Dogmatic Dungeon Dominion

Penn plopped down on the edge of the cot in the shared barracks with a sigh, pulling out his phone and typing "How to guide" in the search engine. When the search bar was completed, he skipped to the images tab and immediately threw his phone across the room in disgust. He had forgotten to turn on safe search mode and was immediately flooded with endless unsavory images. In frustration, he threw his head into his hands and flopped backward onto the bed. 

"Weren't guides supposed to be small and cute? I remember some even being unnecessarily pretty…" he groaned out. He himself was a well-built man. Above-average height, well-built muscles from weight training, sharp facial features, and overall just a standard military grunt look. He knew he was at least handsome—his self-esteem wasn't low after all. This new career was outside his life and career goals. It was already frustrating enough that all awakened must be directed to the Hunter's Association, but to awaken as a guide of all things? He turned on his side and punched his pillow several times before giving up and sitting back up. 

"Let's go train…" Penn thought out loud to distract himself, walking to the other side of the room to retrieve his surprisingly well-preserved phone. He dusted off the non-existent dust as he chewed the inside of his cheek and mumbled, "At least I didn't gain the strength of a hunter - my phone would have been destroyed. I'm still paying off." 

His large, standard combat boots echoed down the long hallway as he went to the far inadequate indoor training room. Though all awakened must go through standard military training to be certified as hunters, they all return to the Hunters Association, which is why the funding lacks overall outside the academies and training grounds.

As he entered the weight room, he grabbed the boxing gloves and made his way to the punching bags, securing the wrap around his wrists and fingers before slipping the gloves on. While kneeling, he took the time to do low forward and side lunges and stretch his way upward before starting his workout. After a few neck circle stretches, his Adam's apple more prominent, he gulped down some water before starting his punching and kicking pattern.

The weight room was quiet, except for the muffled sounds of kicks, punches, and grunts. Most of the base was on vacation for the day, while only essential personnel who were all on duty remained. Having the training area to himself was both a blessing and a pain in the ass for him. He could work out his frustrations without any interruption, forced small talk, or being pushed aside based on seniority. However, he also lacked a training partner for actual combat who could correct any mistakes or posture issues.

With every frustrated punch, the images from his web search kept coming to mind. With every kick, all the rumors he'd ever heard about guides kept coming to mind. He grew embarrassed, relieved that he was alone. Until he left the base, he didn't want a single person to know he had awakened as a guide. Their reputation was already low in the barracks from locker room talks; the service members who had never even met one before were always quick to slut-shame. He was no better, though he never joined in on the talk. He never voiced a rebuttal, either.

"Shit," he mumbled with a loud groan as he punched the bag a final time before fumbling down onto the mat. His arms rested on his spread knees, and his head hung low. "How am I any different from that trash?"

"Let's go shoot something," Penn huffed out as he pushed himself off the ground, throwing his gloves off and cleaning the equipment before leaving the room and heading to the basement-level shooting gallery. If he broke some records, he could feel better. No sparring partner was needed for such training, after all. After the elevator beeped, he stepped into another long hallway with many secured doors he had to use his keycard to pass through.

"Penny, are you here to shred some paper?" joked the overseeing officer in charge of signing weapons in and out, maintenance, and cleaning.

"No, Mister, I came here for breakdancing lessons from your nephew. Didn't you say your dad entered the Olympics for the first time decades ago, hosting the sport and representing Australia? I heard Tennent say he was inspired by the creativity of the Australian female dancer," Penn made a small joke in return, a smile twitching at his lips.

Though he was known to be quite aloof, he always felt comfortable with the officer who trained him since his entry into the unit when he turned twenty—that was also his high school best friend's younger uncle whom he had known for years, Mark Rinne, who was only ten years his senior, so much so that he was jokingly called Mister because of his initials.

"You take that back right now," Mark's eyes widened in horror. "No guns for you."

"That's an abuse of power," Penn replied with a smirk, holding his hand out for a pistol that should be making its way into his possession. "I could report you for that."

