Monday, 8:00 AM, Training Ground.
Sunlight filtered through the mist and spilled onto the open ground, gilding the makeshift obstacles.
Wire mesh, high walls, balance beams, shooting stations—all assessment facilities were ready.
In the center of the field, standing on a simple platform made of wooden crates, was Wu Fan.
He was rarely dressed in a formal suit today—a black suit, white shirt, no tie.
The wind blew his coat, revealing the handle of the glock at his waist.
Below the platform stood twenty-something people preparing for the assessment.
They wore identical grey sportswear—the 'training uniforms' issued by the base, with the red logo of the Umbrella Corporation printed on the back.
Further away stood a group of family members and the elderly and weak.
"Everyone."
Wu Fan spoke, his voice not loud, but enough for everyone to hear.
The crowd quieted down.
"Today's assessment is not to eliminate anyone."
He said, "It is to select more capable people to serve as squad leaders and lead teams to handle security work."
He scanned the faces below—nervous, excited, eager to try, and those pretending to be calm.
"Those with strong abilities will receive better treatment, more points, better housing, and the right to choose tasks first."
He paused: "But this does not mean that those with weaker abilities have no value. Everyone has their own place—logistics, maintenance, medical, supplies management—someone is needed for all of them."
He looked at the family members and raised his voice slightly:
"Your families will be protected here. As long as they are willing to contribute to this collective, this collective will not abandon them."
Scattered applause rang out in the crowd.
"Alright."
Wu Fan jumped down from the platform: "No more nonsense, let's begin."
In the family and survivor observation area.
Paul sat in a wheelchair, looking at the contestants warming up, his eyes full of unwillingness.
"Don't think about it."
Karina stood behind him and gently patted his shoulder: "Wait until your injury heals."
"I know."
Paul sighed: "I just feel... that I missed an opportunity."
Karina smiled: "There are plenty of opportunities. Didn't you hear what the BOSS said? In the future, there will be more and more people, and the teams will get bigger and bigger. When that time comes, we will need more squad leaders, even platoon leaders. What are you rushing for?"
Paul looked back at her and smiled too: "You're right."
Nearby, Lori was straightening Rick's collar. She stood on tiptoe, folded the collar of Rick's sportswear properly, and patted the dust off his shoulder.
"Be careful."
She said, "Don't get hurt."
Rick held her hand and said with a smile: "Don't worry, I'm good at fighting."
Lori smiled too, then turned to look at Shane beside them: "Shane, you be careful too. You two grew up together, so help each other out. Don't hurt the harmony."
Shane glanced at Rick, and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth: "Don't worry. When it's just me and you left, I won't go easy on him."
Rick also smiled: "That's what I was thinking too."
The two looked at each other, and something flashed in their eyes—too fast for Lori to even notice.
She just nodded with a smile: "That's good."
On the other side, Amy was holding Andrea's hand.
"Sis, can you handle it?"
Amy asked in a low voice.
Andrea rolled her eyes: "What kind of question is that?"
"I'm just worried about you..."
Amy muttered: "You've only been training for two weeks. How long have they been training?"
Andrea pulled her hand back and adjusted her wrist guards: "So what if it's two weeks? Two weeks is enough to fight. Stop being a jinx here, go sit over there and wait for my good news."
Amy shrugged and walked toward Wu Fan's podium.
Passing by Morgan and Jim, she heard them chatting.
"You're really not going?"
Jim asked.
Morgan shook his head and said with a smile: "Please, I'm in my forties. I'm not going to mess around with those young people. I'd rather just honestly do my job as a mechanic."
Jim also smiled: "What a coincidence, that's what I thought too. If I'm not cut out for it, I won't go and embarrass myself."
Jim looked at T-Dog, who was dejected not far away, and lowered his voice: "Hey, T-Dog, don't be so discouraged. Maybe you'll get lucky and win?"
T-Dog spread his hands, looking helpless: "Are you serious? Stop messing with me."
Morgan and Jim covered their mouths and giggled.
Amy couldn't help but smile, then found a spot to stand and looked toward the center of the field.
There, Merle was doing warm-up exercises.
He took off his shirt, revealing his muscular body.
Pectorals, abs, back muscles—the muscle lines were clearly built from years of fighting and working out.
He moved his shoulders and twisted his neck, making cracking sounds.
Several people nearby looked at him, their expressions not very pleasant.
Merle spat on the ground and grinned.
His strength would tell them.
Kyle took a whistle and walked to the starting line, raising his hand.
"On your marks—!"
Twenty-something people stood in a row behind the starting line.
