Arman thought long and hard about how he ended up cleaning the camp's lavatory on the night of his first day of recruitment while the rest of the platoon slept soundly in the barracks across from him. He remembered entering his assigned billet with such enthusiastic vigor that every single one inside, all thirteen draftees from all over New Republic, stopped what they were doing and focused their gaze upon the last-minute addition to their platoon. Arman recalled waving his hands at them, hailing more of their attention as he smiled and introduced himself with candid delight. Then everything seemed to go down hill after that, he thought to himself as he scrubbed the moldy crevices of the bathroom tiles.

Arman Bruno, the late trainee who had just entered his platoon's barracks was met by a fellow recruit named Marcus Sakai, who had greeted Arman with joyous eagerness; His short, brushed up brown hair complimented his rugged look and well built frame, like a generic template for perfect soldiers.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome! You must be the one we've been waiting for! When we heard someone was joining us, we all chipped in and made sure that your spot was perfectly ready for your arrival!"

Marcus, threw his arm on Arman's shoulder, like that of an old friend, and nudged him into taking the first bed by the side of the front doors. It was a black metal bed frame with a modest white mattress covered in navy blue sheets that tucked everything neatly.

"Here you go," continued Marcus. Arman was hesitant at first but Marcus and the other recruits jeered him on to taking it nonetheless. He unpacked his items, which for some reason had no where to be placed. No drawers, or cabinets, or anything. Even tenement rooms have a bit of furniture, Arman remarked to himself as he kept the items and tucked it under the bed. The young man from the tenements had no idea that everyone was looking at him. Smirking and snickering among themselves as if there was a joke Arman wasn't a part of. Marcus, who was standing in front of his bed the whole time, then added

"Oh, yeah. You should also wear the uniform hanging there by the wall. We all did that before to, you know, try and fit it and all." Marcus had a very positive demeanor that Arman found quite charmingly helpful.

A chorus of voiced agreement filled the barracks shouting "Wear it! Wear it! Wear it!" The group chanted louder and louder. Arman, not wanting to feel left out, decided to wear the uniform as previously offered.

As he was halfway through his jumpsuit, Lieutenant Andreus de Sol came in through the front door and shouted, "What in God's name is going on in here?!"

The trainees rapidly formed two lines across one another and firmly placed their closed right fist on their chest, a typical salute for all enlisted in the Division. The Officer-in-Charge entered the room with authority as he tried to make sense of all the commotion happening in his watch.

Lieutenant de Sol's enraged eyes scanned every crevice of the room but was immediately met with a half-dressed Arman, struggling to fit into his jumpsuit by the left side of the door.

"What the hell are you doing, boy?!" The officer stomped his way towards Arman who had stopped wrestling with his uncooperative uniform and did a salute as well; his jumpsuit dropped to his ankles as his white underwear proved to be the only garment covering his body.

"I was.." Arman stuttered nervously.

"What are you doing in the first bed, recruit?!" Officer Andreus was now fixed directly at Arman. "Who gave you permission to use the first bed?! Answer me!"

Arman looked around and stared briefly at Marcus but then decided to reply in a boisterous voice, "No one, sir! I thought this was my bed, sir! I apologize, sir!"

The officer asked again as he was unsatisfied and knew that one of the recruits, or maybe all of them, had goaded the little imbecile into ruining the first bed.

"Who do you think you are, recruit?! Are you God's gift to the world?! Are you the messiah chosen by the Almighty to take the most sacred of space in this entire billet and make it your own? Listen here, you insignificant piece of filth! You are what I say you are and you do what I say you do. Now answer me! Who told you to. Use.This.Bed?! Who?! Give me a name son and I promise you I'll let this slip by like nothing ever happened! I'll let bygones be bygones and forget the fact that you have your nuts hanging out here, half naked as you are, inside my house if you tell me right here, right now."

Arman hesitated but stood firm with his previous answer. "No one, sir! It was me, sir!"

Lieutenant de Sol was quick to remark the incompetence of his late trainee.

"You insignificant lying garbage! You shut your lying mouth while I give you a barrage of informational wisdom your fellow recruits had already been blessed with earlier. Do you know what this bed is? Why it's left perfectly separate from all of you brats? Why it has to be completely spotless and untouched?! This bed represents the perfection you are now failing to attain. This bed is for the best of the best. The one perfect specimen that will rise up to the ranks and earn that spot. Of which none of you are ready to fill! This small corner of the barracks represents success in the division camp. If you can replicate this bed with your own everyday for the rest of your life, then you are one step closer into your transformation from a useless pile of garbage into a useful pile of trash. Do you understand, recruit?!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" shouted Arman in complete obedience.

Officer de Sol looked at the first bed and saw Arman's unpacked luggage tucked beneath it.

"Get your damn gear out of the first bed and throw it in the bin. Now!"

Arman did as he was told, he had no time to react and think about all of his possessions being thrown out.

"Now fix this bed and go back to your space, there, at the end of the barracks, suit up, and get back here in front in one minute. Go!"

Arman took of the first bed's assigned uniform, hanged it, fixed the crumpled bed sheets of the first bed, and hurried across the barracks floor, wore his own assigned white jumpsuit uniform and got back to the officer in front with 2 seconds to spare.

Lieutenant de Sol paced the room slowly while glaring at each obviously terrified trainees as he dictated his thoughts with intensity and command.

"Listen up, recruits! Anything you do to disrupt the harmony I've built will be met with swift and justly retribution. This young man here, who I assume you have mocked and goaded into taking the first bed, has failed to give up a name and therefore needs to be dealt with that swift retribution I have formerly mentioned. Armando Bruno here will be cleaning the barrack's lavatory each and every night after training for two weeks. And that is the end of it."

