The corridor stretched on forever, like it was pulling us into another world. Labs lined the walls, each door stamped with bold numbers from 1 to 100, like a countdown to something epic. The sheer size of the place wasn’t just impressive—it was unnerving, as if it wanted to remind us how insignificant we were.
Miss Yuki’s instructions played faintly in my mind, but they were more like background noise. “Labs 1 through 6 are ours,” I murmured, half to myself.
“Which means Lab 4 is the jackpot,” Shura said, striding ahead with his usual swagger.
“Unless we’re walking into a trap,” Bianca countered, hugging her arms tightly.
“Relax,” Krishika chimed in, her tone calm but curious. “If this place was dangerous, Miss Yuki wouldn’t have sent us here.” She ran her fingers along the smooth wall, her eyes flicking to the lab numbers.
I stayed quiet, keeping my gaze fixed ahead. My heart was pounding harder than I cared to admit, but I wasn’t about to show it.
When we reached Lab 4, Shura pushed the door open with a flourish. “After you,” he said with an exaggerated bow.
The room’s energy shifted the moment we stepped inside—cool, charged, and waiting.
“Whoa,” Krishika whispered, stepping in first.
Two polished tables stretched along the sides, their reflective surfaces catching the overhead lights. At the far end stood a massive futuristic locker, its glowing green screen flashing “Welcome!” in a loop. It felt almost alive, like it was watching us.
“Okay, that’s creepy,” Bianca muttered, stepping back slightly.
“To you, maybe,” Shura said, grinning as he strolled further into the room. “To me, it’s awesome.”
On the left, four computers sat silently, their screens dark and waiting. The giant monitor on the right was already awake, its glow bathing the room in shifting colors. Stats, timers, and progress bars flashed across its surface, creating a rhythm that seemed to sync with the energy of the space.
Krishika leaned toward the monitor, her fingers hovering over the edge of the desk. “This feels… bigger than us. Like we’re just cogs in some massive machine.”
“Welcome to reality,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
The walls were painted in crisp tones—white on top, dark blue on the bottom—and the metallic floor gleamed like a polished blade. But the real eye-catchers were the chairs. Their bright red, green, yellow, and orange cushions stood out against their sleek black frames, bold and out of place in the otherwise gamming areana.
“Let’s pick chairs based on our outfits,” Shura said, his grin mischievous.
“Are you serious?” Krishika shot him a skeptical look.
“Why not? Adds a little drama,” he said, already making his way to the orange chair. “Perfect fit,” he added, spinning around like a kid.
I rolled my eyes but plopped into the red chair—it matched my hoodie perfectly. Krishika didn’t hesitate, claiming the green one to complement her emerald top. Bianca hesitated, frowning as if debating whether to play along. Finally, she sighed and slid into the yellow chair matching with her yellow frocal dress and her blond hair.
“You all look ridiculous,” she said, almost under her breath, her lips twitching with a fleeting smile.
“Ridiculous but stylish,” Shura corrected, still spinning.
Bianca’s gaze drifted to the glowing locker. “Jokes aside, does anyone else feel like this place is… waiting for us to screw up?”
The room fell quiet. I followed her gaze, my eyes locking on the flashing “Welcome!” sign. She wasn’t wrong. The lab wasn’t just a space; it was a challenge, and something told me it wasn’t going to be easy.
“What’s that thing?” I asked, pointing at the giant locker-like machine at the back of the room.
“It’s a quantum computer,” Krishika said, her tone matter-of-fact, as if everyone had a quantum computer lying around at home. “We should name it after the leader.”
Bianca opened her mouth but only managed a soft mumble. “Um... uh... maybe we—”
“If you’ve got something to say, say it loud,” Shura interrupted, his voice sharp enough to cut through steel.
Bianca flinched, her hands twisting the hem of her frock. Her face flushed as she stared at the floor, avoiding everyone’s gaze. My jaw clenched, heat prickling at the back of my neck.
“Hey,” I snapped, turning on Shura. “Back off.”
