The training facilities were hidden behind an unmarked door at the far end of the rest area. Caleb had found them while Ellen and Soren slept, drawn by a restlessness he couldn't name. The comfort of beds and hot food felt wrong. Like wearing clothes that didn't fit.
Inside, the space was clinical. White walls, padded floors, equipment that looked both futuristic and somehow ancient. Combat dummies lined one wall. Weapon racks filled another. And in the center, behind a simple desk, sat an NPC unlike the others.
This one didn't smile.
He was tall, thin, with gray hair and eyes that seemed to actually focus. When he looked at Caleb, there was something almost human in his expression. Almost.
"Level 13," the man said without preamble.
Caleb stopped walking. "How do you—"
"Your companions are Level 9 and 8." The man's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "You're outpacing them."
"What are you?"
"I maintain records." He gestured to a chair across from his desk, but Caleb remained standing. "You have questions. About what's happening."
It was true. The changes had been subtle at first. Faster reflexes. Clearer thinking in combat. But lately, something else. Thoughts that felt foreign. Whispers at the edge of hearing.
"The training constructs are through there," the man said, pointing to a door that seemed to shimmer slightly. "See what you've become."
The room beyond was different. Larger. The walls seemed to breathe, expanding and contracting almost imperceptibly. Three humanoid figures stood in the center, their faces blank, featureless.
Caleb drew his tactical knife. The blade felt warm in his hand. Eager.
The first construct charged. Caleb sidestepped, the knife sliding between its ribs. As it dissolved, something stirred in his chest. Not satisfaction but hunger.
The second one was faster. It forced him to work, to think tactically. When he finally brought it down with a thrust to the throat, the warmth spread. His vision sharpened. The shadows in the corners seemed to move.
The third construct didn't fight back. It just stood there, arms at its sides, waiting.
For a moment, just a split second, its blank face flickered. Became Ellen's. Wide brown eyes looking at him with trust.
Then it was blank again.
Caleb hesitated. The construct wasn't a threat. Killing it would be—
Necessary, something whispered. Not his voice. Not his thought.
He drove the knife into its chest anyway.
The surge was immediate. Power flooded through him like liquid fire. The knife pulsed in his hand, and for just a moment, he could swear he felt it feeding. Drinking.
The walls breathed deeper. The shadows moved more boldly. And somewhere, very faintly, he heard laughter.
When he looked at his hands, they seemed different. Steadier. Harder. Like they belonged to someone else.
"Well done."
Caleb spun. The gray-haired man stood in the doorway, watching. Had he been there the whole time?
"You felt it, didn't you?" the man continued. "The change."
"What's happening to me?"
"You're becoming what you need to be." The man stepped closer. "Your friends… they hold you back. They slow you down."
"They're my team."
"Are they?" The man tilted his head. "Or are they anchors?"
Caleb thought of Dina, dying because she couldn't make hard choices. Ellen, volunteering to sacrifice herself. Soren, breaking down after every necessary action.
"The Tower rewards strength," the man said. "Decisiveness. Those who can do what others cannot."
"Like what?"
The man smiled. It was the first expression Caleb had seen from him, and it was worse than the blank stare.
"You already know."
When Caleb left the training room, the rest area felt different. Smaller. The NPCs' movements seemed rehearsed, and artificial. The other survivors looked soft, unprepared, and desperate.
He found Ellen and Soren at their table, picking at breakfast. They looked up when he approached, and he saw it immediately. The way their eyes tracked his movements. The slight tension in their postures.
They were afraid of him.
"Where were you?" Ellen asked.
"Training."
"Find anything useful?" Soren's voice was carefully neutral.
"Maybe."
They ate in silence after that. But Caleb could feel them watching him. Studying him. Looking for signs of whatever they sensed he was becoming.
The knife at his belt felt warm against his leg. Hungry.
In the corner of his vision, shadows moved without anything to cast them.
And somewhere, just at the edge of hearing, something whispered his name.
"Hey Caleb"