Benson sat with his back against the cold stone wall, knees drawn up to his chest. His breathing had slowed, but the ache in his limbs was there, it made it real, that he had just fought in a life and death match.
Around him, the survivors were scattered, tending to wounds, cleaning weapons, or simply staring blankly into the distance. The atmosphere was heavy—part relief, part dread.
"Not bad for a first-timer."
Benson looked up to see Malik crouched in front of him, chewing on a strip of dried meat like he didn't have a care in the world. His smirk was still there, but it didn't reach his eyes this time.
Benson didn't answer. He just stared at the floor, his fingers idly tracing the edge of the blade he'd taken.
"You'll get used to it," Malik continued, sitting down across from him. "The blood, the screaming, the constant feeling that someone's about to stick a knife in your back. It's like a bad dream you can't wake up from."
"I don't want to get used to it," Benson muttered, barely loud enough to hear himself.
Malik chuckled, shaking his head. "You think any of us did? But here we are. Welcome to the Fold."
"The what?"
Malik leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. "The Fold. That's what this place is called. It's one big, messed-up training ground. You think that fight was bad? That was just the warm-up."
Benson's stomach tightened. He didn't respond, his mind racing.
Training ground? For what?
The mechanical voice cut through his thoughts, echoing throughout the arena:
"Survivors, proceed to the briefing hall. Follow the markers. Non-compliance will result in termination."
The words were met with a collective groan from the group. Slowly, people began to stand, gathering their things and preparing to move.
"Better get up, rookie," Malik said, tossing the last bit of his meat into his mouth. "You don't want to keep the Overseer waiting."
The "briefing hall" turned out to be a cavernous room with walls made of polished steel. A long, narrow table stretched down the center, surrounded by enough chairs for the survivors.
Benson took a seat near the back, trying to blend in.
A few moments later, the Overseer arrived.
She was tall, with sharp features and a presence that immediately commanded attention. Her eyes were piercing, scanning the room like she was assessing every single person in it.
"Welcome to the Fold," she said, her voice smooth but devoid of warmth. "You have been chosen for a reason. Consider yourselves lucky. Most people wouldn't survive the first trial, let alone be given the opportunity to continue."
Lucky? Benson almost laughed.
The Overseer's gaze swept across the room, lingering on Benson for just a moment longer than he liked.
"You are here because Earth is no longer what it was," she continued. "The Rot is spreading, and the Red Moon has brought with it forces beyond human comprehension, mutation. Survival is no longer a matter of chance. It is a matter of skill, of strength, of strategy. That is what we are here to teach you."
Someone near the front raised their hand. "Teach us for what? What's the point of all this?"
The Overseer's lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach her eyes.
"To prepare you for what's coming. The Rot isn't just a plague. It's a challenge. A game, if you will. And like any game, there are rules. There are players. There are winners… and losers. Losers… die or wish they died, that's what you'll be training for."
"You're killing us to keep us alive?" A woman asked, her voice soft, and kind of out of place.
The Overseer's eyes fell on her. "No, we're strengthening you to keep Earth alive, some of you have activated The system, some are yet to, it's either you grow in power or Earth is consumed by the rot."
"What is…. The rot?" Someone asked, Benson didn't care to look.
The Overseer let out a soft laugh that made Benson's skin crawl. "Is it not all around you? The mutations, the earthquakes? It is caused by the Rot, and it will continue to progress until humanity dies out. Some of you have mothers, fathers, sisters who have mutated, and I'm here to tell you it's about to get worse, so it's either you become stronger or you die."
Benson's mind reeled. None of what she was saying made sense to him.
This wasn't just about survival. It was bigger than that.
"Each of you has been chosen because you possess something unique," the Overseer continued. "A potential that sets you apart from the rest of the population. But potential is meaningless without growth. Without struggle. That is why you are here. To hone your abilities. To become the players this world needs."
Her words hung in the air, heavy and piercing.
As the briefing continued, Benson couldn't help but let his gaze wander.
The people around him were a mix of ages, ethnicities, and temperaments. Some looked determined, others defeated. A few seemed like they'd done this before, their faces hard and unreadable.
He thought of his mother.
Was she still out there? Was she okay?
"She's not your concern right now," Greed said in his mind, its voice cold and dismissive.
"She's my mother," Benson thought back, anger flaring.
"And you'll be useless to her if you're dead."
The Overseer's voice pulled him back to the present.
"Your next trial begins tomorrow. Use the time you have now to rest, to prepare, to reflect. You'll need all your strength for what's to come."
She turned and walked out without another word, leaving the survivors to stew in their thoughts.
Later that night, Benson sat alone in his assigned room—a small, windowless cell with nothing but a cot and a flickering lightbulb.
He stared at his hands, remembering the feeling of consuming that man's strength.
It hadn't felt… wrong. That was what scared him.
"You're stronger because of it," Greed said. "Don't let your fragile morality get in the way of survival."
"I didn't ask for this," Benson whispered.
"And yet here you are."
Benson clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He couldn't trust Greed, but he couldn't ignore it, either.
His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—fear, anger, confusion. But beneath it all, there was something else.
A small, stubborn spark of determination.
He didn't know what was coming. He didn't know how he was going to survive.
But he wasn't going to give up. Not yet.