"You're a quick study," Duncan said, reviewing his target patterns on a datapad. "Qualification scores are well above standard. I'm signing off on your weapons cert."

  She reached into a secure case and removed several items, laying them out methodically. "Standard loadout for our mission. Two energy grenades. Twist to arm, throw within five seconds of arming or they auto-deactivate." The grenades were sleek, matte-black spheres with recessed activation switches. "Noise-canceling tactical headset with integrated comms. Three-mile range, encrypted channel, battery good for seventy-two hours' continuous use."

  Next came a compact tactical flashlight with a focusing lens that could narrow from flood to spotlight, and finally, an eight-inch blade in a composite sheath.

  "Custom knife," Duncan explained as Kevin examined it. "High-carbon steel core with ceramic edge reinforcement. Designed specifically for penetrating Redz armor at vulnerable points. Goes through their plating like it’s butter."

  Kevin tested the knife's weight and balance, appreciating the thoughtful design. The handle fit his grip perfectly; the blade catching the light with deadly promise.

  "We're good to go, then?" he asked, sheathing the knife.

  Duncan nodded. "We leave at 0600 in three days. Full kit, ready for..."

  "Well, well," a familiar voice cut through their conversation. "If it isn't the Old World wonder himself."

  Lieutenant Vex strode across the training field, her red skin gleaming in the afternoon sun. She wasn't alone. Three soldiers flanked her, all wearing the same crimson hue that marked their shared mutation. Behind them followed a broad-shouldered man with a conventional skin tone but unnaturally dense musculature that stretched his uniform tight across massive shoulders.

  "Lieutenant," Duncan acknowledged coolly. "This is an authorized training session."

  Vex acknowledged her with a stiff nod, eyes fixed on Kevin. Her posture was rigid, the embarrassment from the mess hall still radiating from her in waves of heat. "We noticed your qualification scores. Adequate." Her tone was brittle, walking the line between professional courtesy and lingering hostility.

  The muscular man stepped forward, squaring up to Kevin. Despite being several inches shorter, he radiated aggressive confidence, jabbing a thick finger directly into Kevin's chest.

  "Hey, shitface," he snarled, voice gravelly and low. "I heard you slammed my girl on her back. I dare you to do that to me, pussy."

  The tension crackled like static electricity. Kevin could feel Val tensing beside him, her tail bristling. Duncan stepped between them, her posture authoritative despite her smaller stature.

  "Stand down, Corporal Alexander," she ordered. "That's an official command."

  Alexander's eyes never left Kevin. "Just a friendly training exercise, Captain. Man to man. Unless he's scared."

  The finger jabbed again, harder this time. Kevin could have broken it with minimal effort, could have dropped Alexander before he even registered the movement. But that would escalate the situation beyond recovery.

  Instead, Kevin smiled. Not the tight, professional smile of military courtesy, but the genuine expression of a man who'd just been offered exactly what he wanted.

  "I'm down for training," he replied, stepping around Duncan with casual ease. "Always good to learn the local techniques."

  Alexander's eyes widened slightly, surprise flashing across his features before being replaced by hungry anticipation. He hadn't expected acceptance, had been counting on Duncan's intervention or Kevin's refusal.

  "Central mat," Alexander growled, recovering quickly. "Five minutes. No weapons."

  As the red-skinned squad turned to leave, Kevin caught Duncan's eye. Her expression was carefully neutral, but something lurked beneath the surface: concern, certainly, but also curiosity. She wanted to see what he could do as much as Alexander did.

  "You sure about this?" Val murmured, her voice pitched low. "Alex is an enhancement-level mutant. Bone density three times normal. He's broken guys in half during 'friendly' matches."

  Kevin rolled his shoulders, feeling his own enhanced muscle and bone shift beneath his skin. "Good thing I'm not normal either."

  The central mat was a thirty-foot square of high-density foam covered in weathered gray canvas, stained dark in places from years of spilled sweat and blood. A crowd had already formed around its edges. Word traveled faster than sound in the confined ecosystem of Fort DC. Kevin stepped onto the surface barefoot, feeling the subtle give beneath his toes, testing the traction as Alexander stretched his massive shoulders on the opposite side. The corporal's face was set in stone, eyes narrowed to predatory slits, his body coiled with the potential energy of a compressed spring.

