Mikey looked around the dome, his jaw loose, eyes wide. The place was massive, like something pulled out of an old world dream.
"Damn… this place is huge," he muttered to himself. "Long train ride too…"
It had been nearly forty minutes to get here, rattling along the upper rail lines of the Silo. The dome, which pre-dated the Stem-War, was an underground fighting arena where mobsters and gamblers once gathered in secret. Now, long after its original purpose had crumbled, it served one mission: testing Defectors, testing Hit Squad recruits.
The arena floor stretched wide with metal plating and cracked concrete, ringed by steel supports. The stands towered high, every row packed with Defectors—workers, soldiers, children perched on their parents' laps, even the Savior squad up front, seated in their own elevated row like royalty. Mikey still wasn't used to being the center of attention. Every cheer and shout made his ribs tighten. Only about 1,500 of the 4,000 Defectors from the Silo were in attendance, but it felt like 50,000.
The lights dimmed. The crowd's roar softened into a murmur as shadows moved across the stage. Mikey heard metal clanging, a crate getting dragged across the floor. He couldn't see what they were setting up. Just the sound of boots and the echo of steel. Then he heard rough heavy movement and deep, loud breathes, as well as a certain stench.
'God... what the hell is that smell...'
Then the lights blazed back to life. Isaak's voice rang through the speakers as he held a microphone to his mouth.
"I'm getting word we're all set."
In front of Mikey was nothing but a massive metal crate, at least fifteen feet long and ten feet high, its rough edges hidden beneath a plain gray tarp that sagged slightly over its corners. The sight of it commanded the stage, ominous in its silence, a presence that seemed to swallow all other detail around it. Ryosuke leaned forward from the stands, his posture sharp, his eyes narrowing in suspicion as his chest rose with a slow, controlled breath. Bobo and Luce leaned with him, equally transfixed, their expressions tight with unease. The swordsman whispered to himself, his words carrying just enough to be heard by those close to him.
"What is your game, Isaak…"
Around them the dome had fallen into a silence so heavy that every scrape and cough in the audience carried. The crowd of defectors, workers, soldiers, children, and civilians all watched with barely contained confusion. Nothing about this felt familiar, not to them, not to Savior, and certainly not to Mikey. Isaak's voice, amplified and steady, rolled through the arena:
"Step forward, Michael."
Mikey's throat tightened as he swallowed. His boots echoed against the metal stage as he approached, each step drawn out by the tension rising inside him. Just before he reached the crate, a young soldier emerged from a side door, pushing a smaller rectangular box across the floor. He was no older than Mikey, maybe even younger, and as he halted in front of him his hands trembled slightly.
"Please…" the soldier said, voice straining. "Hand me your weapons."
Mikey's green eyes widened. He wanted to ask what for, to demand some clarity, but hesitation won out. His fingers lingered on the hilts of his daggers for a moment before he finally unsheathed them, the blades catching the stage light one last time before he passed them over.
"There ya go."
The soldier accepted them stiffly, and for a split second Mikey caught the way his eyes flicked to the tarp-covered crate. His jaw was tight, his face pale, and before Mikey could speak the soldier broke into a sprint, clutching the daggers to his chest as if desperate to escape whatever was waiting in that box. From the stands, Bobo erupted:
"What the hell is this?! He just gave up his daggers!"
Luce's fingers clenched at Bobo's arm, her voice unsteady.
"Why would they disarm him…?"
Ryosuke remained silent, but his jaw twitched, and the way he sat forward betrayed his unease. Mikey's nerves grew heavier, his chest rising faster as thoughts spun.
'What kind of test is this? It's supposed to test my weapon, my skill… what the hell are they doing?'
Still, he glanced upward. Ryosuke gave him a single nod from the stands, his eyes firm, silently urging him to keep moving forward. Mikey exhaled and lowered his gaze to the rectangular box now at his feet.
"Open the box," Isaak instructed.
Mikey crouched and flipped the latches. When the lid creaked open, his expression broke. His mouth fell open, his heartbeat stumbled, and sweat gathered on his brow as he stared at what lay inside: a crossbow, a bow and arrow, a pistol, a sniper rifle. None of which was familiar, none of which he had trained for.
Ryosuke was on his feet in an instant, fury snapping his voice across the dome.
"Those are long-range weapons! That is not what I put in the notes! Isaak! You bastard!"
The murmurs of the crowd swelled like a rising tide. Isaak, seated high on the platform with the Brass, lowered his gaze. For a flicker of a moment there was something in his expression, something almost human—shame perhaps—but it hardened quickly as he lifted the microphone to his lips.
"Pick your weapon."
Mikey looked up, his voice raised as if he could close the distance between them by sheer force.
"These aren't mine! I don't fight long-range! Didn't Ryosuke give you the notes? I want my daggers—"
"Pick your weapon," Isaak repeated, cutting him short.
Mikey's stomach turned as he stared back into the box, his hands hovering with indecision.
'Bow and arrow? No way. Crossbow feels unreliable. Pistol's small, maybe easier… but then there's the sniper. They stacked these all for range… maybe that's the point. If I'm forced to play this game… better to pick the one meant for greatest distance.'
He reached in and gripped the sniper rifle, its cold, heavy frame awkward in his hands. He straightened with it, uncomfortable, his thin arms already burdened by the weight. In the stands, Bobo's face burned red, his fists curling into the railing.