Mark clicked his tongue, returning to the gun locker to retrieve the weapon and ammunition. Penn softly chuckled. At twenty-seven, you couldn't get away with much in a base filled with hierarchy-obsessed soldiers. So, sassing an overseeing officer was usually a pipe dream. But he had joined the army at eighteen and had served a full two tours, plus other achievements.

"Almost a decade here, and you still can't show me respect," Mark continued. His short and curly auburn hair seemed to bounce with each step, his sky-blue eyes creased with light smile lines, and his tan skin flexed nicely over his well-defined muscles as he unlocked the gun cabinet.

He was a very handsome man, no debate there. But, at thirty-seven, he was unmarried and had never publicly dated. This caused turmoil in his family. Penn gave a wistful smile, though it was lost on whether it was due to Mark's dating history or the comment about having made it for almost ten years.

"Yes, so close," he mumbled, his jaw clenching. He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants as if trying to wipe away his guilt.

"I heard you even went somewhere with Commander Hoffman. He's a real trashcan, that one," Mark teased, winking an eye at Penn, who flinched in response. His eyes shifted to the side and down, his usual avoidance response when he was too uncomfortable to answer. Anyone else would assume he was rude and considered them too beneath him to utter any word. But that wasn't the case, and Mark knew him well.

"What's wrong?" he asked, handing over the rounds, gun, and noise-canceling headphones. He then took Penn's badge to scan for the sign-out process.

"I just had the urge to beat my previous score," Penn replied, pensively smiling. Mark's smile twitched slightly, his eyes darting to Penn and then back to his screen as he finished the sign-out process.

"Hmm, knowing you, it'll happen easily. Scan your thumb," Mark replied, nodding his head to the scanner on the counter. Penn pressed his thumb, heard the correct ding, and picked up the items. As he made his way to the gun range, Mark came around the counter to set the range up with the paper target before throwing on his own headphones as Penn finished loading his gun and moving into his shooting stance. "Have you talked to Tenny lately?"

"Been busy," Penn said without looking at Mark, arms raised as he readied to fire. Mark stepped back with his stopwatch ready and watched from the side as he fired the clip empty. He clicked the timer for the first round and called back the target to replace it with the next one. Penn started yet another round without a word, and Mark tracked the time again. This continued until Penn asked for a few more magazines.

"Penny, no one's here. I know you're not much of a talker, but it's me. Hmm?" Mark asked with a sigh, leaning against the cage divider between shooting lanes. Penn slowly blinked a few times before sighing, putting the safety-locked gun on the table, and turning to face Mark.

"I'm being transferred." He replied in a strained voice. Mark stood up straight, surprise evident on his face as he sucked in a breath.

"What?!" his overseeing officer asked, panic in his voice. "Where?"

"The Hunters Association," Penn responded, looking away.

"Why? Did you awaken as a Hunter?" Mark quickly replied, hands landing on Penn's shoulders, but Penn refused to meet his eyes.

"No, not as a Hunter…" Penn's brows furrowed, feeling a sense of shame fill inside him. Mark's face went from confusion to horror, paling at the realization.

"As a Guide?" He loudly whispered in horror, but he was only met with silence. His arms fell from Penn's shoulders. "Oh shit, Penny… but your military goals—"

"It doesn't matter anymore. The transfer is mandatory; you know that, Mister. I never had a choice in the matter, and I—" His voice cut off as he stepped back and leaned against the table, his head falling into his hands. "I don't… don't know anything anymore. I'm so tired."

"Penny…" Mark tried to reply, reaching his hand out, pausing, and withdrawing it. Penn, who saw this between his fingers, clenched his jaw before standing straight.

"Don't bother. I need to pack. I leave tomorrow. Goodbye, Sir. I appreciate everything you've done for me," Penn said in a monotone voice. He saluted before handing the equipment to Mark and using his keycard to sign out. Mark stood there in silence as he watched Penn walk away.