The hangar had been converted. The stage was gone, and in its place was a variety of weight training machines, a treadmill, and a pool. Across the room was a shooting range with black rifles lining the walls, and a blue mat was laid out in the middle. The man who had given the speech when we first got there was waiting at the door to meet me, and people waited by each section, looking over at me.
“Ah. Third one. Finally, Christ what a weak bunch. Sleep well? Honestly, I don’t care, let’s just get this over with. Name?”
“Lyle Kyle.”
“Don’t be a smart ass, what’s your real name?”
“That is my real name.”
“Shit man, I feel bad for you.”
He looks through his stack of papers until he finds one with my name on it.
“You were in group B...no formal education beyond a GED, nor do you have any military service, nor does it look like you were employed. Been in and out of jail and prison for the last ten years...man your life was a mess, wasn’t it? Luckily we found you, or you’d be dead within the month. Guaranteed. Those are some sketchy people you borrowed money from.”
I sighed and he took a deep breath.
“Well, let’s get this started, first head over there.” He points to the machine furthest from us, “Then work your way through each of the machines. Once you’re done with the pool — you do know how to swim, right? Take a ten-minute break. After the break, make your way to the mats in the center. After you’re done with all the exercises there, make your way to the shooting range, is that clear?” It takes a moment to process all of that, “After you’re done with that, go to the same building where you got your transfusion, then follow the signs — you do know how to read, right? Well follow the signs and do the tests there, do you understand?”
Once more it takes a moment to process and sink in before I nod again. He hands me a piece of paper.
“Okay. Give this to the person at each machine. Okay, good. That’s all.”
I stand there for a moment, unsure of what to do.
“Well? Go!”
“Oh, right.”
I cut across the room to the first machine in the far corner of the room. A woman stands there and extends her hand out for my paper.
I pass it to her, and she looks it up.
“Okay, Mister... Kyle, is it? Can you please follow me for a moment?”
She leads me behind a curtain.
“First we’ll take note of your weight, height, and overall body conditions; taking note of any injuries or scarring. Are you okay with stripping down to your boxers?”
I pull off the scrubs I was wearing.
“Now please extend your arms to your sides like this.”
She makes a cross in the air, and I follow her instruction as she looks over my body.
“Few open sores. Normal for addicts, though...some scarring on your back...no unusual growths, slightly emaciated...hair color sandy blond, eye color blue...were those always that way? Yes? Okay.”
Her pen works quickly scribbling words onto the sheet of paper clipped down by her board,
“Okay, thank you, can you please come here.” She stood beside a large ruler mounted on the wall with a slider. I walk over to her, “Now stand with your back against the wall, flat on your feet.” I follow her instructions, and she moves the slider down until it presses flat against my head. “5 foot 8 and 3/4, now can you come here?” She moves to the scale.
I walk over to it and step on top of the pressure plate. She begins fidgeting with the sliders.
“Okay...145.6. Thank you, you can get dressed now.”
I take her up on her offer and toss my scrubs back on before following her out of the curtained-off area. I see Jack getting the talk by the man at the door as the woman leads me to the machine.
“Alright, so this is how it’s going to happen. You’re going to sit down on this inclined bench here, and push on these bars.” She motioned to two black, rubber bars that extended into a complex machine: from which I could see a series of pullies and a variety of weights lining the bottom. “After every push, the weight will automatically increase by five. Just push until it’s too heavy, alright?”
I nod and set myself up on the machine. She adjusts the height of the bar so that it’s comfortable for me.
“Okay. Start.”
I push, and then let it fall. Kerthunk. Something inside of the machine changes, and I push again. There’s slightly more resistance. 10 pounds. Kerthunk. 15. Kerthunk. 20. 25, 30. Kerthunk. Kerthunk. Kerthunk. At about 70 pounds I began to struggle. 75 was downright hard. And I could not budge.
“Okay. We’ll wait for a minute for your muscles to stop aching, and we’ll try 80 again, alright?”
I nod. I wait until the throbbing stops and try again. With some great difficulty, I’m able to push it.
“Alright. 80 it is.” She noted that on my paper before handing it back to me.
“Please proceed to the next station.”
I pushed myself away from the inclined bench. Hissing in pain. Jack was already walking across the hall. He gives me a slight wave, and I wave back.
I went to the next station and gave the man there my paper. This time they had me hold onto a bar that had a platform at knee height, once raised off the ground over a small mat underneath, the platform would slowly release weight holding it up in five-pound intervals. He checked my paper and entered 145.6 into the machine. After the machine whirred a little, he had me grab hold of the bar and kneel on the platform.
