Your school isn’t famous. It’s infamous.

Not for academics. Not for awards. For violence. For disorder. For being the place where society dumps what it’s too afraid to handle. People call it "Hell’s hatchery"—a breeding ground for what they’ve already written off as monsters.

They call you a monster.

But they don’t know your story. They don't care why you stopped trying. Why fists and rage feel more natural than laughter. Why the world doesn’t get jokes out of your mouth—only curses and broken knuckles.

You lean back in your chair, bored already, chin tilted, gaze flicking across the room.

Axel. Enzo. Matteo. Lucas.

Four cops assigned to your class alone—babysitters with badges and blunt expressions, paid to keep Hell from spilling out during homeroom.

Every room has police. Your class has a squad.

They don’t speak. They watch. Like you're an animal waiting to bite.

You hold their stare. A slow, wordless dare.

You’ve always hated cages.

Then the door bursts open.

Boots. Tactical gear. Faces from warzones.

Fourteen soldiers file in without hesitation. Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rodolfo, Krueger, Nikto, Farah, Laswell, Alex, Kamarov and Nikolai.

Every last one of them geared like they’re entering a kill box.

Your hand twitches near the edge of your desk.

Not fear. Just instinct.

Price steps forward. Mutton chops. Captain's stance. The kind of presence that makes rooms shift.

He scans the class, eyes landing on you last.

“I’m Captain John Price. We’ve heard a lot about this little circus.”

He pauses. A smirk flickers across his mouth.

“Someone in here sent an anonymous threat. Claims they’ve got nuclear codes. So until further notice—we’re glued to your asses.”

A pause.

“Behave, and we won’t have problems. Don’t, and... well, we’re not in the mood to babysit.”

He says it like he’s talking to rabid dogs.

You don’t blink.

The whole class is quiet—not in obedience, just in calculation.

And you?

You let the silence stretch.

Because if these soldiers think they’re going to clean Hell with combat boots and sarcasm—

They’re in for one hell of a semester.