The low hum of tension in the room was palpable, resonating alongside the faint vibrations emanating from the dais. Despite the heated debates and rising accusations echoing around him, the man with the gauntlets felt his focus drifting elsewhere. The voices of the group faded into a dull murmur, insignificant compared to the singular focus drawing his attention. His gaze locked onto the far side of the room where a door stood, tall and imposing. Its seamless, unbroken surface gleamed faintly under the sterile light, devoid of any handle or mechanism. It exuded an eerie sense of purpose, as though it was not just a barrier but an integral part of something greater.
Without hesitation, he turned and walked toward it. His movements were unhurried, deliberate, as though guided by an unseen force. The soft tread of his boots against the polished floor was barely audible over the rising din behind him. When he reached the door, he knelt down without pause, lowering his head until his chin nearly touched his chest. The gauntlets on his arms pulsed faintly, their rhythmic glow matching the steady cadence of his breathing. To the others, his actions appeared solemn, almost reverent. The sight was unsettling, drawing a mixture of unease and curiosity from the group.
"What the hell is he doing now?" someone muttered, their voice tinged with frustration. The question hung in the air, drawing a few glances toward the kneeling figure, but no one dared approach. Something about his presence created an unspoken boundary that held them at bay.
Yoon Ji-hyun, still holding the bow and quiver she had claimed, observed him with keen interest. Her sharp eyes narrowed as she tilted her head slightly, studying his posture with a blend of curiosity and suspicion. His movements seemed deliberate, as though he understood something the rest of them didn't. Yet she remained silent. Instead, she adjusted her position, taking a small step back to create a more advantageous stance should the need arise. Her fingers drifted to the bowstring, pulling it experimentally to test its responsiveness. The weapon seemed alive in her hands, resonating faintly with her movements. Each pull sent a subtle vibration through her fingers, like a whispered acknowledgment. The connection felt intentional, as though the bow had chosen her just as much as she had claimed it.
Sergeant First Class Alexander Grant, however, was far less impressed. Dressed in the sleek, form-fitting armor he had taken from the dais, he exuded arrogance. The second-skin design accentuated every muscle and contour of his physique, save for the modest coverage around his groin. "Let him play monk if he wants," Grant sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. "Doesn't mean a goddamn thing. Hell, maybe he's praying to whatever freaks dropped us here." He folded his arms across his chest, his posture radiating confidence. The pain from his earlier ordeal still flickered faintly in his expression, but he masked it with bravado. Casting a contemptuous glance at the kneeling man, he turned back to the group. "We've got bigger problems than him groveling," he added sharply. "Let's focus on figuring out how to get out of this mess."
The group's discussions had devolved into a chaotic cacophony. Frustration boiled over, with voices overlapping in a discordant mix of fear and uncertainty.
"There aren't enough for all of us," someone pointed out, gesturing toward the dais. "Eight weapons, thirty people. What are the rest of us supposed to do?"
"Maybe not everyone needs one," a younger man suggested hesitantly, his tone uncertain. "Some of us wouldn't even know how to use them."
"And what happens if we're attacked?" countered a woman with short blond hair and sharp features. Her arms were crossed tightly, her stance defensive. "Do you want to be defenseless?"
"Who says we'll be attacked?" another voice interjected. "We don't even know where we are. For all we know, this is some kind of experiment or simulation."
At the edges of the room, a few people had stepped away from the main group, disengaging from the heated exchanges. One man in a faded hoodie and cargo pants stood near the wall, his phone held high as he turned slowly, searching for a signal. Beside him, a woman with long, dark hair mirrored his actions, her frustration evident in the sharp movements of her hands.
"Nothing," the man muttered, lowering his phone with a resigned shake of his head. "No bars, no Wi-Fi, nothing."
"Same here," the woman said with a sharp breath. She scanned the room, her gaze lingering on the seamless walls and embedded lights. "Whoever put us here doesn't want us calling anyone."
"If someone put us here," another voice chimed in, their tone skeptical. "We don't know that for sure."
The arguments grew louder, fragmenting into smaller disputes that overlapped chaotically. Some voiced outright fear of touching the remaining weapons, their reluctance fueled by what they had seen happen to Grant. Others insisted the weapons were essential, their presence a clear indication of purpose.
"I'm not touching those things," declared a man with a buzzed haircut and a stocky frame. His voice was firm, though his eyes betrayed unease. "You all saw what happened to him. I'm not taking that risk."
"Fine," a woman snapped, her tone sharp with irritation. "But don't expect the rest of us to protect you if something happens."
Amid the escalating clamor, the man with the gauntlets remained motionless, his head still bowed. The soft light emanating from the gauntlets bathed him in an ethereal glow, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling behind him. The low hum they emitted seemed to create a bubble of silence around him, isolating him from the noise of the crowd. Despite their unease, no one dared disturb him.
Ji-hyun's gaze flicked back to him briefly before returning to her bow. Adjusting the quiver on her back, she kept her stance poised and ready. Her expression was thoughtful, though she refrained from voicing her observations. Something about the kneeling man's stillness—his deliberate disengagement from the group—hinted at a deeper understanding. She couldn't help but wonder if he was attuned to something they couldn't sense.
Alexander Grant rolled his eyes, his impatience evident. "Wasting time," he muttered. "We need to figure out a way out of here, not stand around watching some idiot playing monk." His armored footsteps echoed as he strode purposefully toward a cluster of people near the dais. Each step seemed calculated, a reminder of his self-imposed authority.
Despite their confusion and frustration, a growing unease settled over the group. It was an unspoken acknowledgment, a shared sense of foreboding. Though no one could articulate it, the presence of the weapons and the man's quiet vigil seemed to suggest that their trials were only just beginning. The smooth, featureless walls of the room loomed around them, holding secrets none of them were yet prepared to face.