The distribution of tactical combat uniforms, new boots, and tactical helmets—complete with earpieces and holographic visors—was finally fulfilled. However, something was different. The elite units received advanced watches equipped with GPS and other cutting-edge systems.
On paper, they were finally worthy of being called true soldiers. But at PETERUMMAN, every inch of fabric was paid for with a heavy price.
The cadets were called forward by their units. Before their fingers could touch the cold tactical fabric, they had to receive a "greeting" from Varkas: a crushing kick to the stomach and a merciless strike from his iron-clad fist. The sound of metal meeting flesh echoed across the field, followed by the sound of retching blood and bodies collapsing, only to be forced back up to drag their equipment away.
From Unit 008, Jep (011) took a heavy blow to his solar plexus, holding his ground with a slight slouch. Closing their unit was Wawa (033), who let out a groan like a woman as the kick landed. He slumped to the ground. Just as Varkas moved to stomp on his head, Jean stepped in. "Enough! That crosses the line, Varkas!"
Then came Unit 009's turn.
Reyna and Amae stepped forward with heads bowed, trying to minimize the impact that choked the breath from their lungs. Meanwhile, Zilla and Meyra stood tall, accepting the blows with fists already bloodied from the insane requirements Varkas had set. They ground their teeth against the pain, refusing to fall.
But when it was Nugia's turn, Varkas lost control. His cyborg eyes glowed crimson, radiating a hatred that had peaked since the earlier rolling incident. Without warning, Varkas unleashed four brutal, consecutive kicks to Nugia's solar plexus.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
The final blow was much harder. Nugia's small frame was sent flying backward like a broken ragdoll. Before he could hit the hard concrete, a hand caught him mid-air.
Jean.
The instructor cradled Nugia's limp body while his other hand rose, halting the movements of a blinded Varkas.
"ENOUGH, VARKAS!" Jean roared, his voice echoing louder than any hydraulic machine on the grounds. "You aren't training them; you're trying to destroy Master Vier's assets!"
Varkas took a heavy breath; the friction of the pistons in his neck sounded like the low growl of a restrained wild dog. His cyborg eyes slowly faded from burning red back to an unstable, dim orange. Yet, as his gaze fell upon Nugia's still-expressionless face, his primitive instincts flared again. His mechanical leg creaked, lunging forward with a deafening hydraulic hiss.
Whish—SNAP!
Jean caught the kick before the heavy iron could gain full momentum. With just one hand, Jean deflected the attack as easily as swatting away a breeze.
"Let go, Jean!" Varkas shrieked. To Nugia, the iron-bodied instructor looked pathetic—like a child throwing a tantrum while being physically restrained.
"If you don't want this limb to end up as scrap metal, make sure you act like an instructor from here on, Varkas!" Jean snarled. His voice was low, carrying an undeniable authority.
Varkas went silent, his breathing ragged. Not daring to look at Jean again, he turned and began pummeling the cadets of Unit 010, venting the remains of his shattered pride onto the concrete floor.
Jean turned to look at Nugia. The boy was still standing, despite the blood trickling from his lips. His brow was furrowed deep—an expression of immense pain as he clutched his stomach, which had been pulverized by those four kicks.
"Unit 009, take your gear!" Jean handed the pile of tactical fabric to Zilla. He stepped closer, leaning in until his lips were right beside Zilla's ear.
"You utilized him well on the field today," Jean whispered, barely audible. "That was my final gift to you. From now on, you must stand on your own."
From the edge of the line, Drog narrowed his eyes. To him, it looked as if Jean was simply giving extra instructions with a thin smile. Drog didn't know those were parting words, marking the end of their protection.
Jean stood tall again, his voice thundering across the field: "Today's lesson! You earned those uniforms by crawling! Next, you will duck-walk, carrying your gear above your heads, and hanging your boots from your mouths by the laces until you reach the dorms!"
Zilla went silent. Jean's whisper left her colder than the concrete floor she had just been hugging.
A final gift? Those words rang in her head. While biting down on the stiff boot laces and lugging the heavy gear over her head, Zilla realized one thing: their protector had just withdrawn. From this second forward, Unit 009 was truly alone in the hell known as PETERUMMAN.
***
On the other side of PETERUMMAN, Sector 7 held a million perversions that were slowly clawing to the surface—primitive human instincts, twisted curiosity, and a dark side lying in wait.
Inside the Gaia Paradox Laboratory, giant tubes lined the walls. They contained human-monster hybrids, the byproduct of a primal urge—curiosity—that had slaughtered humanity.
The scent of blood and chemicals dominated the air, rotting not just the sense of smell, but the mind itself, with macabre "ornaments" of monster heads on human bodies and vice-versa. Hundreds of tubes stood with their own horrific characteristics, like a weekend exhibition of the damned.
"Colonel Lion, you are hiding something from me!" Captain Snake whispered without looking away from the small device displaying a hologram of Lion's face.
"What do you want, Snake?" Lion crossed his fingers.
"Subject 009. He achieved a level of agility comparable to yours—2/10 targets! Level A is not for ordinary people; even a hundred senior soldiers couldn't hit those targets!" Snake used his tablet to scroll through Nugia's data from the training a few weeks ago.
"It took you a long time to find that out, Snake!"
"Colonel, please don't dodge the subject. I want that promising boy back," Snake murmured. The glint in his glasses seemed more threatening than the cunning smirk he showed Lion.
"I think you should consider your own position right now, Snake!"
"Truly terrifying, Colonel!" Snake smiled, but this time his eyes were clearly visible—slit like a reptile's pupils. "If they can defeat one of my masterpieces, I will leave him to you, Colonel!" Snake baited.
"Fine. I will consider it, Snake!"
Click!
The call vanished, leaving Captain Snake alone. His hand trembled as he stroked the data of Subject 009, whom he had handled some time ago. His grin now looked more like a starving predator. But behind the room, the sound of dragging footsteps created a wave of echoes that vibrated every time they hit the floor.