The lights above flickered faintly, casting a sterile, unfeeling glow over the rows of cots in the bunker. The scent of disinfectant hung in the air, heavy and invasive.
This wasn't an academy—it was a military compound, a training ground for soldiers.
And the rookies, including me, were nothing more than new recruits.
I stood there in a daze, clutching my dog tag, the cold metal weighing heavily around my neck. The room felt cold and impersonal, each cot spaced with clinical precision, a far cry from the plush accommodations I had imagined in my mind when I first heard about the GAIA Enforcers Talent Academy.
There were no walls of knowledge here, no advanced technology, no sleek simulations. Just stark concrete and harsh lighting, and a looming sense of authority in every corner.
I glanced around at the other rookies. Faces I didn't recognize, though they all seemed to share a certain intensity, sizing each other up.
Everyone was trying to figure out who was weak, who was strong. Some were visibly nervous, others more confident, but all of them—like me—were stuck here, prisoners to GAIA's rules. The academy's strict regime began to settle in.
This was nothing like the freedom I had before. Before this world. Before GAIA.
Before I became Noah Adler.
"Ready to get your uniform?" Atlas's voice cut through my thoughts. His words had a casual, almost cheerful tone, but I could sense the underlying frustration in his eyes. He was adjusting to the harsh reality of this place just like me.
"Yeah, I guess," I muttered, running my fingers along the dog tag.
My initials and rookie number were stamped into it, but it felt less like a symbol of achievement and more like a brand. A mark of ownership.
I couldn't stop thinking about the tattoo. They'd told us it was just for tracking our vitals—nothing invasive. Nothing to worry about.
But it wasn't just a tattoo. It was a damn tracker. It would record my heartbeat, my health status, my every movement. I didn't even have the freedom to hide.
It felt suffocating.
As if hearing my thoughts, Atlas smirked and tossed me the uniform they'd given him.
It was plain, gray and unremarkable. Standard rookie garb.
"Don't worry, man. It's not like they're gonna be watching us every minute."
I shot him a look, eyebrow raised. "Sure. Just a small tattoo on my neck, no big deal. I always wanted to be tracked 24/7."
Atlas laughed, his grin wide and easy. "You think they're gonna give up after a little ink on your skin? They'll be all over us—like a damn GPS for people."
I couldn't help but agree.
A GPS with a deadline, and the only destination was control. GAIA had their eyes on us, and the ink was the final step in chaining us to the system. But I had no intention of being a cog in their machine.
Not if I could help it.
*************
The tattoo room reeked of sterilizer, sharp and chemical, the kind of smell that clung to the back of your throat.
One by one, rookies filed into reclining chairs. The process was mechanical—efficient, indifferent. No words, no comfort. Just bodies moving through a system.
When it was my turn, the chair was cold against my back. The technician didn't even bother with eye contact. Just pressed the device to my arm.
The ink wasn't warm like I expected. It was cold. Too cold. Like liquid ice burrowing under my skin, sinking deeper than flesh. The sensation crawled, invasive, a parasite stitching itself into me. I didn't flinch, but inside, my stomach coiled tight.
The numbness in my forearm from the procedure made me uncomfortable, but it was the sense of losing control that gnawed at me.
No one had warned me about this. But that wasn't the point, was it? No one had to. The academy didn't ask for consent. They never had to.
The technician pulled away with clinical detachment. "Next."
I touched the spot on my arm, fingers brushing the faint sting. It pulsed faintly, like it was alive. This wasn't just some random ink.
"Don't worry," the instructor said, as though reading my thoughts. "You'll get used to it. It's just for your safety."
The buzzing of the needle continued as the last of the rookies were tattooed. When it was over, I saw one of the instructors at the front raised a hand, activating a wrist console. A hologram sprang up in the air in the center of the room—a random rookie's vitals, heartbeat spiking from the procedure, location coordinates locked to the centimeter.
The whole room went silent. No one needed to explain what the tattoos were for. The proof floated above us in neon blue light, as intimate as a heartbeat and as merciless as a prison cell.
