Spawn of Nothingness

The sun climbed higher, turning the sky a pale blue and casting sharp shadows across the beach. Lance's muscles screamed as he joined the other trainees in formation, his chest still heaving from the grueling boat drills though energy filled him again.

The instructors barked orders, pacing back and forth like hawks sizing up prey.

"LISTEN UP!" bellowed the lead instructor, his voice slicing through the dull roar of the ocean behind them. "This next phase will separate the men from the boys. It's not just about muscles or stamina—it's about your goddamn willpower."

Lance stood at attention, the salty wind whipping against his face, trying to absorb every word.

He could feel the energy around him—some men radiated determination, while others seemed ready to break.

"Get ready," the instructor barked, pointing toward the surf. "Because this next part is all about embracing misery. You want to quit? You want to ring that bell and walk away? Now's your chance!" He gestured toward a brass bell gleaming near the edge of the beach, its presence a constant reminder of failure.

No one moved.

"Good," the instructor said, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Now get your sorry asses into that water and SIT DOWN. Back straight, hands locked in front of you. Stay there until I say otherwise."

The group jogged to the shoreline, the cold spray of the waves already sending chills through their uniforms. Without hesitation, they waded into the water and sat down in a horizontal line, their legs stretched out and backs ramrod straight.

The icy Pacific water surged around them, soaking their bodies and stealing the warmth from their skin.

Lance clenched his jaw as the frigid water seeped through his clothes, soaking into his skin. The cold was relentless, wrapping around him and sapping his strength.

His breath came in shallow gasps, but he forced himself to stay still, his hands locked together as instructed.

"LOOK AT YOU ALL," one of the instructors shouted, pacing the beach. "NO GETTING COMFORTABLE HERE! YOU THINK THIS IS COLD? BRAVE THIS AND DO NOT FAIL!"

The men on either side of Lance were trembling violently, their teeth chattering audibly. Some tilted their heads back, staring at the sky as if praying for the ordeal to end.

Lance, however, stared straight ahead, focusing on the horizon where the sand dunes were.

Minutes dragged into an eternity.

The waves crashed against their chests, occasionally splashing into their faces. Lance's fingers were numb, his legs heavy and unresponsive. Still, he refused to let the cold break him.

The instructors weren't making it easy.

"YOU WANT OUT?" another instructor shouted, his boots crunching against the sand as he pointed to the bell. "THREE RINGS, AND THIS ALL GOES AWAY. WARM CLOTHES, HOT FOOD, AND A PLANE TICKET HOME. JUST RING THE DAMN BELL!"

No one moved.

The instructor smiled, crouching in front of one of the trainees. "What about you, huh? You look like you're about to keel over. Go ahead, make it easy on yourself."

The trainee shook his head, his lips blue. "No, Instructor," he croaked.

The instructor stood and moved down the line, taunting each man in turn. When he reached Lance, he leaned in close, his voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "You're not cut out for this, are you? Just ring the bell and save us all the trouble."

Lance didn't flinch. He met the instructor's gaze with unwavering determination. "No, Instructor."

The instructor stared at him for a moment, then moved on.

Time lost all meaning. The cold was no longer a sensation but a state of being, an inescapable reality.

Lance's mind began to drift, fragments of thought floating through the haze of discomfort. He thought of his reasons for being here, a general giving him an identity and giving back the debt that he owes, he is grateful to this country for giving him a place to call home. 

If it was amnesia or just long term memory loss, he didn't know, but at least he was finding out about himself and learning things.

He always wondered what sort of things he would do now, maybe explore, well that would be hard as his feelings were quite bleak, power and kindness weren't in him for some reason, he felt just emptine...

"ON YOUR FEET!" The sudden command jolted Lance back to reality. His body protested as he forced himself to stand, his legs watered down and almost frozen.

Around him, the other trainees staggered upright, their faces pale and drawn.

"Form up!" the lead instructor barked, and the men shuffled into formation.

The instructor paced in front of them, his hands clasped behind his back. "Congratulations," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "You've just completed the first hour of surf tour. Only six more to go."

A collective groan rippled through the group, but no one dared to quit. 

"You think this is hard?" the instructor continued. "This is just the beginning. If you can't handle the Pacific cold water, you don't belong here. But if you can, if you push through, you'll find out what you're made of."

As the group prepared to return to the water for another round, Lance took a deep breath and stepped forward. 

The sun crept higher, its weak light doing little to warm the frigid air. The instructors weren't finished, and neither were the waves, which continued their relentless assault on the trainees.

Lance shuffled back into the surf with the others, his legs stiff and unsteady. The cold had seeped into his bones, and every step felt like dragging a lead weight through wet cement although with this numbness came soon enough.

