The three-month training program covered far more than weapons and combat.
Nick received instruction in basic carpentry, metalworking, plumbing, water purification, internal-combustion engines, diesel generators, electronic systems, automation, and the installation and maintenance of communication antennas.
Only the final courses involving explosives, counter-sabotage measures, wilderness survival, and emergency medicine resembled preparation for a classified military assignment.
By the end of the program, he could operate hand saws, electric drills, angle grinders, welding equipment, and various construction tools.
He had repaired doors, replaced window frames, patched damaged concrete, and installed sections of plumbing beneath the supervision of professional tradesmen.
An engineer had even made him dismantle an aging diesel generator.
Nick learned how to change the oil and filters, inspect the fuel system, clean the injectors, replace worn components, and identify common electrical or mechanical failures.
He could now take apart most of the machine, put it back together, and restart it without setting the building on fire.
The experience was useful, but he still could not understand how it related to saving the world.
The program felt less like military preparation and more like an accelerated education for someone expected to maintain an isolated house without access to a repair service.
Nick’s original concern involved marksmanship.
The identity created for him belonged to one of the finest long-range shooters in the world.
Levi Kane had confirmed kills from distances exceeding two thousand yards and possessed experience with precision rifles Nick had never handled before entering this movie.
Nick had been an excellent shot in his previous life.
He competed successfully during his Army service and could engage targets reliably at several hundred yards.
With preparation, good weather, and a properly zeroed rifle, he felt comfortable working near eight hundred yards.
That was far different from striking a human target beyond a mile.
He had never fired elite sniper systems such as the McMillan TAC-50, nor had he spent years studying atmospheric pressure, spin drift, extreme-distance wind changes, and the countless other factors required for truly exceptional long-range shooting.
The difference between a good military marksman and a world-class sniper was enormous.
Nick worried that a range test would expose him immediately.
Fortunately, no such test occurred.
His employers appeared to assume that Levi’s proven record made further instruction unnecessary.
They supplied no sniper instructor and devoted very little time to ordinary shooting drills.
Nick soon understood their reasoning.
Elite snipers developed personal methods involving breathing, body position, trigger control, observation, and weapon setup.
Someone capable of teaching Levi Kane anything new would need to be among the finest shooters alive.
Such instructors were not easy to find.
The organization had hired Levi because of his existing skills.
Its training focused instead on preparing him to live, work, and survive in an isolated location where no technician, doctor, or maintenance team would be readily available.
Nick completed the program without revealing the gaps in his borrowed identity.
When departure day arrived, armed personnel escorted him onto a large military transport aircraft.
He expected a long but uncomfortable flight.
Instead, a medic approached him before takeoff and administered an injection.
Nick barely had time to ask what the drug was before his eyelids became heavy.
His surroundings blurred, and consciousness disappeared.
When he awakened, the aircraft was already in flight.
His first clear thought was that Bartholomew probably was not the female lead he had been ordered to rescue.
Nick found the realization strangely comforting.
He understood that the elderly intelligence official merely resembled Ellen Ripley because both women shared the same actress, but the association remained difficult to ignore.
Ripley had survived Xenomorph outbreaks, corporate conspiracies, military disasters, and even her own death.
Saving someone with that level of narrative luck would be unnecessary.
Nick preferred the unknown female lead to be closer to his age.
Youth and beauty would not make the rescue easier, but they would provide considerably more motivation than protecting an elderly official who looked capable of destroying an alien hive with construction equipment.
Nick had not seen Bartholomew since the interview at Camp Pendleton.
She might have been nothing more than a recruiter, though he had not ruled out the possibility that she would become an enemy later.
Anyone who possessed that much authority while refusing to explain the mission deserved suspicion.
Nick blinked several times and examined his surroundings.
He lay on a narrow cot secured to the cargo deck.
A heavy safety belt crossed his waist, and an intravenous line had been taped to his left hand.
The transport aircraft lacked the insulation and soundproofing of a passenger jet.
Engine noise filled the cargo bay with a constant mechanical roar, while vibration traveled through the floor and metal walls.
The compartment was almost completely empty.
Aside from the cot, cargo netting, and a few secured equipment cases, Nick appeared to be the only passenger.
Flying without much cargo made every movement feel harsher.
The fuselage shook so heavily that it reminded him of living inside an apartment while every neighboring unit underwent renovation at the same time.
Nick removed the empty IV line and pressed a cotton pad against the puncture.
The bag had probably contained fluids and additional sedative.
No one could have slept naturally through this much noise and vibration.
As he sat up, he discovered that someone had placed him in an adult diaper during the flight.
Nick stared down at it.
The organization had rendered him unconscious without revealing the duration or destination, yet someone had thoughtfully prepared for the practical consequences of prolonged sedation.
He could not decide whether to feel grateful or insulted.
Nick removed the diaper, searched for a trash container, and found none.
After considering his limited options, he pushed it beneath the cot.
The medication still affected his coordination.
His fingers trembled slightly as he fastened his belt and checked the clothes issued before departure.
Before he completely recovered, the cockpit door opened.
A Black female flight officer emerged and steadied herself against the wall while moving through the swaying cargo bay.
She carried a compact metal case with a biometric scanner built into its lid.
She stopped in front of Nick and held it out.
“Place your left hand on the screen.” Nick complied.
The scanner illuminated beneath his palm.
A lock clicked, and the case opened.
“Put all personal property inside,” she instructed.
“That includes your phone, identification, financial cards, and anything capable of storing location data.” Nick removed Levi Kane’s wallet and smartphone.
