The training field, once a place to push their lungs to the limit, had transformed into a suffocating death trap. The cadets' hair stood on end; seeing Varkas standing arrogantly in the center made the field feel as though it were merging with the shadow of a gallows.
"Units 008, 009, and 010! You're late! Roll your bodies to the edge of the field!" Varkas shot Jean a look of utter disdain. "Corner to corner, one full lap!" He grinned widely, his cyborg eye locked onto Nugia as if broadcasting his inner thoughts.
Drog watched with a satisfied smirk, savoring the command and the spectacle about to unfold.
Fifteen cadets were forced to roll like discarded tires. They performed a torturous acrobatic display. Exhaustion was no longer the primary enemy; the peak of the torment was the nausea churning their stomachs, the vertigo hammering their consciousness, and their backs slamming hard against the cold concrete every time their heads flipped over.
Two cadets from Unit 010, trailing at the back, were the first to vomit up the rations they had just consumed an hour ago.
The world spun violently, creating a vortex worse than any nightmare.
"My... head... feels like... it's exploding..." Amae croaked, his voice nearly drowned out by the thud of bodies hitting the abrasive surface.
"Don't talk, Amae! Focus!" Zilla commanded between ragged gasps—a command that was utterly useless against the gravity currently playing games with their brains.
Meyra clenched her fists tighter than the stones beneath her. Each time she leaped to rotate her body, her muscles screamed in protest. Beside her, Reyna fought the rising bile in her throat. Every time she flipped on the rough floor, she clamped her hand over her mouth, desperately trying to keep her dignity from spilling onto the skin-grating floor of PETERUMMAN.
Only Nugia seemed unaffected. He moved like a black orb racing through the darkness; even the spotlights couldn't seem to catch his fluid agility.
"Look... Nugia... has finished... six laps..." Amae stammered. Something hot and bitter in his throat made speaking increasingly difficult.
"Uuuk..." Amae suddenly stopped. He slumped down, legs outstretched and head hanging low. "Something... wants... out..." he whispered.
"Out?" Meyra asked, confused. They paused for a second to claw for air, and that's when it happened...
Uweek!
A yellow fluid erupted from Amae's mouth. Bits of sausage and bread, now turned into acidic mush, mingled with a stench that assaulted the senses. Reyna, positioned directly in front of Amae, suffered the instant fallout. She began to retch as well. Her eyes watered, the salty fluid staining her pale face.
Wawa and Jep from Unit 008 couldn't hold back either, collapsing into the same pool of nausea. The tears streaming down their faces told a story of more suffering than their mouths could ever express.
Zilla and Meyra immediately covered their eyes and noses, pushing forward without daring to look back. Thanks to Amae, a domino effect had been triggered. The entire unit was vomiting in unison, except for three: Nugia, Meyra, and Zilla.
Varkas clenched his fists until the veins in his neck and jaw bulged, enraged by Nugia's unflinching composure. "Two minutes left! If even one of you doesn't finish, a new punishment follows!"
"What are you doing, Sergeant?! You know they can't make it!" Jean protested loudly. "You want to kill them just because of your petty hatred, Varkas?!"
"Shut your mouth, subordinate! I was the one ordered by Colonel Lion to train them!" Varkas barked back. Their gazes froze, locking in a confrontation barely an inch apart.
Zilla seized the moment while the two instructors were locked in their ego battle. Her sharp eyes caught the moment Varkas's jaw tightened, his attention fully consumed by Jean's defiance.
"Everyone, run!" Zilla whispered sharply, loud enough for her dying unit members to hear.
Without question, Unit 009 scrambled up in a low crouch—moving like shadows darting under the glow of the spotlights. They stole several meters with what little strength they had left. But Zilla's instincts warned her that Varkas would turn back any second.
"Get down!" Zilla signaled, pressing her hand toward the floor.
THUD!
In unison, they slammed their bodies back down, hugging the cold concrete just as Varkas's cyborg eye swept the ranks. The sound of their bodies hitting the floor blended perfectly with Jean's echoing shouts, masking their heavy breathing. In Varkas's eyes, they still looked like heaps of "trash" struggling to roll.
Only Nugia remained impassive, enduring a punishment that was more accurately described as torture.
From a distance, Jean's voice echoed again, slicing through the silence of the field. "But I have the right to train them too, Varkas! I've been an instructor since you were still crawling!"
Thanks to Zilla's shrewd observation, Unit 009 and the others managed to touch the finish line just before Varkas's watch beeped. They were saved from further punishment, but the atmosphere didn't thaw. Instead, the air grew colder as a cold war ignited between Varkas and Jean.
Varkas stood still, his cyborg eye staring intently at Nugia, who stood upright without a single stain of vomit. He knew something was off with Unit 009's speed, but he had no proof to punish them again in front of Jean. Meanwhile, Jean countered with a cold stare, daring Varkas to overstep his authority once more.
However, the real threat didn't just come from the instructors.
In a dark corner of the field, far from the reach of the spotlights, another pair of eyes watched with pure hatred. Drog stood in the center of his unit, witnessing how Unit 009—the unit that was supposed to be scum—had outsmarted the situation under Zilla's leadership.
Drog clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned white. To him, Unit 009's success was a personal insult. In PETERUMMAN, no one was allowed to appear smarter or stronger than him.
"Look at them," Drog hissed to his subordinates. "They think they can keep playing cat and mouse here."
He spat to the side, his eyes never leaving Zilla and Nugia's backs. In his mind, a plan began to take shape. If Varkas couldn't destroy them officially, Drog would ensure Unit 009 was crushed by other means later on.
"Fall in by unit order! From this moment on, the hierarchy of Sector 7 is officially enforced. Units 001, 004, 005, 007, and 009... You are the Elite units, meaning you become soldiers today!" Varkas shouted, his eyes bulging as he glared at Nugia, as if his eyeballs were about to pop out. "You will be given missions before being sent to the front lines!"
"As for the other units, you are supplementary soldiers. You will be stationed in logistics, the mess hall, and assigned to daily picket duties to maintain all PETERUMMAN facilities!" he yelled again, displaying the uniforms and equipment of the combat units.
"Listen, this equipment requires Ether as a power source. Complete missions, and you will earn the Ether to keep your gear active!" He continued to glare at Nugia, his brow furrowing as he ground his teeth.
Varkas's cyborg eye dimmed for a moment, as if he were uploading his data of hatred directly into the central system. He turned and walked away, leaving Unit 009 behind in a stench of acid and concrete dust. Nugia stared at his own hands, imagining how the Ether energy would flow beneath his new uniform. He didn't care about being scum or elite; for him, every second here was merely a countdown to something much larger than a mission.
In another corner, Drog was still watching, and the silence of the field felt more threatening than any shout. That night, under the red glow of PETERUMMAN, they were no longer just kids trying to survive. They were machines that had just been fueled, waiting for the command to start destroying one another.