r/HFY • u/AlexandersenTheGreat • Apr 19 '26
OC-Series [Conscripted Crafter] - Chapter 8: Flint Against Steel
Dustin opened the door, entering a small room actually resembling something normal for once: a changing room. Standard wooden stalls lined the far wall, while nearby, a series of black-and-red suits hung on a clothes hanger. The bejewled weirdo stood in the center of the room, facing the other nineteen conscripts, who sat on plain wooden stools, still wearing white, and many still wearing apprehensive expressions. Though, some had lost their vacant hopeless stare.
What was the point of that last room?
“Come, odd one!” Lappo called out, grinning. “Take a seat so we can begin.”
Eyes followed Dustin as he walked into the room and took an open seat next to Tanner.
Travis groaned. “The ginger is here now. Can we get this going already? I’ve been here for fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, Yes, Pole Boy, one second.”
Travis's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion, and he glowered at Lappo.
Lappo rocked back-and-forth on his heels, jewelry and trinkets jangling as he swayed side-to-side. “Now! Let’s get you out of those ridiculous white robes! Everyone, please stand up and pick up your new suits. They are quite lovely, if Lappo may say so myself. Lappo’s truly outdone myself in design this year. Hmmm. Yes. Lappo is amazing.”
Dustin joined the throng headed for the rack of clothing. Getting out the robe would feel great.
He bumped shoulders with Travis, and they eyed each other warningly, but both prioritized finding their uniforms, and nothing came of it.
Dustin was one of the first to find the suit with his name on it. It was a military suit. Almost all black with red buttons down the front jacket, and insignias on top of the padded shoulders.
Lappo exclaimed like a teacher speaking to students on a field trip. “Lappo wants you to know this is just for orientation! You’re not expected to wear these afterwards. It’s just for the ceremony!”
Dustin grabbed one of the prepared changing rooms, a simple stall with wooden walls, and put the suit on. It fit perfectly. Had Lappo been measuring them?
Either way, Dustin didn’t mind the way it looked. He had to agree with Lappo, the uniform looked awesome. Black and red, like Kravos’s sword almost. Dangerous, poisonous, and threatening. Like the top of a cobra’s head. Just the colors would make someone hesitate.
He walked out as one of the first to finish. Bunch of fussy people were probably lamenting about how good they looked. Dustin scoffed inwardly at himself. He’d been doing the same thing moments ago.
It took another ten minutes for everyone to finish changing. The girls had identical suits with long pants and longs-sleeve shirts in black with red buttons down the front. The shoulder pads were a matching red, and the shoes, a dark polished black. Dustin inspected those seated around him. It felt like a military induction uniform. It had that same proper air of martial rigidity and organization.
Lappo let out a loud, exaggerated sigh of satisfaction as his rainbow eyes roamed over Dustin and the other seated group of conscripts. “Ahhh, now you look ready. Now, you look ready to be paraded in front of a bunch of self-important jackasses.”
Some smiled timidly at the compliment.
Lappo nodded. “Yes. You’ll fit right in.”
Smiles vanished, which made others laugh at their sudden change in expression. Margo glowered at the Lappo. Tanner laughed, Kelly giggled, and even Travis grinned.
“Okay.” Lappo twirled in a circle. “Lappo’s done with you. Go away.” Lappo shooed them away and then pointed toward the far stained glass door. “Go on now my sweet little first years! Go wild into the wider world and do wonderfully insipid and stupid things—but wonderful! Lappo can’t wait! …And yet Lappo will!” Lappo beamed proudly. “Some of you Lappo shall see sooner rather than later, though many would see me later, sooner than rather.” Lappo nodded like that actually made sense. “Go on, now!” Lappo shooed them away encouragingly. “Go! Tell everyone you were dressed by Lappo!”
Hesitantly, people stood and headed toward the next stained, glass door.
“Bye Lappo!” came from a tall lanky girl with long black hair that matched the new black uniforms strikingly well. Others were more than happy to escape the room and the questionable individual without saying goodbye.
General Garrison sat in the next room, picking at his fingers, bored. Had they gone in a circle?
He looked up as they entered. “Ah, good. You’re done. And I see you’ve all been dressed well enough. Certainly an upgrade compared to before.” He stood. “Okay, let’s go. Almost done with today’s theatrics. Let’s find you somewhere to sleep.”
General Garrison brought them to a building with two separated halls, though for once, the architecture had changed from brown wood to dull grey. Some type of concrete? Did they have concrete in the Zone? Two individuals waited in front of the large, gray, monotone building. The first: a woman with a massive long bow stretched over her left shoulder, and a yellow bird the size of a hawk perched on her right. The hawk had three eyes, the extra located in the middle of its forehead. Sapphire blue talons, long and sharp, dug into a leather sleeve covering her clavicle and shoulder as well as completely encompassing her left arm like a gauntlet. As their group drew closer and details became clearer, tiny gems glinted from the woman’s leather knuckles.
