"Round two?"

  "Meeting more people. Getting more stares." He opened the door. "Stay close. Walk like you have every right to be here, because you do."

  Larissa squared her shoulders and lifted her chin, a soldier's posture settling onto her frame with surprising naturalness. "Lead the way."

  The corridors of Fort DC wound through the repurposed infrastructure like arteries in a massive organism, each passage serving its specific function in keeping the settlement alive. Kevin led Larissa through the labyrinth with practiced ease, past hydroponics bays where leafy greens grew under specialized lights, around maintenance crews repairing water pipes, and through security checkpoints where guards tracked their progress with curious eyes.

  "Keep your eyes forward," Kevin advised quietly as they passed a group of off-duty soldiers who fell silent at the sight of Larissa. "They'll get used to you eventually."

  The Mess Hall occupied what had once been an underground parking structure, now transformed into a cavernous dining area that could accommodate five hundred people at once. Metal tables arranged in precise rows filled the space, each bolted to the floor at regulation distance from its neighbors. The ceiling-mounted ventilation system hummed constantly, cycling air through industrial-sized filters that couldn't quite eliminate the mingled smells of cooked protein, sweat, and disinfectant.

  Kevin spotted Duncan and Cox at a corner table, both freshly showered and dressed in standard olive fatigues rather than their field gear. Cox's wolf ears twitched at their approach, swiveling in their direction before she turned to wave them over. Her tail, usually in constant motion, lay relatively still, a sign of her exhaustion after their extended mission.

  "Food first," Kevin said to Larissa, guiding her toward the serving line. "Then we'll join them."

  They collected metal trays and moved through the queue, receiving their allotted portions from stone-faced staff who barely registered Larissa's unusual appearance. The day's protein was grilled Blue steak, a thick cut of the iridescent meat they'd harvested in Fairville, now seared to a caramelized exterior while maintaining its distinctive blue-green center. Beside it sat a portion of starch, sliced bread made from UAC's engineered wheat, and a small serving of vegetables grown in the hydroponics bay.

  "Is that...?" Larissa asked, eyeing the meat.

  "Blue," Kevin confirmed. "Ration allocation prioritizes returning field teams. The steaks are a welcome-home bonus."

  They navigated through the crowded hall, aware of conversations pausing as they passed, gazes tracking their progress. Kevin maintained a deliberate pace, neither hurrying nor lingering, his posture communicating that they belonged here despite any appearances to the contrary.

  Duncan shifted to make room as they reached the table, her eyes tracking nearby soldiers with the habitual vigilance of someone accustomed to potential threats from all directions. Cox grinned at them, her canines gleaming in the overhead light.

  "You clean up nice, Red," she said to Larissa, using the nickname she'd apparently decided upon. "Those temp uniforms fit better than I expected."

  Kevin set his tray down, sliding onto the bench opposite Duncan. "Quartermaster Walsh works miracles."

  Larissa sat beside him, her movements careful, as though afraid the bench might collapse under her weight. She stared at the Blue steak on her plate with uncertainty.

  "It's good," Cox assured her, already halfway through her own portion. "Tastes like spicy lobster. You cook it hard on the outside, keep it rare in the middle."

  Larissa cut a small piece and tried it, her eyes widening at the flavor. She swallowed and immediately cut another, larger piece. "It's... incredible."

  "Best protein in the wasteland," Duncan agreed, tearing off a piece of bread. "And you helped bring in twenty-two of them. That buys you some goodwill around here."

  They ate in silence for a few minutes, the simple pleasure of clean food after days of field rations requiring no commentary. Around them, the Mess Hall buzzed with the controlled chaos of military dining: metal utensils scraping against trays, conversations held at precise volumes that wouldn't carry to neighboring tables, and the occasional burst of laughter quickly contained.

  Duncan set down her fork, her plate nearly clean. "Let's talk about the next thirty days," she said, transitioning to business with characteristic efficiency. "President Wilson wants you combat-ready for the Beilvor briefing, Red. That gives us one month to make you an asset instead of a liability."

