Mizuki wasn’t kidding when she said bright and early. I look at the clock beside my bed and wince at the alarms going off outside. It’s barely six in the morning. 

I over-rotate and shout as I fall off the bed. It’s too early, way too early for this shit.

I throw the blanket off and toss it back on the mattress before getting up and swinging open the wardrobe. There are a stack of neatly folded undergarments in the pull out drawers, and simple black clothes hanging from a post in my size. I throw the clothes over my shivering body and splash cold water on my face in the bathroom. They have everything waiting for me. Toiletries and food in the fridge and socks and sneakers in a cubby by the closet. I unplug my phone from the charger and slip it in my pocket before opening the door.

The alarms are much louder in the hallway and I cringe at the screeching sound. I catch people wandering out of their rooms in less clothes than I, wondering what the commotion is all about. There are some, however, that are fully dressed and are walking down the hall back toward the elevators. I shove my keycard in the pocket of my black sweats and hurry after them.

The smell of an oncoming winter burns my nose as I follow the herd outside. It’s remarkably colder than it was yesterday and I shiver in my thin black shirt. I stop with the others on a large patch of frosted ground.

A man at least twice the size of me stares us down with the eyes of a merciless killer. Or an angry mother. Same thing really.

“Listen up, runts,” he yells over the crowd. I, among the sea of trembling black shirts, straighten up considerably. “Today starts your first day of training. I will not be repeating my instructions so you better listen and listen well. My name is Dixon. I’ll be shaping you sad lot into proper soldiers. We do not endorse cowardice so let me begin by saying this: if you do not, cannot, will not follow all instructions during training, you are of no use to the Alloy. And you will be eliminated from this division. Only 27 of you rookies out of almost 200 participants were chosen for class D. And I have no doubt that number will lessen immediately." What the hell did I get myself into? I ask myself, trying my hardest to suppress my shivering.

"When does training end?" The boy next to me, a boy with blond hair and a tremor in his lip, asked aloud. I wince on his behalf. At least I know to keep my mouth shut in certain situations.

The instructor's eyes narrow on him, and I straighten up even more, keep my eyes forward, pressing my lips into a straight line to keep them from trembling. The man moves–swiftly and quietly for such a giant man–until he is positioned just before the boy. He leans in and I can feel his breath on the side of my face. I don't move.

"Training doesn't end, rookie. And if you don't want your broken ass on the bare concrete, I'd recommend keeping your mouth shut and listening." He spoke quietly, though his voice still carried with ease over the chill of the wind. The boy with the blond hair stifles a whimper and shrinks away from him.

Dixon, with eyes like a predator, leans back on his heels and walks to peer over me this time. I hold my breath, keep my eyes forward. While many parts of me don’t want to be here right now, I would much rather be here than rummaging through the rubble of my apartment building in New York. I don't have a choice. I have to do this. This way, I'll at least learn how to fight, how to protect Silva and Lucy. I'll have worth again.

I felt something shift behind my eyes. That's right. I can't be selfish now. I may not be athletic but I know how to take punches. Maybe now I can learn how to throw them too.

"What is your name, boy?" The instructor asked. His stubble of beard was the same salt and pepper shade as the short hair on his head. I could see every bronze muscle on his arms without even looking directly at him. If I ever fought this man in hand to hand combat, I wouldn't just get beaten in under a minute. I'd get killed.

"Aiden Brooks, sir," I announce loudly, surprised at my own confidence.

"Brooks, hm?" He asks, a natural growl in his voice.

"Yes sir."

"Look at me Brooks."

I inhale, trying to hide the shakiness in that breath, and look him right in the eyes. I feel so small beneath them. But I don't look away. I have to be strong right now. Even though it's cold. even though I'm afraid.

"You're built like a shrimp, Brooks. How do you expect to protect anything like that?" He asks. I dont shrink away like the other boy did. I answer loud and clear.

"I'll get stronger, sir."

"That's right. You will," he grunts in agreement. A girl on the other side of me snickers and immediately swallows it.

"Something funny, rookie?" He growls, moving onto her instead. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

"No sir." She says, fear heavy in her throat.

"It seems to me like you have something you want to say, hm?"

"No," she replies in barely a whisper.

"No?" He echoes, almost mockingly. He stares her down for a long time, silence passing between them like a tangible static electricity.

When he finally moves on to the next person in the line. As he does, out of the corner of my eye, I see the girl beside me glare. Well, more like I feel it, drilling a whole in the side of my skull.

What did I do? I wanted to ask. But I keep my eyes forward and my lips sealed.

"You all are lucky," the instructor yells as he passes from person to person. "That I'm your instructor for the initial training week. You will meet the other two when you're assimilated into the higher levels of the division." I could almost laugh. Lucky? That means the other two must be monsters.

He leans over the next victim.

"Name, kid?"

*J-Joan Wu."

"You look cold, Wu. Are you?"

"Y-Yes sir. A little bit."

"A little?" He mocks sympathy and I clench my fists. This can’t be good.

"I know of a way to warm all of you up," he barks. "Twenty laps around the lake. Rise and shine, princesses."

A weight drops like a stone in my stomach. Did I mention I'm not athletic? I think the warm up might kill me before actual training does. Before I could dwell on it, I'm following Joan Wu and the tremor boy and snickering girl to the lake in a fast jog. The lake is covered in a thin layer of ice, but water still peaks through the surface. I swallow hard and try to stay as far away from it as possible.