"BACK IN THE WATER!" the lead instructor roared. His voice carried over the sound of crashing waves, sharp and commanding. "SIT DOWN! SAME LINE, SAME POSITION!"

The men obeyed, some hesitating as the icy water lapped at their knees, but no one broke. Lance clenched his fists as he dropped into the surf again, the cold hitting him like a physical blow. The water rose to his chest this time, its chill cutting deeper than before.

"LOCK THOSE HANDS TOGETHER!" screamed another instructor, a shorter but stockier man with a booming voice. "AND DON'T YOU DARE MOVE!"

The trainees sat there, waves battering their backs, the horizon an unchanging strip of gray. Time slowed to a crawl. Lance could hear the labored breathing of the men next to him, their bodies trembling uncontrollably.

Somewhere down the line, one of the trainees broke. He let out a groan, leaning forward as if to stand.

"GET BACK DOWN!" the instructor nearest to him roared, wading into the water with deliberate menace. "YOU THINK YOU CAN QUIT? YOU THINK THAT WATER IS GONNA WARM YOU UP?!"

The man hesitated, his face a mask of agony and indecision.

"LOOK AT ME!" the instructor bellowed, his face inches from the trainee's. "THIS IS WHERE YOU DECIDE WHO YOU ARE. YOU GET BACK DOWN, OR YOU RING THAT DAMN BELL AND PROVE YOU DON'T BELONG HERE!"

The trainee gritted his teeth and straightened up, locking his hands together again. The instructor nodded, his expression a mix of approval and disdain.

"THAT'S WHAT I THOUGHT," he muttered, turning back to the shore.

Lance barely registered the exchange. His focus was on the rhythm of the waves, the icy water crashing into him in bursts that made him shudder violently. He forced himself to think beyond the pain, beyond the cold.

The instructors continued their psychological assault.

"THIS IS NOTHING!" one of them shouted, standing knee-deep in the water. "YOU THINK THIS IS HARD? WAIT UNTIL THE COLD BECOMES NUMB!"

The men around Lance were shivering so hard it was audible, their teeth chattering like machine guns. The tide seemed to rise higher with every passing minute, and the relentless waves were now crashing against their chests, soaking their faces and sending freezing water trickling down their necks.

"ON YOUR FEET!" came the next command, sharp and sudden.

The men staggered upright, some swaying as if they might collapse. Lance's legs were like blocks of ice, unresponsive and leaden. But he pushed himself up, his body screaming in protest, and stood in the surf alongside his brothers in misery.

"FORM UP ON THE BEACH!"

The group trudged back to the sand, their wet boots squelching with every step. Lance's uniform clung to his skin, heavy and drenched, but he didn't care. 

As they lined up in formation, the instructors began their next assault.

"YOU THINK YOU DID IT?" the lead instructor looked right at each of them, pacing in front of them like a predator stalking its prey. "YOU THINK YOU CAN HANDLE THIS? THEN PROVE IT! BACK INTO THE WATER, UP TO YOUR NECKS! NOW!"

A collective groan rippled through the group, but no one moved to quit. They turned as one and marched back into the surf, the cold biting at their skin like a thousand tiny daggers.

"GET DOWN AND LOCK ARMS!"

The trainees dropped into the water, their bodies forming a horizontal line as they linked arms. The waves crashed over them, submerging them completely for agonizing seconds before retreating. Lance held his breath, his grip on the men beside him tightening as the ocean threatened to pull them apart.

The instructors weren't done.

"WHO WANTS TO QUIT?" the lead instructor shouted from the shore. "WHO WANTS TO RING THAT BELL AND GO HOME?!"

No one answered.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

"NO, INSTRUCTOR!" the group shouted in unison, their voices hoarse but defiant.

The lead instructor smirked. "GOOD. THEN YOU'VE GOT ANOTHER TWO HOURS TO PROVE IT."

The waves continued their assault, and Lance focused on the small things to keep himself sane: the feel of the sand beneath him, the rhythm of his breathing, the strength of the arms linked with his.

They were all suffering, but they were suffering together.

By the time the instructors called them back to shore, the sun was high in the sky, its light reflecting off the water like molten gold. The trainees stumbled out of the surf, their bodies trembling and their faces bluish pale from the pacific water.

"NOT BAD," the lead instructor said, his tone grudgingly approving. "BUT DON'T GET TOO COMFORTABLE. HELL WEEK IS JUST GETTING STARTED."

Lance collapsed onto the sand, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. The others dropped around him, their faces etched with exhaustion.

But none of them quit.

As Lance stared up at the sky, the sound of the ocean still ringing in his ears, he felt a flicker of pride.

He had survived another phase, endured another trial, he nor anyone else here would expect nothing else but succeeding at this to achieve something bigger then them.