The recruits stood at stiff attention as a tall, broad-shouldered man stepped onto the platform in front of them. His dark green uniform was crisp, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal scarred forearms. His sharp blue eyes scanned the crowd with an intensity that made even the cockiest recruit swallow hard.
“My name is Lieutenant Timothy,” he said, his voice smooth yet authoritative. “But you will call me Lieutenant Tim. I’ll be your trainer for the upcoming weeks. Your asses are now property of Phoenix Corp, and if you want to survive, you will listen, learn, and execute.”
A faint smirk played at his lips as he continued. “You will join the Alpha Recruits at Lot 50, where you’ll build your own tents, start grinding for resources, and get a taste of real survival. But first—gear up.”
Tim held up a sleek, wrist-mounted device. “This is the P.D.D.—Personal Development Device. This bad boy scans you, logs your data, and connects you to the C-Net—the Citadel Network. Thanks to a satellite we wrangled control of, we have real-time tracking, communications, and intel at our fingertips. But before you get any ideas…” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s decentralized and unhackable. So don’t try any dumb shit.”
His gaze swept over them. “Your first task—go to the Requisition Master, claim your P.D.D., and report back. You move fast, or you move out. Dismissed, recruits!”
Lyra and the others hesitated.
Lieutenant Tim’s expression darkened. “When I give an order, there’s only one response.”
He leaned forward, barking, “Aye, sir!”
The four of them stiffened. “Aye, sir!”
Tim nodded, satisfied. “That’s more like it. Now get the fuck moving.”
New Blood and Old Bullies
The camp was a maze of tents, training areas, and supply depots, with recruits and officers moving in every direction. Lyra, Bilal, Lara, and David pushed forward, scanning for any sign of the Requisition Hall.
They didn’t make it far.
A group of three men blocked their path—tall, lean, and grinning like wolves circling prey. Their uniforms were slightly different, insignias marking them as Initiates—one rank above recruits.
“Well, well,” the first one sneered. “Fresh meat.”
Lyra exhaled sharply. Not this bullshit.
“Where you headed, rookies?” the second guy taunted, cracking his knuckles.
“To the Requisition Master,” Lyra said flatly. “Move.”
The first one chuckled. “No respect for your seniors, huh? Looks like we gotta teach you some manners.”
They took a step closer, and Lyra was already shifting her stance, weight on her back foot, ready to strike—
Then a voice rang out, deep and commanding.
“Stand down.”
The air changed.
A presence loomed behind them—so powerful that everyone froze. The three Initiates stiffened like statues, their faces draining of color.
Lyra turned and immediately understood why.
The man was a towering figure, skin dark as obsidian, a thick scar cutting across his jawline. His chest gleamed with more medals than she could count, but it was his eyes that locked her in place—intense, sharp, like a predator sizing up prey.
Even without an introduction, Lyra knew exactly who he was.
Warlord Salami.
His voice rumbled like distant thunder. “Do you want to be bullies,” he said, his gaze flicking to the Initiates, “or soldiers?”
Silence.
Salami’s expression didn’t change. “I see you’ve just been promoted to Initiates. And this is how you use it?”
“Sir! No, sir!” they all blurted in unison.
“Then start acting like it.” His tone remained even, but the weight behind it made the three men straighten like steel rods. “Three laps around the camp. Now.”
They didn’t hesitate.
They ran.
Salami turned to Lyra and the others. “New recruits,” he mused, studying them. “State your names.”
One by one, they spoke.
When Lyra gave hers, his expression barely shifted—except for one brief flicker of something dangerous in his eyes.
“Vox,” he repeated, as if tasting the name. “James Vox’s daughter?”
Lyra’s stomach twisted. “Yes, sir.”
Salami held her gaze for a moment longer, then gave a single nod. “Go to the Requisition Hall. Collect your devices. Then start training.”
The four snapped to attention. “Yes, sir!”
Salami turned and walked away, his presence leaving a void behind.
