Chương 85: Chapter 44. Control Group

"Move it! On your feet!" The sergeant's thunderous voice ripped through the quiet morning barracks like a burst of machine gun fire.

"Formation on the parade ground in one minute! Move!" He spun on his heel and strode out. I smirked faintly as I watched his camouflage-clad figure disappear through the doorway. During our first week, he used to give us a whole ten minutes to crawl out from under our blankets, but those days were long gone. These days I woke up well before the first shout, giving the other guys a shove ahead of time, so by the time the sergeant stormed in, we were already fully geared up. We stepped outside and froze in formation.

The air was sharp and damp. The overnight downpour had left behind the heavy scent of wet earth and freshly cut grass. The cold stung my nostrils and drove the last traces of sleep from my lungs. Hell of a wake-up call.

"Staff Sergeant Ross, front and center!" the sergeant barked suddenly, drilling his eyes into me.

"By order of headquarters, you're hereby assigned responsibility for Cadet Drake's physical training. Duration: one week. Effective immediately." Without a flicker of emotion crossing his stone face, he shoved a heavy plastic clipboard into my hands. I could feel the guys staring at me. Their expressions were a mix of confusion, envy, and complete disbelief. I just gave a short nod and accepted the weight of the clipboard.

"Cadet Thompson, with me!" the sergeant ordered, jerking his head toward Nick.

"Yes, sir!" Nick blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that turn of events, then hurried after the sergeant toward the running track. Ted and I were left alone on the empty parade ground. While he watched the two of them disappear into the distance, I quickly flipped through the papers. They were the same training plans I had sketched out for him a couple of days earlier, except now they had been neatly retyped onto official headquarters forms.

Apparently my greasy, crumpled sheet of paper had not looked official enough for them. At the bottom of the stack, beneath the exercise list, I spotted a bright yellow sticky note. From Selina.

"Headquarters is watching you, Tom. They're obsessive about recruit training. You've got one shot to prove your methods work. Don't screw this up." I tore the note off, crushed it into a tight ball, and shoved it deep into my pocket. I had not expected Selina to take my little experiment so seriously. Usually she stayed out of all this male nonsense involving iron plates and sweat, hiding behind her mask of icy indifference. Turns out I was wrong. Or maybe her interest had something to do with me.

"Tom, what's going on?" Ted hovered beside me, trying to peek over my shoulder.

"What's all this? Why'd they split us up?" I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the damp morning air. When you worked with teenagers, you always had to remember the golden mean. Push too hard and you became some arrogant old man in their eyes. Ease up too much and you turned into one of the boys, someone they could walk all over. You had to stay the reasonable adult. Even if I was technically his personal trainer now.

"You remember asking me to help get you into shape?" I looked up from the clipboard, and Ted nodded eagerly.

"I talked to the right people. They gave us one week for an individual program. Just you and me."

"Holy crap… that's actually awesome!" His face lit up. He glanced toward the sergeant and Nick, who had already vanished around the corner.

"You hear that? Later, losers!" He turned back to me.

"Wait, why's it only a week?"

"Headquarters wants numbers, Ted. Results. If there's no progress after seven days, you'll go back to the general group."

"Are they blind or something?" he scoffed.

"You can do more pull-ups than the sergeant. Any idiot can see you're better."

"Being in shape yourself and knowing how to get someone else in shape are two different things," I cut him off, giving his flattery no room to breathe.

"Headquarters doesn't care about my personal records. They want results on your body."

"Yeah, okay. Got it. Then why isn't Nick with us?"

"Control group. His results will be the baseline. They'll compare the two of you after a week."

"And why'd they pick me instead of him?"

"No idea," I lied, looking him straight in the eye.

"Orders from above." In reality, I had a theory. Nick was easygoing. He would grind through training under the sergeant without complaining. Ted, on the other hand... if he had stayed in formation while watching his friend get special treatment and individual attention, he would have exploded sooner or later. He would have started sabotaging things, whining, and making everyone miserable. Easier to keep him under my supervision.

"We've already wasted enough time talking." I nodded toward the sergeant, who was finishing his first lap around the perimeter.

"Start warming up. Copy my movements exactly and pay attention to every detail." I was not screaming or spitting like the sergeant did, but there was enough steel in my voice for Ted to obey without question. Right now he was burning with enthusiasm, but I knew that in a couple of days, once his muscles started filling with leaden pain, that excitement would fade. That was when the real work would begin. I watched him carefully, tracking every little detail.

Without my invisible threads, that strange instinct that allowed me to adjust body mechanics from the inside, everything felt unfamiliar. I had to work with my hands instead.

"Spread your elbows wider." I stepped closer and adjusted his push-up position with a slight push on his shoulders.

