The first time Kaden Mercer watched someone die, the HUD helped.

  That was the worst part.

  The corridor shuddered with the thump of impacts and the flat bark of sim rifles, light strobing across bare ribs of bulkhead. Gravity in the training hulk was set a little low, just enough to make every step feel floaty and wrong, like his boots were pretending to grip.

  “Squad Bravo, advance,” the instructor said over comms. He sounded bored. “You’re behind on the timeline.”

  “Copy, Instructor,” Hargreaves answered. “Bravo, push.”

  Kaden moved with the file, second in line behind Navarro. Sweat prickled under the helmet seal and ran down into his eyes. The suit tried to wick it away, not quite keeping up.

  He flicked his gaze to the upper left of his HUD.

  Hargreaves – HP: 100%

  Navarro – HP: 100%

  Jensen – HP: 100%

  Mercer – HP: 100%

  Four green bars. That was all Aurora-CADET really gave them in here: health, ammo, a timer, and a general direction to go die in.

  “Corner,” Navarro said quietly. “You take right?”

  “I got right,” Kaden said. His mouth felt dry. “You miss left, I’m filing a complaint.”

  “Yeah, file it from the infirmary,” she said.

  They reached the junction. Hargreaves raised a fist and the line bunched up, mag-boots scraping softly. The corridor T’d off. Lights flickered overhead, half-working strips casting harsh shadows.

  “Standard sweep,” Hargreaves said. “Navarro, Mercer, clear. Jensen, rear security. Move clean, move fast. Instructor’s watching.”

  “Copy,” Kaden said.

  He felt Jensen’s presence behind him more than he heard him, that familiar loud helmet breathing he could pick out anywhere in the barracks.

  “Ready?” Navarro asked.

  “Go,” Hargreaves ordered.

  Navarro swung left, rifle up. Kaden turned with her, muzzle tracing down the new corridor.

  Two shapes moved at the far end. Human-sized drones, armor padded and scuffed from a thousand training runs. Their visors glowed orange, the “shoot me” color they’d drilled on for weeks.

  “Contact,” Navarro said, and opened fire.

  Her rifle cracked in tight bursts. Kaden’s joined in, the recoil hammering his shoulder. Muzzle flash turned his sight picture into a flicker book of light and shadow.

  One drone’s visor burst in a shower of sparks. The other staggered as rounds hit home, then raised its own gun.

  A few impacts rang off the bulkheads. One smacked into Kaden’s upper arm, rocking him sideways.

  [SIM HIT – ARM: NON-CRITICAL]

  [Mercer – HP: 92%]

  “Push,” Hargreaves snapped. “Don’t let it dig in. Move.”

  They shuffled forward in something like textbook fashion. Kaden ducked into a shallow doorway, leaned out, and fired again. Navarro mirrored him on the opposite side.

  Their rounds finally chewed through the second drone’s armor. It jerked, then tipped over, clanging against the deck.

  [SIM HOSTILE – DOWN]

  “Clear,” Navarro said.

  “Advance to junction B-12,” Hargreaves said. “We’re catching up. Jensen, keep our rear clear.”

  “Copy,” Jensen said. He sounded nervous and trying not to be.

  They moved on. The corridor here was narrower, more cramped. Insulation had been stripped away long ago, leaving exposed conduit that vibrated faintly with every step. The stink of burnt polymer and old oil hung in the air.

  A timer ticked in the top right of Kaden’s HUD, counting down the scenario. They were still in the green for now.

  He took half a breath.

  The ceiling exploded.

  Metal screamed as a panel tore free. Dust and shredded insulation fell in a choking curtain. Something big crashed down through it, hitting the deck hard enough that Kaden felt it through his feet.

  It landed in front of them. Not on their objective path. Not on any of the sim layouts he’d crammed before the run.

  This drone was bigger. Squat, ugly, its chassis built around a single heavy mount. Four barrel clusters ringed a red sensor strip like a single, angry eye.

  “Contact front!” Navarro yelled.

  “That’s not in the—” Jensen started.

  The turret swiveled. The red strip swept along the corridor and paused.

  Kaden’s HUD flashed a warning.

  [DETECTED: LIVE-FIRE MODE]

  He had just enough time to think that couldn’t be right.

  The gun went off.

  The sound was deeper than the sim rifles. Less crack, more impact. It punched through the air, a pressure wave that slapped at his chest.

  The round hit the wall high and right, tore a fist-sized bite out of the bulkhead, and came apart. Shards of metal sprayed down the corridor.

  One of them caught Jensen.

  It hit square in the chest. The impact caved his breastplate in like a stomped can. One moment he was upright behind Kaden. The next he was an awkward shape in the air, low-g turning his fall slow and weightless.

