THE OMEGA RECRUIT

The car moved as swiftly as lightning, gliding across Protocol with a quiet hum.

In just a few minutes, they arrived at the Protocol Training Center.

A ride that would've taken much longer in a standard civilian vehicle.

Though the ride took a few minutes for others, for Scott, it felt like several lifetimes.

TZZZDUMM... 

The car came to a smooth halt, powering down without making any sound.

Scott and Rick stepped out of the car, followed closely by the rest of the cadets. 

 Before them stood a massive spherical dome, rising like a black moon from the compound floor.

The entire structure was like glass, sleek and seamless, but its surface shimmered with pulsing neon lights, lines that glowed blue and red that coursed through its shell like veins of energy.

It didn't look like a training center. It looked like a fortress.

The main entrance hissed open with a deep mechanical groan, revealing a thick steel doorway that parted slowly.

The moment they stepped inside, the door slammed shut behind them, echoing a clang.

The interior of the dome was even more breathtaking.

Thousands of cadets filled the space — a sea of uniforms.

All around them, the air pulsed with energy, discipline and ambition.

Grunts echoed from the weight-training zone, where bodies were strained.

Gunfire popped rhythmically from the live shooting range, cadets standing like statues with focused eyes.

In another section, holographic VR simulations danced across the air, projecting enemy targets, battle terrains, and lightning-fast combat scenarios.

In the center arena, cadets were engaged in close-quarters sparring, exchanging swift, brutal blows under the sharp gaze of instructors.

The scent of sweat, metal, and blood clung to the air. It wasn't just a training facility. It was a battlefield.

Some cadets noticed Rick's arrival and immediately stood at attention.

"Sir!"

Their voices rang out like a practiced drill.

Rick raised a hand casually, his tone firm but relaxed.

"There's no need for that, soldiers. Carry on."

"Yes, sir!"

They echoed in unison, then swiftly returned to their training.

Scott walked behind Rick in silence, his eyes wide.

They kept walking past rows of treadmills, digital monitoring booths, vertical climbing towers, sparring pits, kinetic-reactive dummies, and squads drilling in perfect formations.

Each zone felt a different world. The clang of metal in the weight zone, the sharp bursts of gunfire from the shooting range, the cool glow of holograms in the simulation chamber.

Every space carried its own rhythm, its own pressure, as if each corner of the dome was designed to forge a different kind of soldier."

Boots thudding softly on the polished steel floors.

Monitors buzzing.

Finally, they reached it.

The Special Forces Training Ground.

It sat behind a pair of reinforced double doors, taller than any other entrance they had seen, each one etched with the insignia of Protocol.

Rick paused for a moment, turning to glance at the cadets behind him.

"This is where only the best of the best train.

The elite.

The future Nano Soldiers.

A sharp *CLAP* echoed through the chamber.

"Okay, people."

Rick's voice boomed with command,

reverberating against the tall steel walls of the Special Forces Training Ground.

He stepped forward, placing himself between them and the crucible ahead.

His boots thudded against the metal floor with every step.

"This is not the Academy," he began. His voice had weight, not just sound, but

pressure.

"This is not just a test. This…"

He spread his arms out to the massive dome around them.

"This is life and death."

The room seemed to shrink. Time slowed.

Rick's eyes burned as he scanned each face one by one — John, Faux, Cherry,Olu… and then Scott.

He didn't just glance. He looked through them. Like he was searching for something buried deep inside.

"Some of you will make it," he said, voice low, cold, honest, heavy.

"And some…"

A pause.

"Not so much."

His hands dropped to his waist, thumbs hooking into his belt as he took a slow, deliberate breath.

No sugar-coating. No illusions. The truth hit harder than a bullet.

Then he turned fully, facing the five top cadets.

His gaze fixed on Scott.

He studied him longer than the rest, not because he was impressed, but because he couldn't believe what he saw.

"This is the Number One?"

"This pale, nervous wreck of a boy standing stiff like a mannequin?"