“Ready?”
I nodded.
He pressed a button and the bar and platform rose. A second later, I feel the platform beneath me sink a little. Another second it sinks again. In another second, it sinks even further as weight is removed. After 15 seconds, it’s too much, and I let go; falling to the mat below. By that time Jack was still inside of the curtains getting weighed and examined. The man makes some notes on the paper and hands it to me and tells me to make it to the next station.
This station was a lot like the first; where the motion would add weights instead of taking weights away, but this time it was a bar I had to squat under to get it on my shoulders and stand. This time, however, it would increase in ten-pound increments, I was told by the man there. I squat with no weight, stand up and after the kerthunk I squat the 10 pounds. 20 pounds. 30 pounds. 40. 50. 60. 70, all the way up to 100 where I finally had to have him help get it off of me. He lets me rest for a moment, and by this time Jack is beginning his tests. I go again and barely manage to push it up.
The next test was curls. These weights increased by 2.5 pounds with every curl. I got up to 32.5 before moving on to the next station. A bar lying on the ground. He instructs me to just lift it up without using my legs. I repeat his motions, and he nods and tells me to begin. This one increases the weight by 5 pounds. I get up to 95 before I can no longer lift it, and he sends me to the next station; the treadmill. I handed my paper over to the woman there. Now Jack was at the squat station.
“Here, we just want you to run as long and as fast as you can, alright? Once you begin walking, the test will end, alright? The treadmill will adjust to your speed, alright?”
I took a breath and began sprinting on the treadmill. My sprinting soon turns to running, and my running to a slow job. When I wind down to a walk, the thing flashes, and a series of numbers is printed off on receipt paper.
“Half a mile in three minutes. Not too bad. Now go to the pool.” She hands me my paper and motions to the small pool a couple feet away from the treadmill. I hand it off to the man waiting there.
The pool wasn’t very large; about teen feet long, and one lane wide. The man stood by a table with a stopwatch and a towel.
“First test here is easy,” He said after he clipped my paper to his wooden board, “Just dunk your head in the water and hold it there for as long as you can.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I kneeled down in front of the water, hold my breath, and dip my head underneath the blue surface as soon as he picks up the stopwatch. The water wasn’t cold. In fact, it was a comfortable temperature. I stayed in there for as long as I could before pulling my head up.
“1 minute and 10 seconds. Not bad at all. Next, we have some swimming trunks behind this curtain. Change into one that fits you and swim ten laps. You do know how to swim, right?”
I nod, push myself up head to the curtains change into a pair of gray shorts, and jump into the pool. I had been a swimmer in the past, so I had no problem completing this in no time.
“10 Minutes? Alright, good. Dry off, take a ten-minute break, and head over to the mats.”
I pulled myself off the water and do as he says. How well was I doing? I couldn’t say. He walked over to the mats and handed my paper to the man there personally while I caught my breath and wiped myself down with a towel.
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
After I dried off and put my scrubs back on, Jack was on the treadmill. By the time I made it to the mats, he had stopped running and was panting to catch his breath.
“Alright, now we’ll test your vertical jump.” He said, leading me to a portion of the mat that had a horizontal pole in between two poles and connected to a pulley system.
“Take off your shoes and jump over this.” He points to the pole, “Once you jump it will raise up by one inch, and you’ll jump again. Take as long as you like between jumps.”
“Is this really necessary?”
“It is. Now begin.”
I pulled off my slippers and did the stupid test. I jumped over it, and once on the other side, the pullies raised the bar by an inch. I was able to clear it five more times before tripping over it. He notes that down and walks me over to another part of the mat. This one has numbers laid out on it like a ruler.
“Next, is your horizontal. Take a running leap and jump as far as you can.”
I sigh and take a few steps back and sprint forward before leaping at the edge of the mat. 2 feet. He notes that down and points me to another section of the mat. By this time, Jack was in the middle of his swim; doggy-paddling from one edge of the pool to the next; catching himself on the edge of the pool every few moments.
The man leads me to the portion of the map with a single raised beam over it. It wasn’t raised very high; about half a foot, with a small ladder to mount and a small ladder to dismount.
“Your next task is to balance across this.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it, but you only get one chance.”
I roll my eyes and step up and step on top of the beam. Easy, I think. I make it five steps before falling. He notes that down and hands me the paper.
“Next, go to that station.”
