The last of the recruits crossed the finish line with lungs burning and legs trembling. There was no ceremony for them—no pause to recover, no congratulations for simply not collapsing. The med teams peeled off those who could no longer stand, tagging them with quiet efficiency before ushering them away toward shuttles that would take them back to Earth.
Failure was processed as cleanly as success.
Heinrich barely registered it. His breathing had already stabilized, heart rate falling back into a disciplined rhythm. Sweat soaked the inner lining of his uniform, the weighted pack biting into muscle that still hummed with exertion. He felt alive—sharpened, honed by strain and pain.
The instructors did not give them time to savor it.
"Down on the deck!" Arlo barked. "Calisthenics. Now. You collapse here, you don't get back up."
They dropped.
Push-ups, core rotations, dynamic holds, explosive lifts—movements designed not just to test strength but endurance under cumulative fatigue. Heinrich focused on form, ignoring the burn that crept up his arms and into his shoulders. He paced himself carefully, tracking the red-haired woman out of the corner of his eye
She moved differently than the others.
Not flashy or rushed. Every motion economical, precise, almost predatory in its calm. She finished first without visible strain, stepping back as if she had merely completed a warm-up.
Heinrich finished second.
Arkyn came in third, collapsing onto his back with a theatrical groan. "I'm suing whoever invented gravity," he muttered.
Heinrich reached down and hauled him up by the collar, smacking the back of his head lightly. "Get up. You look sloppy."
"That hurts my feelings," Arkyn said, then brightened as the red-haired woman walked past them. "Hey—uh—so, statistically speaking, if we're all about to die horribly someday, how about dinner sometime?"
Heinrich hit him again, harder.
The woman stopped. Turned.
Up close, Heinrich noted the details he'd ignored earlier. Five foot eight. Long red hair tied loosely, strands falling forward to obscure part of her face. Pale skin marked with faint scars—old, healed. Her eyes were sharp, assessing, carrying an edge that suggested she was used to being underestimated.
She looked at Arkyn like one might look at a stray animal deciding whether it was amusing or annoying.
"My name is Anne," she said coolly. "And if you want my attention, you'll have to earn it. I don't waste time on men without goals—or morals."
Arkyn blinked, then straightened, placing a hand over his heart. "Careful what you wish for. I might just sweep you off your feet and become the man of your dreams."
Anne smirked, turning away, her hair falling forward to hide most of her expression. "Try not to trip over your own ambition then."
She walked off.
Arkyn stared after her. "I think I'm in love."
"You're an idiot," Heinrich said, though he noted Anne's composure with interest. Strength. Discipline. Control.
Captain Arlo's voice cut across the grounds. "Crimson Knights. Obstacle course."
The structure loomed ahead—steel frames, vertical climbs, rotating barriers, low-grav segments calibrated to disrupt balance. It was designed to break rhythm and expose hesitation.
"Wynn," Arlo called. "You're first. Pick your challenger."
Heinrich didn't hesitate. "Reyes."
Arkyn's grin widened. "Bold choice."
Arlo's cybernetic eye whirred faintly. "Rules are simple. Whoever loses runs it again against a new opponent until they win. Endurance beats all. The Apeps won't give you the luxury of being tired."
They lined up.
The signal sounded.
They launched forward. Heinrich moved cleanly through the first obstacles, muscle memory guiding him. But Arkyn surprised him—vaulting barriers with unexpected speed, adapting to shifting gravity faster than Heinrich anticipated.
By the final climb, Arkyn pulled ahead.
He crossed the line first.
Heinrich finished seconds later, chest tight, frustration flaring hot and immediate.
Arkyn turned, panting, and grinned. "Too slow, Commander."
Heinrich clenched his jaw.
"Again," Arlo ordered. "Pick."
Heinrich's gaze shifted to Anne. "Her."
Anne's eyebrow rose. "Gladly."
They ran.
This time Heinrich pushed harder, adapting his approach, shaving seconds where he could. He crossed first, beating her by a narrow margin. Anne followed, unfazed, and immediately stepped back into line.
She didn't look at him.
Instead, she beat her next opponent with ease.
Heinrich stood still, breathing hard, the realization settling uncomfortably in his chest.
I got beat. Again.
Not decisively—but enough.
Arkyn jogged over, clapping him on the shoulder. "Relax. You learned something. Defeat and passion to win. Also—did I impress her?"
"You impressed yourself," Heinrich said. "That's enough."
Before Arkyn could reply, a ripple of movement spread across the grounds.
The TwinBlades had finished.
They were marched over under escort, their formation tight, disciplined. At their head walked their captain.
Captain Malrin.
Six foot two. African American. Broad-shouldered. Confident to the point of provocation. He was already wearing partial space armor—the mesh underlayer.
It was a statement.
The mesh was no training aid. Pressure-resistant. Explosive-resistant. Strength amplification at five times baseline. Damage reduction. Thirty minutes of independent air. And it weighed three times the wearer's body mass.
Wearing it here was not just intimidation.
It was disrespect.
Heinrich saw Arlo move.
One moment the Crimson Knights' captain stood beside the obstacle course. The next, he was in front of Malrin, movement so fast Heinrich's eyes barely tracked it.
"Stand down," Arlo said quietly. "Or I put you down."
Malrin smiled. "Relax, Arlo. Just reminding your kids what real soldiers look like."
"You're violating protocol."
"I'm inspiring competition."
The air between them crackled. Heinrich felt it—a pressure like two gravity wells colliding. Malrin knew exactly who Arlo was. What he could do.
Still, he provoked him.
"Half of them won't last the month," Malrin continued, his voice carrying. "The rest will learn what it means to be dead foot soldiers."
Arlo's cybernetic eye glowed faintly. "You're done."
Before Malrin could respond, a familiar presence stepped into Heinrich's peripheral vision.
The TwinBlade leader.
He stopped a few paces away and looked directly at Heinrich.
"I'm Kane," the man said. "Kane Jr."
The name landed like a calculated strike.
"The colonel's son," Heinrich said flatly.
Kane Jr smiled thinly. "My mission is simple. Beat or kill everyone here and reach the top."
Arkyn shifted subtly behind Heinrich moving to where he can been seen but can attack from a blind spot and change his posture—no humor now. Ready for anything.
Heinrich met Kane Jr's gaze without flinching. "If you wanted an easy climb, you should've stayed planetside. Licked your father's boots and wagged your tail like a good boy."
Silence.
Kane Jr's smile vanished.
Across the grounds, Arlo and Malrin stared each other down—two veterans, neither looking away one smiling one glaring unwilling to yield.
Above them, Heinrich stood locked in place with Kane Jr, fully prepared to take him down. Arkyn waiting for the word to attack and Anne watching quietly but prepared for anything.
And no one willing to throw the first punch but ready for brawl.