Shura raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk unrepentant. “What? Just trying to help her find her voice.”
Bianca glanced at me, her eyes glassy, but after a moment, she straightened up, her voice steadier now. “I just thought… maybe we could name the computer after ourselves. And, um, rename the directories too?”
“Huh! Why?” Shura scoffed, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his eyes.
“To confuse anyone trying to hack us,” Bianca explained, her voice firmer now. “If they break in, they won’t know what’s important right away. It’ll buy us time.”
I nodded. “She’s got a point. Naming only the quantum computer makes it a big, obvious target.”
Krishika tapped her chin thoughtfully. “True, but if we make it too chaotic, won’t we trip ourselves up, too?”
“We just need a system,” I said. “Something messy for outsiders but clear to us.”
The silence stretched as everyone mulled over the idea. The room was filled with the low hum of the equipment. Krishika broke the quiet first, her voice calm but with a slight edge to it. “We need a leader. Once that’s settled, we can go from there.”
“Yeah, but who’s actually qualified?” Shura chimed in, leaning forward in his chair. “This isn’t just about deciding who gets the files. Someone needs to be sharp enough to handle whatever’s coming.”
Bianca shuffled in her seat, her fingers tugging nervously at the hem of her sleeve. “I think we all know we need a leader,” she said quietly.
Shura cut in before she could finish, his tone sharp. “Then let’s stop talking about it and pick one already. We’re wasting time.”
I leaned back in my chair, watching the dynamics unfold. Krishika, ever the steady one, was watching me. It was subtle—just a shift in her posture, the way her eyes met mine, like she was waiting for me to say something.
I caught it and leaned forward, my arms resting on the desk. “Fine, someone take the lead. But don’t make it about who’s loudest or who can push everyone around.”
Shura grinned, though there was something almost challenging about it. “That’s why I think I’d make the best choice.”
Krishika didn’t flinch at the comment. Her eyes didn’t leave mine. “You want to lead?” she asked, her voice steady, no trace of hesitation. “You’d have to prove it.”
Shura’s smirk faded slightly. “Prove it?”
Krishika nodded, her gaze unwavering. “Yeah. This isn’t about who’s the most obvious choice. We need someone who can handle pressure, who thinks things through. That’s what being a leader is.”
Shura opened his mouth, probably ready to argue, but stopped himself. His eyes darted between the rest of us, waiting for a response. There was a challenge in Krishika’s voice, something he couldn’t just brush off.
“Look,” I said, my tone more casual than I felt, “if anyone can keep their head in a mess like this, it’s Krishika. She’s got the calm we need.”
Bianca looked up then, her voice soft but firm. “I think Krishika would be the best choice, too.”
The room was quiet for a moment. I could see Shura’s smirk slip, his usual confidence rattled for the first time. Krishika stood up straight, her expression focused.
“Alright then,” she said, the weight of the decision settling on her shoulders, “I’ll take the lead.”
It wasn’t an announcement, just a simple statement. But it carried something more: an unspoken understanding that the others respected her decision. No one argued. Even Shura, who loved to talk, just shrugged and leaned back in his chair.
Krishika turned to us, her tone no-nonsense. “Let’s get to work.”
Shura furrowed his brow, leaning forward. “I still don’t get it. Why rename the folders? If someone breaks in, they’ll see the computers named after teammates anyway. Isn’t that confusing enough?”
“Double agents,” Bianca said softly, hesitating before continuing. “If someone sneaks in malware, they might get remote control of the system. Mismatched folders could slow them down, buying us time.”
Her words hung in the air, and Shura leaned back, his frown easing. “Fair enough,” he muttered.
With that settled, Krishika took over naming the quantum computer after herself, her fingers flying across the keyboard. The machine hummed to life, signaling the start of the game.
“Let’s divide the data,” Bianca suggested, her voice barely above a whisper. “I think my folder should handle binaries and boot files. Shura’s can store personal data. Krishika’s can handle temporary files. And Vyom’s…” She hesitated, glancing at me. “Sensitive stuff like logs and passwords. It’s safer that way.”
