The first thing FULCRUM noticed was that the walls were painted.
Not the usual institutional off-white or gunmetal gray. Someone had actually chosen a color for this corridor—muted blue, clean lines, no exposed conduit.
"Fox hospitality," DUSK said, walking backward in front of him, arms spread. "They like their halls like they like their breach plans: tidy, compartmentalized, and full of hidden murder."
"This is the training wing," ECHO-LEAD said from up ahead. "If you see murder, I've failed my job."
"Give it time," DUSK murmured.
They rounded a corner into a wide room lined with observation glass.
On the other side of the glass sat a series of mock corridors—modular panels reconfigurable into infinite permutations of bad ideas. Right now, they formed a T-shaped intersection, three doorways, and a blind turn.
"The fox maze," ECHO-LEAD said. "We use it to teach people not to trust corners."
"Nu-7 usually uses live buildings," FULCRUM said.
"Yes," ECHO-LEAD replied. "That's why your people keep breaking my brace requests."
Through the glass, SQUAD 3 moved through a run—silent, clean, clearing each doorway in sequence.
"They know you're watching," DUSK said. "They're showing off."
"Good," ECHO-LEAD said. "If you're not trying to impress the visiting cousin, what are you doing."
The run ended with a chime. Targets flashed green on a monitor for cleared, red for missed.
One corner at the T-intersection blinked amber.
"Rear guard," FULCRUM said.
"Rear guard," ECHO-LEAD confirmed.
Over the internal speaker, BAY-4 groaned.
"I swear it's cursed," he said. "You people are messing with the sensors."
"We are not," ECHO-LEAD said. "You are merely bad at corners."
"Nu-7, TEAM 1," OWL's voice came over the shared net. "Your slot is in ten. Fox wants to see how you do things without concrete trying to fall on your heads this time."
"Copy," FULCRUM said.
He looked at ECHO-LEAD.
"Mixed squad?" he asked.
"Two Fox, three Nu-7," ECHO-LEAD said. "You, KESTREL, HARROW. We'll lend you NOVA and BAY-4. Dusk runs outside channel. No live ammo, full sim rounds. Sim pain is still pain; don't get cocky."
"Understood," FULCRUM said.
"Targets?" KESTREL asked.
"Assorted," ECHO-LEAD said. "Hostiles, no-shoots, randomized pattern. Brief comes from the door like the real thing. You only know what's in front of you when it's already trying to ruin your day."
"So, normal," HARROW said.
"Exactly," ECHO-LEAD replied.
In the prep room, FULCRUM pulled on the training rig—lighter armor, helmet with recording HUD, sim magazines loaded with rounds that would mark hits in bright, humiliating colors.
KESTREL checked her harness automatically, even though there were no ropes involved. Muscle memory.
HARROW flexed his fingers in the padded gloves, eyes bright in a way that meant he was looking forward to hitting something.
NOVA leaned against the wall, cool and relaxed, while BAY-4 bounced on the balls of his feet like he was about to run a sprint.
"Rules," NOVA said. "One, don't shoot no-shoots. Two, don't muzzle your teammates. Three, don't die stupid. Four, don't embarrass your unit so badly that we never live it down."
"I feel like four should be one," BAY-4 said.
"It's implied," NOVA replied.
A speaker crackled.
"Stack on the red door," ECHO-LEAD's voice said. "Brief in thirty seconds."
They moved.
As they lined up, FULCRUM felt the familiar shift settle over him—breath steadying, world narrowing to arcs of fire, angles, and the bodies at his back.
Odd thing was, it wasn't just his team anymore.
NOVA slid into point. HARROW took second, FULCRUM third, KESTREL fourth, BAY-4 last.
"Nu-7, you have breach lead," NOVA said. "Fox runs door. Sound good?"
"Copy," FULCRUM said.
The light above the door turned green.
"Scenario one," ECHO-LEAD said. "Unknown hostiles in a research corridor. Civilians may be present. Your job: neutralize threats, avoid blue-on-blue, recover any data drives you see."
"Copy," FULCRUM said.
"Door," NOVA murmured.
HARROW moved, hands on the handle, sim breacher charges primed in case of 'locked.'
"Three, two, one," FULCRUM counted.
On one, HARROW yanked the door open and pivoted.
NOVA flowed through.
The world on the other side compressed into training corridors and cardboard enemies.
They moved.
The first few rooms were straightforward.
Hostile targets popped in doorways and windows—silhouettes that shouted cheap recordings before sim rounds splattered them blue.
A civilian no-shoot appeared behind a desk. KESTREL checked her shot mid-squeeze, muttering a curse.
"Good check," FULCRUM said.
