It was the third day of training and Arman had been falling behind his platoon's mandatory exercises. He had no problem with the physical activities. In fact, he even excelled in some of them. But coming from the Metro's slums, he had little to no idea about thermal hydraulics, Amanium transfer procedures, and core conjunction mechanics that, to his dismay, had already been taught to Metro Academy graduates before they entered the training program.

"It's basic science, recruit!" Shouted the instructor as Arman felt a bit embarrassed standing in front of the classroom trying to figure out the equation for the correct ratio between powdered Amanium and salt water.

The instructor, a woman by the name of Mathilde who had been serving the Division for two years, did little to stop the class from laughing at the obviously confused Arman as she once again asked the troubled recruit.

"Quiet now! So what is the ratio between an ounce of a purified Amanium powder to sea water and turn it into a viable power source for a standard issued Hydro-Rifle? Answer me!"

Arman looked around as if trying to find the answer. At the back of the class, sitting behind her desk was Dara. She was staring at Arman, signalling him to look at her four fingers waving beneath her shoulders.

"Well..." said Mathilde again. "What is.."

Arman then spoke in reply, " Four... Ma'am... The answer is four."

"Four what?!" Shouted Mathilde, looking for a more complete answer.

Arman looked at Dara again. She was making an L shaped sign with her thumb and index finger.

"Liters, ma'am?" Arman hesitated.

"Took you long enough! Now sit down so we could continue this class. Or would you like me to walk you through the standard core assembly method?"

"No, ma'am. Thank you, ma'am." Arman rushed back to his seat just across from Dara who sighed in relief as the rest of the platoon chanted "Loser" in the background.

"Thanks," whispered Arman as he focused on the board in front of him, more puzzled than before.

Mathilde then continued the lecture. Recruits were given a four-day refresher course on basic operating procedures. From how to repair and maintain their Hydro-Rifles to steering and navigating Amanium-powered transports.

Arman, who looked absolutely distressed as he stared at the classroom board, tried his best to decipher the series of numbers and words the instructor was writing. All of it was new to Arman. Most of the words he saw didn't even register to him.

As soon as the class was dismissed, the platoon was directed to the mess hall for their lunch break. Arman, paralyzed with the thought of having to complete the training without the knowledge his fellow Academy graduates had, had a vacant expression in his face. Dara, still sitting in her seat, tried to reach out to Arman only to be interrupted by Marcus and his pack of arrogant goons.

"What did I say to you, Ruger? Didn't I tell you this scrap dog doesn't know what he's doing here?" Marcus said with a pompous voice directed at Arman.

"That's right, " Ruger replied. "This bum doesn't even know basic science. Right, Hugo?"

"Yeah, yeah." Hugo's reply was short and had a feeling of doubt behind it.

Marcus stepped in closer to Arman's face.

"What did I tell you? You don't belong here. You were never supposed to last here! You know why they give out a spot for trash like you? Do you even know why there's a lottery in the first place?"

"Stop it, Marcus!" Dara tried to stop the cocky Academy graduate from continuing his speech.

"No, Dara. He needs to learn his place." Marcus' eyes widened as he looked back at Dara who stood frozen in fright.

"Do you know why the lottery was made, dog?" Marcus focused his sights on Arman once again.

"It's to give poor people like you something to live for. Some politician had the right sense of creating a 'Draft Lottery' to include tenement scums like you so you won't feel excluded or neglected. If you ask me, it's just another way to gain some trash votes."

Marcus continued his verbal onslaught as he paced the room like an instructor teaching a history lesson.

"Nobody in the Metro thinks tenement dogs are citizens. You were there to do all of our manual labor because you had no choice. It was either that or go back to the provinces and die in the mining colonies.The tenements is a slave factory that nobody cares about except politicians during voting season. I tell you this. No one, not one single one in the history of this stupid draft lottery has ever graduated from the Division Program and..."

Hugo suddenly interjected, "Umm... Marcus? There was one..."

"Shut up, Hugo and don't interrupt me!" Marcus snapped back.

"Now where was I... Oh yes. Arman. The little boy from the slums. Listen here, stray dog. If you think you can destroy my chances here, I'm going to make sure you're going back to your disgusting tenements in a body bag. You better quit now or so help me I'll make your life a living nightmare. Do you hear me? Look at me when I'm talking to you!"

Arman finally looked at Marcus. He was looking outside the glass window by the side the whole time as if disinterested. But he heard every word Marcus said. How the lottery was a joke. How no one drafted from the tenements ever made it to graduation. Arman even smiled at this notion.

"I'm not going to quit, Marcus." Arman's tone changed. For days, the platoon could only hear his trembling voice during drills and lectures. This was the first time Marcus and his gang really heard him speak, without pause, without hesitation. A voice full of confidence and rage behind every word. Arman stood up from his desk and faced Marcus directly.

"I don't care about your legacy. I don't care about the reason I'm here. No draftee has ever finished here? That's fine. Then I'll be the first one. I'm going to give everything I have and no one, not even you, could make me quit. If the Division decides to expel me then, fine. But until then, I will be the one breathing down your neck. Because as soon as I figure this whole Amanium-Thing-Whatever science crap, I'm going to make wish you didn't mess with me. Sure, you may have the technical skills because of your Academy background..."

Arman's body tensed, his blood vessels contoured his muscular arms and neck, still looking up at Marcus' stunned face.

"... but once we get to physical combat, I'll make sure you're always between my sights. You've seen me in training. You going to wish you didn't see me in combat."

"What is going on here?! Get to the mess hall right now!" Mathilde had suddenly appeared to get her things from the classroom. Marcus and his friends left first, still mouthing off and clenching their fists. Arman and Dara took their things and left the classroom a few moments later.

As they walked the path between the classroom and the mess hall, Dara fell a bit behind as Arman lead their stroll with the sound of his heavy footsteps.

"Are you alright, Arman?" Dara asked Arman who slowly looked back with a pale face and anxious demeanor. Arman had been fronting a brave face the whole time he was dealing with Marcus.

"W-w-why did I say that?! I should've just kept m-m-my mouth shut! Now everyone's going to mess with me. I shouldn't have done that! Oh why! I can't go back to the tenements! I just cant..." Arman on the verge of a nervous breakdown then suddenly stopped his overacting emotions when she saw Dara laughing hysterically behind.

"You idiot! Ha-ha. You had me going there for a bit! I told you to stop messing with Marcus. But it was funny seeing him get all riled up then you sobbing here like a dimwit. Don't worry, you'll get through this. Ha-ha. I'll help you."

"Umm... Thanks? I guess?" Arman answered incorrectly as Dara punched his left shoulder. The sudden shock of pain left Arman's jaw hanging.

"What do you mean, 'I guess?' Look, I'll help you with the technical stuff, alright? It's quite easy once you get to know the essentials of it."

"Wow, thanks! Oh and yeah, about this assignment..."

"No, Arman. I'm not going to do that for you." Dara said while her eyebrows raised a bit.

"Well, it was worth a shot." Arman smiled as they continued their walk to the mess hall.