The air hit Aarav Kane like a frozen wave. Behind the twelve-locked door lay a room drenched in darkness, silence so heavy it pressed against his eardrums. No lights, no sound—just the faint metallic tang of something long decayed, and the unmistakable sensation that he was being watched.
Great. Perfect place for a "welcome" party, he muttered under his breath.
He activated the small flashlight clipped to his jacket. Its beam cut a narrow path through the room, revealing walls lined with cages. Each cage was empty, but the floor beneath them bore marks—deep scratches, scuffs, and faint pools of dried liquid that might once have been something else.
Aarav's stomach clenched, but he couldn't show hesitation. He had learned that the Bureau—and whatever else watched—thrived on fear. Fear was a puzzle to solve, not a weakness to show.
A sudden click echoed in the darkness. Aarav spun, flashlight slicing through the shadows. Nothing. Then another click.
Movement—fast, deliberate, silent.
Two figures dropped from the ceiling, landing on either side of him. Black suits, masks, and weapons designed for lethal precision.
Aarav grinned. "I was hoping someone would crash my little welcome party."
He ducked low as a baton swung toward his head, rolling along the floor. Sparks flew as metal scraped concrete. With a quick kick, he sent one attacker sprawling into a cage, the bars clanging. The second lunged from the shadows. Aarav pivoted, using his momentum to sweep the attacker's legs out from under him.
Not bad for a rookie, he thought. Then he reminded himself: You're not a rookie anymore.
The room was rigged. Laser grids crisscrossed the cages, pressure plates activated small darts, and faint heat sensors marked invisible traps. Every move Aarav made was a negotiation with death.
He leapt onto a cage, landing lightly, and scanned the ceiling. Another figure—silent, like the ones from the Arena—hung from the rafters. Aarav smirked, whispering sarcastically, "Silent type, huh? You should really learn to talk. Makes things easier."
He dropped down, rolling under a laser beam, and slashed a chain holding a cage door. It swung open, blocking the silent attacker's path. Sparks flew as metal met metal.
Aarav darted forward, feeling his heart pounding. Somewhere in the shadows, he could hear faint breathing. Not his own. Another layer to the game. Someone—or something—was tracking him.
In the center of the room, a pedestal waited. On it lay a small, black case. The Bureau's traps had funneled him here. Aarav knew the case wasn't just an objective—it was bait.
He dashed toward it, ignoring the darts, weaving between lasers, ignoring pain as a shard of metal scraped his shoulder. His fingers closed around the case.
A soft, distorted voice came from the speakers hidden in the rafters:
"Congratulations, Kane. You've reached the end… of this trial. But the screams you didn't hear are only a fraction of what awaits. Will you survive what you cannot see?"
Aarav's grin widened, dark and sarcastic. "Oh, don't worry. I'm starting to enjoy the invisible choir."
Then the room shook. Panels shifted. New cages dropped from the ceiling, empty but poised like predators. Laser grids rearranged. Another figure emerged from the shadows—a mirror of the silent cadet from the Arena.
Aarav exhaled slowly, flexing his fingers. "Alright, shadow boy… let's dance."
He vaulted onto a cage, swinging a steel rod at the attacker, deflecting a punch mid-air. They collided, a ballet of violence in darkness and metal. Sparks flew, grates cracked, and Aarav's wit never faltered.
"Guess what?" he said through gritted teeth as he rolled under a swinging chain. "I'm allergic to losing."
Minutes—or what felt like hours—passed. Aarav moved, fought, and calculated every step. The silent figure lunged again, and Aarav pivoted, using a nearby cage as leverage to knock the attacker into the laser grid. Sparks and alarms sounded.
Finally, the room fell silent again. Aarav's chest heaved. Blood ran along his shoulder, and a shallow cut split his eyebrow. But he was alive. And the black case, clutched in his hand, felt heavier than he expected.
He glanced around the room. The cages, the lasers, the shadows—they were all part of the lesson. Survival required precision, instinct, and a mind willing to embrace darkness.
Aarav Kane smiled, his grin sharp in the dim flashlight glow. "Lesson learned. But the real game… the real game starts outside this room."
And somewhere, far above in the Bureau's observation deck—or perhaps beyond—the shadows smiled back.