CHAPTER 7: THE CHECKPOINT

Elliot’s POV

I watched the interaction between Bryan and Northstar on the monitor in my office. The audio was crystal clear. Amy stood beside me, her arms crossed.

“He’s not integrating,” she said quietly.

“He doesn’t need to integrate,” I replied, keeping my eyes on the screen as Bryan walked away from Northstar’s door, scratching his head. “He needs to be operational. The Shadowalker is a tool. Northstar is its handle. We don’t need the handle to be friendly; we need it to be grip-able.”

“Sir, with respect, treating him like a tool is how you make a weapon turn in your hand.” Amy’s voice was carefully neutral, but I heard the concern. She’d seen the footage of the forest, of the portal, of the effortless barrier. She understood the scale of what we were housing.

“I’m aware,” I said, finally turning to her. “Which is why the next phase is critical. We need to test the team’s cohesion under pressure. And we need to see how the Shadowalker reacts when his new… colleagues… are in danger.”

“The X-02 simulation?” she asked.

I nodded. “Prep the training grounds. Level three difficulty. I want to see if they can follow a plan, or if they’re just a bunch of kids with matchsticks and tantrums.”

Thirty minutes later, I gathered the team at the checkpoint—a large airlock-style door leading into the primary training arena. The recruits stood in a loose cluster, dressed in simple gray training gear. Bryan looked amped, cracking his knuckles. Classy was calm, observing the door like it was a puzzle. Mello fidgeted with a pencil behind his ear. Emma kept glancing around like he expected something to jump from the ceiling. Willz stood apart, looking bored. Northstar was last to arrive, materializing at the edge of the group as if he’d been there all along.

“I gathered all of you here,” I began, projecting my voice, “to be evaluated by my superior combat trainer. This is not a spar. This is a survival exercise. Your objective is to disable the trainer.”

Bryan grinned. “Bring it on. I’ve been itching to roast something.”

Mello nodded. “Okay, we want to see this superior soldier.”

Emma chewed his lip. “Is he… scary?”

Classy smirked. “Yeah, he might probably eat your head off.”

Emma shrieked and hid behind Willz, who sighed in exasperation.

I allowed a small smile. “Shall we begin?”

“We shall,” Bryan said, puffing his chest out.

I tapped my comm. “X-02. Battle mode. Engage.”

The massive door hissed open. From the darkness of the training arena, a low mechanical whirring grew louder. Then it stepped into the light.

It was a robot, but not like any I’d seen in military catalogs. It stood eight feet tall, shaped like a heavily armored panda—a design choice from an earlier, more whimsical phase of my weapons development. Its eyes glowed a deep, threatening red. Its fists were the size of cinder blocks.

Bryan’s grin vanished. “What kind of name is ‘X-02’? And what the hell is that?”

“Your trainer,” I said. “X-02, attack pattern Delta.”

The robotic panda’s eyes focused on Bryan. With startling speed for its size, it raised one arm. A panel slid open on its wrist, and a searing beam of condensed light shot out.

Bryan yelped and dove sideways, the beam scorching the floor where he’d been standing.

“OH, CRAP!” he shouted, scrambling to his feet.

Emma screamed and started sprinting in a random direction. “AHHH! I DON’T WANNA DIE!”

I spoke calmly into my comm. “Activate the safe dome.” A shimmering, transparent energy field snapped into place around the perimeter of the arena, preventing any stray fire from hitting the observation booth. “Oh, and it kills,” I added, almost as an afterthought. “So, try not to get killed.”

Mello’s eyes went wide. “I don’t understand what he’s saying!”

Classy stared at the robot, then at me, then back at the robot. “What he’s saying is DON’T DIE!! OH, SHIT—”

Another beam narrowly missed Bryan, who was now running in a zigzag pattern. “OH, SH— WILL YOU STOP?!”

Mello frantically pulled out his sketchbook, his hand shaking. “Got to do this quick if we want to survive.” He started drawing what looked like a bazooka.

I leaned forward, interested. His manifestation speed would be key.

Bryan, panting, looked across the arena. His gaze landed on Northstar, who was not in the arena with them. He was sitting on a plush couch that hadn’t been there a moment ago, on the outside of the safe dome, eating a large, juicy burger. He took a slow, deliberate bite.

Bryan’s face turned purple with rage. “HEY! YOU’VE BEEN SITTING THERE DOING NOTHING!”

Northstar chewed, swallowed, and took a sip from a soda that appeared in his hand. He didn’t even look over.

Bryan dodged another beam, his hair getting singed. “YOU DUMBASS, WE’RE GOING TO DIE IF THIS CONTINUES!”

Classy was trying to get closer to the robot, but its targeting system was tracking all movement. “WHAT THE… ITS ARMOR IS TOO DENSE!”

“It’s made of reinforced titanium alloy,” I called out, my voice amplified. “Do you really think the amateur-stage X-02 would be that simple?”

Bryan groaned, rolling behind a concrete barrier that was part of the training course. “AMATEUR? YOU’VE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!”

It was then that Emma, in his blind panic, seemed to have a moment of misguided courage. He skidded to a halt, turned, and faced the robot. He raised his small fist, his face a mask of terrified determination.

“SOMETIMES,” he yelled, his voice cracking, “SOMEONE HAS TO BE THE HERO!”

