Arc 2: Black Box Retrieval
The training room wasn't built for comfort—it was built for survival.
Reinforced metal walls, charred impact craters, and scorched floors all told stories of what Unit Twelve had endured within these walls. And today, it felt like the room was watching them.
Max stood in the middle, his arms crossed, eyes flicking between the others as Loyalty barked instructions from above on a high platform.
"Today's drills aren't optional," she said. "This is about coordination. You might be cursed, but that doesn't mean you're invincible."
"Speak for yourself," Kaz muttered, cracking his knuckles as a burst of flame hissed between them.
Loyalty clapped her hands. "Get ready, I'll be calling out your opponents for today."
Max ended up with Mira.
She was quiet—too quiet. But as soon as the exercise started, her body moved like a shadow. She ducked, feinted, and used illusions of monstrous, nightmarish shapes to throw Max off.
"Not bad," Max muttered, ducking under a swipe from her illusory wolf. It wasn't real—but the pressure was.
They went for two rounds. Max won one, Mira won the other.
"Were you holding back on me?" Max asked.
"Of course I didn't," Mira said with a grin that was just a little too wide.
Max narrowed his eyes. He didn't buy it for a second.
On the far end, Noel was trading blows with Kaz—his strikes were slower, deliberate, like a boxer who studied every flaw. Noel was calculative and strategic. He didn't want just want to win—he wanted to make his opponent look like nothing to him.
Kaz, meanwhile, was getting impatient. "You gonna punch or keep analyzing my breathing?"
"You blink more when you get mad," Noel replied, then punched Kaz in the ribs.
Samira was facing off with Ava. Their bout looked more like a dance of illusions and strikes— Beautiful and deadly.
Samira giggled during the fight. "You think Max is watching us?"
"Max doesn't care," Ava said coolly.
"Yeah, I guess he doesn't." Samira said with a playful grin.
After an hour, Loyalty dismissed them, but before they left, she pulled Max aside.
"I want you to lead tomorrow's recon mission," she said.
Max frowned. "Why me?"
"Because you're starting to understand what it means to survive," she said. "Not just burn everything down."
Max didn't answer.
Survive. He hated that word. It made him feel small. Like this was all there was — living just enough not to die.
Later that night, Samira caught him in the hallway, leaning against the wall, barefoot and casual, eating a stolen snack from the kitchen.
"You were cool today, you know," she said.
"Not in the mood."
"You're never in the mood"
"Exactly."
Samira leaned against the wall beside him, stealing a bite of whatever he was eating. "You keep shutting me down, and I keep showing up. You ever wonder why?"
Max didn't look at her. "You're bored."
"Maybe." She chewed slowly. "Or maybe I like seeing you try so hard not to care."
"I'm not trying."
"You just suck at pretending, then."
He rolled his eyes and started walking again. She followed, humming lightly under her breath.
"I heard Loyalty picked you to lead the recon mission," she said.
"Yeah."
"You nervous?"
"No."
She bumped his shoulder with hers. "Liar."
Max stopped. "What do you want, Samira?"
She blinked, then gave a lazy smile. "Nothing. I just like messing with you."
"Mission's early. Don't oversleep."
"Please. I'll be the first one ready."
He turned the corner, but before she disappeared from view, she called out—
"Hey, Max."
He paused.
"Don't die tomorrow, alright?"
He didn't respond.
But for the first time that day, he let himself breathe.
As he walked back to his room, the hallway felt colder, quieter.
Why me?
Loyalty's words still echoed in his head.
You're starting to understand what it means to survive.
Maybe she was wrong.
Because surviving wasn't enough anymore.
He wasn't scared of the mission. He was scared of what he might do if something went wrong.
Lead, she said.
But leaders don't feel this hollow inside.
He reached his room and shut the door behind him. For a while, he just stood there, staring at nothing.
The rain outside tapped the one and only window — soft, steady. The sound filled the silence he couldn't.
Then, he sat on the edge of his bed, the burned mark on his hand pulsing faintly beneath the skin.
"Don't die tomorrow, alright?" He remembered what Samira said before she left.
He let out a slow breath.
"No promises."