What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… unless it permanently maims you, or causes psychological… well, you get the point.

  - Retired UWO Master Sergeant Beckman -

  Three weeks have passed since the purple Recalibrating System message. No new gates. Nothing. The entire world is sitting on pins and needles, waiting for the other shoe to drop. We’ve never had a delay with gates before. Never. It’s always the opposite. Usually, Earth is swamped with gates the first half of the year. That’s good, lets us get the quota done and over with. Giving us a couple months at the end of the year to decompress.

  The three weeks has eaten into the time we’d normally have off. No one can take leave either, every installation all across the globe is on high alert now. Waiting. Hoping it's not another three weeks, or longer.

  The silence is deafening. Everyone is on edge. The same thoughts cross all of our minds. What if the gates don’t show up? Or if they do, what if it’s so late in the year, we can’t possibly complete it? This was supposed to be an important milestone for Earth. Year ten of not failing. None of our off-worlders have ever made it past ten years. We don’t even know what happens when we do. We just know what happens if we fail. The off-worlders told us what happened to them. Losing ten percent of the current population each year. The pain finally stopped at year one hundred.

  One hundred years. Most of them never succeeded even once. It decimated their worlds. When it finished. They all got the message. Your world has lost, goodbye. Next thing they knew, they were walking out of gates onto Earth. Just like their off-worlders did. It’s some kind of cycle of suffering, and no one knows when it will end. What we do know is that Earth has put up one hell of a fight so far.

  “Add a forty-five,” I say to Barlow.

  He grabs a metal plate and puts it on the bar. It’s chest day.

  “Another set?” Barlow gripes, sweat beading on his brow.

  “Bro, did you level up or something?” Tran asks, squirting some water from a colorful bottle with cartoons on it.

  “Yeah,” I say, sliding onto the bench.

  “Damn, level eight, you got a strength roll didn’t you?” Barlow asks.

  “Something like that,” I say.

  I still haven’t told them that I’m actually level fourteen. I’m still recovering from telling Cortez that Dorliac knew about my healing skill. Specifically that she found out first and I didn’t think to tell her about that fact for two weeks. Cortez never stays mad at me for long though. Thankfully.

  “That and he’s trying to look good for you know who,” Tran says with a smirk.

  “Which one?” Barlow asks with an eyebrow raised.

  “Cortez,” I say, five reps in, “Only Cortez.”

  A notice pops up in the corner of my vision, a gold text box.

  [ Blessing Lost ]

  Nice. That’s been the recurring theme for me lately. Talk about another woman positively and suddenly my blessing disappears. That’s alright though. Working out is such a small exp bonus for Hunters, that it doesn’t make a difference. Unless you’re literally in the gym every day of your life, eating, sleeping, and dreaming of it. I’ve never heard of someone solely leveling from it though.

  “Yeah, but like, the Lt did get us off Extra Duty somehow,” Tran says, stretching, “Maybe you keep that flame burning.”

  “Not everyone’s like you and wants ten girlfriends,” I say, almost done.

  “I only have three,” Tran protests, “Besides, if she can get you out of trouble, sounds worth it.”

  “Didn’t get him out of Mwangi’s smoke sessions though,” Barlow adds.

  “Nothing was going to stop that,” Tran says, rolling his neck as I finish, taking my spot on the bench, “No one escapes the Mwangi.”

  He’s not wrong, Mwangi made me run laps in full kit until I threw up. Did that each day, just to remind me for a week straight. That and the front leaning rest, my abs are sore just thinking about it. He didn’t even care about my excuse being bullshit. Just wanted me to not fuck up again.

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  “What are we talking about?” Cortez asks as she walks up.

  Barlow shoots Tran a look, then back to Cortez, “Birds.”

  “Riveting,” she says, looking at me now, “Can I borrow you for a minute?”

  I nod, wiping off with the gym towel.

  After we get out of earshot, “She’s doing it again.”

  “Who’s doing what?”

  “You know who.”

  Dorliac. She’s been messing with Cortez. Not directly, or from what I can tell maliciously, but she somehow finds a way to get under her skin.

  “I was running on the treadmill, and she started using the one next to me, kept giving me those sly ass looks,” Cortez seethes.

  “And?”

  She gives me a look, like that was supposed to be more than enough reason.

  “Right, do you want me to talk to her?”

  “No,” Cortez says, shooting a look at Dorliac who looks like she’s minding her own business, “It’s fine, maybe I overreacted.”

  Probably, but I won’t say that. I’m not that dense, most of the time.

  “You’re staying in my room tonight right?” she asks, searching my eyes.

  “Yeah, if you want.”

  “Niva’s been missing you.”

  The fox, missing me? Maybe just missing my shoes. I won’t say that either, I’m sure Cortez just wants me to spend time with her. Everyone’s anxious lately. Understandably so.

  “Well, I can’t let Niva be lonely.”

  “Damn straight, you’re a dad now, you need to act like it,” she says, giving me a coy smile, but her eyes are measuring me still for some reason. Maybe she just wants me to take more responsibility with Fox duty.

