Theta-3 was waiting when Jax showed up to collect them.

  Marine deck chrono ticked over to 08:00. Kaden stood with Navarro, Tanaka, and Vos near the same T-junction where Korovec had staged the run, this time in duty blacks instead of PT gear. The sweat was gone; the ache in his legs wasn’t.

  Jax slid out of the flow of marines like she’d stepped through a seam in the corridor. No dramatics, no barked orders, just a sharp gesture.

  “Theta-3,” she said. “With me.”

  They fell in without comment. She turned down a side passage, narrower and less trafficked, the deck plating shifting from broad composite panels to closer-set metal slats that rang differently under their boots.

  Kaden’s HUD tagged the space as they passed under a low lintel.

  ZONE: 3RD SHOCK ARMORY ACCESS

  The air changed. Cooler, with the sharp tang of solvents and machine oil. Arc-sparks crackled faintly somewhere distant, followed by the whine of a tool spin-down.

  “First thing we do,” Jax said, “is stop you looking like Academy cadets cosplaying marines. You get your kit. You learn how it sits on you. You don’t get to complain about the weight; that’s Aurora’s problem and your stat choices.”

  She shot a brief glance over her shoulder at Kaden, just enough to make it clear she remembered his sheet even if she couldn’t see it right now.

  The corridor opened into a long, high room with weapon racks down the middle and armor stands along the walls. Techs moved between them, checking seals, logging tags. Overhead, a high strip of lighting cast everything in clean white.

  Jax raised four fingers to a tech at a terminal near the entrance.

  “Theta-3, four marines,” she said. “New issue. Carapace harnesses, personal weapons, specialist kit.”

  The tech looked them over, eyes flicking to the subtle HUD markers above their heads, then back down to his console.

  “Got you, Staff Sergeant,” he said. “Aurora’s already pushed the profiles. Stands are keyed under squad designation.”

  Jax nodded toward the row of armor stands along the right-hand wall.

  “Move,” she told them. “Find your name. Try not to knock anything over. Techs yell louder than I do when you break their toys.”

  That was obviously a lie, but Kaden didn’t test it.

  He walked down the line of stands. Each one was a metal frame shaped vaguely like a human torso and legs, with armor plates and harness hanging open like a shed exoskeleton. Above each, a soft blue tag hovered.

  LCPL. K. TANAKA – THETA-3

  CPL. E. VOS – THETA-3

  PVT. T. NAVARRO – THETA-3

  PVT. K. MERCER – THETA-3

  He stopped at his own stand.

  The armor looked heavier than the Academy harnesses. Dark grey bordering on black, plates overlapping cleanly over a flexible underlayer. The left shoulder bore the Hegemony eagle in red and white; under it, a thinner red band marked Shock. The right shoulder was blank, waiting for whatever Theta-3 might eventually earn.

  Behind the stand, mounted on a telescoping arm, sat a compact pack with med symbols stenciled on the sides. The SMG was clamped to the frame at hip height; his helmet rested on a peg above.

  His HUD chimed as he came within reach.

  LOADOUT PROFILE DETECTED: HIN-M3 “CARAPACE” – MERCER, K.

  ACCEPT? [Y/N]

  He blinked the acceptance.

  CONFIRMED. SYNCING ARMOR CHANNELS…

  Across the bay, Navarro ran a hand down the barrel of a rifle on her rack, eyes bright despite herself. Vos watched a tech slot a fist-sized drone into the harness on his back stand, expression carefully neutral. Tanaka stood in front of his shield, the big plate leaned against the stand, viewport scarred with old spiderwebbing that had been repaired but not erased.

  Jax clapped once, sharp.

  “All right, children,” she said. “Eyes front.”

  They turned from the racks. She hooked a thumb toward Tanaka’s stand.

  “Here’s how this works,” Jax said. “You’re not getting a full fashion show today. You’re going to get dressed enough to feel the weight and walk a corridor. We’ll do full armor drills later. For now: harness, plates, helmets. Primary weapons. Specialist gear stays on the stand.”

