The students stared at Michael, and the tall Black man stared back, shock evident on their faces. Did he not care? This was Emox, a place where anyone could be killed without a second thought.
But what was even more shocking was the black man's reaction. "I AM GENERAL BOLA. I SHALL BE THE ONE INSTRUCTING AND TRAINING YOUR SET. WELCOME TO EMOX. ANYONE WITH A FLAME TYPE ABILITY SHOULD BURN THE BODY. THANK YOU. MICHAEL OZOR, FIND ME."
With that, he left. Michael watched, wiping the useless girl's blood from his face. Of course, they wanted to see him. Humans—always so predictable. When they saw strength they couldn't comprehend, they sought to control or eliminate it.
"Not a chance," he muttered. "I'm not meeting some black monkey. If he wants to see me, he should come to me, or erase me. After all, who doesn't want to die?"
As the echoes of General Bola's voice faded, a woman stepped forward. "Welcome to Emox. You'll be teleported to your rooms. Get used to your roommates, for you have a long journey ahead. Oh, I forgot to mention: you can't leave here until you graduate. WELCOME TO EMOX, PEOPLE!"
Gasps rippled through the crowd, even from Michael. "What do you mean I can't leave? That wasn't the agreement! You bastards! I didn't sign up for this. I only lived to hear what Almada has to say and move on!"
He glared at the woman. "STUPID GENDERS OF LIARS! BOTH YOU AND THE MEN SHOULD DIE!" he mumbled in anger before vanishing.
When Michael opened his eyes again, he found himself in a massive room filled with high-tech gadgets. Six beds lined the walls, and six desktops awaited their occupants. The room was spacious, yet it felt confining. He scanned the space, noting the five other students around him, their belongings materializing alongside his.
Picking up his bag, Michael chose the bed closest to him, but a boy stepped into his path. "Who do you think you are, choosing first?"
Michael sighed and moved to the bed in the opposite corner. But the boy reappeared in front of him, teleporting with a smug grin.
"Not so fast," he taunted.
Irritated, Michael thought, Stupid humans—especially stupid ones. I could end this in seconds. He turned away, but the boy teleported again, trying to push him.
With a swift move, Michael caught the boy's neck, slamming him against the iron bed frame before delivering a sharp kick to his groin. The boy crumpled, but as he disappeared, Michael anticipated the move and swung his knife back, knocking him unconscious.
The other roommates watched, wide-eyed. Michael exhaled, ready to set the record straight. "I'm Michael Ozor. I don't indulge in stupid human acts, but that doesn't mean I'm an emotional murderer—at least, not yet. So let's forget the irrelevant individual on the floor and choose our beds. Welcome to Emox, my roomies."
"I just want to see my beloved" (he murmured already tired of all this, Not Almada)
One of them spoke up, breaking the tense silence. "So, what's your name?"