  He hit the deck hard and didn’t get back up.

  CADET JENSEN – HP: 54%

  [CRITICAL DAMAGE DETECTED]

  [STATUS: BLEEDING]

  “Fuck,” Navarro breathed.

  “Return fire!” Hargreaves shouted. “Kill that thing!”

  Kaden’s body reacted before his brain did. He swung his rifle up and poured rounds into the turret. Sparks flew as armor chipped away. Navarro joined in, shots striking around the gun. Hargreaves added his own from the back.

  The turret stitched the corridor in reply. A heavier hit smashed into the floor where Kaden’s feet had been half a second earlier. Stray shrapnel tinked off his armor.

  [SIM ENVIRONMENT WARNING: STRUCTURAL STRESS]

  Under the noise, Kaden heard something else. A low, broken sound from behind him.

  He didn’t wait to see if the turret was fully down. He pushed off and ran.

  “Mercer, hold,” Hargreaves snapped. “We don’t know—”

  Kaden tuned him out.

  He slid across the deck and ended up on his knees beside Jensen. His rifle skittered away when the mag-lock lost contact.

  Jensen lay on his back. His chest plate was wrong. The center had been punched inward, forming a rough bowl driven into his ribs. Cracks spidered out from the impact point. Paint had been blown off. Bare metal showed through, dark and wet around the edges.

  Blood. Real this time.

  CADET JENSEN – HP: 31%

  [STATUS: CRITICAL – INTERNAL TRAUMA]

  “Jensen,” Kaden said. His voice came out thin. “Hey. You’re good. You’re okay.”

  Jensen’s visor was crazed with cracks. Blood smeared the inside of it, clinging in streaks. His eyes moved behind the fractures, unfocused, then trying to fix on Kaden.

  “That… wasn’t sim,” he rasped.

  “No,” Kaden said. It tasted like ash.

  “Instructor,” Hargreaves said over general comm. “We’ve got a real hit. Armor breach, critical.”

  The instructor’s tone changed. No lazy amusement now.

  “Copy. Status report on the casualty.”

  Kaden’s HUD updated.

  CADET JENSEN – HP: 24%

  [CONDITION: UNSTABLE – INTERNAL BLEEDING SUSPECTED]

  [EST. TIME TO SYSTEM FAILURE: 00:42]

  Forty-two seconds, and the numbers already falling.

  “Critical,” Kaden snapped. “He’s critical. We need med team here now.”

  “Emergency response team dispatched,” the instructor said, voice clipped. “Fastest route puts them at three minutes. Do what you can to keep him alive. Do not move him.”

  Three minutes. The timer next to Jensen’s name read 00:37.

  Navarro swore under her breath. “You have got to be kidding.”

  Kaden swallowed hard. His heart pounded in his throat.

  The training lectures ran through his head, all of them suddenly paper thin. Basic first aid. Stabilize. Don’t overcomplicate it. That had sounded fine when the “patient” was a dummy with a painted wound.

  “Jensen,” Kaden said again, because he needed to keep him anchored. “Hey. Look at me.”

  “It… hurts,” Jensen whispered. Every breath sounded wet and broken. “Feels like… someone parked a shuttle on my chest.”

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  “Good,” Kaden lied. “Means you’re still here.”

  HP: 20%

  Navarro shifted somewhere behind him, boots dragging. Her rifle stayed up. Kaden heard her breathing hard over comms.

  “We’ve got you,” he said. “I’ve got you. Just stay with me.”

  He found the latches on the chest plate by touch. The impact had warped them, bent metal over the catches.

  “Come on,” he muttered. “Come on.”

  He braced against the deck and yanked. One latch snapped open with a sharp crack. The armor shifted. Blood, trapped behind it, slid out in a sudden run, soaking into Jensen’s undersuit and Kaden’s gloves.

  HP: 17%

  “Shit,” Kaden whispered.

  “What’s happening?” Navarro asked tightly.

  “Plate is crushed,” Kaden said. “He’s bleeding out. I’ve got to get at it.”

  The second latch took more effort. Metal groaned. Kaden’s fingers slipped once, then found purchase. The catch popped, the plate tilted.

  More blood followed.

  The third latch finally gave after a hard pull. The armor over Jensen’s chest lifted enough for Kaden to peel it away.

  He regretted it the moment he saw what lay under it.

  The undersuit was shredded and blackened. The flesh beneath was a ruin of torn muscle and cracked bone. His chest didn’t rise quite right when he struggled to breathe. One side tried. The other didn’t.

  For a heartbeat, the corridor narrowed down to that one view: Jensen’s opened chest, the ugly glisten of organs that should never see light, and the stutter of a failing ribcage.

