Emily adjusted her leotard in the mirror, sweat shimmering on her brow after an intense rehearsal. At 27, she was at the peak of her career as a ballerina, her body honed by years of discipline and precision. But something gnawed at her—a yearning for a new challenge, a departure from the world she’d mastered. A week ago, on a whim, she’d filled out a form expressing interest in joining the Royal Marines Reserve. She didn’t expect a response.
Yet, here she was, holding an official invitation to attend a training week.
The training facility was vast, its atmosphere buzzing with efficiency and purpose. Emily felt out of place in her civilian clothes among recruits with military bearing. Still, she was excited. She knew she’d never make it past the fitness tests, but this was just a trial week, and she was here for the experience.
The officer leading her orientation, Captain Lewis, was welcoming but clinical. “You’re part of a special group testing advanced simulation technology,” he explained. “It’ll immerse you in the life of a recruit—body, mind, and spirit.”
Emily nodded, intrigued. She’d expected grueling physical drills, not futuristic tech.
The room she was led into was sterile, dominated by a sleek pod-like device. A pair of technicians greeted her, attaching sensors to her temples and wrists.
“You’ll experience training from a recruit’s perspective,” one explained. “Completely safe.”
Before she could ask more, a mask descended over her face. A faint hiss. Then, nothing.
Emily woke with a start, gasping for air. Her body felt… wrong. Heavy. Broad. She stumbled upright, disoriented, catching sight of her reflection in the pod’s glass surface.
She—or rather, he—was shirtless, his chest sculpted, his arms thick with muscle. Blonde hair cropped into a buzz cut framed a square jaw. His eyes, though familiar, were sharper, more alert.
“No… this can’t be real,” he murmured, his voice deep and unfamiliar.
The door slid open, and Captain Lewis entered, clipboard in hand.
“Recruit Liam, welcome to training,” he said briskly, ignoring Emily’s confusion.
“Liam? No, I’m Emily!” she protested, but the words felt alien even as she said them.
Lewis raised an eyebrow. “You’ll find it’s best not to dwell on your old identity. The process is thorough—your body and mind are adapting. We’ve refined you, made you younger, stronger, and… more suitable for service.”
Emily’s heart raced. She lunged for the captain, but her mind felt clouded and her body would not obey.
“It’s the intelligence dampening,” Lewis said matter-of-factly. “Too much knowledge gets in the way of obedience.”
“Why?” she demanded, though her voice wavered, her thoughts becoming harder to hold.
“You volunteered for this, remember? Well, not exactly this, but we saw potential. You’re now the ideal recruit—a blank slate we can mould into a Marine.”
Days passed in a blur. Emily—Liam—found himself swept into the regimented life of training. His mind struggled to keep up with the new information and routine.
His body, however, thrived. He ran faster, lifted heavier, and fought harder than ever before. The discipline of ballet was replaced with that of the Marines.
One night, lying in the barracks, Liam stared at the ceiling. Fragments of his past life drifted through his mind—graceful leaps across a stage, the applause of an enraptured audience. But they felt like someone else’s memories, fading into irrelevance.
Liam’s transformation was fully realized in both body and mind, each day of training shaping him more into the young Marine the Corps had intended him to be. His appearance now reflected the raw, disciplined strength of the military. His once delicate, ballerina’s physique had been replaced by a broad-shouldered, muscular frame, toned and hardened by weeks of grueling drills. His skin was now a slight tan, evidence of his time spent outdoors under the harsh training conditions.
His hair, once long and graceful, was now kept in a tight, buzzed cut, a constant reminder of his new identity. Every few weeks, the Sergeant would inspect it, making sure it adhered to military standards. The uniform, too, felt alien at first—camouflage-patterned trousers that fit snugly around his legs and combat boots that left his feet aching after long runs. But over time, the gear became part of him, like a second skin. The olive-green T-shirt he wore under his tactical vest clung to his muscular chest, and the weight of the bulletproof vest pressed down on him, grounding him further into his new reality.
