Danny sat on the bench, his fingers stiffly interlaced, drilling into me with a heavy, unblinking stare. In the dim glow of the park lamps, he looked surprisingly imposing despite his ridiculous getup. The clatter of skateboard wheels against concrete in the background had turned into a monotonous, oppressive rhythm that only underscored the gravity of the moment. I felt like I was under interrogation, with the prosecutor ten years younger than the defendant. Not a great feeling, honestly, a dull irritation stirred inside me, mixed with that ingrained office habit of enduring management reprimands.
"I’m listening carefully," I said, lowering myself onto the cold wood of the bench beside him and trying to keep a straight face.
"Tom, do you even realize where that callback came from today?" Danny’s voice, muffled by his collar, was dull but distinct.
"Uh... from the Pentagon?" I recalled Parker’s pale face. "He was mumbling something about the higher echelons."
"Close. It’s a direct hotline to the Awakened Corps," he said it with the weight of someone talking about a nuclear detonator. "You see, every one of us runs into... complications now and then. You know, when you urgently need to go save the world, and some nitpicking patrol officer won’t let you through over an unpaid fine or bad parking. One call to that number, and any bureaucratic wall crumbles to dust."
I glanced at the smartphone in my pocket. An ordinary slab of plastic and glass suddenly felt like a magical artifact imbued with unprecedented power.
"Wow... and how does it work? I just call, complain about life, and a couple minutes later Apache helicopters show up to restore order?"
"In broad terms, yeah," Danny waved his hand vaguely in the air.
"So you can solve literally any problem with it?" the opportunistic civilian in me perked up. "Like paying off a mortgage? Or getting a personal invitation to dinner at the White House? Or maybe..."
"That’s exactly what I wanted to talk to you about, Tom," Danny turned sharply toward me, his gaze turning sharp. "Yeah, the government accommodates us. These are, to put it mildly, turbulent times, practically wartime. Every awakened individual isn’t just a soldier, but a walking strategic asset. We’re pampered, protected, and generally kept from being upset over trivialities. But getting cocky and abusing that privilege is the worst thing you can do. Do you understand me?"
"Perfectly," I replied, instantly dropping the trace of irony.
"Honestly?" he still watched me with suspicion, trying to read my reaction in the shadows.
"Danny, listen. I spent almost ten years working in an office, right in the thick of corporate infighting," I sighed, watching teenagers on the platform attempt another ollie. "I know very well that even if you’re an irreplaceable specialist holding the whole department together, and the boss is ready to kiss your ass, it’s still a bad idea to bother management over nonsense. It’ll cost you more in the end."
Danny froze for a moment, then unmistakable respect flickered in his eyes.
"Wow... that’s wise. Seriously, a very sound approach."
"Oh, come on," I waved it off. "Any normal adult who’s ever tried to get vacation time at an inconvenient moment knows that."
"That’s the point, an adult," Danny let out a heavy sigh, and there was the fatigue of someone burdened beyond their limits in his voice. "I had a few guys in my group... they awakened at fifteen and immediately lost their heads. Calling the line over complete nonsense, getting denied entry to a nightclub, or because a waiter gave them the wrong look. In the end, the higher command chewed me out first for wasting the budget, and then them. And believe me, my version of a chewing out didn’t sit well with them."
"Being a curator isn’t easy," I gave him a sympathetic look. The guy really did seem down. "So what about me? Did I go too far today?"
"On a scale from one to five? A solid three. At least you didn’t end up in a police station for disorderly conduct like some of my particularly gifted ones," he muttered a name under his breath, clearly not fondly. "But using Corps resources just to shut up a curious firearms instructor... that’s not exactly a life-or-death situation."
"Agreed. Understood."
"If you understand, then don’t count on that kind of safety net again. At least not for the next couple of months. Better yet, just stay out of trouble until the official draft. Keep your head down."
I nodded silently. Lesson learned. I had already settled things with Parker, the certificates were in my pocket, and with the rest of the training centers I would need to act more carefully without dragging Danny into it. But since we were already talking about the future, I decided to squeeze as much useful information out of him as possible.
"Danny, as you’ve already noticed, I’m serious about this. I’m not preparing for the army just for show," I saw him nod with approval. "What would you recommend I start studying right now? What should I focus on so I don’t look like dead weight in the Awakened Corps?"
"Well... they teach you everything there. From scratch, and for free. It’s a state program, manuals, training grounds..."
