Logan recognized him instantly—not from personal experience, but from his predecessor's memories. David was a legacy admission, the son of a B-rank military officer who'd bought his way into the Academy through connections and family prestige.
Tall, built like someone who'd spent their whole life training, with dark hair slicked back and an expression that suggested the world owed him deference.
He wasn't alone.
Three other students flanked him—lackeys whose names Logan didn't know, but whose body language screamed followers. They moved with David like satellites orbiting a planet, their Gene-Spark markers visible on their uniforms: two D-ranks and one C-rank.
David's eyes locked onto Logan's table, and something ugly flickered across his face.
"Well, well," David said loudly, his voice carrying across nearby tables. "Look who actually survived the awakening. Logan Grimm—the E-rank wonder."
Logan felt James tense beside him.
"Walk away, David," James said quietly. "We're just eating."
"Oh, Stark's got his little friend's back. How adorable." David stepped closer, his hand casually sweeping across the table in a move that looked accidental but was anything but.
Logan's tray flipped, sending printed rice and protein cubes scattering across the floor.
"Oops," David smirked. "My bad. But hey, maybe it's for the best. E-rank trash like you shouldn't even be here, Grimm. You're going to drag down the entire Academy's reputation. Probably get yourself killed in the assessment and waste everyone's time."
Logan's jaw clenched. His predecessor's memories supplied context—David had been tormenting them since the entrance exams, threatened by their friendship, by their determination despite their orphan status.
"He awakened," James stood, his voice hard. "Same as you. He has every right to be here."
"Does he?" David's expression twisted into something cruel. "An E-rank Shadow Fizz? That's barely above baseline. Hell, my little sister awakened higher than that, and she's twelve."
One of David's lackeys laughed on cue.
Logan felt something cold settle in his chest. Not fear—something else. Something that came from the memories of a boy who'd spent his entire life being told he wasn't good enough, smart enough, strong enough.
"Say whatever you want about me," Logan said quietly, standing to face David. "But we're done here."
"Oh, are we?" David's hand shot out, shoving Logan's shoulder with enough force to send him stumbling back.
But Logan's new body—enhanced by nanite integration, strengthened by the gene-splicing that had nearly killed him—adjusted midstep. His feet found purchase, his center of gravity compensated, and he stayed upright.
David's eyes widened slightly. He'd expected Logan to fall.
"You want to go, E-rank?" David's voice dropped, dangerous now. "Fine. Let's see what that trash Gene-Spark can actually do."
"David—" one of his friends started.
But it was too late.
David's fist flew forward—and in that moment, Logan saw something his old-world mind had never witnessed: a Gene-Spark activating in real-time.
David's arm seemed to blur, the muscles enhancing mid-swing, his D-rank Gene-Spark flooding his system with power that turned a simple punch into something that could crack concrete.
Logan tried to dodge, his body responding faster than thought—
—but not fast enough.
The fist connected with his jaw, and Logan's world exploded.
He felt himself airborne, spinning, his inner ear screaming in confusion as he tumbled backward. He crashed into an empty table, the impact driving the air from his lungs.
"Logan!" James's voice, distant through the ringing in his ears.
Logan pushed himself up, tasting copper, his jaw throbbing with the kind of pain that suggested something was fractured. But even as he registered the injury, he felt movement beneath his skin—nanites flooding the damaged area, beginning repairs that would take days in his old world.
They're already healing me. Oh God, I can feel them working—
"Stay down, E-rank," David called. "Or I'll—"
Whatever threat he was building died as fire bloomed in the air.
James stood between Logan and David, his hand extended, and dancing across his palm was flame—real, actual fire, defying every safety protocol the cafeteria should have had.
"You want a fight?" James's voice was cold. "Fine. But you're fighting both of us."
David's expression shifted from cruel amusement to genuine interest. "A D-rank fire-type? Now this might actually be fun."
What happened next would be described by witnesses as "the Cafeteria Incident"—though that sterile designation failed to capture the absolute chaos that erupted.
David and his three lackeys moved as a unit, their Gene-Sparks flaring to life. Logan's enhanced perception caught details that would have been invisible to his old eyes:
David's muscles bulged, his D-rank Gene-Spark flooding him with enhanced strength and durability. The C-rank lackey's skin took on a metallic sheen—some kind of defensive enhancement. The two D-ranks moved to flank, their own abilities activating.
James met them head-on, fire erupting from his hands in controlled bursts that forced the attackers to scatter.
And Logan—
Logan moved on instinct, on borrowed muscle memory, on the desperate need to survive.
His Shadow Fizz activated without conscious thought. Darkness rippled around him—not solid, not substantial enough to block attacks, but confusing. His outline blurred, his position became uncertain, and when David's second lackey swung at where Logan appeared to be, the fist passed through empty air.