David exhaled sharply. “What the fuck just happened?”
Bilal groaned. “Oh, we’re so dead.”
“Why?” Lara asked.
“Because that guy is gonna fucking cook us,” Bilal moaned. “I need to piss just thinking about it.”
The group burst into laughter, tension breaking as they finally made their way toward the Requisition Hall.
Gear Up
The Requisition Hall was organized chaos. Rows of equipment, crates of hardware, shelves lined with every supply imaginable. Soldiers moved between stations, collecting gear and weapons, shouting over each other as orders were processed.
A grizzled older man sat behind a metal desk, barely looking up as the recruits approached.
“New meat?” he grunted.
“Yeah,” Lyra said.
“Names. Register. Here.” He slid over a battered logbook.
The four signed their names, then received metal tokens stamped with the Phoenix Corp insignia.
“Take those to Fil,” the Requisition Master muttered, waving them off. “He’ll set you up.”
They wove through the supply room until they spotted a man leaning lazily against a stack of crates. His jumpsuit was half-zipped, revealing a stained undershirt, and he looked way too relaxed for someone working in a military base.
Lara tapped the counter. “You Fil?”
“Yup.” Fil held out his hand. “Tokens.”
They handed them over. Fil examined each one before grabbing four wrist-mounted devices from a nearby case.
“These are your Personal Development Devices—P.D.D.s,” he said. “They track everything—health, stamina, inventory, salary, personal messages, world locations.”
The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
He tossed one to Lyra, then the others. “The moment you put it on, it syncs with your biometrics—fingerprints, retina scan, infrared vitals. Keeps your stats live, tracks injuries, the whole good and fucked up package.”
He handed one to Bilal, but as he did, the device slipped from his fingers.
“Oh, shit—”
Before it could hit the ground, he snatched it midair with a cocky grin.
“Got it.”
Bilal whistled. “Damn. Reflexes.”
Fil smirked. “Yeah, well. Try not to break the damn thing. They don’t replace ‘em for free.”
The recruits strapped on their P.D.D.s.
A small beep confirmed synchronization.
“Now,” Fil said, stretching. “Pick a room. Get settled. Training starts at dawn.”
The four recruits exchanged glances.
Tomorrow, the real shit began.
A Sleepless Night
Sleep didn’t come easily for Lyra.
Her mind was a battlefield—thoughts of her father, the brutal training ahead, and the sheer weight of what she’d signed up for clashed in her head, refusing to settle.
With a frustrated sigh, she swung her legs off the bunk, bare feet touching the cold floor. The room was dim,illuminated only by the faint glow of dozens of Personal Development Devices—small screens flickering in the dark like artificial stars. The other recruits were still awake, their faces bathed in the bluish-white glow of their P.D.D.s as they scrolled through menus, whispering among themselves.
Lyra stretched, rubbing the exhaustion from her eyes. Might as well see what all the fuss is about.
She tapped the smooth surface of the device strapped to her wrist. The screenblinked to life, revealing an interface as sleek as it was functional. The icons were large, minimalist, with labels underneath.
╔═════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ ?? 1. Profile – Personal stats, ID, and ranking. ║
║ ?? 2. Missions – Available contracts and assignments. ║
║ ?? 3. Finance – Salary, rewards, and transaction history. ║
║ ??? 4. Inventory – Equipment, weapons, consumables. ║
║ ?? 5. Assets – Land, vehicles, or structures owned. ║
║ ?? 6. Support – Help, messages, and emergency contacts. ║
║ ?? 7. Log Out – Even a dystopian hellscape had UX designers. ║
╚═════════════════════════════════════════╝
Lyra smirked. Neat.
She tapped Finance, expecting to see at least something—some sign of whatever payment the Citadel had promised recruits.