  Kaden’s vision blurred at the edges. Sound went muffled, like someone had closed a door on the world.

  A small alert blinked at the edge of his HUD.

  [USER STRESS: ELEVATED]

  He pulled air in until his lungs hurt and forced the rest of the corridor back into focus.

  “Stop the bleeding,” he said to himself. “Airway, breathing, circulation.”

  That was what the lecture had said. Start somewhere.

  He grabbed Jensen’s medkit from his belt. The clasp stuck, then came open under his fingers. Inside, everything was absurdly clean and orderly: rolled dressings, packeted sealant patches, one trauma injector, a compact scanner puck.

  Kaden snatched a sealant patch, tore the wrapper with his teeth, and slapped it over the worst of the open wound. Blood soaked around his fingers.

  “Sorry, sorry,” he said as Jensen cried out, a thin, ragged sound. “I know. Just… hold on.”

  The sealant activated, hissing as it reacted with air and fluid. The gel spread, trying to seal a hole that wanted to stay open.

  [BLEED RATE: REDUCED]

  HP: 14%

  [EST. TIME TO SYSTEM FAILURE: 00:39]

  He had bought a few seconds. That was all.

  “Med team, ETA?” the instructor demanded.

  “Two minutes thirty,” a new voice answered. “We’re forcing hatch B-6. Doors aren’t playing nice.”

  “Keep pressure,” Kaden muttered. His hands pressed around the sealant, fingers trying to find spots that felt like they mattered. Everything felt wrong.

  Airway. Jensen was breathing, if you could call it that. Blood bubbled at his lips with every inhale. If Kaden tilted his head, maybe it would help him clear it. Or maybe he’d shift something vital and finish the job the shrapnel had started.

  He looked at the trauma injector in the kit. The label said it was for shock and pain. He couldn’t remember if they’d warned about using it on someone with internal bleeding.

  “Should I—” he started.

  “Don’t get fancy,” Hargreaves said from somewhere above him. His voice had lost its certainty. “Keep him alive. That’s it.”

  “That’s the problem,” Kaden said. “I don’t know how.”

  “Jensen,” Navarro cut in, voice oddly gentle. “You still with us?”

  “Yeah,” Jensen managed. He tried to laugh. It came out as a bloody cough. “Lucky me.”

  HP: 11%

  Kaden’s gloves were soaked now. The armor around Jensen’s chest looked like someone had started painting it red and given up halfway.

  “Stay awake,” Kaden said. “You hear those boots? That’s med team coming. Just hang on until they get here.”

  “They… better be hot,” Jensen said. “I don’t want to die for… a bunch of slow assholes.”

  “You’re not dying,” Kaden said.

  “Liar,” Jensen whispered. His eyes softened a little. “And you wonder…why you always lose…at poker.”

  HP: 8%

  Footsteps rang in the distance, faint, echoing along the corridor. Shouted orders bounced off metal. Too far.

  Navarro spoke quietly in his ear. “Med team sounds like they’re in the wrong damned wing.”

  “Navarro,” Hargreaves said. It sounded like a warning out of habit rather than conviction.

  “What? We can all see the bar,” she replied. “We know how this is going.”

  Kaden heard her. The words slid off the surface of his thoughts.

  He pressed down again. Tried to remember if he was crushing something important. Aurora didn’t offer any hints beyond the simple numbers.

  “Don’t let them say I panicked,” Jensen murmured.

  “You didn’t,” Kaden said at once. “You stayed on the line. You did everything right.”

  “Good,” Jensen said. “Then… they can’t use me in… those stupid safety vids.”

  “Jensen,” Kaden said, forcing his voice to stay steady. “Look at me.”

  It took effort, but Jensen’s eyes found him again.

  “Yeah,” Jensen said.

  “Remember when you said this whole thing was rigged?” Kaden asked.

  “Still… think it is.”

  “Then you’re not allowed to check out before I can tell you ‘told you so’ after graduation,” Kaden said.

  Jensen huffed a little breath that might once have been a laugh.

  HP: 5%

  Closer now. The med team’s boots were finally loud enough to be real, not just hope. They were running. Kaden heard gear clatter.

  “Make way!” someone shouted down the corridor.

  “Almost there,” Kaden said. He wasn’t sure if he meant them or himself.

  Jensen’s breaths were shallow, like his body had decided air was optional.

  “Kaden,” he whispered.

  “Right here.”

  “You’re… covered in my blood,” Jensen said.

  “Adds character,” Kaden replied.

  “You don’t… have any character.”

  Kaden let out a sound that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t hurt.

  “Don’t let them say I washed out in training,” Jensen said. “Promise.”

  “I promise,” Kaden said.