"Don't patronize me," she replied.
"I meant it," he said.
She grunted.
At the first T-intersection, they stacked automatically.
"Left long," NOVA said. "Right blind. Harrow, you and Bay take left. Fulcrum, you and Kestrel clear right."
"Copy," FULCRUM said.
They split, mirrors.
He felt Kestrel's presence at his back like a known weight.
"On your move," she murmured.
He cut the corner.
The blind stretch opened onto a short hall with two doors.
He tagged the first, swinging wide.
Empty.
Second door—
The target came from above.
A foam silhouette dropped from a ceiling hatch, center mass first.
His barrel tracked up a half second slow.
Sim rounds splattered red across his chest.
"Dead," the system chirped.
He hissed a breath.
"Shit," KESTREL snapped behind him.
Her rounds plastered the falling target a beat later.
"Fulcrum is out," ECHO-LEAD's voice said calmly over the internal channel. "Scenario continues."
He stepped back automatically, hand going to his harness even though there was no rope.
In the other branch, he could hear HARROW swearing as the sim got clever.
He watched from the edge as KESTREL and NOVA adjusted formation without him, covering each other's blind spots.
They finished the run with only one more 'death'—BAY-4 walked into a kill box and got lit up for his trouble.
Final chime. Targets tallied.
"Two down, one civilian nicked, drives recovered," ECHO-LEAD said. "Adequate. Debrief in the gallery."
Through the glass, TEAM 1 and SQUAD 3 watched the replay.
On-screen, a little colored outline labeled FULCRUM moved down the corridor, took the corner, failed to check up.
The foam target dropped.
"Rooftop," ECHO-LEAD said. "Ceiling drop. Same principle. You were looking at doors, not volume."
"Yeah," FULCRUM said.
"You usually work with fully live intel on internal layouts?" NOVA asked.
"Usually we break them on entry," FULCRUM said.
A few Foxes snorted.
"Nu-7," ECHO-LEAD said mildly. "I know the doctrine. It got written into the 'shit you have to account for' section."
On the screen, the point-of-view replay from his helmet cam showed exactly how the drop had gotten him—eyes level with the door, barrel tracking horizontal, the dark square in the ceiling just out of his active focus.
"That's structural bias," DOCSTRING's voice said. "You've trained yourself to read walls and floor first. Ceiling is tertiary. Understandable, given how many things you've had fall on you."
"Helpful," FULCRUM said.
"You could have ducked," BAY-4 offered.
"Thanks," FULCRUM replied.
KESTREL shifted her weight.
"That's on me too," she said. "I mirrored his sweep. Should've split vertical coverage."
"True," ECHO-LEAD said. "But he's breach lead. He sets the bias. You adjust."
"I can fix it," Fulcrum said.
"Good," ECHO-LEAD said. "We're going to run it again with different traps until you do. The maze is cheaper than a hospital."
Over Nu-7's channel, FUSE muttered, "Finally, someone else bullying him before the anomaly does."
Patch's reply was soft: "He's not used to dying where it doesn't stick."
He wasn't.
The red paint on his training rig had already dried. It looked like someone else's blood.
They ran it again.
Second time, he watched the ceiling.
The sim noticed.
Targets came up from floor vents instead.
He and Harrow both took 'wounds,' but not kills.
Third run, the rooms flooded with smoke. No-spots trickier in the haze.
By the fourth, they were moving more as a single unit than two stitched together.
"Better," ECHO-LEAD said. "Still not perfect. That's fine. Perfection is for things we write on posters."
He paused.
"Switch," he said. "Fox lead, Nu-7 support. I want to see what Fulcrum does when he's not calling the corners."
NOVA took breach.
This time, FULCRUM slotted into third without protest.
Different tempo. Slightly sharper angles. More emphasis on controlling the entire cube of space instead of just the door plane.
He adapted.
When a target dropped from the ceiling on run five, his barrel was already halfway up.
Sim rounds slapped its chest before it hit the floor.
"Better," ECHO-LEAD repeated. "Now do it when it's not made of foam."
Over a low, private channel, PRIORESS murmured, "Shadow, status?"
"Watching," FOXHAMMER said. "He's picking it up fast."
"Sounds familiar," she said.
"Difference is, he's got more people yelling at him," FOXHAMMER said. "Might mean he listens."
"Optimistic," she said.
"Practical," he replied.
After the fourth run, they broke for water.
In the hallway, KESTREL leaned against a painted wall, helmet off, sweat dampening her hairline.
"You hate it?" she asked.
"No," FULCRUM said. "I hate that I died on a fake ceiling."
She smirked.
"Better here than in front of 106," she said.
"Point," he admitted.
