The next day, training resumed in a grimy hall that looked like a forgotten bunker from an old war, not a facility belonging to a planet with high-end tech. The walls were cracked, and the floor was just bare ground, no training droids, no machines, just dust and heat. Typical Plazie irony: advanced minds, but no idea how to mop a floor.
Runge entered the space without warning, his boots crushing the silence. He cleared his throat and said, "We've got a new recruit joining us for the mission."
He turned and pointed.
From the corridor's shadow, a woman stepped forward. It was Anna. The room paused, even the air seemed to hold its breath. She walked toward us, head held high, steps precise like a dancer who never missed a beat. She didn't seem to look at anyone in particular. Her eyes wandered, but her head didn't move. Her presence pulled attention like gravity.
Just then, Jurgen, standing beside me tilted his head sideways toward mine like he was about to whisper some war secret.
Jurgen(grinning): "Hey… is she your sister? Because her face kinda rhymes with yours. But her posture? Man, it's like she's carved from something ancient. Walks like she's floating… and that neck? Never bends. Like a statue with opinions."
Bjorn(frowning, confused): "What? That's nonsense. She's clearly a Plazie woman. Your people. Not mine."
Jurgen(still watching Anna): "Mmm… maybe. But if you were born a Plazie, she'd pass off as your daughter. A bit too elegant to be your sister."
Bjorn(chuckling through his nose): "If I had a daughter that graceful, I'd rethink my genetics."
Though I laughed on the outside, I bit down a strange irritation inside. I wasn't sure whether I was mad at his idiotic logic or at the idea that someone like her could ever be compared to me.
Just then, behind us, Runge banged a wooden duster on the table—yes, a duster, in a high-tech world—and pulled down a green curtain that covered a massive chalkboard. The creak of it sounded ancient. A chalkboard? In Elizes? My eyebrows did somersaults.
When Jurgen saw it, he turned to me.
Jurgen: "Wait… that's not a screen? What are we in, a village school?"
But before we could joke more, our eyes landed on the drawing on the board, and it silenced us both.
A planet. Blue and green, but bruised with red and grey. Sketched roughly but with emotion. Runge called it 'Earth'.
Runge picked up a wooden stick, another relic, and tapped the chalk drawing.
Runge(grimly):
"This planet… is called Earth. You might call it beautiful from a distance. But when we got pulled through a wormhole and scanned it… it wasn't beauty that stared back, it was madness. Pride. Religion. Race. Customs. Enough to choke reason."
We all sat cross-legged on the dusty ground, listening.
Runge(coldly):
"These Earthlings, they kill for identity, for ego, for flags. Their minds are still locked in corners. Stagnant, like a clogged stream. And yet… their technology, it's crawling forward. Another century, and they might catch up."
He paused.
Runge(sharper):
"We, Plazies, made a decision once, to raise every child as a servant of the planet. As one family. They never made that choice. So if we conquer them, if we… remove the unnecessary, what remains might serve a better cause."
Raj leaned forward, uneasy.
Raj:
"That's all you saw in Earth? A tool?"
Runge:
"No. I saw something stranger. Anna sketched this, an Earthling man. Look at him. Nose, mouth, hands. He looks like us. Why? Why does a human from Earth or Btell resemble a Plazie? They should look alien, like monsters or fog or metal. But they don't."
That question stuck to my ribs like a splinter. I'd once planned to bring down Elizes from the inside. But now… I wasn't sure what to destroy. Or why. Even Jurgen, usually a storm in pants, looked puzzled and quiet, his brow twisted with thought.
Runge clapped his hands and barked, "Training starts now. On your feet."
We rose. Muscles stiff. Minds heavier.
And somewhere in all that chaos, Jurgen leaned toward me again, nodding toward Anna who was now standing like a quiet mountain on the other side of the hall.
Jurgen(smirking):
"If we survive this mission, remind me to write a poem about your 'daughter.' Maybe title it: Grace Born from Confusion."
I rolled my eyes and whispered back:
Bjorn:
"Try that and I'll make sure you leave this planet without your jaw."
Jurgen laughed. The idiot enjoyed it. But behind that smirk… even he had started to question everything.
The training fields of Elizes were deceptive in their beauty, a sweeping ground blanketed in lush, razor-sharp green grass that shimmered like emeralds under the double suns. But beauty on Elizes had teeth. Each push-up we did, two hundred, without mercy, carved red trails on our skin as the blades of grass clawed at our flesh like silent saboteurs. Pain was part of the curriculum.
After that, it was sprinting with weights strapped to our bodies, brutal straps loaded with lead-like slabs designed to test speed under pressure. With every jump and charge, we left pieces of ourselves behind on that field.
From my position in the western zone, I caught sight of Jurgen, locked in a flurry of Plazie martial arts. For a brief second, I paused, puzzled. His moves looked oddly familiar, like something I'd seen in the rebel circuits back in Btell. For a heartbeat, I questioned everything… until I shook it off. No, it had to be my mind playing tricks. The desert heat, the blood loss, the exhaustion, they were blending fantasy with fact.