Those were the only genuine personal items he carried.
His clothing, parachute, weapons, survival gear, and remaining equipment had all been supplied by the organization.
He hesitated before placing the phone inside.
The device was an iPhone 15 that he had used throughout the three-month training period.
Once he returned to Portland in 2008, he would again be trapped with the slow connection and limited features of the original iPhone.
Nick did not consider himself devoted to any particular technology company, but he had become accustomed to modern navigation, cameras, messaging, and internet access.
Losing sixteen years of smartphone development a second time felt unnecessarily cruel.
The woman closed the case once his belongings were inside.
“We will reach the edge of the restricted airspace in ten minutes.
This is the closest our aircraft is authorized to approach.” Nick looked toward the small porthole.
Mountain ranges stretched across the horizon below.
Deep valleys and thick forests disappeared into the distance, but there were no cities, roads, or recognizable landmarks.
“The pilot will reduce altitude as much as conditions permit,” she continued.
“Current wind projections place your landing area approximately twenty-two to twenty-five miles south of the reporting point.” Nick converted the distance automatically.
Roughly thirty-five to forty kilometers.
“You are expected to report by sixteen hundred hours tomorrow.” “That’s a long hike.” “You were trained for it.” She handed him a sealed waterproof pouch.
“Open this after landing.
It contains your navigation materials, access credentials, and final approach instructions.” Nick accepted the package.
“Where are we?” The question almost escaped before he stopped himself.
They had sedated him throughout the flight, confiscated every device capable of recording a location, and selected an insertion point beyond a restricted no-fly zone.
The secrecy existed precisely to prevent him from identifying the region.
The flight officer would either refuse to answer or provide false information.
Nick placed the pouch inside his chest pack.
“Anything else?” “Do not lose the package.
Your replacement will not admit you without the correct authentication.” The woman studied him briefly.
“Good luck, Mr.
Kane.” She returned toward the cockpit.
Nick watched her disappear behind the door, then began preparing for the jump.
The cargo-bay lights changed to red.
Hydraulic mechanisms engaged beneath the engine noise.
The rear ramp slowly lowered, allowing a violent stream of cold air to rush inside.
Cargo nets snapped against the walls.
Loose straps whipped in the wind while the sound of the engines became nearly deafening.
Nick secured his parachute harness and attached the heavy equipment pack across the front of his body.
He inspected every buckle, line, release handle, and connection point before repeating the process from the beginning.
A parachute failure was not something Suspended Animation Recovery could fix after he struck the ground.
Nick approached the open ramp and looked down.
The aircraft had descended to approximately three thousand feet.
Forested mountains passed beneath him, broken by narrow valleys, exposed stone, and occasional patches of water.
His stomach tightened.
In his previous life, Nick had served in a conventional Army unit and never received advanced airborne training.
He also carried a lingering fear of heights after dying in a fall from a cliff.
His disastrous first movie journey changed his priorities.
Dying on LV-426 because he did not understand a spacesuit taught him that fictional worlds could kill him through simple ignorance long before the main threat appeared.
Once he returned, Nick paid for civilian parachuting, scuba-diving, and survival courses whenever his schedule allowed.
He could not claim to be an expert paratrooper or combat diver.
He would never volunteer for a high-altitude, high-opening infiltration or a difficult low-opening jump into hostile terrain.
Still, he possessed enough knowledge to handle standard equipment under reasonable conditions.
The modern ram-air canopy offered control and a useful glide ratio.
From the current altitude, Nick would have time to identify a safe landing zone, steer away from trees, and avoid being carried too far by the wind.
He focused on the indicator beside the ramp.
The red light remained steady.
Nick drew several slow breaths and reviewed the procedure one final time.
He checked the harness, secured the chest pack, confirmed the reserve handle, and moved to the edge.
The light turned green.
Nick ran three steps and jumped.
The aircraft vanished above him as the wind seized his body.
For several seconds, the world became noise, cold air, and uncontrolled motion.
Nick stabilized himself, watched his altitude, and deployed the main canopy.
The parachute opened with a sharp pull against the harness.
His rapid descent slowed immediately.
Nick looked up and inspected the canopy.
The fabric had inflated correctly, with no twisted lines, tears, or collapsed sections.
He took control of the toggles and began scanning the ground.
The mountains offered very few welcoming choices.
Dense trees covered most of the slopes, and the open sections appeared steep or filled with rock.
Landing in the forest risked becoming suspended in the canopy or impaled on a broken branch.
A small lake appeared to the north.
The shoreline contained a broad patch of grass and low vegetation with no large trees nearby.
Choosing it would place him farther from the direct route and increase the distance he needed to walk, but it offered the safest landing area within reach.
Nick turned the canopy toward it.
He preferred an exhausting hike to being rescued from the top of a pine tree.
The wind pushed him east, but the parachute remained responsive.
He adjusted his approach, reduced his forward speed near the ground, and prepared for impact.
His boots struck the grass beside the lake.
Nick bent his knees and rolled, allowing the momentum to carry him across the damp ground.
The canopy collapsed behind him without dragging him toward the water.
He lay still for several seconds.
Nothing appeared broken.
Nick released the harness, stood, and began gathering the parachute.
The transport aircraft had already disappeared beyond the mountains.
No engine noise remained, leaving only the movement of water and the distant calls of birds.
Nick looked across the isolated landscape.
He had landed safely.
Somewhere more than twenty miles to the north, a hidden outpost waited beside a gorge powerful enough to threaten the entire world.
Nick removed the sealed waterproof pouch from his chest pack.
The easy part was over.