The steel room was silent. Twelve trainees stood in perfect formation, hands at their sides, eyes forward. Their movements were synchronized, their breathing controlled. There was no individuality here. Only efficiency.
At the center stood Caleb Mercer.
The steel doors slid open. Colonel Briggs entered, his eyes scanning the recruits. His gaze settled on Caleb.
"Who is the best trainee?"
All twelve spoke in unison.
"Caleb Mercer."
Briggs nodded. "Mercer, today's trial is different. You will be hunted. The others will be your hunters."
Caleb blinked once. He processed the new directive, categorized it, and prepared for execution.
"Begin."
The room went dark.
Caleb moved first.
Caleb dropped into a low stance, instincts taking over. His ears picked up the slightest shuffle of boots as the other trainees spread out. The darkness was absolute, but that didn't matter. He had trained for this. A split second later, the first strike came. A whisper of movement to his right. Caleb pivoted, catching the incoming blow on his forearm, redirecting the force. He lashed out, striking fast and hard. A grunt confirmed the hit.
One down. Eleven to go. The air was thick with tension. His mind raced through probabilities. They would attempt to surround him, force him into a corner. He needed to break their formation.
Caleb rolled to the side, silent as a shadow. His foot connected with a trainee's knee, sending them down. Another followed, Lunging with precise aggression. Caleb twisted, avoiding the attack and using their momentum to send them crashing into the steel floor. His breathing remained steady. The darkness was an ally, not an obstacle.
The room suddenly flashed with red emergency lighting. A trap. They were trying to disorient him, to force him into making a mistake. A voice crackled over the speakers. Colonel Briggs.
"Adapt, Mercer. Survive."
Caleb didn't hesitate. He surged forward, striking before his opponents could react. The hunt had begun-but not in the way they expected.