Rick, Shane, and Merle were at the front; Andrea was slightly behind; T-Dog, Marcus, and Dylan were scattered on the sides.
"Get set—"
Beep—!
A group of people rushed out.
3km weighted run.
Rick took the lead, his pace steady, his breathing even.
Shane followed closely behind, lagging by two body lengths.
Merle gritted his teeth as he chased, but he could never catch up to the two professionally trained police officers.
Andrea fell to fifth place, but never fell behind.
In the family area, Lori clenched her fists, her eyes fixed on Rick's back.
Amy watched her sister nervously, muttering to herself.
Paul sat in his wheelchair, watching intently.
Wu Fan stood by the podium, watching the group of people running, and clicked his tongue slightly.
As expected of the original team.
Rick first, Shane second, Merle third.
Top three, without suspense.
Next was the obstacle climb.
A two-meter high wall; Rick ran, jumped, and climbed, all in one go.
Shane was half a second slower than him.
When Merle climbed over, he almost fell, but managed to steady himself.
Crawling under wire mesh, running across the balance beam—for the police officers who trained frequently, these were basic skills.
Although Merle had good physical fitness, his technique was indeed not as good as theirs.
Shooting assessment.
Fixed targets, Rick hit nine out of ten.
Shane hit nine out of ten.
Merle hit seven out of ten—his marksmanship wasn't bad, but he lacked systematic training and his stability wasn't enough.
Moving targets, the gap was even more obvious.
The last item, combat.
One-on-one competition.
Rick against T-Dog, knocked down in three seconds.
Shane against Marcus, also in three seconds.
Merle against Dylan, five seconds, threw the person to the ground and deliberately stomped on him.
Kyle blew the whistle to warn him, and Merle reluctantly withdrew his foot.
Finally, Rick against Shane.
The two stood in the center of the field, looking at each other from two meters away.
"It's settled, no going easy."
Rick said.
Shane nodded: "Come on."
The two moved at the same time.
It was over a decade of tacit understanding, and also over a decade of competition.
Punching, blocking, kicking, dodging—every move was so fast it was dazzling.
Two minutes later, Rick pinned Shane to the ground, his fist stopping an inch from his face.
"Do you admit defeat?"
Rick asked, panting.
Shane was also panting and smiled: "I admit it."
Rick let him go and reached out to pull him up.
The two hugged and patted each other on the back.
"Good job."
Rick said.
"You too."
Shane said.
Rick against Merle.
Merle's fighting technique was okay, but his combat skills were lacking. He was pinned down and beaten by Rick, and by the time he wanted to crawl up, he had already been judged as having lost.
Shane against Merle, he was also beaten down, which made him feel depressed. If it weren't for the fact that dirty tactics weren't allowed, he might have been able to turn the tables. In pure unarmed combat, he was far behind.
Third.
He was third.
Those two cops, one was first, one was second.
And him, just a third.
The assessment ended.
Kyle stood on the podium and announced the results loudly:
"First place, Rick Grimes! Second place, Shane Walsh! The above two have qualified as squad leader and deputy squad leader! Rick and Shane will jointly lead a squad. Specific treatment will be announced later!"
The crowd cheered.
Lori rushed up to hug Rick and kissed him on the face.
Carl also ran over, hugging his dad's leg, smiling until his eyes narrowed.
Shane stood nearby, and Lori also hugged him, saying with a smile: "You both are amazing!"
Shane smiled, but his eyes crossed her and looked at Merle in the distance.
In that look, there was the calmness of a winner, and a trace of—which he himself didn't even realize—mockery.
Merle saw it.
He stood in place, watching the group of people surrounding Rick and Shane, cheering, hugging, celebrating.
No one came over to talk to him.
Even Amy, whom he thought would come to chat, only looked at him from afar, then continued talking to Andrea.
Merle clenched his fists.
He turned and left the crowd silently.
He returned to the second-floor isolation dormitory and closed the door.
He sat on the edge of the bed, staring blankly at the wall.
His mind was full of that look from Shane.
That look was saying: What are you? A thug will always be a thug.
Merle punched the bed.
The door suddenly knocked.
Knock, knock, knock.
"Who?"
He asked irritably.
"Amy."
Merle was stunned for a moment.
He stood up and opened the door.
Amy stood at the door, wearing that professional suit, with a professional smile on her face.
Merle was not in the mood to flirt with her, just asked: "What's the matter?"
Amy said: "The BOSS wants to see you."
Merle frowned.
The BOSS?
That Asian guy?
At this time?
He looked at Amy, wanting to read something from her face, but couldn't read anything.
"Let's go."
He said.
The door closed behind him.