Training began before my brain had fully accepted that this was my life now.
It had been two days since my arrival and my not so willing integration into the DCR, and despite that I already hated my new life. I barely remembered sleeping. Maybe I never actually did. My body didn't ache the way it should have, not after everything—the surgery, the fight, the escape, Draven's tests. Instead, I woke feeling… charged. Too awake. Too aware.
Like the nanites didn't care whether I was ready or not.
Draven met me in the corridor outside my room. He didn't greet me. Didn't ask if I slept. He just turned and walked.
"Follow," he said.
I followed.
The training wing of the facility looked like something out of a high-budget simulation center—reinforced alloy flooring, adjustable walls, ballistic shielding, holographic overlays. The air smelled faintly metallic, like static before a storm.
Dr. Venti and Noir were already waiting inside.
Noir leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, dressed in tight-fit training gear. She watched me without blinking. Dr. Venti stood beside a table covered with gear—guns, knives, small metallic inserts, even a sleek black visor.
"Today will focus on three things," Draven said.
"One: basic weapon handling adjusted for your nanite-enhanced reflexes. Two: combat synchronization. Three: theory. You need to understand what you are, not just what you can do."
Dr. Venti clapped her hands together sharply. "Let's begin with the part that's least likely to kill you. Theory."
She handed me a thin, flexible tablet. It projected three icons in front of me: NE, NT, and NI.
"Cyber-human classifications," she said. "All DCR operators fall under one of these."
She pointed to the first.
NE — Nano-Enhancement.
"These nanites augment human biology. Reflex boosts. Strength increases. Sensory upgrades. Your system—NE-CVK066—is one of these."
"So I'm enhanced."
Draven corrected me. "You're enhanced and unstable. Until you master your system, you're a liability."
'Did he rehearse these lines, or was he naturally this uplifting?'
Dr. Venti tapped the second icon.
NT — Nano-Transformation.
"These are more invasive. They restructure the body entirely—limbs shifting into weapons, musculature reinforcing itself, full-body adaptive morphing."
I pictured the operator who I'd glimpsed yesterday on the way to training. His arms had flickered into blades for a brief second during a demonstration.
"NT users are rare," Noir added. "And difficult to control. Most go rogue. The DCR keeps them on a short leash."
I nodded my head like I understood. I infact, did not but I'm sure I would eventually.
Venti moved to the last icon.
NI — Nano-Integrated.
"These interface directly with the environment—tech disruption, stealth manipulation, signal control. Ghost—Noir—is an NI user."
Noir nodded subtly.
"And the categories?" I asked.
Draven gestured to another hologram. Seven bars appeared, from Category 1 to Category 5, with two additional markers—6 and Ω—locked behind red encryptions.
"Power classification," Draven explained. "Category 1: Basic threat.
Category 2: Cautionary Threat
Category 3: Lethal.
Category 4: Strategic Hazard.
Category 5: Catastrophic. Anything above that is mostly theoretical."
He fixed me with his razor-edged stare.
"You're Category 3 potential. Possibly higher."
"Possibly?" I asked.
"You haven't been tested at full capacity," Draven said. "Nor should you be."
Dr. Venti sighed. "Let's move on before someone's ego inflates."
I wasn't sure if she meant Draven's or mine.
Then Dr. Venti hit a button and the room shifted. Panels aligned, floor plates slid into new positions, and a row of ballistic dummies rose from beneath the ground.
Draven tossed me a handgun.
It hit my palm perfectly— too perfectly, like my body had predicted the arc before it left his hand.
"This is a training weapon," Draven said. "Nanite-compliant. It won't kill, but it will hurt."
Great.
Noir spoke for the first time in minutes. "You grip too tight. Relax your hand."
I hadn't even raised the gun yet. I loosened my fingers.
Draven nodded to the targets. "Fire on my mark."
He didn't give me time to breathe.
"Mark."
My arm moved instantly. Not because I planned it, but because something inside me calibrated angles, trajectorie, the distance between my pulse and the trigger.
I fired three shots.
The recoil felt wrong—too light, too balanced. My body absorbed it before my brain registered it. When the echoes faded, three perfect impacts glowed on the dummies' foreheads.
'Holy shit I didn't miss.'
As if hearing my thoughts Dr. Venti raised an eyebrow. "You've used guns before?"