Her gaze dipped briefly to the red smear still staining his training rig.
"Did it... feel different?" she asked.
"Dying?" he said.
"Knowing it didn't count," she clarified.
He thought about it.
"Yes," he said. "It made it easier to watch where I went wrong."
She nodded.
"Still don't like seeing you take paint to the chest," she said quietly.
"That's an overreaction for red dye," he said.
She gave him a look.
"You know what I mean," she said.
He did.
Before he could answer, BAY-4 jogged up.
"Hey, Nu-7," he said. "We're doing a mixed after-action in the Fox lounge. You coming?"
"Fox lounge?" DUSK echoed, appearing at KESTREL's shoulder like she'd been summoned by the word.
"There's a coffee machine and a couch," BAY-4 said. "Don't get excited."
"I'm already disappointed," Dusk said.
Fulcrum glanced at Kestrel.
"You going?" he asked.
"Someone has to keep you from agreeing to get shot at for fun," she said.
"Sim rounds only," BAY-4 said.
"Not helping," Kestrel replied.
They followed him.
The Fox lounge was smaller than Nu-7's mess, more like a break room than a proper common area.
A couch, a table with mismatched chairs, a wall screen running muted news, the promised coffee machine humming in the corner.
SQUAD 3 sprawled across the furniture with the boneless grace of people used to waiting for bad things.
"Nu-7," NOVA said, raising a mug in greeting. "Welcome to the den."
"It's a room," Kestrel said.
"It's about as much as they trust us with unsupervised," Nova replied.
Fulcrum poured himself coffee.
It wasn't as bad as Fuse's.
He didn't say so out loud.
"You did good," Nova said after a sip.
"Died on the first run," Fulcrum said.
"Yeah," Nova said. "Here. Where it doesn't stick. That's the point."
BAY-4 flopped into a chair nearby.
"You know..." BAY-4 began.
"Dangerous sentence," Dusk said.
"...you move like somebody I saw in an old training reel," BAY-4 finished, undeterred. "Back when I was still learning how to spell 'Euclid.' Same kind of forward drive. Same way of treating the room like a problem to be solved, not a place to be scared of."
Fulcrum raised an eyebrow.
"Who?" he asked.
"Old E-11 breacher," Bay-4 said. "Codename... something with 'hammer' in it. All the reels just called him 'the fox with the death wish.'"
Across the room, Nova winced.
"Bay," Nova said. "Shut up."
"What?" Bay-4 asked. "It's a compliment."
"Not to command," Nova muttered.
Fulcrum filed the name away.
He didn't say anything.
On Overwatch, in a secure channel, Prioress's voice was dry.
"Your legend precedes you," she said.
"Should've buried it deeper," Foxhammer replied.
"Too late," she said.
By the time Nu-7 wrapped for the day, Fulcrum's muscles ached with the good kind of tired.
Back in their own bay, PATCH met them with her tablet.
"Training injuries?" she asked.
"Bruised ego," Harrow said.
"Elevated annoyance," Kestrel added.
Fulcrum shrugged.
"Paint," he said.
Patch eyed the dried red on his chest rig.
"You died," she said.
"Temporarily," he said.
"How'd it feel?" she asked.
"Educational," he said.
She studied him for a second.
"Would you do it again?" she asked.
"Yes," he said.
She nodded once.
"Good," she said. "Maybe let foam kill you a few more times before you give the real thing another shot."
Dusk snorted.
"Doc's prescribing practice death," she said.
"I'm prescribing rehearsal," Patch corrected.
She touched Fulcrum's arm lightly as she passed.
"You did good," she said quietly.
He thought of the foam target dropping, the red smear, the way his team had filled the gap without him.
"Work in progress," he said.
She smiled just enough to count.
"Aren't we all," she said.
Later, alone in his room, Fulcrum watched the helmet cam replay.
Run one: death from above.
Run four: barrel already rising, target shredded mid-drop.
He paused on a frame where his angle matched the one from the old stairwell footage—light cutting into a blind corner, shoulders set.
He wondered what the breacher in Bay-4's story had looked like at the same moment.
Then he shut the display off.
In the silence, the only knock was the one on his internal door.
Three sharp raps.
Pause.
Three more.
He stood, crossing the room.
This time, the panel glowed blue.
NEW TASKING — PENDING
UNIT: NU-7 TEAM 1
NOTE: "INTER-UNIT EXCHANGE — FURTHER E-11 FAMILIARIZATION."
He exhaled.
"Of course," he murmured.
For a second, he imagined taking a marker and drawing little fox ears on the notification.
Then he hit ACKNOWLEDGE instead.
Blind corners, he thought.
At least in the maze, you got to see the replay