Saturday, the skies were clear, not a cloud to be seen. Sunlight spilled across the ground like a thin layer of molten gold, warming the air and casting long, soft shadows.
Doleia arrived at Marc's doorstep right on the dot—one o'clock sharp, just as they had agreed. She wore a simple outfit and had a backpack slung across her shoulders, her posture straight, her gaze calm.
Marc opened the door with a rare smile tugging at the corners of his lips. As he held the door open for her, he gave her shoulder a light pat. "Punctual," he remarked.
Doleia flashed him a bright smile, her voice steady and confident. "I've been practicing at home the past two of days. I came prepared."
As always, they made their way to the training area in Marc's house. Targets were set up at varying distances, and spent shell casings still littered the edge of the range from the last session. Marc observed her as she moved, noting the steady improvement in her form—the way she held her stance, the way she adjusted her grip between shots.
"Truth be told," he said after a while, nodding slightly in approval, "you've exceeded my expectations. I've trained a fair number of people over the years, but you… you're not just focused. It's like you're racing against—time."
"I am," Doleia said, her eyes locked on a target. Her voice was low, but resolute. "I really am racing against time."
Marc didn't press her further. Some things didn't need to be explained—he could see it in the way she moved, the urgency that radiated off her in subtle waves.
That day's training focused on two key skills: dynamic shooting and rapid magazine changes. Marc walked her through each technique in detail, offering demonstrations and sharing tips drawn from real-war experience.
"Don't think of shooting as just aim and pull," he told her.
"You need to be able to move with your weapon, keep your balance while shifting your center of gravity, anticipate changes in your surroundings.
Most of all, you can't let panic control you. Keep your head."
She absorbed the knowledge quickly. She practiced each motion over and over, her brow furrowed in focus. Her arms began to tremble slightly from exertion, sweat beading along her hairline, trickling down her cheek.
Marc handed her a water bottle and said, almost softly, "You're starting to look like a real fighter."
Doleia wiped her face with the towel she brought from home and exhaled to catch her breath.
"Thanks. I won't stop now."
When they wrapped up for the day, she finished the last of her water, quietly reviewed the key takeaways in her head, then turned to Marc, expression suddenly more serious.
"Marc, there's something I want to ask you."
He didn't look up as he packed away the training equipment, just replied, "Go ahead."
"I need a vehicle. Not just any car—a strong one. Bulletproof, collision-resistant, with plenty of space. Ideally, it should be off-road capable too."
Marc raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. "Planning to rob a bank?"
She laughed at that, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. "Nothing like that…"
Marc didn't ask further. He paused for a beat, then shook his head slowly. "I can't help you there. But I know someone who might."
Doleia's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Who?"
"Her name's Cassidy. We served together back in the day. After retiring, she didn't take the conventional route. She started doing underground vehicle mods.
Don't let the fact that she's a woman fool you—when it comes to armor and customization, she's a damn genius. Turning a regular Jeep into a battlefield-ready monster? For her, that's just a peice of cake."
"Where can I find her?"
Marc pulled out his phone and dialed. A brief conversation later, he sent a contact card to Doleia.
"Add her and explain what you need. But remember to be polite—she's got a bit of a temper."
"I will," Doleia promised with a nod and a grateful smile.
-----
It was a little past five when she arrived in the western part of the city. The sun had started dipping in the sky, casting an orange hue over the aging buildings. She stopped in front of an old house with a weathered sign outside that bore a stylized garage logo and an arrow pointing to the side.
Following the arrow, she found a staircase leading underground. As she descended, the clinking of metal, the hiss of welding flames, and the thick scent of grease and oil grew stronger.
Just as she was about to call out, a woman in a black jumpsuit slid out from beneath a car. Her long, dark hair was pulled into a high ponytail, and there was a smudge of oil across her forehead. Her eyes, sharp and piercing, swept over Doleia in an instant.
"You the one Marc sent?" the woman asked, her voice crisp.
"Yes. I'm Doleia." She offered her hand.
Cassidy glanced at it but didn't take it. Instead, she stood, wiped her gloves, and gave a curt nod. "Cassidy. I assume you're here for a custom job."
"Something like that." Doleia smiled, then pulled out her sketch containing AI-generated concept diagrams and a document outlining her needs.
"I'm looking for a highly defensive vehicle. It needs to be bulletproof—at the very least, it shouldn't fall apart if it gets hit. The front should have space for weapons, comms gear. The back needs to fit both people and supplies. If possible, I'd like a built-in air filtration system and an infrared sensor. Also, I'd like floodlights on the roof and a mount for a drone unit. Ideally, there's room for future modifications."
As Doleia laid out her requirements, Cassidy examined the diagrams, clicking her tongue as she nodded slowly. "You don't ask for much, do you, kid?"
"Money isn't an issue," Doleia said immediately. "The faster, the better. I'm fine with buying a prototype or working from a suitable base model. Whatever gets it done."
Cassidy raised an eyebrow. "Not afraid I'll take advantage of you?"
"You can charge me for twice the price, and I'll still pay." Doleia's voice was calm, her tone deliberate.
A smile played at Cassidy's lips, sharp and amused. "I like customers like you."
"I need this vehicle as soon as possible," Doleia said quietly. "Even though I'm not needing it that soon… but when I do need it, I can't have it still sitting on your workstation."
Cassidy nodded slowly. "I've got a Humvee chassis. Basic armor's already installed. I can do the modular upgrades in about one to two weeks.
Just give me the authorization to transfer funds—don't ask too many questions. I don't like being looked into."
Doleia didn't hesitate. "You won't have a problem from me."
In the end, she paid double the expected cost—but the deal was struck, and things were moving faster than she could have hoped. In her mind, it was a win.
-----
By the time she got home, it was already 7:30 PM. Her grandfather had left dinner for her as usual: a full table of braised pork, chicken soup, stir-fried greens, and eggplant in garlic sauce. It smelled like comfort, like home.
After showering and changing into her loungewear, Doleia sat quietly at the dinner table, eating the food the house cook had reheated for her. Her phone sat nearby, screen dark.
Halfway through her meal, the screen lit up.
It was a message from James.
She picked it up and saw an image: a photo of the land she had purchased. Part of the terrain had already been leveled by bulldozers, and other sections were being filled with soil. Several workers stood at the edge, measuring the foundation lines with tools.
Below the photo, a message read:
"Good evening, Miss Doleia. Just a quick update: as you can see, the land has been leveled and filled according to the land condition and specifications.
Weather's good, so we're moving ahead. Foundation work is scheduled to begin shortly—we expect to finish the initial groundwork in the next week."
Her hand stilled, spoon hovering mid-air. She stared at the photo for a long moment, heart thudding slowly in her chest.
There, in that patch of newly turned earth, she could see the faintest outline of her future—a safe shelter, a sanctuary, slowly coming to life.
She set the phone down gently and resumed eating.
This meal, more than any other, brought her a deep, quiet peace.