  Kevin wiped his mouth with a napkin, appreciating Duncan's directness. "I need training too," he admitted. "The healing abilities, the RTD manipulation, I'm still figuring out the limits and applications. I won't be a liability when people are counting on me."

  "You're not a liability now," Cox said, her tail swishing against the bench. "But refining those skills could mean the difference between killing ten hostiles and killing twenty." Her ears perked forward. "AIDA giving you any insights on improving control?"

  "Some," Kevin replied. "She's running simulations constantly. The Redz40 responds to intent and visualization, but precision requires practice." He turned to Larissa. "What about you? Any skills we can build on?"

  Larissa set down her fork, considering the question with evident care. "I've never used a gun," she said slowly. "But I was pretty good at hitting stuff, even before..." She gestured at her transformed body. "I worked in the kitchen when the GC first captured me, before I got too sick to stand. I'm good with a knife, cutting meat, vegetables."

  "Close-quarters combat, then," Cox nodded decisively, her single eye gleaming with professional assessment. "We'll start with basic defensive postures, work up to offensive techniques. Get you novice proficiency with a pistol for ranged threats, but focus on what suits your strengths." She glanced at Kevin. "Your healing gave her raw power. Our job is to refine it into something controlled."

  Duncan tapped her fingers against the table, clearly mapping out a mental calendar. "I'll work with the engineers on improving my assault rifle and developing better close-combat weapons for both of you." She eyed the standard-issue combat knife at Kevin's belt with evident disapproval. "Basic blades won't be sufficient for your fighting style. You need something that can capitalize on your enhanced strength."

  "What about missions?" Kevin asked. "Will we be field testing during the training period?"

  Duncan shook her head, her expression resolute. "No field work until basic training is complete," she said, answering Kevin's question about missions. "President Wilson wants us base-bound for the first three weeks. Security patrols in the tunnels at most." She leaned forward, lowering her voice as two soldiers at the next table glanced their way. "We need to be certain Larissa can handle herself before we take her into a hot zone. Same goes for your new abilities, Kevin. Better to have a controlled environment for initial testing."

  Kevin nodded, aware of the eyes tracking them from surrounding tables. Conversations throughout the Mess Hall continued at normal volume, but beneath that steady hum of voices ran an undercurrent of curiosity with glances darting toward their corner table, necks craning for better views of Larissa's crimson skin, and whispers passed between comrades. None of it escaped his enhanced hearing.

  "They'll get bored eventually," Cox said, noticing his attention shift. Her tail twitched against the bench. "New recruits always draw stares. Red here just draws more than most."

  Larissa kept her gaze fixed on her plate, methodically cutting another piece of Blue steak. Her violet eyes flickered up occasionally, cataloging exits and potential threats with the instinctive wariness of someone accustomed to danger from all sides. When a tray clattered loudly at a nearby table, her knife hand tensed, knuckles whitening around the handle before she forced herself to relax.

  "What will I be facing?" she asked, voice pitched low. "Out there, I mean. You three fight like it's breathing. I've only fought to survive, never..." She searched for words, her crimson fingers flexing against the table's metal surface. "Never with purpose. Never as part of something larger."

  Duncan studied her with the calculating gaze of a commander assessing a new recruit's potential. "Redz incursions near the outer perimeter. Raider groups similar to the Waste Mob. Occasionally larger threats if intel suggests Gulf Confederacy movement into our territory." She tapped the table with her index finger. "Nothing you'll face alone. We operate as a unit."

  "The strength you've got now changes the equation," Cox added, ears perking forward with interest. "Most people take years to build that kind of physical power. Your transformation gave you the hardware overnight." She grinned, canines gleaming. "Now we just need to upload the software."

  Larissa's brow furrowed with confusion.

  "She means we need to train your instincts," Kevin explained. "Raw strength isn't enough. You need technique, tactical awareness, weapons proficiency."

