The Nevada dawn scorched Sector A, a brutal maze of steel and sun cracked dirt at Veilwatch's bunker fringe. Heat warped the air, heavy with oil and sweat. Recruits, grim in gray fatigues, stood like statues before a drill instructor whose voice could split stone. Chad, 6 foot 2 inches of gym chiseled muscle straining his uniform, tried to match their poise, his boots grinding dust. He was late. Again.
"Name!" barked the instructor, a lean woman with a scar carving her brow. Her nameplate read Sgt. Korr.
"Chad, ma'am!" he boomed, throwing a salute dripping with gym bro swagger, veins bulging. Snickers echoed.
Korr's grin was a razor. "Well, praise the stars, the goblin-slaying titan has arrived. Mara's walking regret. Fall in, legend, or I'll have you polishing rifles with your pre workout protein shake."
Chad strutted to the rear, his confidence wilting under the recruits' icy glares. He was a human tank, but here, he was a nameless grunt.
Boot camp was a crucible, forged to sculpt Veilwatch's elite. Chad, built on ego-lifting, thought his biceps were enough. They weren't. Day one hit with a special forces gauntlet: 20 burpees, 15 kettlebell swings, and a 200 meter sprint, cycled until his lungs burned. Korr stalked, stopwatch merciless. "Hurry, goblin-slayer! Veilspawn won't wait for you to catch your breath."
A 12 mile ruck march followed, a 55 pound pack clawing Chad's shoulders as he trudged through blistering dust. His quads screamed, but he pushed on, sweat pooling in his boots. The breaching course was worse: kicking through mock doors, scaling walls, and low crawling under laser grids while Korr roared, "Move or you're ash!" Chad's frame cleared a 12 foot rope climb, collapsing in a heap.
"Pitiful," Korr spat. "Stand or quit. Save us and yourself the trouble and quit." Korr encouraged.
Weapons training was surgical. Chad mastered a pulse rifle, firing at drone silhouettes while sprinting, and a plasma carbine, its recoil jarring his arms. Live fire close quarters battle drills came next: clearing a bunker with stun rounds, distinguishing friend from foe in a blur. He field stripped his rifle in 40 seconds, dust clogging the parts, and honed a vibro blade, slicing training dummies with brutal arcs. Korr scoffed at his first shots, "Nice, those goblins are in trouble if you're able to hit the side of a barn."
Week three introduced Veilwatch's silent code. Korr drilled hand signals: a fist for halt, a claw curl for hostile drone, a two finger wrist tap for Veil pulse detected, a hand spiral for fall back. Chad practiced until his squad flowed silently, clearing ruins without a sound. Stress endurance tests pushed harder: a 48 hour mission with four hours of sleep, hauling logs and digging trenches in 110 degree heat. Chad's vision blurred, but he led a night raid, signaling his team to ambush a drone nest with gas grenades.
Close quarters battle training was his proving ground. In a mock compound, Chad's power shone, slamming a training bot with a vibro blade strike. Paired with Taz, a stocky ex bouncer who'd sneered at his goblin lies, he took a boot to the chest but countered, locking Taz's arm. "Break!" Korr called. Taz nodded, respect flickering. Korr's smirk is obvious. "Less awful, meathead."
First aid was life or death. Korr taught tactical casualty care: tourniquets for gushing wounds, biofoam for gashes, morphine and general antibiotic injectors for prophylaxis. Chad practiced needle decompression on dummies, his hands steady under Korr's glare. In a live drill, he dragged Taz to cover, sealing a "wound" while stun rounds whizzed. "Passable," Korr grunted.
Survival training was a desert crucible. Chad learned to navigate by constellations, dig for water beneath dry washes, and camouflage hides with scrub brush. Korr stranded them in a Veil contaminated zone, tasking them to evade drones for 36 hours. Chad crafted an EMP trap from wiring, disabling a drone, and used a Veil detector to skirt toxic fields. Starving and parched, he rallied his squad, his voice firm.
Week six ended with a direct action raid, a simulated Veil breach in the compound's ruins. Chad's squad, including a wary Taz, defended a watchtower against Veilspawn drones, their red eyes slicing the haze. Armed with pulse rifles and stun grenades, they used Veilwatch signals: claw curls to mark targets, hand spirals to regroup. Chad led a flank, his carbine dropping a drone mid charge.
"Chad, now!" Taz yelled, pinned by fire.
Chad sprinted, rolling to cover, and fired a stun round into a drone's core. It crashed, sparking. He hauled Taz to safety, signaling the squad to tighten their line. The tower held. At dawn, Korr tossed Chad a Veilwatch patch, a steel claw on black cloth. "Barely tolerable," she said.
Korr presented Chad with a Veilwatch patch. He gripped the patch with pride. Chest tight. He thought of Mara, of Sector A's merciless training, of the redemption earned. He wasn't fully combat ready, but he was forged anew.
As he limped to the barracks, Taz matched his stride. "Still a loudmouth," Taz muttered, "but you saved my ass."
Chad grinned, his bruised lip stinging. "Don't get all queer on me, man." He belonged but he has a long way to go.
Compared to Riley's abilities, Chad knows he's nowhere near her level. Chad remembers hearing somewhere that comparison is the killer of happiness. His lie about killing those goblins gnawed at him, but he'd closed the gap. Yes, he lied but his intent of saving Riley and Kai was there and believed that he's not a fraud. His improvement is a step towards redemption.
Two Veilwatch agents dragged a chained goblin past, its wiry frame thrashing, scales glinting under the sun. Its eyes locked on Chad, and it grunted, sharp and deliberate, then let out a chittering noise, eerily like laughter. The agents tightened their grip, but the creature's gaze held cunning, not fear. Chad froze, these goblins are not mindless. This one was a scout, he realized, heart pounding. If scouts existed, leaders were out there, giving orders, plotting something bigger. Veilwatch was fighting a war they didn't fully understand.