[Month 2]

  PART I: THE BRASS

  General Stroebel rubbed his temples as the projector hummed to life. The conference room’s sterile atmosphere seemed to intensify around the polished table where four other generals and Agent Garvin sat waiting. His fingers itched for a pen to doodle with, but he kept his hands folded in front of him instead.

  “Let’s get started. General Shannon Washington, where do we stand with the training cohort?”

  Badger tapped her tablet, sending the first slide to the main screen.

  “Four days into training, and we’re already seeing significant progress in most cells. Our baseline metrics show 78% of recruits demonstrating measurable improvement in ability control.”

  “And the remaining 22%?”

  “Either plateaued or struggling with the structured approach.” She swiped to the next slide. “I’ve authorized specialized interventions for the highest-risk cases.”

  The room’s air conditioning hummed in the brief silence. Stroebel studied the chart, tracing the colored lines with his eyes.

  “These power curves are steeper than projected,” he said.

  “Yes sir. Particularly in Charlie, Kilo, Papa and Sierra Cells. Several individuals are showing accelerated development patterns.”

  Stroebel pulled a pen from his pocket and began drawing small, precise squares on his notepad. “Agent Garvin, your thoughts?”

  She straightened in her chair. “The Enhanced Development Agency is concerned about the rapid progression. Our models suggested a more gradual power increase over the first month.”

  “Is that cause for concern or celebration?” asked General Phillips, a weathered Air Force officer with skeptical eyes.

  “Both, sir. Accelerated development means faster combat readiness, but also increased risk of control failures.”

  Stroebel’s pen moved to triangles now, each one perfectly equilateral. “And our containment protocols?”

  “Tested daily,” Washington replied. “The specialized dampening systems in the barracks are functioning at 97% efficiency. We’ve increased monitoring during rest periods to catch any nighttime discharge events.”

  “What about the incident with Romeo Cell’s recruit? Briella Cimarron?”

  The room grew still. Washington’s fingers stopped moving on her tablet.

  “A tragic accident during hand-to-hand combat training,” she said carefully. “Major Holland was demonstrating a standard joint lock when the recruit resisted rather than yielding. The enhanced strength differential resulted in catastrophic cervical fracture.”

  Stroebel’s pen stilled. “And the psychological impact on the other recruits?”

  “Mixed responses. Some are shaken, others seem to understand the risks inherent in the program. The SITEs report increased caution during physical training, which isn’t necessarily negative.”

  Agent Garvin cleared her throat. “There is concern about recruit Lawthorn’s reaction. He attempted to engage Major Holland immediately after the incident.”

  Stroebel’s eyebrows rose. “Elaborate.”

  “He moved to attack her before Maj Holland contained the situation. Lawthorn is currently in the infirmary with severe head trauma. We’re still awaiting his status report.” His emotional control has been flagged as a potential issue since recruitment.”

  Stroebel’s eyes narrowed. “Two casualties in one training session?”

  “Technically, only one casualty,” Washington interjected. “Lawthorn is expected to recover, given his enhanced healing capabilities.”

  “Holland’s report indicates she was performing her evaluation duties as authorized,” Washington added. “The demonstration was within parameters for SITE testing.”

  Stroebel’s pen resumed its motion, now drawing interlocking hexagons. “I want a full review of all SITE protocols. If we’re testing limits, we need clearer guidelines on when to pull back,” he said, his voice rising until Badger’s hand moved to her hearing aid.

  “With respect, sir,” Garvin said, “the purpose of SITE embeds is to identify potential threats before they fully manifest. Major Holland did exactly what she’s supposed to do—push until weaknesses show.”

  “And a recruit is dead.” Stroebel’s voice remained level, but his pen pressed harder into the paper. “That’s not acceptable collateral damage.”

  “The Enhanced Corps was never going to be risk-free, Bob,” said General Mathis, the Army representative. “We’re dealing with weapons systems in human form.”

  “They’re soldiers first, weapons second.” Stroebel set his pen down. “We’ve already lost enough Americans to NARS. I won’t sacrifice more unnecessarily.”

