The room was quiet.
Too quiet.
Jones stood alone at the center of the training chamber, the lights dimmed low, the walls absorbing sound until even the hum of his own systems felt distant. Something was wrong—he could feel it before any warning appeared.
Commander Derick's voice came through the speakers.
"Your strength is limited."
Jones frowned slightly.
"Power output capped at forty percent. Sensory filters reduced. Pain dampeners disabled."
The words settled heavily in his mind.
"You will move," Derick continued calmly, "as if damaged. As if exhausted. As if everything is working against you."
The floor beneath Jones vibrated.
His legs nearly buckled as artificial gravity surged through his frame. He instinctively dropped his center of gravity, arms spreading slightly to stabilize himself.
*So this is what it's like without assistance,* he thought.
"Begin."
Jones stepped forward.
Every movement felt wrong—heavy in unfamiliar ways. His reactions came late, forcing him to rely on instinct instead of enhancement. His vision felt muted, slower to adjust, and the constant feedback he had grown used to was gone.