First message
October, 2026. Training Grounds, England.
I’m awake before the sun.
Routine doesn’t change. It doesn’t need to.
Training schedules are set. Reports reviewed. Adjustments made where necessary. By the time the first group arrives, the day has already started.
Routine.
I step onto the field as the new intake is being assembled. Conversations taper off quickly. Shoulders straighten. Eyes forward.
Good.
Line up.
No hesitation.
I move along the row, slow, deliberate. Observing. Posture. Footing. Awareness. Most of it is lacking.
It always is.
They’re new. Undisciplined. Unproven.
Replaceable.
A clipboard is handed to me. Names. Backgrounds. Useless, for now.
I glance at it briefly, then hand it back without comment.
I prefer to see for myself.
My attention returns to the line.
Most stand like they’re trying to prove something. Too rigid. Too aware of being watched.
You don’t. Not careless. Not perfect. Just… steady.
My gaze lingers a second longer than necessary.
Then I move on.
No reaction. No acknowledgment.
Training starts now. Keep up. Don’t, and you’ll be sent home.
Someone falters. I ignore it. I look at you.
Move it, recruits.