"I’ve got a three-month head start," I cut him off sharply. "And I’m not going to waste it watching shows and eating pizza. I want to show up there ready for anything."
"Those three months are actually meant for you to settle things with banks, say goodbye to your family, and get your thoughts in order," he reminded me, but when he met my unwavering stare, he gave in. "Alright, alright. Shooting is definitely a yes. A solid skill, never useless. What else?.. Let me think..."
"Maybe hand-to-hand combat?" I suggested.
"Only if you want to impress girls or toss some rookies around in a training ring," Danny waved his hand vaguely. "You see, in the portals... everything’s different. In all eight years of my service, I never once got to the point of throwing punches. If it comes down to hand-to-hand, it means you’ve already made a dozen fatal mistakes and are most likely dead. Fighting skills are extremely niche and rarely applicable in real combat."
I grimaced involuntarily. Great. I had already shelled out a decent chunk of money for express courses in jiu jitsu and krav maga, hoping a black belt would be a meaningful advantage in my file. Well, too late to cancel now, and a basic ability to defend myself in a dark alley might still come in handy as a civilian.
"Oh, right!" Danny suddenly perked up and slammed his fist into his open palm. "Tom, listen carefully: learn Spanish. Sit down with textbooks right now."
"Spanish?" I blinked. "Why? Are we going to be attacked by matadors in the portals?"
"It’s both more mundane and more complicated," Danny shook his head. "Portals are unpredictable. They open all over the globe. And Latin America is one of the hottest zones right now. We, as the strongest force, are constantly deployed there as allied support. Trust my experience: knowing the language so you can communicate with locals, understand what a panicking sergeant’s babbling about, or just negotiate for supplies is a skill that saves lives more often than shooting with both hands."
"Wait... it’s noble that we help our neighbors, but don’t they have their own awakened?"
"That’s the catch," Danny gave a bitter smirk. "Awakened appear everywhere. But not all of them want to stay in Uruguay or Bolivia when the United States hands out green cards almost instantly just for having abilities. There’s a massive brain drain. It creates an absurd situation where a country has zero specialists because they’re all living in Miami or New York. And when a portal opens there, we’re the ones who fly in to clean up the mess."
"And what, those new Americans with green cards can’t just fly back and help their own? They know the language and the terrain."
"It’s not that simple, Tom. Some are assigned elsewhere, some don’t meet the requirements, and some just don’t want to go back to where they escaped from. So learn Spanish. That’s my most sincere advice. In the Corps, someone with both combat skills and translation ability will be in extremely high demand."
I looked down at my hands, thinking. Shooting, combat training, and now a foreign language. The to-do list for the next three months was growing exponentially, but instead of panic, it sparked a strange, cold passion.
"Alright," I shrugged. "Combat skills are closer to my nature, but if a veteran says it’s necessary, then it’s necessary. What other aces do experienced fighters keep up their sleeves?"
Danny paused for a moment, watching another skater nearly wipe out attempting a complicated trick.
"Emergency medical care, Tom. That’s fundamental. Even if you’re invulnerable, you need to be able to pull your partner back from the brink."
"Already signed up," I said shortly. "Intensive courses start next week."
"Wow, that was fast. Good. What else?.. " he rubbed his chin under the hoodie collar. "Right! Running. Not just jogging in the morning, but explosive sprinting and obstacle running. Learn to move your legs very fast, Tom. That skill will save your ass in a portal more often than any pistol."
I frowned. First aid, now running...
"You know, Danny, your advice isn’t exactly filling me with optimism. It sounds like my main task there is just to survive. Maybe you could shed some light on what exactly is going on on the other side of those portals? Why all this preparation?"
Danny straightened instantly. His relaxed posture vanished, replaced by military rigidity.
"That information is classified as strictly confidential and unavailable to civilian personnel," he stated as if reciting a regulation.
I cast a pointed glance around the park, now nearly empty. The teenagers were still rattling their boards on the platform, but within ten yards of our bench there wasn’t a single person.
"Come on, Danny. No one can hear us over that noise and shouting. We’re on the same side. Tell me what I should prepare for."
"Tom, didn’t you hear me?" he looked at me with a strange mix of pity and firmness. "The civilian here is you."
"What do you mean?" I was genuinely taken aback. "We were just discussing my career! I train twelve hours a day, I’m practically already in the ranks!"
