Six months of brutal, hellish training had flown by, and now it was finally coming to an end.
Diego stood at the edge of the training field at Fort Whittier, eyes fixed on the distant skyline. The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over him, outlining the sharp lines of his body.
He looked like he'd been reforged from the ground up—lean, powerful muscle wrapped around a six-foot frame, every inch of him honed like a weapon. He didn't just look like a soldier. He looked like a statue carved from war itself.
The past half-year had pushed him through trials most people couldn't even imagine. But now, the special training was over. The soldiers were granted a one-week break—a final breath before stepping into the unknown.
Jumping down from the military truck, Diego slung his heavy assault pack over his shoulder and jogged down the familiar streets toward home. From the open doors and windows of nearby shops, snippets of a news broadcast drifted out, broken and fading in the summer air:
"…Time is 5:23 PM, June 9th. Greater America's tenth major Otherworld military base has officially gone operational. The first deployment roster has been confirmed, and sources say it includes…"
The broadcast faded into the background noise of the city, but Diego didn't slow down.
The June evening was still scorching. The sun beat down like it was trying to burn the city to ash, and the pavement radiated waves of heat that shimmered in the air.
He crossed the street and ducked into the shade of a nearby building, weaving through the streets toward home.
Soon, a cluster of old apartment buildings came into view. The faded wooden sign out front was barely legible, the paint chipped and peeling, but you could still make out the words: "Sunset Court."
Taking the stairs two at a time, Diego reached the fourth floor and unlocked the door with practiced ease. The apartment was quiet. His parents were still working overtime at the factory. One of his younger brothers lived on campus, and the other had just gotten out of school—probably still on his way home.
Diego headed into the kitchen and opened the ancient fridge, which had been humming along for over a decade. A blast of cold air hit him as he rummaged through the shelves, pulling out ingredients to throw together dinner.
In this house, dinner was never a given. The factory didn't provide meals, and whenever Diego was home, he was always the one to step into the kitchen first.
Some kids get to be kids. Others have to grow up fast.
It wasn't a compliment. It was just the truth. Not every kid gets a choice. Some are forced to carry the weight of a family before they even finish growing.
After seven, his parents and youngest brother trickled in one by one.
The four of them sat around the table, quietly eating dinner.
It was a simple meal, but warm and comforting—grilled corn, spicy beef and beans, chicken and corn tortillas, and a steaming pot of thick corn chowder.
Diego could cook. He'd been helping in the kitchen since he was a kid, and he'd picked up a few tricks working part-time in restaurants, learning from old chefs who didn't mind showing him the ropes.
Carlos, his dad, was the first to set down his fork. He looked at Diego, his voice calm but with a hint of something more—hope, maybe.
"Diego, I got you something. Left it in your room. Check it out when you get a chance."
"Okay." Diego nodded, finished the last few bites in his bowl, and stood up, heading to his room.
It wasn't much—just a single bed, an old wooden desk, a stack of worn notebooks and dog-eared magazines in the corner. The secondhand laptop on the desk had been patched up more times than he could count, but it still worked.
On the floor sat a cardboard box.
He crouched down and opened it. Inside, nestled in the packing paper, was a tactical vest.
He pulled it out and checked the tag—name-brand, top-of-the-line, fitted with the latest Arc-Fiber plates. Rumor had it these plates were salvaged from retired Otherworld soldiers, rare and expensive. Market price? At least five grand.
Diego ran his fingers slowly over the vest, his chest tightening.
He knew what his parents made. Together, they barely pulled in a little over three thousand a month. Supporting a family of five, paying rent, covering tuition for three kids—this vest probably cost them months, maybe half a year's worth of savings.
He gripped the vest tightly, his knuckles turning white.
This wasn't just gear. It was a shield made of love and fear. His parents' way of protecting him as he stepped into a world they couldn't follow.
But Diego knew the truth. This vest wasn't the miracle they hoped it would be.
In the Otherworld, there weren't many things a tactical vest could actually stop.
The real threats weren't bullets or blades. They were things you couldn't see coming, couldn't fight—supernatural forces that didn't play by human rules.
He remembered what one of the instructors had said in class: If you ever come face-to-face with a creature that devours souls, even ten layers of Arc-Fiber won't save you. All it'll do is buy you a few more seconds of agony.
In moments like that, the smartest move might not be to fight—but to end it yourself, before the pain becomes eternal.
Diego stared down at the vest in his hands, his eyes calm and steady.
This wasn't just equipment. It was love, wrapped in Kevlar and desperation.
And it was a goodbye no one dared to say out loud.
