Marksman Training Oblivion Novels & Stories

Flashback: The Training Academy (The Vault) Elias, then known only by his operational designation "Proxy-917," was twelve, his frame wiry and sharp. Marcus, five years his senior and already a veteran field agent, found his huddled in the reinforced isolation chamber after a week-long sensory deprivation exercise. “You have to compartmentalize, 917,” Marcus had whispered, his voice dangerously soft in the sterile environment. “They give you the pain, the isolation, to make you rely on them. To make them your only definition. But there is a ghost in the machine. Your heart. Don't let them find it.”

"Godfather, you serious?" Even their toughest training never threw that much at them. Before she could argue, two vans unloaded a squad of mercenaries in black vests, packing cutting-edge rifles. Not paintballs and real steel. Lillian's gut sank. This wasn't a game.

"With so much stuff flying about in those fields the system can't see the difference between a spacecraft and an asteroid. Besides, even if it could see ships, the only thing the bad guy has to do is hide behind one of those rocks and we'd never know. The same goes for our fighters, so if we go in there we have to rely on the Mk1 Eyeball. Our IR sensors may spot something, but the enemy can hide from that as well." "If we can't go in we have to make the other guy come out." "Indeed Daemus. We have to lure them out to be precise." In the past twelve days Mercer Trune had been flying almost non-stop. The classes about Viper tactics and flying the actual patrols next to his training were exhaus

Because there was nothing left for him to lose. And maybe… Just maybe… He’d find a way to kill the ghosts that haunted him. Even if he had to fly straight into hell to do it. Liam woke to the shrill whistle of the drill sergeant at exactly 4 AM. There was no sunrise here. No peaceful mornings. Only darkness, sweat, and orders. The combat pilot training program was infamous for breaking the strongest men. But Liam Blackwood was already broken. There was nothing left to destroy. The training base was located in the heart of nowhere—an isolated desert turned into a brutal simulation of hell. Days blurred into nights.

I can no longer wait for someone to come to my rescue. Kai assigned Maren, his second-in-command, in charge of my training. Initially, it seemed absurd. If anyone could train me it should be kai. Because I was pregnant, weaker and slower. But Maren had a different viewpoint. "You fight smarter, not harder,” she said, her voice sharp yet gentle. “You make use of what you have,” she added with a smile, "you have a lot more fire in you than you can imagine.” The session was exhausting. Different types of Ex balance exercise. Evasion techniques. Basic knife skills with falls and throbbed bruises.

Rebekah, whose reputation for deploying chemical irritants and psychological warfare to sabotage her rival candidates was legendary across the border, was currently cleaning her dual daggers with an uncharacteristic, terrifying focus. The master of ceremonies signaled my sector to advance first, and I selected the classic “Four Seasons” tactical evasion and blade-strike sequence for my demonstration. My boots moved across the concrete floor without a single microsecond of error, my body perfectly translating the cold, fluid lethal emotions required to master the form. The moment my final strike embedded into the target, I caught a distinct gleam of structural approval in the prime instructor

“That will never happen, Aaron. We will win this war, and you will have many more years with Zion.” He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed it, muttering, “Thank you.” That night, Aaron chose to train with the rest of the pack, checking their speed, stamina, and endurance level. Ivan and Damor had been in charge of them so far, and now he wanted to check how far they had come. When it came down to brutality, Damor didn’t hold back, and the first night Miguel reported a few casualties, but there were almost none the second night.

“Fine. Enough. Let’s focus.” I straighten, shifting back into command mode. “We need to refine the next phase of training,” I say. “They’re improving physically. Now we sharpen reflexes.” “Stress drills,” Damon suggests. “Multiple stimuli.” “Timed rotations,” Daz adds. “Force quick decision-making.” I nod. “Close quarter combat in confined spaces. Limit visibility. Make them think under pressure.” Thorne’s eyes sharpen. “Pair them with rotating partners so they can’t predict fighting styles.”

I slightly nodded my head and looked at Mavis who was smiling slightly. "Wait, if training's now over, what were you guys doing here so early?" Mavis asked them. "Well ... " Daryl started off beginning to rub the back of his neck. "We have a routine, once a month Beta Marcus ends the training session with a practice ambush attack, in which we literally have to crawl through hedges and thorn bushes, and I for one do not like to have to be pulling out thorns from my flesh after a training session." Ryan explained.

Aria's POV Training with the knowledge that three students had vanished overnight was like trying to focus on math while someone was setting fire to your homework. Technically possible, but absolutely miserable. The instructor—Commander Blackwood, a mountain of a man who looked like he could bench press a truck—was barking orders about defensive formations. But all I could think about was how Marcus from Silverclaw had been standing right here yesterday, and now his bed was empty. "Pair off for combat drills," Blackwood commanded. "Today we focus on identifying weaknesses in your opponent's stance."