“Why me?” I asked.
“Because you’re overlooked, like me,” she said quickly. “It’s not personal.”
Her logic, though timidly delivered, made sense. Even Shura nodded, a rare moment of agreement.
By the time we finished reorganizing the directories, exhaustion clung to the air. The clock read 9:45 PM. I leaned back, stretching, but something on the monitor caught my eye.
“What the—” My voice faltered.
Everyone crowded around the massive display. The leaderboard showed Team 1 at the top, their score far beyond anything reasonable this early in the game. Teams 2 and 3 had both lost a life, leaving them with four each. Team 5? Eliminated entirely.
“How?” Shura muttered, his earlier bravado replaced by unease.
A small note under Team 5’s status flashed: Failure to name quantum computer. They were disqualified before they even started.
I clenched my fists, the sting of past failures burning like an open wound. Losing wasn’t an option—not again.
“I won’t lose,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper, a promise more to myself than anyone else.
Krishika’s sharp gaze caught mine, her calm demeanor a sharp contrast to the storm raging inside me. “We’ll face it together. But for now, rest is non-negotiable.”
Shura was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and an almost amused smirk playing on his lips. “Alright, pep talk’s over. You all better bring your A-game tomorrow. No excuses.” He gave me a pointed look, then pushed off the frame, flipping his hand bag over the solder.
Bianca, who had been quietly fidgeting with her hands, finally spoke up. “We… we should double-check the strategies tomorrow morning. Just to be sure.” Her voice trembled slightly, but her logic shone through, steady as ever.
“We will,” Krishika reassured her, her tone softer now. “Get some rest, Bianca.”
With that, we parted ways, each retreating to the uneasy silence of the dorms.
Inside, the silence felt heavier than usual. I went to the bed on the left and lay down, facing the wall. Krishika quietly took the bed on the right, her movements deliberate as she turned away.
“She’s not that bad, huh?” Krishika said, breaking the silence.
I nodded, though she couldn’t see me. “She’s all logic, sure. But yeah, I’m impressed.”
Krishika let out a brittle chuckle. “Didn’t think much of her at first. Honestly, we wouldn’t have thought twice if we had to sacrifice her.”
I turned sharply, heat rising in my chest. “Don’t include me in that. I’d never sacrifice anyone. No one’s just a pawn.”
The silence stretched thin. When Krishika spoke again, her voice was quieter. “Aaravi is gone, Vyom. You can’t change that.”
My hands curled into fists. “It’s not just her,” I said, my voice low. “When she died, I cried. But not because of grief. Sympathy, empathy—those are long gone. I cried because I couldn’t cry.”
Krishika shifted, her breathing steady but deliberate. Even without looking, I could sense her watching me, her silence heavy with questions she didn’t ask.
We left the rest unsaid.
As I closed my eyes, my mind pulled me back to a place I’d buried deep—a memory I never wanted to revisit.
I could see the orphanage, bustling with dozens of kids, myself among them. I’d been there since the day I was born. The air was warm, carrying the laughter of children and the faint scent of old wood and freshly baked bread. The staff, kind and wrinkled with age, treated us like their own. They played games with us, their smiles as wide as ours. It wasn’t just a home—it was joy, pure and simple.
I wished everything could have stayed like that, but life doesn’t work that way. Day always turns into night, and somehow, the nights stretch longer than they should.
When I was four, everything shifted. The staff who had cared for us vanished without warning. We didn’t understand why, and honestly, we didn’t care. We were kids, too wrapped up in our own little worlds to question it.
The new staff was younger, livelier. We thought it was the best thing ever—no more sighs or groans when we clung to their backs, pretending they were horses. That's what we thought....
But from day one, things were different. They started ordering us around—cleaning, washing, running errands, even putting on little performances to entertain them. The joy we once knew began to feel like something we owed them.
And then it got worse.
One day, a boy tripped and dropped an expensive tea set. He was just four. It shouldn’t have mattered. But to them, it did.