"That way you load the target muscle instead of destroying your joints. Hold the angle." The sergeant never bothered with details like that. When you commanded a crowd, you focused on overall pace, not on the angle of one cadet's elbow.

"Don't arch your back. Keep your core straight. Twenty..." I stood directly over him, counting every rep.

"Come on, Ted. Three more." He forced out the last repetitions, then collapsed face-first into the wet grass, breathing in rough, ragged gasps.

"Why..." he rasped, "why's the number so weird? Why twenty-three? Why not twenty or twenty-five?"

"Because twenty-three's your limit for bicep hypertrophy today. Not more, not less. Get up. We've still got two more sets." We trained for an hour and a half. I drove him hard, squeezing every ounce of strength out of him while sticking strictly to the program. On the surface, everything looked perfect, but inside I felt a constant irritation gnawing at me. I knew I was not operating at full capacity.

Without the perfect control my threads gave me, I was estimating angles by eye instead of calculating them with mathematical precision. On top of that, the program itself was already starting to become outdated. Biology was dynamic. Tomorrow his body might require twenty-four reps instead, and the day after that it might need an entirely different load pattern. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. Tomorrow I would adjust the approach.

After showering, we dragged ourselves into the mess hall. Breakfast was standard for every cadet, but when Ted reached the serving line, one of the cooks placed a tall plastic cup filled with a thick gray substance in front of him.

"What the hell's this?" Ted eyed the cup suspiciously, like it might bite him.

"Your new diet," I answered, feeling a faint stab of nostalgia.

"Heavy dose of protein and vitamins. Everything your muscles need so they don't burn out after my workouts. Trust me, it tastes better than it looks." Ted cautiously took a sip, squeezed his eyes shut, then suddenly looked up in surprise.

"Whoa..." He took another drink, more confidently this time.

"Smells like chalk, but it tastes like actual strawberry milk." I smirked. The first step was done. Now came the hard part: making sure he did not break during the remaining six days. Breakfast turned into a full-blown interrogation. The other cadets swarmed our table like flies. Ted's new status was driving them crazy, and for the second time already I had to feed them the official version while trying not to let my irritation show.

"I don't understand why the Corps would trust a cadet to train someone," Mary said, staring at me like I had just stolen her breakfast.

"What exactly makes you better than our sergeant? The man's got years of service." I leaned back in my chair, feeling a dull irritation start to boil inside me. It was hard to stay calm when you had to justify yourself to a twelve-year-old brat.

"Let's go point by point, Mary." I kept my voice as level as possible.

"First, I outrank him. In the military, chain of command actually matters. Second, I've got something he doesn't: specialized abilities. Without getting buried in boring details, I can see human physiology on a very deep level. I know how to make muscles grow faster than any physical training manual ever could."

"That... explains a lot," she muttered under her breath, finally leaving her pudding alone. There was something in her voice caught halfway between disbelief and reluctant respect.

"Good morning, cadets. Eyes up front, please." Selina's voice sliced through the silence of the classroom. She stood behind the podium, straight and cold as a stainless steel blade.

"Last session, we covered Loz'an physiology. Today we're going deeper. The topic for today is the culture and technology of our enemies." She clicked the remote. The lights dimmed, and a video recording flickered to life across the wall. The footage came from one of the first portal expeditions. The camera shook in the operator's hands as it captured two creatures talking among themselves against a backdrop of bizarre vegetation. The frame froze.

"Take a good look at them," Selina ordered, pacing slowly in front of the screen.

"What stands out first? What differences do you notice besides physiology?" Louise raised her hand and answered before getting permission.

"They aren't wearing any clothes at all."

"Exactly right, Cadet. The Loz'an have no need for clothing. Their epidermis isn't sensitive to temperature changes the way ours is. They don't need protection from blazing sunlight or freezing wind. But don't mistake that for primitiveness. They've got their own forms of self-expression. Look closely at these patterns." She zoomed in on the image. The creatures' skin was covered in elaborate designs. Bright pigments formed geometric shapes and even highly detailed portraits of other members of their species.

"They use their bodies as a canvas," Selina continued.

"These markings allow them to express individuality."

"So it's kinda like tattoos or band merch on a T-shirt?" Ted cut in, leaning forward with curiosity.

"In a sense, yes," Selina replied with a nod, and for a brief moment the shadow of a smile crossed her lips.

"There's another reason as well. Clothing would be wildly impractical because of their anatomy. The Loz'an don't possess external reproductive organs that require covering. More importantly, their bodies are constantly changing shape. Any fabric would be shredded within minutes." The video resumed. One of the Loz'an smoothly stretched upward like melting wax, extending nearly three feet taller to pluck fruit from a high branch. Yeah, no pair of pants on Earth would survive that.

