Metal trusses creaked overhead as recruits gathered beneath the massive combat pavilion. The clock read 1325. Time for self-defense fundamentals—something he’d been looking forward to after yesterday’s underwhelming session.

  TD-1’s combat block had been nothing but theory: a mind-numbing presentation on techniques, the program’s goals for recruits, and an assignment to brainstorm ways they could integrate their abilities with various martial arts. The most interesting part had been the explicit instruction to avoid using “Core Powers” during practice.

  Lance had found it peculiar that Sergeant First Class Reid Otsuka used that specific terminology—“Core Powers.” The exact phrasing his internal system used. It suggested USEC knew far more about arma classification than they let on. So, he wasn’t allowed to use Appropriation, but he could use everything else?

  I guess we’ll find out, he thought, rolling his shoulders, working out the lingering stiffness from morning PT.

  At least today promised actual combat. Almost a hundred recruits had gathered under the covered training area—a massive space with a soaring aluminum canopy braced by industrial girders, rows of hanging lights, and multiple ceiling fans circulating the January air. The floor was covered in artificial turf that would cushion falls without completely eliminating the consequences of mistakes. A raised walkway with railings ran along both sides, providing instructors with an elevated vantage point. The structure remained open on the sides, allowing natural light and fresh air to flow through while offering protection from the elements.

  This session would include their entire Division—Division B, comprising multiple Sections including both Papa and Oscar Cells. Lance quickly scanned for Vicky among the recruits, spotting her near the back at the far end of the space, her soft gold-and-cotton-candy-pink strands impossible to miss.

  Only one of the two 2nd evolution recruits I sensed during orientation made it to B Division. He zeroed in on the woman with a solid build and pale skin, white scars trailing along her throat and jawline. Her caramel-colored hair was cut short, practical.

  Wonder what kind of abilities she’s hiding.

  As he watched more cells file into their positions and instructors organize everyone by their sections, the military hierarchy was becoming clearer now: each Section consisted of two Cells, each Division comprised four or more Sections, and the Command encompassed all twenty-six Cells from Alpha through Zulu. The structure was designed to organize three hundred enhanced individuals into manageable units. They conducted hand-to-hand combat sessions at the division level specifically to expose recruits to a wider range of opponents than they would face in their regular units.

  And Lance couldn’t wait to get started.

  “Recruits, eyes front!” Sergeant Otsuka’s voice delivered clear authority despite its conversational volume. The missing left earlobe and the way he constantly checked his analog watch gave him an oddly endearing quirkiness that contrasted with his deadly serious demeanor.

  Lance studied the instructor’s stance, noting how Otsuka maintained perfect balance even while appearing completely relaxed. Everything about the man spoke of countless hours of practice, of movements refined until they became instinct. This wasn’t just another military instructor—this was someone who had most likely fought in three wars, wrestled tigers in Thailand, and possessed the fluid grace of someone who’d learned to fight before he could walk. Someone who reminded him of Marcus. Someone worth learning from.

  “Seven minutes!” Otsuka announced once all eyes were on him. “Remove boots, belts, and unbutton your blouses—but keep them on!”

  Military fabric rustled and metal clinked as recruits complied. Lance unbuttoned his blouse, pulled off his belt, and dropped down to unlace his boots. When his feet met synthetic grass, he noticed warmth beneath his socks where he’d expected cold.

  Heated floors? That’s nice. His appreciation of the amenity evaporated when a voice he had heard not so long ago came from behind.

  “Well, if it isn’t my favorite road trip buddies!”

  “Briella!” Diego’s face lit up. “You made it!”

  The friend they’d met while on their way to Cherry Point stood there, already bootless with her uniform blouse hanging open, and still looking far more put together than she had at that roadside diner. Her dark hair was pulled back in a regulation bun, but her eyes still held that same mischievous glint. “You boys didn’t think you’d get rid of me that easily, did you?”

  “Not at all,” Diego chuckled while he fought with his left boot.

  “How’s the program been?” Lance asked, observing how her posture had improved since the first time they’d met.

  “Brutal. Amazing. Terrifying.” She shrugged. “Sometimes all three at once. But I’m glad I decided to join. You?”

  “It’s been good.” Lance smiled, genuinely happy to see her. “Glad the Corps is working out for you.”

  “Though I could do without the 0400 wake-ups. Seriously, who decided that was a good idea?”

  “I know, right!” Diego said.

  Lance lined up his boots and belt off to the side. “Which cell did they put you in?”

  “Got assigned to Romeo Cell with the most awesome bunch you could imagine. Well, present company excluded, of course. How about you guys?”