A woman stood up, her face cold and expressionless. Without a word, she pulled out a gun and shot him. Just like that. No hesitation. No remorse.
The sound of the shot echoed in the room, silencing everything. We froze, too stunned to even cry.
She turned to us, her lips curling into a cruel smile. “Listen up, you worthless pawns. One mistake, and you’ll pay the price. Sacrificing a pawn is easy when it’s for the greater good.”
The others laughed—a chilling, mocking sound that sent shivers down my spine.
In that moment, the warmth of the orphanage was gone. All that remained was fear.
From then on, I saw it happen over and over and over and over… again. At first, we cried. We screamed. We begged. But after a while, it was just… normal.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
“Oh, another child got shot,” we’d think, barely glancing up. By the time I was twelve, only five of us were left out of dozens. The gunshots didn’t startle us anymore. The fear never left, but it became a dull ache—a part of life, like breathing.
We were left with empty hearts, incapable of feeling anything.
Then one day, Ayan came with his father. Just another rich kid I was expected to entertain. I faked the smiles, the laughs, the joy—it was all routine. But something broke inside me, sharp and sudden, like a blade cutting through the numbness.
I told him everything.
He cried—really cried—until his eyes were swollen. Then he begged his father to help me. Somehow, they did. They got me out of there.
I never found out what happened to the other four. I tried not to think about it.
For four years, I lived a life I didn’t think was possible—with Ayan and Aaravi. We laughed, learned, fought, and forgave. For the first time, I felt real emotions. Joy. Anger. Love.
But nothing lasts.
They died in front of me. Again.
"Vyom, Vyom, VYOM! Wake up... we’ll be late..." A sharp voice sliced through the fog of my dream, pulling me from the depths of my memories—or maybe my nightmares. My vision was still blurry as I tried to adjust, blinking against the fog that clung to my thoughts.
"Who’s there...?" I mumbled, my heart racing. Then, something strange came into focus. A figure, dark hair cascading over my face, hovered just above me. For a split second, panic gripped me, and I gasped out loud. "A witch! A WITCH!"
I jumped up instinctively, my heart pounding, but my movements were too hasty. Our heads collided with a sickening thud.
"What did you call me?" A voice, sharp and full of irritation, came from beneath me. "Idiot!"
I looked down, my pulse still racing, only to meet Krishika’s glare. Her hair was wild, tangled around her face, and her clenched fist was aimed directly at me.
The next thing I knew, my cheek stung, and I was left with the unmistakable warmth of a swollen bruise already forming.
"Ouch," I groaned, reaching up to touch the damage. "What the hell, Krishika?"
"Serves you right," she said, sitting up and brushing herself off, though her voice had softened a little. "Next time, don’t go calling me a witch."
I rubbed my cheek, still trying to process the bizarre shift from dream to reality. "I—I didn’t mean it," I stammered, my mind still reeling. "I thought… I thought you were someone else."
Ting...
A message popped up on my phone. I reached to check it, but before I could, I heard Krishika's voice—“Have your breakfast, we are already late...”
I decided to ignore the message for now and focused on having breakfast, and get ready to leave. Actually I didn’t really get ready, though. Instead, I ended up washing the dishes from our meal. You know, some hands are just too soft for this kind of work.
Once that was done, we left.
In the corridor, I pulled out my phone and read the message. My face went pale as I read it line by line. It felt like the world around me paused, and I couldn’t make sense of what was on the screen.
Krishika had already gone ahead, but when she noticed I had stopped, she turned and shouted, “What happened? Come on, hurry up!”
I snapped back to reality, trying to calm myself. “Yeah, coming... nothing... sorry,” I said, trying to sound casual even though my insides were anything but.
As she marches forward, I watch her from behind, and the lines of the message echo in my head:
She was a four-year-old girl, living happily with her twin. They were so alike in every way that even their parents often confused them. Despite the occasional mix-ups, theirs was a warm and happy family. But one day, everything fell apart.
The house burned with the ferocity of hellfire. Their parents lay lifeless on the floor. Amidst the chaos, a man took one of the girls, carrying her on his shoulder, while the other was left crying in the flames. Suddenly, a stranger appeared out of nowhere and rescued the abandoned child, taking her to America.
