The Favourite Brother: Complex Edition

A welcome battle and a reunion

Chapter 22:

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{The day was Sunday, June 30th, 2024}

The day where they'll have their first practice match, to hone their skills, and grant them experience to future matches in the upcoming tournament.

A man wearing a Boko hoodie enters through the agitator building. With a cup of coffee in hand, a clipboard full of new laws and regulations on the other, he looks to the digital clock embedded on the wall. The time now was "5 o'clock."

He thinks to himself, "Why do we have to wake up so early in the morning? It's freaking cold out," That's when he realised that due to a rule made by the ever so considerate, yet cynical General, it prompted men, from Army to Marines, to sleep for nothing more than eight hours. This applies to all days.

While that does sound good, he remembers that newly appointed officers and guards were literally sent to wrangle up scattered soldiers, and take them to the living quarters so they can sleep. So, essentially, they're forced to sleep in 9 PM – but knowing teenagers like them needed more sleep, this makes them more effective in training and battle.

God help them if Ray decided to create the night shift.

He settles into his office chair, resting before his kiosk full of radios, and a push-intercom system that relays his message to all the agitators.

Turning on the gadgetry by himself, he takes one final look at the clipboard, and rehearses his lines to prevent him from corpsing or stammering. It took fifteen minutes, but at least the men have good extra minutes of sleep.

After that task finished, he takes out his phone, and searches "Military reveille bugle horn sound." After setting it to the highest volume possible – even cupping his hand to make the sound less spread out, and giggling to himself, he pushes the intercom button, and lets his phone do all the work.

The sounds of a loud and obnoxious bugle horn reverberate through the entire field. He could see lights shining from the many infantry cabins that are in his vision range. He could even hear the bugle horn himself penetrating through his concrete building and bulletproof glass.

After the horn had stopped, and he now sees men—Army, Navy, Air Force, or Marine—slowly funnelling out of their keep wearing civilian clothing. They really need proper uniforms.

The man then puts his mouth up close to the mic, and speaks.

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Matthew: "GOOOOD MOORNING, OOARAI! This is your humble military DJ and Foreman ISAAAC MAAATHEEWS! Coming to you live from inside the agitator control station. Sorry for that rude wake-up call, boys, but you're in the military, and you got to get used to that. Especially since I've been using that for well over three days now ever since our hovel here got a new rebranding. Before I get to the important bit, let me go over to the new rules and regulations set by the ever so benevolent jerk, General Roland Gonzales. Ahem... Increased rations for all involved! Feast like kings eating beans and soup in your canteens! Because all of you get twenty percent more food on your plate! Combat ration, or otherwise. Why are we doing this? I have no idea. But yes sir, I would like to contract constipation. All hail to Ray!"

"Next law; The duelling law has saw an overhaul. Apparently there are cases of men forgetting to wear the protective pads, as well as the fighter gloves, and lacking any protective gear, which granted you all a stay in the clinics. Arena masters, you are now obligated to give duellers the pads, gloves, and gear, even if they don't want to. Also, new gladiator clothing is available, because fighting shirtless is more damaging than you know. If you won't stop being short fused pricks, this wouldn't have been implemented in the first place. Little piece of advice: CONTEXT. IS. IMPORTANT. Even going far as explaining the entire joke if it means avoiding an altercation."