Chapter 3: Orientation
Master Lin's office smelled like old paper and subtle threat.
Marcus stood with three other new Rats—two guys, one girl—in a line facing the headmaster's desk. None of them looked like they belonged here. The tall one kept fidgeting. The girl stared at the floor. The third just looked exhausted.
Lin himself sat perfectly still, hands folded on mahogany, watching them with eyes that gave nothing away. He was older than Marcus expected from the show—sixties at least, with silver at his temples and deep lines around his mouth. But his posture was straight, his gaze sharp, and something about the way he held himself suggested violence held in careful reserve.
"You are here because you have nothing," Lin said. His voice was calm. Educational. "No family. No resources. No future beyond a death that wouldn't make the evening news."
The fidgeting guy shifted his weight. Lin's eyes flicked to him, and the kid went statue-still.
"King's Dominion will give you skills to take everything that was denied to you. In exchange, you will learn. You will work. You will survive—or you will not." Lin paused. "There are rules."
He raised one finger. "No disobedience."
Another. "No drugs."
Another. "No sex."
Another. "No unsanctioned killing."
"Break these rules," Lin continued, "and the consequences will be... educational."
Marcus kept his face blank. He knew the rules. He also knew half the school broke them constantly—the Legacy students especially. Rules were for Rats. Legacies had immunity purchased by their families' power.
"You will be assigned quarters. You will receive uniforms. Your classes begin tomorrow at six AM." Lin stood, moving around the desk with fluid grace. "Questions are not encouraged. Survival is."
He stopped in front of Marcus. Those assessing eyes swept over him—cataloguing, measuring, filing away details that Marcus couldn't identify.
"You're the one Saya Kuroki sponsored."
"Yes, sir."
"She doesn't usually take interest in Rats." Lin's head tilted slightly. "What makes you different?"
Marcus met his gaze without flinching. "You'd have to ask her."
The silence stretched. The other Rats held their breath. Marcus could feel Lin's attention like a physical pressure—the weight of someone who'd killed more people than most would ever meet, trying to see through to whatever was underneath.
Whatever Lin saw, he didn't share.
"Report to orientation," he said finally. "Try not to die before dinner."
---
The cafeteria was exactly what Marcus expected: vaulted stone ceiling, long tables arranged in rigid formations, and the smell of institutional food masking something that might have been beef. What the show hadn't captured was the noise—the roar of a hundred conversations bouncing off ancient walls, punctuated by laughter that didn't always sound friendly.
Marcus grabbed a tray and took stock.
Center of the room: the Soto Vatos. Mexican cartel kids, gold chains and expensive shoes, commanding the space like they owned it. Which, in the school's hierarchy, they basically did. Their leader—Chico—held court at the middle table, all swagger and sharp teeth. A girl sat close to him, dark hair and darker eyes.
Maria Salazar.
Marcus looked away before their gazes could meet.
Don't go there. Don't even look.
To the left: Kuroki Syndicate. Japanese precision, careful spacing, bodies angled to watch the room without appearing to. Saya sat at their head, eating with mechanical efficiency. She didn't acknowledge Marcus. He didn't expect her to.
Back corner: Dixie Mob. White faces, Confederate imagery hidden on cuffs and collars, the kind of casual menace that came from generations of not caring who they hurt. Marcus gave them a wide berth.
Scattered at the edges: Rats. The unaffiliated. The disposable. They clustered in twos and threes, keeping their heads down, trying to be invisible.
Marcus found a spot against the wall. Clear sightline to the door. Back protected by stone. Old habits—or maybe new ones. Hard to tell which memories taught him to sit like this.
The food was better than anything he'd eaten in weeks. Hot soup. Bread that wasn't stale. Some kind of meat that might even have been identifiable once. He ate methodically, not rushing, letting his body register that starvation wasn't immediate anymore.
"You're the new stray."
Marcus looked up. A Black kid stood across from him, maybe seventeen, with broad shoulders and a posture that screamed I could break you while his eyes said I really don't want to. He wore the same uniform as everyone else, but something about the way he held himself suggested a costume rather than clothing.
Willie Lewis. Marcus recognized him immediately. Best friend material. Future brother. The one person in this whole nightmare who'd treated canon-Marcus like a human being instead of a target.
"That's me," Marcus said.
"Mind?" Willie gestured at the seat across from him.
"Go ahead."
Willie sat. His tray had twice the food Marcus's did—the portions of someone who'd been here long enough to know the system. He didn't start eating immediately. Just watched Marcus with the careful attention of someone used to reading people.
"Saya Kuroki doesn't sponsor Rats," Willie said.
"So I've heard."
"She doesn't sponsor anyone. Not since she got here." Willie's eyes narrowed slightly. "So either you're connected to something she wants, or you impressed her enough that she's willing to take the heat. Which is it?"
Marcus kept eating. "Does it matter?"
"It does if you're about to bring drama to the Rat tables. We've got enough problems without someone else's shit rolling downhill."
Fair point. Honest, even—more honest than most people here would be. Willie Lewis operated in a world where showing weakness got you killed, but something in him couldn't stop caring about the people around him.
Marcus liked him already. Had liked him before meeting him, watching the show, seeing how it ended for him in the comics.
Not this time, he thought. Not if I can help it.
"I'm not connected to anything," Marcus said. "Saya found me in an alley. I passed whatever test she was running. That's all I know."
Willie studied him for another moment. Then something in his posture relaxed—not trust, not yet, but the absence of active hostility.
"Alright." He picked up his fork. "Welcome to King's Dominion. Try not to die your first week."
They ate in silence for a while. The cafeteria noise washed over them—fragments of conversation, someone's laughter at a Soto Vato table, the clink of silverware on ceramic. Marcus watched the room through his peripheral vision, mapping faces to names from a show that felt more like prophecy now than fiction.
Chico and his crew, loud and confident.
Maria beside him, beautiful and volatile, a bomb waiting to detonate.
Brandy Lynn from the Dixie Mob, watching everything with predator eyes.
The tall kid from orientation—Shabnam, if Marcus remembered right—hovering at the edges, trying to look nonthreatening. Failing.
And through it all, Saya Kuroki eating like the rest of the room didn't exist, never once glancing toward the Rat tables.
Never once glancing at Marcus.
Which is why he noticed when someone else did.
High above the cafeteria floor, a balcony ran along the back wall—administrative access, observation point, the kind of architecture designed to let authority watch without being watched back. Master Lin stood at the railing, hands clasped behind his back, expression unreadable.
His eyes tracked Marcus.
Not the cafeteria. Not the factions or the conflicts or the careful social maneuvering. Just Marcus, alone at his table, eating soup that had gone slightly cold.
He saw me avoid Maria.
The realization hit like cold water. Lin had been watching when Marcus entered. Had seen his gaze sweep the room. Had tracked exactly which table Marcus didn't approach—the one where Chico sat with his girlfriend, the one where a normal new student might have tried to blend in with the biggest faction.
Lin saw everything. That was his job. That was his gift.
And now he was seeing Marcus.
Marcus kept his face blank. Finished his food. Didn't hurry, didn't dawdle. When he stood, he moved toward the exit with the steady pace of someone who had nothing to hide.
Behind him, high on the balcony, Lin's gaze followed every step.