Her balance flashed onto the screen:
╔════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ ?? 1. Profile – Personal stats, ID, and ranking. ║
║ ?? 2. Missions – Available contracts and assignments. ║
║ ?? 3. Finance – Salary, rewards, and transaction history. ║
║ └ Balance: **$0.00** (Enjoy your poverty, soldier.) ║
║ ??? 4. Inventory – Equipment, weapons, consumables. ║
║ ?? 5. Assets – Land, vehicles, or structures owned. ║
║ ?? 6. Support – Help, messages, and emergency contacts. ║
║ ?? 7. Log Out – Even a dystopian hellscape had UX designers. ║
╚═════════════════════════════════════════╝
Silence.
Then she burst into laughter, shaking her head. “Fuck this.”
A voice from the bunk above her stirred.
"That bad, huh?"
Lyra glanced up. Lara dangled over the edge, her short auburn hair falling in messy strands. She had one arm propped under her chin, watching Lyra with tired amusement.
"Unless you consider being broke as shit a promising career start," Lyra said, waving her wrist. "Seriously, what happened to my bunker credits? Mysalary? Even my food rations?"
Lara sighed, flipping onto her back. "Yeah, I checked mine too. Same story—jack shit. Looks like we’re all starting from the gutter."
Lyra swiped back to the main menu and tapped Missions, hoping at least to see some way to earn.
Instead, a red message popped up.
╔════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ ?? 1. Profile – Personal stats, ID, and ranking. ║
║ ?? 2. Missions – Available contracts and assignments. ║
║ └ **RESTRICTED ACCESS.** ║
║ *Recruits cannot select missions.* ║
║ **Required Rank: [Corporal] or higher.** ║
║ ?? 3. Finance – Salary, rewards, and transaction history. ║
║ ??? 4. Inventory – Equipment, weapons, consumables. ║
║ ?? 5. Assets – Land, vehicles, or structures owned. ║
║ ?? 6. Support – Help, messages, and emergency contacts. ║
║ ?? 7. Log Out – Even a dystopian hellscape had UX designers. ║
╚═════════════════════════════════════════╝
Lyra groaned. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Lara snorted. "Let me guess, can't take jobs either?"
"Not until we rank up."
"Shit. So we’re basically unpaid interns in a deathtrap."
Lyra smirked. "Yeah, except the only promotion opportunity is not dying."
Lara let out a low laugh. "Welcome to capitalism, Citadel edition."
A loud snore from across the room interrupted their conversation.
Bilal.
He was sprawled out on his bunk, one arm dangling off the edge, his mouth slightly open. David was half-asleep, his P.D.D. resting on his chest, still glowing faintly.
Lara eyed them for a second before looking back at Lyra. "You think these two will survive?"
Lyra smirked. "Bilal? Probably. He'll bullshit his way through half of it."
"And David?"
"...eh."
They both laughed quietly, trying not to wake the guys.
For the first time since the lottery, Lyra felt a little lighter.
Yeah, they were in deep shit. No money. No control. No real sense of what the fuck was waiting for them out there.
But at least she wasn’t in it alone.
The Next Day – 06:00 Hours
A blaring beep echoed across the camp, followed by another. And another.
Within seconds, the entire recruit barracks was filled with the groans, curses, and yawns of half-asleep soldiers rudely yanked from their dreams.
Lyra barely stirred, buried under the thin blanket, half-aware of the chaos around her.
Then, a loud voice boomed way too close.
"Wake the fuck up, new recruits!"
Lyra groaned. Lara flung an arm over her face.
Above them, Bilal grinned like an idiot, standing beside their bunk. David, still half-asleep, was laughing his ass off from across the room.
Without even looking, both girls raised their arms and flipped him off.
"Ah, beautiful morning greetings," Bilal chuckled. "Nothing says friendship like synchronized middle fingers."
Their small victory was short-lived.
A thunderous voice suddenly ripped through the air, cutting through the laughter like a goddamn war horn.
"ON YOUR FEET, RECRUITS!"
Warlord Salami.
The room exploded into motion.
Half the recruits sprang up instantly, boots hitting the floor with military precision. Others scrambled clumsily, tripping over gear, crashing into bunks, throwing on whatever clothes they could grab.
