Thirty minutes later, everyone sat on the cold white floor. No chairs. No comfort. Just silence and tension hanging thick in the air.
Sylvie sat with her head lowered, her cheeks still glowing crimson from earlier. Every now and then, she'd glance at Ares, only to quickly avert her gaze. Her pride wouldn't let her act any differently.
Jones sat cross-legged, nervously fiddling with his thumbs, arms resting on his legs. The quiet didn't suit him—he looked like he wanted to say something, but didn't know how.
Ares, meanwhile, nursed the clear mark of a punch on his cheek. Courtesy of Jones. He sat with his back against the wall, wearing a deadpan expression as Sylvie kept throwing him confused, uncertain looks—like she wasn't sure whether to punch him too… or just look away.
The silence dragged on, until finally—
"Um…" Jones cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry for hitting you, Ares. I—I thought, you know… that you were thinking something weird."
Ares raised an eyebrow, rubbing his cheek with a wince. "Yeah, I figured. It's fine. I shouldn't have barged into the bathroom like that anyway."
He turned to Sylvie, who immediately stiffened.
"My bad, Sylvie. I didn't mean to—"
"Hmph!" She snapped her head away, still blushing, trying to hold onto her pride. "A pervert is a pervert."
A vein throbbed on Ares' temple, but he forced a stiff smile.
'I take my apology back.'
Then—
Clap!
Nia clapped her hands together with mock enthusiasm. "Now that we've bonded through awkwardness and assault, why don't we officially introduce ourselves?"
Sylvie scowled, clearly unimpressed. "Tch. What's the point? Didn't we already go over names when we first met?"
Nia giggled softly, eyes narrowing in that eerie way that always unsettled people. "We only said our names, not our ranks, classes. We don't need to say our full names. Details matter, sweetheart."
Sylvie visibly flinched. There was something about the way Nia looked at her—like she could see straight through her. Like she knew too much.
Ares, sensing the growing discomfort, tried to redirect the conversation.
"I don't think we need to—"
"I'll start," Nia interrupted, eyes gleaming.
Ares sighed under his breath, defeated.
"I'm Nia," she said with pride, standing up as if she were on stage. "C-rank Attacker. Specializing in speed and strength. Pretty simple, right?" She flashed a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes.
Ares blinked, his expression barely shifting—but inside, his thoughts stirred like a storm.
'C-rank? Speed and strength? That's it?'
He tried not to stare, but his mind kept flashing back to the first experiment. To the way she moved. The way she dodged.
The Minotaur.
That beast was unlike anything they were supposed to face. Huge, berserk, armored like a tank—and she faced it head-on. Not only that, she survived, without a single fatal wound.
'I couldn't even get close without feeling like I'd die. But she… was toying with it.'
He remembered the way her figure blurred between attacks, the clean footwork, the precise strikes—not fatal, but calculated. Like she was testing it. Like she already knew how to kill it, but chose not to.
'No C-rank moves like that. Not even B-ranks I've seen could hold up like she did.'
She had power, but it wasn't raw. It was refined. Practiced. Controlled.
Which meant one thing.
She was holding back.
Ares watched her sit down again, gracefully, like none of this mattered.
And then he noticed it—her eyes weren't proud. They were guarded. Watching them just as much as they were watching her. Like she was constantly calculating.
'She's hiding something… but why?'
He said nothing, letting the moment pass. But a tiny knot had formed in his chest. Suspicion. And unease.
He didn't trust her.
She sat down and turned to Jones. "You next."
"Eh—me? Uh, okay…" Jones looked startled but recovered quickly. "I'm Jones, also C-rank. Tank class. I focus on defense and power-based attacks. Speed's… not my thing unless I'm desperate."
Sylvie groaned, then exhaled sharply.
"Ugh. Fine." She crossed her arms. "I'm Sylvie. B-rank Archer. High speed, agility, accuracy. I've got decent strength too. Happy now?"
All eyes turned to Ares.
He paused, feeling the weight of their gazes like arrows.
'Why am I the only one here who's ranked the lowest?'
"I'm Ares," he muttered. "D-rank. Close-combat style, I guess. Still figuring things out."
