Miss Sharon’s keen eyes caught the shift in Lorian's expression. "Is something wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.
Lorian hesitated, then offered a weak smile. "Just residual hallucinations from the trial," he explained, attempting to sound casual. "Nothing serious." But his tone betrayed a tremor, the recent ordeal still echoing in his mind.
Miss Sharon's skepticism was palpable. She arched an eyebrow but said nothing, merely gesturing for him to take the token. As he grasped the cold, solid object, the door he had emerged from shut with a mechanical finality. The sound seemed to reverberate in the stillness, amplifying the surreal sensation that had settled over him.
She handed back his watch and phone, her hands trembling slightly despite her calm demeanor. "I need to prepare the remaining participants for the trial," she murmured, her voice tight and clipped. Her eyes flickered away, avoiding his gaze. "Walk straight ahead to reach the waiting area. Once the trial is over, we will take you to the research lab." Her words were rapid, almost as if she wanted to escape the room. "And avoid screens for about half an hour. The light could trigger seizures." She turned away, her steps quickening, almost stumbling in her haste.
As Lorian watched her retreat, a mix of relief and exhilaration washed over him. He had done it. The weight of his triumph filled his chest, making it hard to breathe. He clenched his fists, a broad grin breaking across his face. For a moment, everything else faded—his anxieties, his doubts. All that existed was the sweet, intoxicating taste of victory.
The memory of his mother surfaced, her words of wisdom, once dismissed, now a guiding force. His heart swelled with gratitude and joy, the echoes of the trial room still vivid in his mind. The fear he had felt facing the snake now seemed almost laughable. 'She isn't the training wheel that slows me down but the wheel that propels my life forward,' he thought, feeling a newfound clarity.
With renewed determination, Lorian clutched the token tighter. Each step toward the waiting area felt lighter, buoyed by the realization that he had overcome a significant hurdle. The fluorescent lights of the corridor seemed harsh and unforgiving, but they were nothing compared to the blinding light of his triumph. The anticipation of what lay ahead filled him with a mix of fear and excitement, but for now, he allowed himself to bask in the moment of his hard-earned victory.
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Miss Sharon walked down the hallway, her heels clicking sharply against the cold, hard floor. Lorian's triumphant smile replayed in her mind, a warmth that jarred against her own icy resolve. She quickened her pace, fingers gripping the crumpled piece of paper in her pocket—a constant reminder of the choices she’d made. The shadows seemed to close in around her, whispers of accusation trailing behind with each step.
“They’re all useless,” she muttered, her voice low and tense. “Living like dogs, clinging to their pathetic excuses. If they just pushed harder, clawed their way up, they’d see progress. But no, they’re content with their small, meaningless lives.” Her jaw tightened as she thought of Lorian. “And that smile of his... does he really think he’ll find happiness? He’s just another pawn, ignorant and blind to the truth.”
Her hand slipped from her pocket, smoothing her skirt as she reached the dimly lit laboratory. Inside, Dr. Young stood among a clutter of scientific equipment, the flickering lights casting long, distorted shadows. His worn appearance was striking, a stark contrast to the intensity that still burned in his eyes.
He looked up as she entered, his gaze meeting hers with a softness that belied the tension in the air. “You know,” he began, his voice carrying a gentle rasp, “I’ve seen many people go through these trials. Sometimes, I think it’s the belief that we matter, that our struggles mean something, that keeps us going.” He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But then, there are those who’ve made traded with the abyss, and the price... well, it’s often hidden until it’s too late.”
Miss Sharon’s gaze wavered, her cold façade slipping just enough to reveal a flicker of doubt. “I’m perfectly fine, Dr. Young,” she replied, her tone firm, though her stiff posture betrayed her.
Dr. Young’s lips curved into a faint, sad smile. “Like I've always said. I study people, Miss Sharon. And I’ve learned that the masks we wear can be both our shield and our prison.” His voice softened, almost a whisper now. “That man... he’s a pawn, who traded ambition for love, but is blissfully ignorant of the strings that guide him. You, on the other hand... you’re a queen, but queens often stand alone.”
A cold shiver ran down her spine. The idea that she and Lorian were both isolated, yet in such different ways, unsettled her more than she cared to admit. She felt like she now grasped why that smile of his affected her to this extent. “Why are you telling me this?” she asked, a trace of vulnerability slipping into her voice.
Dr. Young’s expression darkened, the light in his eyes dimming as if something unseen had cast a shadow over him. “Because I’ve asked Lord Denver to send you to Nyxium instead of me,” he said, his tone calm but tinged with an underlying fear. “My time is running out, Miss Sharon but so is Lord Kaiser's. There are... things I can’t fight anymore. The mind, once it’s been touched by certain forces, begins to fray. And when you’ve sold your soul to a devil, you start to lose pieces of yourself.”
Miss Sharon felt a jolt of surprise, the steel in her composure cracking. “Why would you do that?” she asked, her voice almost a whisper.
Dr. Young shrugged slightly, his expression thoughtful but haunted. “Because I see in you a strength I no longer have. And maybe... just maybe, you need to see beyond the walls you’ve built. Lorian’s ignorance is his bliss, his shield. But you... you’ve built walls so high that nothing can reach you. Not even the truth.”
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small bag, offering it to her. “Take this,” he said, his voice soft but commanding.
Miss Sharon accepted the bag, her gaze questioning.
