Weeks had passed.
After many drills under a blazing sun. Diving into boiling canals that smelled like metal and sweat. The kind of exhaustion that made bones ache. Brian had made friends—Danny, Matt, and a handful of others. But as he lay in the barracks one night, staring at the ceiling from his top bunk, something felt… off.
Danny was on the lower bed, flipping through a ration manual, humming softly to himself.
And Brian—He couldn't shake the feeling that someone, or something, was watching them.
The group of soldiers on the other side of the barracks were blowing thick smoke into the air. The smell of herbs drifted across the room, stinging the noses of the two men — though neither seemed to mind. "Hey! You boys want a hit?" someone yelled from the other side.
Dan waved him off. "Nah, amigo. Fumes just not my thing."
"It's good stuff, man! Cough, cough — Man, you sure? This is Simon's stash!"
Brian shook his head and waved his hand as if to say, I'm good.
A sharp whistle suddenly split the air. Dan shot up from the bed and glanced at the clock above the door. "Mierda! Five o'clock! Gotta get going," he shouted before sprinting out the door.
"Boo yeah!" Brian jumped down from his bunk and followed. The smokers scrambled to hide their stash under their mattresses.
"Freakin' Tubby Wash, man! Always picks the shit damn time!" someone groaned as they rushed outside to form up.
By five-thirty, every soldier stood in neat rows on the training field behind the main building. They wore sleeveless shirts, short drill pants, and combat boots — ready for the physical endurance test. Brian, who was built like a machine himself, looked more than ready.
It wasn't surprising. He'd always been in good shape. As well as Dantonio — the guy used to be an athlete — so this was nothing new for him. But their friend Matt... well, physical stuff wasn't exactly his strong suit. They'd been training for weeks, and today was their first official fitness test.
A row of metallic training droids lined the field, each wearing campaign hats for some reason. Their glass heads glowed faintly, showing the wires and circuits pulsing inside. A narrow strip of light served as their "eyes," flashing across like a neon billboard.
"Beep-beep-beep." One of them gestured for the soldiers to line up — four rows, fifteen men in each. Sixty in total. Sergeant Tumblewash jogged over in his tracksuit, scanning the lines.
"All right! Four squads, shoulder to shoulder! First group goes through the jump pit, the rest follow right after! Understood?!"
"Aye aye, sir!" everyone barked. The sun was burning orange now — almost dusk.
"Why the hell are we using robots for this?" someone muttered near Brian.
"Probably 'cause Watch is having a slack-off," another joked.
"Or maybe they're just better at counting shit, huhuh," Brian said, calm but confident.
"Whatever, hermano. I'm ready." Dan cracked his neck in the back row.
The robot froze for a second, then text scrolled across its visor: Resetting…
After a brief pause, it beeped again and began a ten-second countdown. The first row crouched, ready to sprint.
"3, 2, 1, GO!"
"Hoorah!" The front line dashed off, leaping hurdles and climbing ropes over muddy trenches.
"Second wave, go!" the droid's metallic voice blared.
"Hurrah!" the next line followed.