Chapter 8: Meeting The Others

  The community room was different today.

  Gone was the still air of idle waiting. In its pce hung a strange gravity, a tension like static clinging to the skin.

  Ten chairs had been arranged in a semicircle.

  Sym arrived st, his steps silent, eyes already scanning.

  Ten chairs. Nine filled.

  The numbers lined up, barely. Number 256 was nowhere to be seen. No one acknowledged the empty chair, but it stood like a tombstone.

  On one side of the room sat the Awakened, the newly-forged survivors of the experiment. Sym counted them as he joined the back edge of the semicircle, quietly and observantly.

  Caleb and Trey sat close, the easy rhythm of old friends between them, words exchanged softly, but with a quiet tension that clung to the edges. Something unsaid simmered beneath their calm.

  Next to them was Sandra, Number 2. She didn’t sit so much as perch long, tangled orange curls twisted into a rough bun, sharp blue eyes alert like a coiled predator. Her presence filled the space.

  Sage informed him her skill was [Salek’s Channeling], but neither of them could find a reference to a “Salek.”.

  Then came Burt Number 45. Middle-aged, with heavy shoulders and a face carved from tired stone. Deep lines etched across his brow as if he’d spent years squinting into horrors.

  His fingers tapped a dull rhythm on the chair’s armrest, restless but deliberate. His skill, [Massive Message], sounded like nonsense. Code, maybe. Or something far more dangerous.

  And stly, Elen. Number 130. Pale, quiet, almost doll-like in her stillness. Her limbs were delicate, her movements nearly imperceptible, as though a sudden motion might shatter her.

  But Sym didn’t trust appearances. He’d learned quickly: power hides best in fragile containers. Her skill, [Green Within], whispered gentleness, but the system lied often. And well.

  He let Sage catalogue all of them. Body nguage. Eye patterns. Respiration. Anything that might be useful ter. Information before familiarity.

  Across from them stood the other side of this equation.

  Emanuel, of course, ever the polished handler, clipboard in hand, eyes already calcuting. Beside him were two newcomers.

  One was a bald man in a tailored dark suit. His posture was strict, and his presence felt heavy. Authority without charm.

  Sym pegged him immediately as a faction official, someone who signed off on what the Awakened would do, not how they were made.

  The other figure was far more interesting.

  He leaned against the wall with crossed arms, his light leather armor worn but clean. At his waist hung two small battle axes, each with bck-inked runes carved along the handles

  A short, bck cape with a half-hood rested on his shoulders, marked by red stitching that Sym couldn’t decode.

  He didn’t posture.

  He didn’t need to.

  This was someone who was awakened and had used their skill. Someone who had killed with it.

  Then the room fell into silence as Emanuel stepped forward.

  “Thank you all for coming,” he said, voice calm, authoritative, practiced. “You are the six who emerged, chosen by chance, science, and perhaps something greater. Today begins your next phase.”

  Sym leaned back slightly in his chair, arms folded.

  The game was shifting again.

  From survival to service.

  Emanuel stepped back as the mustached man in the suit took the center of the room.

  The man adjusted his tie with a deliberate slowness, then straightened his spine like someone who had rehearsed power in a mirror his whole life.

  “Allow me to formally introduce myself,” he said, voice smooth, trained, and amplified just enough to dominate the room without shouting. “I am Simon Relhast, founder and director of the Power Research Group. And as of today, your employer.”

  His gaze passed slowly over the seated Awakened like a scanner, measuring potential, gauging resistance.

  “I established PRG with a singur vision,” Simon continued. “To push the boundaries of what humanity can become.”

  “I intend to open the nearby Gateway,” he said, “the one sealed near the edge of the slums.”

  A murmur rolled through the room. Sym stayed silent.

  Simon pressed on. “By establishing a strong, Awakened-led presence in this region, we can restore security, dignity, and order. The people here deserve more than fear. They deserve protection.”

  It was a good speech. Passionate. Purposeful.

  But in the quiet space between the words, Sym heard the whisper of Sage.

  “Coded nguage. Tactical rhetoric. Half-truths embedded.”

  Sym’s eyes narrowed. Of course.

  Protection meant control. Opening the gateway meant testing it on the expendable. And dignity was just another word for obedience.