  “Me and Lance got Papa Cell.” Diego finally yanked his boot free. “We’re cellmates.” He caught himself mid-sentence. “Cellmates... they had to know what they were doing with that name, right?”

  A muffled giggle escaped Briella.

  “TENHUT!”

  The conversation died instantly as Otsuka took his place at the front of the formation. A hundred bodies snapped to attention. Even Diego managed to look military for a moment. Other drill sergeants spaced themselves evenly along the line, facing the recruits. Lance recognized Staff Sergeant Remington among them, her powerful build making her stand out even among the other instructors.

  “Today we’re covering Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu fundamentals.” Otsuka announced. “Watch closely. These techniques form the foundation of our ground combat program.”

  The instructors moved in perfect synchronization, demonstrating basic grappling techniques as Otsuka explained. “First, the Guard position. This is your foundation...”

  Lance watched the demonstrations with professional interest. The Guard, Hip Escape, Bridge and Roll—basic moves, but essential. His mind automatically cataloged ways to counter each technique with Krav Maga in a real scenario. Still, new tools were always welcome.

  He then sorted through weak points, places where his Israeli self-defence system could exploit openings. In a real fight, this would leave you vulnerable to—He forced the thought away.

  Knowledge is a weapon, he thought. And I collect weapons.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  After several demonstrations, Otsuka had them practice the moves individually.

  He progressed through the Guard, a defensive stance from the bottom. Lance’s Krav Maga training screamed about the vulnerability of leaving your side exposed, but he acknowledged the position’s utility in controlled situations. The Hip Escape followed, demonstrating how to create space and move from beneath an opponent.

  Not bad, Lance thought, though a bit formal for street fighting. Still, absorbed the knowledge. Each technique was another potential advantage, another way to survive when things went wrong. And in this new world, things always went wrong.

  The Bridge and Roll demonstration drew his particular attention. The explosive power required reminded him of how Diego used his Adaptive Limbs ability. Wonder if I could incorporate Morphoplasm to enhance the motion...

  “Partner up!” Otsuka’s command yanked Lance out of his analysis. “Random assignments—we don’t care who you trained with yesterday. Find someone you haven’t worked with before.”

  Before long, lance found himself facing a young woman from Juliet Cell—a nascent biokinetic, based on his Energy Classification skill. She couldn’t have been more than twenty-three, with short brown hair and nervous eyes that wouldn’t quite meet his. Her hands trembled slightly as she took up position across from him.

  “I’m Lance,” he offered, trying to put her at ease. “You’re a biokinetic, right?”

  She nodded, still not making eye contact. “Mara. I... I can make people sleepy. Sometimes. If I concentrate really hard.”

  Lance suppressed a sigh. A nascent stage biokinetic. It’ll be fine, I guess. At least it would let him focus on perfecting his technique without worrying about countering any enhanced abilities.

  “Just focus on the basics. I’ll follow your lead.”

  She nodded, though her stance betrayed her uncertainty.

  They started slow, Lance deliberately keeping his movements textbook-perfect to give her clear examples to work from. But it soon became evident she had never even assumed a boxing stance before, so Lance stepped closer to guide her form.

  “Let’s try the Guard again,” he suggested, spotting how she immediately tensed up. “Here, your arm placement is crucial. May I?”

  She nodded again, and Lance repositioned her grip. “See how this gives you better leverage? Now if I try to pass your guard...” He eased into the movement, letting her feel how the stance naturally countered his advance.

  “Oh!” Her eyes widened slightly as understanding dawned. “That makes more sense than what they showed.”

  “Here,” Lance said softly, shifting her arm. “Keep your elbow tight against your body. It gives you better control.”

  “Like this?” She relaxed, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.

  “Elbow closer to your center line,” he murmured. “Yeah, like that. Now you’ve got better leverage.”

  She moved into position, and he could see the improvement immediately. “Like this?”

  “Better. Now when I come in, focus on using your legs to maintain distance.”

  They worked through the techniques slowly, Lance offering quiet corrections and explanations. Teaching always helped him learn better anyway. Breaking down each movement forced him to understand it more deeply and articulate why it mattered.

  “The key is to think of it as a flowing sequence, not individual techniques. When I push here, you naturally want to...”

  A sudden displacement of air caught his attention. In front of them, a woman had just teleported out of a headlock, reappearing behind her opponent.

  “NO POWERS!” screamed a stocky drill sergeant with an eyepatch. “This is about TECHNIQUE!” His face was purple with rage and a vein throbbed in his neck.

  Lance turned back to demonstrate proper guard position to Mara. “Now when I attack, you’re going to—”

  ***

  The open-sided training pavilion stretched around her as Michelle entered, its high metal roof supported by sturdy steel beams. The floor’s fake grass smelled of sweat and morning dew—telltale signs of enhanced combat program. Other recruits filed in behind her, their chatter carrying past the raised walkways and railings to the buildings and trees visible beyond.