  Cox nodded, warming to the subject. "We'll start you with basic hand-to-hand tomorrow morning. Focus on defense initially: blocks, holds, evasion. Once you've got the fundamentals, we'll move to offensive techniques." She gestured with her fork. "Afternoon sessions will cover pistol basics. Grip, stance, trigger discipline. Don't expect to be Annie Oakley in a month, but we can get you comfortable enough to hit center mass at ten yards."

  "Annie who?" Larissa asked.

  "Old World reference," Kevin said with a slight smile. "Before my time, even."

  Duncan pulled a small notebook from her breast pocket, jotting down notes with practiced efficiency. "I'll coordinate with Engineering about weapons development. Standard UAC blades won't maximize your capabilities." She glanced between Kevin and Larissa. "We need something that can channel your enhanced strength without breaking on impact. I'm thinking titanium alloy core with a molecular-edge coating."

  "Overkill for normal humans," Cox commented. "Perfect for you two."

  Kevin considered his own training needs, the red bar in his vision a constant reminder of power waiting to be refined. "AIDA's been analyzing data from our field encounters," he said, keeping his voice low enough that nearby tables couldn't overhear. "She thinks I can improve RTD efficiency and healing precision with structured practice."

  "How specific does she get with her recommendations?" Duncan asked, professional interest evident in her posture.

  "Very," Kevin replied. "She suggests I can reduce energy consumption during combat RTD by thirty percent with proper focus techniques. The healing abilities apparently respond to intent and visualization, so the clearer my mental model of the desired outcome, the more efficient the process."

  "Does she..." Larissa hesitated, violet eyes finding his. "Does she say anything about me? About what I can do now?"

  Kevin shook his head. "AIDA only has direct neural interface with my system. She can observe your capabilities when you're nearby, but can't access your biochemistry directly." He studied Larissa's disappointed expression. "But based on what we've seen so far, your enhanced strength exceeds normal human parameters by a factor of at least five. Your healing rate is accelerated, though not as rapid as mine."

  "Could you teach me to use guns?" Larissa asked Cox, redirecting the conversation with evident determination. "I've never even held one before. In the Gulf territories, slaves caught touching weapons were executed."

  Cox's ear twitched. "Everyone can learn to shoot. It's about muscle memory and repetition." She studied Larissa with her single eye. "Your reflexes are probably excellent now. That'll help."

  "I might not know weapons," Larissa said, pushing her empty plate away, "but I learn quickly. And I won't forget why I'm doing this." A shadow crossed her face. "I remember everything they did. Everything I saw in those camps."

  The table fell silent, the weight of her words hanging in the recycled air. Kevin recognized the steel beneath her quiet statement, the same determination he'd seen in countless soldiers across years and continents. The specific horrors changed, but the resolve they forged remained constant.

  Duncan broke the silence, her tactical mind already moving forward. "0600 tomorrow. Physical assessment in Training Room Three." She glanced at Kevin. "You'll work with her on basic conditioning while Cox prepares the combat training schedule." She checked her watch. "For now, get some rest. You're still technically recovering from field deployment."

  They gathered their empty trays, the meal complete but the conversation continuing as they stood. Around them, the Mess Hall had begun to empty, the dinner shift transitioning as soldiers moved to evening duties or brief recreation before lights-out. The stares that had followed them throughout the meal had diminished, Larissa's presence already becoming yesterday's news in the constantly evolving gossip ecosystem of Fort DC.

  "Ready?" Kevin asked Larissa, noting the fatigue in her posture despite her transformed strength.

  She nodded, suppressing a yawn. "More ready than I've ever been," she said, though her violet eyes betrayed the exhaustion of a day filled with more change and stimulation than perhaps her entire previous life.

  They made their way toward the exit, four warriors united by purpose if not yet by experience, preparing in their own ways for the challenges that would forge them into something more cohesive than merely a team. Behind them, trays clattered and voices hummed, the ordinary rhythm of Fort DC continuing its steady beat beneath the extraordinary circumstances of their meeting.