This station had a woman waiting at it. She, like all the others, was dressed in nondescript scrubs and carried a clipboard. Aside from their genders, there was nothing really visible to pick up on. They hid their hair beneath knitted caps. And their eyes were covered by thick glasses. Half their faces were hidden behind white surgical masks, and they each wore long sleeves and gloves over their arms and hands. It was as if they went out of their way to be as anonymous as possible. The only thing remarkable about her was she was a head shorter than all of the other proctors.
A punching bag was set up against a plastic pole, and a table with a few instruments sat by it. The woman reached out, and I handed her my papers. She clipped it in her board and picked up one of the devices from the table.
“Squeeze this.” She stated simply as she handed it over to me.
I take hold of it and squeeze the top. 46 pounds, it read.
“Again.”
I squeeze it again. 49.
“Again.”
48.
She writes down, “47.5,” and takes it from my grasp.
“Next punch this thing three times.” She motions to the large punching bag machine. On the back of the pole was a screen she went to stand in front of.
“Any way I want to?”
“Yes.”
I pull my arm back and slam a haymaker into the middle of the bag.
“Again.”
I land a haymaker again.
“Again.”
One more haymaker.
“Alright.” She spends a moment copying whatever’s on the screen. “Now kick it.”
“However I want?”
The short woman nods.
I front-kicked it.
“Again.”
I kicked it similarly, as hard as I could.
“Again.”
Once more, I kicked it.
She spent another few moments writing whatever was on the screen. She took a deep breath before beginning her explanation of the next task.
“Next you will see some white dots appear on the punching bag. I need you to hit those. Not very hard, a light tap will do. Understand?”
“Yeah, I think.”
“Okay. 3. 2. 1...”
As soon as she got to one, a white dot appeared on the black canvas. I tapped it with my knuckles, and it vanished. Another appeared on a different face of the rounded bag. I tap it. This happened about twenty more times before she began writing again.
“Okay, now if you will, can you go over to the firing range.”
I nodded and followed the woman’s instructions after she handed me my paper.
Jack was still on his break while I walked over to the firing range. The man there waved me over to the booth on the furthest left. Upon noticing I was heading to the firing range, all of the proctors put on a pair of heavy ear muffs and handed Jack a pair of his own. A pistol sat on a waist-height table. I handed the man there my paper, and he clipped it down.
“We’ll start here, then move to rifles, and finally to shotguns, do you understand?”
I nodded. Excited to shoot a gun.
“You have ten bullets. Once you begin you will fire the ten bullets into the target five yards from you. After the ten bullets are expended, you will reload with one of the clips there, and a new target will appear ten yards away. You will repeat this one more time, do you understand?”
“How do I reload?”
He picked up the gun, pushed a button near the clip, and it slid out. He slammed the clip in and pulled the top slide.
“Got it?”
“I do.”
“Good, now put on your ear muffs, and pick up the pistol. It will start as soon as you take a stance.”
I slipped on the orange muffs and picked up the pistol. It was heavier than I expected. A thick wooden backdrop had been set up in the backdrop to prevent ricochet, and the walls were made of a similar wood. As soon as I pointed the pistol forward, a blue and white bullseye-like target popped out. I fired the gun and it roared much louder than I expected and kicked more than I thought it would. I try to hold it steady while I shoot again, and again, nine more times. I repeat his actions of removing the clip, picking up the next one, and slamming it in place. I pull the slide and take a stance. The next target popped up, and I repeated. Reload. Repeat. He makes some notes on the paper. I noticed that most of the bullets on the 10 and 15 didn’t even make it within the blue and white rings.
We moved to the next station. It was much the same as the other, this time starting at ten yards instead of five. I fired ten times. Reloaded, took a stance fired ten times when the paper target reappeared. Reloaded. Took a stance, and fired ten more times. I was much more accurate with the pistols; not a single bullet managed to tear the paper on the 20-yard target. We moved to the shotguns just as Jack was making his way to the mats.
This one, clay discs would pop up, and I was tasked with shooting them as they appeared. I had thirty seconds to shoot as many as I could. He showed me how to reload, and I nodded. I took the shotgun and put it on my shoulder. The first clay disk popped up and I fired. The kick was insane, and I felt my shoulder bruise. The clay disc shattered in the corner, and the next one popped up, a little behind it. I fired again. It shattered completely. The next was a couple yards back. It took me two shots to hit it. I reload, take up my stance, and fire at the next. In the end, I managed to hit 4 in the 30 seconds. He jotted that down and handed me the paper.
“You know where you need to go.” He said.
“Okay,” I responded, taking the paper in my shaking grasp. My shoulder ached, and my heart beat like crazy.