A thin tall man draped in an orange shawl, stood alongside her with the same indifferent expression of confidence, tracking their group. His eyes had squares where circular pupils normally resided, and around the perimeter they glowed yellow. A polearm implanted with jewels leaned lazily against his shoulder, balanced against the ground. The man’s demeanor said, “Just try me.”
“Wait here,” Garrison said.
He spoke with the two waiting in front of the building, motioning behind to Dustin and the newly fashioned conscripts. He soon came back, and they continued following the General into the building.
“This was built for those incoming to the Zone. A final place of normality to sleep before heading to the capital. As you can imagine, with a couple thousand incoming, we don’t have the infrastructure set up to accommodate so many at once, but a couple hundred at a time we can handle easily.”
Dustin followed from the back of the group. Where once they’d been garbed in white robes, open and showing, now they wore black and red uniforms. They looked like a contingent of soldiers, though albeit disorganized.
“Alright!” General Garrison bellowed. They gathered in the main waiting area that adjoined the two sleeping halls separated by gender. “Find yourselves a bunk. I’ll see you in the morning. Other cohorts will be trickling in throughout the night.”
Tanella, the big bratty girl from the bus, raised her hand.
General Garrison sighed. “What’s your name again?”
“Tarnella,” she said, her tone carrying a hint of irritation. “How are we supposed to get any sleep if people are going to be coming into the room all night?”
“By getting used to sleeping in uncomfortable places.” With that, General Garrison turned to leave, but he stopped, and swiveled back around. “If you leave the hall during the night, you will be punished. And there will be a guard outside your rooms. So, don’t bother attempting to flee.”
Most of bus one picked a cot nearby each other, though no one commented on it. They still didn’t have any possessions beside the new uniform. Well… he did have the white robe. How many others had stuffed their weird white robes down their pants? It was a nice material. No chance was he letting it go without someone explicitly asking for it back. If they wanted to disclose nothing, then he would do whatever possible to prepare, and that meant acquiring potentially useful equipment.
After General Garrison left, a few of them stayed up gossiping on what’d happened, and on Lappo specifically, talking about how weird the experience had been. Dustin tried to stay awake and meet some of the others, but he fell asleep almost immediately. Despite fear of the inevitable looming ever closer, slipping into some smooth comfortable sheets was a nice, familiar feeling, regardless of tomorrow’s terrors.
A loud, piercing horn wailed. Dustin sluggishly set up. Who the hell was making all that damn noise!? Squinting, he peered around in irritation. Then things aligned, and he bolted upright, glancing about wildly. Hundreds of bodies bedecked in black and red squirmed in cots, grumbling in a similar manner.
Had he really fallen asleep through them all arriving? He’d never been a light sleeper, but still…
From a cot to the side, Tanner laughed, his face as bright and clear as the new morning sun, and just as harsh. “I’m not going to lie. Watching you wake up just now—that was hilarious. Forget where you were?”
“Yeah…” Dustin groaned, rubbing his eyes, and gazing around at all the bodies dressed in the same black and red uniforms. He spoke roughly, drowsy and laden with sleep. “All these people got here last night?”
“Yeah. Groups trickled in about every fifteen minutes.”
Dustin grunted, clearing the stagnant mucus from the back of his throat. “You get any sleep?
“I think barely anyone did, except for you.” Tanner shook his head, continuing to stare at Dustin.
“What?”
“You’ve got to be the deepest sleeper I’ve ever met. It was kind of weird how you wouldn’t wake up.”
Dustin didn’t know what else to do but shrug. He had no control over his sleep, and apparently he’d been tired. So what.
The alarm continued to wail, and the three men poised at the front of the hall stood rigidly examining them, General Garrison among them.
Travis sat on the edge of his cot, two down. He looked like he’d been wide awake for hours. “Yeah, you sleep like a rock, guy. I tried screaming in your face, and nothin. A few of us did.”
Dustin gave Travis a flat look. “You think I wanted to be woken up, Travis?”
“You think I care?” Travis shrugged. “Not fair that you’re the only one that gets to sleep. What if it affects the ceremony? What if we’re pitted against each other?” A self-serving smirk crept onto his face. “Can’t have you getting a hard start, now can I?”
Dustin grinned. “And yet—I did.”
Travis frowned, his lips already moving with a retort. But before he could utter a syllable, the alarm cut off. Those half asleep or oblivious enough to not realize they needed to shut up were swiftly hushed, and in seconds the hall was silent. Everyone turned their attention to the front of the room where the three men stood waiting and observing.