  Alexander settled into a formal stance that Kevin didn't recognize. Feet staggered, hands open but tensed, weight centered low.

  "I've broken six men's spines on this mat," Alexander announced, voice pitched to carry to the gathered audience. "You're about to be lucky number sev..."

  Kevin closed the distance before the final syllable left Alexander's mouth. Not with his full enhanced speed, that would have been overkill, but fast enough to disrupt the psychological advantage Alexander was trying to establish. A fighter who monologues is a fighter who wants to win the battle before it begins.

  Alexander reacted with impressive speed, shifting his weight to absorb Kevin's forward momentum. His hands came up in textbook form, deflecting Kevin's testing jab with a forearm sweep that carried enough force to numb an ordinary man's limb.

  They separated, circling. The crowd had fallen silent, the only sound being the soft pad of their feet on canvas and the distant, eternal scratching of Redz against the wall.

  Alexander attacked with a combination of strikes that spoke of formal training refined by combat experience. His first punch carried superhuman power, and Kevin could feel the displaced air as he swayed just outside its arc. The follow-up knee thrust would have shattered a normal ribcage. The spinning elbow that completed the sequence whistled past Kevin's ear by centimeters.

  Fast. Accurate. Disciplined. And hitting with at least three times normal human force.

  Kevin countered with techniques born in the close-quarters nightmare of urban warfare. Economical movements designed to redirect momentum rather than meet it head-on, pressure point strikes aimed at nerve clusters, and joint manipulations that worked regardless of an opponent's raw strength. He slipped inside Alexander's guard, landing a palm strike to the solar plexus that disrupted the corporal's breathing rhythm.

  Alexander staggered back half a step, surprise flashing across his face before being replaced by calculated intent. The crowd murmured. No one had expected the Old World soldier to land the first solid hit.

  "Lucky," Alexander growled, rolling his shoulders.

  He advanced again, more cautiously this time. His style shifted, abandoning the formal stances for something rawer and more direct. A feint to the left drew Kevin's attention before a blindingly fast right hook came in low. Kevin caught the blow on his forearm, redirecting it outward, but the sheer force sent a shock wave up to his shoulder.

  Kevin countered with a knee strike aimed at the corporal's thigh, targeting the nerve bundle that would temporarily deaden the limb. Alexander checked it with his own knee, the impact of bone against bone reverberating through the mat.

  They broke apart. Sweat gleamed on Alexander's forehead despite the brief exchange. Kevin felt his own heart rate elevate slightly, not from exertion, but from the focused intensity of combat against a worthy opponent.

  Your solar plexus is exposed during your counter-rotations, AIDA observed silently. He's tracking the pattern.

  The warning came just in time. Kevin adjusted his stance milliseconds before Alexander launched a devastating straight punch directly at the vulnerability. Instead of hitting solid flesh, the corporal's fist grazed Kevin's side as he pivoted away.

  The crowd was fully engaged now, soldiers calling out encouragement or technical advice to both combatants. Kevin caught a glimpse of Duncan watching with analytical intensity, while Val's tail lashed back and forth in agitated arcs.

  Alexander pressed his perceived advantage, following Kevin's evasion with a flurry of strikes that drove him toward the edge of the mat. Each blow came with forcing responses that would eventually trap Kevin in a corner with nowhere to retreat.

  It was tactically sound. But it assumed Kevin needed to retreat.

  Instead, Kevin stepped into Alexander's attack pattern, absorbing a rib-shattering punch that would have crippled any ordinary soldier. The impact sent lightning bolts of pain through his torso despite his enhancements. Something cracked inside him, a hairline fracture at minimum, but AIDA was already flooding the area with enhanced healing factors, dulling the pain to a manageable throb.

  The momentary surprise of Kevin taking the hit rather than avoiding it created the opening he needed. He trapped Alexander's extended arm, stepped past the corporal's centerline, and executed a precise hip throw that used the larger man's forward momentum against him.