  Simon paused, allowing the moment to settle before stepping aside.

  “But,” he added, “I will not be leading you. That honor belongs to someone more qualified. More... favored.”

  His arm extended toward the leather-armored man leaning against the wall, the one with the twin axes and the air of someone used to being feared.

  The man pushed off the wall and stepped forward, his boots clicking loudly against the metal floor. He moved with practiced efficiency, measured and silent, a predator in formal introduction.

  “The Obelisk chose me,” he said simply, voice deep and edged with disdain. “I didn’t need a b. I didn’t need machines. I woke up because the divine reached out and touched my soul, making me Blessed.”

  His eyes scanned the room, like a trainer eyeing new weapons.

  “I am Evin Vorrik, your captain. And make no mistake, I lead. You follow. I’ve killed more creatures from the other side of the wall than you’ve seen, and I expect discipline.”

  He stopped in front of Sym, just for a second too long, then continued his slow path across the room.

  “I hope you won’t waste my time,” Evin added. “Because I don’t tolerate failure.”

  He returned to his post, arms folded again, a faint sneer flickering across his lips.

  The room fell still. Even Caleb and Trey looked less certain now. Sandra looked annoyed. Burt? Unreadable.

  Sym?

  He was calcuting.

  “Sage. How strong is he?”

  “Unknown. Higher power potential. Spiritual alignment with the Obelisk is suspected as it's Blessed. But arrogance compromises crity. Weakness may still exist.”

  Good.

  Everyone bleeds.

  Sym sat straighter in his seat, already shaping strategies.

  They gave him a captain.

  The room hadn’t rexed, even after Simon and Vorrik finished speaking. If anything, the air had grown thicker.

  Everyone now understood the shape of the board. Who led. Who followed. And who might not survive long enough to do either.

  Sym didn’t speak. He just stared at Evin, this so-called “captain” blessed by divine providence.

  “Sage,” he said calmly in his mind. “Scan him.”

  A brief flicker of light crossed his vision, invisible to the others.

  [Name: Evin][Level: 3][Skill: Boots of Zephyr]

  ...

  A higher level than anyone in the room. Not surprising. He wasn’t fresh out of the vats like the rest of them; he’d been in the field. Fought. Killed. Survived.

  But the name of his skill... intrigued Sym.

  “Boots of Zephyr,” he mused quietly. “Speed-based? Movement enhancer?”

  “Likely,” Sage replied. “Zephyr references wind, flight, and rapid mobility. Possible focus on evasion or burst-speed combat. Dangerous if combined with melee skills.”

  Sym filed the data away. Fast didn’t mean untouchable.

  Across the room, Simon took the stage again, his voice still warm, but colder now that expectations had been set.

  “Your schedule begins immediately,” he said. “You will report to this facility five days a week. Mandatory training. Tactical theory. Combat simutions. Squad drills.”

  He gnced around the room.

  “And soon... deployment.”

  The word hit like a cold gust of wind.

  “Gateway Five, near Zone Ten, will open in the near future,” Simon continued. “We intend to cim it, secure the perimeter, build our base, and begin scouting operations outside the wall.”

  Outside the wall.

  Sym’s fingers curled around the edge of his chair.

  He hadn’t said it aloud, but the thought lived inside him like a warning beacon.

  I’m not a fighter. Not by nature. Not by upbringing. He could use ser weapons in his past life, but never as a real combatant.

  But maybe I’ll have to become one, or Sage can just take over...

  He exhaled slowly.

  Simon’s final words were clipped and firm.

  “I don’t care if you like each other. Outside this building, be whoever you want. But inside this faction, you’re a team. Unity isn’t optional.”

  With that, he nodded to Emanuel, and the meeting was over.

  No appuse.

  Just an emptying room and the weight of orders settling on six backs.

  Sym returned to his chamber in silence. The hallway hummed around him, echoing with footfalls and the distant click of locks.

  The common area was already empty. The cafeteria lights were dim.

  Back in his room, he sat on the cot and stared at the door for a long while.

  Tomorrow, he’d be leaving this underground facility. No more steel walls and filtered air.

  He’d step into the zones, the true settlement. The world was shaped by the Obelisk’s light and the shadows it refused to touch.

  He’d be given money. Enough, hopefully, to rent a room.

  A pce with a lock.