Logan countered from the side, his own enhanced strength driving a punch into the lackey's ribs. He felt something crack under his knuckles, felt the shock travel up his arm.
I just broke someone's ribs. Oh God, I just—
No time to process. Another attacker coming from the left. James launching a wave of flame that turned a table into kindling. David roaring something, his fist colliding with James's hastily raised guard.
The sound of it—like thunder in an enclosed space. The shockwave scattered food trays, sent students diving for cover.
James slid backward, his feet leaving scorch marks on the floor as he absorbed the impact. His expression was grim—David was physically stronger, his Gene-Spark providing a clear power advantage.
Logan tried to flank, to use his shadow abilities to create openings, but the C-rank with metallic skin caught him. Hands like iron vises locked around Logan's wrist, and suddenly he was airborne again, thrown like a ragdoll into—
—James, who'd been mid-attack against David.
They collided, a tangle of limbs and confusion, and David's cronies capitalized instantly.
Fists rained down. Enhanced strength met enhanced durability. Logan felt his lip split, felt something in his shoulder dislocate, felt James grunt in pain beside him as a kick connected with his ribs.
We're losing. We're outmatched. Four against two, and they're—
"ENOUGH!"
The voice cracked across the cafeteria like a whip, and every combatant froze.
An instructor—not Klein, but another, her Gene-Spark marker indicating A-rank—stood at the entrance, her expression promising creative and painful consequences.
"All of you. Medical bay. Now." Her gaze lingered on David. "And you—your father will hear about this."
David's smirk faded slightly, but he still managed to lean close as he passed Logan and James.
"This isn't over, E-rank," he whispered. "Tomorrow's assessment? Accidents happen all the time. Terranoids are dangerous."
Then he was gone, his lackeys following, leaving Logan and James bruised, bleeding, and thoroughly beaten on the cafeteria floor.
-----
They limped back to their dormitory—a sparse room with two beds, two storage lockers, and a shared hygiene station. Standard Academy issue for orphans who had no family housing to return to.
James collapsed onto his bed with a groan. Logan followed, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through his body.
"Well," James said after a long moment, "that went great."
Despite everything—despite the pain, the countdown, the impossible choice hanging over him—Logan laughed. It hurt like hell, but he laughed.
"Your definition of 'great' needs work," Logan managed.
"We survived," James countered. "Didn't back down. I'd call that a win."
Logan touched his jaw, feeling the swelling already starting to recede as nanites worked their microscopic magic. By morning, the injury would be gone—just another benefit of the technology that had been forcibly integrated into his cells.
By morning, Logan thought, his humor fading. By morning, I'll have seventeen hours left to make an impossible choice.
He glanced at James, who was already drifting toward sleep, exhaustion overtaking pain.
How am I supposed to kill you? Logan wondered. How am I supposed to—
Sleep claimed him before he found an answer.
-----
Logan woke to the sensation of fingers snapping near his face.
"Up! Come on, we overslept!"
James was already dressed, his Academy uniform pristine, his face completely healed. Logan blinked, disoriented, then noticed the time projection on the wall:
05:47
Thirteen minutes until assembly.
"Shit!" Logan rolled out of bed, his body protesting briefly before nanites suppressed the residual soreness. His injuries from last night had vanished completely—even the dislocated shoulder moved without pain.
The nanites are incredible. I feel like I was never even hurt.
They dressed in record time and sprinted across campus, reaching the assembly field just as Head Instructor Klein took the platform.
The sun was barely cresting the horizon, painting the sky in shades of orange and purple. Thousands of students stood in formation once again, but the energy was different now—electric with anticipation and fear.
Klein didn't waste time on preambles.
"The Combat Assessment begins in one hour. You will be deployed to Asteroid Designation TH-47, a mining facility in Sector 19 of the belt."
A holographic display materialized beside him—images of a rocky asteroid, riddled with tunnels and industrial equipment.
"Three weeks ago, a Terranoid incursion killed all sixty-eight miners stationed there. Initial scans identified the hostiles as Sabertooth Rats—Type-1 Primitive Terranoids. Low-level threats, but dangerous in numbers."
The hologram zoomed in, showing creatures that made Logan's stomach turn.
They were roughly the size of large dogs—maybe a meter tall at the shoulder. But "rat" was a generous description. These things were nightmares. Their bodies existed in that uncanny valley between organic and mechanical—metallic flesh that rippled like muscle but gleamed like polished chrome. Their eyes were crystalline sensors that glowed with internal light.
And their teeth—
God, their teeth.
The sabertooth designation came from two elongated fangs that jutted from their upper jaws, each one serrated and viciously curved. But it was their mouths that horrified Logan most. The hologram showed a cutaway view of their internal structure: multiple rows of grinding mechanisms that could reduce bone to powder, organic matter to pulp.
