The next morning, Jack awoke to the sound of boots stomping outside his room and a voice barking through the speaker.
"Jack. Report to Team Black living quarters. Location: Sector Three."
He slid out of bed in silence, dressed, and followed the signs deeper into the facility.
The hallways changed the farther he walked. The walls weren't white here. They were darker, rusted steel with flickering lights. The air smelled faintly like oil and ash.
Eventually, he found the door.
It opened with a mechanical hiss.
---
🏚️ New Territory
Jack stepped into the room.
It was bigger than his last space — more like a converted bunker than a dorm.
There were four individual beds in the corners, a weapons rack in the center, lockers scattered around, and an open wall window that showed the dense woods of the island, reaching far into the fog-covered horizon.
At first glance, it almost looked peaceful.
Until the people inside turned toward him.
---
⚫ The New Pack
Grav sat on the floor doing push-ups — one-arm, fast, steel-coated and shaking the walls.
Riot was balancing a live grenade on her nose while reading a comic book.
Blitz, the speedster, paced in short, twitchy lines near the wall, muttering numbers to himself.
All three stared as Jack entered.
"Hey there, roomie," Riot said with a grin. "Hope you don't mind noise. Blitz screams in his sleep."
"I don't scream," Blitz snapped. "I calculate. Six thousand nine hundred steps a day. Ten strikes to crack skulls. One twitch and I—"
"—shut up," Grav said without looking up. "Let the new guy breathe."
Jack walked to his assigned locker and sat on the edge of his bed.
This wasn't a team.
This was a pressure cooker.
And the temperature was rising.
---
🧠 The Realization
He spent the next two hours watching.
Blitz couldn't stop moving.
Grav sparred with punching bags filled with metal chunks.
Riot cut smiley faces into her knives and talked to them like they were friends.
Jack realized something quickly:
They weren't just violent.
They were unhinged.
Unpredictable. Raw.
And now he was living in a cage with them.
---
📣 The Team Matchups
Suddenly, the overhead speaker buzzed to life.
"Attention all operatives. Upcoming round matchups will now be displayed in your rooms."
The far wall shifted — revealing a holographic list of matchups and new team names.
Jack stepped closer, reading.
Arena Match Set 1:
Team Red vs Team Silver
Team Green vs Team White
Then his eyes dropped to the third matchup:
Team Black vs…
Team Sapphire
Jack squinted.
The screen showed the roster:
Michael – Fire
Emily – Water
A new girl – Gravity manipulation
Jack's eyes widened.
Michael and Emily were together again.
But not with him.
And now?
They were his enemies.
Riot whistled behind him. "Oooh. I love it when things get personal."
Grav cracked his knuckles. "Guess we'll see if those little buddies of yours bleed."
Blitz just kept pacing, muttering numbers.
Jack said nothing.
But his jaw locked. His pulse climbed.
Inside his mind, the monsters whispered:
> "You see? Loyalty dies here."
"They replaced you."
"Let them burn."
Jack closed his eyes.
This island wasn't a test.
It was a war zone.
And the next round?
Was going to be hell.
💢 The Breaking Point
Jack stared at the glowing names on the screen:
Michael. Emily.
The only people who had stayed by his side. The ones who understood him.
Now they were marked as enemies.
The voices in his head began to stir, louder than before.
> "They did this on purpose."
"Rip the walls down. Let them all bleed."
"You're just a piece in their game."
Jack clenched his fists.
"NO!"
He turned from the screen and bolted out the door.
Riot called after him, laughing, "Where you going, freak?"
Grav didn't even bother to ask.
Jack ran through the hallways, pushing past guards, ignoring shouts. The facility's structure blurred around him until he reached the Main Control Center — a restricted area lined with observation glass and dozens of monitors tracking the island, teams, and training arenas.
He slammed the doors open with a burst of red-vein energy, cracking one of the hinges as staff members in white coats looked up in alarm.
---
🔊 Demanding the Truth
Jack stormed into the center of the room, eyes burning with red veins around them.
"Why?!"
Silence.
He pointed to the giant screen above them — still displaying the match list.
"Why the hell am I fighting my old team?!"
One of the older staff members, a man with thick glasses and a gray lab coat, adjusted his clipboard calmly.
"Because the algorithm decided it was the most… valuable pairing."
Jack's voice rose. "That's not an answer!"
Another woman, younger, tried to speak carefully. "Jack, your integration into Team Black needed to be tested. This scenario will help us evaluate emotional adaptability—"
Jack's voice shook with rage. "You're testing if I'll kill them."
Nobody answered.
He stepped closer, fists trembling.
"I already know what I'm capable of. But I swore I'd protect them. And now you want me to rip them apart to prove something to your f***ing program?!"
One of the staff quietly typed something behind the glass.
The older man responded. "Jack. You chose this path. The moment you joined Team Black, the rest of the board saw an opportunity."
Jack's jaw locked. "You're playing chess with people's lives."
The man raised an eyebrow. "You're not people. Not anymore."
---
😶 The Cold Reality
A silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket.
Jack's breathing slowed.
He looked at the screens — footage of Emily training her water beam, Michael sparring with a new partner.
They were moving on. Trying to survive. Just like him.
And this system?
It was doing everything it could to turn survival into betrayal.
He backed up, slowly.
One last whisper escaped his lips:
"…I won't kill them."
The old man replied without emotion.
"Then they'll kill you."
Jack turned and walked out — this time slower. Calmer.
But inside, the storm had already started.