The Compound

2010

Xander's eyes followed his ceiling fan around and around as his standard issued clock ticked to fifteen minutes till 2000. He pulled himself up from his bed, put on a pair of brown cargo pants and the jean jacket he had found, with the Spartan logo patched on to his arm. He followed the street down until he found a large, rectangular glass structure. Xander could see the other recruits milling about through the glass. He inhaled a lungful of air and then exhaled his worries. As he hastened to turn the knob, Xander sensed someone behind him. He turned and saw a beautiful girl waiting to enter the Mess Hall along with him.

"Hi..." she said through a smile. Xander had seen her before, looking through her window at his arrival. She lived in the white house next door. She had long red curls throughout her hair that sometimes fell over her piercing glacier blue eyes. She was naturally pale and had freckles dusted over her high cheek bones. She had small, sharp features and a constant natural blush upon her cheeks. The sight of her shot a tingle through Xander's arm from his elbow to his fingertips. It was as if the tourniquet had been released and blood began to circulate again through his body letting the warmth return to his extremities while his heart pulsated through his chest.

Red hair, blue eyes? I don't think I have ever seen that combination before.

Xander almost forgot to respond.

"Hi... I'm Xander," he couldn't help but to hold a smile on her.

"I'm Fiona," she said, gesturing bashfully to the door. Xander had completely forgotten to turn the knob, as he was still frozen on the sight of her. He shook his head, apologized and opened the door for her. She filtered through the Mess Hall, but Xander stopped upon entry to survey the room. Inside, two tables stood where he would be eating his meals. Lining the back wall was a set of pool tables, a few dart boards and a shuffle board.

Even the recreational games train my aim and dexterity.

As soon as Xander entered all eyes darted to him as the other recruits took their seats at the tables. Xander took the last remaining chair, trying to not be noticed, although his attempts were useless. He sat next to a brown-haired recruit doing a crossword puzzle from the day's newspaper. At first his head didn't pop up, his attention consumed by the puzzle. It wasn't until he finished a line or two that he noticed the new kid on the block beside him. He lifted up from the puzzle and popped the pen behind his ear. He had a wild smile that showed while he introduced himself.

"Hey, I'm Ezra, Ezra Gonet. Who are you?" he spoke in a loud whisper.

"Xander" Ezra had a slight, lanky quality to him that was diminished by his bulging chest, inflated by his erect posture. Deep bags under his eyes made it look like he needed sleep.

"That's an odd name." Ezra perked up towards him.

"I guess. But it's not like Ezra is your everyday name either," Xander quipped.

"Actually it is my name every day." They both laughed. Ezra seemed comfortable and social, even though Xander could tell his focus was continually diverted to the crossword puzzle in his lap.

"Do you like crossword puzzles?" Xander asked, trying to strike conversation.

"Yep... I love puzzles, codes, anagrams, whatever. I think that's why they selected me for the program."

Xander's eyes searched the room and he caught on to a nearby conversation.

"Seamus, I've been waiting for this my whole life." A female voice sounded behind him. Xander turned to see a girl with blonde hair tied back into a loose pony tail. Her facial features were all straight and narrow, aimed ahead of her. She had a steady and direct demeanor. She was physically developed – her muscles had a toned definition to them.

"Ashton... I'm not doubting ya, but we have no bloody idea what to expect," Seamus responded. Xander inventoried the names in an effort to catch up on the social circles among the recruits.

Okay, the blonde's name is Ashton. And this is Seamus.

Seamus spoke in a slight Irish accent which was often difficult to understand as he chomped down on an imaginary wad of gum in the corner of his mouth. He had fair skin, a sallow face and long, strawberry blond hair that flipped at the shoulders. Xander noticed a smudge stain of ash on his fingertips, as if he had had a firecracker accident. Xander remembered the flashing light through the Armory windows and now concluded its source.

"Hey it's the new guy!" Seamus nodded toward Xander, bringing a smile to his face.

"Hi, I'm Xander." Seamus offered a hand which Xander shook across the table. Another hand extended – this one soft and dark. Xander shook the hand and found its owner's eyes.

"Julia Patterson, my friends call me Jooles," she spoke in breathy, soft tones, somehow only talking as loud as she needed to for Xander to hear her. She had stood up and introduced herself so calmly and passively that Xander had to immediately remind himself of her name, before he forgot it.

Just then the doors flung open. The recruits stood to attention. Ezra nudged Xander to follow his lead. Hardy and three others marched into the Mess Hall and positioned themselves at the podium.

"Good Evening, Spartans," Hardy announced.

"Good Evening, Colonel Hardy!" There was a strong unison in their response.

"At ease... take a seat..." Everyone settled back down into their seats.

Hardy placed his notes down on the podium but before starting his speech he took a long, slow look over the Spartans before him as if sizing up each one of them. His scrutinizing look left Xander uneasy. He appeared to be a different man than the one who had recruited him. He was more direct and professional – Xander realized he was now just another recruit.