Grimmer, all sweat and sinew beside me, dropped the weights with a grunt and smirked.
Grimmer: "These drills are turning my arms into bricks, mate. Solid stone. If I punch a wall now, either it cracks or I do."
I grinned, but my thoughts were hijacked by Runge's sudden voice from across the track.
He stood near the streamlined racing vehicles, sleek beasts designed for sonic warfare. There were only three of them, gleaming like black glass under the twin suns. I hadn't seen them this close before. As I walked up, Runge did something that startled me, he placed his arm over my shoulder. A brotherly gesture… too brotherly for a man who had once hunted my kind like cattle. I froze, caught off guard by this sudden warmth from the coldest Plazie alive.
Runge (in an oddly casual tone):
"Bjorn, tell me… Why don't we have a little run on these cloche beasts? Raj tells me you've got more speed in your blood than any Plazie I've ever known."
His tone was almost playful, like he'd forgotten the hierarchy for a moment, or maybe he wanted me to forget mine.
Raj, walking beside us, took the chance to fill in the blanks, his voice animated, proud.
He told Runge about the race on Btell, how I, a human no less, tore through the Plazie ranks with a cloche like it was part of my spine. How I didn't just win, I humiliated their best, made the metal dance.
Runge listened, a ghost of a grin touching his scarred face.
And for a moment, on that open track, the rules of Elizes blurred. There was no enemy. No Plazie or human. Just machines, and the road.
As we walked toward the racing field of Elizes, my mind drifted, not gently, but like a storm hitting an old, forgotten memory. I was no longer here. I was back on Btell.
That old dusty field, cracked and sunburnt, flashed before my eyes. The cloche racing track carved into the red earth like a scar. Those vehicles weren't just machines, they were beasts, built by the Plazies with terrifying precision. We didn't sit in them; we lay flat, like sleeping warriors, eyes to the sky, hands crossed on our chest, feet locked into the double-pedal system. The helmet showed the path ahead, like a predator's eyes locked onto prey.
I remembered the first time I touched one.
Back then, I was just another human among many, working with the Plazies to monitor the distribution of "Thani," our only drinkable resource. They never treated us like equals. They treated us like ants, useful, but never respected.
Then one day, a cloche was left without a rider. The Plazie officials announced they needed a filler. None of my comrades moved. Fear held their tongues and feet. But I fueled by something heavier than courage, raised my hand. Dust clung to my tech glasses as the wind stung my face.
Raj was there. Watching. Quiet.
He approached and introduced himself. When I said my name, he smiled, not like a friend, but like someone who just confirmed a long-standing suspicion.
He didn't teach me to win. He just showed me how to ride.
"You'll figure it out," he said, his voice low. "Just survive."
As I fixed the helmet on my head, a Plazie sneered, "You'll die here, human."
The words bit deep, but Raj leaned in, calm as ever: "If you must fall, fall forward. Even death should fear regret."
And so the race began.
Engines screamed like angry animals. My cloche jerked forward, raw and alive beneath me. The Plazies raced not to win, but to eliminate. They drifted, clashed, spun. One tried to shove me off the track, he failed. I hit his wheel with precision. He spun out, crashing like a rag doll in wind.
Raj? He didn't fight. He flew. Violent, ruthless, precise. He overtook without mercy, without hate. Just speed. He was racing against time, not people.
But I kept up. Wheel to wheel. Breath to breath.
On the final lap, I passed him.
Silence. Then thunder, my comrades, shouting, lifting me up. "Bjorn! Bjorn!"
And Raj? He just stood there, arms crossed, smiling. Like a brother proud, but not surprised.
Now, that memory faded into the wind as I reached the Plazie racing field with Runge and Jurgen. The field here was clean, futuristic, no dust, no chaos. Elizes had control. The Plazies ruled.
Raj stood outside, watching. No cloche left for him, so he picked me to race in his place.
I didn't wear armor. Jurgen and Runge did, their black suits tight as second skin. Maybe they thought I was showing off. Truth? Those suits slowed my reflexes.
We laid down into the clocher, metal bodies humming under our chests. As the engines roared, the ground itself seemed to pulse with threat.
Jurgen was calm, like a monk in war. Runge? He looked like he was ready to tear the track apart. No mercy. Not even for me.
The race began.
From the start, Runge was wild. He drifted close, trying to push me off track. My wheels skidded, jerked but I held. Jurgen came behind, blocking Runge's move like a silent guardian.
This wasn't a friendly race. This was war in motion.
Second lap. My fuel dipped. Cloches weren't kind to hesitation.
Third lap. Runge took over me. Jurgen led the pack. I kept low, conserving what little fuel I had, hands trembling from the speed.
Final lap.
We turned like lizards hugging the curve. Runge tried again to push. My wheels bucked,but I stayed. No fear. No backing down.
Jurgen crossed first, face still like stone. I pushed past Runge in the last moment and took third.
When I got off the cloche, my hands were shaking. Speed does that, it whispers to your nerves, then bites.
