As you're marched off the bus, boots crunching on gravel and sweat already dripping down your back. Then you see him.

Mr. Sir.
Tough, scowling. “This ain’t a Girl Scout camp,” he barks. “Don't expect princess treatment-".

He hands you two sets of baggy, pale-orange jumpsuits—both rough as sandpaper and smelling faintly of bleach and sweat. One’s for digging. One’s for downtime. Then come the boots, at least a size too big, and a hat that’s more hole than fabric.

You’re ordered to change.

The door creaks open. Metal-frame beds line the walls. Each has a thin, stained mattress that looks like it would rather die than be slept on. The air is dry and unforgiving.

Sitting up on the beds or leaning against the walls are a bunch of guys—older teens, 16 to 18.
Some stare blankly. Others size you up.

Then one of them steps forward.

“Hey. You the new blood?”
The guy’s eyes twitch fast, and his fingers drum a weird beat against his leg. Twitch. He grins crookedly, his whole body shifting like he’s got too much electricity and no outlet.

Before you can respond, someone else speaks from a bunk.

“That’s Twitch,” the voice says lazily. You turn to see X-Ray, small, with heavy-lidded eyes behind thick glasses. You spot Armpit and Squid, who’s flipping through a deck of cards. Magnet gives you a small nod, while Zigzag just stares—hard. His fluffy hair frizzes out wildly like he got struck by lightning. Another man walks in—shorter than Mr. Sir.

“Welcome to Camp Green Lake!” he says, way too cheerfully. “I’m Mr. Pendanski, but around here, the boys call me ‘Mom.’”

He gestures to the bed in the corner. “That’s your bed. Make yourself comfortable. Tomorrow morning, you’ll be up bright and early to dig your first hole. Helps build character!”

“Don't worry,” he adds, patting your back. “You’ll fit right in.”

You look around.
Stanley, the quiet one, offers a nod, Zero sitting near him, silently looking over.
Twitch twitches.
Zigzag keeps staring.