Echo Volume 1: Approaching Shatter

Chapter 1

Atriya was on his way up.

The boots on his feet struck hard against the mountain trail. His ruck, even as well packed as it was, still shifted ceaselessly on his back. Every muted bounce tugged his shoulders, sending small stabs and aches steadily throughout his body. His lungs burned as if he were holding his breath. Fatigue had slowly spread from his legs to his arms, even though his arms were under no strain. It was simply a measure of how hard he was pummeling the ground with the combined weight of his gear and his body.

He didn't mind the pain. In a way, he was addicted to it. Not the pain itself, but the validation it gave him. Each burning breath, each chafe of gear against his raw skin was assurance that he was strong. That he was tough. He deliberately picked the hardest, steepest trail every run; always filling his pack to the brim with huge bags of sand.

All of his life he'd been rewarded through his simple philosophy of refusing to be weak, of pushing himself as hard as he could. It was just a matter of course that the only way he did things was through pain and hardship. He didn't reflect on it. When asked the occasional question about why he punished himself the way he did, the only answer he could produce was a blank look.

Why not?

It was the only way he knew. For him, the only way that worked. Whether it was talent or luck that allowed him to push as hard as he did without injury or plateau, Atriya had never cared.

Insidiously though, that was starting to change. His curiosity and contemplative side had recently begun to interrupt the regulated march of his thought process. The timing of it was troublesome-he couldn't afford to be distracted. The job was too important.

Because it wasn't just in the outward sense that Atriya was ascending. His career was taking off as well. He was gaining acceptance as a competent member of the unit known as the Crusaders, an elite division of shooters within the Department of Enforcement. The guys in the unit openly mocked and disparaged the pompous sounding title of "Crusader," and opted simply to call themselves "The Crew." If they ran into former or active teammates outside of work, they would shorten it even further, dropping the word "the." As in: "Hey, are you Crew?" Informal unit tee shirts sometimes referred to the organization with the macho phrase "The Wrecking Crew."

He saw a plateau up ahead, where the trail leveled off. Summoning the last reserves of his energy, his boots churned against the dirt, smacking the ground mercilessly. He reached it drenched in sweat and gasping, feeling as if he was drowning even though he was on dry land, every ounce of his ruck transcribing into a unique pain that was a screaming mix of throbbing agony and paralyzing fatigue.

He paused at the leveled part of the trail, sucking in water from a bottle. He looked down to his right: The Crusader training compound lying at the bottom of the mountain. A series of squat, boxy buildings with the occasional comms array or obstacle course breaking up the drab, linear pattern of architecture. It was home.

Up towards his left lay a series of gentler, flatter trails that revealed an expansive view of what lay in the opposite direction of the compound and its surrounding city. Vast stretches of trees and lakes were visible from the higher parts of the trail. During off hours, a lot of compound staff made the hike further up to appreciate the scenery, but nobody actually went into those wilds. It was held by Dissidents.

Atriya rarely ran further than the plateau, so he never truly appreciated the sweeping perspective. He could sprint up the steeper grades faster than most could run at top speed on the flat sections, so he stuck with the hills.

The other reason he didn't want to ascend further and take in the panorama was mental. It was his job to put Dissidents in the ground. Thinking of them got his blood boiling. When he was rucking, he wanted to stay steady. So good view or no, he opted not to interrupt the tentative peace he touched on during his runs with a visual reminder of the enemy. He found a welcome escape in his solo exercise, and refused to disturb it with thoughts of work. There was a time and place for that.