RED EPIC

It was the winter of '89, and Ulysses was late again. 

Not heroically late, like the rogue who bursts into the tavern just in time to hear of a great quest, but the kind of late that meant he'd have to walk into morning drill while everyone stared.

He had royally screwed up now.

"Haa~Praise The Consul!"

He yawned before saluting the gatekeeper and walking into the academy compound.

"Haa~" Another yawn.

He had spent the better part of last night watching the meteor shower, and now his body was paying the price.

"Today must be fucking special for you to come in late" The morning instructor sneered.

"I'm sorry, Ser. It won't happen again,"

But the instructor wasn't in the mood for excuses. 

"That's twice the number of pushups, pullups, and laps for you, ser." 

"Yes, ser!"

After spending a quarter of an hour more on morning drills than the rest, he walked into class.

"Good morning, Madam Audrey! First class trainee Ulysses Saint reporting for lessons!"

"You'd better sit down, Ulysses." 

"Yes, ma'am!"

He started towards his seat and sat down before pulling his notebook out. 

Miss Audrey discussed mathematics for ballistics, navigation, and logistics, as well as some related topics. At the same time, the other kids were whispering about the meteor shower and the plane crash. 

Ulysses should have paid attention, but he was exhausted and spaced out, spending his time watching a dove struggle to uproot a large worm from the sidewalk.

"Ulysses!" 

A sharp voice cut through his thoughts. 

He barely had time to react before a piece of chalk smacked against his forehead.

Bang!

He winced, rubbing the spot as the class stifled chuckles.

At the front of the class, Ms. Audrey crossed her arms. 

"Is there some unsolved function in the street, Mr. Saint?" she asked. 

Ulysses sighed but sat up straighter. 

"No ma'am." 

Ms. Audrey turned back to the blackboard, her chalk slashing across the surface as she drew a diagram of an ongoing battlefield scenario. 

"Alright! If Squad X advances at twelve kilometers per hour, but the enemy cavalry flanks at fifteen kilometers per hour…" She spun back to face Ulysses. "How long before Squad X is overrun? And what's their best countermeasure?" 

The room fell silent. Ulysses blinked at the board; 

"A cavalry charge, huh…?" he muttered under his breath. "Well, if they…uh, the angle of approach… uh…" His words trailed off as he struggled to put his thoughts together. 

"Assuming the cavalry is approaching at a forty-degree angle from the east," he answered, "Squad X has exactly three minutes before impact." 

Ms. Audrey fumed. "And their best countermeasure?" 

"Instead of trying to retreat, they tighten their formation and pivot their rear line into a spearhead to counter the charge. That'll break the momentum of the cavalry and force them into a deadlock before they can gain any real advantage." 

Ms. Audrey stared at him for a moment before clicking her tongue. "Don't let me catch you spacing out, young man." 

Ulysses scratched the back of his head—

"Yes, ma'am." 

—then dropped to his seat.

The day went by in a haze of equations, worksheets, and lessons. 

During history class, Ulysses idly sketched a towering, four-armed, green-skinned Martian warrior with ivory tusks in the margins of his notebook. 

In Geography, his mind buzzed with the jargon he had read, and at lunch, he sat in his usual spot behind the library, engrossed in a worn paperback from a high fantasy series. 

The final bell came too soon. 

"Remember tomorrow is combat training, don't forget!" Ms. Audrey yelled as a flood of sixteen-year-old trainees exited the class. 

Ulysses waited a while before deciding to leave. 

The moment he passed the gate, he saw a bunch of silver band kids: Scott and the others, lounging nearby. 

"What took you so long, Thirdie? Busy wanking in the girls' locker room?" Scott put an arm around his neck. 

There was also a silver armband around Scott's left arm, vastly different from the brown armband Ulysses wore.

"Is that pride from a turd?" Scott laughed. "Never seen a Third with pride." 

A chorus of laughter arose from the others. 

"C'mon, relax a little." He gave Ulysses a little pat on his chest. "You must see this place we found. You'll love it." 

"I can't, I'm-" Ulysses tried to refute. 

"Don't be a grump, bro." 

They dragged him inside a tram on its way to one of the old abandoned districts.

"C'mon, the place is just around the corner." Scott chuckled as they disembarked.

The district was in disrepair, with heaps of snow and obscured clouds, and featured abandoned, collapsed buildings.

There were also some tramps sleeping in alleyways. 

"C'mon, Scott, I have to go home early today."

Ulysses knew why they brought him here.

Humans tended to dislike those different from them and would often do unsavory things to outliers.

It was easy to see who the outlier was here.

They were Seconds, with brothers and fathers in the military, and some of great importance and high rank.

Very different from a lowly third that would become a technician or clerk or a non-combatant, much like Ulysses.

"Are you going to let me go?" he asked. 

"Are we going to let him go? Should we let him go?" They all laughed. 

"Thirdie thinks he's tuff, Thirdie thinks he's smart too. Smarter than all of us! You'll always be a Third!" Scott began pushing him with one hand, and someone behind him then shoved him toward Scott. 

"A Thirdie can't dream," somebody said. 

"A Thirdie that stinks!" 

"A Thirdie can't think!" 

The next time Scott's arm came out to push him, Ulysses grabbed at it. He missed. 

"Oh, you want a go, Third!" The boys behind Ulysses grabbed at him to hold him. 