He gently placed the vest back in the box, sat on the edge of his bed, and looked out the window as the sky darkened.
Night crept in, and one by one, the city lights flickered on, like candles lit for a traveler about to leave.
His fight hadn't started yet.
But he was ready.
Whether it ended in glory—or in death.
...
The one-week rest period vanished in the blink of an eye.
After saying goodbye to his family, Diego once again stepped through the gates of Fort Whittier.
Today was the official launch of the Awakening Program. The entire base buzzed with a mix of tension and adrenaline.
The regular troops had already been deployed to key positions for security detail. The only ones left behind were the volunteers—those who had chosen to undergo the Awakening selection process.
Even with the base entrance locked down tight, rows of vehicles still lined the road outside. Behind the windows, parents sat silently, watching their sons and daughters disappear into a place that felt less like a military base and more like a gateway to another world—a silent battlefield they couldn't follow them into.
"Diego!"
A familiar voice called out from the distance.
Diego turned and saw Jake Miller jogging toward him. Jake had been his closest friend since day one of boot camp—his brother-in-arms, his shadow.
Compared to Diego's stripped-down, no-nonsense gear, Jake looked like he'd raided an entire tactical supply store. Custom wrist guards, a belt loaded with modular tools, the latest-gen combat boots with reflective laces—he was practically a walking catalog.
"You're wearing a tactical vest too, huh?" Jake said, immediately clocking the gear on Diego's chest.
"Yeah," Diego replied with a nod, his tone even.
"I even swapped out my pants," Jake said proudly, hiking up one leg to show off the soft armor padding at his knees. "Built-in plating. Can stop a few things. No way the army's handing this stuff out—my dad dug it out of the shop's backroom."
Diego just smiled. He was used to Jake showing off. Jake's family ran a tactical gear store downtown, specializing in surplus military equipment and custom mods. Business had always been good.
"Here," Jake said, pulling a small black pouch from his pack and handing it over. "Figured you might need this."
The zipper slid open with a crisp sound, followed by the soft clink of metal and the rustle of gear shifting on Jake's body.
Inside was a compact survival kit: a Leatherman multitool, a folding knife, a waterproof first-aid pack, a firestarter rod, a tourniquet, a small bottle of gel alcohol, and a few compressed rations.
A full-on survival loadout—compact, efficient, and worth every penny.
"Damn," Diego grinned. "You're a lifesaver, man."
"Hey, someone's gotta keep your dumb ass breathing," Jake said with a laugh, slinging an arm around his shoulder.
It didn't look like much, but that kit easily ran over a thousand bucks. Jake might talk a lot of shit, but when it counted, he always came through.
Not long after, Major Rourke gathered the volunteers and led them onto a military transport bus.
The Awakening Program couldn't be activated within Fort Whittier. It required a specialized site—remote, heavily guarded, and far from civilian eyes.
The soldiers filed onto the bus, the air inside thick with low murmurs and barely contained excitement. They whispered about what came next, about what it would mean to become one of the Awakened—about the power, the glory, the transformation.
Major Rourke sat at the front, a calm smile on his face.
But behind that smile, his eyes held something else—something heavier.
He knew the truth: at least half of the people on this bus weren't coming back.
His smile slowly faded, replaced by a quiet, grim resolve.
The convoy rolled through the wilderness for over two hours, finally arriving at a remote military installation.
An entire army unit was stationed here, tasked with guarding the Awakening facility and the soldiers about to undergo the process.
Troops from all over had been brought in. The City of Angels alone had sent over three thousand soldiers to participate in the Awakening Program.
As more buses pulled in, the base came alive with motion—boots hitting pavement, voices overlapping, gear clinking and shifting. The soundscape of anticipation.
Eventually, the soldiers were led into a massive laboratory.
The interior was cold and sterile, the walls lined with metal panels, the ceiling hung with rows of industrial lights that bathed the room in harsh white.
Major Rourke stepped into the center of the room, holding something in his hands—a crystal-clear orb, about the size of a globe. Inside, a strange liquid swirled slowly, glowing faintly with a soft blue light.
Every soldier's eyes locked onto the orb. The room fell into a tense, expectant silence.
"Soldiers," Rourke's voice echoed through the lab, "this is the Essence Orb—an artifact infused with Otherworld Essence. It's the core of the Awakening process. I'll be demonstrating how to use it."
He began the demonstration, walking them through the steps.
This particular orb was a training model—it didn't have the power to actually trigger an Awakening.
Still, no one looked away. Every movement, every word, was burned into their minds.
Because they all knew: this wasn't just a lesson.
It was the line between life and death. Between who they were—and who they might become.
…