Page 24 of Unmade

On the way down here, he’d given us a scripted speech on safety. You were allowed to work out alone, including swimming and target practice, but if you didn’t have a spotter or gym buddy, all recruits needed to check in electronically by the elevator so that someone from “Central Command” knew you were there.

That seemed like a rule I was gonna forget.

Everything was open twenty-four seven. Clean the equipment after you used it. Standard gun safety rules applied. For safety reasons, there was surveillance in every area, and only a senior operator could have it turned off, in case a training session was of a “sensitive nature.”

I saw two guys wrestling and grappling in the martial arts studio, so I walked closer and peered through the glass walls.

Said walls were filled with quotes printed in a typewriter font.

“Violence is the absolute last resort.”

“Self-defense begins with de-escalation.”

“End it swiftly.”

“What we have started, we shall finish.”

The last one was the Hillcroft motto. I remembered that.

Ineededmy new life here to give me meaning.

I watched those two guys sweat and growl and curse and come at each other with such force that I envied them. Because they had to feel so many emotions. They were so expressive. One of the guys landed with a thump on the mat, only to immediately jump up and attack with a roar.

“Are you finally cranking it up?”

“Fuckyou, Slater.”

They crashed together in a heap of punches and kicks, and I drew a steady breath.

The guy called Slater was overpowered and went down with a groan of pain.

“Jesus titty-fucking Christ! It’s a workout, not a fucking assassination attempt. You’re too goddamn bored.”

“Yeah. I fucking am,” the other one panted. “I swear it’s the most boring job I’ve ever had.”

Slater cursed and sat up on the mat. “Because ofonestakeout detail? Take advantage instead. It’ll be over before you know it.”

“All I hear is, you love being stuck in that fuckin’ apartment with me.”

“That’s your dream, Nolan. Not mine.”

I cracked a quick grin to myself and walked away.

Maybe. Just maybe.

Six years ago, watching that transpire would’ve set off my anxiety. Now, I was just itching to begin. Whatever they threw at me. Knock me down, scare the shit out of me, make me come unglued.

Unmade.

I was fairly sure I needed it in order to stitch myself back together as an upgraded version who actually enjoyed life. Because I must’ve gone wrong somewhere. Something had broken, and the bones had healed wrong. Fuck if I knew what it was. It couldn’t be Mom’s death. I knew with every fiber of my being that basic training had forced me through my worst mourning period, at least physically. I’d gotten to cry it out properly. I’d even followed Beckett’s advice, and I’d spoken to my chaplain a lot. I’d sort of come to terms with her priorities and my anger—why she’d never told me about my dad, the few clues she’d had. I’d attended church services too, if only to close my eyes and revel in a moment’s peace.

I’d dealt with all that. So, what the fuck was it that had killed me?

As I returned to the gym area, I saw Operator Rose keeping an eye on me, and I was guessing I had to get used to it. I was here to be evaluated for everything I did.

Farther down the hall, some of the other recruits hollered about what snacks they preferred in the vending machines.

“How are you doing, soldier?” Operator Rose asked.

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