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Naruto: Training is My Ninja Way
The FBI National Academy sits inside the United States Marine Corps base at Quantico, Virginia.
It is the cradle of federal law enforcement, a name as legendary as the CIA's headquarters in Langley and forever etched into American pop culture.
This was where Lawson's closed-door training would take place—a grueling cross-country flight from the West Coast all the way to the East.
It should have been a mind-numbing ten-hour haul.
But the moment Lawson spotted a familiar face walking down the aisle, he knew the trip was about to get interesting.
"Ms. Banner?"
"Just Jane. We're officially colleagues now."
Jane offered a warm smile and extended her hand. Lawson shook it.
"Jane, you heading to Quantico too?"
He noticed they weren't just on the same flight—the Bureau had booked them seats right next to each other. Definitely not a coincidence.
"I am," she said. "I felt my field skills were lacking, so I requested a retraining cycle."
"They let you do that?"
"Of course. Quantico doesn't turn everyone into super-spies on day one. The curriculum is tailored to your rank and projected career path. Field agents like us focus on investigation and combat tactics. Desk types get the technical tracks."
Lawson nodded, the pieces falling into place. No wonder the whole program only lasted three to six months—it was basically an intensive boot camp.
"So you've been through this before?"
"Yes, but my scores were average at best. After my last field internship… I figured I needed a refresher."
As she spoke, her eyes kept flicking toward him. It made Lawson slightly uncomfortable.
"Uh… those performance issues wouldn't happen to involve me, would they?"
He had dismantled her completely in that alley using a bulletproof suit and mind games. He hadn't expected it to shatter her confidence this badly.
"No, it's not your fault," Jane said quickly, taking the blame herself. "It just made me realize my own limits."
Lawson respected that kind of accountability.
With the ice broken, they settled in and started talking.
Jane was intensely curious about his time as an informant, especially the Bonanno family takedown.
To protect his cover, the FBI had never revealed the source of the master ledger. But Jane and Sean Arthur weren't idiots—they had connected the dots immediately. Neal had practically walked around the LA field office with a neon sign reading "Lawson gave me the golden goose."
Lawson gave her a heavily sanitized, dramatized version of events.
To his surprise, Jane bought every word. Her eyes sparkled with genuine admiration.
"My God! I've read hundreds of case files, and most veteran agents couldn't pull off half of what you did. Lawson, you're incredible!"
"You've read a lot of internal case files?"
Lawson frowned. The FBI didn't make operational methods public. Unless you had serious clearance, even internal staff couldn't just browse closed cases for fun.
Jane looked a little embarrassed.
"Yeah. I've been obsessed with detective work since I was a kid. I… pulled some strings and got access to the internal archives to study them."
That confirmed it. Jane's family background was massive.
Average rich people didn't have that kind of pull. She had to be tied to one of America's shadow dynasties—the Kennedys, Bushes, or Clintons level of untouchable influence.
They talked for hours until Jane finally drifted off to sleep.
Ten hours on a plane is torture if you stay awake, so Lawson closed his eyes and got some rest himself.
Fortunately, the flight didn't detour into downtown Manhattan. They landed smoothly in Virginia.
Stepping off the plane, Lawson and Jane linked up with a handful of other young recruits flown in from the LA Field Office.
A massive bus bearing the FBI National Academy logo waited on the tarmac to haul them to the base.
The second they stepped inside Quantico, reality hit.
Instructors confiscated every personal electronic device, phone, and non-essential item.
Lawson didn't care. His Payday App phone was bound to him—it would magically reappear in his pocket the moment he wanted it.
The rest of the recruits looked like they were going through severe withdrawals.
Even in 2000, people were already hopelessly addicted to their cell phones. You didn't need smartphones to create screen anxiety.
Still, everyone knew what was at stake. No one dared complain.
At the barracks, men and women were split up.
Before she walked away, Jane leaned in and whispered a quick warning.
"Don't sleep too deeply tonight."
Lawson raised an eyebrow, a knowing smirk on his face.
He was assigned to a standard two-man dorm room. The living conditions at the Academy were actually pretty decent.
Carrying his duffel bag inside, he found his roommate already there, buried in a massive textbook.
Hearing the door open, the guy glanced up but said nothing.
He looked introverted, slightly awkward, and radiated pure academic energy—a tech-track analyst for sure.
Lawson stepped forward and extended his hand. They were going to live together for months; keeping the peace mattered.
"Hey. I'm Lawson."
"Will Graham. Nice to meet you."
Despite the polite words, Will's expression was dark, brooding, and oddly intense.
Lawson studied his face. There was something strangely familiar about him, but he couldn't quite place it.
(Author's Note: Will Graham, heavily modeled after Edward Norton's portrayal.)
"You a probationary agent too? Looks like we're in the same class."
"I suppose so. Just arrived today."
"Good to know," Lawson smiled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "You smoke?"
Will shook his head immediately. "No. I don't smoke."
"Shame. I hear real FBI agents survive on nicotine and black coffee. You'll have to pick up one of the habits eventually."
That actually pulled a faint smile out of Will.
"You're right. I know a few agents who fit that description exactly."
The joke broke the ice. Will's guard dropped a little.