Lyra’s P.D.D. buzzed against her wrist.
She glanced down.
╔════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ ?? **Notification – Lt. Tim** ║
║ "ALL RECRUITS – REPORT TO LOT 50 IMMEDIATELY." ║
║ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ ║
║ ?? 1. Profile – Personal stats, ID, and ranking. ║
║ ?? 2. Missions – Available contracts and assignments. ║
║ ?? 3. Finance – Salary, rewards, and transaction history. ║
║ ??? 4. Inventory – Equipment, weapons, consumables. ║
║ ?? 5. Assets – Land, vehicles, or structures owned. ║
║ ?? 6. Support – Help, messages, and emergency contacts. ║
║ ?? 7. Log Out – Even a dystopian hellscape had UX designers.║
╚════════════════════════════════════════╝
Lyra’s heart pounded.
"Shit, shit, shit—"
She bolted upright, yanking on her boots without thinking.
Lara groaned, rubbing her face. “You running a marathon or something?”
But Lyra wasn’t listening—she was already out the door.
The Morning Rush
The camp had transformed into a swarm of chaos.
Recruits were everywhere, running, pushing, cursing, dodging between supply crates and training equipment. Some poor bastards were still struggling to get their gear together, getting chewed out by officers left and right.
Lyra dodged past two recruits colliding near a tent, narrowly avoiding getting body-checked into the dirt.
A voice called from behind.
“Lyra, you asshole!”
She turned her head just enough to see Lara and Bilal pushing through the crowd, David right behind them.
“You left without us!” Lara huffed, keeping pace.
“The fuck you guys weren’t already running?!” Lyra shot back.
Bilal just laughed, jogging beside her. “Listen, I strongly believe in conserving my energy—”
“MOVE YOUR ASSES!”
A drill instructor’s voice sent a shockwave through the crowd, and suddenly everyone was running like their lives depended on it.
By the time Lyra reached Lot 50, her lungs burned.
The training ground was a massive clearing, marked by tall wooden posts and scattered equipment. Around 25 recruits stood in rough formation, their expressions ranging from alert to completely lost.
Lyra skidded to a stop, taking deep breaths.
Behind her, Bilal, Lara, and David stumbled in a few seconds later, looking slightly less dead than the rest.
Lara nudged her. “Next time, try not to ditch your squad, yeah?”
Lyra smirked. “Next time, try running faster.”
They barely had time to catch their breath before a figure stepped forward, his shadow stretching across the morning dirt.
Lt. Tim.
The training was about to begin.
Survival 101
Lieutenant Tim’s voice boomed across the training ground, cutting through the morning fog like a gunshot.
"Listen up, recruits!"
All 25 recruits snapped to attention—or at least, somewhat. Some looked half-asleep, others were clearly dreading whatever was coming.
"I’m here to teach you one thing—how to survive. And I don’t mean with fancy gear, I mean when you have jack shit," Tim barked. "Because out there, if you get lost, if your team gets wiped, if your gear breaks down, you need to know how to stay alive. You don’t improvise? You die. Simple as that."
Silence.
Then, in his usual fashion, Bilal whispered, "Well. That’s fucking inspiring."
Lara snorted.
Tim’s head snapped toward them. "You two got something to share?"
Bilal straightened. "No, sir! Just mentally preparing for greatness, sir!"
Lara muttered, "We’re so dead."
Tim ignored them, turning to the group. "First task. Firewood. You all see those axes? Grab one. Scan it with your P.D.D. so it gets logged into your inventory. Your gear scanner will tell you what it’s made of, how much it weighs, and what materials are needed to craft another one."
