Cold Hard Truths 1: Vices Read Free Page B

were around doing the state’s dirty work or not. And everything that the state wanted us to do, we did without complaint. They were the hotshots—the big dogs in town. Basically just a bunch of rich politicians and white-collar workers sitting around desks all day, patting each other on the back. Sometimes other soldiers complained about our standing within the state, like they mistreated us. Truth be told, I didn’t give a shit if there were richer, more powerful higher-ups sitting around getting lap dances from beautiful men and women. I only cared that I had a place to sleep and food to eat.
    I knew I was a dog to them, but at least I felt like a pet.
    The state sent us on frequent missions, doing whatever was voted as necessary for the well-being of the city. I wasn’t any good at politics, and I doubted many of the other soldiers were either, so we didn’t give a second thought to the missions we were sent on, not that ENAD gave us any of the details. The state gave our superiors our missions, and we followed through, for the betterment of the people.
    When I was younger, still an ENAD soldier in training, some of the other kids used to compare us to superheroes—people who fought day and night, did the hard things, all to save people and make their lives better. It was a comparison I never forgot.
    I leaned back and placed my head against the wall, my eyes drifting to the glass. I could see myself in the mirror, not that I was much to see. A few people had called me handsome, but I definitely wasn’t pretty. I was big and could be considered mean-looking, especially since my grin made my size seem more threatening. My face was drawn with tired lines and shadows. The bags below my eyes aged me, and my short hair was still messed at the top. I hardly ever paid much attention to my physical appearance, but I had to pay attention to my body. I ate properly, or as properly as I could on my budget, and if I couldn’t, I got vitamin injections. They were expensive, but even when I wasn’t on duty, ENAD paid for them. I still spent hours a day working out and exercising, making sure my body was in top-notch shape. None of it was for aesthetic value—it was for the ability to be faster, tougher, better than my future opponents. My physical capabilities might have the power to save someone one day, maybe even a fellow soldier.
    I rubbed my arms up and down, trying to get the cold out of my bones. My tongue tasted off, reminding me I’d forgotten to brush my teeth in my haste. My eyes continued to open and close too quickly, and my skin felt itchy. I longed to scratch and claw at my arms and the back of my neck, but I couldn’t while I was being watched. I was coming down from the Corx. I didn’t think I was still high, but it was difficult to tell based on the state I was in. The last place I wanted to be was sitting in a tiny room, being filmed as I came off my drug high.
    In total, I think I waited over two days.
    They’d brought me six meals and hadn’t talked to me again. When I was feeling jittery, my body wanting even a small dose of Corx or cocaine, I’d do push-ups, squats, lunges, burpees, crunches: anything to get my mind off needing a hit. I was itchy all over the first night and had cold sweats the following morning, but I’d dealt with worse. Much worse.
    The afternoon of the third day, the door opened and a man whose face I wished I could forget stood there with his hands behind his back. Corp, we called him. I had no idea if that was his real name, but probably not since none of us had a real name anymore. He was an older man, now in his late fifties, but had the same mean expression and gave off the impression of being hard as nails. His hair was gray, and he had quite a few more wrinkles than the last time I saw him, but the same humorless curve of his lip. I guessed men in his position didn’t have the luxury of a sense of humor. His suit was perfectly tailored to his frame, pressed tight