settled into a new place—watching, learning, getting to know what expectations were.
A shrill whistle pierced the air and Ben jerked his eyes back toward the stage. An imposing woman stood there, her hands on her hips as she looked down her nose at the gathered recruits. “Listen up! I’m Irina, your class liaison. I’m going to introduce your instructors, and you’re going to sit there quietly, like good little pups and kits…and calves,” she added, with a nod at Ben and Kellan. “Got it?” Her eyes widened at the silence that greeted her question. “I said, got it?”
“Yes ma’am!” the class responded.
“That’s better. Okay, first up—Georgie Redding will be your vehicle operations and driving skills instructor.”
One by one, the instructors filed out onto stage. Ben was a little surprised at the breadth of skills they were expected to learn. He’d expected the typical cop-like stuff, such as the driving, investigating, threat assessment and firearms skills. But basic lab techniques? Computer science? That went beyond everything he’d anticipated.
And then all thoughts about class work flew out of his brain as that guy appeared on stage.
“Oliver Zuraw is a member of our physical fitness team. He specializes in yoga.”
Someone behind Ben snorted derisively.
Irina glared into the audience—straight at Ben. Oh shit. “Mr…Beaufort, is it? Do you have a problem with the concept of yoga?”
“I—it—” Ben swallowed. “No, ma’am.”
“Glad to hear it. Next up…”
Ben slumped into his chair. From behind him, someone whispered, “Sorry to put you on the spot like that, man. But yoga? Am I right?”
Ben grunted and the dude—whoever he was—moved away. Yeah, yoga wasn’t his thing, but that guy—Oliver—kinda was. Except now he probably thought Ben was a douchebag meathead. It was a label that had been attached to him frequently, due to his size and looks. Everyone expected a guy lacking in brains when they saw his muscles and build, and he hated it. It had been something he’d actively worked to change at InnovaTech…and now he was back to square one. Possibly with at least one instructor biased against him.
Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful.
3
FUCN’A was all about routine. Every morning started with someone screeching at dawn—Ben hadn’t thought there was a rooster shifter in the class, but maybe he was wrong. At any rate, it got everyone up for the day in time to hit the gym. They ran, they swam, they lifted weights, and the instructors promised that in the next few weeks, they’d add martial arts instruction to their daily routine.
After breakfast, they had classes. All the classes. Every day it seemed that Ben barely blinked and it was lunchtime, followed by more classes. It was a lot—almost too much, to be honest. But he found himself engaged in a way he’d never experienced in the HR world. He wasn’t just using his brain, but all of him…and it felt right.
On the first day of the second week, Ben gathered with the rest of the class on the outdoor obstacle course. The current head physical fitness instructor, Simon Falk, looked at them all as though they were little more than bugs. It had been a difficult thing to get used to, but Ben was finding it easier to shrug off the instructors’ attitudes. He knew it wasn’t personal—they needed to weed out the recruits that couldn’t take criticism and harsh input. The whole paramilitary thing. Ben thought they’d probably get better results with a little more gentleness, but then, he was coming at it from the civilian corporate world, where glares and harsh words would probably net the person a rebuke in their performance report instead of praise.
“All right, maggots. You see this course behind me? By the end of your tenure at FUCN’A, you’ll be expected to complete it in less than two minutes.”
Ben couldn’t help it—his eyebrows rose. The course was complex and intricate, with all sorts of challenges, from the traditional staggered tires on the ground, to climbing, to…hell, he didn’t even know what.
“Two minutes?” Kellan whispered beside him. “Is he kidding?”
Ben was glad he wasn’t the only one with doubts.
Falk stared at Kellan for a few seconds, making it clear that he knew he’d been talking out of turn, but didn’t say anything. “This is your new nemesis. We’re going to attack it weekly until you know every section by heart. Until you fuckin’ dream about it. Because out there, in the real world, foot chases are rarely linear, on flat surfaces. Endurance is all well and good, but if you can’t