Luke sat rigidly, his palms sweating as he stared at the machines before him. The sterile room was cold, the air thick with tension. A row of strange devices lined the walls—sleek, metallic, with glowing symbols and flashing lights, as if they were crafted to detect some unknown force. The presence of the silent, masked soldiers around him only heightened his sense of unease.
Isla sat beside him, her hand gripping his, her fingers trembling. He could feel her unease, her breath shallow, as though she was just as unsure of what was coming as he was.
The woman—the one who had brought them here—was standing at the front of the room now, observing them with a cold, calculating gaze. The silence between them was suffocating, the weight of her presence pressing down like a physical force.
Luke shifted uncomfortably in his seat, trying to adjust his thoughts. The questions running through his mind were countless, but none of them had answers. What kind of test was this? What were they looking for?
The woman stepped forward, breaking the stillness. Her voice was cold and impersonal, like she was addressing a group of machines rather than human beings.
"Welcome to your first test," she began. "The machines before you are designed to detect and quantify the abilities that each cadet possesses. They will scan your energy, your movements, and your inner potential. Some of you will show your power. Others will fail to register at all. I suggest you prepare yourselves accordingly."
Luke felt a shiver run down his spine. The pressure was mounting, and with it came a wave of dread. His palms felt clammy against his jeans, and his heart raced in his chest.
But it wasn't fear he felt.
It was the sharp, bitter sting of failure.
The machine in front of him hummed, a low, mechanical sound that seemed to reverberate through his bones. The woman gestured toward it.
"Step forward," she ordered.
Isla squeezed his hand tightly before standing up, her expression unreadable. Luke hesitated only for a moment before following her, each step forward feeling like it was leading him deeper into an unknown void.
Isla reached the platform first, her body stiff with tension. The woman nodded at her.
"Place your hand on the sensor," she instructed.
Isla didn't hesitate. She stepped forward, her hand outstretched toward the sensor. The machine whirred to life, glowing with a soft blue light. Luke held his breath, watching as Isla's fingers hovered over the sensor's surface.
The room was completely silent.
Isla closed her eyes, her breath steady but shallow. Luke could see the concentration on her face—she was trying to summon something, anything, but the moment stretched on without change.
And then—
The machine buzzed.
A burst of energy surged through the air, and Isla's body jerked slightly as the light around the machine turned a vivid, glowing green. The symbols on the walls shifted, reacting to the surge of power, the hum of the room growing louder as the readings on the screen began to spike.
The woman's eyes narrowed, but there was no smile, no sign of approval. Her gaze was cold, calculating.
"Impressive," she said, her voice flat. "Level four energy manipulation detected. Class B potential."
Isla didn't flinch, but Luke saw the briefest flicker of pride in her eyes before she turned away from the machine. She walked back toward him, her hand still clenched into a fist as if trying to control the raw energy she had just unleashed.
Luke's heart pounded harder in his chest. He knew she had abilities—he had seen glimpses of them before, flashes of power when she was under pressure. But now, in this sterile environment, in front of this cold, indifferent machine... it felt different. It felt real.
He had to face it. They were not in control anymore.
Next, it was Luke's turn.
The woman motioned for him to step forward.
He stood there, frozen for a moment, his throat dry, his thoughts scattered. What if nothing happened? What if they tested him and saw nothing at all?
For a moment, he considered backing down, but the sharp gaze of the woman stopped him. She was waiting. Watching.
And so, with a reluctant breath, he moved forward, each step heavier than the last. The lights on the machine flickered as he reached the platform. The same low hum echoed around him, like an invisible pressure squeezing against his chest.
He placed his hand on the sensor, the cold metal pressing against his skin. The machine reacted immediately, glowing faintly, but nothing happened. No surge of light, no power. Just a soft, static hum that seemed to resonate through him.
Luke's breath caught in his throat as the machine buzzed again—this time with a sharp, alarming sound. The light flickered, but there was no shift in color. No power. No response.
The silence in the room deepened. Luke could feel the eyes of everyone on him, the weight of their scrutiny pressing down like a physical force.
And then, as the machine continued to hum, a new figure entered the room—another official, this one taller, with a more imposing presence. He was older, his face hard and unyielding, his eyes like chips of ice.
The woman turned to him, her face betraying nothing but formality. "Sir," she said, "the subject seems to be non-responsive."
The man's gaze turned toward Luke. His eyes narrowed, and there was a flicker of something—disappointment, perhaps? Or something darker? He didn't speak at first, just continued to watch Luke with a clinical, detached air.
"Something's off," the man muttered under his breath, as if to himself, before turning to the woman. "Do the secondary scans. Run the secondary tests."
The woman didn't argue. She immediately began to manipulate the machine, inputting commands and gestures that Luke couldn't understand. The whirring of the machines became louder, and a low humming noise filled the air.
Luke stood there, unsure, and the longer he remained motionless, the more exposed he felt. His head began to throb, the weight of the silence pressing down on him. He felt small, insignificant, like he was nothing more than a cog in a machine that didn't care about him.
The woman stepped back as the secondary tests began, her expression unreadable. Luke's pulse quickened as the machines scanned over him once again, their glow growing brighter and more intense.
Nothing happened.
The minutes stretched on, like an eternity. Luke felt the sweat gathering on his palms, the cold sinking into his bones. He couldn't understand it—why wasn't anything happening? He could feel something inside him, something that was waking up, but it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough to register with their machines.
He clenched his fists, trying to focus, to find any flicker of power that could respond to the test. But the machines were relentless, demanding something he couldn't provide.
Finally, the man—the one in charge—stepped forward. His face was stern, his expression cold.
"This is a failure," he said, his voice devoid of any empathy. "Subject Luke Fairweather has no detectable ability. No power. No response."
The room seemed to freeze. The air, thick with tension, grew heavier. Luke's chest tightened, his breath coming in short bursts. He could hear the murmurs from the other cadets—the students watching him with a mix of curiosity and disdain.
The woman turned to him, her eyes like ice. "You're nothing," she said, her words flat, as though they were a mere fact. "You do not belong here."
Luke felt his stomach twist, the sting of failure burning in his gut. He wanted to speak, to explain, but no words came. He wanted to scream. But the silence in the room was deafening. The judgment was final.
Nothing.
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