The man who saved her gave her a home and enrolled her in a good school. Despite her tragic past, life seemed to be improving. But then, tragedy struck again—he was murdered right before her eyes, and the police blamed her for the crime.
An old man came to her aid, offering her refuge and sending her to the place where you now see her.
These words clung to me like smoke from a fire long extinguished, but Krishika's sharp voice snapped me back to the present.
"Come on, walk faster!" she shouted over her shoulder.
I shook off the lingering thoughts and sprinted to catch up, catching a glimpse of Bianca and Shura rushing toward us from the other side. I pushed open the doors of the lab, the sterile glow of the overhead lights jolting me fully into reality.
Inside, the air buzzed with urgency. Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone hurried to their seats. The hum of booting systems grew louder, steady and rhythmic, like the heartbeat of an impending storm.
I gazed around, catching the pale, uneasy faces of everyone in the room. For a moment, I couldn’t understand why—then I remembered. Oh yeah, last night. Team 1 looked monstrous, almost otherworldly.
But right now, with everything swirling in my head—the memories, the chaos, the weight of what’s coming—Team 1 feels insignificant. Like a worm in the vast, endless universe.
“So,” I began, breaking the silence, “what’s our offense plan? We can’t win this by just defending—you all know that, right?”
The words hung in the air, heavy and unchallenged.
Bianca shifted in her chair, her fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the table. She hesitated, her shoulders trembling slightly, then took a shaky breath.
“I—I’ve been thinking about this all night,” she began. Her voice, frail at first, grew steadier with each word, her hands still fidgeting as though fighting her nerves. Yet, in her eyes, there was a spark—a resolve that hadn’t been there before.
“And I think... I’ve come up with a plan we can follow.”
“First, we should pen-test our own network,” she explained, her voice growing steadier. “Try bypassing log monitoring systems and IDS. Find vulnerabilities here, then use that information against the other teams. We should also utilize double agents to discover the leaders of other teams.”
Her logic was airtight—textbook stuff—but even so, I couldn’t ignore how unrealistic it sounded given the time crunch. Before I could voice my thoughts, Krishika beat me to it.
“How exactly are we supposed to ‘utilize’ double agents to find their leaders?” she asked, her tone sharp, gaze narrowing like she was dissecting Bianca’s every word.
“It’s simple,” Shura interjected, pointing toward the large monitor. “Look at the team names. Every teammate’s name ends with a single period, but the leader’s name ends with two periods. All we need is a snapshot of their team names.”
The room went still for a moment as Shura’s explanation sank in. It was clever—surprisingly clever. I decided to push the idea forward.
“To make it work, here’s what we’ll do,” I said, leaning back slightly to command the room. “One person will probe our network to identify exploitable weaknesses we can use on others. Another will handle double-agent contacts. Shura, you should take that. Krishika, dig into the social media profiles of the other teams for intel. Bianca, you’ll patrol the corridor every 30 minutes and take notes on what the others are up to.”
Heads nodded all around, the plan falling into place like puzzle pieces clicking together. But then a new problem emerged, as they always did.
“The issue is,” I said, frowning slightly, “double-agent interactions are one-sided. They can contact us, but we can’t reach out to them.”
Before we could debate further, a sharp knock echoed through the room. We froze, exchanging quick glances before I opened the door.
Standing there was a tall, pale boy dressed head-to-toe in black. His spiky hair looked like it had lost a fight with a blow-dryer. Everything about him screamed “flashy,” but his easy smirk carried a disarming confidence.
“Hi,” he said casually, hands stuffed into his pockets. “I’m Dimitri, acting as a double agent. If you’re interested, I can serve as your spy.”
For once, luck seemed to smile on us. “Yeah!” I said, excitement bubbling up before I could tamp it down.
But Shura stepped forward, his presence commanding as he blocked the doorway. “What’s in it for you?” he asked, his voice cold and calculating.
