Lucas's small body was roughly set down onto the cold stone floor again. The dim light barely penetrated the shadows, revealing only iron bars and the occasional shifting silhouette. The faint metallic smell mixed with the stench of dampness and old blood made the room feel suffocating. A cold command sliced through the quiet.
"Alakazam, Teleport."
"Alakazam!"
"Whoosh!"
Lucas remained motionless, allowing the Psychic-type Pokémon's power to wash over him. His senses, honed from his previous life as an elite assassin, immediately cataloged everything: the sound of uneven breathing, the slight scuffle of feet, and the shifting patterns of shadows that hinted at movement beyond the bars.
The first murmurs began from the group surrounding him.
"Another kid? Barely grown hair," one sneered.
"Hmph. Looks like an orphan picked from the streets."
"Maybe an illegitimate child, sold off by the main wife," another muttered, the words dripping with cruel amusement.
Lucas's sharp gaze swept over the group, and a cold intensity froze several of them mid-sentence. The scrawniest boy stepped forward, trying to intimidate him with bravado, but Lucas's silent stare caused his confidence to falter. The other onlookers, unsure, hesitated and began retreating slightly.
A deep, authoritative voice echoed from the shadows. "Alright, stop." The scrawny boy froze completely, and the surrounding crowd quietly dispersed. Lucas turned, trying to locate the speaker in the darkness, but the dim light revealed only moving shadows. He noted the harsh metallic scent of the place, the faint echoes, and the rhythm of controlled breathing. He had been here before, in his past life, and recognized the cold efficiency of Ghost Ship's initial containment zones.
Lucas found a corner and sat down, letting his body rest while his mind observed. New arrivals continued to teleport into the facility, their reactions ranging from panic to defiance. Some immediately tried to test the limits of the iron bars, others trembled as they clutched the thin metal plate assigned to them. Lucas remained calm, noting patterns in behavior, energy signatures, and rank indicators.
Time passed slowly. After the fourth meal—bland, barely nourishing, and served cold—a blinding white light suddenly illuminated the room. The new arrivals recoiled instinctively, shielding their eyes. As their vision adjusted, two men appeared at the entrance, dressed in black uniforms, standing like statues of authority.
Lucas's trained eyes quickly picked out the subtle difference between them: the man on the right wore a dark blue badge at his waist, the one on the left a dark red badge. Within Ghost Ship, colors corresponded to rank: red, green, blue, silver, gold, and black. The red-badged assassin commanded authority, the blue-badged one enforced it. Lucas's memories stirred. He had once risen to gold rank, using cunning, endurance, and the aid of Dark Power. Here, he was merely a new recruit.
The small iron door opened. The first group of ten eagerly stepped forward, clutching their numbered plates. Lucas observed quietly as the red-badged assassin handed each one an iron tag with a number engraved: "001, 002, 003…" Lucas, last to leave the holding area, received "136." He gripped it tightly, stepping into the crowd with measured composure.
A harsh command rang out. "Numbers one to ten, enter the cages."
The recruits hesitated, eyes widening. Panic spread like wildfire. The red-badged assassin did not raise a hand, yet the tension was palpable. A Houndoom emerged from the shadows, its fire-dark aura pressing down like a physical weight. Its silent, deliberate steps echoed on the stone floor.
The first recruit bolted toward the nearest cage, heart hammering, terrified beyond reason. Others followed, compelled by instinct and the unspoken threat. The iron doors slammed shut behind them, muffling screams and cries of despair. In a few seconds, the faint sound of scraping metal and wet thuds reached Lucas's ears. Fresh blood seeped from the edges of the cages.
The red-badged assassin's mocking voice carried over the chaos: "This batch's quality is poor." The blue-badged companion nodded, showing neither shock nor pity. Houndoom's long howl echoed across the room, reinforcing the deadly authority of the rank and training system.
Numbers 11 to 20 were next. Each cage contained horrors designed to break the will of the untrained. Lucas observed silently, committing every sound, every reaction, and every structural detail to memory. Even in the face of blood, fear, and chaos, he noted patterns. This place relied on intimidation and control. Survival would depend not on brute force alone, but calculation, patience, and strategy.
The dim light revealed cages that varied in size and function. Some were tall, designed to restrict movement while leaving psychological pressure, while others were small, forcing the occupant to remain hunched and uncomfortable for hours. Foul odors indicated the presence of living hazards—creatures or trained Pokémon whose sole purpose was to punish or exhaust the recruits.
Lucas's dark energy remained dormant but alert, ready to respond if a situation escalated. Every sound—a shifted foot, a clink of metal, a faint growl—was cataloged. The new recruits were mere tools, the red and blue-badged assassins the conductors, and Houndoom the enforcer.
Hours passed. The initial terror began to manifest physically in the weaker recruits. Some vomited, others screamed, and a few fainted outright. Lucas, though small and still technically a child, did not flinch. He observed, planned, and remained a silent force amid the chaos.
He recalled the tactics that had once carried him to gold rank. Observation first, reaction second. Patience above all. In this environment, those who acted impulsively were eliminated or broken. Those who survived, like him, would rise again.
When the next group, numbers 21 to 30, was called, Lucas's mind was already three steps ahead. He had memorized the position of each cage, the likely behaviors of the guards, and the faint energy fluctuations of the creatures inside. The organization relied on fear, and he intended to turn it to advantage.
Every howl, every scream, every subtle twitch in the shadows was another piece of the puzzle. Lucas remained seated, quiet, invisible, and calculating. Survival meant enduring the cage, understanding the structure, and learning the hierarchy of Ghost Ship from the ground up.