  "Sir, following yesterday's incident, we conducted a comprehensive eight-hour review of the entire training curriculum," Garvin stated. "All SITE protocols have been recalibrated, and every instructor has received updated guidelines on ability assessment parameters."

  Stroebel looked at Washington, one eyebrow raised.

  Washington hummed briefly—so quietly only Garvin noticed—then spoke. “We’ve adjusted the training schedule to incorporate a memorial service tomorrow. Dr. Prakash believes it will help process the trauma before resuming regular activities. We’re also making counseling available to any recruits who need additional support.”

  “Good. And Holland?”

  “Continues her evaluation duties with closer oversight. Her Second Evolution abilities make her uniquely qualified to assess threat potential.”

  Stroebel nodded. “What about our other Second Evolution recruit? Pringle?”

  “Isolated training for now,” Washington replied. “His crystalline growth abilities are too destructive for regular sessions. But his control is improving.”

  “And Lawthorn and Ramírez?” Garvin asked. “Their development curves are concerning.”

  The one-star Army general pulled up two files. “Both exhibiting pre-evolution markers, but still firmly in First Evolution territory. Lawthorn’s ability to assimilate other powers makes him... unpredictable. Ramírez’s adaptive physiology is equally impressive, though more specialized.”

  “Keep them separate from Holland for now,” Stroebel ordered. “I want daily reports on their progress.”

  “Sir,” Washington began, “the SITEs are specifically tasked with identifying—”

  “I understand the program, Shannon. But we just lost a recruit. Let’s not push our luck with the most promising candidates.”

  General Phillips rested his elbows on the table, clasping his hands. “Talking of promising, what’s the status on Project Blackout?”

  Badger tensed imperceptibly. “On schedule. Facility construction is complete, and we’re tracking potential candidates for the first trial.”

  “Timeline?” asked Mathis.

  “Six weeks until operational readiness. We’re still calibrating the containment systems based on Second Evolution parameters.”

  Stroebel’s fingers tapped a slow rhythm on the tabletop. “Are we sure this is the right approach? Artificially pushing evolution seems risky given what we’ve seen with natural progression.”

  “It’s a controlled environment,” Washington countered. “And we have to stay ahead of our adversaries. Intelligence suggests both Russia and China are pursuing similar programs.”

  “With higher casualty rates,” Garvin added. “Their forced evolution attempts have resulted in significant losses.”

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  “All the more reason to proceed with caution.” Stroebel drew one final shape on his pad—a perfect circle encompassing all the other designs. “I want weekly updates on Project Blackout, and I want Dr. Nazari’s full risk assessment before we move forward with any human trials.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “What’s our operational timeline for the first enhanced deployment?” Phillips asked.

  “Eighteen months for full readiness,” Washington replied. “But we could field a limited response team in six months if necessary.”

  “The threat assessment doesn’t give us eighteen months of runway,” Garvin said. “The Seattle incident was just the beginning. Enhanced-related crises are increasing exponentially.”

  “Then we ensure the response team is ready.” Stroebel stood, signaling the meeting’s end. “General Washington, walk with me to your next briefing. I’d like to discuss the instructor evaluations.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The other generals filed out, leaving Washington gathering her materials as Stroebel scrutinized his geometric doodles.

  “I’m concerned about Holland,” he said quietly once they were alone.

  “She’s our most stable Second Evolution asset.”

  “She killed a recruit, Shannon.”

  “Accidentally. During authorized training.”

  Stroebel sighed. “There’s a difference between pushing limits and breaking them. Make sure your SITEs understand that distinction.”

  Washington nodded, gathering her tablet and files. “I’ll reinforce the protocols.”

  “Do that. And Shannon—” His blue eyes met hers. “We’re making history here, but let’s not forget we’re also making soldiers. People first, powers second.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  As Stroebel left the conference room, Washington remained for a moment, absently humming a few notes of “Amazing Grace” while reorganizing her files. The briefing with the section leaders would start in ten minutes, barely enough time to process everything from this meeting before translating it into actionable directives.