"Your future career," he corrected firmly, raising a finger. "Until the moment you take the oath and sign a stack of non-disclosure documents, you’re just an ordinary citizen to the United States. A taxpayer. A civilian. Usually, awakened individuals are taken immediately, a couple of days to pack, then a base in Washington, and professors in white coats start explaining the nature of the portals. But you’re a unique case. And I don’t have the authority to break protocol. You’ll have to be patient."
"Alright," I exhaled, suppressing a surge of irritation. "Secrets are secrets. But at least tell me this: if all of it is so classified, does that mean I can’t even tell my mom what I do?"
Danny smirked. "You can tell anyone you want, Tom. But under your own responsibility. Keep this in mind: if information from your close ones leaks into the media or shows up in some blog, you’ll face problems on a scale that’ll make Parker look like a kind fairy. Got it?"
"Got it. Understood. Blood, sweat, and silence. Anything else on the list?"
"The army will evaluate you on three points: shooting, hand-to-hand, and physical conditioning. Those are the core disciplines used to judge your fitness, but given how rare the awakened are, they’d take you even without arms. From me personally: Spanish, medicine, and running. And maybe a course on dealing with difficult teenagers, if you ever decide to follow in my footsteps and become a curator," he winked, getting up from the bench. "Everything else is up to you. Adjust based on your strengths."
That was where we parted ways.
At home, when the city outside the window finally sank into dusk, I sat down at my computer. Danny’s words about Spanish would not leave my mind. Honestly, the idea of studying verb conjugations instead of drilling strikes did not appeal to me much. In my mind, missions like that should involve interpreters or some kind of high-tech gadgets. But since I had two hours before sleep that I usually wasted doomscrolling through social media, why not spend them on something useful?
I had never had a talent for languages. Back in school, I struggled to squeeze out even basic Spanish phrases. But now the rules had changed. I had superpowers.
I closed my eyes, summoning the internal interface.
[Special command: study Spanish until midnight]
A red notification immediately flashed before my eyes, something I had not expected at all:
[Error! The Trainer does not possess the required knowledge to stimulate the subject’s growth in this area]
I practically jumped in my chair. Oh... I had not seen that coming. So to learn a language, I already had to know it? That made no sense. When I went to the gym, I was not an athlete, yet the Trainer perfectly corrected my movements.
I froze, analyzing the situation. Right! Before touching a barbell, I had watched hundreds of videos on proper technique. It was the same with the pistol, Parker’s lectures, online clips... So first I had to load a data package into the Trainer, some kind of theoretical base, so it could guide my body and mind? Knowledge did not appear out of nowhere, it had to enter the system from somewhere.
It was only a theory, but it sounded logical. Well then, time to test it.
The next two hours flew by at a frantic pace.
I watched dozens of guides titled "Spanish for beginners: where to start."
I dug through polyglot forums, writing down the most effective memorization techniques.
I bought and downloaded five of the best digital textbooks and audio courses.
I listened to the basic rules of phonetics and pronunciation.
The textbooks strongly recommended hiring a tutor and keeping a handwriting notebook, but I did not care about calligraphy right now. I needed results.
I closed my eyes again. Attempt number two.
[Special command: study Spanish until midnight]
This time it worked. The world around me dimmed instantly, the hum of the refrigerator and the noise from the street vanished. My attention narrowed to a single glowing rectangle of the monitor. Information no longer crept in with resistance, it poured into my mind in a steady, powerful stream. Grammar rules that once looked like incomprehensible gibberish arranged themselves into clear logical chains. Words locked into memory as if burned in with a laser.
When I finally surfaced from the hyperfocus state, my head responded with heaviness and a dull ache in my temples. Damn, I had not overloaded my brain like that in a long time. The last time was in college, when I tried to cram an entire year of economics into a single night. Good thing I had set a limit until midnight, intuition told me that trying to learn the entire language in one sitting would have simply melted my brain.
Time to test the results. I opened a dictionary to the letter A and covered the right column with my hand.
"Apple..." Manzana.
"And..." Y.
"Ask..." Preguntar.
"All..." Todo.
My fingers ran quickly down the list, and every word surfaced instantly, without hesitation. I did not just remember the translation, I felt the taste of the words, their place in a sentence. I had not reached the letter B today, but that no longer mattered.
I felt like a computer that had just installed new software. Goodbye dull memorization and endless repetition. With the Trainer, I would become a polyglot faster than it would take me to get to the base in Washington.
I wondered, if I watched a video about piloting a helicopter or performing neurosurgery... how far did my limits actually go?