Rick's jaw tightened.

"Okay, soldiers."

His voice snapped like a whip.

"The following tests will be conducted: Shooting, Strength, Speed, Strategic Assessment, and Close Quarters Combat."

He began pacing slowly in front of them, like a lion circling prey.

"These aren't your standardized metrics. This isn't what the reports say.

I don't give a damn about numbers on paper."

He stopped. Looked them over.

"I want to see you. Your instincts. Your decisions.

Your reaction under pressure. I want to know what you're made of."

A long pause.

Then, he called the name like a challenge.

"Scott,"

Rick called, voice sharp.

"You'll go first. Strength, then Shooting, Speed, Strategic Assessment, and finally, Close Quarters Combat."

He stepped forward, arms crossed behind his back.

"Are you ready, Scott?"

Scott nodded stiffly.

"Yes, sir."

Rick narrowed his eyes.

"Alright then… Let's see. 

But Scott wasn't ready. His legs felt like rusted metal as he stepped toward the weight bench.

A digital hum buzzed as the machine powered on.

He wrapped his trembling fingers around the cold steel bar, took a deep breath, and pushed.

10 kilograms.

The machine beeped.

A number so low it almost looked like an error.

Scott's face twitched.

He moved to the punching machine, trying to redeem himself.

He squared up. Threw a punch.

50 PSI.

The machine blinked. That was the punching strength of a child.

Rick's face tensed. His eye twitched. His fist was slowly curled at his side.

"How…"

He muttered under his breath.

"How did this even happen? How did he even pass the exams? And he's NUMBER ONE?"

He stepped forward, trying to start the shooting exercise.

"Stop."

"I don't want to see anymore."

Rick turned away from Scott as if the sight of him burned.

Scott slowly stepped back, shoulders hunched, arms limp at his side.

The machines behind him beeped softly, looking like they mocked him with every flash of red.

005 — John Torino looked stunned, jaw clenched.

004 — Faux Blunt let out a snort, trying to hide a cruel grin.

003 — Cherry Bomber stared forward, unbothered.

002 — Esosa Olu's hands curled into fists, and his nostrils flared.

"This is the guy I lost to?" Olu thought, rage surging.

"Did the elders go that far? Make a fake cadet just to humiliate us?"

"Then—"

CLAP!

Rick's hands echoed through the dome.

"005!"

"Yes, sir!"

John answered without hesitation.

"Show 001 how it's done."

"Yes, sir."

John stepped forward, calm and composed. He grabbed the barbell without a grunt, muscles tightening as he lifted it overhead.

DING!

80 kilograms.

The number flashed in golden light on the screen.

Rick nodded.

"Good job, soldier. Back to your position."

"Yes, sir,"

John answered, glancing at Scott for a moment as he returned to his place beside Faux Blunt.

Rick strode toward Scott, eyes hard.

"I don't know what happened to you… for your performance to be this poor."

He paused, disappointed

"And to be honest… I couldn't care less."

Scott didn't flinch. He stood still, as Rick's words bit deep.

"You have until next year to get your things together. But until then…"

He paused.

"You're banned from all Special Forces activities."

Scott's heart dropped like a stone.

Behind him, John Torino winced. It reminded him of home. Of the harsh words, the expectations.

Rick turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, calling out:

"Alright, soldiers. Let's head out. Seems some of us need to start with basic training."

The cadets filed behind him in rhythm.

John looked over his shoulder once more at

Scott, eyes filled with quiet sympathy.

Then the great steel doors began to close.

SWISH—

The air hissed. The mechanical whir vibrated across the dome walls, echoing.

And then. Silence.

Scott stood alone in the massive chamber.

The hum of machines.

The flicker of training lights. The absence of applause. It all surrounded him.

He clenched his fists. His shadow stretched out on the polished floor, trembling.

It felt just like that day.

The day everything fell apart.

" I SHOULD HAVE STAYED HOME "

He said to himself.