Drake woke up still groggy, stumbling his way toward the bathroom. As he stepped inside, the space transformed into something far more luxurious: black tiled walls, soft ambient lighting, and a double-sink vanity. The walk-in shower was massive—large enough to fit four people comfortably—with a wall of showerheads running from ceiling to floor, and a premium toilet with a built-in bidet.
?Drake looked around and let out a low whistle. "Nice work, Bus."
?When he turned around, a fresh set of clothes was already waiting on the vanity top. Drake shrugged and got dressed before heading back into the main cabin. On the counter sat a fresh cup of coffee and a tablet pre-loaded with yesterday’s training footage.
?As Drake watched the video, he noticed a glaring flaw in his technique: he hadn't used his shield once. He waved his hand over the countertop, and the holographic specs of his ballistic shield shimmered into view. It wasn't a standard-issue shield; when deployed, it featured three distinct modes. The first mode he read about was Castle Mode. Once deployed, the shield would expand horizontally and rise with the user, creating a fortified position. It even included a dedicated gun mount for his rifle, with enough protected space for two additional shooters to join the line.
?The second was Phalanx Mode. By slamming the shield into the ground, a series of smaller holographic or physical plates would expand and overlap, locking into place to create a massive wall sixty-five feet wide and sixty-five feet tall. This provided a mobile fortress, allowing teammates to heal, reload, or take cover in complete safety.
?The final setting was Bubble Mode. By pressing a button on the interior grip, a holographic sphere would deploy, perfectly sized to encase a single person. This provided 360-degree protection against gunfire, stabs, acid, and environmental hazards. However, the intensity of the field meant it could only last for two minutes and required a full twenty-four-hour recharge cycle—but for those two minutes, the user was virtually invincible. Drake placed the tablet and his coffee cup down, then walked toward the gear wall. The couch that usually hid their equipment slid seamlessly into the ceiling, revealing each team member's customized gear. Right in front of him sat his shield. He picked it up and realized it weighed nearly sixty pounds. He had a bit of trouble lifting it with one arm, but he quickly realized that sixty pounds didn't feel nearly as heavy as it used to.
?He walked back to the counter and checked the tablet again. Reviewing the specs from yesterday’s training, he noticed the discrepancy: the gravity had been set to double its normal strength.
?Drake thought about it for a moment, his eyes landing on a wristband sitting on the counter. He slung the shield onto his back, snapped the wristband on, and slid his thumb across the interface. A holographic track shimmered into existence on the floor. Drake stepped onto it and immediately felt the crushing weight of the increased gravity. Drake gripped the handle and tried to bring the shield up into a standard defensive high-guard. Immediately, his shoulder wrenched downward. Under the 2g field, the sixty-pound slab felt like a staggering 120\text{ lbs} of dead weight. His arm shook, the edge of the shield dipping dangerously low.
?"Castle Mode," Drake wheezed, his voice straining.
?He tried to slam the base of the shield onto the holographic track, but the added weight threw off his aim. The metal edge caught the floor at an angle, skidding out and nearly pulling Drake face-first onto the deck. He grunted, bracing his back and hauling the weight back toward center-mass before finally clicking the expansion into place. The gun mount hissed open, but Drake’s shoulder was throbbing from the effort of just holding the line.
?He deactivated the expansion, the metal retracting with a sharp clack that vibrated through his sore forearm. "Phalanx."
?This time, he tried to drive the shield into the floor with a powerful overhead strike. Because he wasn't used to the gravity's pull on his own body, he overbalanced. The shield hit the floor with a deafening boom that shook the entire cabin, and Drake stumbled forward, his chest slamming against the top rim of the shield. He hung there for a second, gasping for air, as the massive 65\text{ ft} holographic wall shimmered into existence above his doubled-over frame.
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?"A bit... heavy," he muttered to the empty room.
?He spent the next hour in a blur of messy motion. He practiced shield bashes, but instead of the fluid strikes he was used to, his movements were jagged. Every time he swung the shield, the momentum threatened to spin him in a circle. Twice, he lost his grip entirely, the shield clattering to the floor with enough force to dent anything less reinforced than the Bus’s floorboards.
?Finally, he stood in the center of the track, his chest heaving and sweat stinging his eyes. He looked at the recessed button for Bubble Mode. He practiced the muscle memory—slamming his thumb onto the trigger while dropping into a tight crouch—but even that simple move felt clumsy, his knees hitting the floor harder than intended.