"And one more thing." Selina pointed at the screen, where the creature attached some kind of device directly to its thigh.

"They don't use belts, bags, or pockets. Their physiology allows them to form dense hooks directly from their skin whenever necessary. They literally carry everything on their own bodies by hanging objects from their flesh." The screen shifted to another slide. A detailed 3D rendering of several Loz'an castes appeared. These were no longer artistic designs. They were formal insignias. Military hierarchy encoded into pigment.

"Memorize these patterns. This isn't art. These are rank markings. You'll use them to identify whether you're facing a basic soldier or an officer authorized for artillery strikes. These symbols will be on the exam. Now let's move to the most important subject: their weapons." Louise raised her hand again, her face full of confusion.

"Professor Langstrom, you said we're studying culture. But where's their music? Their architecture, dancing, philosophy? Why're we only talking about how they fight?" Selina stopped walking and gave the girl a long, heavy look.

"The Awakened Corps believes cadets don't need to know what lullabies the Loz'an sing to their children," she said dryly.

"You need information that'll help you survive inside a portal and make it home alive. Everything else is material for civilian institutions. Now then, weaponry." The screen flashed with new graphics. Combat simulation footage appeared. We watched a Loz'an raise a strange device resembling a massive segmented wheel. A short flash followed, and an American soldier in full combat gear instantly dissolved into a steaming red slurry right before our eyes. Louise gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Nothing remained of the man except bloody soup inside a shattered helmet. Then came the laser rifles. They didn't merely burn targets. They punched clean holes the size of baseballs straight through flesh, instantly cauterizing the wounds so there was almost no blood.

"As you may remember, lasers and concentrated acid are the Loz'an's primary weaknesses as well," Selina explained in a completely emotionless tone.

"They experience internal conflicts too, so their arsenal was designed specifically for killing their own kind. Fortunately, our S-Guns are just as effective." The video switched to footage of one of our standard cannons in action. A single shot hit the alien, and its body exploded into thousands of tiny fragments as if a grenade had detonated inside it. Total disintegration.

"That's insane!" Ted nearly jumped out of his seat.

"Damn, just let me fire one of those things already!"

"QUIET!" the sergeant roared from the corner of the classroom hard enough to rattle the windows. Ted immediately shrank into his seat.

"Cadet Drake, overconfidence is the fastest route to a grave," Selina said, leaning against the desk while studying him with icy amusement.

"Knowing enemy specifications is one thing. Facing them in battle is something else entirely. There's always an unpredictable variable. Watch carefully. This is real combat footage from a green portal." A battlefield panorama unfolded across the screen. Our forces advanced as a unified front. Heavy vehicles, energy shields, perfectly coordinated infantry support. Loz'an laser fire shattered harmlessly against shimmering defensive barriers while our S-Guns methodically turned enemy lines into green chunks of flesh.

It was not a battle. It was systematic extermination. A triumph of human technology. I could see the cadets' eyes lighting up around the room. All they saw was power and glory. Then he appeared. A Loz'an covered in the intricate interwoven markings of the highest caste. He did not run or take cover. He simply stepped forward and raised his arms in a smooth motion, like a conductor preparing an orchestra. A point of absolute darkness appeared in the middle of our formation.

Within a fraction of a second, it expanded into a black hole that began devouring everything with a monstrous howl: soldiers, vehicles, chunks of earth, even light itself. Then, just as suddenly, it collapsed inward with a dull thunderclap. All that remained of the elite unit was a perfectly smooth crater. The footage ended with the camera spinning wildly as the operator ran for his life. The classroom fell so silent that I could hear the projector lamp humming.

The smiles vanished from the cadets' faces like rain washing chalk from concrete.

"Awakened," Selina said quietly.

"Individuals capable of breaking the laws of physics and the rules of war through sheer personal power. That's why, even in a green portal where we possess overwhelming numbers, superior technology, and greater firepower, you're always one step away from death. Never lose your head." An unpleasant chill crept down my spine.

The same old truth I had known for years: you could spend a lifetime sharpening your skills, forge your muscles into steel, and convince yourself you were a god of war, then some lucky bastard with an absurd ability would show up and erase you from existence. Every ounce of effort became worthless the second your opponent started playing by rules he had invented himself. Ted slowly raised his hand, visibly uncertain.

"So how... how'd we win that fight?" Selina looked directly at him.

"We abandoned the resources. We dumped our entire stockpile of molecular bombs into the portal and wiped everything out." At that exact moment, the alarm on her smartphone rang sharply through the room. The lecture was over, but nobody rushed to get up.

"Tomorrow you'll have an elective session under my supervision," Selina announced while we automatically gathered our things.

"We'll be working on your individual abilities. You'll learn how to develop them. Maybe one of you'll eventually learn how to change the rules of this war too."