“Wait, what?” Mello shouted, looking up from his half-drawn bazooka.

Emma charged with a warrior’s scream that was mostly squeak. He pulled his fist back and threw a punch with all his might directly at the robot’s leg.

The sound was a sickening CRUNCH.

Emma’s scream of bravery became a scream of pure agony. “AHHHHHH!” He clutered his hand, which was now bent at a very wrong angle, and fell to his knees.

I winced. “Whoa! That’s gonna leave a mark.”

“I broke my hand!” Emma wailed, tears streaming down his face.

Willz facepalmed so hard it echoed. “What did you think was going to happen?”

Mello shook his head, abandoning his bazooka sketch to start drawing what looked like a medical kit. “How dumb could you possibly be? You punched a titanium-armored robot and expected everything to go well?”

From his couch, Northstar took another bite of his burger. Then, with a sigh so deep it seemed to carry the weight of centuries, he stood up. He brushed non-existent crumbs from his shirt.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said, his voice carrying perfectly through the dome. “Classy, try to manipulate the titanium in the robot. Bryan, use your fire to melt it. Emma, just stay still and try not to faint. Willz and Mello, draw out a weapon and go for the head when it starts sparking.”

Classy, still dodging, called back, “That sounds possible, but I need an opening!”

Northstar didn’t smile. He simply raised his right hand, fingers curled slightly. His eyes darkened to that solid, endless black. “I’ve got that covered.”

He spoke a single word that seemed to warp the air. “Volgax, stabilize.”

The X-02 robot, which had been lunging toward Bryan, suddenly froze mid-step. Its joints locked. Its whirring servos strained against an invisible force. It was like a fly caught in amber.

“Time to move, Classy,” Northstar commanded, his voice strained slightly.

Classy didn’t hesitate. He sprinted forward, bypassing the struggling robot’s arms, and placed both hands flat on its chest plate. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Intermolecular dissociation!”

A high-pitched ringing sound emanated from the robot. The sleek titanium surface under Classy’s hands began to shimmer, like a mirage.

“Bryan, now!” Northstar ordered. “Heat! As much as you can!”

Bryan planted his feet. He took a deep breath, and his entire body seemed to ignite. Flames wreathed his arms, spiraling down to his hands, where they coalesced into a white-hot orb of pure plasma. “ULTRA HEAT!” he roared, thrusting his hands forward.

A torrent of fire, more like a laser than flame, slammed into the robot’s chest, right where Classy was working. The titanium began to glow cherry red.

Willz shouted, “We need more heat to melt the armor!”

Northstar’s black eyes didn’t waver. “Bryan. More.”

Bryan screamed, veins standing out on his neck. The fire intensified, turning blue, then blinding white. The air in the dome warped and rippled from the heat. The robot’s chest plate began to drip, molten metal falling to the floor with sizzling plops.

“Clear visual!” Willz yelled.

Mello, finally finished, held up his sketchbook. He had drawn not a bazooka, but a long, wicked-looking katana with a serrated edge. “I hear you, brother!”

Bryan, his energy clearly flagging, gasped out, “Make the final move!”

Willz’s scythe appeared in his hands in a swirl of shadow. Mello’s drawing glowed, and the katana materialized before him, dropping into his grip.

Together, they charged.

Willz leapt, his scythe a blur of dark energy. Mello slid beneath the robot’s immobilized arms.

Both shouted in unison, “IT’S OVER!”

The scythe cleaved through the robot’s neck from the front. The katana severed its primary power conduit from behind.

There was a shower of sparks, a final, dying whirr, and the X-02 robot split into two halves, crashing to the ground with a deafening CLANG.

The silence that followed was broken only by Bryan’s heavy panting and Emma’s soft whimpering.

The safe dome deactivated.

I stepped into the arena, a genuine smile on my face. “Wonderful. It seems Shadowalker was able to keep you guys steady.”

Bryan collapsed onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “I guess. Remind me to never do that again.”

Emma cradled his swollen hand. “My hand…”

Mello looked sadly at his sketchbook, its edges charred from a near-miss beam. “I tried to draw a bazooka, but one of the stray light beams burnt my book.”

I nodded. “A valuable lesson in positioning. Okay, so you guys are almost ready for your first real mission.”

Bryan sat up, looking skeptical. “I guess.”

As if on cue, Arnold’s voice blared over the intercom, tense and urgent. “Sir, we’ve detected strange energy signatures and movement in an abandoned warehouse on Grey Palmer Street. Police scanners are reporting structural shaking and… sounds of animals, but not any animals they recognize.”

Northstar, who had walked into the arena, his burger and couch gone without a trace, looked toward the sound of Arnold’s voice. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face. “This is about to get interesting.”

I met his gaze. He knew. He could probably sense it from here.

“Okay,” I said, clapping my hands once. “Suit up. We’re good to go.”

Amy, who had been observing from the booth, hurried down. “Where’s the mission going to be?”

“An abandoned warehouse. Northeast, 27 miles from our location. Old textile mill.” I looked at the team—exhausted, injured, but alive. “You’ll be meeting with a new recruit over there. She’ll be your point of contact.”

Bryan got to his feet, a new fire in his eyes. “A new recruit? Who?”

Northstar answered, his eyes distant, as if listening to something far away. “Someone with an aura almost as screwed up as mine.”