Page 17 of The Order

He looks hesitant to answer the question. His blade strikes the dummy again, inflicting more damage than he had the first time.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for years. I don’t know if she regrets it,” Max finally says. The dummy is useless once his blade strikes it for the 8th time. I can see the confusion in his eyes. Whatever happened between them had left him with conflicting emotions.

“Take it from someone who lives with her, Forest is confusing.”

And stubborn.

“She wouldn't have done something unless she wanted it. Explore it. See what it means to her,” I admit after a moment. Max chuckles at the response, shaking his head to stop his spiral of thinking around the matter.

“You’re right. I’m overthinking it.”

A series of large grunts sound behind me, pausing mine and Max’s attacks on the dummies. A few transfers from the Unfortunate program hit the mats, rolling to avoid Untouchable blades from meeting their skin. They wear a thick layer of protective gear along their arms. Unlike Untouchables who get blades, the Unfortunates are used for a more realistic approach in contrast to the dummies. Dull blades swing toward the moving targets, only causing growing laughter each time one of the bottom feeders is shoved to the ground. Their backs hit the mats in waves as Untouchables tower over them with looks of pure malice. Max and I can hardly control our laughter at their pathetic attempts to one-up our classmates.

A brunette Unfortunate stands, readying his hand to deliver a clean blow to an Untouchable standing over his comrade. I sit back, watching the Officials on standby utilize their sensor prods to force the brunette back with pokes to the stomach that send the boy on his back in a painful frenzy. The prods are thin, charged with electricity that comes out of two points at its end. Non-deadly but extremely deregulating if touched with one. Not once has an Official allowed any Untouchable to be injured by the Unfortunates in any hand-to-hand combat courses, regardless of how often they’ve come close to getting a clean blow in on one of us.

Unfortunates have to use nonphysical contact if they want to avoid the prods.

“That bastard is already getting back up,” Max whispers.

The brunette pulls himself up, spitting on the mat while clutching his side. Unlike our more sophisticated lifestyle, the Unfortunates lead more demanding lives, dealing with livestock and manufacturing work that we do not want to pursue. They can frequently take hits better than us. Most people blame it on their back-breaking work, which attributes to thickly callused hands and physical fortitude.

“I wonder why they’ve already started working?” Max questions, observing the slight limp in the brunette’s walk. He’d told us he was injured at his lumber job in his sector.

“Many Unfortunates were taken outside New Haven’s borders during the Re-Establishment Act. A lot of those Unfortunates were parents. It left a lot of kids orphaned to keep the food supplies plentiful for us.”

“Surely some parents made it. There has to be something beyond the ash.”

“There is a reason I said 'were' parents. No one made it back. It's why they started classes like this one, even for them.” I clarify, feeling less eager to laugh at the sight of the boy back down on the mats.

“No use in crying for them now, Blackburn,” Max says, clapping my back with his hand, twirling his blade again.

A flash of blonde whips past my vision, rolling away from other's attacks toward her. Her shoulder hits the mat, forcing her body away from the blades. Her leg swipes Untouchable’s legs, causing them to hit the mat in thuds. Without touching any of them, she keeps them down, kicking their blades away from their grasp before shoving a dummy onto their fronts. They grunt, writhing furiously as they're pinned against the ground. Her booted foot weighs down on the dummy, only adding to their struggles to get away.

Officials watch with wide eyes, waiting for the moment she breaks regulation. It takes me a few solid blinks to realize she is an Unfortunate. Her blonde hair is wound into a tight braid. Even from this distance, I can see the smile creeping along her face at the sight of their struggles. With two taps, the Untouchables give up, making her step away as they force the dummy off of them. She doesn’t bother kicking their blades back into arm's reach. Instead, she steps on the hilts, even breaking one. Her brown eyes scan the room, waiting for someone to yell at her, no doubt.

“Valerie! On the wall for fifteen!” our teacher yells, dragging the blonde by the collar to the nearest wall with a gentle toss. She smiles, leaning into it with a roll of her eyes. The Untouchables that were once pinned under the practice dummy point their blades at her in a taunt she hardly acknowledges.

“Someone told me she and that brooding asshole from the tram are companions. They both transferred in together,” Max says.

She stands aggressively, only narrowing her eyes once she takes notice of my curious stare.

“Figures they'd be associated,” I say, driving my blade hard into the dummy, finally making a clean cut. Max nods in approval, observing the cut with admiration.

“Getting better, Kai,” Max starts, motioning an Unfortunate closer with impatient waves of his hand. “Want to try something a little more exciting?” Max questions, squeezing the shoulder of the oncoming Unfortunate who clearly wants nothing to do with us. I run my fingers over my blade, thinking of the Re-Establishment Act more than I’d like to.

“I still need to fix a few things in my blade,” I settle on saying.

He doesn't look disappointed. In fact, he seems empathetic.

“Next time then, Blackburn. Guess I can have you all to myself,” Max mutters, dragging the Unfortunate along with him.

The blade’s maintenance table rests on one of the walls closest to Valerie. I make my way over, resting my tattered blade on the wooden table, working quickly to fix its shaky hilt. Valerie watches me with crossed arms. She won't break eye contact no matter how many nasty glances I give her. She cocks her head at me, staring at my craftsmanship with watchful eyes.

“What?” I finally question, slamming down my blade out of frustration.

“You need to wrap your blade higher if you want to keep that hilt on,” Valerie says, staring forward like we are the type to engage in casual banter.

I look down at my binds around the blade, seeing the bunching around the base of the hilt.

---