Theo stood in the dimly lit training chamber, rolling his shoulders as he prepared for the onslaught ahead. The room had transformed overnight—what was once a sleek, barely populated lab was now a shifting battlefield of elevated sniper nests, shifting walls, and scattered cover points. Erasmus had, as always, been very thorough.

  “Alright, Theo,” Erasmus’ voice crackled over the intercom, smooth but laced with dry amusement. “Let’s see if you last longer than a fart in a hurricane. Your task? Close the gap and neutralize your target before they ventilate you.”

  Theo exhaled, shaking out his limbs, “Your belief in me is truly touching.”

  A sharp beep echoed through the room, and the training simulation activated. Theo’s muscles coiled as mechanical turrets emerged from the walls, their optics glowing blue with Erasmus’ unmistakable tech signature. Three active snipers were repositioning along the rafters, their servos clicking as they adjusted their sights.

  Then—bang.

  Theo rolled on instinct. A pulse round whizzed past his face, the heat of it searing the air, leaving behind the acrid scent of scorched metal. He hit the ground in a crouch, eyes snapping toward the source. High platform, twenty metres. The sniper drone was already recalibrating. Its rifle hummed—a heartbeat away from taking him out.

  Too fast.

  "Shit," Theo muttered, diving behind a stack of crates.

  “You’re dead,” Erasmus’ voice chimed in, far too casual for someone watching an execution. “If this were a real opponent, your brains would’ve redecorated my walls.”

  Theo peeked around the crate, tracking the drones' movement patterns. Snipers were precision-based. They weren’t like melee brawlers or trigger-happy grunts. They planned their shots. Measured them. If I keep moving erratically, they’ll struggle to pin me down.

  He frowned, realizing he hadn’t consciously thought of that—it had just clicked. Ever since Erasmus pointed out that his reaction speed and perception weren’t normal, he had started noticing it. His brain wasn’t just reacting; it was dissecting—breaking down angles, adjusting to threats before they fully registered.

  That was… unsettling.

  But useful.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he called back. “Can you stop monologuing and let me work?”

  Erasmus chuckled. “Fine. Impress me.”

  Another shot. Theo juked left—then right—then broke into a sprint. A straight charge was suicide, but unpredictability? That was his weapon.

  A round grazed his shoulder, and the mesh absorbed the impact, dispersing the energy before it could tear through him. It still hurt, but nowhere near as much as it should have.

  Theo grinned. “Damn, Raz, this thing’s glorious.”

  “Don’t get cocky,” Erasmus warned. “That was a glancing shot. You take a full-force round, and you’re done. Also, don’t just go left and right like an AI on easy mode—mix up your timings and try to read their cooldowns. How have you forgotten this all already?”

  Theo rolled his eyes but took the advice, weaving through the battlefield with renewed focus. One well-placed jump sent him grabbing the edge of the platform, muscles burning as he hoisted himself up. The sniper drone whirred, tracking his movement. Its barrel came up—

  Theo punched.

  The kinetic charge in his suit discharged at the perfect moment. His fist slammed into the drone’s chassis with enough force to send it spinning off the ledge, crashing to the floor below.

  “Holy hellfire! One down. No time to celebrate.” Theo shook out his tingling knuckles, already scanning for the next target.

  The second sniper fired.

  This one hit.

  Theo was launched backward, the force ripping the breath from his lungs. He smashed into a wall, pain flaring across his ribs. The mesh had absorbed most of it, but it still hurt. A lot.

  “Good news,” Erasmus quipped. “You lived. Bad news? That was the weakest rifle I could make. Maybe don’t stop and celebrate mid-fight. Marvel aren’t taking applications at the minute anyway.”

  Theo coughed, dragging himself upright. “You’re a real ray of sunshine, Raz.”

  He took stock as the kinetic energy settled in his core. Two snipers remained. They were repositioning, recalculating. He wouldn’t keep getting lucky.

  His gaze flicked to the side, spotting a set of cables snaking along the wall. Alright. That could work.

  Using a good chunk of the recently stored energy in his suit, Theo sprinted full speed, his footfalls hammering the ground as the kinetic charge pushed him further than normal—then leapt at the last second. He grabbed an exposed cable mid-air and swung, using the momentum to launch himself toward the second sniper’s perch.

  The drones detected him, adjusted their aim—but Theo twisted mid-air, using a kinetic boost to pivot just in time. A pulse round whizzed through the space he had occupied a millisecond earlier.

  Too slow, clown.

  His boot connected with the drone’s optics, sending it into a downward spiral. He landed hard, rolling as the mechanical body clattered against the floor.

  Immediately, he ducked behind cover, heart hammering. One left.

  The final sniper had the high ground, and with the shifting terrain, it could reposition faster than he could close the gap. If I rush in blindly, I’ll get shredded.

  Theo exhaled, forcing himself to think. Close the distance unpredictably. Using cover. Force a misfire. He sifted through Erasmus’ lectures, piecing together the best approach.

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  Then he heard it—the faint whir of the sniper adjusting.

  It was locked in.

  Theo moved.

