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Whew, another full chapter in less than a week... Sure, it meant three days of staying up past one o' clock in the morning, but I feel it was worth it. :P For those of you who have read my latest journal entry, what ended up happening in this chapter was not what I expected at from my original idea. I ended up inventing a new character, setting, and even bringing an entirely new concept to the series, one that I didn't think would come as naturally as it did... But either way, I present to you all: Chapter 3.

Love, Tri-Katsu ;)

Chapter 3

"So, we need to be at the training facility at around 2000 hours, right?"

"For the fourth time, yes," Rage growled, "Now shut it, whelp, so I can eat in peace!"

Professor "Mono" Monitor had to told the three of them the night before to begin reporting to the physical training enclosure at eight o' clock every night, a half hour past the curfew of all the other students. The director had agreed, relieving them of all duties - though Cly still said chores - and even advising that they wake up at around seven o' clock PM, since the new training regiment would end up lasting about seven hours nightly. However, Cly was so eager to begin training that he woke the other two up at the normal time anyway.

The three of them were now sitting in the outdoor courtyard of the Dining hall, out in the bright afternoon summer sun. The three story building itself was shaped like a sliced piece of a coliseum, with glass doors and walls that overlooked the circular courtyard on the higher floors, should one have chosen to eat inside.

However, it seemed as if all the soldiers at break were out in the sun, chatting and laughing with others. As usual, all of the other recruits gave the three of them a wide berth (especially Rage), which didn't bother any of them.

Rage had grabbed everything in arm's reach at the food counters inside, and looked like he was trying to cram everything into his mouth at once, as if to prevent any of the other three from stealing it. Frost, however, had simply picked an apple from the bowl, thanked the gardener, and had sat down at the other end of the table from Rage, nibbling absentmindedly at the fruit.

Cly was pacing, circling a nearby tree and chewing on his throwing knife as he normally did when he was nervous or excited. Frost noticed that his teeth had now become pointier since the night before, and the hair on his arms had become white, making it look like they were glowing in the sunlight.

"You should eat something," Frost remarked quietly, watching Cly with icy eyes, "You don't want to train on an empty stomach."

"I can't eat, this is too exciting!" Cly said, stopping to pull the knife from his mouth, and leaning against the tree, "We're finally going to find out what the researchers have been working on this entire time, and if it can really make us better than we already are, well..." His green eyes flashed excitedly, and he went back to circling the tree almost frantically.

Frost thought about what he had said. It was true that they were the best of the best, always completing the mission, never losing sight of the objective, and simply outlasting all of the others who had come before them. So why did they need improvement? Was it simply because of their abysmal way of getting along?

He glanced over at Rage - now trying to stuff an entire meatloaf in his mouth - who looked up, narrowed his eyes, and curled a protective arm around the rest of his food, not once disrupting eye contact.

Well, it certainly has room for improvement,_Frost thought silently, his emotions teetering somewhere between amusement and annoyance. _If it weren't for Cly... He mulled the idea over, and then shook his head. If it weren't for Cly, there would be no_teamwork or cooperation. _Probably not even a squad either, he sighed,just a couple of-

"Savage beasts!" Frost's thoughts were interrupted by a loud voice - and gunfire. Instinctively, he tried a duck-and-roll maneuver - and his legs caught under the table, leaving him hanging absurdly on his back over the bench he was sitting on. He heard laughing coming from his side, and saw a group of human armed Legion soldiers standing only a few feet away. One of them held a rifle aimed at the sky, while another stood only feet away, walking slowly towards him.

It was a younger trainee, a first year; a gray band on his blue uniform indicated that. He had short brown hair, freshly cut for the army, a thin face and brown eyes. He looked familiar to Frost, but he couldn't quite place where he had seen him before. He wore a wicked grin with gleaming teeth, and Frost silently cursed himself for falling for such an obvious prank - no one would be stupid enough to actually attack a Legion HQ.

"See?" said white-teeth, turning to the others behind him, "They're nothing. Probably just a couple of mutant freaks that the genecists raised in a test tube in the basement or something, given semi-intelligent brains that only work for fighting, not even common sense." He gestured at Frost. "Exhibit 'A'."

