The first morning in The Foundry began not with an alarm clock, but with the sound of a deep, resonant bell tolling across the compound at precisely 0530. It was a call to order, a summons to work. The artificial lights in their barracks flickered on automatically, flooding the small concrete room with a sterile, white glare.
Leo was already awake. He hadn't slept, his mind too busy processing the events of the past days and the sheer, overwhelming reality of their new home. He watched as Ben groggily sat up, Maria stretched with a groan that seemed to shake the metal bunk frame, and Rick looked over at the two empty beds—Sarah's and the one that would have been Lily's—a worried frown on his face.
Their "quarantine" was nominal. A medical drone had scanned them in their sleep and declared them free of airborne contaminants. A tablet computer left on their table during the night outlined their new lives: Probationary Evaluation Schedule.
Sarah's status was listed as 'Active Duty - Med-Sci'. The rest of them were assigned to 'General Labor Pool - Evaluation Pending'.
"So we're ditch-diggers until proven otherwise," Maria grumbled, pulling on the stiff, grey jumpsuit. "Fan-tastic."
As they made their way to the mess hall, the true nature of The Foundry came into focus. It wasn't just a survivor camp; it was a stratified society. The Phoenix Guard, in their immaculate black armor, moved with an air of authority, receiving respectful nods from everyone they passed. The 'Cogs', as Leo mentally dubbed the engineers and laborers in grease-stained overalls, were the lifeblood, bustling between workshops and construction sites. And then there were the 'Researchers', pale figures in clean lab coats who hurried between the Med-Sci building and Administration, their expressions intense and focused.
The Custodians, in their blank grey jumpsuits, were at the bottom of the food chain. They received more than a few suspicious glances as they got in line for breakfast—a grey, protein-rich paste that was nourishing but soul-crushingly bland. The bacon and eggs had been a one-time signing bonus, a stark reminder of their probationary status.
After the meal, they were met by a grizzled man with a single arm and a nametag that read 'Chief Stokely'. He was the head of maintenance and labor allocation. His face was a roadmap of wrinkles, and his one good eye sized them up with weary skepticism.
"New meat," he grunted, looking at the tablet in his hand. "Carter, you're with me. The engineers in the geothermal turbine room say they need a 'diagnostician with modern systems experience'. Hope you're as smart as you look." Ben practically vibrated with excitement.
"Jones, you're on sanitation detail. Infirmary needs a deep scrub. Flores, there's a breach on the west wall, Section Gamma. They're shorthanded. Take a jackhammer and make yourself useful." Stokely then looked at Leo. "Miller. Janitor. Specialist Grade." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Yeah, right. You get a bucket. Follow me."
Leo knew this was the real test. Rostova could make promises, but here, on the ground floor, he had to prove his worth all over again. Stokely led him not to a latrine, but toward the sounds of shouting and violence.
They arrived at the edge of a large, dusty training yard, which Leo quickly understood was The Foundry's arena. A crowd of off-duty Cogs and a few Phoenix Guards had gathered, their cheers echoing off the warehouse walls.
In the center of the yard, a man who looked like he was carved from a single, massive slab of granite was fighting a monster. The creature was a Skitterer, but larger and angrier than the ones Leo had faced, its chitin scarred and pitted from previous battles.
The man was a giant, his torso bare and covered in a tapestry of old scars and fresh wounds. He wielded an enormous sledgehammer—a slab of concrete attached to a thick truck axle—with terrifying ease. A System notification floated above his head, visible to anyone with even a passing connection to this new reality.
[Grunt]
Lvl 16
Class: Berserker
He fought with a joyous, savage glee. He didn't dodge the Skitterer's lunges; he met them head-on, taking a shallow gash on his arm to deliver a thunderous blow that shattered one of the creature's legs. The crowd roared its approval. The Berserker laughed, a booming sound of pure bloodlust.
This was Grunt. Rostova's piston.
With a final, deafening roar, Grunt brought the hammer down on the Skitterer's head, crushing it into black ichor and chitinous fragments. He raised the hammer to the sky, basking in the adoration of the crowd. He was the champion, the apex predator of The Foundry.
"Impressive, ain't he?" Stokely said, his voice flat. "He's our solution to most problems. Loud. Messy. But it usually works." He pointed his chin at the mess in the center of the ring. "And that's where you come in, specialist. Your evaluation: Clean that up."
Stokely tossed Leo a bucket and a shovel. "Don't get any on your boots."
The crowd began to disperse as Grunt swaggered out of the arena, his team of sycophants following him. As he passed, his eyes—small and intelligent, a stark contrast to his brutish frame—landed on Leo. He took in the grey jumpsuit, the bucket, the shovel. A slow, contemptuous sneer spread across his face.
He stopped, towering over Leo. "New fish?" he rumbled, his voice like gravel in a blender.
Leo said nothing, his gaze calm.
"Heard Rostova brought in some strays from the hospital," Grunt continued, wiping monster gore from his cheek with the back of his hand. "Didn't figure she'd be recruiting the clean-up crew."
His cronies laughed.
"Stay out of the way, mop-boy," Grunt said, jabbing a thick finger into Leo's chest. "Stick to cleaning up the real fighters' messes. This place doesn't have room for dead weight."
He turned and stomped off, leaving Leo standing at the edge of the blood-soaked arena.
Leo looked down at the bucket. He looked at the grisly remains of the Skitterer. A dark puddle of ichor and acidic drool was already starting to eat into the packed earth of the training yard. It was a hazardous spill. A contamination.
He let out a slow breath. Grunt thought this was an insult. A demotion. Leo knew what it really was.
It was a job interview.