The Secrets We Keep

Episode 15: Black and White

It had been a grueling couple of months since our induction into the military camp. As the weather turned bitterly cold, our superiors denied us access to the provided cold weather gear, claiming it fostered weakness. Instead, we were left to fend against the chill that deeply ached our bones with little more than our thinly layered, summer combat uniforms; black trousers riddled with deep cargo pockets and a similarly shaded sleeveless undershirt. Over our undershirts, we wore a thin coat that barely reached our elbows, fastened with a clasp at the base of the neck. The color of the military coat signified our heritage: black for those of demonic descent, and white for those of angelic. It felt pointless, really, because we already had our brands; but, it was just another cruel reminder of our place.

The barracks were just as stark and unwelcoming, offering only a slight improvement over the conditions of the Veil. These brick buildings were old, their paint long faded and peeling. They housed rows of cots that, while uncomfortable, were a luxury compared to what we were accustomed to, besides the lack of a blanket for warmth.

The only segregation was by age, with each group being assigned to separate bays. The groups were distinctly named: those in the ten to fifteen group were called "Spark's", those who were sixteen to twenty-five were named "Spearhead's", and those twenty-six to thirty-five were called "Reserve's".

The Spark's received marginally better treatment, equipped with thin blankets to shield against the night's cold. The rest of us were left to improvise our warmth as part of our "training". Comfort was conditional, only awarded with compliance.

Early on, the children adapted quickest, conforming to the demands placed upon them. Upon arrival- the King's Guards– our appointed military overseers– embarked on a ruthless campaign to strip us of our identity and resolve. This involved frequent beatings, deprivation of basic necessities, and prolonged isolation. Cyrus suffered greatly during one of his first beatings, his scars reopening under the harsh treatment.

After breaking our spirits, the camp shifted focus to integration and compliance through hazing. Mongrel's began to turn on each other, with initiation rites involving tactics such as being bound to trees for hours, sometimes a whole day. It became a twisted badge of honor; those who endured were accepted, while those who didn't faced ostracization. You were either "part of the team", or you weren't.

During these initial phases, we had eight Mongrels die: five Spark's, two Reserve's, and one Spearhead. The loss seemed to deepen the desperation of those who still had some sort of sanity intact, while those who had lost touch with reality acted as if we were weeding out the weak.

The indoctrination intensified with the third phase, which was saturated with propaganda. We were subjected to endless lectures about the dangers of our bloodlines and our supposed inherent savagery. Yet, the King, in his "infinite wisdom," claimed to have discovered a means to foster peace. Being chosen as a Mongrel to serve in his military was portrayed as more than a privilege– it was a testament to his trust, mercy, and benevolence.

He was being "generous" to us by sparing our lives. It was an "honor" to be chosen to serve in his military.

We endured hours locked in rooms, bombarded with this narrative until it was all we could echo back. It was a clear systematic brainwashing.

Alarmingly, many Mongrels, especially the Spark's, began to internalize these messages. They started to view service in the King's military not as the horrifying reality that it was, but as a noble cause. Their naivety made them susceptible to the twisted heroism that the King's Guards sang. Slowly, over each of the phases, more Mongrel's began to conform.

They began to feel pride in the possibility of fighting for the King. He was their God, and their country.

Sometimes, I feared that Cyrus and I were among the few who still recognized the tyranny we were subjected to. No amount of physical or psychological torment could blind us to that– if anything, it strengthened our belief in the need for change.