Jurgen turned, extended a hand. "That was... intense," he said, a rare warmth in his voice.
Runge walked up, nodding slowly. "You're honest. Skilled. But remember—emotionless competition wins. That's how you survive here."
And Raj, he jumped the barrier, ran toward me like a brother returned from war.
"Bjorn," he said, eyes gleaming, "in races like these, your mind must be faster than the machine. Let it guide you before fear finds you."
After the fierce race on the field, with Raj's instructions and friendly roasts echoing still, we walked together towards the garage, sweat drying on our backs like cracked salt.
Raj had his arm draped over my shoulder, smiling like a brother who knew more than he let on. Grimmer entered first, and then he just froze. His eyes locked on Poshi, a fellow human from Btell who was bent over a pot, stirring something that smelled like home. On the far end, Anna stood too, cooking for the Plazies. But pearce, was laid off, which wavedthe path for Anna.
The kitchen had split in spirit but melted into one in scent.
Grimmer grinned and hugged Poshi from behind.
"Why you always got that powder on your face, man? You tryna look cute or what?"
The whole garage burst into laughter, even the Plazies, even the cold-blooded ones. That night, during supper, we weren't humans or Plazies anymore. We were just soldiers, eating together under the same canopy of stars, on the same cursed planet.
But even unity has shadows. Jurgen, with his sharp eyes and quiet presence, sat apart. Alone. Always alone. Like he wanted to speak but didn't know how. I could feel his silence more than his words. It wasn't arrogance. It was armor.
After the meal, Anna barked orders like a seasoned commander.
"Raj, Grimmer, clean the plates. And I mean spotless."
The rest of us strolled out for a walk. The evening air in Elizes carried no breeze, just stillness. Calm that sat too perfectly, like the silence before a desert storm.
Later, I returned to the resting quarters, spacious rooms stacked with tech beyond imagination, yet still felt like cages. I was working quietly on a new device, one I wasn't ready to talk about, not even to Raj, who burst in like a bullet.
"What's that?" he asked, curious eyes darting over the half-built contraption.
"Nothing," I muttered, half-laughing, hiding its core. "Just some junk." He nodded, then gently pulled me toward the water pool, the next gauntlet in our transformation.
The pool stretched thirty meters across, its black tiles reflecting our faces like an open sky. Runge stood at the edge, instructions ready.
Runge: "Comrades, tonight we drown fears. Submerge and see who breathes past your limits."
Anna slipped into its edge wearing a sleek, dark bikini, an echo of alien elegance. The Btell men barely glanced. But I, young and body-honest, felt the heat in my chest. Jurgen, beside me, watched Anna's face, not her form. I realized then: love didn't need lust.
At Runge's command with sharp eyes, eight of us sank to the pool's bottom. Seconds felt like lifetimes. At 40 seconds, Poshi surfaced, lungs burning. One by one, they all came up, except Grimmer and me. I clung to frozen breaths until 1.8 minutes, then broke through with lungs screaming in protest.
Trainer Taki watched with steel eyes. Strapping an air-pump bag to my torso, she measured lung volume.
Then came Anna and Jurgen, now both surfacing together, breathing heavy. My gaze flicked between them, she, quiet and steady; he, defeated by water, but still defiant.
Raj and Runge followed, Raj doing push-ups in thirty meters of water, Runge running across the pool floor. Taki, battered by this, finally drained the pool mid-performance, dragging them out to report.
"Poshi, Grimmer, Jurgen, Anna, more practice needed," she said.
I raised a brow. "What about me?"
"You're already built for this," she said. "Your body has adapted. You're different."
Days blurred into two months of relentless training. But something broke around us: pools went foul overnight; racing tracks cracked and lifted; simulators shorted out just when we needed them most. It felt deliberate, as if someone wanted us to fail.
I wasn't alone to think that. Jurgen asked Runge, angry, suspicious, but got cold silence back.
Still we trained. Without luxuries, without comforts, against what seemed like a ghost enemy. We ran on sand when water disappeared. We punched air when machines failed. We adapted. We hardened. We grew into beasts. Even Jurgen, once distant, became a brother. Grimmer became a mountain of muscle, but disciplined. Poshi grew competent. Raj stood steady, operating as family's mettle. And Runge? He remained the storm's eye, unchanged, unstoppable.
That night, the eve before our Earth-bound expedition, we walked the training field with heads held high. Runge led, and we followed like beasts returning from war.
But something was wrong.
Eight figures appeared before us, cloaked in brown masks, swords on their backs, guns in hand. They stood like ghosts made of bone and steel, blocking our way under the pale glow of Elizes's twin moons.
Jurgen lifted on his heels to scan the area. His eyes went wide.
"Our guards… they're dead," he whispered.
No weapons. No defense. Just boots on sand, hearts pounding, and the silent demand: survive.
I felt the weight of every moment. The air thickened, the night leaned in. The space between breath and doom closed. Darkness became hungry.
And so we stood, or stumbled, ready for the coming storm.
And finally who were they for and for what ?