Morning smelled like smoke and victory. The street still wore scorch marks. NYPD circled the block like vultures afraid of the carcass. Inside? Calm. Nineteen Spartans moved through their rhythms—cleaning, drilling, resetting. No casualties. No dents worth mentioning.
Choppers replayed our night on every channel. I sipped and grinned. "They're terrified and impressed. My favorite combo."
Ding.
Points available: 7,000.
"Shopping spree," I said, and gathered everyone in the lounge. Veterans remained calm. Rookies were tense. Nineteen bodies filled every inch of space.
"Fisk just paid for upgrades with his own wallet," I said. "We're spending all of it."
I paced the rookie line. 08—focused but flighty. 10—Strong, blunt. 12—clumsy. 13—heavy hands. 14—sprays. 15—best friends with gravity. 16–19—brand-new stiffness.
I stopped at 08. "Your bullets hate the middle, but you keep improving. Time to cheat."
Then at 10. "You lift like a fridge and punch like one. Let's sharpen that."
"Congratulations," I said. "08 and 10 win."
"Train Alpha08, Spartan II."
Blue light. Tension. Stillness. As it cleared, the edges became sharper.
"Commander," 08 said, saluting sharply.
"Finally. 03, we might save on drywall."
"Improved," 03 allowed.
Ding.
Remaining: 5,500.
"Train Alpha10, Spartan II."
Glow. Lock. Focus.
"Commander."
"From refrigerator to war machine in five seconds," I said. "05, you have a real partner now."
"Acknowledged."
Ding.
Remaining: 4,000.
"And now," I said, rubbing my hands, "we grow."
Eight flares later, the room was filled with Spartans from wall to wall.
Alpha20 saluted.
Alpha21 saluted.
Alpha22 saluted.
Alpha23 saluted.
Alpha24 saluted.
Alpha25 saluted.
Alpha26 saluted.
Alpha27 saluted.
"Welcome to the circus," I told them. "Try not to trip."
Ding.
Remaining: 0.
Assignments snapped in:
02 → 20, 21
03 → 22, 23
04 → 24, 25
05 → 26, 27
Training resumed promptly. Soldiers 20 and 21 struggled to hold their stance under 02's stern gaze. Meanwhile, 22 and 23 focused on shooting paper targets, with 03's adjustments narrowing their shot groups. Soldiers 24 and 25 repeatedly fell to the mat, only to get back up and keep going. Soldiers 26 and 27 caused noise on the plates with 05's strikes until the steel finally gave way. Newly upgraded 08 and 10 moved with exceptional precision, as if they had been trained this way from the start.
I moved with a soda in hand. "20, that's a handshake, not a punch. Fix it. 22, we aim higher, not at our boots. 24—new fall record. 26—if you break the weights, you're buying them." By evening, the fortress was busy. New recruits relaxed in their bunks, while veterans stayed alert. Upgrades gleamed brightly.
"Twenty-seven," I said, leaning back with a grin. "All mine."