All of the others laughed, some made howling noises. Absolutely furious now, Frost tried to right himself from the bench, but stopped when he heard Cly's voice right next to him.

"And what is going on here?" Cly asked, first to white-teeth, and then to the rest, "What on Earth do you expect to gain from this?" White teeth paused, to arrange the right kind of smirk on his face before answering.

"We were just trying to see the incredible heroes of the Legion!" he answered, with a voice that dripped with mock apology and regret, "To evaluate their determination, speed, grace-" he shot a look at Frost, who glared back, with hate and humiliation, "and etiquette." The group laughed loudly as white-teeth looked past at what Frost suspected was Rage and his mountain of foodstuff. Frost silently prayed that Rage's lack of response wasn't because he was still eating.

"You know, just to see if they're really worth all the trouble they give us humans." The recruit said slyly, putting an arm around Cly as if they were long time friends, despite the fact that Cly was almost a foot taller than him. Frost had a sudden realization as some of the senior soldiers in the back exchanged confused looks; obviously no one had told the recruit exactly what Cly was.

"Listen, Everard, I already know more about you than you ever know about these two..." Cly said casually. White-teeth Everard's smirk suddenly vanished.

"A-and what could you know about me?" Everard asked, trying to sound sure of himself, but Frost could tell he was shaken. Even his "supporters" looked interested.

"Well, yesterday - and Frost here is a witness as well," Cly began, glancing down at Frost's puzzled look, "Yesterday at the Arms Training enclosure, there was a first year who - shall we say - almost blew his head off while inspecting his firearm." Everard flushed, and there was a snicker behind him.

"I thought he said he served in the Abaddon City Arms Defense!" Frost heard someone whisper.

"Yeah, right," said another, "There's no way in hell they would recruit somebody who didn't even know how to clean a gun the right way..."

"Suffice to say, I met with the instructor, and recommended that particular student to repeat an Arms Training Course, so he wouldn't end up six feet under of his own accord." Cly finished calmly. Frost felt a deep gratitude towards Cly, coupled with complete satisfaction from the reddened look on Everard's face. All of the other men were laughing now, and some had even started to leave. "Oh dear, you mean your friends only supported you because they thought you were a hotshot soldier boy?" Cly clucked his tongue. "That is a shame..."

"W-well, why are you even standing up for th-these freaks anyway?!" Everard spluttered, trying desperately to regain his audience. "They're freaks of nature that belong in the wild, where they can be shot, or killed by one another! They don't belong here, but you're still standing up for them?! Are you their slave or something?!" At this, some of the men regained interest, and came back to the circle, some of Everard's confidence returning along with them.

"Do the scientists pay you to pet-sit for them? Do you put collars on them and fill their dish at night? Or do they fill yours?" he finished triumphantly, the smirk once again plastered on his face. A few men laughed weakly, but then an uneasy silence fell over them. For a few long moments, no one spoke. Then Cly breathed in deeply.

"You want to know why I stay with them." Cly said without emotion, stepping closer to the crowd. "This is why." Frost strained to see what Cly had done, but Cly had his back to him. What he did see was Everard's, as well as the rest of the crowd's faces turn paler than sheets. Most of them scurried backward, almost tripping over one another in the process. Everard however, didn't move, his face contorted with both fear and disgust

"You're one of them...That's why you've been with them..."

"No, really? Cly suddenly snarled, grabbing the first year's collar, actually yanking him up in the air at the same time. Frost could now feel true panic pulsing from every one of the onlookers. "And next time any of you even try to put my friends down again, I will make sure that is the last thing you ever do."

Frost recognized that side of Cly, and knew from experience that they were lucky to even see that side more than once. That was the Cly of the battle field, and nobody_,_ not even Rage, questioned it. This battle was over.

Frost finally tore his eyes from the scene when Cly finally released the soldier, beginning his struggle with the table again, but then-

"Whatever, freak." Frost's head snapped up just as Everard spat in Cly's face. "I have no reason to listen to a stupid beast like yo-" His last word was choked off, as Rage had appeared like lightening, grabbing his neck and lifting him high in the air. Then, for good measure, slammed him against the very same tree that Cly had been circling earlier with a sickening crunch. Frost vaguely wondered through his anger whether the sound had come from wood or bones.

