The next morning, you stood at the center of the same training chamber, but everything felt different.
Gone were the mechanical drones and programmed attacks. This time, your opponent wasn't coded. He was human—or close enough.
He stood across from you, tall, with a shaved head and burn-scarred forearms. His eyes were sunken and his breathing calm, like someone who had learned pain the hard way.
"That's Marcus," Hartman explained from the observation deck. "Codename: Pulse. Emits shockwaves with his limbs. Kinetic discharge. We picked him up two years ago after he vaporized a bank vault mid-panic attack."
You kept your gaze locked on Pulse. He cracked his knuckles and stepped forward.
"Don't worry," he said, voice gravelly. "I'll try not to break anything you actually use."
You smiled thinly. "Thanks. I'll return the favor."
Voss's voice rang out through the speakers. "Begin."
Pulse moved fast—surprisingly fast for someone his size.
He twisted, slammed a foot into the ground, and unleashed a concussive blast. The ground shook beneath you as the ripple threw you off balance.
You flipped back, body adjusting mid-air. Your vision blurred slightly, but your muscles had already begun recalibrating, bracing for pressure waves. The next shockwave hit you—and you absorbed the force with less recoil.
Pulse came in close, throwing a punch charged with kinetic energy. You ducked, mimicking the motion he used—hips rotating, weight distributed, angle sharp.
You copied it. Then improved it.
Your own fist shot forward, striking his ribs with the same torque. The impact made him grunt and stumble, and he grinned.
"Oh, you learn."
You did more than that.
You remembered.
Your fingers sparked.
Not because of Pulse's ability—but because of the electricity you absorbed from the taser net days ago. It hadn't faded. It had lingered. Somewhere inside you, that energy waited, dormant, until you called it back.
You launched it now—crackling bolts arcing from your palm and wrapping around your fist. You didn't blast it out like a projectile. You wore it—like armor.
Pulse charged, shoulder lowered. You met him head-on, your electrified arm crashing into his chest.
The collision lit the room with a burst of light.
He hit the ground hard.
You stood over him, breathing heavily, your fingers still humming with static.
Voss's voice came over the speaker again. "Match paused."
Hartman's tone followed, intrigued. "You stored energy. First time we've seen that."
You looked at your hand as the sparks slowly faded. "It's not just mimicry," you said. "It's memory."
Voss's voice returned. "Then you'd better start managing your library. Because you just stepped into a much larger game."