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If there's one thing Yakone didn't miss, it was the sulfuric smell of home. The Saiyan stepped out unto the open-aired port's terrace, the familiar red horizon plucking at memories from his childhood. It had been too long since he had last stepped foot here, and with it, his chance to personally overthrow Braccus was lost to a new Queen. As long as she led the Saiyan people well, Yakone saw no reason to challenge her. The declaration by Zaks of restoring glory and destroying the USD was well-received, the returning Saiyan among that crowd.

Officially, Yangcong and Yakone's extended absence was explained generically as a 'military operation' to obfuscate their involvement in USD sabotage. That meant they were still operating members of the Elite Army, but with so much time spent away from Vegeta and a change of leadership, the much younger Yakone was being called to retake the army's entry test. It seemed a waste of time when he could better himself by training elsewhere, but the young man was nothing if not loyal to his people and so begrudgingly made his way toward the barracks. The session was supposed to be small-time, meant for skill assessments, not for cadets looking to enter the army proper. Yakone would bet it to be a spar of some kind if he been a gambling man.

Despite his admittedly unorthodox outfit, the loose brown tail and spiked black hair made it clear Yakone was a Saiyan. Nearby soldiers with scoutings - or rarely, sensing - moved aside for him as he walked. For all intents and purposes, he had the power of an Elite, and despite the revolutionary ideas that prioritized merit (oh, something he agreed with SO much), raw power was hard to argue with as a Saiyan. "Hey." Forcing himself to sound casual, Yakone stopped a soldier in his tracks. "Where are the army barracks?"

-

Hm. Out of everything he'd been expecting, a gravity-afflicted danger course had not been on that list. It seemed a little too high-brow for something like basic training, Yakone folding his arms and frowning as he glanced over at the garrison commander. The taller, bald, bearded Saiyan let out a mighty laugh and slapped the younger man's back heartily. "Impressive, ain't it? Bet ya thought we were gonna have ourselves a fight and call it there?" The goliath - Vetch - leaned forward, eyes twinkling with dangerous mirth. "From what the scouters say, yer already well into the Elite. Rules are rules. Figured we wouldn't wanna bore ya, so the inner gravity has been cranked up to about... eh... five times normal?"

At that, Yakone cracked a smile, his stance loosening considerably. "It's been too long since I've had something as refreshing as a grav-course. Five times? Crank it to six. If this is supposed to prove I'm worthy to rejoin the Empire, make me fight for it." Vetch nodded proudly, signaling a technician high above the course and watching as Yakone doffed his plated sweatshirt and arms guards. Years of training had molded his body into a mountain of muscle - like a proper Saiyan should be. "Start whenever yer ready," The commander said firmly, exiting the room as Yakone stretched, limbering himself for what was to come. Six times normal cadet gravity would probably land somewhere around x36. An arduous amount of force for even Elites to withstand.

"Alright..." A smile stretched across his face, muscles ready as the chamber awaited. As soon as Yangcong crossed the threshold, he almost fell to his knees. His running start turned into a strained jog, sweat already beginning to form. It was unlike any gravity or pressure he'd ever withstood before, and Yakone knew damn well that buckling under it this early would earn him only scorn. The initial stretch wasn't too bad: a slightly inclined run built to test his stamina and body strength. It reminded him of bygone days, running laps near the Borgos Bluffs in the baking Vegetan sun under the careful eye of his father. Things seemed so simple back then. Be strong like Yangcong. Prove the bullies wrong.

Yet here he was a decade later, returning from a guerilla warfare mission against an enemy that had humiliated the Saiyans. Yakone's expression tightened as thoughts of revenge permeated his mind: while the oppressors might've been cast off from the planet with Braccus' downfall, they still resided a stone's throw away on Earth. The Saiyans could not afford to let them lick their wounds - the USD needed to be stamped out. Ah. Luckily rage was all the motivator he needed to mentally suppress the stress of the chamber. Yakone crested the top of the incline, pausing to examine the next section of the course with labored breaths.

A series of suspended platforms above a (somewhat) cushioned pit, complete with giant swinging arms that'd knock the unwary clean from their perches. With the gravity in place, JUMPING would be a herculean task. Falling or getting punted off would be even more painful upon hitting the ground. Yakone grunted, taking the first leap and nearly falling short as his heels dangled threateningly off the edge, legs slowly forcing him into a full standing position. The first platform was obstacle free, no doubt to give the runners a taste of just how difficult it'd be to pass this section.

The Saiyan's eyebrows knit together as he thought it through. Brute force would result in more shaky landings, and with how (relatively) quick the arms cycled through the area, he'd be knocked clean off before he could recover... but what if he wasn't standing? Yakone moved to a push-up position, flexing his muscles experimentally and slowly smirking. With his body weight distributed evenly, the gravitron's simulated effects were much less harsh. Taking deep breaths, he mentally counted the seconds between each arm's pass, arms tensing as Yakone FLUNG himself forward into a rolling flip. He hit the next platform hard, translating his momentum into a flame-jet-assisted boost over to the penultimate barrier. The Saiyan grit his teeth as the arm drew near, forcing him into another immediate jump - though this lacked the speed and power of his last two. Muscled fingers clenched the edge of the ending platform, Yakone's body straining as gravity threatened to suck him down into failure.

Slowly but surely, he inched his way up, arms screaming in agony as they were forced to pull over three tons by just his fingers. Miraculously Yakone found the strength to continue, slinging a leg up and rolling onto his back with a victorious sigh. There was still one last challenge. Black eyes drifted over to a waiting android, humming with energy. Of course. He may not be sparring with Vetch, but a military course with no fighting at all? Essentially blasphemous. Yakone stood, sweat dripping from his brow, hands shaking, and teeth pulled into a taut smile. "Alright then, you state-of-the-art bucket of bolts; show me what you got." Yakone shrugged off his fatigue, stepping into the ring and triggering the training bot to activate. The Saiyan's eyes widened as an impossibly fast beam was shot straight for his face; Yakone narrowly dodged to the side and fought back with a leg sweep, a wave of fire rushing toward the machine.

It predictably avoided with a short hop, at ease in the intense environment. "Cheeky little can," Yakone laughed easily, Thrusting a fist forward. "Let's see how you fare against a Saiyan warrior!" Another burst of fire plumed from his knuckles, dispersing against a quick shield. The bot swiveled, two shoulder-mounted cannons firing a pair of twin beams. Yakone ducked into a sluggish somersault, moving under the attack and lashing upwards with his foot. The kick connected, metal jostling as he twisted the motion into a rolling sweep, knocking his training dummy flat on its robot ass. If there was one thing he was a savant of? It'd be combat. Years of training by his Elite father and experience fighting USD soldiers and mercenaries across the cosmos had molded him into a skilled fighter, and no simplistic gear bag made for cadets could hope to outdo him even on his worst day.

It could land some dirty shots, though. Yakone grunted in surprise as a heated beam of energy made contact with his shoulder. The Saiyan jerked away instinctively, tutting like a disappointed teacher. "Rude." Despite the gravity, this thing was still made to fight rookies - non-lethally at that. Yakone curled all but his index and middle fingers inward on both hands, pulling them apart to create a crackling line of electricity, which he promptly used to fry the machine into inaction as it pierced the weak shielding easily. While not the traditional form of Ki expression, the Flame was a powerful monastic art that melded seamlessly into fighting in a manner that other techniques could never hope to do. Yakone stood proudly, walking his way to the exit bay and meeting Vetch's wide grin with one of his own: "Still got it."