Chapter 6. Pay to Survive

As soon as the roar of fiery streams outside the window died down and the orange glow in the night sky finally dissolved into darkness, I felt the silence in the apartment become almost deafening. Mom was still standing by the window, mesmerized as she stared into the void, while I was already sitting at the computer.

A cold passion burned in my chest. Danny had given me more than just information, he had handed me a key to survival and growth. If the army loved paperwork, I would bury it under a mountain of it. But first, I needed to verify how much the curator’s words matched harsh reality rather than his childhood memories.

My fingers began tapping across the keyboard. I dove into the depths of army forums, archived regulations, and discussion threads for the awakened. The information checked out, but with significant caveats. It turned out that this tradition, granting ranks for certificates, traced its roots back to the Vietnam War. Back then, under conditions of severe personnel shortages and mass conscription, recruitment offices clung to anyone who could at least solder microchips or apply a tourniquet. The army is a massive machine, and it needs not only those who pull the trigger, but also those who repair, heal, and build.

However, there were two major catches. First, the ceiling. You cannot rise above sergeant with course diplomas alone, officer stars required full graduation from a military academy. From what I could tell, the same rules applied in the Awakened Corps. Second, the easy-rank gravy train in the regular army had ended long ago. There is no longer a shortage of personnel, there are plenty willing to serve for benefits, and recruitment offices turn their noses up even at master-level athletes. But my situation was different. Because of the portals, awakened individuals were catastrophically scarce, each of us was a rare commodity. Here, the army became surprisingly flexible and generous, trying to lure us with any incentives just to keep us from drifting into crime or freelance mercenary work.

Once I finished the historical overview, I mapped out my progression path. The army valued three pillars: survival, combat training, and discipline. Bonus points for medical skills and technical competence.

I opened a tab with shooting clubs. Before, I would have strained my eyes comparing prices and hunting for discount coupons, but now, looking at the five-digit number in my banking app, I allowed myself to be demanding. I was not looking for just a range, I needed an elite training center. I wanted everything at once: handgun fundamentals, carbine tactics, shotguns for close quarters, and the basics of sniper work.

My choice landed on a prestigious club with a Tactical Intensive program. The price stung, five thousand dollars for the full course. Expensive? Insane. But whenever I remembered how Danny had flown out the window wrapped in flames, the question of cost vanished on its own. He is a flying fire platform. And me? I am just a guy who works fast. To stand on equal footing with people like those Supermen, I need to hit the target before they can snap their fingers. I am not Batman yet, but I intend to become his most efficient version.

Next came hand to hand combat. My ideal was a black belt in three or four disciplines, but reality was brutal, that would take years of competition, which I did not have. I came across private courses from a former special forces operative. He promised to teach not flashy spins for movies, but real survival in the clinch and knife work. The reviews were glowing, but he did not issue official state-recognized diplomas. That meant for the recruitment office his lessons were worthless. A bureaucrat behind a desk would not care how I break a dummy, he needed an official seal from a prestigious licensed institution. I had to choose the gold standard option, a flashy accredited martial arts academy. Another two thousand dollars gone.

Next, medicine. An emergency care course at a medical university. Field surgery for beginners, bleeding control, resuscitation in field conditions. One thousand dollars.

Survival in extreme conditions. A group expedition into desert and forest environments, training in finding water where there is none and building shelters from debris and branches. The website proudly stated: “Program recognized among rangers.” I am in. Another thousand dollars.

Driving school. Here I decided not to cut corners and enrolled in licenses for all categories, from a nimble motorcycle to a heavy truck. On top of that, an extreme driving course to learn how to evade pursuit or ram through obstacles. Three thousand gone.

Parkour. It sounded unserious for a recruitment office, and they were unlikely to award any stripes for it. But for me, the ability to vault over a high fence or climb onto a roof in seconds felt critically important. Survival is not always about fighting, sometimes it is about disappearing fast. Five hundred dollars gone.

Finally, I added swimming and lifeguard rescue courses. Overkill? Maybe. But Danny had said nothing about what awaited me inside the portals. What if it was nothing but ocean or endless swamps? Another five hundred dollars.

By the time I finished clicking the Pay buttons, my budget had shrunk by thirteen thousand dollars. And that did not include ammunition, uniforms, and gear, which would cost at least another thousand to fifteen hundred. Training was absurdly expensive, especially if you chose the most prestigious schools just to get those gold standard certificates.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the remaining balance, seven thousand. I needed to stop. I still had a mortgage to pay off, and my salary from my main job had been delayed for some reason. Accounting usually worked like clockwork, but now there was nothing but silence. That was worrying. It looked like I would have to drop by the office in the next few days and figure out what was going on.

The thought of returning to the gray office walls after a conversation about plasma flights and twenty-thousand payouts made me feel almost physically sick. But debts would not pay themselves, and the curator was not going to cover my house.

Maybe I was overdoing it, maybe it was just paranoia talking. After all, the army is a state machine, and there was probably a system for free training from scratch. But first, the mere possibility of getting sergeant stripes before I even put on combat boots warmed my soul too much. And second… damn it, I just did not want to look like a helpless noob compared to my future colleagues, thirteen-year-old brats who by the time they reached adulthood would already have combat experience that even special forces veterans could only dream of.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

I glanced at the clock, the hands were relentlessly crawling toward midnight. Information overload was taking its toll, my brain was boiling as it processed numbers, addresses, and tactical schemes. Normally, I would have been doomed to toss and turn until three in the morning, staring at the ceiling and replaying conversations with Danny in my head. But now I had a new tool in my arsenal, [Special Command].

I lay down, closed my eyes, and gave myself a mental order: “Instant sleep.”

The night passed like a single short cut in an edit. A click, and I opened my eyes, flooded with morning light.

I immediately checked the clock. Eight hours of uninterrupted oblivion again. This was a side effect of hyperfocus, in exchange for the ability to skip exhausting training or tedious processes, I paid with extended rest time. Two extra hours of sleep in exchange for not feeling my muscles burn and my breathing break during a marathon gym session? That sounded more than acceptable.

Breakfast turned into a ritual of calorie consumption. I devoured food with a disturbing efficiency. After eating, I checked the fridge and noticed with annoyance that the shelves were almost empty. Because of my insane metabolism and rapid muscle growth, my body had turned into a bottomless furnace. It needed not just cheap pasta, but quality protein, vegetables, and vitamins. A quick mental calculation gave a disappointing result, food alone would now cost me at least another five hundred dollars a month.

“Mom, please go to the store. The grocery list is on the table.”

Yeah… just last night I had felt rich. It seemed like those army payments would be enough for a luxurious life where I would not have to deny myself anything. In reality, not even a full day had passed, and I had already spent more than half my reward investing in myself. With expenses like these and elite course fees, I would need to find an additional source of income very soon. Twenty thousand a month is a huge amount for an ordinary office worker, but for a future operative who wants to survive in the portals, it is only starting capital.