  She touched her hearing aid, adjusting it slightly as she often did when thinking deeply. The SITE program had been her initiative—embedding trusted agents among the recruits to assess capabilities and identify threats. Holland had performed exactly as trained, yet now they were questioning the approach because of an unfortunate casualty.

  War had casualties. Evolution had casualties. This program would have casualties.

  The important thing was ensuring they weren’t in vain.

  She tucked her tablet under her arm and headed for the door. The section leaders would be waiting, and they deserved clear guidance on how to proceed after yesterday’s incident. No matter what Stroebel said about caution, they all knew the stakes. Either they controlled this evolution, or it would control them.

  PART II: SECTION LEADERS

  The assembled section leaders froze when General Washington entered the larger conference room. She set her tablet on the table, paired it with a tap to the wall-mounted display, and straightened her uniform jacket before looking at her team.

  Around her, each person showed their habits: Sergeant Steele by the window, attacking his nicotine gum like it had insulted his mother; Staff Sergeant Remington sitting straight while her fingers conducted a private symphony on the armrest; Colonel Mercer deploying antacid tablets from a small container; and Dr. Nazari, whose signature blue-stained fingertips pushed her wire-frame glasses back up the bridge of her nose.

  The room was filled with all twenty-six drill sergeants representing each cell, plus the training instructors—a sea of crisp uniforms and attentive faces waiting for direction in the wake of the previous day’s events.

  “As you were.” Washington took her place at the head of the table. “I’ve just come from a meeting with General Stroebel and the command staff. We need to discuss yesterday’s events and how we’re proceeding with training.”

  Steele looked up from his printouts. “How’s Lawthorn?”

  “Still in medical. Enhanced healing is working, but the impact was... significant.”

  “Holland hit him with an air blast that would’ve killed a normal human.” Mercer’s fingers found another antacid. “Kid’s lucky his skull is reinforced.”

  Washington nodded. “We’re implementing new protocols for SITE interactions. Major Holland’s assessment methods have been recalibrated.”

  “Recalibrated?” Sergeant First Class Reid Otsuka asked. “She killed Cimarron and nearly killed Lawthorn. In my dojo.”

  “Under authorized testing parameters.” Washington’s gaze didn’t waver. “But point taken. We’re adjusting those parameters.”

  A handful of drill sergeants exchanged glances. One muttered something that made his neighbors stiffen.

  “Ma’am, you also mentioned a memorial service?” Dr. Nazari asked.

  “Tomorrow at 0700,” the general said. “I want all cells present. Dr. Prakash feels it’s important for processing the trauma.”

  “And then right back to training?” Steele popped a new piece of gum into his mouth, tucking the wrapper into his pocket.

  “Yes. With additional focus on control. Particularly for Ramírez—he nearly broke containment when Lawthorn went down.”

  Sergeant Otsuka cleared his throat, drawing attention from his place among the instructors. “I can add some specialized restraint techniques to the CIT curriculum. Might help in similar situations.”

  “Do it.” Washington scrolled through her tablet. “Now, updates on your sections. Colonel Mercer?”

  “EPT assessments show 62% improvement across all cells. The physical conditioning is working, but some recruits are pushing too hard. We’ve had three minor injuries from overexertion.”

  “Recommendations?”

  “More individualized programs. What works for an Enhancer doesn’t work for a Shifter.”

  Washington nodded. “Dr. Nazari?”

  “TTSS curriculum is proceeding as planned. Though I’d like to note that Ramírez doesn’t appear to be absorbing the theoretical framework. He’s... kinesthetic.”

  “Translation, doc?” Steele’s gum crackled.

  “He learns by doing, not by listening. We need more hands-on approaches for certain recruits.”

  Remington uncrossed her legs. “I could incorporate some of the theory into combat training. Make them apply the concepts physically.”

  “Good idea.” Washington made a note. “Dr. Korrapati, ADC status?”

  From the row of instructors, Dr. Korrapati adjusted her tablet. “Control metrics are improving, but we’ve identified three high-risk recruits besides Lawthorn and Ramírez. All displaying pre-evolution markers without the necessary mental discipline.”

  “Names?”

