The ceiling greeted me again. Stark white. Empty. Cold.
I didn't bother counting how many times I had woken to that same blinding void above. What would be the point?
I sat up, numb and compliant. The moment my feet touched the ground, the door creaked open with mechanical precision, as if anticipating my every breath. A guard entered, faceless behind his mask, and dragged me by the arm.
No words. No choices.
We arrived at the testing chamber.
The cold metal cuffs clamped around my wrists as they strapped me back to the medical bed. I no longer flinched. My body remembered the routine even if my mind wanted to forget. The pain began moments later—searing through every nerve like liquid fire. My body convulsed, screams escaping involuntarily.
"Aaaaaarrrgghhh!"
They always echoed, bouncing off the sterile walls like reminders of my fragility. But this time… something felt off.
I was aware.
I wasn't just enduring.
I was feeling.
I was present.
That caused me more hurt than the pain itself.
After the session, they didn't return me to my usual void. Instead, the same guard wordlessly dragged me down a corridor I hadn't seen before.
I didn't ask questions. I only observed. Every turn. Every hallway. Every keycode typed. The timings. The scent of antiseptic. The positioning of cameras. The layout of doors.
If there was even a single chance I'd get out of this place alive, I needed all of it.
Finally, we reached our destination—a large room, identical in color but not in silence. It was full.
At least forty other subjects. Boys. Girls. Teenagers. Some younger. Some older. All marked with the same lifelessness in their eyes. But unlike me, they were… functioning. Talking. Laughing, even.
It was strange. As if they'd adapted. Formed cliques, alliances, coping mechanisms.
I realized then—I had always been isolated. My treatment was not like theirs. My body carried more bruises. My memories were more broken. My designation must have been different.
Was I… an exception?
Suddenly, the room shimmered.
The white walls dissolved, replaced by a vivid green forest. Trees towered overhead, leaves rustling in an invisible breeze. Birds chirped in artificial joy. Sunlight dappled through the canopy, casting golden patterns on the earth.
But beneath it all—I could feel the danger. An illusion meant to disarm, distract, deceive.
A voice crackled through unseen speakers. Cold. Robotic.
> "Survive. Death in this place will be imminent. Survive by any means necessary."
Weapons were handed out moments later.
A guard shoved a set into my arms—an odd combination. A handgun, sleek and cold. And a sword. Basic, steel-forged, unadorned.
Why both?
Around me, the others received different tools. Bows, spears, gauntlets, whips—even scythes. Murmurs buzzed through the crowd like insects.
"She's the top of our sector, right?"
"Yeah, no doubt. Beat the combat sim on Medium difficulty already."
"She's a freakin' monster. They even give her better food."
"She's the only one they smile at."
The chatter pointed toward one figure.
A girl stood slightly apart from the rest. White hair like fresh snow. Pale blue eyes that barely blinked. A long spear rested in her hand, and a short sword dangled at her hip.
She was tall, lithe, eerily calm.
But I couldn't help but frown. She was the strongest here?
She didn't look like much. In fact, she looked like she hadn't bled once in her life. The way others stared at her told me everything—they admired her. Feared her.
But… Medium difficulty?
The simulation I survived didn't have a setting. It was just pain. Endless. Real.
The voice returned.
> "You each have seven days. This is not a virtual simulation. Death is final. Real monsters roam this space. Proceed with caution."
And just like that, the ground beneath our feet shifted.
We were scattered.
Teleported.
I blinked—and the next moment, I stood alone in a clearing surrounded by tall trees, roots jutting out like claws. The soil was damp beneath my boots. The scent of moss filled my nose.
It was… beautiful, in a way. Birds chirped. Leaves fluttered.
But none of it reached me.
My mind processed the visuals, but my heart didn't react. It was like seeing the world through a fogged lens.
I was alive. But not living.
A system prompt appeared in my vision.
> [Quest Progress: 3%]
Only 3%?
I glanced at the gun. Then the sword.
If I wanted to survive this test… I needed to do more than observe.
I had to move.
I had to hunt.