Camp Varian — Training Yard

  Lardes strains under the weight bar, sweat running down his neck.

  Jeff spots him, arms crossed.

  “Andreas doesn’t want to pick you,” Jeff says quietly.

  The bar crashes back onto the rack.

  “What?”

  Heads turn.

  Lardes forces himself to breathe, lowers his voice.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Jeff hesitates.

  “I wanted you in,” he says.

  “But Andreas doesn’t trust you.”

  Lardes laughs once — sharp.

  “Doesn’t trust me?”

  “I’ve been one of the top performers since day one.”

  Jeff doesn’t argue.

  “He thinks you draw attention.”

  That snaps something.

  “Who the hell does he trust?” Lardes hisses.

  “He doesn’t even trust you, and you’re still jumping around him like an innocent kid.”

  Jeff meets his eyes.

  Not angry.

  Just tired.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Jeff says.

  Lardes exhales.

  “Sorry,” he mutters.

  “Didn’t mean to blow up.”

  Jeff nods.

  “I know.”

  He pauses.

  “You want this too badly to hide it.”

  Then he walks off.

  Julian exits the restroom and spots Lardes sitting alone.

  “You good, cuh?”

  “Yeah,” Lardes says flatly.

  “Finished my workout.”

  Julian frowns.

  “We’ve only been here twenty minutes.”

  Lardes stands and walks away.

  Julian watches him go, confused.

  Cut

  Jeff steps into the leaders’ tent.

  Andreas looks up from a holo-map.

  Cut

  Vale and Jason lie prone at the range.

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  “Who do you think’s getting picked?” Vale asks.

  Jason doesn’t hesitate.

  “Me. One hundred percent.”

  Vale snorts.

  “Your ego’s higher than people on Valorstoff.”

  Jason laughs.

  Vale squeezes the trigger.

  A plasma round snaps across two hundred meters — clean headshot.

  The target drops.

  Vale grins.

  Jason shakes his head, laughing.

  Camp Varian — Night

  Lardes lies on his bunk, staring at the ceiling.

  The lights are dim.

  The bunker is quiet in that heavy, late-night way.

  Sagoya steps inside and stops when he sees him.

  “Didn’t know you were that good,” Sagoya says casually,

  “that you could afford to slack off.”

  Lardes glances at him once.

  Then looks back at the ceiling.

  Says nothing.

  Sagoya watches him for a second, then shrugs.

  “I’m grabbing food. You coming?”

  Lardes swings his legs off the bunk and follows, still silent.

  Dining Hall

  Julian, Vale, and Jason are already seated, trays half-empty, talking low.

  Sagoya and Lardes join them.

  Julian looks at Lardes for a moment, then speaks.

  “Alright,” he says.

  “Something’s off. You wanna tell us?”

  The table quiets.

  Lardes hesitates.

  Then:

  “Jeff told me I’m not getting picked.”

  Julian exhales sharply.

  “Damn.”

  Vale and Jason exchange a look but don’t say anything.

  Sagoya smiles faintly.

  No one notices.

  They finish eating.

  Training resumes.

  Selection — Group Three

  The entire group stands assembled.

  At the front: Andreas Smetana.

  Behind him, lined up in precise rows, are one hundred combat suits and kits.

  Andreas steps forward.

  “When I call your name,” he says evenly,

  “take a suit and a kit.”

  No ceremony.

  No encouragement.

  He starts.

  “Andreas Smetana.”

  He steps aside, marking himself as deployed.

  “Jeff Rockus.”

  Jeff moves forward without looking back.

  Names continue.

  “Aladin Specs.”

  “Jamson Allison.”

  “Jason Puters.”

  “Vale Sleer.”

  The line shortens.

  Sagoya’s name is called.

  He steps forward calmly.

  The count climbs.

  Twenty.

  Forty.

  Seventy.

  Julian stiffens when his name is called.

  Eighty.

  Ninety.

  Lardes doesn’t move.

  “Ninety-eight — Hans Repior.”

  Only two suits remain.

  Silence stretches.

  “One hundred,” Andreas says.

  He lifts his gaze.

  “Lardes Fossilis.”

  Lardes looks up sharply.

  Across the formation, Jeff meets his eyes.

  Just a hint of a smirk.

  Lardes steps forward and takes his gear.

  Andreas raises his voice.

  “These are the personnel selected for deployment.”

  A beat.

  “Protect this area with everything you have while we’re gone.”

  Another pause.

  “Dismissed.”

  Selection — Elsewhere

  The scene cuts.

  Jackson Icon stands before Group Two, calling names with a confident, careless cadence.

  Cut again.

  Leris Gael does the same for Group One.

  Efficient. Controlled.

  Another cut.

  Vergal Verin’s voice echoes across Group Four.

  Measured. Cold.

  Different leaders.

  Same ritual.

  Transport Ship — Group Three

  The ramp closes.

  Engines hum.

  The ship lifts off.

  Inside, the mood shifts — tension loosening just enough for relief to leak through.

  Julian leaps onto Lardes’ back, nearly knocking him forward.

  “You made it!” Julian laughs.

  “Congrats, man!”

  Lardes smirks, steadying himself.

  “Yeah,” he says.

  “Same to you.”

  They bump shoulders.

  Lardes’ gaze drifts.

  Jeff stands near the bulkhead, arms crossed.

  He catches Lardes’ eye and tilts his head.

  Come here.

  Lardes excuses himself and walks over.

  Jeff lowers his voice.

  “Andreas didn’t plan to take you.”

  Lardes doesn’t react.

  “The cadet he wanted got injured during prep,” Jeff continues.

  “You were next on the list.”

  Silence.

  Lardes looks at Jeff.

  Says nothing.

  Across the bay, Andreas is talking to a few cadets, pointing at a holo-display.

  Focused. Detached.

  Lardes watches him for a moment.

  Then turns away.

  He walks back to Julian, Vale, Jason, and the others.

  No comment.

  No expression.

  Hours Later — Main Hold

  The ship’s lights dim slightly.

  Andreas steps forward.

  “Everyone up,” he says.

  “Briefing.”

  The group gathers.

  A planetary projection blooms into the air.

  Jagged terrain.

  Snow-covered peaks.

  Deep valleys.

  “We land in one hour,” Andreas says.

  “Objective remains unchanged.”

  He gestures to the display.

  “Capture and hold the strongpoint.”

  “Expect resistance from all groups.”

  “Visibility will be limited.”

  A pause.

  “This planet favors discipline.”

  The projection rotates.

  CARVER’S POINT

  A cold world.

  Mountainous.

  Unforgiving.

  Andreas looks over the group.

  “No mistakes.”

  Landing

  The ship shudders as it touches down.

  Hydraulics hiss.

  The ramp lowers.

  Cold air floods in.

  Snow whips across jagged stone.

  The first figures step into the storm.

  Andreas Smetana.

  Jeff Rockus.

  Aladin Specs.

  Jason Puters.

  The rest follow.

  Carver’s Point waits.