The morning air was still and cool as Mikey made his way to the training hall. His body, though young and relatively fit, felt sluggish from a restless night filled with anxious thoughts. The previous day had been a whirlwind—finding out his parents were secret agents, arriving at the safehouse, and meeting Gregor, the man who would shape him into something more than just a high school kid.
Today was the day it all started. His first training session.
He reached the hall a few minutes before 6 AM, hoping to make a good impression. The training room was a large, windowless space, its concrete walls painted a dull gray. Along one wall were racks of equipment—weights, resistance bands, kettlebells—along with a few things Mikey had never seen before. A punching bag hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly as if in anticipation. On the far side of the room, a shooting range was set up, with targets waiting to be riddled with bullets.
In the center of the room stood Gregor, as stoic as ever, his arms crossed over his chest. He was flanked by another man, one Mikey hadn't met yet. This man was lean but muscular, his skin a deep tan, and his eyes cold and calculating. There was no warmth in his gaze—only the sharp scrutiny of a professional.
"You're on time," Gregor said, his voice carrying through the room with an air of authority. "That's a good start. This here is Dom, another agent. He'll be working with you on some of the physical aspects of training."
Dom nodded at Mikey, a simple, professional gesture. There was no hint of friendliness, but Mikey didn't expect any. This was serious business, and he was now a part of it.
Gregor took a step forward. "Before we begin, let's get one thing clear. You are no longer just Mikey. From today on, you are a trainee. We don't care about your background, your family, or what you think you know. Everything you thought you understood about your life ends here. This training will push you to your limits, mentally and physically. If you fail, you walk away, and we won't look back. Understood?"
Mikey swallowed hard, the gravity of Gregor's words sinking in. This wasn't just about learning how to fight or shoot a gun—this was about surviving, about becoming something entirely new.
"I understand," Mikey replied, his voice firmer than he felt inside.
"Good." Gregor gestured toward the exercise equipment. "We're starting with your physical conditioning. Dom will take you through the basics today, and from there, we'll increase the intensity. Let's see where you stand."
Dom stepped forward, his cold eyes locking onto Mikey. "We'll start with endurance. Ten laps around the hall. After that, we move to strength. I'll be watching your form closely."
Mikey nodded, taking a deep breath. He wasn't out of shape by any means—he played sports back in school, ran the occasional mile—but this was different. This wasn't casual exercise; this was training for survival.
He started running, his feet pounding against the hard floor. The hall wasn't huge, but after the first few laps, his legs began to burn. Dom watched him closely, his face giving nothing away. By the time Mikey reached his final lap, his lungs were on fire, and he could feel the sweat dripping down his face. He pushed through, determined not to stop, not to show weakness.
When he finally finished, Dom didn't give him a moment to catch his breath. "Strength now. Push-ups—fifty. Then squats. You'll keep going until I tell you to stop."
Mikey dropped to the floor, his arms already trembling from the run. He began the push-ups, counting each one silently in his head. By the time he reached thirty, his muscles screamed for a break, but he kept going. Dom's presence loomed over him, a constant reminder that stopping wasn't an option.
By forty-five, Mikey's arms gave out, and he collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath.
"Five more," Dom said, his tone flat and emotionless.
Mikey gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, forcing his body to cooperate. One push-up, then another. His arms shook violently, but he wouldn't give up. He couldn't. When he finally reached fifty, Dom nodded curtly.
"Good. Now squats. Same rules."
Mikey stood, his legs already wobbly from the run, but he started on the squats. Each time he lowered himself, his legs threatened to buckle, but he pushed through. By the time he hit the fiftieth squat, his entire body felt like it was on fire.
Dom finally signaled for him to stop. "Not bad for a first session," he said, though his tone didn't exactly sound like praise. "We'll work on building your stamina and strength over the next few weeks. Right now, you're just getting a taste."
Gregor, who had been observing silently from the side, stepped forward. "You're tougher than you look," he said, his expression unreadable. "But physical strength isn't everything. An agent needs to think, to strategize, to outwit their enemies."
He gestured to the far end of the room, where a series of small, rectangular boxes were laid out on a table. "We're going to move on to something a little different now. Inside those boxes are various pieces of equipment. Each one has a specific use in the field, but they're mixed up. I want you to identify them and explain how you would use each one in a mission. You have ten minutes."
Mikey walked over to the table, his legs feeling like they might give out. The boxes were small, some made of metal, others of plastic or wood. He opened the first one and found a small, circular device inside.
He hesitated, unsure of what it was at first glance. It looked like some kind of tracking device, but he wasn't sure. His mind raced, trying to remember anything he'd seen in movies or read in books that might help.
"That's a basic tracker," Gregor said, breaking the silence. "Used to plant on a target or object without their knowledge. You'll learn how to deploy them properly later."
Mikey nodded, moving on to the next box. This one contained what looked like a small, pen-like tool with a needle-thin tip.
"Lock pick," Mikey guessed.
Gregor gave a small nod. "Good. What type of lock would you use that on?"
Mikey hesitated again. "Um... something small, like a personal safe or a filing cabinet?"
"Correct."
Mikey worked through the remaining boxes, identifying each piece of equipment with Gregor's guidance. Some were obvious—night vision goggles, a small pistol, a basic medical kit—while others required more explanation. By the time he finished, his brain felt as exhausted as his body.
Gregor finally spoke again. "This was just a warm-up. Tomorrow, we start real drills. You'll be tested physically and mentally, but I need you to remember—everything we do here is for a reason. You'll be pushed harder than you ever thought possible, but if you can handle it, you'll come out the other side stronger than you can imagine."
Mikey nodded, though the weight of Gregor's words settled heavily on him. He knew this was only the beginning, but the road ahead suddenly seemed far more difficult than he had imagined.
"Dismissed," Gregor said.
Mikey walked toward the exit, his legs wobbling beneath him. As he reached the door, Dom's voice cut through the silence.
"Rest up, kid. Tomorrow will be worse."