Four weeks into his new reality, Jace existed in a state of constant friction. School, once the central point of his life, was now a meticulously maintained facade. He kept his grades solid, his enhanced mind efficiently processing information even on minimal sleep, but it felt… detached. Superficial. His friendship with Leo, still relatively new, was fraying at the edges. Their connection had been built on shared classes and quick lunchtime chats, confined to the school day. Now, even those brief interactions were strained, filled with Jace's hurried excuses and Leo’s increasingly withdrawn silence. It was a school-day friendship struggling to survive outside the school walls, starved of genuine connection.

  His mom’s worry was a palpable presence in their small apartment. She watched him with a quiet intensity, her concern a constant hum beneath the surface of their stilted conversations. Pantheon Laboratories, her world of demanding but understood work, offered no comfort in the face of his increasingly erratic schedule. He’d become adept at the late-night return, the silent slide into his room, letting her assume he was simply exhausted from his “delivery job.” The lie felt heavier with each passing day.

  Weekdays after school, weekends were swallowed whole by CDE's relentless training regime at Red Oven Pizzeria. Weekdays focused on foundational combat skills with Kai and Zara. Weekends were a deep dive, bringing in a rotating roster of guest instructors. He'd sparred with a whip-fast, cybernetically enhanced named Renaldo, learned grappling techniques from a stoic, heavily augmented Judoka called Anya, and endured brutal endurance drills under the watchful eye of a silent, instructor named Gideon. Each instructor brought a different fighting style, different augmentations, a different facet of combat expertise, pushing him in new and agonizing ways.

  Beyond combat, his training was equally diverse. Tactical analysis sessions were led by a sharp, analytical woman named Seraphina, who used holographic simulations and complex algorithms to sharpen his strategic thinking. Stealth and infiltration were taught by a wiry, enigmatic man known only as Wraith, who moved with unsettling silence and drilled him in evasion, surveillance, and blending into the shadows. Even lock-picking and secure comms had their specialist instructors, each piece designed to mold him into something… more.

  The black Spandex suit he wore to protect his identity within the facility did nothing to make the relentless training any easier. Form-fitting and constricting, it trapped sweat against his skin and muffled sounds within the claustrophobic mask. Yet, from his second session onwards, it was a constant part of the experience, a symbol of his separation from his old life, a uniform for this new, brutal reality.

  In the Red Oven Pizzeria’s training room, always clad in the black suit, facing Kai and Zara again, the familiar, almost mocking, meme-derived nicknames still peppered their instructions, but the tone had shifted. Zara, sometimes, would just call him “Chico,” a curt, almost impatient nickname in Spanish.

  “Stance, Dynamo! You’re telegraphing again.” Zara corrected, her voice sharp but less overtly derisive than in the early days.

  Kai pressed his attack, a relentless series of punches and kicks, each movement precise, controlled, and designed to exploit any opening. “Hands tighter, Ripper. Guard is too wide.”

  He was improving, yes. He could last longer, endure more, even land the occasional counter. But the relentless pressure, the sheer volume of training, was starting to chafe.

  “What’s the point of all this?” he asked, gritting his teeth as he blocked a flurry of strikes through the restrictive fabric of the mask. “All this… training… if I can’t even…” He hesitated, searching for the right words, the words that wouldn’t sound like outright defiance. “If there’s no chance to… use it for something real?”

  He managed to create a hair's breadth of space, pivoting away from Kai's relentless advance, trying to catch his breath within the close confines of the mask. “If it’s just… training… for training’s sake…”

  Zara cut him off with a sharp gesture, her dark eyes narrowing. “Focus, Chico. Training is for mastery. Mastery is its own purpose. Now, footwork. Again.”

  Kai simply intensified his attack, a silent, brutal answer to Jace's unspoken questions. He moved with even greater speed and force, each strike a calculated lesson in pain and discipline. There was no booming reprimand, no lecture about obedience. Just relentless, unforgiving training, pushing him harder, faster, demanding more focus, more control, more skill he fought back, instinctively, stubbornly, pushing through the burning muscles, the aching joints, the sweat-soaked suit, the rising tide of frustration. But the questions lingered, unaddressed, unanswered. He was being honed, sharpened, forged in the fires of relentless training, shaped by the hands of unseen masters within CDE. He was becoming a weapon, forged because of the Marker. CDE’s interest in him, this relentless training… it all stemmed from that chaotic night on the bridge. He was being molded, not for his own sake, not even necessarily for some grand heroic purpose, but for theirs, for CDE’s agenda, linked inextricably to the Marker.

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  The evening training session was brutal. Sweat plastered the black Spandex to Jace’s skin. Confined by the mask, the training room echoed with the constant thud of impacts and sharp gasps for air. Four weeks of this relentless training had sculpted his body, but his mind felt frayed at the edges.

  Zara’s attacks were a relentless barrage of jabs and hooks, her voice a constant stream of demands. “Faster, Chico! Elbows in! Guard higher!” Kai, a silent, looming presence, circled, watching, waiting.

  Jace moved with a new, brutal efficiency. He blocked, parried, dodged – his body learning to react without thought. He was becoming what they wanted, a weapon. But the endless drills, the corrections, the suffocating mask – tonight, it was all too much. Frustration simmered, questions he’d suppressed clawed at the surface.

  He deflected a hard kick from Zara, the impact still jarring through his enhanced defenses, and retaliated with a rapid flurry of punches, a combo Anya had hammered into him. Zara moved fluidly, evading, but Jace pressed his attack, anger sharpening his strikes.