Then, suddenly—
BZZZZZZZZZT!
A high-pitched alarm screamed through the speakers, making everyone flinch and cover their ears.
The lights flickered.
And then… a voice.
One that made Ares' blood boil on the spot.
"Testing, testing… is on!"
Kendrick.
"Hello, maggots," the voice sneered. "Hope you all enjoyed your beauty sleep after our lovely first session."
Ares gritted his teeth. His fingers curled into fists. Just hearing Kendrick's smug tone made his vision blur with rage.
"Now, I would love to move on to round two of our… 'games.' But alas, we've got other plans today!"
'Other plans?' Ares blinked. That didn't sound good.
"Oh, and by the way…" Kendrick added, with mocking delight. "I noticed some of you didn't wear your uniforms. So! Let me make it clear—either you put them on, or… Bang!" He imitated a gunshot, laughing. "Now hurry to the hall where we had our sweet little assembly. Peace~!"
The message ended with a loud click.
Chaos followed.
People scrambled back into their rooms, panic driving their movements. No one wanted to test Kendrick's threats.
Ares looked down. His uniform was still on—but it was stained. Blood. Sweat. Ash. It reeked of the last experiment.
"Hey!" someone called. Ares turned, only for a set of clean clothes to smack him in the face.
He caught them in surprise.
The tag read 129.
Jones gave him a half-smile, already wearing his own set. "That one was meant for Jonathan, but… well, doesn't matter now. Yours looks like it went through a war."
Ares blinked. "Right… thanks."
The girls had gone to the restroom to change. Ares quickly swapped into the cleaner uniform. It was a bit loose, probably bigger than Jonathan, but better than wearing dried blood.
'I wonder how Jonathan would look like if wears-…'
He pushed the thought down.
When everyone returned, their uniforms displayed different numbers.
159.
168.
244.
Strange.
The numbers weren't alphabetical or ranked—just odd, almost like they meant something else.
But there was no time to think.
"We've gotta go," Ares said, already leading the way. The others followed, unsure where they were headed but knowing they had no time to waste.
As they ran through the sterile white corridors, they passed others rushing as well—faces pale, expressions grim.
No one wanted to be late.
They burst into the large hall, panting and soaked in sweat.
BANG!
The massive doors slammed shut behind them.
"Everyone made it…" Ares muttered, relieved. "No one's getting shot today, at least."
Sylvie collapsed to the floor, gasping. "I… need to breathe…"
Then—
WHIRRING.
Mechanical sounds echoed around the room.
Small openings emerged along the walls… the ceiling… the floor.
Ares's heart sank.
'No… not again.'
SHHHHHHH.
Gas began to leak in.
Ares's instincts screamed. He sucked in a deep breath and held it, remembering the gas from the first experiment. That choking, mind-numbing fog.
"Hold your breath!" he called out.
Jones and Sylvie followed his lead instantly.
But Nia… didn't.
She stood still, face unreadable. Watching.
Within seconds, the gas clouded the room, making it hard to see. Ares's lungs burned. His jaw locked.
He glanced back.
Jones and Sylvie—collapsed.
'Shit.'
Then—THUD.
A gentle touch on his shoulder.
He gasped.
And inhaled the gas.
His world spun.
Colors swirled. His balance faded. He tried to stand, but his knees buckled.
A shadow leaned in close.
Nia.
Her voice was a whisper in his ear.
"Sorry, Ares."
Darkness.
The doors opened. Soldiers in gas masks stormed in, dragging unconscious bodies across the floor. They paused briefly when they reached Nia—eyes lingering, uneasy—then quickly moved on.
Once the room cleared, Kendrick entered.
Strutting.
Smug.
"All right…" he muttered, arms out like he was giving a sermon. "Time to go, Subject 00."
Nia turned, expression dark. "It's Nia."
She walked past him without another word.
Kendrick twitched, his smile faltering.
He clenched his jaw.
'Why won't that damn girl ever listen?'
He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, his patience thinning.
Later.
Ares groaned as consciousness slowly returned.
His stomach churned.
His muscles ached.
He blinked… and his eyes widened in shock at what he saw in front of him.