  Instead of sprinting straight, he rolled out from cover—but immediately cut left, kicking off a wall to change direction mid-motion. The sniper fired. A burst of heat seared past his ribs, grazing the mesh but deflecting off due to the angle.

  Too close, Theo.

  He pushed forward, closing the distance. The sniper adjusted—but Theo was faster now, his suit feeding off the stored energy from his near-miss.

  As the drone lined up another shot, Theo grabbed a loose crate and hurled it upward. The heavy object disrupted the drone’s tracking for half a second.

  Half a second was all he needed.

  He launched himself forward, twisting mid-air to slam both feet into the sniper’s core. The impact sent it crashing down in a heap of sparking parts, its optics flickering before going dark.

  Theo landed hard, barely keeping his footing.

  Silence.

  Then, a slow clap over the intercom.

  “Well, that was entertaining,” Erasmus admitted. “Sloppy, but moderately effective.”

  Theo collapsed onto his back, panting. “I aim to please.”

  “For the remainder of the day, we will up the difficulty.” Erasmus’ voice carried far too much enjoyment.

  Theo groaned. “Remind me why I keep thinking you have a soul?”

  “You can chalk that down to terrible life choices,” Erasmus replied.

  Theo didn’t argue.

  Theo stood in front of the moving target range, gripping a pair of throwing knives that Erasmus had casually tossed at him like he was handing out snacks.

  “You won’t always be able to close the gap before you get riddled with holes,” Erasmus had explained, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. “So, you learn this.”

  Theo twirled one of the blades between his fingers, unimpressed. Punching people? Absolutely. Kicking them? A personal favourite. Throwing sharp objects at moving targets? Yeah, not exactly his forte.

  Still, survival was survival, and if he wanted to keep living, he needed every advantage he could get.

  He eyed the first moving target—a floating drone that weaved through the air in an annoyingly unpredictable pattern.

  Alright. No big deal. Just hit the thing.

  Exhale. Relax. Release.

  He snapped his wrist, sending the knife whistling through the air.

  It missed. Badly.

  Erasmus snorted. “Astounding. A blindfolded toddler would outscore you.”

  Theo didn’t even look at him. “Is that who did your hair?”

  He adjusted his grip. Lighter. Less rigid.

  The second knife left his hand.

  It missed by an even greater distance, sailing harmlessly into the air like the ceiling had personally attacked him.

  This set the tone for the next twenty attempts. A slow, painfully slow improvement followed, but mostly, Theo just built a solid resume in hitting everything except the intended target.

  Eventually, after what felt like an eternity of failure, he lined up properly, actually applying Erasmus’ (rare) useful advice. He flicked his wrist—thunk—the knife clipped the drone’s edge. Barely.

  Theo huffed, rolling his shoulders. “Okay. Progress.”

  “You have six more hours to not embarrass yourself,” Erasmus quipped. “Try harder.”

  Theo flipped him off and kept throwing.

  Theo crouched behind cover, sweat dripping down his temple. The training had escalated fast.

  Today, the drones weren’t firing blunted rounds.

  Erasmus had thrown him into real live fire, and it sucked.

  The sharp whizz of bullets striking metal filled the chamber, ricocheting off the walls around him. Every breath he took felt like it could be his last if he mistimed anything. His mind raced—there was no brute-forcing his way through this. The only way to win was to outthink the shooters.

  He inhaled. Counted the rhythm of the shots. Then moved.

  He sprinted in a zig-zag, his body adjusting before he could fully think through why. A shot grazed past him, but he was already diving into a roll, using the momentum to vault onto a pillar. His feet barely found purchase before he kicked off, flipping onto the catwalk above.

  The drone’s tracking me.

  Theo didn’t need to see it; he felt the barrel locking on. His body moved before his mind could catch up—he twisted mid-air, kicked off the railing, and threw his knife in one fluid motion.

  Thunk.

  The blade embedded in the drone’s core. Sparks burst from the machine as it shuddered, then dropped from the catwalk, hitting the ground in a heap of ruined metal.

  Theo landed in a crouch, chest heaving. His body thrummed with adrenaline, the rush of near-death sharpening everything to a razor’s edge.

  Over the intercom, Erasmus let out an impressed whistle. “You might actually live through this.”

  Theo grinned, flipping the last knife in his hand with effortless confidence—immediately dropping it when he tried to catch it in a flourish.

  He froze. Then, awkwardly, peered toward Erasmus.

  “Maybe it’s best I don’t, actually.”

  By the end of the week, Theo wasn’t just a brawler anymore.

  He could read a battlefield now. He knew when to move and when to wait. When to throw and when to charge.

  He was still raw. Still learning. But he was better.

  Erasmus met him outside the training chamber, arms crossed. “Not bad, Theo. Not great, but not bad.”

  Theo smirked. “Coming from you? That’s practically flirting.”

  Erasmus rolled his eyes. “Get some rest. Tomorrow, we begin learning to combat stealth.”

  Theo groaned, already regretting every life choice that had led him to this moment.

  And yet…

  For the first time in a long while, confidence crept into his mind.

  Maybe he could actually do this.