They didn't just bite. They processed.
"Your objective," Klein continued, his voice cutting through the horrified murmurs, "is survival. Spend twenty-four hours in the asteroid and eliminate at least one Type-1 Primitive Terranoid. Do this, and you pass."
He paused, letting that sink in.
"However—" His expression shifted into something that might have been anticipation. "—there are additional incentives. The student with the highest confirmed kill count will receive a Type-II Artifact and fifty harvested Terranoid bodies with intact Quantinium cores."
Excited whispers rippled through the formation. Type-II Artifacts were valuable—weapons or tools enhanced by Quantinium integration, capable of amplifying Gene-Spark abilities. And fifty Quantinium cores? That represented weeks of evolution compressed into immediate power.
"The portal behind me will transport you to randomized locations throughout the asteroid. You may encounter other students. You may not. Cooperation is permitted but not encouraged." Klein's gaze swept across them. "And one more thing: the asteroid's atmosphere is contaminated with Terranoid particulates. Activate your helmet seals before you pass through the portal, or you'll be dead in three minutes."
Logan's hand instinctively went to the collar of his combat suit, where the helmet controls were located.
"You have one hour to prepare. Check your equipment. Make peace with whatever gods you believe in. And remember—" Klein's voice dropped, carrying clearly across the field despite its softness. "—Terranoids don't care about your rank, your potential, or your dreams. They only care about consumption. Treat this assessment like what it is: real combat. Dismissed."
The formation broke. Students scattered, some heading for weapons distribution, others forming groups to strategize.
Logan and James stayed where they were for a moment, their eyes meeting.
"Whatever happens in there," James said quietly, "we watch each other's backs. Deal?"
Logan's throat tightened. [17:23:44]
Seventeen hours until the deadline.
Seventeen hours to betray his only friend—or die.
"Deal," Logan lied, his voice steady despite the horror screaming in his mind.
-----
Fifty-seven minutes later, they stood before the portal.
It was massive—a ring of metal and energy ten meters in diameter, humming with barely contained power. At its center, a disk of absolute darkness rotated slowly, like a wound in reality itself.
Students entered in a steady stream, each one activating their helmet seal—the transparent faceplate materializing from the collar of their combat suit—before stepping into the void.
Logan watched them disappear, one after another, swallowed by darkness.
[16:54:17]
"Ready?" James asked beside him, his own helmet sealing with a soft hiss.
Logan activated his own helmet. The transparent material flowed upward, encasing his head, and suddenly his breathing sounded loud in his ears. A heads-up display flickered to life at the edge of his vision, showing oxygen levels, suit integrity, vital signs.
"Ready," Logan said.
They nodded to each other—a gesture that carried years of friendship, of trust, of brotherhood—and walked forward together.
The portal loomed before them, a gateway to violence and blood.
Logan took a breath.
Stepped through.
And reality twisted.
-----
The transition was instantaneous and nauseating. One moment Logan was on the field, surrounded by sunlight and the distant sounds of Earth. The next, he was—
Oh no.
Logan's boots hit solid ground in a dark tunnel carved from asteroid rock. Emergency lighting strips provided barely enough illumination to see ten meters ahead. The air was still, heavy with the kind of silence that pressed against the ears.
And directly in front of him, perhaps twenty meters away, two shapes turned in his direction.
Sabertooth Rats.
They were exactly as horrible as the hologram had suggested—maybe worse. Up close, Logan could see the way their metallic-organic flesh rippled as they moved, could see the crystalline eyes focusing on him with terrible intelligence.
They'd been feeding.
A human hand—severed at the wrist, still wearing a mining rig glove—lay between them. As Logan watched in frozen horror, one of the rats picked it up with surprising dexterity and bit.
The sound was indescribable. Flesh and bone entered those grinding jaws and simply… disappeared. Processed in seconds. The rat's body convulsed slightly, vents on its neck opening to expel waste—pulverized matter that steamed in the cold air.
Oh God. Oh God, that was a person. That was someone's hand, and they're—
The rats' crystalline eyes locked onto Logan.
For a heartbeat, everything froze.
Then they screamed—a sound like grinding metal and dying electronics—and charged.
"FUCK!" Logan stumbled backward, his Shadow Fizz activating reflexively, darkness rippling around him as pure survival instinct took over.
The rats moved fast—far faster than their size suggested. Their metallic claws sparked against stone as they closed the distance, their jaws already opening to reveal the nightmare machinery inside.
Logan's mind went blank with terror.
I'm going to die. I just got here and I'm going to die and—
The first rat leaped.
And Logan, operating on borrowed instincts and the desperate will to survive, moved to meet it.
-----