A few recruits swallowed hard. One girl looked pale, her hand pressed protectively to her left forearm where the barcode imprinted. Everyone understood.
I didn't let my expression crack, but the truth burned under my skin.
I wasn't branded for safety. I was owned.
If I stepped out of line, if I pissed someone off—if I just disappeared—they'd know exactly where to find me.
This barcode was a data tracker. A marker for GAIA to monitor our every heartbeat, our every move.
It was code written into my body. A brand. A leash.
GAIA had wired itself into me. But parasites can be cut out. Code can be rewritten.
And sooner or later, I'd take this leash and turn it into my weapon.
*************
The cafeteria was the same as everything else here: sterile and utilitarian.
Long rows of tables filled with trays of protein packs, hydration bars, and water bottles. The food was basic—barely enough to fill you up—but that didn't matter. We weren't here for luxury. We were here to train.
I found a quiet corner with Atlas. We didn't speak much—both of us too absorbed in our own thoughts about the day's events.
And then I felt it. Eyes on me.
I looked up, careful not to snap my head like prey, and found him standing at the end of our table. A young man, not much older than me, with sharp features and the kind of confidence that wasn't practiced—it was bred.
He didn't walk like a student. He prowled, casual but calculated. A shark in shallow water.
"Are you Noah Adler?" His voice was smooth, clipped, like someone used to being obeyed.
I held his gaze, letting my face stay unreadable while my brain ran a profile.Posture: predatory.Eyes: assessing, not curious.Expression: rehearsed smirk, designed to unsettle.Intent: control the room.
Not a spoiled prince. Not a thug. Something worse—an apex predator raised on power.
"I guess that's my name. You are?"
The smirk sharpened. "Gaius Alastair. Senior."
My blood ran cold. The Alastair family. I didn't need Atlas's hissed warning—I already knew. Their influence wasn't just military; it was stitched into GAIA's core systems like a rootkit you couldn't scrub. That name meant leverage, and leverage meant danger.
"I've heard about you," Gaius continued, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Technomancer? Never heard of that class before. You didn't use any skills during the obstacle course, but you passed. Interesting."
I wasn't sure if I was intrigued or annoyed. But I knew one thing—he was sizing me up.
"Technomancer. Guess that's one way to put it," I replied, keeping my voice calm, but my mind was racing. What did he want? Why was he so interested in me? Why now?
He leaned in a little closer, his smirk widening. "You're an anomaly, Adler. I think we'll get along just fine."
The way he said it, so casually, like he already knew the outcome... It made my skin crawl.
But I couldn't afford to show it.
"Thanks for the... insight." I replied, offering him a smile that didn't touch my eyes.
I felt the weight of his gaze, the cold calculation in it. Atlas whispered to me that Gaius wasn't someone who did things without an agenda. And whatever his agenda was, I was pretty sure it didn't involve me becoming his friend.
The room seemed to shift when Gaius leaned in, his tone suddenly darkening. "You're not going to make it through this academy if you stay under the radar, Adler. Don't expect to breeze through just because you passed one test. There are eyes everywhere, and if you're smart, you'll figure out where they're coming from before it's too late."
I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink. But I couldn't help but think of all the ways he could make good on his threat.
"Advice taken," I said, leaning back as though he hadn't just marked me.
He stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I'll see you around, Adler."
As he walked away, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being dragged into something far bigger than I could understand.
The cafeteria grew quieter as the tension between Gaius and me hung in the air. Atlas was unusually silent, his gaze lingering on Gaius as he left the room.
"That guy... is trouble," Atlas muttered, his eyes still on the door.
"Yeah," I muttered, my thoughts racing. "But at least now we know what kind."
As we made our way out of the cafeteria, I felt a chill on the back of my neck. Someone was watching me. It wasn't just a feeling—it was instinct. A warning.
My wrist comm buzzed, and I glanced at the screen. An anonymous message. Just coordinates, and a cryptic sentence.
"Don't trust Gaius."