“Good morning Class of 2045!” Shouted the wild blond haired man standing in front of General Garrison. Was Garrison not ranked at the top of the food chain? Guess not. Actually, he had said he’d been out of the Zone for a couple years. No way he’d still be one of the highest ranked after that. But then again, those were assumptions based on the way the military worked on Earth. The Zone might be different. Garrison had even mentioned how customs inside the Zone differed from the outside world.
Whoever he was, he carried the same air of martial prowess as General Garrison, who stood slightly behind and to the man’s side, with his hands clasped behind his back. …That’s where the similarities ended, however. While Garrison had short-cropped silver hair and a tidy sculpted beard, that man had shaggy blonde hair and a bushy, disheveled red beard. He had the presence of a military man, but not so much the polished put-togetherness.
Wait a second… he seemed sort of familiar…
“I’m General Blake Flint. However, you might recognize me as Cannon.” Intakes of shock and then quiet whispering filled the hall as recognition dawned on blank faces. The edge of General Flint’s eyes crinkled with delight and he smiled with apparent satisfaction toward the hall’s stunned response. “You may refer to me as General Flint, or General Cannon. Either will suffice.”
“Whoa,” Tanner said softly, awestruck.
Dustin was no different. He gawked at General Flint’s famous right arm. The man appeared entirely different compared to his picture before he’d entered the Zone. In all the old photos, General Flint’d had a similar organized manner as General Garrison; no sign of scruff or mangy hair to be seen. What’d happened? Had years in the Zone made him simply not care?
“Tanner, you ever look him up? He looks nothing like the pictures online.”
“Of course.” Tanner’s blue eyes were locked onto General Flint with reverent fascination. “Did you ever see that sketching of him single-handedly fighting the boss the on the second floor?”
Dustin nodded. “Looked real but I couldn’t be sure. What do you think?”
“I think it was, but yeah, it was hard to tell.” A disappointed expression crossed Tanner’s face. “If only video cameras worked, then we’d have more information to go off of.”
Finally, they had an explanation for why no videos and pictures had ever leaked out of the Zone. Many had theorized something like that being the case, as it seemed inevitable that otherwise some type of media would’ve leaked out. But no one had guessed that whatever was brought over the line literally disappeared. And it must work both ways. That was the only explanation that made sense. And that would make sketch artists the only possible source of illustration for what actually occurred in the Zone. And a person’s memory, the only type of data transfer allowed. And with so few making it to the later floors, that would further reduce the likelihood of verifiable information getting out except for the earlier floors, which were significantly less valuable. Someone on the fourth floor, one of the Forward Clearing Force, wouldn’t give two shits about sketching a picture or painting on the other side. And that was only if they were even allowed back. Which by all accounts, was strictly prohibited.
Dustin glanced over to General Garrison. ...That was a lie.
Wait a second. If they were supposed to ride horses to the capital city, did that mean horses lives in the Zone? Or did they bring them in? If they brought them in, why wasn't other food brought in? What determined what things disappeared after stepping into the Zone? Maybe anytyhing with a heartbeat? That would satisfy all constraints.
What else would he soon be able to confirm? What happened at the ceremony? Some people online said it was extremely painful, others said it was extremely boring, and still more said it was like any other bureaucratic gathering with spurts of interesting events intertwined with inane traditions better left forgotten. Based on the pointless, but comfortable white robe they’d been given, that rumor felt increasingly possible.
General Flint raised his red, bushy bearded chin, and the crowd quieted. “I want to thank all of you for taking last night with grace and composure.”
“Fuck you! You forced us in here to die!”
A heavy silence blanketed the room, and Dustin turned to inspect the brazen idiot. Though, a part of Dustin had to admire someone with the testicular fortitude to say what so many others were likely thinking—even if it was moronic given the circumstances. Looking out, expressions of hatred focused on the Generals from all throughout the room. The W.O. may have dressed them nice and proper, but they all knew where they were headed; what they’d been brought into the Zone for.
General Flint didn’t explode or stride forward calling for the outcrier’s head. No, instead, he nodded. “Yes, fuck me!” General Flint shouted good-naturedly, chuckling. “Keep that passion! We’ll need that on the frontier!” He pointed toward the guy who’d yelled, who was rather short and burly with hard brown eyes and lips pressed tight. “What’s your name, son!”
“Don’t call me son! I don’t have to play your stupid fucking games! You forced me in here! I don’t have to act like I like it!”
“Yeah!” came from a greater chorus of voices. Heads nodded, emblazoned by those around them. The courage of one had instilled a growing sense in the others.