  Kevin woke to screams. His eyes snapped open in the darkness, body tensing for combat before his brain fully registered that the cries came from within the room. Across the narrow space, Larissa thrashed on her makeshift pallet, crimson limbs tangled in standard-issue blankets, her face contorted in terror. He rolled from his bed in a single fluid motion, crossing to her side and dropping to one knee. Her screams had morphed to desperate whimpers, words in some language he didn't recognize tumbling from her lips as she fought invisible enemies.

  "Larissa," he called, voice low but firm. When she didn't respond, he reached out, strong hands gripping her shoulders. "Larissa, wake up. You're safe."

  Her eyes flew open, violet irises luminous in the darkness. For a terrifying moment, she didn't seem to recognize him, her body coiling with the enhanced strength that could easily break bones. Then awareness flooded back. She gasped, sitting upright so suddenly that Kevin nearly lost his grip on her shoulders.

  "The collars," she whispered, hands flying to her throat. "I felt them. The iron. Cutting into my skin." Her fingers traced phantom wounds on her neck, finding only smooth crimson flesh. "It felt so real."

  "Nightmares," Kevin said, releasing her shoulders but remaining close. "They get worse after trauma. The mind processing what the body endured."

  Larissa drew her knees to her chest, making herself small despite her transformed physique. In the dim emergency lighting that never fully extinguished in Fort DC, Kevin could see tears tracking down her crimson cheeks, leaving darker trails against her skin. Her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs that finally broke free, cascading into full-body tremors that seemed to originate from somewhere deep inside her.

  "I was back there," she managed between hitching breaths. "The Gulf Confederacy camp. The sorting pens where they traded us like livestock." She pressed the heels of her palms against her eyes. "They were measuring my teeth, checking my glands for disease. Marking my arm with the price they thought I was worth." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And then they were sending me away, and I knew I'd never see freddom."

  Kevin sat on the edge of her pallet, the thin mattress barely yielding under his weight. He had witnessed this before, as the delayed reaction to trauma once the immediate danger passed and safety allowed the mind to process what had happened. In his years of soldiering, he'd seen it manifest in countless ways across different cultures.

  "The nightmares don't mean you're weak," he said quietly. "They mean you survived."

  Larissa looked up at him, tear-streaks glistening on her face. "What if I can't do this? What if I'm not strong enough for what comes next?" Her hands trembled as she gestured vaguely toward the door. "Everyone out there expects me to become a soldier. To fight. But I was a kitchen worker before I got sick. Before the Waste Mob." She swallowed hard. "I like everyone here. I don't want to lose this."

  Her body seemed to collapse in on itself, crimson shoulders bowing forward as she pressed her face against her knees. Without conscious decision, Kevin moved closer, one arm wrapping around her shoulders. She stiffened momentarily, then leaned into him, her trembling form solid against his side despite her emotional fragility.

  "We're a team now," Kevin said firmly, his voice low and steady in the darkness. "I never abandon a comrade. Either all of us go home, or none of us go home."

  The words left his mouth with practiced certainty, but as they hung in the recycled air, something shifted in his mind. A door opened to memories he'd kept carefully compartmentalized since waking in this broken future.

  Suddenly he wasn't in Fort DC anymore.

  He was on the shores of Hainan Island, the air thick with sulfur and ozone from energy weapon discharges. The Taiwanese special forces operator he'd spent three months training lay against him, half the young man's body melted away where a Chinese pulse rifle had caught him during their beach landing. The soldier, Chang, his name was Chang, how could Kevin have forgotten even for a moment, stared up with eyes that still registered shock more than pain.

  "I'm scared," Chang whispered in heavily accented English, blood bubbling at the corners of his mouth. "Don't want to die here. Want to go home." His remaining hand clutched at Kevin's tactical vest with surprising strength. "Tell my mother I wasn't afraid."

  But he was afraid. They all were. The fear was what kept you moving, kept you fighting when your body wanted to shut down. Kevin had learned to use that fear, to channel it into action. Chang hadn't had enough time to learn that lesson. At twenty-two, he'd barely begun to understand what war truly meant.