  She pointed at Kaden.

  “Mercer, you get the med rig,” she added. “I don’t care if it pulls on your shoulders. Get used to it.”

  “Yes, Staff Sergeant,” he said.

  “Tanaka,” she said, without looking. “You know the drill.”

  “Yeah,” he said simply.

  “Navarro, Vos, watch him,” Jax said. “He’s done this more times than I can count. If you’re doing something the opposite of how he does it, you’re probably wrong.”

  Tanaka didn’t react to the praise. He just started moving, grabbing the underlayer and hauling it off the stand with practiced efficiency. The others followed.

  The armor went on in layers. The bodysuit first, a snug, ballistic weave that clung to Kaden’s skin and made the air feel a little thinner. Then the harness: a rigid frame that settled around his chest and back, straps cinching tight under his arms and around his waist. When he locked the front plate in, the weight settled down his spine and over his hips, not just on his shoulders.

  He grunted anyway.

  ARMOR INTERFACE: ONLINE

  SYNCHRONIZING VITALS FEED…

  A new bar slid into the corner of his HUD, green and full. Basic armor integrity. Under it, a smaller icon pulsed—his own vitals.

  “Feels like someone put a crate on me,” Navarro said under her breath as she snapped her chest plate into place.

  “It’ll feel lighter once you move,” Tanaka said, voice slightly muffled by his half-strapped suit. “Your stats will pick up the slack.”

  “Feels fine,” Vos said. His didn’t sound entirely convincing, but he got his harness seated without fumbling.

  Kaden reached back for the med rig. It was heavier than it looked. He wrestled the pack onto the mounting rails at his back; the harness auto-sealed with a hiss and a muted click.

  SPECIALIST PACK DETECTED: MED RIG – MERCER, K.

  LINKING SENSORS…

  An icon shaped like a small cross appeared in his HUD, greyed out but present.

  Helmet last. He lifted it off the peg and settled it over his head. The interior padding compressed around his skull; the external world narrowed to the field of view the visor allowed.

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  The HUD adjusted. Edges of his vision filled with tiny markers: theta-shaped icons for Navarro, Tanaka, Vos, each hovering roughly where they stood in the room. His AP bar tucked itself neatly under the armor line.

  He took a breath. The inside of the helmet smelled faintly of plastic and someone else’s sweat, scrubbed but not gone.

  “Weapons,” Jax said.

  Kaden unclamped his SMG from the rack. It was compact and unexpectedly light, the matte-black casing cool under his gloved fingers. The folding stock snapped out with a precise, satisfying click. He checked the mag by habit, eyes flicking to the HUD as it mirrored the count.

  SMG-4 "LIFELINE" – MAG: 32/32

  Navarro’s rifle made more of a presence when she swung it off her stand, barrel longer, underbarrel micro-stabilizer attachment obvious. Vos’s SMG was a sibling of Kaden’s, slightly different casing, same feel. Tanaka’s shotgun, when he lifted it onto its sling, looked like a brick with a barrel.

  The shield remained on the stand.

  “Leave the Bulwark for now,” Jax told Tanaka. “You know how it feels. They don’t need to see you break the armory before we do sims.”

  Tanaka nodded once, letting the shield rest where it was.

  Jax stepped back, giving herself room to see all four.

  “All right,” she said. “This is the shape of you.”

  She pointed at Tanaka.

  “He’s the wall,” she said. “He stands where I tell him, and things hit him first. You do not step in front of him unless I say go or he says move.”

  She shifted the point of her finger to Navarro.

  “She’s mid-line,” Jax said. “Rifle. She shoots over or around the wall. She adjusts when things don’t go where they’re supposed to. She does not sprint past the shield because she’s excited.”

  Navarro pressed her lips together, but didn’t argue.

  “Vos,” Jax went on. “He makes doors and turrets and cameras behave. When I say ‘closed,’ I need it sealed. When I say ‘open,’ it better not jam halfway. When I say ‘kill that turret,’ I don’t want to see it cycling targets while we’re under it.”

