Heinrich Wynn arrived at Daily PT thirty minutes late, lungs on fire, vision swimming, sweat streaking down his face.
The training deck was already alive with steps. Recruits ran laps around the perimeter track, boots hammering in disciplined rhythm. Others cycled through lifting stations, bars clanging, breath torn from their chests. Overhead, the lights burned white and merciless, exposing everything and blinding at the same time.
Heinrich slowed to a stop and forced himself upright. His legs trembled. His heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of his ribcage.
He stepped forward and snapped to attention.
"Sir," he said, voice rough but controlled. "I apologize for my tardiness Sir."
The PT instructor turned slowly. He was thick-necked, iron-gray hair cropped close, his face set in a permanent scowl carved by decades of shouting recruits into the ground. His eyes flicked over Heinrich with open disdain.
"Captain Malrin already informed me you'd be late," the instructor said. "Said you're a slacker. Said you need extra attention."
A few nearby recruits glanced over. Heinrich glanced back with an angry stare. Heinrich felt heat rise in his chest.
"Drop," the instructor ordered. "Fifty push-ups. If you get tired, start over."
Heinrich clenched his fists.
"Sir," he said carefully, "with respect—that's bullshit. I was ordered across the station an hour and a half ago. Being late is a direct result of Captain Malrin's actions."
The silence across the yard that followed was deafening.
The instructor's eyes hardened into something ugly.
"How dare you speak out of turn," he snarled. "And blame your captain. Defiance must be in your blood, criminal. People like you disgust me."
He stepped closer, looming. "I'll make damn sure you're drummed out of this academy."
He jabbed a finger at the deck. "Down. Now."
Heinrich lowered himself to the floor. His palms slapped cold metal. He began the push-ups, arms screaming almost immediately. Thirty in, his shoulders shook violently. Forty, his elbows threatened to buckle.
He hit fifty.
"Again," the instructor said.
Something inside Heinrich snapped with terrifying clarity.
This was it.
All this injustice. Punishment for what being what he had to be.
NO.
Right there he knew Captain Malrin had marked him.
So Heinrich decided then and there that Malrin would fall before he ever left Astra Primus.
He pushed himself.
The rest of PT was designed to grind souls into powder. Long-distance runs bled into weighted hikes. Deadlifts followed sprints. Power throws ripped at already-failing shoulders. The Warrior Tower loomed like a steel monument to suffering—walls, ropes, ladders, and vertical climbs that punished hesitation.
Maybe it was out of pure spite or rebellion Heinrich moved through it all like a man possessed. Proving that while others hesitated at the wall, he watched once, calculated angles and grip points, then modified the technique and vaulted over faster than the instructors expected. When ropes burned and scraped his palms raw, he adjusted his wrap mid-climb and cut seconds off his ascent. During farmer's carries, he altered his gait, conserving energy without sacrificing speed.
The instructor noticed.
His scowl deepened every time Heinrich adapted.
During circuit drills—burpees into pull-ups, squats into box jumps, sprint-drag-carry until his vision tunneled—Heinrich transitioned with brutal efficiency. He refused to collapse he learned how to take breaks and figured nothing compared to his time on earth where on the streets everyday could be the last.
By the end, he was barely upright, chest heaving, muscles trembling uncontrollably.
The instructor stared at him for a long moment.
"You're a problem," he said finally. "Smart, Stubborn, and Rebellious."
He shook his head. "One in a million, maybe or just another criminal who thinks he's special."
He waved Heinrich off. "Report to Captain Malrin for further instruction."
Heinrich rested a bit then turned and limped out, every step on the verge of collapse.
The corridor beyond the training deck was quiet almost too quiet.
Halfway down, the lights flickered.
Then went dark.
Emergency glow panels failed to activate. The cameras along the walls powered down in sequence, their indicator lights dying one by one.
Heinrich stopped.
Footsteps echoed.
Six figures emerged from the shadows.
Kane Jr. stepped forward.
"Captain Malrin thinks you need to be taught a lesson," Kane said calmly. "I don't care about you either way."
He gestured behind him. "But I'll make it fair. One at a time."
The first recruit stepped up—a heavyset kid, breathing hard already. He raised his hands into a boxing stance.
Heinrich didn't even wait.
He exploded forward, hammering a low kick into the thigh, then drove an elbow into the man's guard. A knee followed, sharp and vicious. The recruit went down choking on breath and pain.
The second rushed him wild. Heinrich slipped the punch, countered with a hook to the liver, then a head kick that sent the man sprawling.
The third and fourth came faster, desperation fueling them. Heinrich took hits now—an elbow across the cheek, a punch that rattled his teeth—but he answered with relentless fury. Clinch. Knees. Elbows. Bone on bone. Both fell, groaning.
The fifth was different though.
Lean. Trained. Calm.
The recruit circled Heinrich
Elbows clashed. Kicks slammed into ribs. Heinrich tasted blood. His vision blurred. They traded blow after blow until neither could stand straight.
Heinrich feinted low, then drove his elbow up into the man's jaw. The recruit collapsed.
Only Kane Jr. remained.
He stared at Heinrich with open curiosity.
"What's your goal here?" Kane asked.
Heinrich wiped blood from his mouth. "The top," he said. "So people like me don't get treated like shit anymore."
Kane nodded. "Noble but Naive."
He moved faster than Heinrich expected. One kick slammed Heinrich into the wall, white exploding behind his eyes. Kane was monstrously strong.
He leaned close and pressed a medpack into Heinrich's chest. "Heal up. I want Malrin dead. Help me, and we rise to the top together with you as my subordinate."
Heinrich laughed—raw, bloody and unhinged.
"Fuck you and them."
Right after saying that, he headbutted Kane Jr. with everything he had then exhaustion toke him.
As he fell, he heard Kane stagger back, laughing.
"Well, well, well, Now that," Kane said, "is what I need in someone as a worthy rival in this weak ass army, See you next year, Heinrich."
Heinrich lay unconscious, bloodied beneath the dead lights of Astra Primus.