"In ancient Greece there was a civilization like none the world had ever seen. This place was Sparta. Sparta was a military state that trained their youth in the ways of combat. By doing so, Sparta had the most able-bodied military in all of the Mediterranean. We need to breed a new type of soldier. Our enemies have grown accustom to our offensive tactics and we need a new weapon. The United States government has helped finance Project Sparta and you all are its operatives. We are contractors, dedicated to serving the best interest of this country. As contractors we will surely be doing a lot of the dirty work on behalf of the American government but at an arm's length, so they can claim ignorance of our activities if you get caught. Bureaucrats like plausible deniability, spies like freedom. So we brokered a deal," Hardy put plainly.

"We have been scouting each of you through your boarding schools for the last four years and have decided that you are most primed for this program. I can assure you that each one of you are here for a specific reason... If you do not know what that is yet, I am sure you will learn what it is."

Hardy consulted his notes. The room remained silent as he gathered his next point of presentation.

"We will train you in three key areas of modern spy craft: combat, intelligence and espionage. By the time your nine months is finished you will be the best weapons of the United States government. Nine months is a long time so make yourselves at home. You are not allowed outside these walls until summer, although some training battles will be in the field. Then you will be dispatched and await contact for your active service assignment. Within these walls, you have no family, you have no friends, only your fellow comrades and your instructors. You will attend classes every day and you will be on time and attentive. Once the battle season starts you will have a tactical training battle every Sunday. These battles are training exercises that will employ what you have been taught throughout the week. You will receive a score based on how many operatives you 'tag'. You will have specialized firearms and a wide range of other custom weapons to 'tag' each other with. We can't actually let you kill each other because that would cost the tax payer a little too much." No one laughed at the joke about the possibility of their own death.

"You will learn more about these battles when the season begins. There is one important thing to cover – what is our Project's Credo?"

The recruits bellowed out in unison.

"I am a Spartan. I am a Spartan who does not exist. I am a Spartan who safeguards our country from enemies both foreign and domestic. I am a Spartan who preserves the virtuous state through true Justice. I am a Spartan for life, death is the only discharge. I am a Spartan who fights for the Common Good of all. I am a Spartan and nothing is as it seems."

Nothing is as it seems? That's what Hardy had said in the car...

"That is right. We live those words, here, in Project Sparta." Then Hardy's eyes turned and settled on Xander.

"If you have not already noticed our last recruit has arrived. Please, stand and introduce yourself. Tell the team where you're from."

Xander nodded, nervously and found his feet.

"My name... is... Xander Whitt" he paused, showing obvious discomfort, "I don't really know where I'm from to be honest." He shrank back into his seat and immediately stared at the floor between his shoes, refraining from making eye contact. A snicker sounded from the other table.

Xander was an enigma to himself. He never felt comfortable with who he was and never knew where he came from.

"We are pleased to have you Xander," Hardy assured before returning to the agenda. "And here are your instructors. Hardy stepped away from the podium and motioned a very large man's approach. He took the podium and introduced himself to the recruits.

"I am your instructor in combat and tactical operations, Captain James Axle." Axle had a bald head and a goatee. His muscles covered his whole arm, leaving no area uncarved, as well as two large muscular mounds between his shoulders and his neck. An assault rifle hung from his back.

"Why are you here?!" his voice rasped as a drill sergeant from years of barking orders.

The Spartans consulted each other with puzzled expressions.

"To learn how to fight?" The most built recruit among them spoke up with the logical answer. His voice boomed as the only bass among the choir.

"No Bronson!" Axle addressed the recruit that answered. "You are here to become soldiers! Soldiers do not fight, they defend. Always remember that. Whether it's yourself, your family or, in your case, your country, weapons are a defensive apparatus. Now, what is this?" He slung a semi-automatic rifle, hanging across his back to his front side. Some of the Spartans leaned back in fear because they had never seen a weapon so big before in real life.

A nervous hand raised in the air.

"You... what's your name?" Axle called on the only recruit willing to try.

"T...T...T...Tobias Ga...Ga...Greene," stuttered the smallest recruit in the room. Tobias's tenuous physique remained limp and weak, while his brain served as the weapon. His head was overgrown and made him top heavy. As a result, he was clumsily and not well coordinated. He had large thin glasses that slid down the steep bridge of his nose and consistently needed to be pushed back up. His nasally voice stuttered unless he recited a fact or explained a math problem.

"Okay Tobias, what is this?" he repeated the question.

"Yes, um... that is the M-16. The average M-16 muzzle velocity is 3,110 ft/s. That's about 948 meters per second. The standard M-16 shoots a 5.56mm caliber round, unless of course there are modifications to the rifle." Tobias answered, smoothly. Axle's eyebrows shot up as if a grenade had just exploded in his brain.

"Very good," he said careful not to give him too much credit, although, he was clearly impressed with Tobias's intelligence.

"Good. What about this one?" Axle pulled a side arm quickly from his holster and aimed it straight at Tobias right between his eyes. Tobias immediately began shaking. He had never had a gun pointed directly at him. Axle cocked his head from behind the barrel. "What is it!?" he asked as if he would shoot Tobias if he had answered it wrong. Xander's eyes darted to Hardy who stayed put and watched on with no objection.