"They rigged this… they friggin rigged this."
Luce's breath shuddered, her eyes locked on Mikey below.
"He's not built for this, Bo… he's gonna get eaten alive…"
Tobi leaned close to them, confused and unsettled.
"Wait… isn't his thing close-range? At least that's how he fought me."
Amelia's brows furrowed.
"Yeah, exactly... These tests are always personalized…"
Bobo's voice cracked as he dropped his face into his palms.
"It's rigged, kids. They want him to fail."
Both Tobi and Amelia froze, stunned. Tobi's voice came out faint and cracky. "That ain't fair..."
"Why?" Amelia pressed.
Luce, unwilling, answered. "…Because he's from the Council. They don't trust him. This is their excuse to get rid of him."
Amelia stood, heat flashing in her cheeks, eyes blazing with fury.
"And you knew? All of you knew?"
The silence from Savior was answer enough. Down on the stage, Mikey tried to find his footing with the rifle when Isaak's voice rang again:
"See the jar in the box?"
Mikey looked down, spotting the sealed metal container.
"Yeah?"
"Take it. Pour the contents on yourself."
Mikey's brows knotted with even more confusion.
"What? Are you serious?"
The command was met with silence, and after a moment Mikey sighed, muttering under his breath.
"Eh… screw it."
He pulled the jar out and twisted the lid free. Immediately an overwhelming stench burst forth, vile and rotten, burning his nostrils. It smelled like puke and feces had a deformed incest baby. He gagged, nearly spilling the jar outright.
"Holy shit… what is this?!"
He peeked inside. The thick sludge oozed slowly, black-brown with a sickly green tint, clinging to the walls like spoiled tar. Mikey grimaced, steeling himself.
"Fine, this is so stupid…"
He tipped the jar over his head. The sludge poured thickly, sticking to his hair, his jacket, his skin. It crawled down his neck, seeped into his shirt, and smeared even onto the rifle cradled in his arms. The smell alone was suffocating, rancid enough to make his stomach lurch. The audience recoiled, waves of disgust and muttering spreading through the stands. Luce covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide.
"This isn't like our tests… what the hell are they planning?"
Mikey coughed, tossing the empty jar aside where it clattered and spun across the floor. His stomach churned.
'It's even all over the gun… I'm gonna hurl…'
The same soldier that took his weapons earlier came back out. He grabbed the box full of weapons and dragged it away across the stage right before locking himself behind a steel door at the opposite end of the arena. Isaak decided to break the tension and continue with the test preparations. From his platform, his voice steadied.
"Now, Michael. Remove the tarp from the crate."
The dome grew still. Every gaze locked on Mikey as he reached forward, his fingers trembling against the fabric. Slowly, he ripped it away. Two immense, glossy dead looking red eyes glared back at him. Mikey froze. The crowd gasped in unison, and the members of Savior, almost instinctively, muttered the same word under their breath.
"…Fuck…"
Mikey fell back onto the stage as his eyes adjusted. What sat inside the cage was no ordinary animal. Its hulking body filled the crate, it's tangled fur was a bloody crimson, it's muscles heaved beneath its frame. It stood seven feet tall on all fours, a monster that would rise fourteen feet or more on its hind legs. Its face was scarred and half-melted, raw patches of flesh visible where the fur had burned away. Its snout was held in a constant half-snarl. From the snout came its teeth, the creatures canines were mutated and evolved, shooting up and out like tusks. Its roar came out twisted and broken, rattling the cage as its scarred snout slammed against the bars.
A Blood Bear.
The audience broke into chaos—gasps, screams, children crying, parents clutching them tight. The steel cage shook violently with every slam of the beast's weight. Mikey scrambled backward, rifle clutched tight in his arms.
"What the hell is that?!"
The bear bashed the crate again, iron screeching, bolts snapping loose. Mikey turned his wide eyes toward Isaak. Isaak, face grim, leaned back as the Brass whispered quickly in his ear. He hesitated for only a moment before raising the microphone once again.
"Michael Grant, your first test... kill the Blood Bear... and you pass phase one."
The words fell like a stone across the dome. Bobo's expression twisted with unfiltered rage. Luce looked stricken, hands pressed to her lips. Ryosuke sat rigid, his body trembling as if ready to leap down himself. Tobi's voice cracked as he looked at Amelia:
"I-Is that… a Blood Bear? From the Bloody Mist?"
Amelia's eyes darted from the beast back to Mikey. Her throat tightened, and she nodded.
"Yeah... it is… he's screwed."
On the stage, Mikey closed his eyes, clutching his necklace as though his life depended on it. His chest rose and fell with deep, forced breaths, trying to keep the panic at bay.
'Shit… oh my god… breathe. Focus. Focus, dammit…'
Then he realized something, it all clicked in place: Luce acting weird last night, them taking his weapons, giving him a long range weapon to fight...
'This ain't fair... how the hell am I supposed to fight that thing with a sniper rifle from this close of a distance?! It's rigged... they fucked me...'
The Blood Bear slammed against the cage again, harder this time. Metal screamed, hinges tore loose, and with one final charge the door burst free. The beast reared up, its roar shaking the dome, and locked directly onto Mikey's scent. With a thunderous charge it lunged forward. Phase one began.