Carver and Mike?
Both were strong fighters, and Mike was also an instructor for the Reserves. They were perfect for hammering someone into shape. Whether Gabriel could endure it was no concern of hers.
Once Gabriel's sobbing gradually quieted to sniffles, Calista finally spoke.
"You've experienced the consequences of your mistakes firsthand. Tears and repentance won't change the past here, and they won't protect you in the future."
Gabriel raised his red, swollen eyes and looked at her with a mixture of confusion and fear.
"At Rock Fortress, everyone has to be useful, and everyone has to take responsibility," Calista continued.
"Your theology might have had its uses before the apocalypse, but until you understand what this world truly is, it's nothing more than baggage. A weakness."
She paused, then called in a member of the Defense Force and pointed at Gabriel.
"Take him to report to the Defense Force Reserves. Tell Mike he's a new recruit assigned to him. Have him and Carver train him. Get the wound on his neck treated again at the medical station so it doesn't get infected. As for everything else, they'll know what to do."
Gabriel froze.
The Defense Force?
Report for duty?
This was nothing like the punishment he had expected. There was no harsh interrogation, no expulsion.
Instead... he was joining the Defense Force?
He was a priest who could barely defend himself, and now he was supposed to join the Defense Force, something that had absolutely nothing to do with his former life?
Still dazed, Gabriel followed the soldier out of the command center, through the core area, and toward a cluster of barracks beside the eastern training grounds.
The training grounds were always one of the busiest and dustiest places in Rock Fortress. The packed dirt was covered in overlapping footprints, the obstacle walls had been worn smooth from constant use, and occasional gunshots cracked from the firing range in the distance.
Beside the training grounds stood a row of warehouses converted into barracks, used by members of the Defense Force and the Reserves while they were on rotation.
The door to one of them stood slightly ajar. Heavy breathing and the rhythmic clang of metal equipment came from inside.
Mike had just finished a round of physical training that bordered on self-torture.
He stood nearly six-foot-three, with shoulders broad enough to almost fill the doorway. His back was turned as he roughly wiped the sweat from his head with a towel.
As he moved, the knotted muscles across his shoulders, back, and arms shifted beneath his skin, crossed here and there by several prominent old scars.
The door opened quietly, and Gabriel was led inside.
He was still wearing his filthy black priest's robe. His eyes were unfocused, his back hunched, and his hands were clasped nervously in front of him.
He looked ten years older than he actually was.
The Defense Force soldier accompanying him greeted Mike.
"Mike, orders from Calista. This is the new recruit assigned to the Reserves, Father Gabriel, from the prison. He's yours. The commander said Carver can help train him too."
Gabriel stood awkwardly in the doorway, unsettled by the heavy smell of sweat filling the room.
He stole a glance upward and saw only Mike's enormous back and a set of weights casually discarded nearby that looked heavy enough to crush someone.
Just then, there was a soft noise from the window.
Someone braced a hand against the sill from outside, and an agile figure vaulted through, landing lightly on the floor.
It was Carver.
He leaned against the window frame with one leg bent against the sill, casually playing with a small throwing knife. The blade flipped smoothly between his fingers.
"Starting this early? Couldn't wait for me?"
Carver whistled at Mike, then noticed Gabriel trembling near the doorway.
One eyebrow rose.
"Who's this? New rookie? Doesn't look like he'd survive much training, Mike."
Only then did Mike turn around.
He glanced at Carver and jerked his chin toward Gabriel.
"Father Gabriel. From the prison. Calista personally told us to train him."
"A priest?"
The knife in Carver's hand paused.
He tilted his head and studied Gabriel more carefully.
Calista had personally arranged this?
And specifically told Mike and him to handle the man?
That was unusual.
Calista rarely paid this much attention to a newcomer unless there was something special about them, or unless they required some very special "attention."
Carver straightened and walked a couple of steps toward Gabriel.
He stood more than half a head taller than the priest, his build lean and well-proportioned.
He slowly circled Gabriel once, his gaze sweeping over him like a searchlight.
Hunched shoulders.
Thin arms with barely any muscle.
Slightly trembling legs.
A dark, haggard face.
Filthy clothes and shoes.
Gabriel grew increasingly uncomfortable beneath his scrutiny and lowered his head even farther.
Carver suddenly reached out.
He moved so fast Gabriel didn't even have time to react before Carver had grabbed his upper arm.
His fingers tightened, squeezing the soft, completely untrained muscle.
Gabriel sucked in a breath from the pain but didn't dare complain.