The Lieutenants stopped and stood in front of the entrance, his arms tucked behind as his stood firmly overlooking his recruits.

"My name is Lieutenant Andreus de Sol. For the next three months your insignificant lives belong to me. You are my recruits. You are my property. I will train you to become a weapon for the West Sea. I will break you down, mold you, and break you down again until you are fit to serve and protect our nation. If you survive this training, you will become gods of the seas, you will become more powerful than your adversaries. I will forge you until every shred of your being is powdered down to dust and from its ashes will rise a glorious titan among feeble men. But until that day you are mine and you are nothing. No matter where you came from, the Academy or the slums, you are all equally worthless until you prove otherwise. This is the day that you'll remember for the rest of your lives. You will train hard and I will drill you harder! You might not like how I do things and I don't care. You are here to to serve and I will make you worthy to be given that honor. Do you understand?!"

"Sir, yes, sir!" The barracks cried in unison.

"Now clean yourselves up and head on over to the landing bay for quick unannounced training exercise, to celebrate your camaraderie . Dismissed!"

All eyes were on Arman once again. This time, they were all filled with contempt as they suited up and carried out the officer's orders who walked out in haste. Arman, alone in his corner of the barracks, was approached by a young woman; tall, a bit lanky, with long blonde hair.

"Hey, you dropped this," said the girl as she hands Arman with his luggage from the trash bin. "You can keep these you know, just store them in the box here at the foot of your bed."

"Thanks," Arman replied. "My name is..."

"Arman, right? Yeah. We all heard the Lieutenant. Hey, thanks for not ratting us out. I guess you are a team player after all. I'm Dara, by the way. Dara Palilia."

"It's no problem. I was late and I had it coming."

"Why were you late? And why did they still let you in? Are you someone's kid or something?"

"No, nothing like that, I mean, I really don't know. All I know is, Officer de Sol gave me a second chance and I'd rather take the time figuring how to make the most out of it rather than mulling over the reason I'm here."

"Fair enough." Dara then looked around the room, most of the platoon's members have already gone, but some who were left, including Marcus and his buddies, were still there horsing around like they were back in the Academy.

"Forget about Marcus. He's a good guy but sometimes he can be a bit of an asshole when it comes to other recruits just because he's 'legacy'." Dara's air quotes left Arman a bit confused.

"What's that?" Arman asked.

"Marcus Sakai is the son of a West Sea Captain, who was the son of another sea captain, and so on and so forth. You know, legacy."

"Ah," exclaimed Arman who noticed Marcus and his two friends slowly approaching him and Dara.

"Well now, what do we have here?" Marcus wore a boastful smirk as he walked towards the two of them. "I didn't know you were into stray dogs, Dara."

Marcus' buddies started laughing in the background like wild hyenas.

"Cut the crap, Marcus. You had your fun. He didn't even turn you in, so now just leave him alone," demanded Dara.

"I'm just getting started." He then stared directly at Arman and resumed his verbal abuse.

"You don't belong here, dog. You might think you're one of us because you won some stupid lottery but that doesn't mean shit if you're going to pull back this platoon, do you understand? Don't want any of the other platoons to know some gutter mutt decided to think he's one of us and smear my legacy. Nobody's going to hold your hand here and tell you everything's okay. So why don't you just quit now and head on back to whatever scum life you had and be on your way, because the truth is, none of us want you here. Not me, not the Lieutenant, and certainly not the Division. You got it?"

Marcus, who seemed satisfied with his passionate speech, turned around and left the barracks with his two friends. Dara looked at Arman's reaction, which was stoic at best. Arman felt nothing with what Marcus said. With what anyone said for that matter. He had spent years being berated with all kinds of words during his old life in the tenements that he had developed a sense of indifference with what a person is saying.

Arman had a saying "Words can't hurt the deaf." For some reason, Dara knew Arman was fine with what Marcus had just said, as she could see a hint of smile on him as he finished  arranging his locker box.

"Don't mind him, he'll come around. Time to go," Dara said as she started to walk towards the exit.

"Alright," Arman agreed as they walked out of the barracks together towards the landing bay, the open area near the docking platforms that housed the Division's fleet of modern submersibles.

Arman Bruno and Dara Palilia entered the massive loading bay of the Aseatic Defense Division and was met with rows upon rows of mechanical submersibles from all classes; from a two-crew Valiente type submarine to a Division class hundred capacity Agila type. All submersibles in-line along the special docking port for Amanium refills and maintenance. To their surprise, everyone on the loading floor, the mechanics, aquanauts, and even the officers, had stopped what they were doing and was looking at the sunset. Both Arman and Dara decided to see what was going on. With a hardened look, they saw why everyone stopped. Across the sea, just at the blurring edges between the sky and the brilliant waters was the Mulawin, a two thousand foot behemoth warship on route to the West Sea territories. As if by chance, the Mulawin blared its horn,  like a farewell siren to the people at the docks, signalling the beginning of its voyage. Arman had never felt that he was a part of something bigger, that somehow his life mattered, but he had a glimpse of what was possible. From then on, Arman had burned the image to his memory, making sure that someday he'll be someone worthy of navigating the treacherous, most contested sea in the planet: The West Sea.

***Thanks for taking the time to read my work. It would really mean a lot if you could leave some comments as I would like to hear what you have to say about the chapter. You can also vote and share this to your friends and help spread the story of The West Sea.***