3- Up the Intake

Getting off the bus, the two  stepped into the recruitment center with the stiff, uncertain tired gait of those who had been summoned rather than inspired. Frank kept his jaw set, while Merlin tried to mask his nerves with a crooked half‑smile, though both were equally overwhelmed by the whirlwind that followed. The medical inspection felt more like a blur than a process—bright lights, curt orders, the cold snap of instruments, multiple injections of god knows what,—before they were shuttled to the barbers’ chairs, where their hair fell in soft heaps at their feet. Stripped down to the basics, they were guided toward the mess hall. The scent of institutional cooking drifting through the corridor with the plate clatter and mumbling murmur of a hundred hungry stressed  people stuffing their faces. Neither spoke, but each felt the same quiet realization settling in: whatever life had been before this moment was already receding behind them.