As Lawson unpacked, they swapped backgrounds.
Will was a small-town kid with genius-level intellect. He had crushed an Ivy League school and earned a Master's in Psychology—an absolute academic powerhouse.
Guys like him were highly sought after by the Bureau.
The FBI used a strict pay scale from GS-1 to GS-15. Starting rank depended heavily on education.
With a Master's, Will would likely enter as GS-9, pulling around $40,000 a year.
Lawson, on paper a guy without a high-school diploma, would technically start at GS-1, making barely $20,000.
Not that Lawson cared. He could knock over a two-star Payday heist on a Tuesday and walk away with more cash than an FBI Director made in a decade.
Will was on the psychology track, so he was headed for a desk or profiling unit. But as a probationary agent, he still had to survive the brutal physical and tactical boot camp.
Even FBI analysts carried guns. When things went sideways, the nerds still had to know how to shoot.
Right now, Will was openly stressing about whether he could survive the physical side.
Lawson patted his shoulder.
"Relax. It's just basic training. It's designed to break you down, not kill you. Survive the first few weeks and your body will adapt."
"I hope you're right."
Will still looked miserable. Lawson didn't push it.
After squaring away his locker, Lawson stepped outside for a smoke.
The barracks buzzed with new recruits hauling bags. He scanned the crowd, but no one else triggered that weird sense of déjà vu like Will had.
He crushed the cigarette and headed back inside.
"Hey, Will. Sleep light tonight."
"Why?"
"A friend gave me a heads-up. Passing it on."
Will looked thoughtful, but sleep is a biological necessity. After a brutal travel day, very few people can fight exhaustion.
By 2:00 a.m., Will was dead to the world.
The dorm door clicked open. A dark silhouette crept in carrying a heavy, sloshing bucket.
The figure tiptoed to the edge of Lawson's bed, raised the bucket, and prepared to dump it.
"Can I help you?"
The senior cadet nearly jumped out of his skin. He looked down to find Lawson lying there, eyes wide open, staring at him with a deadpan expression.
"H-how the hell are you awake?!"
"Jet lag. Flew in from the West Coast."
Pure bullshit. A three-hour time difference wasn't enough for insomnia, but the cadet was too stunned to argue.
The voices woke Will. He cracked his eyes open, saw the shadowy figure with the massive bucket over his bed, and practically leaped out of his skin.
A split second later, all hell broke loose across the barracks.
Screams, shouts of shock, and wildly creative profanity erupted from every room—a masterclass in American swearing.
"Whatever. Since you're both awake, get your asses out to the courtyard," the senior cadet grumbled, clearly annoyed his prank had failed.
Thanks to Jane's tip, Lawson knew exactly what was coming.
Military and law-enforcement academies loved the midnight ambush. It shattered comfort zones, induced sleep deprivation, and established dominance immediately.
Senior cadets volunteered for it with glee. Hazing the new blood was a time-honored tradition.
Minutes later, a horde of shivering, soaking-wet recruits was herded onto the asphalt courtyard.
It was summer, but Virginia nights were still cold. The senior cadets were bastards—they had loaded the buckets with ice. Half the recruits were already sneezing and violently shivering.
"Thank you," Will whispered through chattering teeth.
If Lawson hadn't stayed dry, Will would have been freezing like everyone else.
"Don't thank me yet. Being the only dry guys out here might make us targets."
Lawson knew how drill instructors operated. If you didn't suffer with the pack, they found ways to make you suffer twice as hard.
Right on cue, heavy combat boots echoed across the asphalt.
A tall, athletic woman flanked by several stern male instructors marched out of the shadows.
She stood nearly 5'11" without heels—almost eye-to-eye with Will.
(Author's Note: Edward Norton's listed height is 6'0", but he's likely shorter in reality.)
Her jawline was sharp, her eyes completely merciless, and she radiated terrifying authority.
Her physique was undeniable. The tactical shirt clung tight to a massive chest—easily D-cups—and her arms were defined with lean, gym-hardened muscle.
She was an apex predator who lived in the weight room.
"I am your Chief Instructor, Peggy Gray. For the next several months, I own your bodies and your tactical development."
(Author's Note: Peggy Gray, modeled after Julia Benson.)
Peggy swept her cold gaze across the shivering recruits. Her eyes locked instantly onto Lawson and Will—the only two dry men in the yard.
"You two. Explain yourselves."
Will froze, unsure what to say. Lawson stepped forward, perfectly calm.
"Ma'am! My internal clock hasn't adjusted to the time zone yet. I was awake when the cadets entered!"
Peggy's lips curled into a cruel, dangerous smile. She had been looking for a sacrificial lamb to set the tone, and Lawson had just volunteered.
"Is that right? If you had excess energy to burn, it means you didn't work hard enough today! You two—hit the track! You will run laps until you physically cannot stand!"
"Ma'am! Will had nothing to do with it! I accidentally woke him up!"
"I don't care! I give the orders! Hit the track, now!" Peggy roared.
Lawson shot Will a sympathetic look and shrugged. He had tried to cover for him, but when an instructor wanted blood, everyone bled.
"Told you it was too early to say thank you."
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