Hazing
1602 Words
Inside the dormitory.
Julian narrowed his eyes at Dominic and the others, his response short and direct. “I heard you loud and clear. But it’s not my job—I can’t do it.”
“What, you got some big-shot relative in the department?” Dominic grinned, reaching out and grabbing Julian’s collar. “Just got here and already trying to throw your weight around? Think you’re tough?”
“Don’t touch me.”
“Heh, what are you—a damn cactus?” Dominic was built solid too. He raised his right arm and drove a short, vicious punch toward Julian’s temple.
Julian sidestepped back, hands snapping up to clamp Dominic’s wrist. His right leg swept low in a quick arc.
Thud—crash!
A heavy impact echoed through the room. Dominic flew backward onto the lower bunk, his head slamming hard against the metal railing.
“Beat his ass!”
Dominic clutched his skull and roared.
Julian leaned in low, left hand yanking Dominic’s collar, right knee snapping up—aiming straight for the temple.
Thump!
Dominic’s head jerked back, the rear of his skull cracking against the wall.
“Kill him. If anything happens, it’s on me.”
The words were barely out before the others charged.
Julian slipped out from under the bunk with agile speed, retreating two steps until his waist pressed into the dead corner between the window and the bed frame. He crouched slightly, body coiled.
Dominic staggered up, snatched a collapsible baton from the wall, and advanced, muttering curses under his breath. “Little bastard thinks he can flip the house the second he walks in…”
The half-open door swung wide.
A woman in a pale green uniform barked at the top of her lungs. “What the hell is going on?!”
Everyone spun around.
Dominic froze, wiped blood from his forehead, and forced a smile. “Clara.”
“I could hear you animals from the hallway. You trying to kill somebody?” The woman—Clara Ashford—looked about thirty, on the shorter side, but striking: oval face, big eyes, almost delicate in a way that stood out in this world.
“Nothing serious. Just chatting with the new kid,” Dominic said through gritted teeth.
Clara scanned the wrecked room, her expression turning sour as she glared at Dominic. “Why do you always have to throw your weight around? Kid’s been here five minutes and you’re already on him?”
“No big deal. I asked him to take a shift—he refused and started mouthing off.” Dominic lowered the baton, still grinning.
“How many times have I caught you gambling on duty?” Clara shot back, irritation clear. “Make noise again and it goes in the report.”
“Got it, Clara,” Dominic said quickly, nodding.
Clara didn’t bother stepping inside. She stayed in the doorway and called to Julian. “You the new guy?”
“Yeah,” Julian replied.
“Why haven’t you picked up your uniform yet?”
“I went earlier. Nobody there,” Julian said, playing dumb.
Clara rolled her eyes. “Bullshit. I’ve been in the office all day.”
Julian blinked. “Oh. Must’ve missed it.”
“Come with me.” She turned on her heel.
“Yes, ma’am.” Julian grabbed his bag and headed out, calling over his shoulder to Sebastian. “Come with?”
Sebastian, still unsure how to face Dominic, jumped at the chance and followed.
Back in the room, Dominic sat up, rubbing the growing lump on the back of his head. He spat a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “That bastard knows a few moves. Hits dirty.”
“You okay, man?”
Dominic didn’t answer. He pulled out his phone and dialed. “Hey, you in the office? …Nah, just asking—about the new guy assigned to our team today, Julian Ashcroft. He got any pull upstairs? …Nothing? You sure? Alright, got it.”
…
In the hallway.
Clara walked with her hands behind her back. “You got someone watching your back up top?”
Julian hesitated. “No.”
“Then keep your head down. This place is complicated.” Her tone was cold, but there was concern underneath. “Don’t butt heads with them. Extra work won’t kill you.”
“Thanks, Clara,” Julian said with a nod.
She didn’t reply, just led him to the first-floor storage room, picked out a standard duty uniform, a training uniform, handcuffs, and a baton, then left without another word.
In the ground-floor lobby, Sebastian glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to drop off some files. Can’t stick around. Go back, say something soft—don’t push it with them. Dominic’s got Captain Yuan behind him. You piss him off, it won’t end well.”
Julian smiled. “Got it. If you’re free tonight, let’s grab dinner.”