Dimitri’s smirk widened. “It’s simple. Either your team or Team 1 wins, and two teams can win anyway. If I align with you, it’s a win-win.”
“There’s never a win-win,” Shura shot back, his tone cutting like a blade. “Stay where you are; don’t step inside. I’ll come out, and we’ll talk this through.”
Dimitri glanced at his watch, his expression unchanged. “Then, Let’s meet in the washroom in about ten minutes.”
“Okay!” Shura replied, flashing a confident thumbs-up. As Dimitri walked away, Shura turned to us with a wide grin and shouted, “Leave this to me, guys! Trust me on this one!”
“As if we could ever trust a guy who even lies in his introductions,” Krishika muttered under her breath. Her tone was sharp.
"Huh! What you'd say mrs. leader" said in growling and mocking voice....
"That you lie to us the whole damm time and now you're asking to trust you.... " She shouted stood up from the chair slaping her hands hard against the desk..
Shura opened his mouth, his tone defensive. “Huh! Are you in—”
“Didn’t you have a family name?” Krishika interrupted, her voice rising even higher. “Yuki. Shura Yuki. And yet you claim you have no family name?”
At first, it didn’t seem like a big deal to me—just a family name. But then Shura’s expression darkened, his voice low and guttural as he growled, “Why were you looking into my past?”
And that’s when it hit me. If Shura had lied about something so personal, and no one else knew about it, how did Krishika end up with this information?
"Don't change the damn topic!" Krishika shouted, her voice rising to an almost deafening pitch.
"It's enough!" I yelled, trying to cut through the chaos. But before I could even process my own outburst, I was met with an unexpected response.
"You have no place to stop them, Vyom!"
The voice was sharp, forceful—Bianca’s voice.
I froze, my mind struggling to reconcile what just happened. Did she just... shout? Bianca, the one who barely spoke above a whisper most days, had shouted at me?
Her voice came again, sharp and unrelenting. "You can’t even feel a thing... You could watch countless kids fall dead without raising a rebellion, becoming the cause of your own friends' deaths. You don’t have the right to show concern!"
She growled. Not just spoke, growled.
And I lost it. My mind, my composure, everything.
"What was I supposed to do?" I roared back, my voice as loud as I could make it. "I was just a kid! A kid! Powerless, scared, and watching everything I cared about fall apart! You think I wanted that? You think I didn’t try to fight back in the only ways I could?!"
My breath came in ragged gasps, my fists clenched at my sides. "But what I don’t understand," I continued, my voice trembling with rage, "is why. Why were you looking into my past? What gave you the right to dig up things I buried a long time ago?"
"You—" Bianca started, her voice unsteady.
"Like you really have a place to speak here, you damn drug addict!" Shura roared, cutting her off with a force that shattered her composure.
Tears spilled down Bianca’s cheeks as she stumbled over her words, her sobs choking her voice. “I—I’m not addicted… I didn’t… It wasn’t my choice… It was her! She made me—”
Her words dissolved into muffled cries, her trembling hands clutching the edge of the table as if it were the only thing keeping her upright.
"I said enough!" I shouted again, my voice echoing through the room.
But Shura wasn’t done. “What if I lied about my name, huh? Wouldn't it be a mess if someone found out that Miss Yuki is my elder sister?” he retorted, his voice seething with frustration.
Krishika snapped back, her voice like a whip. “Is that all? Or are you just afraid someone will dig deeper and find out your sister went to jail for burning your parents alive? And that you followed the officers' commands like a dog?”
“You’re crossing the damn line now!” Shura roared, his face contorting with a mix of anger and pain. Tears welled in his eyes as he shouted, “And don’t spout nonsense about my sister when you don’t know a thing! She was framed, damn it!”
Krishika didn’t flinch. “Huh! No one gets framed like that,” she shot back.
“Enough, Krishika!” I growled, stepping in. “Even you were framed for killing that man!”
Her eyes widened, shock spreading across her face. “H-How do you know that, Vyom?” she stammered.
