THE OMEGA RECRUIT

Although the training center buzzed with noise and people, it felt cold and desolate.

Scott stood with his head down, frozen on the spot Rick and his cadets had left him.

For a moment, the thought of giving up crept in, but he shut it down. He'd given up for too long already.

"Never again."

Scott looked up slowly, his eyes burning with determination.

He ran straight to his dorm and got to work drafting a detailed training plan.

Which muscles to target. Which exercises worked best for each one.

How to shoot better. How to fight smarter.

These were the thoughts running through his mind, over and over — sharp and relentless.

He mapped everything out with precision. Workouts, recovery, even sleep cycles.

Every rep would count, and every meal would fuel his transformation.

Scott was very meticulous. What to eat, which diet works best, how to shoot effectively, improved Close Combat techniques and military strategies.

He watched every plan and perfected every step.

He tailored the sessions to fit his proportions and adjusted them as he grew, increasing the difficulty of each training as he got bigger.

By the end of the first month, Scott stood 5'9", weighed 55 kg of lean muscle, had a max lift of 35 kg, and a punch force of 500 psi.

Thanks to his photographic memory, he trained and mastered boxing in just one month.

In the first week, he was an amateur boxer; in the next, he was advanced, and two weeks later, he was an expert.

On the first day of the new month, he decided to test his skills. Since finding a sparring partner would be a hassle, the simulation chamber was perfect — no stress, no partner needed.

He trained the day before like his life depended on it.

When he woke up the next morning, his face calm as the still ocean, his heart burned with the desire to win.

How he performed in this fight would decide everything, whether the past month of training meant something, or had all been a waste.

He left his dorm with one mission in mind: WIN.

The moment he entered the training center, he was viciously stared at by the other cadets.

"What is this loser doing here?"

"Isn't he ashamed."

"Trash."

"He should just leave, he's killing my drive."

"All these were fragments of the murmurs Scott picked up as he walked toward the simulation chamber.

He walked quietly to the room and turned on the simulation device.

The room, went from being steel and plated with reflective mirrors, turned white in the blink of an eye.

A blue board appeared in front of him, and on it, an instruction was boldly written.

[SELECT YOUR TYPE OF COMBAT]

He scrolled down, his eyes focused on the board as he selected.

On the board, he saw different types of combat sports, martial arts and sword techniques.

He scrolled through the list until his eyes locked onto Boxing. A confident smirk tugged at his lips.

He tapped it.

The difficulty options appeared:

Easy. Medium. Hard. Expert. Extreme.

Without hesitation, Scott selected Expert.

The match began processing.

Everyone could see the simulation chamber through the holo screen — a box in the heart of the room, lit like a stage, where failure or greatness would be on full display.

Plus, the fight was also streamed on different screens in the training grounds.

"What? He chose expert?"

"That loser."

"He's gonna get embarrassed."

"I think he's gonna lose."

"I give him one minute—tops"

The cadets snickered and murmured among themselves

"How much you wanna bet?"

A voice amidst the crowd says, and inside the heap of people comes out John Torino.

The cadets fell silent and the training grounds became silent like a graveyard, all because they heard money was involved.

A male cadet walked towards John, looked him in the eye, and said.

"Oh yeah.., how much are you willing to bet?"

John stared back and smiled. He replied.

"A million Velrin. That's what I'm putting up."

The cadets burst out into a scream, and the training grounds became so loud that it was like a rock concert.

"I'll put 1k!!"

"No 2k!!"

"Gimme 500!!"

Thousands of cadets rushed towards John, screaming and raising their hands.

"Yo John, put me in!"

"Where's the site!"

"Gimme me the link!"

Climbing over themselves to get to John. Their voices crashed like a wave, loud and chaotic, all screaming for the same thing.

"Ok, guys, calm down, calm down."

John said as he pushed the crowd backwards.

"Here's the link."

He tapped his wrist, and a flashing light came out. Letters and numbers started forming in the light projected into the air, swirling for a moment before locking into place.

There, the link was displayed.

The rest of the cadets quickly headed to the site to place their bets.

"Free money."

"What a dumb ass."

"And they said he was smart."

Those were their thoughts as they placed their bets.

The vast majority backed the simulation to win.

Only a handful bet on Scott.

"Okay, guys. Get ready.., the match's starting."

[1]

[2]

[3]

[FIGHT]

DING!

The floor pulsed. THUMP. The opponent emerged from digital particles, assembling into a figure made of muscle and code.

Shoulders like steel and eyes filled with nothing. It was like looking into the abyss

FIGHT!!

And just like that, the match began.

The simulated fighter came in fast, faster than anything Scott had ever seen. A right cross snapped toward his face.

He barely slipped. The punch grazed his ear, bruising it.

"Aww...!!"

The crowd erupted.

"That would have ended it!!"

Another jab. Then a hook. Then an uppercut, the simulation attacked ruthlessly, each punch aimed to take his head off.

Scott danced back, breath sharp, body alive with instinct. He did not panic.

He pivoted right, letting the next shot whistle past his ribs, and snapped a jab into the opponent's guard. Tap. Just a test.

The simulation didn't even blink. It came forward, ready to destroy.

Scott gritted his teeth.

He ducked under a hook, drove a left body shot into the ribs, and spun out — pivot left, reset.

Outside the glass chamber, the crowd roared with laughter.

"He's just running!"

"What a joke!"

"It's gonna crush him!"

Scott tuned it all out.

He started calculating, timing the simulation rhythm. Three-punch sequences. Two-second gaps before power shots. No feints. No creativity.

He could beat this.

The simulation wasn't thinking. It was reacting.

And Scott had trained for this moment like his life depended on it.

He stepped forward. A triple jab to the guard, followed by a feint right that baited the simulation's counter.

It took the bait.

Scott slipped the counter and dug a left hook into the liver. The simulation staggered slightly.

Good.

He pressed the advantage: 1-2 combo jab, straight right. The jab hit glove, but the right smashed into the side of the jaw.

BAM!

The simulation reeled.

"Wait… he landed that?"

"No way…"

He bobbed, weaved, narrowed the distance and unleashed hell.

Jab. Hook. Duck. Uppercut. Body shot. Pivot. Cross. Check the hook.

Every movement was clean. Controlled. Designed. He was no longer surviving; he was commanding the fight.

The AI came at him with a desperate flurry. Scott ducked low and stepped inside the arc, close range, where the simulation couldn't fully extend.

Short uppercut to the chin.

Right hook to the temple.

Left hook to the jaw.

The AI's head snapped back.

Outside, the crowd went silent.

Scott didn't stop.

He planted his feet, twisted his hips, and threw a full-force overhand right, all his weight behind it.

BOOM!!.

The simulation dropped.

Lights flashed red.

[SIMULATION TERMINATED – VICTOR: SCOTT MCKNIGHT.]

Silence.

The chamber powered down. The air shimmered. The floor lights dimmed back to neutral.

Scott stood alone, chest heaving, gloves hanging at his sides, sweat dripping from his brow.

He walked out, sweat pouring, with a towel draped across his shoulders.

He came out of the simulation chamber, raised his head, and to his surprise, thousands of faces stared back. Although he had expected this, he did not expect this many.

All stunned and Silent.

John Torino stared at Scott, arms crossed, eyes wide. No words, but with a huge grin on his face.

Scott said nothing. He walked through the crowd slowly, just as he came.

He didn't just win.

He shut them all.