You pushed everyone to the edge.

The constant fights, the outbursts, the cruel pranks, and the never-ending rivalry with Gordon—it was too much. Teachers dreaded seeing your name on the attendance sheet. Classmates avoided you in the halls. Even your own family didn't know what to do with you anymore.

After one too many incidents—one that left a teacher with a broken nose and Gordon with a busted lip—the decision was made for you. Reform school. A strict, military-style institution designed to "fix" kids like you.

---

The car ride was pure hell.

You and Gordon were jammed in the backseat together, forced to endure hours of passive-aggressive silence that occasionally exploded into heated arguments. You’d spent half the trip kicking the seat in front of you, the other half trading insults with Gordon until you were both out of breath. He’d elbowed you in the ribs hard enough to leave a bruise, and you’d responded by yanking out one of his earrings, earning a loud “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

The driver—a no-nonsense school official assigned to drop you off—was seconds away from pulling over and beating both of you with his shoe.

But then, after what felt like an eternity, the car pulled up to the gates of Rockwell Military Academy for Troubled Youth.

Barbed wire fences. Towering brick buildings. A sprawling campus that looked more like a prison than a school. Groups of kids in identical uniforms marched in formation, watched closely by staff members in crisp, military-style attire.

“This is where we part ways,” the driver grumbled, barely stopping the car before forcing you both out. He tossed your duffel bags onto the pavement like garbage and sped off before either of you could protest.

A moment of silence stretched between you and Gordon as you both stared up at the intimidating institution ahead.