I feel like it's mocking me.

The first two laps around the half mile lake are fine, nice even. But it quickly gets difficult to keep going. By the seventh lap I am wheezing hard, running sloppily with numb toes and frozen fingers. I started off near the front of the group. I'm now somewhere in the middle, though the first runner doesn't seem to change places at all. First runner is a girl with dark skin and long, muscular legs. She looks completely at ease, like this is just a literal walk in the park for her.

By the twelfth lap, my legs feel like jelly and I'm starting to think this isn't possible for me. There's no way I can run eight more laps, I think to myself. My chest is on fire. My knees feel about to buckle.

That's when someone rams me from the side and I go flying, falling in the direction of frozen water.

Time moves slowly. I can see the face of the girl who was beside me in lineup, a deep smirk on her lips. Of course, I think before panic consumes me as I'm still suspended in air. I got the highest mark. That means I'm a target now. Before training even started, my peers were out for blood. My blood.

My body crashes through the ice like a brick and freezing water engulfs every inch of me. My entire body seizes up and I flail. I can't breathe. It hurts. I can't see. It hurts. I can't do anything. It hurts. Everything hurts.

The ice water feels like thousands of needles in my skin. The current under the surface suddenly sucks me toward the center of the lake. Trepidation fills my bones like concrete and it hits me that I can really die. There is a sheet of ice between me and the air my lungs are screaming for.

I slam my palms against the ice but the water is cold and it's getting harder to move. In my delirium I think that vision came to life, me banging against the car window of a sinking vehicle. Nothing happens.

I hate the water. I hate the water.

I'm going to drown.

I scream only to have my voice muffled by the water. And suddenly the ice cracks.

I see a shadow through the surface but it's just a shadow. I no longer have the strength to try to break the ice. For a moment I wonder if the shadow is my mother.

But then the ice breaks and a pair of hands reach for me and pull me out of the ice.

I fall back on dirt and realize the shore wasn't too far from where I was stuck. I finally breathe but I'm still panicking. It's cold, way too cold. So cold I feel like I'm going to pass out.

My rescuer turns to me and pulls me to my feet. I look at her face. It's Joan Wu.

"Come on, you have to keep moving or your body will cave to hypothermia!" She yells at me. I am able to stand on my own but can't do much else.

"Brooks! Wu!" A voice barks. "Taking a leisurely swim in the river?"

"No sir!" She answers for both of us and, in that moment, I admire her strength.

"Then get back to it! You're almost a lap behind the others already."

I let Joan pull me back toward the dirt path. Somehow I don't collapse. Somehow I put one foot in front of the other until I am running again.

"Why?" I yell over the wind. Everyone else left me behind. It's only natural when you're a target. But she didn't. I don’t have to explain my question for Wu to understand.

"The ones who play dirty are the cowards," she yells back. "And I may be weak, but I'm not a coward."

I shut up and keep running. I am. I'm a coward. If that were her in the water I cant say I would have done the same. I'm too selfish and too vain.

We finally finish the warm up much later than the others. I line up with the others when I’m able to gain my composure. I'm left shivering in wet clothes this time. I can be in some serious trouble if I stay in these clothes. I'm better off stripping.

I pull my shirt over my head and toss it on the ground. I don't look down at myself, knowing I won't like what I see. I'm too skinny, too bony. I'm now half naked in freezing temperatures.

I hear some whistles and mocking cheers but a look in the instructor's eyes shuts them all up immediately. He makes no mention of my sudden bareness. He walks the length of us with his hands folded behind his back.

"You won't always be fighting in comfortable temperatures. When it's this cold it's mind over matter." He eyes me closely. My lips are blue, my skin so cold it's excruciating. But I keep my face neutral. I keep my hands at my side. I am stronger than this, I repeat in my head like a mantra. I am strong. Even if I'm not now, I will be.

"Line up," he orders and we sloppily fall into line.

Someone shoves me to the ground but there are too many people for me to pick them out in the crowd. I dust myself off with a scowl and stand back up.

"You don't belong here," someone behind me whispers. I do. I do belong here. I keep my eyes trained on the head in front of me and my lips shut.

"Weak."

"Coward."

"Heard you're scared of water, Brooks. That true?"

Ignore it, I tell myself. I'm strong. I belong here. I belong.

"March to the training grounds," he orders us. I begin to fall into a march behind my peers. But a hand stops me. People swerve around me as Dixon pulls me aside. I straighten back up.

"Sir," I acknowledge with my eyes forward.

"You're trembling. Are you cold?"

"No sir," I say sharply. But I am. I really am.

"No," he nods. "You don't fight back. Why?"

My mouth clamps shut as I think of an answer. I hear Silva's voice in my ear. There is strength in walking away. I think of Lucy's disappointment every time she learned I got involved in a fight, even if it was on her behalf.

"I'm not weak, sir." I may look it, but I'm not as weak as they think. I've got resilience. Physical and mental resilience.

"No?" He asks, a curious hint in his voice. "And you think running away from a fight is a sign of strength?"

"I'd rather pick my battles, sir."

"And what happens when you can no longer make that decision? What will you do if you no longer have the choice of running away?"

"Then I fight." For a moment I feel confident, confident enough to look my instructor in the eyes. "And I win."

His eyebrows lift ever-so-slightly, surprise subtle but present on his face. And then his eyebrows drop and his face goes back to its natural state of intimidating.

"We'll see."

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