Commander Aisha led me through a side corridor and into a long, empty practice hall. The room smelled of oil and metal—military plainness—and its floor was scuffed by years of impact.

“Stand here,” she said, setting herself two paces away. Her voice was flat as a blade. “I’ll test you. Don’t hold back. If you hesitate, you die.”

Her words were not a threat in the casual sense—they were a statement of fact. The air between us tightened.

“Right,” I whispered, tasting the metallic tang of adrenaline. Don’t show fear. Don’t show doubt.

She moved first.

Not a slow step or a wind-up—just a blur of motion. Her fist came at my face, faster than my eyes expected. I ducked, rolled, found my footing again. She didn’t stop. Strike followed strike, precise and cold, a machine trained to break people.

She was fast—too fast to be sloppy, too disciplined to be humanly warm. I blocked and parried, letting instinct and whatever the serum had left in me take over. For a while it was a dance: her rhythm, my counter-rhythm. Sweat beaded at my hairline.

Then one hit landed. A solid, brutal punch to my left chest that shoved the wind from me. The world tilted. For a second I couldn’t breathe.

She laughed—sharp and hard—rising above my stunned silence. “So this is your power?” she taunted. “Pathetic.”

My mouth went dry. Blood pricked at my lip. I tasted iron.

Something snapped inside me then. Not a thought—more like a decision born in bone. I felt the old hum under my skin, a light beginning to crawl along my veins. The Echoform answered to whatever fear she kicked up in me. It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t controlled. It was a hungry flare.

Aisha paused, eyebrows lifting at the change. “Oh. That’s new. Echoform.” Her voice held curiosity now, a dangerous one. “If that’s what you have, you’re in Phase One. It takes—” she checked a slate with a bland glance—“years to master. Ten, maybe.”

That should’ve scared me. Instead it steadied something.

I didn’t wait for her to finish.

I stepped forward and threw a punch with everything that edginess had built: the raw, angry momentum of someone who had been pushed too far. Aisha barely absorbed it—her forearm took the blow; the whole practice floor shuddered. The impact cracked the concrete beneath us. A spray of dust and a clean, widening fracture crawled outward until a crater formed where my feet had stood.

Silence swallowed the hall. A few soldiers peered through the door. One of them hissed, “Who is he—?”

Pain flared across my knuckles, but that heat fed the echo inside me, sharpening my focus into a single blade of intent. I moved again—faster, angrier. Each strike carried that new edge; each hit landed with less hesitation and more force. I felt the difference: the world slowed around my fists, my reflexes matched the tempo of the Echoform. I wasn’t merely hitting; I was cutting through resistance.

Aisha stepped back and then forward, eyes narrowed. She launched herself at me again, but this time I felt in me a rage that would not be kept. I closed the distance faster than she expected and threw a straight, full-force punch aimed at her face.

Her mouth opened—maybe a laugh, maybe a curse—but before my fist could connect, something intercepted it.

A crimson-gloved hand caught my wrist like a vise. Another hand—gloved, steady—wrapped my forearm and halted my motion. The impact didn’t stop there; a figure moved with impossible calm and, with a small twist, the force of my blow was re-routed and thrown away into the floor. The man who’d appeared was neither soldier nor clerk. He wore a long, odd coat stitched with patterns I didn’t recognize; his face was half-shadow.

For a heartbeat the hall stood frozen. Aisha stared, mouth open. The soldiers at the doorway were silent.

The stranger gave me a long look—eyes sharp and amused. He didn’t release my hand. “Easy,” he said, voice even and a little tired. “Strong. Untrained.”

His grip was firm but not cruel. He turned his head toward Aisha. “Is this your student? He’s dangerous if left so raw.” Then, to me: “Control it, boy, or it will control you.”

My pulse thudded in my throat. I expected questions, orders, a reprimand—but the man simply stepped back, letting the tension settle like dust. Without another word he melted into the shadows beyond the practice hall. By the time I blinked, he was gone.

I clenched my fist, feeling the echoform dim to a dull glow beneath my skin. Perin at my feet let out a low, baffled chuff, his fur still bristling from the fight.

Aisha’s face was unreadable. Then she smiled—not warm, but something like satisfaction. “Interesting,” she said. “You survive today, Arin. Meet at 1400 at the south hangar. We’ll see if MEU can teach you to survive outside those walls.”

Her tone had a new edge to it now—respect tempered with caution.

As we left the hall, my hand still trembled. The stranger’s warning repeated in my head: Control it, or it will control you.

Who had stopped my punch? And why had he disappeared like smoke?

Those questions sat heavy in my gut as Perin licked my hand and the world around me resumed its ordinary hum—blue lights glowing, soldiers marching, a city pretending that everything was still safe.