The recruits moved toward the weapons rack. Lyra grabbed an axe, scanning it. The P.D.D. beeped, displaying a basic item breakdown:
╔════════════════════════════════════════╗
║ ??? **P.D.D. Scan – Standard Issue Camp Axe** ║
║ ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------║
║ ?? **Material:** Carbon steel blade, wooden handle ║
║ ?? **Weight:** 1.5kg ║
║ ??? **Durability:** 89% ║
║ ??? **Crafting Cost:** 3× Metal, 1× Wood ║
╚════════════════════════════════════════╝
Tim crossed his arms. "See that last part? Crafting cost? That’s how you make shit. Your P.D.D. logs every material you find—so when you need a weapon, a shelter, or a damn cup, you know what to look for."
Bilal sighed dramatically. "Well, there goes my idea of selling military gear on the black market."
Lara laughed.
Tim’s eyebrow twitched. "Shut up, Bilal."
Yes, sir."
Tim pointed to a massive fallen tree nearby. "That’s your first job. Cut it into firewood-sized logs. We need it for fuel, heat, and construction."
David frowned. "Uh, sir… we don’t actually know how to chop wood."
Tim blinked. "David."
"Sir?"
"Not the standing trees, you idiot. The ones already cut down."
David flushed. "Oh. Yeah. That makes sense."
Tim sighed. "Jesus Christ. Hut, hut! Move!"
Survival Task #2: Water Filtration
After twenty minutes of relentless chopping, the recruits were sweating and exhausted. Lyra’s arms ached, her muscles burning with every downward swing of the axe.
"Alright, drop the axes!" Tim yelled.
The recruits backed away from the now neatly stacked logs.
"Next lesson—clean water."
Tim pointed toward a muddy stream on the outskirts of the lot. "That water? Undrinkable. Unless you wanna spend the next 48 hours pissing your organs out."
"Hard pass, sir," Bilal muttered.
Tim pulled out a crude-looking filter—a metal tube packed with layers of charcoal, sand, and cloth. "You’ll be making these. They remove dirt, debris, and some toxins. Won’t stop hardcore radiation, but it’ll keep you from shitting your pants in the wild."
A few recruits laughed.
"Go to the supply shed, grab an empty can, charcoal, sand, and cloth. Then make a basic filter. First team done gets an extra meal ration."
That got everyone moving.
Lyra, Lara, Bilal, and David rushed to the supply shed, grabbing materials. They found a workstation nearby and got to work.
Lara stuffed charcoal into the can first. "This layer absorbs contaminants."
Bilal poured in sand next. "And this catches dirt."
David added cloth at the bottom. "For extra filtering."
Lyra held up the finished product. "Done."
They hurried back to Tim, handing him their filter first.
He inspected it, then nodded. "Acceptable. You four get the extra meal ration."
Bilal fist-pumped. "Hell yeah! More food!"
David grinned. "Small victories."
Lara smirked at Lyra. "You got a smart crew, huh?"
Lyra smirked back. "For now."
Survival Task #3: Shelter Building
As the sun crawled higher, the recruits’ next challenge tested their patience.
Tim pointed at a cleared-out patch of land. "Last task for today—you’re building your own shelter. No barracks. No prefab tents. Your own hands, your own shit."
Groans filled the air.
"You’ll be given rope, wooden stakes, and tarps. The rest? Find it. Use branches, logs, whatever the hell you can scavenge. Your shelter must be wind-resistant, insulated, and camouflaged. You have two hours."
The recruits scrambled.
Lyra and her team gathered fallen branches, driving stakes into the ground to create a tent frame.
Bilal tied the ropes, securing the structure. "This better hold, man."
David stretched the tarp over the top. "Better than sleeping on the dirt."
Lara stacked logs along the bottom for extra insulation. "At least it won’t be freezing."
When time was up, Tim inspected every shelter.
Some collapsed immediately. Some were barely standing.
When he reached Lyra’s team, he nodded in approval.
"Not bad. You might actually last a few nights outside."
Bilal wiped fake tears. "I think that’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me."
Tim ignored him. "Training’s done. Eat. Rest. Tomorrow’s worse."
The recruits groaned, but a strange sense of accomplishment settled over them.
Day one—complete.