“And you don’t even know the name of that man yet,” I continued, my voice cold. “You’re flawed, like everyone else here. Stop shouting as if you’re perfect.”
“Oh, Mrs. Leader doesn’t even know the name of her guardian,” Bianca chimed in, her tone dripping with mockery.
“Oh, you’re one to talk,” Shura barked, turning his glare toward her. “The girl who doesn’t even know the name of the parents who adopted her!”
Bianca’s voice cracked as she shouted back, “Well, they were terrifying! They used whips on me—what was I supposed to do? I never had the courage to ask anything!”
“So you killed them?” Shura shouted, his words a dagger.
“No!” Bianca cried, her voice breaking. “I was framed! They committed suicide!” Tears streamed down her face, frustration pouring out with every sob.
The room fell silent, the weight of accusations and raw pain suffocating. No one dared to speak. The cracks in the team had grown into fractures, gaping and unbridgeable. It felt as though everything was coming apart.
I took a deep breath, finally calming my nerves enough to think clearly. And then it struck me—why did we all know these fragments of each other’s pasts? My thoughts turned to the message I’d received, the one revealing Krishika’s story.
Could it be…? Could someone be pulling the strings, feeding us these secrets to tear us apart?
"Guys... listen," I said, my voice still shaky, trying to rein in the chaos. "Calm down for a second. Answer me—did any of you get a message about someone else’s past?"
Everyone spoke in sync, their voices hushed, “Yeah…”
The room fell deathly quiet. Shock spread across their faces, and we all exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of the revelation sinking in. No one needed to say anything. The realization was clear.
"Show me your messages," I demanded, my voice steady despite the tension swirling in the room.
Everyone hesitated for a moment, then pulled out their phones, one by one, showing me the messages they had received.
I scrolled through Krishika’s first. It was fragmented, designed to sow seeds of doubt. Pieces of her past, twisted just enough to make her question everything. Then I looked at Shura's, and Bianca’s. Each one was the same—half-formed truths, carefully designed to erode trust between us.
But mine… mine was different. The message I received had no gaps, no misleading details. It was the whole truth.
I glanced up, meeting the eyes of my team, each of them waiting for me to speak.
“This doesn’t make sense,” I muttered, more to myself than anyone else.
Krishika raised an eyebrow. "what do you mean?? They’re all the same… designed to make us fight each other."
"But why did I get the full message?" I asked, my voice tight. "Why was mine… complete?"
Shura’s eyes narrowed. “Are you saying someone’s picking sides?”
Bianca was shaking her head, still visibly shaken from earlier. "I don’t understand. If they wanted us divided, why would they let you have the truth?"
It was Krishika who spoke next, her voice calm but laced with suspicion. “Either you’re being used, or someone’s playing a bigger game than we realize."
The room was thick with uncertainty. Nobody spoke for a long moment.
And then the looming question hit me, heavy and unavoidable:
When did this all start? When did they begin planning this, pulling us into this twisted game?
The thought hung in the air, suffocating us with its weight. But then—
Knock, knock…
The sound sliced through the tension like glass breaking. We all snapped toward the door, startled.
Dimitri’s voice followed, sharp and impatient. "Hey! Are you coming or not? I’ve been waiting for 20 minutes now. Are we making a deal or not?"
He leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed, waiting for us to respond. The momentary distraction was a jolt back to reality, and for a heartbeat, the room seemed to exhale in unison.
"Just 5 minutes, give me 5 minutes more!" Shura exclaimed, his frustration evident.
Dimitri's voice carried from the doorway, sharp and impatient. "Alright, I'll wait—but just 5 minutes." He gave us one last look before stepping out, the door clicking shut behind him.
Krishika immediately took command, her voice calm but firm. "Alright, we were on the verge of breaking apart, but we pulled through. Now, let’s focus. We have a plan. Shura, you go handle Dimitri. Bianca, time for your scout job. Vyom, you're with me—network penetration and defense. Stick to the plan, stay sharp. We’re still in this."
Her words grounded us, and there was a shift in the room, a sense of renewed focus.
