The knock was soft but firm, enough to stir Jack from his half-sleep. He blinked toward the main door of the shared room, still adjusting to the quiet after the last brutal challenge. The others—Emily, Nova, and Michael—were already awake, sitting in silence.
Jack walked toward the door. As he opened it, he expected a guard or a warning. Instead, standing there was the general himself.
His presence filled the room like a shadow. Cold eyes, posture rigid, uniform spotless.
Jack narrowed his eyes. "General?"
"You're moving up," the general said simply. "Congratulations, Rank 2."
Jack's heart skipped, not from pride, but from the dread of what came next. The general continued.
"As Rank 2, you're allowed one teammate to bring with you... but I've decided. Two will come. One will stay."
Jack stepped aside as the general entered, looking at the others.
Nova, Emily, and Michael stood in a line, tense and waiting.
After a long pause, the general's eyes landed on Nova.
"Nova. You're coming."
She blinked, stunned, but didn't move yet.
Then: "Michael. You're coming too."
Emily gasped, her voice catching in her throat. "What?"
Michael looked surprised, but kept his head high.
"Emily stays. Orders." The general's voice was final.
Jack met Emily's eyes. She looked crushed. He gave her a small nod, a silent apology, before turning to Nova.
"Pack up. Now."
---
The Transfer
The new location was cold—biting wind, grey sky, snow in patches on the metal ground. The facility looked like a fortress of steel at first... until they stepped inside.
Warmth washed over them. Lights glowed softly from chandeliers. Marble floors. Velvet furniture. It was… beautiful. Like stepping into a rich person's idea of peace.
"This is Rank 2?" Nova whispered.
Jack didn't answer. He was still processing the change.
They were led down a hallway to a set of doors. Their room.
Inside were three bedrooms, a shared common space with couches and bookshelves, and even a kitchen.
"Three rooms?" Jack asked.
The general, standing at the door, nodded. "Soon, you'll be allowed to choose one more to fill your squad. For now, it's just you two."
With that, he left.
---
Notes and Surprises
Later, Jack found a small note on his bed.
> Daily Schedule
Breakfast – 6:00 AM
Lunch – 12:00 PM
Dinner – 5:00 PM
Missing a meal means skipping until the next one.
Nova had the same note.
Jack raised an eyebrow. "Meals… every day?"
Nova smiled, cautiously. "That's... new."
---
Training Begins
By afternoon, they were both summoned.
"Training evaluation. Now."
They were separated—Nova sent to the girl's training hall, Jack to the boys'. The halls were massive, lined with equipment, dummies, and sparring circles. Kids of all ages and ranks were training, some in groups, others alone.
Jack looked around, already feeling eyes on him.
He chose a corner and cracked his knuckles.
Time to see what this new rank really meant.
The robot lunged with brutal speed, metal fists hissing through the air. But Jack was faster. He moved like water between the blows, sliding low, twisting to the side, flipping back before the next strike could land.
It was on deadly mode, its movements sharp, optimized to kill.
Jack's eyes narrowed. He had seen enough.
He stomped his foot—and from beneath, veins of pulsing energy exploded upward like roots, wrapping tightly around the robot's legs, then up its arms. The machine struggled, gears grinding, but Jack's grip held firm.
He exhaled slowly. With a flick of his hand, the veins contracted violently, crushing the machine's frame with a metallic CRACK as it collapsed to the ground in pieces.
Silence followed.
Then slow, sarcastic clapping.
"Well, well," a voice called out.
Jack turned.
A tall boy stepped forward, surrounded by two others. His hair was slicked back, his uniform cleaner than everyone else's. He carried himself like a prince who'd never been touched in a fight.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a plant mage," he said, a cocky grin on his face.
His two followers chuckled behind him.
Jack didn't flinch. He kept his tone low, calm. "Yeah. Plant powers."
The boy laughed again. "Cute. You've got some style—roots and vines and all that forest crap. How about a sparring match, 'plant boy'? Let's see how you really fight."
Jack's fists tightened slightly. He didn't want attention. Not yet. Not until the arenas, where he could unleash what he really was.
So he nodded.
"Sure," he said.
The two squared off. Everyone stepped back.
The boy smirked, already convinced of his win. Jack didn't move. He just stood there, letting the other kid charge.
Bam!
A clean punch to the jaw.
Jack stumbled back and dropped hard, unmoving.
Gasps rang out. The proud boy lifted his arms in fake triumph.
"Told you. Weak little plant boy."
But as they walked away laughing, no one saw the tear roll from Jack's eye.
It wasn't real.
---
The Plan
Jack walked the hallway alone, wiping away the fake tear with the back of his hand. His lips curled slightly—not in a smile, but in focus.
Let them think he's weak. Let them laugh.
He had monsters.
He had secrets.
And now, he had time.
Inside his new room, Jack sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the note about meal times. He ignored it, mind racing.