  Alexander hit the mat hard, but rolled immediately into a defensive posture, only to find Kevin had anticipated the movement. As Alexander came up, Kevin was already there, catching him with a palm strike to the sternum that forced the air from his lungs, followed by a sweep that took his legs out from under him again.

  This time, Kevin followed him down, transitioning into a control position that pinned Alexander's right arm in a joint lock while applying precise pressure to the carotid artery with his forearm. Not enough to cut off blood flow completely, but enough to make the threat clear.

  Alexander struggled for half a second before going still, recognizing the futility of resistance. His eyes, inches from Kevin's, showed not fear but a dawning recognition. It was the look of a predator acknowledging another apex hunter.

  The mat fell silent. Even the scratch of Redz against the distant wall seemed to fade, as if the universe itself were holding its breath.

  Kevin could have applied more pressure. Could have forced a submission or even rendered Alexander unconscious in seconds. Instead, he released the hold and rose to his feet in a single fluid motion. He extended his hand downward, offering the corporal not just assistance but dignity.

  For a tense moment, Alexander stared at the offered hand. Then, his face broke into a surprisingly genuine smile. He clasped Kevin's wrist in a fighter's grip, allowing himself to be pulled upright.

  "Where the fuck did they teach Old World soldiers to fight like that?" he asked, rubbing his throat.

  "Philippines, mostly," Kevin replied. "Some techniques from Myanmar, others from the Mexican border conflict."

  Alexander nodded with newfound respect. "Good shit." He rolled his shoulder, wincing slightly. "You could have put me out."

  "Wasn't the point."

  "No," Alexander agreed. "It wasn't." He turned toward his squad, who had watched the exchange with varying degrees of surprise. "This is my team. Lieutenant Vex, you've met."

  The red-skinned woman stepped forward. She didn't smile, but the open hostility from earlier had dimmed to a guarded wariness. She gave a stiff nod, acknowledging the outcome without verbally conceding anything. It was likely the best he was going to get.

  "Private Keaton," Alexander continued, indicating a short, compact soldier with spiky blonde hair and what appeared to be faint scales along her jawline. "Demolitions expert. Can make a bomb out of a toothbrush and a bad attitude."

  Keaton nodded once, eyes assessing Kevin with newfound interest.

  "And Private Washington," Alexander finished, gesturing to a tall, dark-skinned soldier whose mutation manifested as subtly elongated fingers with an extra joint. "Best tech specialist in the UAC. Can hack anything with a circuit board faster than you can say 'security breach.'"

  Washington gave a casual salute. "Watched your Cylopear takedown footage from the bunker. Clean work."

  Kevin felt Duncan step up beside him, her body language still guarded but no longer hostile toward Alexander's squad. "Your team heading out soon?" she asked.

  Alexander nodded, his demeanor shifting to all-business. "Southern perimeter sweep. Which reminds me..." He turned back to Kevin. "There's a Red Giant operating near Fairville. Biggest one we've seen in months. Probably thirty feet tall."

  "Shit," Val muttered from behind them. Her ears had flattened against her head. "That complicates things."

  "It's staying in the deep forest for now," Alexander continued. "Seems territorial rather than aggressive. But if you get into a heavy firefight out there, the noise will bring it running."

  Kevin absorbed this tactical information, already calculating how it would affect their approach to the mission. "Anything else we should know?"

  Alexander hesitated, then shrugged those massive shoulders. "Redz are thicker on the ground than usual. Migration patterns have shifted. Something's driving them southeast, toward Fairville."

  "Appreciate the intel," Duncan said.

  Alexander extended his hand to Kevin again, this time in genuine camaraderie. "Good luck out there. Try not to die, Old World. I want a rematch when you get back."

  As Alexander's team moved away to prepare for their own mission, the gathered crowd began to disperse. Several soldiers nodded to Kevin as they passed, the earlier wariness replaced by something closer to acceptance. He'd passed some unspoken test, earned a measure of respect in the universal language of warriors.

  Duncan and Val closed in around him, forming a tight triangle of conversation away from curious ears.

