The next morning at 6 sharp, the heavy neon lights flickered to life over the vast, sandy floor of the 7th subterranean level. My body was still aching from yesterday's punishment detail, but I kept my posture tall and relaxed as we recruits fled into formation.
I casually glanced up toward the dark balcony railing on the 6th floor observation deck. Behind the glare of the heavy industrial floodlights, I caught sight of Misa standing near the edge. She wasn't alone though. Right beside her stood Sarah, holding baby Hope wrapped tightly in a soft thermal blanket.
Misa looked down at me through the hazy light and offered a knowing, gentle smile.
I smirked softly to myself, stepping into line. Sarah must have told Misa everything about what I did on that rope ladder and how her daughter was brought into the world. It was a strange, grounding feeling knowing there were two people up there rootin' for me in a place built on military coldness.
A sharp, deafening blast from a silver whistle shattered the ambient noise in the arena.
Rhea Stone stepped out into the center of the sand, her hands clasped behind her back as her dark eyes swept across the hundreds of gathered cadets. Her heavy leather combat jacket was zipped tightly to her throat, completely concealing the glowing, radioactive scar I had seen in my bunker just six hours ago.
"Listen up!" Rhea's booming voice echoed off the high stone walls. "Out beyond these glass walls, speed and weapons mean nothing if you lack the raw impact force to break through an infected ghoul's decaryin sternum. Today, we measure your strike density."
She gestured toward a heavy, reinforced steel rig set up on a raised concrete platform in the middle of the field. Suspended from the frame was a massive sandbag made of thick, Kevlar-weave fabric, wired up to a glowing digital power sensor mounted on top.
"Each cadet gets one shot," Rhea announced, pacing around the rig. "One punch to prove you have enough force to survive any ambush of any sort. You fail to hit the minimum threshold, and you spend your nights doing double supply runs."
She turned toward the rig, dropping into a low, perfectly balanced stance. "I'll set the baseline."
Rhea pulled her right fist back, her body twisting like a coiled spring. In a split-second blur of motion, she drove her fist straight into the center of the Kevlar bag.
BOOM!
The sound of her strike detonated across the huge stadium like an artillery shell firing in a small room. The massive sandbag violently swung backward, its steel chains screeching against the frame, nearly ripping clean off its top mounts.
The digital reader on the sensor flickered rapidly before locking on a bright red number: 134.
The hundreds of cadets gathered on the sand broke into loud applause and cheers. But right beside me, a couple of toxic recruits started snickerin' under their breath.
"Not bad for a girl," one guy whispered, leaning toward his buddy. "Did you see the way her chest jiggled when she threw that hook? I could easily top that score if I actually tried."
"Yeah, right," the other chuckled quietly. "Her scores are probably tampered with anyway just to keep the commander title."
I rolled my eyes, keeping my mouth firmly shut. These idiots had no idea what kind of monster resided behind her ribs, nor did they understand that real kinetic power didn't come from big biceps. It came from hip rotation, foot placement, and pristine technique.
"Line up!" Rhea barked, ignoring the applause. "First rank, step up!"
The testing moved fast, and it was an absolute embarrassment. Most recruits stepped up, swung wildly with raw muscle, and ended up wincing in pain. Several people didn't even manage to hit a score of fifty-seven.
The crowd finally quieted down when two massive, broad-shouldered twins stepped up to the platform. They were built like brick houses and swung with heavy, practiced military form. The first twin struck the bag with a heavy thud, lighting up the board with an 89. The second twin stepped up right after and hit the exact same score. A wave of murmurs washed through the crowd—89 was by far the highest score recorded among the recruits so far.
"Recruit Eric!" Rhea called out, her sharp voice cutting through the chatter. "You're up."
I stepped out of formation, my heavy combat boots crunching against the coarse sand as I walked toward the raised concrete stage.
As I passed the front line of recruits, the scrawny guy I had flattened yesterday smirked through his heavy face bandages. His nose was still crooked, but he leaned forward, making sure the people around him could hear his muffled voice.
"Look at this guy," the scrawny guy sneered quietly. "He thinks he's hot stuff because he caught me off guard. He ain't stronger than those twins, and he sure as hell ain't beating Rhea's tampered numbers."
I ignored his mouth completely. I stepped onto the platform and stopped directly in front of the heavy Kevlar bag.
I took a slow, deep breath, letting my shoulders drop. I didn't puff out my chest. I didn't put on a show for the crowd. I simply closed my eyes for a fraction of a second, picturing the exact moment my father shoved me into that escape shaft, and the two brutal months of isolation that followed.
My eyes snapped open. I planted my left foot firmly into the concrete, sinking my weight low. I didn't just throw my arm forward. I drove my back heel into the ground, snapped my hips around with violent speed, and whipped my entire massive frame into a single, kinetic point of impact.
THUUU-CRACK!
The impact didn't sound like a punch. It sounded like a thunderclap ripping through a closed canyon.
The heavy Kevlar sandbag didn't just swing back—it exploded off the platform. The reinforced steel mounting chains snapped instantly under the sheer force, sending the heavy hundred-pound bag flying twenty feet through the air before it crashed violently into the far stone wall of the stadium.
Up on the steel rig, the digital power sensor let out a high-pitched, distorted screech. The glass display flickered violently, numbers spinning uncontrollably until the broken reader maxed out and capped at its absolute limit.
200
The red lights over the sensor began to spark, smoked slightly, and went completely dead.
A suffocating, dead silence fell over the entire stadium. Hundreds of cadets stood frozen on the sand, their mouths wide open as they stared at the empty steel frame and the ruined sandbag lying forty feet away against the stone wall. Up on the sixth-floor balcony, I could see Misa leaning over the railing with a huge, breathless smile on her face, while Sarah clutched baby Hope close, her eyes wide with shock.
I didn't say a word. I slowly pulled my hand back, feeling a dull, throbbing heat radiating through my arm.
I turned my head to look across the platform. Rhea Stone was standing completely motionless just five feet away from me. Her usual cold, arrogant sneer was entirely gone, replaced by a look of sheer, unadulterated shock. Her dark eyes darted from the maxed-out reader, to the shattered steel chains on the wall, and finally back to me.
I looked down at my right hand.
The skin over my knuckles was split wide open, dark red blood slowly welling up and dripping onto the concrete platform beneath my boots. I raised my eyes, meeting Rhea's stunned gaze with a calm, dangerous unyielding stare.
"Did I pass the test, Commander?" I asked softly.