The whistle screamed at 04:00, ripping Aiden from another sleepless half-night.
Someone in the next bed groaned.
Someone else didn't move at all until a drill sergeant kicked the metal frame with a crack that echoed across the tent.
"ON YOUR FEET! IF YOU'RE NOT MOVING, YOU'RE DEAD! UP! UP!"
Aiden staggered upright, every muscle locking in protest.
His legs shook.
His ribs burned.
His arms felt like sacks of wet cement.
He wasn't alone the entire tent looked like a graveyard that had suddenly been forced to march.
But no one dared hesitate.
They ran outside into frigid morning air.
Breath came out in white clouds.
The drill sergeants were already there, waiting like wolves.
"You thought yesterday was hard?" one barked.
"You thought that was pain? That was stretching. Today is BREAKING."
And they meant it.
The moment the word left his mouth, the screaming began.
"DROP! PUSH-UP POSITION!"
"DOWN! UP! DOWN! DOWN! DOWN!"
"YOU CALL THAT MOVING? I'VE SEEN DEAD MEN TWITCH BETTER!"
Aiden's arms trembled violently.
Mud glued to his face and lips.
He coughed and swallowed dirt.
The recruit to his right collapsed face-first and didn't get up.
A sergeant dragged the limp body aside.
"MEDIC!"
Someone whispered, "Is he dead?"
The answer was silence.
The push-ups didn't stop.
Then came sprints.
Then bear crawls.
Then rope climbs.
Then burpees until vision blurred.
It wasn't training.
It was survival.
People vomited.
People cried.
People cursed their own bodies for failing them.
Aiden felt his ribs screaming with every breath the old injury from the drone blast pulsing like a warning light in his chest.
The System flickered.
[Pain response elevated.]
[Lactic acid levels critical.]
[Recommend brief reduction of exertion.]
Aiden dropped to his knees, choking on air, sweat burning his eyes.
"Get up."
It wasn't the System this time.
It was Parker, barely able to stand himself. "Get… up…"
Aiden pushed off the ground, legs wobbling.
[Muscle integrity failing.]
[Adaptation threshold nearing completion.]
He ignored it.
He had to.
There was no "pause" in war.
Then came hand-to-hand combat.
Pairs were thrown at each other like meat in a pit.
Aiden took a punch to the side of his face so hard his vision flashed white.
He grappled desperately, slipping in mud, grappling for any leverage.
His opponent an older man named Reeves slammed him into the ground.
The world tilted.
Reeves pulled back for another strike.
Aiden ducked and swept his legs, both of them falling into the mud.
They rolled, grunting, swearing, clawing.
"FIGHT! YOU WANT TO LIVE, DON'T YOU?"
"GET ME BLOOD, NOT EXCUSES!"
Reeves stumbled up.
Aiden drove a shoulder into his stomach.
The bigger man toppled, gasping.
Aiden landed on top, fist raised, hand shaking.
The sergeant blew the whistle sharply. "BREAK!"
Aiden didn't even realize he'd been crying until he felt tears streaking the mud on his face.
He helped Reeves up.
Their hands trembled as they clasped forearms.
Reeves coughed blood and wheezed, "Hell of a fight, kid."
Aiden forced a weak smile. "You too."
There was no hatred here.
Just exhaustion and fear dressed up as aggression.
The day didn't slow.
Live-fire exercises came next.
Real bullets.
Real explosions.
A simulation of alien drones using their last known patterns.
Recruits crawled under bullets that sliced the air inches above their heads.
Dirt kicked up into their eyes.
People screamed when ricochets sparked too close.
Aiden hugged the ground as a grenade detonated near the barricades.
The shockwave rattled his bones.
The System hummed.
[User reflex response accelerating.]
[Reaction time improved 3%.]
It wasn't enough to feel.
But enough to survive.
Barely.
By the time noon hit, Aiden could hardly lift his rifle.
By mid-afternoon, he wasn't sure if he was conscious or moving on instinct.
At one point, a recruit froze in the middle of the drill, staring blankly ahead.
Aiden thought he'd fainted but when a sergeant checked his pulse, the man didn't blink.
"Heat stroke?" someone whispered.
The sergeant shook his head.
"No. He quit. His mind cracked."
They carried him away.
Aiden realized with numb horror that breaking wasn't metaphorical here.
It was literal.
You either adapted or you shattered.
Evening brought the final punishment hauling sandbags across the training field while instructors screamed.
"FASTER! FASTER! MOVE LIKE YOUR FAMILY IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THIS WALL!"
Aiden stumbled, nearly dropping his sandbag three times.
Parker fell twice.
Ellis vomited on his boots but kept going.
Sarah collapsed and was forced back up, tears streaking down her face.
By the end, they weren't recruits anymore.
They were a collection of shaking, mud-smeared ghosts.
And still, the day wasn't done.
Dinner was quiet.
Too quiet.
Recruits slumped over their plates, barely able to lift utensils.
A few just stared into space, food untouched.
Aiden pushed down a spoonful of protein paste.
It tasted like cardboard and defeat.
Parker rubbed his temples. "I can't feel my arms. Or my legs. Or… anything."
Ellis muttered, "Good. This way you won't feel the pain tomorrow."
Sarah managed a weak laugh that turned into a cough.
Then the screens flickered on.
Everyone looked up.
A global news update.
The anchor stood in front of a holographic map so damaged and cracked it looked like it was held together by tape.
Her voice trembled.
"Day Three casualty update… over two million confirmed dead. Many more missing."
Gasps rippled through the tent.
"Cities lost today. St. Petersburg, Montreal, Bogotá, Durban."
"Cities partially retaken with heavy losses: Boston, Guangzhou outskirts, Istanbul's east district."
"Alien presence has intensified near major rivers, ports, and power infrastructure."
"Ground retention by human forces remains extremely difficult."
Someone sobbed quietly.
The anchor swallowed and continued.
"Drone attacks have increased by 30%."
"Alien ground units have adapted again, using human vehicles as moving cover."
"The main fleet behind the moon… has increased its energy signature by 12%."
Aiden felt the air freeze.
Even Parker stopped breathing.
The anchor whispered, barely audible.
"We believe they're preparing to descend."
The screen went black.
No closing statement.
No "stay strong."
No patriotic music.
Just a dead screen reflecting the fear in every recruit's eyes.
Aiden stared at his tray, heart hammering against his ribs.
The room felt far too small.
Far too warm.
Far too vulnerable.
Around him, recruits stared blankly.
Some cried quietly.
Some clenched fists.
Some whispered prayers.
Aiden did none of those things.
He looked at the black screen and whispered, "Then we have to be ready."
The System stirred, voice calm and cold.
[Day Three performance: adequate.]
[Survival probability: marginally increased.]
[Preparations insufficient for main fleet arrival.]
Aiden's jaw tightened.
"Then push me harder," he murmured.
The System's reply was immediate.
[As you wish.]