"Tsk."
Carver released him.
The wary look on his face immediately turned into undisguised disbelief.
That was it?
He leaned slightly closer, caught the sour smell of vomit mixed with blood coming from Gabriel, and took another careful look at his face.
Ordinary features. Fear and exhaustion made him look even more unremarkable. He appeared more than a decade older than Carver, and the anxiety in his eyes couldn't have been more obvious.
Whatever inexplicable caution Carver had felt toward him deflated instantly.
That was it?
No muscle.
Nothing remarkable about his looks.
No presence whatsoever.
Not particularly young either.
He looked like life had already beaten him half to death.
No threat.
Absolutely no threat.
Carver reached his conclusion.
He couldn't understand why Calista would deliberately hand such an unremarkable, frail, injured priest over to him and Mike.
Had Calista suddenly developed an interest in adding some "spiritual enrichment" to Rock Fortress?
Or had the priest done something at the prison and been sent here for some "special education"?
The second possibility seemed far more likely.
After all, people handed over to Mike for "education" generally weren't in for a pleasant time.
Once Carver reached that conclusion, most of his interest vanished.
He stepped back, leaned against the windowsill again, and resumed flipping the throwing knife through his fingers.
His posture returned to its usual relaxed state, now carrying the faint amusement of someone waiting for a good show.
"Mike, Calista really found you a promising one this time," Carver said teasingly. "Look at that build. That presence. Clearly raw talent. You'd better make sure you 'cultivate' him properly."
Mike ignored the mockery.
His eyes remained fixed on Gabriel, brow furrowed as though he were deciding which part of the priest needed to be hammered into shape first.
After a long silence, he spoke bluntly.
"Your neck's injured?"
Gabriel blinked before realizing Mike was talking to him.
He hurriedly nodded, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Y-yes. It... it got cut."
"You've been crying? Threw up too?"
Mike's eyes swept over Gabriel's swollen red eyes and the stains covering his clothes.
Gabriel's face flushed with humiliation.
He could only nod again.
Mike remained silent for several seconds before jerking his head toward the door.
"Go to the infirmary first. Have them clean the wound, disinfect it, and put on fresh gauze."
He paused before adding, "Wash your face too. A Rock Fortress Reserve can be weak, but he can't be filthy, and he doesn't run around with untreated injuries."
The order caught Gabriel completely off guard.
He had expected to be thrown directly into some hellish training routine, or at the very least subjected to a vicious dressing-down.
Instead... Mike was telling him to get his wound treated first?
Gabriel abruptly looked up at him, disbelief filling his eyes.
"What are you staring at?"
Mike frowned and waved him away impatiently.
"Move. Get it treated and get your ass straight back here. Starting tomorrow, the good times are over.
"Three months of basic Reserves training compressed into one month. If you can't complete something, you train extra until you can. Here, there are no priests. Only results. Understood?"
"Y-yes! Understood!"
Gabriel jolted and quickly answered.
He stumbled out of the barracks, worked up the courage to ask a friendly-looking Defense Force soldier for directions, then hurried toward the infirmary as though afraid Mike might change his mind at any moment.
Once Gabriel disappeared through the doorway, Carver finally burst out laughing.
The throwing knife left his hand with a thunk and buried itself in the doorframe, quivering slightly.
"Look at you, Mike. You actually know enough to let the guy get treated first. I figured you'd throw him into a mud pit and make him roll around three times before anything else."
Mike walked to the table, grabbed a water bottle, took a long drink, then wiped his mouth.
"An infected wound is more trouble. It'll interfere with training. Calista handed him over to us, so what she wants is obvious.
"Rebuild him. Make him useful. At the very least, make him less useless.
"Maybe Calista has plans for Gabriel later."
He thought back to Gabriel's expression, snorted, then tapped his chest with his fist.
"But what he lacks most is here."
Then he pointed at his temple.
"And here."
"You really think you can train him into something?" Carver asked dismissively as he pulled the knife from the doorframe. "With that body and those nerves? I bet he can't even finish five kilometers carrying a pack."
"If he can't finish, he keeps going," Mike said flatly. "Until he can."
"Calista gave the order, so backing out isn't an option. Here, you either toughen up or you get eliminated."
Carver shrugged and dropped the subject.
He didn't particularly care whether Gabriel amounted to anything.
As long as the man didn't have some special significance to Calista, he was nothing more than an ordinary rookie who needed to be drilled into shape.
Hardly worth Carver giving him any extra attention.