  “I told you, I’m more than happy to have her in my room,” I offer.

  “And make her suffer your dirty socks lying around?” she quips.

  I roll my eyes, giving her a smile, “I need to finish working out, I’ll meet up with you after dinner.”

  “Don’t push yourself too hard,” she says, her eyes lingering in mine.

  I nod, if we weren’t on duty, I’d do more than that.

  “Specialist Novak,” a voice says from behind me.

  Even if I didn’t recognize the voice, Cortez’s expression is more than enough for me to know.

  Turning and going to attention, “Ma’am.”

  “At ease,” Dorliac says, giving the business smile, “I’ve been going through my roster of Second Platoon and I realized I might have skipped you somehow.”

  She’s been interviewing all the soldiers, finding out their career plans. Tran said she was really helpful. But accidentally skipped me… doubtful.

  “Ah, Specialist Cortez, I think I may have skipped you as well,” she says.

  “Quite possibly,” Cortez says, after an eyebrow twitch, “Ma’am.”

  “Now a good time for both of you?” she asks, though it doesn’t feel like a question.

  “Of course, ma’am,” I say.

  “Good,” she says, then looking at Cortez, “And you?”

  “Perfect time, ma’am,” she says, returning the smile.

  ***

  It’s been a few minutes since we made it to her office, she’s just sitting there. Silently.

  Really don’t like awkwardness.

  “Ma’am,” I begin, shooting a look at Cortez who is locked in deep eye contact with her.

  She holds up a hand. I wait another ten seconds.

  “Ma’am, with all due respect, can we get on with whatever this is,” I say.

  She blinks, and so does Cortez.

  “Fine,” Dorliac says.

  “Good,” Cortez says.

  “I’m assuming she knows?” Dorliac asks.

  “More than you do,” Cortez says.

  “Good, then I’ll summarize for you,” Dorliac begins, leaning back in her chair, finally looking at me now, “Our Platoon is next in line for questioning regarding the incident.”

  Cortez doesn’t even flinch, “And?”

  “Well, given his circumstance, I thought it prudent we get our story straight. And go over our options.”

  “What circumstance would that be?” Cortez asks, cool as a cucumber still.

  “Well for one, he’s somehow managed a class change.”

  Nothing new there, she already suspected as much.

  Dorliac slides the loose strand of red hair back, “Also the fact that he used a gate, without using a gate.”

  Shit. How does she know that? Cortez doesn’t budge.

  “Also that he’s somehow responsible for the incident itself,” Dorliac says, tenting her hands in front of her, “Or did he not tell you?”

  Cortez turns and looks at me with all the wrath eyes can muster.

  “I didn’t tell her.”

  “No, he didn’t, but now he has,” Dorliac says, with a grin.

  Cortez mulls her jaw, turning to look at Dorliac.

  “Nature or nurture?” Cortez asks.

  “I don’t follow,” Dorliac says, tilting her head.

  “I’m just wondering if you were born a bitch, or if life made you one.”

  Damn.

  Dorliac’s face twitches, but she retains her composure.

  “How did you know?” I ask, trying to divert whatever this is turning into.

  Dorliac looks away, straightening herself.

  “Goblin blood is very pungent and distinct. Paired with that, your injuries, the reported spatial fluctuations, and your hotel room being at the epicenter of the incident.”

  “How the fuck do you know what hotel we stayed at?” Cortez demands, eyebrow throbbing with the vein on her forehead.

  “A guess,” she says, giving a half grin, “It’s the same place me and him used on occasion.”

  “For fucks sake, can you please stop trying to get under my girlfriend’s skin,” I say, trying to hold back the frustration, while also setting boundaries, “She’s the only woman in my life, I’m not interested in rehashing things with you Amber.”

  Cortez looks at me, her anger dissipating almost instantly. Dorliac flinches. Maybe that was too far. She does have a lot of dirt on me. Shit.

  “It’s not my fault she’s thin-skinned,” Dorliac says defensively.

  “What’s your point with all of this?” I ask, focusing the conversation again.

  “My point is, there needs to be a good story, something believable. Or…” she begins, looking dejected.

  “Or what,” I ask.

  “Or you turn yourself in.”

  Silence for a whole twenty seconds.

  “They’ll kill him for the item,” Cortez finally says.

  “If he doesn’t come clean they definitely will. Trust me, it’s only a matter of time. But if he comes clean, there might be a route,” Dorliac suggests.

  “I’m not willing to take that chance,” Cortez says firmly.

  “Look all I’m saying is…” Dorliac stops, she swipes through her interface, a brief look of relief followed by stress washes over her.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Gates, they’re spawning again.”

  “That’s good news,” I say, but neither of them seem to echo that sentiment.

  “Guess it’s time to find out what recalibrating meant,” Dorliac says.

  “Guess so,” Cortez says, but her tone isn’t snippy this time, it’s worried.

  They might be worried, but I’m tired of sitting around, I need to level up. It’s the only way I’m going to get stronger. Otherwise, what’s the point of having everything I’ve been given…

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