Dust coated the concrete staging floor. Iharu pumped his scatter-gun, and the heavy clack rang off the walls.

Three mechanical Crawlers scrambled over artificial brick barriers. Steel claws scraped against mortar.

Iharu fired. Kinetic slugs hit the lead Crawler in the thorax, but the thick front plating took the impact. The Crawler buzzed, lost half a step, and kept its balance.

He pumped the weapon again.

Another shot dented the armor.

It kept moving.

Iharu backpedaled, caught his boot on exposed rebar, and hit the dirt. The Crawler pinned him, metal jaws snapping near his visor.

A buzzer blared. Red strobe lights washed the kill house.

"Simulation failed," the automated voice cut over the speakers.

Kikaru marched into the lane in standard white armor. A carbon-fiber brace locked her left leg straight.

"You lack precision, Furuhashi." She raised her plasma rifle. "You rely on volume. A combat asset requires discipline."

Iharu shoved the deactivated machine off his chest and stood, brushing dust from his trim. "Let’s see you do it better, Princess."

Iris Calder leaned against the control console with a chipped mug in one hand. Her dark-gray sleeves were rolled high over thick scar tissue.

"Reset the swarm."

The buzzer sounded. Three Crawlers powered on and darted across the rubble.

Kikaru tracked the right flank. Her plasma round melted the Crawler’s optical sensor, dropping the machine mid-stride.

The second Crawler vaulted off a rusted truck frame.

Kikaru pivoted too late. Her foot dragged in the gravel, the carbon-fiber brace locking her left knee before her weight could shift. The Crawler slammed into her shoulder.

She tumbled into the dirt. Her rifle clattered over the stones.

Iris took a slow sip of coffee and hit the console.

"Dead again." She turned toward the metal bleachers. "Mercer. You eat military rations. Fix them."

Caleb sat on the lowest tier, staring down at her with his teeth pressed together.

The ten-day medical hold was supposed to mean recovery. Calories. Rest. Not a teaching assignment for a squad that refused to read its own footwork.

The dark canvas of the Break-Tab Harness pulled tight across his ribs. The Power Isolation Shunt clicked against his collarbone.

He stood and came down the metal stairs, keeping his bruised right arm close to his body. Gravel crunched under his boots.

Tali leaned against the chain-link fence, tapping a datapad.

"Keep the telemetry clean," she said. "Don’t break my weave."

Caleb stepped into the lane between Iharu and Kikaru. Pulverized concrete and ozone hung in the air. He pointed a taped finger at the deactivated Crawler.

"You shoot the thickest part of the machine," Caleb said to Iharu. "The disposal yards use industrial crushers for center mass. A scatter-gun just scratches the paint."

Iharu snatched his weapon from the dirt. "The manual says center mass guarantees a stagger."

"The manual is for plasma cannons."

Caleb pulled his combat knife from his belt and tapped the flat of the blade against the Crawler’s jointed leg.

"Aim at the ground in front of its legs. The kinetic spread throws gravel and shrapnel into the undercarriage. It shreds the wiring. The machine cripples itself."

Iharu gripped the pump of his scatter-gun. Color rose in his face. Whatever argument he had died when his eyes followed the joint, the undercarriage, and the cracked concrete under the machine.

He gave a stiff nod.

Hiro stood near the staging line with his rifle held too tight, one eye buried behind a tier-two optic scope.

"Drop the scope, Hiro."

Hiro lowered the rifle. "The magnification gives me a clean read on the armor plating."

"It limits your peripheral vision to thirty degrees. You track one target while two flank you. Keep both eyes open. Track the shadows, not the reticle."

"If I keep both eyes open, the focal point splits." Hiro’s voice tightened. "Do I trust the barrel alignment or the laser sight?"

"Trust the barrel. Laser sights bounce off uneven armor. The barrel tells you where the slug lands."

Hiro adjusted his grip. "Understood."

Caleb turned to Kikaru.

She stood rigidly, brushing dust from her breastplate. Her braced leg remained half a step behind the rest of her.

"You pivot on your bad knee."

Kikaru lifted her chin. "The academy stance requires a left-foot anchor to absorb plasma recoil."

