Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 80431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80431 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Today, we will be assessing your agility and evasiveness. You still won’t be given a weapon because the objective is to avoid and survive, not battle.”
The lights dimmed and the ground trembled, sending vibrations through his boots. Seconds later, the training warehouse became an urban city illuminated by grimy streetlights.
Valor glanced around at the various dilapidated shops, towering skyscrapers, and twisting alleys.
The simulation was beyond realistic. Broken-down vehicles lined the streets, rats scurried toward gutters, a mangy dog dug through the trash for scraps, and to round off the realism, holographs of residents peeked through their curtains.
Even the air smelled of motor oil and urine.
How much money do these investors contribute?
“Heads up!” a man hollered through an intercom.
A mechanical whirring erupted behind him. A pack of drones, their sleek silver frames glistening under the artificial moonlight, charged toward him. The eyes glowed crimson red as their metal boots pounded the concrete.
Valor felt no fear or panic.
He moved instinctively, his reflexes as enhanced as his sight.
He vaulted over a gutted car, just missing the first drone’s snapping claws. His foot barely touched the hood before he launched into a full sprint. Valor was moving so fast he was frightening himself as the fake world flew by in a blur.
The AI adjusted and the city shifted and had him racing down a narrow alley as new threats emerged from the darkness. He had to evade bullets, camouflaged assassins, falling debris, and unstable ground, just to name a few.
He wondered what kind of warfare the director needed him to fight to go through this amount of training.
Four or five minutes later, as if all the shit he’d dodged wasn’t enough to prove his agility, the lights flickered and the city dissolved into a dense rainforest full of mechanical predators.
Fuck me.
Did they anticipate adversaries that might be living in a zoo?
Synthetic brush, roots, and foliage were scattered along the path. Holographs took the form of apex predators—wolves, tigers, and bears with razor-sharp fiber-optic claws.
Each moved with precision, their stalking and attacks terrifyingly accurate.
His suit flickered with yellows and oranges, indicating he’d taken some blows, but none were life-threatening. If any part of his suit flashed red, it meant a fatal wound, and he was dead.
Valor crouched in a thick monkey brush, his breathing even and full. A shiver raced down his spine and his skin felt as if the marsh mosquitos swarming around him were real and biting his arms.
His breath caught as a flash of an image—a man—stood beside him, his presence strong and reassuring, his mint-green eyes as beautiful as lily pads after a spring rain. The vision slammed into him like a wrecking ball through glass, shattering his thoughts.
A name was right there on the tip of his tongue, and then it was gone. He slammed his eyes shut, shaking his head in frustration. He pressed his thumbs into his temple, willing the man’s face to reappear.
Lost and disoriented, he grunted after a violent vibration rattled his bones.
When he opened his eyes, he was staring at the glowing eyes of a mechanical jaguar, his suit flashing red.
The simulation ended and the world around him faded, leaving him discombobulated in the center of a bare floor.
The director exchanged an uneasy glance with a few other suits in his observation box.
A tall man with lean muscles walked toward him with six people trailing behind.
His face was all sharp angles, cheekbones, and jawline. His eyes were like polished gunmetal, unreadable and cold. There was no warmth or comfort in his gaze like the man in Valor’s vision. They were calculating as if he only measured risks and costs.
Upon closer inspection, Valor wondered about the scar that split his left eyebrow.
“You good?” the man gritted. “You froze up at the end.”
Valor didn’t respond.
The man extended his hand.
“I’m your handler. My name’s not as important as my handle. Call me Cipher.”
Valor took the man’s hand, noting the scarred knuckles, hinting at a past where he used communication methods that didn’t include words.
“You did great, beyond all expectations.” The man shrugged. “Except at the end.”
Valor didn’t utter a word.
He didn’t like the aura of his handler. He wasn’t physically imposing, but something about him gave him pause.
Valor wanted to growl at the man whose responsibility would be moving him around the world like a player shifting chess pieces on a board.
Valor could never trust someone content with ordering another person to kill an unsuspecting target while he hid in the background.
He would keep an eye on his so-called handler.
He’d play their game, and then it would be his turn to make them pieces on the board.
Chief Styles Sawyer
Zorion
Zorion memorized every turn and blind spot as he was led to the testing area, which ended up being a stark white room with a two-sided mirror and no windows. There was a single metal chair in the center of the room. Beside it was a table with various objects, cards and items he didn’t know.