“Life is a long lesson in humility.”, It was the stupid, cryptic, dime-store piece of wisdom provided to us right before Beefus sentenced us. My dad, who’d been a billionaire in our time and had paid for the cryo-pods that had kept us in a dormant state for over two hundred years, was the first to go. In 2230, Beefus was the Warlord King who commanded “The Sand Trap”, or what folks in the old American times called “New Mexico”. But that was generations ago, before the visitors, before the war.

These days, most humans lived in an underground network of tunnels controlled by those with the most resources and worst versions of a moral compass if they ever had one at all. “Kill or be killed”, seemed almost a genetic trait. Upon finding our hidden cryo-tanks and waking us up, we were delivered for “assessment” without delay.

Now, a long-haired, bearded man, with a map of body-ink from head to toe sat in judgment before us. He was on a makeshift thrown. One apparently thrown together from long-lost car parts. His feet rested comfortably upon a rug made of human skin. In the background, children’s skulls served as flowerpots.

Little did I know, that in this time and place, folks came in a narrow band of categories. Warriors, workers (scientists, doctors, or other semi-useful people), and slaves. We were being “assessed”, for our new roles. Not the utopia that we expected to wake up to, and about 800 years too early by our count.

Beefus’ eyes were two different colors. The brown one zoomed in on my dad. “So, these ‘cryo-pods’ as you call them, did you build, design, or program them? What is your skill set? Only the useful get to breathe and eat.”, It was the oddest of ominous questions and my father’s stuttering, delayed response before this underground king was promptly rewarded with a spear through his right eye. He next turned his attention to my mother.

“Skillset?”, He demanded, oblivious to the violence he’d just ordered. She was not yet done with her crying and wailing at the sight of dad in a puddle of his own blood, body still twitching. Beefus’s head tilted, apparently intrigued by her odd and out-of-times show of emotion. Crying and self-pity were routinely rewarded with death or cruelty in this place.

She then realized she was being watched with shrinking patience by King Beefus and his entire murderous court. “Lawyer…”, She uttered in-between sobs. “I was a Lawyer.”, She repeated trying to sound less irrational.

“It seems we have no use for you, as I am the law here.”, Beefus said, and his guard immediately raised an iron spear still dripping with my father’s inwards, at which time one of his Court members, Lord Vettner, raised a hand. “My King, I am short one slave in my stable, and she appears no more than forty rotations old.” With a nod, he was granted his request, and my mom was dragged off to some horrible fate in chains, her desperate screams echoing down the dark, underground corridors. Then it was my turn.

“Skillset.” The question was repeated by the bearded brute. Unlike my parents, I was a quick study as I had been both in school and at the dojo.

“Warrior.”, I announced with every iota of confidence I could gather, while meeting King Beefus’s gaze with one of my own, inwardly shitting my 200-year-old panties and wondering which of my eyes his brute would drive that spear through. To my surprise, King Beefus almost smiled and seemed pleased with my response.

“To the pits with her then. Let us see how these earthlings of old fought.” And just like that, my military life in “The Sand Trap” began.