"No." I tried to turn my head to hide my emotions but where could I even look?
She exchanged a look with Noir.
"Bullet Time," Noir murmured. "His system's already adapting."
Draven didn't look pleased or impressed. "Again. But this time—don't rely on instinct."
I tried to slow down. Tried to aim like a normal person.
The moment my finger touched the trigger, the world sharpened—time didn't slow, but my awareness of each moving piece expanded. A precise rush. A violent clarity.
I fired again.
More perfect shots.
"Good," Draven said, pacing behind me. "But instincts alone won't keep you alive. That system inside you likes control. It needs a partner, not a passenger."
"I didn't ask for it." I said flatly.
Noir's tone softened a fraction. "None of us did."
After some silence, Commander Draven kept going through the drills. Weapon drills bled into combat drills. Draven fought like a machine—efficient, destructive, emotionless. He didn't pull punches. My body reacted on its own, blocking strikes I didn't have names for and dodging hits I didn't consciously see.
But he still knocked me down three times.
Noir sparred with me next. She moved like smoke. Silent, evasive, unpredictable. She didn't hit harder than Draven—she just made me miss constantly. My enhanced senses let me read motion, but not hers. She was too controlled.
"Don't chase," she said as I lunged.
"Predict."
"How am I supposed to predict something I can't see?"
"You don't need to see everything," Noir replied. "You just need to see enough."
She swept my legs, and I crashed to the mat.
Dr. Venti scribbled notes on her tablet. "His neural sync is jumping between 70 and 92 percent. Unstable but impressive."
I pushed myself up, breathing hard but not tired. My muscles weren't giving out. My lungs weren't burning. Fatigue felt… distant.
"Is this normal?" I asked.
"No," Noir said.
"Yes," Draven said at the same time.
They exchanged a look. Dr. Venti pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Normal for you," she clarified. "Not for anyone else."
Comforting.
After an hour of drills, Draven dismissed Noir and Dr. Venti and brought up a holographic interface for me.
"Most cyber-humans are placed into squads," he said. "Teams designed around complementary skill sets."
He swiped through files—Squad 01, Squad 02, Squad 03. Faces, code names, nanotech variants. All lethal. All specialized.
"You won't be assigned a squad until your abilities stabilize," Draven continued. "But we need to determine where you'd fit."
"And you think I'll be useful?"
"No," Draven said. "I know you will be. The question is how."
He brought up three categories.
Sniper / Marksman — Execution role
Infiltration / Recon
Close-Quarters / Hybrid Assault
"You excelled in precision shooting. And your system's reflex enhancement leans toward long-range prediction. But you also showed adaptability in close combat."
"What about infiltration?"
Noir, who had returned silently, answered from behind me. "Your system radiates too much energy. You'd fail most stealth tests."
"Thanks." I said with a bit more sarcasm than I meant.
"It's not an insult," she said. "It's a fact. Your nanites want engagement, not absence."
Draven folded his arms. "If you progress well, you may be eligible for Squad 00."
"Squad 00?"
Noir's voice lowered. "The Execution and Retrieval Unit. The ones who handle the worst."
"But they're inactive," Dr. Venti reminded him. "They only have three operatives right now."
Draven looked at me. "Correction. They have three and a half."
It took me a second to understand.
"…you're talking about me."
"You want a purpose?" Draven said. "A direction? Earn it."
After Commander Draven's oh so joyful words I returned to my quarters exhausted—but not physically. My mind was buzzing. My body humming. Every part of me felt on the edge of something new.
As I collapsed onto the bunk, the door slid open softly.
Noir stepped in.
She stood there a moment, silent as always, then asked:
"Do you regret waking up?"
The question hit harder than Draven's punches.
"No," I said after a moment. "But I regret not having a choice."
She nodded, as if she understood. Maybe she did.
"Tomorrow will be harder," she said.
"That supposed to motivate me?"
"No. It's supposed to prepare you."
She turned to leave but paused at the doorway.
"You survived the lab," Noir said quietly. "That means something. Even if you don't know what yet."
Then she was gone.
I lay back, staring at the dim ceiling.
My body felt different. My future felt uncertain. My past felt stolen.
But for the first time since waking in that white hell, I wasn't scared.
Just… waiting.
For whatever came next.
And deep inside me, the nanites pulsed back—like they were waiting too.