The echo of my nearly-finished punch still hung in the air when silence swallowed the arena. The stranger who had stopped me was gone as if he’d been made of smoke — only the faint smear of blood left on the floor proved he was ever real.

My chest rose and fell, the embers of Echoform still flickering under my skin like dying sparks.

Commander Aisha stood facing me, her eyes slightly wider than before. For the first time, her stance wasn’t perfectly composed — she had taken a half-step back without noticing.

She hid it quickly.

Her arms folded behind her again. Her face returned to calm.

But her voice was different.

“I said I’d test you,” she said at last. “Consider the test… passed.”

She didn’t sound pleased.

More like… cautious.

Her eyes drifted briefly to the cracked floor, then to my still-tensed fist.

“You’re officially assigned to the MEU as a temporary recruit,” she continued. “But understand this — you’re unstable. Unrefined. If you lose control like that in a real field, you could wipe out your own unit before the enemy touches you.”

She stepped past me, brushing against the wake of leftover heat in the air.

“No more Echoform unless ordered,” she said firmly. “You’ll report to survival conditioning at 14:00 hours. Gear will be issued. Your handler will brief you.”

She paused at the doorway and glanced at me one last time.

“…Don’t make me regret pushing for your entry.”

Then she left.

Only after she was gone did I realize my heart was still racing.

Later.

I sat on a bench just outside the MEU grounds, coat unbuttoned, lungs slowly calming. The sky under the dome shimmered silver-blue above us, pretending everything was peaceful.

Perin sprawled beside me, head on my boot, watching me with quiet, animal concern.

I stared at my hand.

It trembled.

Not just from effort — from fear.

I closed my fist.

If that punch had landed…

Aisha’s skull. The explosion of force. The blood. The silence after.

I swallowed. Hard.

Perin nudged my hand with his nose, chirping softly. Like he was telling me I was still here. Still grounded.

“I almost…” I whispered, not finishing the thought.

For a moment, I wondered if this was really strength — or something cursed. Something dangerous.

Something not entirely mine.

I exhaled slowly. My body ached, but my chest hurt more — like something was etched beneath the skin, right where the dream-blade had pierced me.

On reflex, I touched the spot.

It felt warm.

Burning.

I flinched.

And then— A whisper brushed the back of my mind.

Kill her…

My breath caught.

“…No,” I muttered. “Get out of my head.”

The voice faded.

But the warmth stayed.

Perin growled at nothing.

Elsewhere… inside the MEU command wing.

Commander Aisha stood alone in a private briefing room. A holographic screen blinked to life in front of her.

Incoming Directive: CLASSIFIED – EYES ONLY.

She read silently.

Her expression didn’t move for five seconds.

Then her jaw clenched.

She locked the screen and whispered under her breath:

“So… it’s true.” A slow exhale. “He is one of them.”

The lights dimmed.

Later.

I sat on a bench just outside the MEU grounds, coat unbuttoned, lungs slowly calming. The sky under the dome shimmered silver-blue above us, pretending everything was peaceful.

Perin sprawled beside me, head on my boot, watching me with quiet, animal concern.

I stared at my hand.

It trembled.

Not just from effort — from fear.

I closed my fist.

If that punch had landed…

Aisha’s skull. The explosion of force. The blood. The silence after.

I swallowed. Hard.

Perin nudged my hand with his nose, chirping softly. Like he was telling me I was still here. Still grounded.

“I almost…” I whispered, not finishing the thought.

For a moment, I wondered if this was really strength — or something cursed. Something dangerous.

Something not entirely mine.

I exhaled slowly. My body ached, but my chest hurt more — like something was etched beneath the skin, right where the dream-blade had pierced me.

On reflex, I touched the spot.

It felt warm.

Burning.

I flinched.

And then— A whisper brushed the back of my mind.

Kill her…

My breath caught.

“…No,” I muttered. “Get out of my head.”

The voice faded.

But the warmth stayed.

Perin growled at nothing.

Elsewhere… inside the MEU Command Wing.

Commander Aisha entered a quiet, secured briefing room. A file blinked open on a translucent holo-screen.

REPORT UPDATE – Subject: Temporary Recruit Arin Status: Anomaly Detected. Further Evaluation Required.

She read the combat report in silence — accounts of power far beyond standard Echoform, hand injuries reported from deflecting a single punch, unexplained readings on contact.

Her expression remained calm… but her eyes narrowed slightly.

She closed the file and set it on “Pending – High Priority.”

Under her breath, she muttered:

“Just… what are you?”

The lights dimmed automatically as she walked out, leaving the question hanging in the air like a quiet warning.