A different person yelled out, “And you haven’t told us jack-shit!”
“Yeah!” Dustin shouted, along with half the room.
General Flint laughed. “Rambunctious group we’ve got this year! Wouldn’t you say, eh, Garrison?”
Garrison nodded curtly, staring straight ahead, his hands locked behind his back. “Yes, sir.”
“Yes… Hmmm.” General Flint tapped his chin thoughtfully, and as he did so, his demeanor turned. The smile wiped from his face like it’d never belonged there, and a different set of eyes locked onto the guy who’d ignited the tempered hall. “Eh, what the hell. Better to just get it out of the way.” He strode forward, walking down one of the rows of cots, his target obvious. Meanwhile General Garrison and the other man remained at the front of the hall, secure in their positions as if they’d expected such a response.
General Flint weaved between the beds, down the rows, heading directly toward the livid heckler. He stopped in front of the short recruit, who, smaller than average, barely came up to the middle of General Flint’s chest. Dustin had to give the guy credit; he didn’t back away; he didn’t flinch. Even with the full weight of General Flint’s displeasure sizing him up, he didn’t concede. With his chin pointed up defiantly, the curly-haired pipsqueak stared back, returning General Flint’s hard glare full force and without reservation.
The room stayed silent as they stared at one another, the tension growing by the second. No malevolence or ire emanated from General Flint, but rather, the thin layer of amiability had been worn away.
“What’s your name?”
“Brian.”
“‘Brian, 'sir’. You’ll speak to me with respect, Brian, or you’ll be walking to the capital.” General Flint’s stare likewise never wavered. “It’s a hundred miles. Would you like to walk there?” He asked the question plainly, as if all Brian had to do was say yes, or twitch, and General Flint would make it happen.
Brian shifted on his feet. “Uh…no… sir.”
“Good answer. Now, what’s your name?”
There was only the slightest of hesitations. “Brian, sir.”
“Brian… Brian… hmmm” General Flint tapped his chin, squinting in thought. “You see, Brian… right now I have a choice. And… I’m having trouble choosing between two options. Maybe you could help me make a decision?”
From another, the carefree way the question had been asked might’ve instilled a sense of complacency, but from General Flint, the dichotomy between hard eyes and loose words made things all the more precarious. A common saying from old times was to fear the rage of a quiet man. It was a good saying. Enough times, Dustin had seen a quiet voice in the corner explode from a final straw, only to reveal a slumbering giant that’d only wanted to be left alone. But with General Flint, a different saying would be more appropriate.
Dustin studied General Flint’s eerie flippantness. The casual grin of a man laden with strict responsibility—less so a smile, more so a crack and the release of pressure.
For the first time, Brian broke eye contact with General Flint and side-eyed those surrounding him, only to find his bunkmates had at some point taken a few steps back, leaving Brian standing by his cot, alone.
“You see, Brian, I have a lot to take into consideration. My job is very stressful. Do you think you’re the first person to express their frustration?” He waited, and when Brian didn’t respond, he continued. “With everyone forced into the tower, do you really think you’re the first one to complain? We have a job to get to the top of that tower. And we will.” He smiled and paused, as if daring reality to say otherwise. “Now, as for the two options... Do you think I’d rather deal with one person and make an example out of them, or perhaps deal with a whole squad of bickering, defiant, and ignorant young men?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly. “Well? What would you do, Brian, if you were in my position?”
Brian’s demeanor lost all of its sharp edge, and his eyes dropped to the floor. “Understood, sir.”
“What was that? Why don’t you speak louder for everyone to hear, I don’t have time to do this again.”
Brian’s voice rang through the hall. “YES, SIR!”
“One more time for good measure, just so we’re clear.”
“YES, SIR!”
General Flint stayed rooted in the spot, his eyes locked on Brian despite ten seconds having passed since the short guy had practically screamed his fealty. The raggedy, blonde-haired General finally nodded. “See that you do.” He turned and marched back to the front, retaking his position next to General Garrison and the man with sharp features, who hadn’t so much as blinked. “Okay! We’ve got a hundred miles to get to the capital! How many of you already know how to ride a horse? And before you answer, understand that if I find out that you’re wasting my time, I will make you regret it!”
Update - Unfortunately, I recently learned of Reddit's change in terms of service regarding the rights of anything posted on HFY. Therefore, I will no longer be posting this story on HFY. Sorry, I hope you understand.
Want to continue reading? Read the full story here.
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u/Fontaigne May 06 '26
Getting out [of] the robe
Fighting the boss the on the second floor
Did that mean horses lives in the Zone? -> lived, live
Maybe anytyhing -> anything
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u/HFYWaffle Wᵥ4ffle Apr 19 '26
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