[POV – Michael | Darkom Compound, Training Grounds | Year 1, Week 1]
Michael stood on the edge of the concrete platform, watching the early morning fog roll over the field. The place smelled like sweat, iron, and gunpowder. A strange comfort settled in his gut.
Baines joined him, a cup of black coffee in hand, dressed in a tactical jacket and boots. He looked down at the track, where recruits were already doing laps.
"You sure about this?" he asked, taking a sip.
Michael nodded for the 100dt time.
Baines looked at him for a moment, then said, "Three and a half years from now, if you stick with this—you won't be the same person who walked in here. You'll be stronger, sharper... a new man."
Michael gave a half-smile. "I'm counting on it."
[POV – Trainer Vargas | Training Room B | Week 3]
"Redfield!"
Michael stepped forward.
Vargas tossed him a pair of gloves. "Demons don't stop when you scream, they stop when they're done ."
The sparring mats were soaked with sweat. Vargas, a retired field agent turned instructor, moved like a panther. The second Michael stepped in, the man struck.
A jab to the ribs, a sweep, and Michael hit the mat with a grunt.
"Up."
Michael rolled over, stood.
Another blow. Another fall.
He kept getting up.
Again. And again.
[POV – Michael | Dorms | Month 2]
His knuckles were raw, the wraps stained red. He sat on the lower bunk, ice pack on his shoulder, a training manual opened beside him. His fingers traced over a page on defensive posture.
He muttered, "Guard high, hips angled… step, counter…"
From the top bunk, his roommate muttered, "You talk in your sleep too, Redfield?"
Michael smiled without looking up. "Just making sure I remember it better than you."
[POV – Instructor Kira | Shooting Range | Month 4]
Kira stood behind Michael, arms crossed, watching him line up his shot.
"Exhale. Slowly pull the trigger ."
Bang.
The paper target's head exploded in red ink.
"Nice," she said. "Now try it blindfolded."
Michael blinked. "Seriously?"
"You think demons are gonna wait until you're ready? Put it on."
By the end of the hour, his hands shook. His shots scattered. But he didn't stop.
Kira noted it down on her tablet.
[POV – Michael | Infirmary | Month 6]
He sat shirtless on a bed, bruises across his back, ribs wrapped.
"Broken again?" asked the medic.
"Probably," Michael muttered. "Feels better than yesterday though."
He glanced at the first aid station nearby and pointed. "Show me how to wrap a laceration."
The medic raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
"Because next time, I might not make it here."
[POV – Baines | Observation Deck | End of Year 1]
Michael was sprinting the field, keeping pace with the best of them, sweat pouring, shirt tied around his waist. He dropped for pushups mid-run, knocked them out like it was routine.
One of the trainers walked up beside the coach. "He's not the strongest. But he's learning faster than any of them."
He nodded once. "He has to."
He didn't say why.
'He's the kid that Baines brought. '
[POV – Michael | Personal Notes | Year 1, Day 311]
' I'm not afraid of pain anymore. I'm just afraid of forgetting who I was.' Michael thought
But maybe that's what Baines meant.
To become a new man…