Chapter 6 - Training

Hila made a call through an encrypted line.

“Boss, the situation has stabilized.”

“Is the brainwashing complete?” the man's voice was hoarse.

“I oversaw the procedure. There was no issue. What arrangements do you have for Zero?” Hila asked.

“The Valkyrie experiment aims to train soldiers, so train him.” the man replied a bit irritated.

“How is my sister doing?”

“Don't forget the deal.” the man warned.

“I permitted you to visit her once every two months. Don't cross the line.”

Hila clenched her fists when she heard this. Then there was a click and she knew the call had been disconnected by the man.

*

The interior of the underground Valkyrie lab was almost entirely white. Guards constantly patrolled the grounds. After a night's rest, Drake was brought to an isolated training field where Hila awaited.

While he was not too sure of what arrangements the organization had for him, he was certain that they would value his 'learning ability', meaning he would get the chance to level up his Creation abilities.

It was virtually impossible to escape from such a tightly guarded fortress, so Drake had steeled himself for the long haul.

“Zero, you will undergo daily combat and shooting practice from today onward,” Hila said as she tossed him a suit.

“Put it on.”

As soon as he put on the suit, Hila attacked, launching a vicious kick at chest level.

Bang!

Too fast!

Drake was unable to react, and the kick cracked his ribs through the armour. He staggered back over a dozen steps and clutched onto his chest, coughing.

'As expected of a superhuman.'

Although she was not going all out, she was still several times faster than an ordinary person.

“Thirty seconds of rest,” she stated blandly.

Combat training was tough but straightforward. No words were exchanged between the pair. They continued like this for two hours, by the end of which Drake was completely exhausted and covered in bruises. He also suspected that Hila had masochistic tendencies.

'Are all ice queen types like this?' he wondered.

«Ding!

Hila (Level 30) has taught you [Basic Combat]

Progress Rate: 5%»

Hila left wordlessly. Entered was a stout, burly man. He yanked Drake to the target practice field.

“I am your shooting trainer, and one of the vice managers of this base, Baltar.” introduced the scary-looking man with a hideous knife scar across his forehead.

He pushed a 73-WASP into Drake's hands and said

“There are ten bullets, hit the bullseye with all of them.”

Drake frowned. How could a beginner who had never touched a gun in real life before hit the bullseye!? Moreover, the target was a moving dummy thirty meters away.

'I'm no Olympic champion!'

Drake shrugged his shoulders and raised the gun with his aching arms...

Bang! Bang! Bang!

After ten shots, Drake took a look at the scoreboard. As expected, he had failed.

Suddenly he felt a searing pain in his back. It was only with great resistance that he did not scream out. He turned around, only to see Baltar kicking blood off a black tactical knife.

“Continue. One miss, one cut. Let's see how much blood you will lose today.”

Drake moved a hand across his back, and it returned bloody.

'Bastard!' he cursed inwardly.

One of the glass panels in the room was a one-way mirror. Hila and Doctor Calebite were observing from the other side.

“Baltar is being too careless with my precious test subject! Might as well let me dissect him now.” bemoaned Doctor Calebite.

Hila cast a plain look at Doctor Calebite and replied.

“The organization will not approve of your request.”

Doctor Calebite laughed coldly in response.

“I will have my way sooner or later. I created him! He is mine!”

Hila remained silent.

Meanwhile...

«Ding!

Baltar (Level 15) has taught you [Basic Shooting]

Progress Rate: 5%

[Agent] Profession Unlock Rate: 1%»

Drake was cut again and again. The cuts themselves might not have been deep, but there were so many of them that his clothes were completely drenched in blood.

Baltar watched the weakened Drake with a grin. He revelled in the smell of fresh blood.

“Why are you not screaming?” he asked Drake.

“A good toy screams,” he added.

'Damn, bastard!'

Drake took a deep breath to compose himself. While he felt like punching Baltar, he knew that he could not afford to act recklessly. It was similar in a sense to street fights - when you trash talk despite losing, you are only setting yourself up for a more spectacular fall.

For now, all he could was suck it up.

'Laugh while you can, soon you won't be able to..' Drake gritted his teeth.

*

After the blood-boiling training session, Drake was brought to dip in a special restorative bath for two hours. Although it healed his wounds, the pain from the cuts still lingered.

There was an unused machinery tuning room in the base, and as Drake had demonstrated some talent with machines, he was arranged to reside there. In the room were materials, tools, and a vehicle bench that he was given free rein to use. There were also shelves of books lined against the wall. Although there was a surveillance camera in a corner of the room, Drake paid no heed to it - he had expected to be monitored 24/7.

In the present year 687, Aquamarine was still a relatively new planet in the grand scheme of things. The planet was in the midst of a transition towards a 'new era', hence its technologies were still quite far behind for being a sci-fi game. Similar to that of Earth.

*

Time went by quickly.

Drake continued to assemble and enhance machines to gain experience, and as he improved, his perfection rate in assembly consistently hit over ninety per cent. This gave him a lot of bonus experience.

Although assembling the same kind of machine too many times gradually decreased the experience gained – up to a point where it would not yield any experience at all – there was an armoury in the base that was essentially a gold mine of machines, providing Drake with all the resources he needed to gain experience through assembly.

Drake kept a low profile and continued to remain quiet and docile. Gradually, the organization also stopped monitoring him so closely.

Although the organization had high hopes for him, he knew that standing out would only be disadvantageous, so he chose to accumulate experience instead of levelling up when he could. Very soon the research team lost interest in him. The degree of skill that he displayed in assembly was easily attainable by trained logistics personnel, and he simply did not fulfil their expectations.

They continued observing him for another month before writing him off as a failure. Instead of wasting more time on him, they chose to devote their efforts elsewhere and ceased the 24/7 surveillance. This allowed Drake to relax a little.

As the organization's attention gradually shifted away from him, eventually, only Doctor Calebite and Baltar continued to keep tabs on him.

Although Doctor Calebite's continued requests to dissect Drake for research were still being rejected, Drake knew that it was only a matter of time before they would be approved. There was not much time left for him.

As for Baltar, Drake had become the sole target of his affection. As recovery pills were readily available, and the researchers believed that torture could stimulate growth, Baltar was allowed to indulge in his sadistic ways.

Drake soon grew numb to the pain. Not even the severing of his finger could make his face twitch, it was like he was now totally immune to pain.

With nothing much to do and no one to converse with, Drake channelled his focus and thoughts into studying machinery. He found solace in the sense of accomplishment that crafting brought him.