  "Nice work," Duncan said quietly. "Alexander's squad is the best strike team in the UAC after us. Having them on our side is better than having them against us."

  Val's tail had resumed its normal movement, the bristling fur settling back into sleek black lines. "That Red Giant is bad news, though. Last one I saw flipped an armored transport like it was a toy."

  "We adjust the plan," Kevin said simply. "Quieter approach, silenced weapons where possible, minimal explosives."

  Duncan nodded, already making mental calculations. "We've still got two more days. Let's run through night movement drills and silenced weapon quals."

  As they headed back toward the equipment station, Kevin felt the enhanced healing completing its work on his fractured rib, the bone knitting itself together at accelerated speed. The pain faded into a dull memory.

  His place in this new world was solidifying, not through grand declarations or official recognition, but through the basic currency of respect that soldiers had always traded in. Show what you can do. Prove your worth. Protect your team.

  Some languages never needed translation, even across a gulf of one hundred and fifty years.

  Chapter eight

  BETTER RUN THROUGH THE WASTES

  The training field stretched out before Kevin, still empty in the pre-dawn light. He stood motionless at its center, eyes closed, feeling the strange energy of Redz40 humming beneath his skin. Five days. Duncan had given him five days to master abilities he barely understood before they headed into the wasteland. The red bar in his vision pulsed gently, full for now, a reservoir of potential he needed to learn to control.

  The key to RTD is controlled expenditure, AIDA explained, her voice clinically exact in his mind. Think of it as a muscle. Flex too hard, you deplete quickly. Maintain gentle tension, and you extend duration.

  Kevin opened his eyes, focusing on a training dummy thirty yards away. "And if I run dry?"

  Then you're just a superhuman until you absorb more ambient Redz40, AIDA replied. Not ideal in combat situations with overwhelming odds.

  He exhaled slowly, centering himself as he'd been taught during Green Beret training. The principles weren't so different: focus, control, discipline. Only the application had changed.

  "Let's try again," he murmured, reaching for the strange electricity beneath his skin.

  The world slowed. Sound stretched into distant echoes, and the air thickened like syrup around him. The red bar began to drain immediately, more rapidly than he'd expected. Kevin sprinted toward the training dummy, crossing the field in what felt to him like normal speed but would appear as a blur to anyone watching. He struck the dummy with a calculated blow to what would be the throat, then pivoted for a second strike.

  The world snapped back to normal speed. The red bar had emptied completely. His fist connected with the dummy at normal strength, the impact jarring his knuckles.

  "Shit," he muttered.

  You expended 100% charge in 3.4 seconds, AIDA informed him. Extremely inefficient.

  "Thanks for the critique," Kevin replied dryly, shaking out his hand.

  Footsteps approached from behind. It was Duncan, arriving for the morning session. She wore her standard training gear, her blonde hair tucked beneath her worn baseball cap.

  "Early start," she observed, tossing him a canteen. "Good. We've got a lot to cover."

  By mid-morning, the training field had filled with soldiers running their own drills. Duncan had set up a makeshift shooting range with automated targets that popped up randomly. Kevin worked through the weapon accumulation methodically: energy rifle, shotgun, pistol, grenades. His accuracy was exceptional, as it always had been, but something felt off.

  "You're fighting your instincts," Duncan noted after his third run through the course. She stood with arms crossed, her posture revealing nothing, but her eyes missed nothing. "Your file says you were a top-tier marksman, but you're gravitating toward close-quarters techniques."

  Kevin nodded, the observation confirming what he'd felt. "The enhancements. They work better up close."

  "Makes sense," Val chimed in from where she sat perched on an equipment crate, cleaning her custom sniper rifle. "If you can move three times faster than normal, why stay back? Get in their face, end it quick." Her tail swayed thoughtfully. "Leave the long shots to me."

  The next few days became a blur of exertion and adaptation. Kevin practiced transitioning between normal and enhanced states, learning to modulate the drain on his reserves. He discovered that focusing on single-system enhancement, such as just reflexes or strength, drained the bar slower than full activation.