They missed. 

Ulysses twisted like an eel and kicked out high and hard, catching Scott square in the breastbone. 

He watched the bigger boy drop to the ground. 

For a moment, the others backed away, and Scott lay squirming on the snow. 

Ulysses stood there, panting.

Scott didn't expect him to retaliate, and Ulysses thought Scott would block the kick.

'If ya beat a man, boy, make damn sure he's broke—else he'll come back burnin' hotter than hell.'

He heard his father speaking. 

But Ulysses wasn't his father. 

Sorry! 

Ulysses cursed and sprinted away from the gang. 

"Catch him!!!!!" he heard Scott bark from under his belly. 

And then there was a cavalry of footsteps behind him. 

 #

Ulysses ran. 

The ground blurred beneath him as he sped down empty buildings and streets, and unfamiliar pathways. 

A fence loomed ahead.

He launched himself at it, pulling himself over the fence.

The wire rattled, and he felt fingers claw at his ankle, missing by inches. 

Then he was over. 

The snow broke his fall, but it still hurt.

But he was up again, sprinting through the abandoned site.

Behind him, Scott and the others reached the fence, cursing, shouting. 

Then he heard the wires rattle. Then the sounds of heavy bodies landing on the snow-covered gravel.

He cut left, into a maze of rubble and rock and heaps of snow. Twisting and turning, and most importantly, sprinting. 

His chest quaked from the beating of his heart. His ribs ached from the strain of his lungs on fire. And he hadn't even noticed the drool from his mouth. 

The yells of the pursuing boys had suddenly grown fainter and fainter far off to his left. 

He abruptly came to a stop, overlooking the trail. 

He knew then that they had passed to the left at the edge of the site, and they would soon discover that they were on the wrong trail, and he didn't wish to wait to see when they'd do. 

He circled back and quickly attempted to escape. 

"Gotcha!"

But then a shadow lunged at him from behind a rock, and he tried to turn, but it was too little, too late. 

Wham! Something slammed into him, something very large. 

It tackled him to the ground. 

"I captured the Turd." A burly voice yelled from above him. 

Ulysses squirmed but couldn't free himself from the behemoth boy. 

Then he heard the sound of fast-approaching footsteps. 

Suddenly, hands grabbed at him, and then he was hoisted up on his knees. 

"You hit me, Third." 

Then there was a faint whoosh, and Ulysses felt his chest get hammered in. He almost puked, he almost cried, and Consul knows he wanted to cry for it hurt so bad. 

Ulysses lifted his eyes at the sullen voice. 

Scott loomed over him, thick of neck and red of face, with three of his friends behind him. 

He'd forgotten their names. He'd hardly ever spoken to them. 

Ulysses tried to stand up, but the two arms on his shoulders pushed him back to his knees. 

Scott was seventeen, a year older and a head taller than him. 

All of them were bigger than he was, but that did not scare him. 

Silas was bigger and wickeder, and had done worse things than they could hope to do. And in all honesty, he was tired of the bullshit. 

They were going to beat him up in that place, and he just saved himself from the horseshit, and threw the first punch. 

He counted all of them, seven in number. 

"Do Seconds need to gang up seven strong, just to deal with one Third?" he said mockingly. 

One of them grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. 

Pain ran through him, but Ulysses would not cry out. 

"I-I thought that only lessers fought in groups."

Scott stepped close. 

"You think you're so clever." He speaks. He had dark hair, long and shiny. 

Wham! He kicked Ulysses in the chest again. This time harder. 

"You're clever alright!" Then he laughed. "For a Third, that is." 

"Fine," he said. "One on one. You and Me." 

And the two suppressing Ulysses released him. 

Ulysses tried righting himself and entering a combat stance. 

He staggered forward on one knee but used a hand to stop his fall. 

Then he rose to his feet. 

"Fucking Turd." 

The bigger boy swung a heavy fist at Ulysses' head. Ulysses ducked just in time, the punch whistling past his ear. 

He backed up quickly, his breath ragged, but his eyes calm, not the terrified look of a cornered prey. 

But he was tired and momentarily stepped back in fear. 

Scott laughed and jabbed at Ulysses again.

To his surprise, Ulysses stepped forward with a sudden burst of energy, ducked under the attack, and threw the fist full of snow he had gathered in his hand. 

"What the f-"

The older boy staggered back, stunned, and threw a lazy hook, but Ulysses evaded easily. 

He twisted like an eel and body-slammed the already staggering Scott, knocking him backward and landing with both hands on his throat, slamming his head against the packed snow. 

The others pulled him off, throwing him roughly to the ground. 

And began to kick at him. 

"I'll kill you!"

He rolled away from the blows until Scott lunged at him. 

Stomping his head and raining kicks at him. 

Suddenly, the world was very painful and hurting, and Ulysses didn't know when he reached the edge of the ledge. 

"Wai—" one of the boys called out. 

But it was too late. The final kick from Scott sent Ulysses tumbling over the edge. 

Splurch! There was a wet crunch as Ulysses hit the sides of an enormous ditch, tumbling down. 

Rocks and dust and snow exploded around him as he bounced off ledges and sharp edges, his body twisting helplessly. 

'This isn't so bad.'

For a heartbeat, there was peace.

Then thud!

He hit something hard, and the world went dark.