“Yeah, I’ll swing by if I can,” Sebastian agreed easily.
After a quick exchange, Julian headed back to the dorm with his gear. Dominic and his crew were gone. Only two guys remained; they gave Julian a cold look, then went back to talking on their bunks.
Julian ignored them, walked straight to his bed, and started unpacking with deliberate efficiency.
…
Around seven p.m., Julian finished settling in. Sebastian still hadn’t shown, so he decided to head out alone—scout the area, grab some food.
He swung down from the upper bunk, pulled a fanny pack from under his pillow, strapped it on, and headed for the door.
“Whoops—sorry.”
He nearly collided with Sebastian rushing in. They both paused.
Sebastian explained quickly, “Emergency meeting. Ran late. You heading…?”
“Thought you bailed. Was gonna scout and eat,” Julian said with a grin. “Come on—let’s go together.”
“I’ve got one more friend joining. We’re talking some business. Cool if he comes?”
“Sure,” Julian said. “No problem.”
“Great.”
They headed downstairs and met the third guy in the lobby.
Sebastian’s friend was Victor Hawthorne—nickname “Old Cat.” According to department old-timers, he had some connection to Chief Vaughn, but the two rarely interacted, so nobody knew the details. Victor was unpredictable. His most infamous stunt: dead drunk on duty, openly soliciting prostitutes—held an audition right on post—and got caught by internal affairs. He walked away with a reprimand and two weeks’ suspension. The two colleagues who’d ratted him out got canned.
Despite the backwoods nickname, Victor was genuinely good-looking—smirking bad-boy charm, the kind that reminded people of a young Justin Bieber, all sharp features and lazy confidence.
Sebastian made quick introductions. “This is Old Cat—looks out for me. This is Julian Ashcroft, new guy on our team.”
“Heard you tangled with Dominic already?” Victor asked, one hand in his pocket, a sly grin on his face. “Got some fire in you, huh?”
“Nothing major. Just words,” Julian said vaguely, sizing up Victor’s blunt style.
“I can’t stand those pricks either. Do the job and shut up,” Victor muttered. “Whole team’s full of dead weight doing jack shit.”
Julian almost laughed, glancing at Sebastian, who scratched his head. “Old Cat’s just straight like that.”
“Where we eating?” Victor asked.
“I’m new—don’t know the spots,” Julian said. “You guys pick.”
“Who’s paying?” Victor’s eyes glinted playfully.
“My treat,” Julian chuckled.
“Sweet.” Victor waved grandly. “Second Sister’s place, then.”
“That’s pricey,” Sebastian warned.
“You footing the bill?” Victor shot back.
“It’s fine,” Julian said, though his wallet ached at the thought. In this era, fresh vegetables and grains were luxuries—most land was frozen wasteland or radiated dead zone. People in the Unplanned Zone killed for scraps. Eating out was a once-a-year event for the poor. But Julian knew the game: new in town, stable job—he needed allies. Some costs were unavoidable.
They settled on the spot and walked about two kilometers down the road to a place called The Little Tavern.
Julian eyed the modest storefront from the curb, hand unconsciously brushing his fanny pack. Another silent pang of regret.
“Let’s go,” Victor said, starting up the steps.
Vroom!
A roaring engine shattered the quiet. An old off-road truck—gas-powered—pulled up right in front.
The three turned.
Victor’s eyes widened. “What kind of money drives a gas rig these days?”
Gas vehicles were rare relics. Most land was uninhabitable—frozen, poisoned, empty. Oil was scarcer than food.
Four men and one woman climbed out and headed for the entrance.
Julian had seen plenty in the Zone; he gave the truck a brief look and started inside.
Victor stayed planted, staring at the girl in the middle. “Damn. Gorgeous.”
Julian glanced back at the hungry glint in Victor’s eyes and shook his head. “Come on. She’s with them.”
The girl blinked big, pretty eyes, scanned the street, then said quietly, “I need the bathroom.”
“Don’t try anything—just walk,” a short, middle-aged man snapped in stiff, Japanese-accented English.
Buzz-buzz.
Sebastian’s phone vibrated. He checked the message, then looked at Julian walking ahead—his expression suddenly complicated.
- Writer