"Yeah!" we all shouted in unison, the words loud and clear, a rallying cry to drive us forward. We were back on track, and this time, we were ready.
Shura left immediately, Bianca following closely behind. But... she took a hand mirror with her. Why the hell did she bring that? I couldn’t make sense of it, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it.
"Alright, Vyom, I’ll be playing defense. Come at me, don’t hold back," Krishika said, her tone steady and confident.
“Well then,” I replied, excitement creeping into my voice for the first time in ages. “Let’s have a fight. Attacker versus defender.”
I turned my attention to the screen. The network came alive before me, each line and node glowing like targets waiting to be struck down. I activated ScoutNet, my go-to tool for scanning networks. In seconds, it mapped the battlefield: a router, a shared printer, and a file server. “Let’s see how secure you really are,” I muttered, my fingers flying over the keyboard.
But just as I was about to strike, nodes started vanishing from the map. My smirk faded. She was countering me. “Hiding, huh?” I activated EchoFind, tracking hidden devices by analyzing their data flow. One by one, the missing nodes came back to life.
I went straight for the router, launching KeyStrike to brute-force its login. Passwords fired like bullets, each attempt faster than the last. But just when I thought I had it, the script froze. “Damn it!” I cursed under my breath. She’d locked me out.
I shifted focus. The shared printer caught my eye—a relic with weak firmware. I unleashed PrintCrack and slipped through its flimsy admin panel with ease.
She’d spotted me again. The printer was cut off from the network. “Fast, but not fast enough,” I muttered. I had already infiltrated deeper.
The file server came into view, the core of the system. Using DataSift, I exploited its open configurations. My screen lit up with shared folders. I grinned. “Found you.”
Then, everything went dark. She’d locked the server and kicked me out. Frustration boiled inside me, but I didn’t stop. If she wanted dirty, I’d give her dirty. I launched FloodGate, flooding her server with traffic.
Her counter came almost instantly—TrafficLimiter stabilized the system, choking out my attack. “Really?” I muttered, shaking my head. She's good.
But I wasn’t done. SniffWire was my ace. As I intercepted the traffic, I spotted it: a poorly encrypted session token. My grin returned. “Thanks for the gift.” With a few quick keystrokes, I forced my way back in.
The battle felt endless, but the thrill drove me forward. I glanced at the screen, I WON! breathing heavily. The session gave us critical information, but it was clear—our offensive tools were unmatched, but our defenses? Weak. If someone hit us like this, we’d crumble.
For now, though, the session was over. The network wasn’t as secure as I’d hoped. There was work to do, but I’d made my point.
"I don't know why, Shura and Bianca did not return. It's been more than an hour now..." I muttered to myself, my voice barely above a whisper. The silence of the environment pressed in around me, thick and suffocating.
As I sat there, lost in thought, her voice sliced through the stillness like a blade.
"Why do you think our pasts are so alike?" she asked, resting her chin on her hand.
I leaned back, chewing the inside of my cheek. "I don’t know. I have no idea, and, honestly, I don’t care right now. What’s suffocating me is figuring out who sent those messages."
"Whoever it was won’t stay hidden for long. We’ll find them," said Shura, suddenly appearing at the doorway.
"When did you—" I began.
"How’s the deal going?" Krishika interrupted, her voice sharp and direct.
Shura shrugged, his tone casual but firm. "I dealt with the double agent. He’s on board, but he wants something in return. Tough nut to crack."
"What does he want?" Bianca muttered, her voice barely above a whisper as she peered out from the corridor.
Shura jolted, clutching his chest. "Phew! You scared me half to death!"
But then Bianca, her gaze fixed on the fifth computer, froze in shock. "Wait a minute… what are these notifications?"
All eyes turned to the fifth computer. A flurry of alerts blared across the screen:
Your team lost a heart, destroyed by Team 1.
Your team lost a heart, destroyed by Team 1.
Your team lost a heart, destroyed by Team 1.
Your team lost a heart, destroyed by Team 1.
Four times.
Four lives lost.
On Day Two.