Noah and Mason stood on the rooftop of the apartment building, the wind tugging at their jackets, The day's planning and initial training had been mentally exhausting, but now the real work began: first drills.
Noah crouched, scanning the streets far below. "We start simple. Awareness, reflexes, and basic survival skills. Every move counts. Every mistake could cost lives. Especially yours, Mason."
Mason flexed his hands, jaw tight. "I get it. No more mistakes. I won't let anything happen this time."
Noah nodded. "Good. Let's see what you've got."
The first exercise was straightforward but deceptively difficult. Noah tossed a small, weighted bag toward Mason. "Catch it without moving your feet. Eyes on the target, focus. Reaction speed matters."
Mason adjusted his stance and caught the bag, but it slipped slightly through his fingers. He scowled. "Okay, I need more focus."
"No excuses," Noah said. "You're not just testing strength. You're training instinct. Reflexes will save you when you can't think clearly. When chaos hits, you won't have time to hesitate."
The sun dipped further, Noah led Mason down a stairwell into the building's abandoned lower levels—a series of empty storage rooms and broken hallways. The perfect place for the next exercise: maneuvering in confined spaces.
"Imagine a threat coming at you," Noah said, moving between piles of rubble. "Could be a person, could be a monster. Your job is to react, evade, and neutralize if necessary. No panic."
Mason followed, tense and careful. Noah demonstrated a quick roll around a corner, dodging a swing from an improvised wooden stick. "Like this. Timing is everything. Don't overthink—react."
Mason nodded and took his turn, moving slowly at first. His first roll was clumsy, hitting a metal pipe and sending a cloud of dust into his eyes. He coughed, swiping at the grit. "Not exactly graceful," he muttered.
"Grace isn't the point," Noah said. "Effectiveness is. You need to survive, not look good."
For the next hour, they practiced movement drills, dodging, blocking, and improvising weapons from broken pipes and debris. Noah observed Mason closely, correcting small mistakes, adjusting his stance, teaching him how to maintain balance, conserve energy, and keep his eyes on multiple threats at once.
"You're too rigid," Noah said during a pause. "When danger comes, flexibility saves lives. Your body needs to flow with it, not fight it."
Mason wiped sweat from his brow. "You make it sound so easy."
"Easy is irrelevant," Noah replied, a hint of a smile on his lips. "Effectiveness is everything."
Next came endurance and situational awareness. Noah led Mason onto the streets at night, a flashlight in one hand and his journal in the other. They moved silently, shadows in the shadows, scanning for obstacles, listening to distant sounds. The exercise was simple: navigate from one end of the block to the other, avoiding "threats" Noah created—fallen debris, barricades, and improvised alarms like tin cans strung on wires.
Mason stumbled twice, catching himself before falling. "This is… harder than it looks," he muttered.
"Good," Noah said. "Hard is exactly what you need. The real world won't wait for you to get comfortable."
"Listen," he whispered. Mason strained his ears. Faint footsteps echoed from an alley a block away. Noah scanned the darkness. "Could be a stray cat. Could be a thief. Could be… something else. Always assume danger until proven otherwise."
Mason swallowed hard. "Something else?"
Noah didn't answer. Instead, he moved forward, demonstrating how to approach potential danger cautiously, using shadows, cover, and calculated steps. Mason followed, mimicking his movements, tense but learning quickly.
Hours passed. Noah pushed Mason further, testing stamina, patience, and instinct. At one point, they climbed the skeletal remains of a collapsed building, using loose beams and rubble to reach the top. Mason's hands were scraped, clothes torn, but he didn't complain. He gritted his teeth, trusting Noah's guidance.
"You're improving," Noah said, glancing at him. "Faster reflexes, better awareness. But don't let confidence make you sloppy. Every step could be the one that gets you killed."
Mason nodded, determination hardening his expression.
Noah's eyes flicked toward the horizon, where the last traces of daylight vanished behind the skyline.
"That's why these drills matter," Noah said. "We learn how to react before the chaos hits. Before you're forced to make impossible choices. The world will test us, Mason. And if we're not ready, it will break us."
Mason stared at him, taking a deep breath. "Then let it test me. I'm ready."
Noah nodded. "Good. That's the spirit. But remember… being ready isn't enough. Anticipate. Adapt. Move faster than your fear."
By the time they returned to the apartment, both men were exhausted. Clothes torn, hands scraped, bodies bruised, but their minds were sharper than before. Noah allowed a small, rare smile. Mason had potential—he just needed refinement. And over the next few weeks, every day, every drill would sharpen them further.
Noah spread his journal on the table again, flipping to a page filled with scribbles, notes, and tactical strategies. "Tomorrow, we move to advanced exercises. Scenarios with multiple threats, improvising weapons, coordinating movement. We push it further. We push ourselves further."
Mason leaned back in his chair, still breathing heavily. "And if we fail?"
"No failure is permanent," Noah said firmly. "Not this time. Every mistake is a lesson, every bruise a reminder. We survive, we learn, and we improve. That's the difference between life and death."
Mason nodded, silent for a moment, then muttered, "You really believe we can do this?"
Noah's gaze hardened, calm and unwavering. "I know we can. We'll have to bend the world to survive. Together."
He looked at Mason. The man was ready to follow, skeptical yet willing, untested but capable. That would have to be enough for tonight.
Noah leaned back, resting for a moment, listening to the distant hum of the city.