  “Nowak in Papa Cell, Carter in Oscar, and Corral in X-Ray. All three demonstrating rapid power growth with inconsistent control.”

  “Continue monitoring. Update me tomorrow.” Washington’s fingers typed briefly on her tablet.

  Otsuka shifted in his seat, shoulders squaring. “What about the 100th meridian situation? Any developments?”

  Washington shook her head. “Nothing substantial yet. But our coastal monitoring stations are picking up unusual activity patterns. Could be nothing.”

  “Or it could be something.” Dr. Nazari said. “I reviewed the last report. The seismic readings don’t match natural patterns.”

  “Intel suggests we may be seeing the early stages of organized activity.” Washington’s expression remained neutral. “We’re waiting on the updated MST scenarios before implementing coastal response drills.”

  “You think we’ll be deploying there?” Captain Vega closed her notebook with a decisive snap.

  “I think we need to be prepared for all contingencies.”

  Steele’s jaw stopped mid-chew. “These kids aren’t ready for deployment. They can barely control their abilities in a controlled environment.”

  Several drill sergeants nodded in agreement. The Zulu Cell sergeant raised his hand but lowered it when Washington continued.

  “Which is why we’re accelerating the training timeline.” Washington’s tone left no room for debate. “Progress reports on my desk daily. I want to know who’s advancing, who’s struggling, and who’s at risk.”

  Remington’s knuckles whitened against the armrest. “And if there’s another... incident?”

  “Then we deal with it. This program is too important to halt because of setbacks.” Washington stood, gathering her materials. “Dismissed. Cell leaders coordinate with instructors on the new training protocols. Steele, Remington—stay behind.”

  The room emptied quickly, chairs scraping and boots shuffling as two dozen drill sergeants and the instructors filed out. Soon, only the two senior drill sergeants remained with Washington. Steele resumed chewing his gum, each bite timed like clockwork.

  “I need your honest assessment of Papa and Oscar Cells.”

  Remington shifted in her seat. “Papa Cell is strong. Lawthorn and Ramírez are obvious standouts, but Nowak and Bessette show promise too. They’re adapting faster than expected.”

  “Oscar’s more uneven,” Steele added. “Carter’s liquid metal manipulation is impressive, but his control is shaky. Andrea’s mist powers are precise but limited in combat application. Vicky’s thermal abilities might be the most combat-ready, if she can maintain control.”

  “And their reaction to yesterday?”

  “They’re rattled,” Remington said. “But not broken. I saw Ramírez at morning PT—he’s channeling it into motivation.”

  “Good.” Washington nodded. “Because we need them combat-ready sooner rather than later. Accelerate the timeline for Project Blackout.”

  Steele’s chewing slowed. “You’re rushing evolution experiments while we’re still dealing with the fallout from natural progression?”

  “Not my call.” Washington fidgeted with her hearing aid briefly. “Command wants results.”

  “And if we lose more recruits?” Remington’s Boston accent thickened.

  “Then we adapt our methods. But the program continues.” Washington moved toward the door. “Keep pushing them, but don’t break them. We need soldiers, not martyrs.”

  As Washington left, Steele turned to Remington, paper clips appearing in his fingers.

  “This is gonna get worse before it gets better.”

  Remington nodded.

  “Just means we gotta work harder. Shape these kids up before Holland or one of the other SITEs decides they’re a threat.”

  Steele stopped the construction of his paperclip tower and leaned back in his office chair until it reclined to its limit with a soft creak.

  “Hellcat, you think Lawthorn’s gonna make it?”

  “Kid’s tough. Garvin wouldn’t have recruited him otherwise,” Remington answered. “But when he wakes up, he’s gonna have questions.”

  “Questions we can’t answer.”

  “Yep.” “So we just keep training them. Best protection we can offer right now.”

  The paper clip tower grew another level.

  “Think the brass knows what they’re doing with this Project Blackout business?”

  “Does it matter? We follow orders. Though between you and me, messing with evolution seems like asking for trouble.”

  “Whole damn world is trouble these days.” Steele placed the final paper clip. “Let’s go see how the SITEs are handling yesterday’s mess.”