  Vos gave a quick, sharp nod.

  “And Mercer,” Jax finished. “He keeps you breathing. He’s not just a walking medkit. He can and will shoot when I tell him to. But when someone starts leaking, his job is hands and drugs, not trading fire. If you yell ‘medic’ without telling me where the rounds are coming from, I will personally throw you back into the firing line.”

  Kaden’s stomach did a little flip at the phrasing and settled.

  Jax let that sit for a long heartbeat.

  “Now,” she said. “We’re going to walk a corridor. No sim, no Opp, no clever surprises. You’re going to stack up at a hatch, move on my call, and stop where I say. Your only job is not to trip over each other or sweep each other’s backs with your barrels.”

  She jerked her chin toward the far end of the armory, where a side hatch stood open to a short length of blank corridor used for testing recoil and noise.

  “Form your stack,” she said. “From the right, Tanaka, Navarro, Mercer, Vos. I’ll float.”

  They moved.

  The armor changed everything. The extra weight turned a simple walk into a small effort. The edges of Kaden’s awareness were full of new information: the faint pressure of the med rig at his back, the breathing sounds inside his helmet, the steady presence of the AP bar sitting quietly at the bottom of his HUD.

  They reached the hatch. Tanaka took point without hesitation, shotgun close to his chest, muzzle down but ready. Navarro slotted in just behind his right shoulder, rifle angled left. Kaden took his place behind her, SMG held tight, muzzle low. Vos fell in behind him, closing the column.

  “Check your arcs,” Jax said from behind them. “Tanaka, you own front. Navarro, front-right. Mercer, front-left. Vos, rear.”

  Kaden adjusted his stance, imagining lines drawn from his muzzle out into the hallway. Navarro’s barrel occupied the space directly ahead and right; he shifted a fraction to the left to avoid overlapping her. Vos’s presence at his back was just a weight in his awareness.

  “Door might be locked,” Jax said. “Vos?”

  Vos stepped out of the stack, reached past them, and tapped the hatch panel with two fingers. His HUD blinked something private; a second later, the hatch cycled with a soft clunk and slid open.

  “Rapid Override,” he said quietly. “No alarms.”

  “Back in position,” Jax said. “Tanaka, step.”

  Tanaka moved. Not a rush, not a stagger. A controlled, deliberate step into the corridor, shotgun coming up to a ready-low position that would let him snap to target in a fraction of a second. Navarro flowed in behind him, rifle covering her assigned sectors. Kaden followed, feeling every centimeter of clearance around him.

  The corridor was short, just ten meters to a blank bulkhead with nothing on it but a few maintenance panels and a scuff or two from previous drills. It felt longer inside the armor.

  “Hold,” Jax said. “Freeze.”

  The line stopped.

  Kaden’s pulse counted in his ears. He realized he was holding his breath and let it out slowly.

  “Look at this,” Jax said from somewhere behind his left shoulder. “Tanaka’s too far center. Navarro’s crowding his back. Mercer’s about to trip over her heel. Vos could be three systems behind you for all the help he’ll be if someone comes out that hatch.”

  She didn’t sound angry. Just clinical.

  “Reset,” she said. “Back to the hatch.”

  They walked it again.

  This time Tanaka hugged the right side of the corridor a little more, leaving space to pivot. Navarro gave him an extra half step. Kaden forced himself to leave air between his boots and hers, resisting the instinct to crowd forward. Vos tightened the line from behind without breathing down his neck.

  “Better,” Jax said. “Still sloppy. You’re thinking about it. Good. I want this to be muscle memory before sims turn on the pain.”

  She let them stand there a second more, then changed it.

  “Mercer’s down,” she said.

  Kaden blinked.

  “What?” he started.

  Navarro’s hand snapped back, catching a fistful of his harness and yanking.

  “Down,” she said, already moving aside.

  He dropped, more from surprise than obedience, one knee hitting the deck. Tanaka took half a step forward to plug the gap, shotgun shifting to cover more of the corridor. Vos angled his SMG a different way, still watching rear but ready to pivot.

