plywood. Inside, a few were spraying some chemical on the window panes — some temporary coalescing agent. Given the brittle nature of glass, these compounds could bind the glass molecules for a limited time, preventing them from shattering into sharp pieces.

  But physical fortification was only part of it. From the edges of the reception hall, Shon caught sight of caterers pushing cartloads of food into the room. Some carts carried banquet delicacies yet to be served, while others were piled with canned food and bottled water. As they lined up on the sides, Shon did a quick count. There were enough for twice as many people here.

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  Shon could not help but be awestruck. Physical fortification would be useless if the people turned on each other, especially with all the rich and elite in this room. With all the supplies, they could placate the people, at least for a while.

  Finally, the Troopers signaled to the families to conclude their farewells. The crowd gradually dispersed into two groups. To the left, the Stormrunner recruits lined up, waiting to be directed to the concert hall for briefing. To the right, the families and guests followed the lead of the Troopers, settling in designated zones away from the fortification efforts.

  A pair of tall doors swung open. The recruits filed in.

  “Shame that we don’t get a proper ceremony,” Zora whispered. She and Damien were now back beside Shon. “I really wanted my Stormrunner badge.”

  “I guess we are technically Stormrunners now,” said Shon, lowering his voice as he followed the crowd into the concert hall.

  “Nah, not officially,” said Damien. “No induction oath.”

  “And no citizenship card.”

  “Ugh, Shon. Don’t ruin the romantic side of things,” said Zora.

  “Sorry.”

  Zora leaned in. “Have you picked a name for your family yet?”

  Shon pondered. He had had a few options in mind, but he never settled on any.

  “Not yet. Have you?”

  “Of course! I’m keeping it as a surprise, but I’ve definitely thought about it. This is so important! It would carry on for generations. You really should put some more thought into it…”

  Shon looked around, letting Zora and Damien’s voices fade into the back of his mind. The atmosphere felt a little off. Then he realized. Besides the three of them, all the other recruits were dead silent.

  He could see it on their faces: The blank stare of fear, the look when someone was forced to grapple with the concept of death. From the outside, they all looked like courageous soldiers, but their eyes betrayed their thoughts, their adolescent minds too rattled to issue commands to their bodies. They trudged on, not because they were courageous, but because all that a fear-paralyzed body could do was to obey a higher command.

  What rotten luck they had. While the possibility of death had always been hanging above every Stormrunner’s head, nobody expected to confront this reality on day one. Normally, they had to go through the pipeline — the squad assignments, extra training, and team tactics. These would give them an actual fighting chance. But now, all the recruits were thrown into a level 7 storm, armed with nothing but classroom knowledge and training in highly safe environments.

  Oddly, Shon was grateful for the earlier malfunction of the Exam simulation course. When the simulation environment fell apart with all the debris and high winds, the three of them stared death in the face. Having been through the shitshow once, the three of them were more mentally prepared, just enough to be assigned to a more crucial mission.

  Perhaps this was why they could still afford the talks and banter.

  The chatter between Damien and Zora died down as they stepped through the door.

  Although most of the concert hall was pitch dark, Shon could feel its vastness. Rows upon rows of seats stretched into the black, at least hundreds of feet in each direction. In the center, an array of overhead beam lights illuminated the stage.

  This was supposed to be the site of the induction, but it was now converted to a makeshift war room. The ornate decorations still clung to their original posts, looking awkwardly out of place. Blue and orange drapery dangled around maps and blackboards. The stone torchères, once meant to line the induction walk, were now scattered around the stage as temporary lamps. Atop the stone slabs to the sides, where new inductees were supposed to light up their ceremonial candles, no flame could be found. In their place were piles of rucksacks and stormrunning gear.

  Commander Thalor, with the same stern face as the recruitment posters, weaved through the tables on stage, barking orders after orders to high-ranked Stormrunners. On a blackboard nearby, Theo Xeta scribbled furiously along an intricate diagram, not even bothering to glance up at the oncoming students. A few other government officials, likely members of the Presidential Cabinet, shuffled in and out of the room, exchanging dossiers and hushed whispers.

  Despite the ghastly emptiness all around, the urgency in the air was infectious. Without needing to be told, the recruits packed themselves into the front row seats.

  As soon as the last recruit sat down, Commander Thalor turned to them. His orange eyes glowed fiercely.

  “I am Lance Thalor. I command the Republic of Valeria’s Stormrunner Corps. If you want to live long enough to see sunrise, shut up and listen.”