Finally he heard the sound of a distant whistle, a sound that no Orphan could hear without wanting to sing, dance, or cry with relief. Maybe all three at once. He relaxed his muscles from head to toe, brought his rifle down to rest in the crook of his folded arms, and waited for a replacement. Another Orphan showed up within a minute of the whistle’s shriek. No words were exchanged, no eyes meeting. Later, in the cramped quarters where they slept and ate and read and played, they could relax and pretend to be friends. But when on duty, they were nameless servants, focused only on the defense of the Remnant Nation. Orphans had no parents, no brothers, no sisters, no friends. Only enemies.

The Orphan walked to the closest tower, slipped past the scarred wooden door, and descended the stairs in a rhythmic pattern of skipping every other step. Down he went, seven levels, to the sub-basement. Only one level existed below the one in which he lived, and its name discouraged visits. It was called Hell. The Orphan had only been there once, to deliver an Orphan who’d decided to break the rules and allow sanctuary to a stranger from the north. But he’d revisited Hell often in his dreams, and hoped to never go back. Until the day he died, he would never forget the screams, the wails of anguish, the pleas for help, the sweat, the blood, the greasy hair, the buggy eyes, the filth, the mud, the stench. It was fascinating to him that he could remember a place so well, so vividly, having only descended the one time.

In his life, when someone told you to go to Hell, you made the sign of your favorite religion to ward off the foul curse. If you didn’t adhere to such superstition, then you usually just punched them in the face or kicked them in the balls. Whatever got the job done.

The Orphan walked through the dank, carved hallways of his world, the black stone all around him looking as if it had been blasted and shaped a thousand years ago. For all he knew, it had been. The capital of the Remnant Nation had been moved to this fortress before he’d been born, and he had no knowledge of its history. Such things didn’t matter to Orphans. But he’d defended the place long enough to know that many renovations and additions had been completed over the years. Those who lived within its walls would be safe for a long time.