16. The First Gauntlet

[0500]

siren—lights—boots

I was already dressed when my feet hit the floor. Seven days of torture had turned into muscle memory.

Kit on, boots laced, standing before the first kid had even rolled over.

However, this morning was different. I finally got to see my deviation, it was time to see what I’d be working with, the kind of mechs I’d be piloting for the rest of my life.I called up the interface as we shuffled out into the pre-dawn cold.

Pending?

I pushed at it mentally—prodding, willing, virtually begging the thing to open. The interface blinked once and fell still.

Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with this thing?

A week of feeding this system every drop of Ether I could draw, watching the connection crawl upward, earning stat points I couldn’t explain—and now, at the finish line, it hands me a locked box and gives me the middle finger.

I killed the interface before the frustration could show on my face.

Fine. I have more immediate things to deal with.

The formation assembled quickly. Three ranks, mostly aligned—a week of Vance’s screaming had beaten basic drill into muscle memory.

But something about the formation was off, so I counted. fourteen. We’d started the week with twenty-three.

The awakened were all present. But nine faces were missing. Those who hadn’t awakened, plus two others I hadn’t noticed leaving. When had they gone? Last night? Before the siren?

Nobody mentioned them; the formation simply closed the gaps as if they had never been there.

Vance stepped out and scanned us.

“First week is over. You survived. Most of you,” He said in a measured tone. “Things are changing, starting today.”

He checked his data-pad.

“Administrative note. Washout numbers across F and D-Grade training units came in higher than projected this intake. Barracks 7 will be merging with elements from other barracks within the next few days to bring units up to operational strength.”

Higher than projected?

“Second—the assessment period is over. What comes next will make this week feel like a holiday.” He cracked his neck. “Follow me.”

He marched us east, past the training yards, past the firing ranges, and past the pitted concrete we’d run on for a week. We stopped at a gate I hadn’t noticed before—concealed behind supply buildings and wrapped in faded warning tape.

Beyond it lay something that made the six-mile run look like a morning stroll.

An obstacle course; it stretched across at least a kilometre of terrain. Concrete walls, razor-wire crawls, rope climbs, water obstacles, balance beams suspended over drainage pits. Industrial fans mounted at intervals blasted crosswinds across exposed sections. The ground between obstacles was loose gravel, deliberately uneven.

“This,” Vance said, with something approaching fondness, “is the Gauntlet. Twelve obstacles. One point two kilometres. The assessment week gave us your baselines. The Gauntlet is where we find out who you actually are.”

He turned to face us.

“Same concept as the runs. Tiernan is the Rabbit.”

My stomach tightened.

“But we’re changing the game.” A smile crept across Vance’s face. “The Rabbit runs first. Ten-second head start. The Pack’s objective is simple—catch the Rabbit before the finish line.”

Oh, you have got to be—

“If the Pack catches the Rabbit, everybody eats. If the Rabbit finishes uncaught—” He looked directly at me. “—the Pack runs the Gauntlet again. On empty stomachs.”

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The air changed, every pair of eyes finding me.

This was different from the run; if I fell here, got knocked over, or god forbid, let one of them get their hands on me. It wasn’t push-ups, it was a week-long trip to the infirmary or worse…

“Think of it as teamwork,” Vance added. “Learning to coordinate against a single target. Very valuable battlefield skill.”

I understood then. Not just the drill—all of it. The entire week.

The Rabbit was never a reward or a punishment; it was a tool. In week one, I was the Bugger, an enemy the pack shared resentment towards. A unifying piece to get the squad working together. Now he was weaponising that cohesion. Teaching them to hunt as a unit by giving them a target they already wanted to catch.

I was the training exercise.

“Ten seconds, Tiernan.” Vance raised his whistle. “I suggest you run.”

The whistle shrieked.

Round One.

The first wall hit at twenty metres. I leapt, caught the lip, and hauled myself over. Clearing the first barrier, I dropped to the far side and sprinted for the wire crawl.

Behind me, the second whistle. The Pack was loose.