?"Twenty-four-hour recharge," he muttered, wiping sweat from his forehead with a trembling hand. "Better make those two minutes count, because I’m definitely not fast enough yet." Drake’s fingers slipped again, the shield clattering to the floor with a bone-jarring thud. He reached for the handle, his muscles twitching with exhaustion, but before he could wrap his fingers around the grip, the holographic track flickered and vanished. The crushing weight of the 2g field lifted instantly, leaving Drake feeling unnervingly light—almost like he was floating.
?"Hey!" Drake barked, snapping his head toward the ceiling. "I wasn't finished, Bus! Turn it back on!"
?The cabin remained silent for a heartbeat before a soft chime echoed through the speakers—the Bus's version of a concerned sigh. The lights dimmed slightly, a subtle suggestion for him to go back to the kitchen and finish his coffee.
?"Don't 'soft-light' me," Drake growled, his jaw tightening. "I saw the footage. I'm slow, I'm clumsy, and if I don't get this right, people die. Now, reset the track. Three Gs."
?The Bus hesitated, the control panel on the wall flashing a warning amber.
?"I said reset!" Drake roared.
?With a low, mechanical hum that vibrated through the floorboards, the Bus obeyed. The holographic track didn't just reappear; it glowed a deep, aggressive red. When the gravity hit, it wasn't a weight—it was a hammer. Drake’s spine popped, and his lungs felt like they were being flattened against his back.
?He didn't stumble this time. He snarled, his eyes darkening as that ancient, predatory cold from the dinner started to seep into his veins. He snatched the shield off the floor with a burst of raw, desperate strength, the metal groaning under his grip.
?"Again," he hissed through gritted teeth.
?He didn't just practice the modes; he attacked them. He slammed into Castle Mode so hard the gun mount clicked into place like a gunshot. He dove into Phalanx transitions, ignoring the way his joints screamed. Every movement was jagged and violent, the "clumsiness" from before being replaced by a brutal, forced precision. He was no longer just training; he was picking a fight with physics itself. Drake stood there, his breath coming in ragged, shallow hitches. Every muscle screamed in protest; every bone felt the crushing weight of the 3G field as it vied to pin him to the deck. The "predatory cold" in his veins began to flicker and fade, replaced by a gray, numbing exhaustion that started at his fingertips and raced toward his heart.
?The shield, once a weapon of divine precision, now felt like a lead mountain. His grip failed. The metal slab hit the floor with a final, echoing thud that Drake barely heard. His vision tunneled, the aggressive red glow of the holographic track blurring into a dark, swirling void.
?"Bus... off..." he croaked.
?The gravity vanished instantly, but the damage was done. Without the pressure holding him up, Drake’s legs turned to water. He folded, his body hitting the floorboards with a dull, limp sound. Silence reclaimed the interior of the Bus, broken only by the steady, rhythmic beep of the medical sensors monitoring his shallow pulse. Hours later, the Bus’s main door hissed open. Noko and Relena stumbled inside, draped in shopping bags and smelling of the mall's food court. They were still riding the high of their getaway, giggling about the look on Kay’s face when Spike’s memory-wipe trick hit.
?"Drake! You won't believe the day we had," Noko called out, dropping a heavy Bed Bath & Beyond bag onto the kitchen island with a loud thump.
?"And we got you those shirts!" Relena added, her voice trailing off as she stepped further into the main cabin, past the counter.
?The laughter died instantly.
?The gear wall was still open, the holographic track was dark, and Drake was sprawled face-down in the center of the training area. His skin was pale, drenched in a cold sweat, and the heavy ballistic shield lay inches from his outstretched hand.
?"Drake!" Relena shrieked, dropping her remaining bags as she scrambled toward him.
?Noko was already moving, her combat training kicking in. She slid onto the floor beside him, checking his neck for a pulse while her eyes darted to the control panel. She saw the logs flickering on the screen: 3G TRAINING SESSION – CRITICAL STRAIN.
?"He’s alive," Noko breathed, though her hands were shaking. "But the idiot... he set the gravity to three. He nearly crushed his own heart."
?Relena pulled Drake’s head into her lap, her fingers trembling as she brushed the damp hair from his forehead. "Why would he do this? Why would he go this far?"