  Michelle took her position along the wall, outwardly relaxed but coiled for action. Her enhanced hearing immediately registered the soft whir of cameras activating, tracking every movement. Good. Everything would be documented.

  She watched as all hundred recruits from her Division made their way into the combat area. Most of them moved with the tentative steps of those still uncomfortable in their enhanced bodies, a few with growing confidence that bordered on dangerous overconfidence. Her palm thrummed as she imagined the precise air burst needed to demonstrate true mastery. Not yet. But soon.

  Everyone began dividing into sparring pairs. Michelle remained unflinching. Joseph Pringle wasn’t among them. No one worth testing herself against.

  A young woman with dark hair veered toward her spot along the wall, amber eyes meeting hers with unmistakable enthusiasm. Michelle suppressed a sigh.

  “Hey there! I’m Briella—Romeo Cell—just got here three days ago—well, guess everyone got here three days ago, but you know what I mean.”

  “Michelle Holland. Kilo Cell,” she said with a curt nod that paid Briella no particular attention.

  “So I was thinking—maybe we could partner up? For the sparring session? I’ve seen you running in the mornings, you’re really fast and strong. How do you propel yourself off the ground like that? It’s wow—I mean, completely amazing.”

  “I don’t think that would be productive.”

  Briella’s smile didn’t falter. “Oh, come on! I know I’m not at your level—nowhere close—but how else am I supposed to improve? Plus, I can handle myself pretty well with fluids—blood, water, whatever—so I might surprise you.”

  Michelle’s gaze shifted to the woman’s stance—sloppy, unbalanced. No muscle memory. No discipline.

  “You’ve had no formal combat training.”

  “Well, no, but that’s why we’re here, right? To learn? My brother always said I pick things up fast—too fast sometimes—like this one time—”

  “This isn’t summer camp.”

  The rejection registered in Briella’s features, then vanished beneath a mask of persistent cheer. “Exactly! It’s serious, which is why I want to train with someone who gets that. Someone like you.”

  Michelle studied her more carefully. The woman’s arma signature circulated unevenly—early stages of First Evolution, bottom tier. A waste of time.

  “Find someone at your skill level. You’ll learn more.”

  “But I’ve already practiced with everyone in Romeo Cell—I need a challenge—need to push myself—”

  “You need fundamentals first.”

  Briella’s smile turned determined. “How about this—one quick round—if I can’t keep up, I’ll leave you alone—promise.”

  Michelle considered the earnestness in those amber eyes. Perhaps a brief demonstration would be educational for everyone watching. A lesson in knowing your limitations.

  “Fine. One round.”

  Her face lit up. “Really? That’s—thank you! I won’t waste your time—I swear—been practicing this move where I—”

  “Stop talking. Center yourself. Prepare.”

  Briella nodded rapidly, dropping into what she probably thought was a fighting stance. Michelle watched her steady her breathing, noticing the subtle quiver of her fingers from excitement rather than fear.

  The poor girl had no idea what she was asking for.

  She bounced on her toes. “Ready when you are!”

  Michelle gestured for her to advance, maintaining perfect defensive posture.

  Briella lunged forward, attempting a takedown that telegraphed her intentions seconds before execution. Michelle sidestepped effortlessly, one hand guiding the opponent past her with minimal contact.

  “Again. Focus this time.”

  The younger woman recovered quickly, circling with newfound caution. Her second approach was marginally better—feinting before changing angles.

  Michelle allowed the grapple, feeling Briella’s hands clasp around her arm. Textbook approach, but performed with a novice’s hesitation.

  One motion. That’s all it took to reverse the position, capturing Briella’s arm in a flawlessly applied americana lock.

  “See the difference? Proper form requires—”

  Briella struggled against the hold instead of tapping, determination overriding common sense. She tried to twist and force herself out, but to her, Michelle’s forearm might as well have been a ship’s hawser.

  Michelle applied slightly more pressure to emphasize her point. Then something odd—a warm rush swept through her arm, up her shoulder, into her chest. Her pulse quickened unnaturally. Michelle felt her blood surging through her veins, a sensation that wasn’t her doing. She glanced at Briella’s face, not seeing the friendly little girl that approached her a minute ago.

  Cute trick. But if she could accelerate blood flow now, what about stopping it later? Or redirecting it? “Nice try,” Michelle said, applying just enough additional pressure to ensure the lesson was received.

  A faint crack. Almost imperceptible.

  The resistance underneath her grip ceased instantly.