  HP: 3%

  [SYSTEM FAILURE IMMINENT]

  The med team arrived in a rush of white-striped armor and urgency. Two of them dropped to their knees beside Jensen, kit cases already open, tools in hand.

  “Move, cadet,” one of them said, firm.

  Kaden’s fingers didn’t want to let go. Hargreaves grabbed his shoulder and tugged.

  “Mercer,” he said. “Let them work.”

  Kaden’s hands slid off the sealant. The patch stayed in place. His gloves came away slick and red.

  The lead medic spared him a glance, then focused on Jensen. Aurora fed him data Kaden couldn’t see, visor flicking with information.

  “Armor off,” the medic said. “Get that plate clear.”

  They carved the rest of the chest plate away with a compact cutter. Plastic and metal popped and curled. A second medic inserted an airway tube. Another slapped monitors onto Jensen’s skin.

  The portable node on the deck beeped, complaining.

  Kaden stood a step back, breathing hard. Navarro had lowered her weapon. Her grip was white-knuckled. Hargreaves hovered near Kaden like he wasn’t sure if he should steady him or bark orders.

  “Come on,” one of the medics muttered. “Give me something. Anything.”

  Aurora answered, but not the way they wanted.

  CADET JENSEN – HP: 1%

  The lead medic’s jaw clenched. He pressed his hands down and started compressions, counting under his breath. Another medic hit a control on the node. An injector hissed.

  Jensen did not move.

  Kaden watched the node’s little display flicker. He couldn’t see the details, but he saw the shift in the medic’s posture when the reading came back.

  CADET JENSEN – HP: 0%

  [STATUS: KIA]

  [CAUSE: INTERNAL TRAUMA / HEMORRHAGE]

  The HP bar in Kaden’s HUD vanished. In its place, beside Jensen’s name, a simple tag appeared.

  [KIA]

  The medic kept working for a few more compressions, then stopped. He sat back on his heels, breathing heavily.

  “Time of death?” someone asked.

  “Marked by System,” the lead medic said. “Log it.”

  The portable node gave a soft confirming tone.

  The instructor came back over general, voice brittle.

  “Simulation terminated. All squads, stand down. This exercise is over.”

  Objective markers blinked out. The scenario timer disappeared. The world boiled down to steel, blood, and the handful of people still breathing.

  Jensen stayed where he was. No reset. No polite fade-out.

  Kaden was aware of hands at his helmet. The seal broke with a click. Cooler air hit his face. He hadn’t realized how hot it had gotten inside.

  “Cadet,” the lead medic said.

  Kaden looked up. The man’s face was angular and tired, dark stubble shadowing his jaw. He glanced once at Kaden’s blood-smeared armor, then at Jensen.

  “You stayed with him,” the medic said. “You kept pressure on. You got the plate off. That bought him… something.”

  “It didn’t buy him enough,” Kaden said. His voice sounded flat.

  The medic was quiet for a moment.

  “Sometimes there isn’t an ‘enough’ to buy,” he said. “Not with what you had, not with what hit him. That doesn’t mean what you did was useless. It just means the universe isn’t fair.”

  Kaden’s jaw tightened.

  “That supposed to make me feel better?” he asked.

  “No,” the medic said. “It’s just the truth.”

  He pushed himself to his feet with a small grunt, then jerked his chin at his team. They began packing up, moving with the tired efficiency of people who had done this too many times.

  They lifted Jensen carefully onto a stretcher. Someone covered his faceplate with a plain white sheet. The KIA tag stayed in Kaden’s HUD, hovering beside a blank patch of cloth.

  As they carried him away down the corridor, the red smear on the deck and the streaks on Kaden’s gloves were the only signs he had ever been there.

  The instructor’s voice returned, muted.

  “All cadets, report to debrief room C in twenty minutes.”

  The channel clicked off.

  Hargreaves let go of Kaden’s shoulder. Navarro said nothing. She just looked at the blood and then at her own clean hands, like she wasn’t sure what to do with them.

  Kaden stared at his HUD.

  Hargreaves – HP: 100%

  Navarro – HP: 96%

  Mercer – HP: 92%

  Jensen – KIA

  Three green bars. One cold tag.

  A soft icon blinked at the edge of his vision. Aurora had logged the incident, flagged something for debrief. He dismissed it without opening it.

  Later, people would talk about malfunctioning safety systems and hardware audits, about how rare this kind of training accident was. They would say no one was at fault and that “these things happen” when you prepare for war.

  Standing in that corridor with Jensen’s blood sticky on his gloves, Kaden understood one thing with a clarity that made his stomach hurt.

  He had been there. He had tried. He had watched the numbers slide from fifty-four to zero and had not known enough to stop it.

  He could live with the war being unfair. He was less sure he could live with knowing he couldn’t save his friend.