> They can't know what I am. Not until the arenas. That's when it counts.
He grabbed a piece of paper from the small desk and started writing, drawing, planning. Every fake move. Every lie. Every monster to keep in the shadows.
Let the others play checkers.
He was already playing chess.
The cafeteria at Rank 2 was nothing like the lower levels.
It was clean—too clean—with polished metal floors and warm lighting. Long tables stretched across the room like a private dining hall. Kids sat in small groups, laughing, whispering, showing off injuries like trophies. The air buzzed with energy—but Jack felt outside it all.
He stepped into line. No guards with guns. No ration trays. Just a menu on a screen.
He tapped the glass.
Steak. Mashed potatoes. Water.
A moment later, a tray slid out of a slot below, the smell hitting him instantly—seared meat, buttery potatoes, a bit of pepper. Real food. Food that made him forget, for one second, the screams, the blood, the monsters.
He walked past the tables until he found a corner booth by the window. He sat, alone.
The first bite was perfect—warm, tender, seasoned. The mashed potatoes melted in his mouth. He took another bite. And another.
But his eyes never left the room.
He watched people laughing. Talking. Pretending this place was normal. Pretending the blood didn't stain their memories.
Jack chewed slowly.
This is a game.
This whole place is a game.
They want me to get comfortable. To open up. To be known.
He swallowed and set the fork down, hands folding under his chin as he watched a kid across the room laughing with his squad.
They won't see me coming.
He finished his plate—every bite. No wasted food in this world.
As he stood up to return the tray, a few people looked at him. Whispers. Curious glances.
He didn't meet their eyes.
---
Later That Night
Back in his room, Jack sat at his desk, a dim light overhead casting shadows over his face. His window showed the snowy darkness outside. Cold wind howled in the distance, but inside, it was warm.
He pulled out a sheet of paper he'd hidden in his pants pocket earlier and unfolded it.
A rough map of the facility. Hand-sketched. Every hallway. Every training room. And now, the cafeteria.
In the corner, he started a list.
---
Jack's Hidden Plan - Phase 1
Don't use real powers.
Act weak or emotional when needed.
Learn routines (meals, patrols, squad picks).
Get into the arena. Then unleash.
---
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling.
One mistake… and they'll know what I am.
His monsters stirred in the back of his mind. Screeching. Whispering.
But for now, they slept.
Tomorrow, he'd train again.
And tomorrow, he'd start watching who else might be useful—or dangerous.
The facility was still asleep.
Jack stepped out into the cold hallway, his breath fogging lightly in the air. He wore the same training uniform from yesterday, hoodie down, eyes sharp. The lights above buzzed softly, and the silence of early morning blanketed the world around him.
He made his way through the halls without a word, without a sound.
The training room doors slid open with a soft hiss.
Empty.
Perfect.
Jack stepped in.
The walls loomed around him, metal panels and padded floors. Dummies stood upright on one side of the room, motionless and waiting.
He walked to the center and raised his hand.
From his palm, a small wooden orb formed, no bigger than an apple. Vines shifted across its surface like slow breathing.
"Break Hug," he whispered.
He turned to one of the dummies and hurled the orb at its chest.
Thwack.
The second it made contact, roots exploded outward, wrapping tightly around the dummy's arms and chest—locking it in a full-body bind like a twisted embrace.
Jack stepped closer, examining the hold.
"Strong. Quick... good reaction time," he muttered.
He formed another one—smaller this time—and tossed it low.
Snap.
The roots burst out and wrapped tightly around the dummy's legs, pulling them together and rooting them to the ground.
Jack nodded.
Good for movement control. Surprise traps. Disabling strikes.
He walked to the side of the room where unused weights were stacked and placed a Break Hug orb behind a 45-pound plate.
Then, slowly, he dragged a broom across the floor to simulate footsteps.
The moment the broom touched the plate—BOOM—roots fired out from underneath, grabbing the broomstick in a vise-like grip.
Jack smiled.
"Perfect for a trap."
He made three more and placed them across the room in scattered, unpredictable patterns—under a mat, inside a glove, beside a training dummy.
Then he ran drills—throwing, dodging, planting, baiting the trap.
Each time he moved, his mind calculated timing, angles, and outcomes.
No one could see this version of him.
Not yet.
---
Twenty Minutes Later
Footsteps echoed outside the training room.
Jack inhaled sharply, and with a wave of his hand, the Break Hug traps sank into the floor, roots retreating, leaving no trace behind.
By the time the first person walked in—a tall, sleepy boy rubbing his eyes—Jack was at the far end of the room, casually punching a dummy.
Just another kid, getting in early practice.
---
In Jack's Head
> They think I'm weak.
Let them.
I have more gifts coming. Let the arena see the real me… just not yet.
The whispers from his monsters purred low in the back of his mind, almost pleased.
The next test?
Would anyone be smart enough to suspect him… or stupid enough to challenge him?