The underground training grounds had massive overhead lights that cast sharp shadows across the chamber, illuminating grey concrete floors marked by years of boots, bodies, and blood.
Ty stood among two dozen new recruits, the fresh lion tattoo on his left forearm still burning under its bandage.
The weight of it felt like a brand, a permanent mark chaining him to this nightmare.
Instructors barked orders, sending groups through brutal drills: push-ups until arms gave out, sprints across obstacle courses lined with razor wire, hand-to-hand drills that ended with broken noses and black eyes.
Ty moved through the early drills on autopilot.
His body moved—dodging padded strikes, lifting heavy sandbags—but his mind kept drifting back to that dark, bolted door in the corridor.
What the hell is behind it? Weapons? Infected? Something worse?
The memory of Noah's mutated scars flashed in his head.
Whatever was locked away down here, it reeked of the same danger that had swallowed his old friend whole.
"Focus, rookies!" an instructor roared.
A heavy medicine ball—clearly modified, dense metal wrapped in thick rubber—came hurtling toward Ty's head from a passing drill.
At the last second, his instincts kicked in. His hand shot up and caught it with a loud thud. The impact shot up his arm all the way to the shoulder. The thing weighed at least forty pounds.
He blinked, snapping out of his thoughts.
Before he could lower the ball, a broad, cocky recruit with a shaved head and a sneer stomped over.
The guy was built like a tank, easily six-foot-three, with veins popping along his thick neck.
He'd been throwing his weight around since the session started, bullying the smaller recruits.
"The fuck you staring at, space cadet?" the guy growled, shoving Ty hard in the chest. "Think you're special 'cause you caught one ball? You're just another weak little bitch who's gonna get eaten by the end of the week."
Ty staggered back a step but held his ground, the heavy ball still gripped casually in one hand.
A small crowd of recruits quickly formed a loose circle, eager for any distraction from their own suffering.
Whispers spread.
The bully kept going, stepping closer, puffing out his chest.
"Look at you. Skinny arms, pretty face. Bet you sucked dick to get in here instead of earning it. This ain't no place for soft bitches like—"
Ty's eyes narrowed. In one fluid, lightning-fast motion, he twisted his torso and hurled the metal ball straight into the guy's face.
CRACK.
The sound echoed across the training grounds like a gunshot.
The bully's head snapped back violently.
Blood sprayed from his shattered mouth as several teeth flew out, clattering across the concrete.
He crumpled instantly, hitting the floor with a wet thud, groaning and clutching his ruined face.
Crimson pooled beneath his head.
The entire chamber went dead silent for a beat.
Then murmurs erupted.
"Shit… did you see that?"
"That ball's fucking metal…"
"Yah, that guy is not showing his bald ass face ever again..."
Ty stood there breathing evenly, staring down at the bleeding man without a trace of remorse.
The heavy ball rolled slowly away from the the mans crushed in skull. A trace of scarlet red trailing behind it.
His hand stung, but the satisfaction of shutting that loud mouth up outweighed the pain.
Boots approached from the side. Rafe pushed through the crowd, taking in the scene with a heavy sigh.
The injured recruit was still whimpering on the ground, blood bubbling from his lips.
Rafe looked at Ty, then at the fallen bully. A slow, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—the first real one Ty had seen from him.
"Well, damn," Rafe said, clapping a firm hand on Ty's shoulder. His grip was strong and firm against Ty's shoulder. "Didn't expect you to prove yourself this fast. Strong. Useful. I like that." He turned to the gathered recruits, his expression hardening instantly.
"Show's over! Get back to your drills before I make you run laps until you puke blood. Move!"
The crowd scattered like startled rats.
Rafe crouched down, grabbed the bully by the back of his collar, and began dragging him across the floor with zero effort.
A thick trail of blood smeared behind them. The man was semi-conscious, moaning through his broken teeth.
Ty stepped forward. "Where are you taking him?"
Rafe paused, glancing back over his shoulder.
His eyes were cold, matter-of-fact.
"This guy's useless now. Can't shoot, can't fight, can't even talk straight. We don't waste resources on weak links." He gave a small shrug. "We're feeding him to the fleshbounds. That's what happens when you're not good enough."
Ty's stomach twisted. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
Rafe didn't wait for a response. He simply continued dragging the bleeding recruit toward a side exit, the man's heels scraping pathetically against the concrete.
The reality of this place settled heavier on Ty's shoulders.
This wasn't just survival—it was a meat grinder. A farm. And Noah stood at the top, deciding who lived and who became food.
As the commotion died down and the other recruits returned to their brutal exercises, Ty's gaze drifted upward.
High above the training grounds stretched a reinforced balcony with a thick metal railing. Leaning against it, watching everything with predatory focus, was Noah.
Nade or whatever the fuck his name was now.
He stood like a dark god overlooking his domain—tall, imposing, those mutated scars catching the harsh light along his neck and jaw.
His cold eyes with faint red flecks were locked directly on Ty. For a long moment, their gazes held.
Then, slowly, a small smirk curved Noah's lips.
It wasn't warm.
It wasn't kind.
It was the satisfied expression of a predator who had just spotted something something valuable… or entertaining.
Noah gave the faintest nod of approval before turning and disappearing back into the shadows of the upper level.
Ty stood frozen amid the chaos of training, heart hammering.
He's watching me.
Ty clenched his fists.
Yah, fuck this place to shit. I gotta get outta here, with or without Noah.