"The academy stance assumes you have two working knees." Caleb pointed at the carbon-fiber brace. "The hardware locks your joint. You plant that foot, you become a static target. Anchor with your right. Use the brace as a kickstand to slide backward. Create distance. Let the weapon drag your momentum."

Kikaru looked down at her white boots.

She shifted her weight, slid her right foot back, and let the carbon-fiber brace drag over the dirt instead of fighting it. When she raised the rifle again, the stance lacked the perfect symmetry of the academy posters.

It held better.

She lowered the weapon.

"Run it," Caleb said.

Iris hit the console.

The Crawlers powered on and scraped over the rubble.

Iharu leveled his scatter-gun at the asphalt beneath the lead Crawler. The shot tore into the concrete, blasting jagged rock and asphalt into the machine’s exposed underbelly. Sparks hit the dirt. The Crawler’s front legs locked, and its own momentum flipped it forward.

It crashed into the ground and stayed there.

Iharu stared at the smoking scrap, then racked the pump to seat another shell. His personal camera drone hovered near his shoulder, waiting for a reaction he never gave.

Hiro kept his head up.

A Crawler scrambled down the brick wall to his left. The movement caught at the edge of his vision. He swung the rifle and fired three bursts into the wall, dropping the machine into the rubble before it reached his flank.

The final Crawler charged Kikaru.

Kikaru stepped back with her right foot and let the braced leg drag across the gravel. The machine swiped empty air.

Her plasma round punched through its neck seam.

The Crawler hit the dirt.

The drill timer stopped. Green lights illuminated the kill house.

Kikaru lowered her rifle and studied the melted seam in the machine’s neck. Her gaze moved from the target to her own feet, then to Caleb.

Purple code bled into the corner of Caleb’s visor.

[??? : You know exactly where they break. I love watching you.]

Caleb pressed the manual override on his gauntlet. The text vanished.

Iris reset the system parameters. "Rotate the active roster."

A young recruit in an oversized uniform stepped up to the starting line with a standard kinetic rifle. Steel doors at the far end of the lane ground open.

A simulated Striker-Class target bounded through the far doors, its bladed chassis built for raw speed. Metal claws chewed the asphalt as it charged.

The rookie dropped his weapon.

His back hit the brick wall. He raised both hands over his helmet and squeezed his eyes shut.

Caleb crossed the lane at a sprint.

He ducked under the bladed arm, grabbed the recruit by the tactical harness, and hauled him backward. They hit the dirt behind a concrete barrier as the Striker smashed into the brick wall.

Concrete splintered into shrapnel.

Caleb landed hard. The ceramic plates of the Break-Tab Harness took the shockwave, and a sharp pop cracked near his collarbone. One white ceramic tab split down the center.

The Power Isolation Shunt clicked against his ribs.

Heat flared beneath his sternum and ground against his empty stomach. The damaged thing inside his chest demanded calories to mend the blunt force trauma. Caleb locked his jaw, drew air through his nose, and held himself still until the spike settled into a dull throb.

Tali marched over to the barrier, datapad already raised. 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

"You broke a tab, Mercer." She popped a pink bubble. "The shunt registered a power draw spike before the battery caught it. Your internal wiring is a mess. The gear still isn’t safe for a full deployment."

Caleb pushed himself out of the dirt and pulled the young recruit to his feet.

"It held together."

Iris came down the metal stairs and nudged the damaged brick wall with her boot. Her eyes moved from the trembling rookie to Caleb.

"Simulation algorithms build lazy reflexes," she said. "Mechanical targets follow mathematical pathing. Real recruits freeze. You know how to read the panic."

She took another drink of coffee.

"You work better in the dirt, Mercer. It keeps them alive."

A notification chimed on Caleb’s visor.

He tapped his gauntlet.

The message came from a civilian frequency. The sender ID read Vance.

Bay Four carcass shifted during the morning rotation. Saws are down. The Guild work order carries your incident code from last month.

Caleb stared at the screen.

Same incident code. Same kind of strike.

Same dead thing moving after the Guild marked it safe.

He pocketed his comms-chip.