The Cracks Form or Home Boy For Life or OCTAVIAN!

Planet Tarsonis, one year later...place? Confederate ??? Academy. Caesar stood with his knuckles palmed against the ground and his feet high within the air. In front of him was the dull cement floor, and a datapad replaying the latest NGS lecture.

'1...,' Caesar thought. He paused, keeping his arms bent and face inches from the floor. In the background, he could hear kids crying and the guards whipping them for it. "LEAVE THEM ALONE!!" Cried, Clark. He could hear the pain in his voice, the tears in his eyes.

"ShUt-UUuppp! You're making it worse!" Some girl cried. "Why couldn't you be like Caesar!" She continued. Her voice echoed across the room. Her words caused a few kids to glance at Caesar's cell.

"SHUT UP! WHAT DO YOU KNOW! HE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT YOU!" Chimed another…It was Bryce.

His words caused a guard to laugh out. "No unapproved communication, remember?" A few others grinned beneath their visors as they moved towards Bryce's and Clark's cell. Their whips? Drawn, and guns ready.

Laughter and shouting echoed throughout the room. More and more eyes darted towards his cell. '2…' Thought Caesar, disregarding everything.

The guard's laughter picked up. Their voices now rang across the PA system. One moved, opening Caesar's cell for all to see. '3…' The kids watched as he continued, disinterested in the sounds behind him.

They looked to the guard, who opened Caesar's cell to point and laugh. "See! You were right brat! Octavian doesn't care about the lot of you. Isn't that right, OCT-AV-IAN?! OCTAVIAN! OCTAVIAN! OCT-AV-IANNNNN! Ah, why aren't you saying anything? I heard you hated when people call you OC-TA-VA-IAN! Why is that...Octavian?" The guard's voice was laced with ridicule and disdain.

The kids eyed Caesar, who continued onwards with but one thought in mind. 'Show no emotion, show no emotion, show no emotion.' She expected Caesar to lose his cool and threaten her life. Yet to her and everyone's surprise, Caesar continued his handstand pushups. With one singular thought in mind. 'Show no emotion, show no emotion, show no emotion...'

This thought permeated around the massive room, entering the mind of every psionic within and boarding.

The cloaked ghosts members and the recruits alike, said nothing while they studied him. Wondering if he would last.

Beneath her visor, the female guard grits her teeth as she primed her whip and then continued her tirade. "Octavian, I heard Harold Connington gave you that name because you were his eighth experiment. I heard experiments zero through seven died one by one...by one. Leaving poor little eight alone."

Her words caused Caesar to stop. For the briefest moments, all the psionics could feel an intense wave of anger and grief wash over them.

Yet it was all the opportunity one recruit needed.

"HE THOUGHT EMOTION! HE THOUGHT EMOTION!" A recruit yelled at the top of their lungs. This recruit was the girl Clark had just tried to help. She grabbed onto a guard's leg, kicking and screaming. "He's feeling emotion, you've gotta believe me! P-p-please." Cried the girl. Staring deep into the guard's piano black visor as the recruits gasped in shock at what she'd done.

The female guard used this opportunity to whip Caesar twice. However, stopped when he showed no visible reaction. The guard thought back to Kalen and his beatings. She glanced to Sarah and Rishul's closed cells before looking to Clark's open one. Her eyes widened as she whispered. "Octavian wasn't the only one."

To her surprise, Clark's quickly stopped. And with it, the beating. He glanced over to the female recruit, utterly heartbroken by what the girl had done. The girl glanced back, her tear-stained eyes and slightly marred face. Locked in onto his perfectly normal one. "Why aren't you beating them? There still feeling emotion! I can feel it all, sense it! Please believe me."

The guard looked down, beneath his mask was a smile. As he stared at the girl and her open file on his visor. "You can't sense shit. We know you're psionic grade is only a 6, but we'll humor you. MEN!!!"

More and more guards came flooding into the room with pistols and whips in hand. The kid's cells swung open and the screaming started. Caesar watched as the female guard strolled into his cell with her whip raised high into the air.

She swung once, causing him to flinch. Then again and again, and again, and again, and again. After the seventh swing, she stopped so scientists could study his reaction via her visor's live feed. His eyes never leaving her black visor until an alarm sounded, signaling training time.

The guards stepped to the side, allowing the kids to exit their cells. Their visors zoomed-in, watching them for the slightest bit of anger, rage, sadness, and hope. They led the kids out of the room and through a corridor that led down to another section of floor B.

Surrounding them was a massive circular gun range with B.1 painted all over its steel-reinforced walls. Half of the guards stepped out while the other moved into the center of the room. The kids watched as they raised their arms to salute a balding old male with two mutton chop sideburns. Within his hands was an old-world SMG, primed and ready to fire.

The guards lowered their hands before raising their guns at the kids. They watched as the old man nodded approvingly before glancing at them in absolute hatred and disgust. "Ma name is Lieutenant Rumm. That's Lieutenant Rumm, but you may call me Masta Rumm. Not teacha, not commanda, not lord, but Masta. For I am your Masta and this. You disgusting pile of mutated human filth is the first day of your gun training.

Now. Let me make myself clear. I do not like your tainted lot and will not hesitate to put a bullet in your skull. And if that gun is pointed at me for even a moment, you will be shot.

In two minutes you will pair up at a range but you are not to make contact whatsoever! At the range, you will see one disabled pistol, one box of ammo, and a poster showing you how to assemble, load, fire, then disassemble a gun. You are to follow these steps before stepping to the side where your partner will do the same.

Now that I am finished. Your targets may rise, and you are dismissed."

When Rumm finished his last words, the targets rose from beyond the firing range. These targets were chained homeless men, women, and children.

"Don't worry you disgusting pathetic freaks. Their families have been paid. So you can start killing," said Rumm. His voice rang within their ears, the guard's whips rang against their flesh.

The kids had just shown emotion. Not sadness, fear, or pity. After years of Kalen's brutality, they had already become numb to killing. So using guns was no different. But Rumm's insults and scratchy old southern voice were quickly getting on their nerves.

And it was only day one.