  “What am I even doing this for?” The words burst out, tight with frustration, muffled by the mask. A solid jab connected with Zara’s ribs, a grim satisfaction as she recoiled.

  Zara’s eyes narrowed behind her visor. “Focus, Chico. Control your breath.”

  Control was gone. The pressure, the confinement, the unanswered questions… it was overwhelming. He attacked again, faster, harder, abandoning finesse for raw force, desperate to feel something other than the crushing weight of training.

  He saw a flicker, a momentary opening in Zara’s guard, and reacted purely on instinct. A kick, a brutal sweep aimed at her head, surged from him – weeks of training exploding in a moment of lost control.

  Zara reacted with incredible speed, twisting her head aside, narrowly avoiding the full force. But his heel still caught her temple, snapping her head back sharply. She stumbled, disoriented, a sharp gasp escaping her lips.

  Kai froze instantly. “Zara!”

  The session ground to a halt. Zara straightened, touching her temple, her expression hidden, but the sudden, sharp tension in the room was palpable. He’d gone too far.

  “Enough,” Zara said, voice tight, controlled, an undercurrent he couldn't read. Annoyance? Surprise? “Session over.”

  Dismissed, he walked out, the echoes of the near-miss and his outburst ringing in his ears. Heart pounding, stomach knotted with anxiety. He’d crossed a line.

  He moved through the facility towards the locker room, the low hum of the base a constant companion. Passing the common area, he noticed technicians and staff clustered around the news screen. Headlines flashed: “CITY-WIDE UNREST REPORTED,” “MULTIPLE ATTACKS ACROSS METRO AREA,” “CIVILIAN CASUALTIES MOUNTING.” Images of chaos flickered across the screen – overturned vehicles, flashing lights, terrified crowds.

  Jace stopped, a cold dread creeping into his stomach. Snatching snippets of hushed conversation: “…completely overwhelmed.... coordinated attack… incidents everywhere…”

  An Icy dread washed over him and panic surged, overriding training. He sprinted, adrenaline flooding him, back to the training room, to the hidden elevator. He had to get out. Get to his mom.

  He reached the corner, the unmarked door of the elevator, and Kai stepped directly into his path, blocking his escape. The armored figure loomed, implacable. Kai’s hand clamped onto his shoulder, a restraining grip. “Stand down, Jace. Last warning.”

  “Kai, please!” Terror tightened Jace’s voice. “The news… attacks… everywhere… my mom works at Pantheon! Pantheon Laboratories is under attack, I have to go!” He wrestled against Kai’s grip.

  Kai’s hold remained firm. “Stand down, Jace. CDE is aware. But you remain here.”

  . “Get out of my way!” Jace roared as he ripped free from Kai, launching himself into a desperate assault. He had to get past him. Get to his mom. Unleashing a wild flurry of blows, faster, more desperate than anything he’d shown in training. Technique was irrelevant, control nonexistent. Only fear and desperation drove him.

  Kai was forced to engage, his movements fluid, defensive, deflecting Jace’s frantic attacks. “Dynamo! Stand down! That’s an order!” Kai’s voice remained calm, controlled, a stark contrast to Jace’s raw panic.

  But Jace was beyond orders. He was fighting for his mother. He pressed his attack, forcing Kai back, against the padded walls.

  “Sierra-Nine!” Kai’s voice boomed, the coded alarm piercing the training room.

  Instantly, the training room was flooded with security. CDE personnel in black uniforms poured in, weapons raised, energy crackling. They encircled Jace, a tightening ring of opposition.

  Jace glanced around at the grim, unyielding faces. He didn't want to fight them. But they stood between him and his mother. The elevator, his escape, was sealed, locked down, mocking him from the corner of the room. Escape blocked.

  He took a ragged breath, steeling himself against despair. Focus training, discipline, control, clarity emerged from the panic.

  Chaos erupted in the training room. Jace moved, a whirlwind of focused fury. He ducked under energy blasts, deflected strikes, hurled training dummies and pads, creating confusion. He wasn’t flailing; he was fighting, channeling every lesson, every drill, every agonizing hour, fear transformed into terrifying efficiency.

  Figures fell around him, collapsing amongst the mats, groaning, gasping. He vaulted over obstacles, leaped off walls, using the familiar space to his advantage, fluid, predatory, attacks brutally precise. Energy blasts seared the air, ozone filling the enclosed space.

  He reached the corner, the elevator useless. His gaze snapped upwards – the ceiling. The only remaining way out.

  Adrenaline surged, desperation fueling his muscles. He sprinted towards the wall, gathering momentum, muscles coiling, fist clenched. He leaped, launching himself upwards, explosive force aimed at the ceiling, at freedom.

  Crack-thump! His fist connected, shattering the thin ceiling. Concrete groaned, spider-webbed, then ripped apart. Dust, plaster, insulation rained down as he crashed upwards, bursting through into the Red Oven Pizzeria above.

  He landed in a shower of debris in the pizzeria, scattering startled staff, the pungent aroma of cheap tomato sauce suddenly overwhelming. He was in the pizzeria, blinking in the dim, artificial light, the sounds of sirens and shouts now much closer.

  No hesitation. No looking back at the chaos he left behind. He turned, ran, bursting through the pizzeria’s front door, into the evening-shrouded city. Driven by a single, all-consuming terror: Mom. Pantheon Laboratories under siege. He had to reach her, whatever the cost.