"Apologize!" Rage roared, and when Everard didn't answer, he began pushing the man's chest into the trunk of the tree with his other hand.

"Rage, stop!" Cly yelled to him, "You'll kill him!" Rage seemed to relent from breaking Everard's ribcage, but still wouldn't release his neck.

"No human trash is going to insult you while I'm around!" Rage snarled to Cly, before turning back to Everard, whose face was now blue, a small line of blood trickling from his mouth. Frost watched as he struggled against Rage's hold, but Rage's grip was too strong. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the Everard's terrified supporters fumble with his rifle, before cocking it and aiming at Rage's back.

"Release him, or I'll shoot!" cried the marine. Frost growled at him, unable to do anything else, his leg still stuck in the table. The soldier jumped, shaking so badly Frost actually felt a little sorry for him.

"Rage, please! Stop!" Cly cried, actually sounding on the verge of tears. Everard's face was now turning purple, and his arms had had become limp at his sides. Only his eyes retained life, still resisting Rage's fury. Suddenly, a group of white-clad Medics pushed through the crowd.

"Stop the fight!" One of them yelled, "We have authorization from superior officers to use lethal force if necessary!"

Rage gave a hiss of impatience and literally dropped Everard on the ground, where he collapsed like a rag doll. Color slowly began returning to his face as he lay there, taking large, shuddering breaths, occasionally gurgling and coughing up blood. The doctors immediately converged on him, pulling out a number of tools and other equipment.

Frost finally wrestled free of the table, and walked over to Cly, who was still standing in the same place he had threatened the man who was now a bleeding mass on the ground. Putting a hand on his shoulder, he could feel Cly's body beginning to wrack with sobs. Frost could see his eyes had filled with tears.

"Frost..." he whimpered, and tears began streaking down his face. He gave a small, pitiful whine, and Frost, not sure of what else to do, stood next to him, continuing to grip his friend's shoulder firmly. One of the Medics boldly approached them.

"Which one of you did this?" he asked the two of them bravely. Cly didn't say anything, but Frost looked the man in the eyes, twitching his head silently in Rage's direction.The Medic grimaced, obviously getting the hint. "There's a lot of internal bleeding, bruising," he explained to Frost with restrained bitterness, "and a concussion that may or may not have permanent effects to his brain. All we can do is bandage him up, and hope for the best."

"Why?" Cly said softly, after the Medic had rejoined his colleagues. Frost turned to look at him, but he was still staring at the body. "Why would you tell on Rage?"

"He almost killed a fellow operative." Frost answered, confused at the question.

Cly didn't say anything, but Frost could see tears streaking down his face.

"He stood up for me..." he whispered.

"What's going on here?" Asked Rage, walking up to them as if nothing had happened. Frost glared at him, and Cly hiccupped loudly. "Geez, pipsqueak, are you crying?" Cly sniffed, and looked up at him.

"It's just overload..." Cly told him, in a completely different voice than what Frost had heard, "Everything that's happened, and, well, it got to me, don't worry, I'll be-" Cly's words were cut off as Rage enfolded him in a large bear hug. Frost watched in amazement for several moments, before Rage withdrew again.

"Feeling better?" Rage asked softly, Frost noticing something in his voice. Was it concern? "It's about time to go over to the training grounds, don't forget."

"Y-yes," Cly stammered, "Thank you, Rage..." His voice trailed away as Rage moved away to gather his things from the table. He turned to Frost, who emotionally braced himself for another shock. "Isn't this exciting? They're finally going to give us what they've been working on all this time!"

"Yeah..." Frost replied quietly, his insides feeling suddenly twisted. He glanced back to the crowd of Medics and other soldiers. Everard was almost unrecognizable through all the bandages they had placed on him, and Frost watched as they carried him across the field over to the infirmary.

"Frost! It's time to go!" Called Cly, as Rage started towards the enclosures. Frost turned his back on the scene, and followed Cly almost robotically, shaking away the unspoken questions in his head at the same time. Overhead, the sun began to set, spreading a confused mess of colors across the sky.