  “Slow,” Jax said. “Clumsy. Not terrible.”

  Kaden pushed himself back up, trying to reconstruct the movement in his head. If that had been real—if he’d taken a hit there, gone down with his pack and gear—Navarro’s grab might’ve been the difference between him falling in place and him crashing into her legs.

  “Again,” Jax said. “This time on Tanaka.”

  They did it on Tanaka. Then on Navarro. Then on Vos. Each time, the stack broke and reformed, someone grabbing harness, someone stepping up, someone filling a lane that suddenly had one less barrel in it.

  Half an hour bled away like that. Walk the corridor. Adjust positions. Simulate someone going down. Shuffle roles.

  Kaden felt every second in his legs and shoulders. The armor’s weight never went away; it just became a background ache. Sweat prickled between his shoulder blades. His SMG’s sling dug into the muscle over his clavicle.

  AP: 5/5

  His skills sat unused. There was nothing to stabilize but his own frustration.

  “Good enough for a first walk,” Jax said finally. “You’re clumsy but not hopeless. You’ll stop kicking each other’s heels if you live long enough.”

  She gestured them back toward the armor stands.

  “Stow weapons,” she said. “Keep the harnesses. We’re coming back after chow to do this with live rounds at the range. For now, helmets off. I want you breathing ship air when we talk the next piece.”

  They racked the weapons and popped helmet seals. The world re-expanded. The smells of oil and solvent and humanity flooded back in.

  Kaden set his helmet on its peg and rolled his neck, the relief at losing the extra weight almost dizzying.

  Jax leaned a hip against the nearest empty stand, arms folded.

  “This is the boring part,” she said. “Talking. But you need the frame before the sims start throwing things at you.”

  She looked at each of them in turn.

  “You are not four solos with interesting gear,” she said. “You are one shape in a corridor. Tanaka shifts, you shift. Navarro moves, you adjust. Mercer drops to treat someone, you cover him without me having to say it. Vos calls a door, you trust it. That’s the baseline.”

  Her gaze landed on Kaden for a moment longer.

  “And when somebody actually goes down,” she said, “I expect you, Mercer, to tell me in three words whether they’re worth dragging, whether they can walk themselves, or whether they’re wall material next time we pass the chapel. I don’t need a field lecture. I need a call.”

  Kaden swallowed.

  “Yes, Staff Sergeant,” he said.

  “Good,” she said. “You’ll practice that when nobody’s actually dying first. Sim deck this afternoon. Pods, basic Opp templates, nothing too creative. You will fuck it up. Aurora will log it. Then you will do it again.”

  She pushed off the stand.

  “You’ve got an hour before Korovec pulls you for whatever charming busywork she’s lined up,” Jax said. “Hit the range if you want. Walk the route we ran this morning again if you’re feeling virtuous. Or sit on your bunk and stare at the ceiling. Just remember this: from now on, every corridor you walk on this ship, you walk as Theta-3.”

  She let that hang in the air a second, then turned away to confer with a tech about something in the weapon racks.

  Navarro blew out a breath.

  “Well,” she said quietly. “At least she didn’t say we were hopeless.”

  “That was her being optimistic,” Vos said.

  Tanaka adjusted the straps of his harness, testing how the weight settled.

  “She’s right,” he said. “We were clumsy.”

  Kaden looked at the short stretch of corridor they’d been walking. Ten meters of metal. No Opp, no smoke, no alarms. Just four marines and Jax’s voice.

  It had taken conscious thought not to tangle their feet.

  “How bad’s it going to be when the walls start shooting back?” he asked.

  Tanaka shrugged.

  “Worse,” he said. “Then it gets better. Or it doesn’t.”

  “Comforting,” Navarro muttered.

  Kaden checked his HUD one last time. Armor line full. AP untouched. Heart rate settling.

  Theta-3, he thought. Not just a tag anymore.

  One shape in a corridor. They’d see if it held.