“A flight ticket and some documents,” Dr. Young explained, his smile a fragile facade. “You are to leave for the United States tonight and deliver these to Lord Denver.”
Miss Sharon opened her mouth to protest, but Dr. Young silenced her with a raised hand. “This is a direct order,” he insisted, his tone brooking no argument. If she looked closer she would see a faint purple gleam pulsing within Dr. Young's eyes, struggling to expand as if restrained by sheer willpower.
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Silence settled between them, thick with unspoken fears and doubts. Miss Sharon’s mind whirled. Was her relentless pursuit of power just another form of ignorance? Had she, in her quest to control everything, lost sight of herself?
As she left the laboratory, Dr. Young’s words lingered in the air, echoing in her thoughts. His cryptic warnings had not provided the clarity she sought but had instead nudged her toward a path of uncomfortable introspection. The hallway stretched before her, filled with shadows of her own making. Her resolve remained, but now, uncertainty gnawed at the edges, a tiny spark that threatened to grow into a consuming fire.
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A blinding radiance besieged Lorian’s vision, flooding the waiting area with the harsh glare of unfiltered sunlight. He squinted, trying to adjust to the overwhelming brightness. His movements were sluggish, each step weighed down by an invisible fatigue that made the day seem longer. This was when a familiar voice broke through the silence.
"Yoooooo, see that, broskys? I told you, my brother ain't scared of nothing!" The burly man exclaimed, drawing the attention of the group of five men around him. They all turned toward Lorian as he stepped out of the gates. The man's enthusiasm was evident, a stark contrast to Lorian’s more reserved nature.
Lorian's lips twitched into a wry smile. 'When did we become brothers... and how is he so social?' he mused, glancing at the burly man, whose infectious grin seemed to light up the waiting area more than the sunlight.
"You won, right?" The man asked eagerly. Lorian nodded while taking a whiff of the freshly cut grass.
"AHAHAHAHHA, of course he would win! He's my brother after all. See, y'all? I told ya my bro would slay this trial!" The man boasted as if he himself had emerged victorious.
With a playful glint in his eyes, Lorian turned to the burly man. "Apologies for the late question," he said, tilting his head curiously, "but I never caught your name..."
The burly man scratched his head, his grin never faltering, though a hint of embarrassment crept into his eyes. "Well, you see," he began, glancing around at the others who were now whispering among themselves in amusement.
"Brother, huh? Seems a pretty tight bond for two souls unaware of each other's names," quipped an onlooker. The group erupted in laughter, the sound amiable and teasing.
Lorian found himself chuckling softly. The burly man's simplicity was endearing. As the man scratched his head and grinned sheepishly, Lorian felt a warmth spread through him—a connection he hadn't felt in years. He cleared his throat, his smile softening into something genuine.
Coughing dramatically, the man cleared his throat. "Arnold, but friends call me Muscle-head Arnold," he announced, flexing his biceps.
"You seem muscle-headed indeed, good sir," Lorian quipped with a playful twinkle in his eye. "My name is Lorian, Lorian Voss."
Arnold's eyes brightened with interest. "Lorian, a name with a touch of mystery. Sounds like it's straight out of a fantasy novel," he said, trying to sound clever.
Lorian arched an eyebrow. "Mystery, huh? You do have a way with words," he replied, a slight smile playing at his lips.
Arnold puffed out his chest with pride. "Hey, what can I say? I'm a man of many talents," he responded, clearly enjoying the banter. "As my dear mother puts it, I've always been as sharp as a marble," he added with a wink.
"Well, my mother used to be quite the reader. I wouldn't be surprised if I was actually named after a fiction character..." Lorian's smile faded a bit as he thought of his mother, the shadow of old memories flickering across his face.
Amid the laughter, Lorian reflected on his situation. 'I haven't laughed like this since high school,' he thought, recalling his younger self's jokes that never reached his eyes. 'No, those laughs were different,' he mused, a genuine smile lingering on his face as the men around him began to disperse.
Even as he shook hands with his new friends, Arnold seemed lost in thought, mentally rehearsing a line. After a moment, he spoke, "Seems like our frictional character here is on a mental oddsee," he quipped, eyeing the quiet Lorian. Arnold's words seemed to reach for eloquence, inspired by Lorian's earlier compliment.
Lorian smiled, trying to stay anchored in the present as he pushed aside the shadows of the past. As their new friends drifted away, leaving them alone, Arnold looked at him earnestly. “By the way, where is your mother staying now? I’d like to visit her once all this is over and help however I can,” he said, his gaze filled with genuine concern.
Lorian’s breath caught slightly at Arnold’s sincerity. He looked away, swallowing hard before answering, “She’s currently at the Fata Morgana Clinic.”
Arnold frowned, scratching his head. “I haven’t heard of that one.”
Lorian sighed, a note of guilt in his voice. “She was at Mid-City Hospital before. Her condition wasn’t too serious then. But since I didn’t have enough money, I had to move her to this small clinic near my house. With the money from this job, maybe I can get her back to Mid-City.”
Arnold nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, they’re bloodsuckers, but they’re the best. I’m sure she’ll be better soon.”
“Thanks for your concern,” Lorian replied, his voice tight with emotion.
Arnold grinned warmly and clapped Lorian on the shoulder. “We’re like brothers now; she’s my mother too.”
He handed Lorian a slip of paper. “Here are my contact details. I heard you’re not allowed to use your phone yet, right?” Arnold’s smile widened as he quickly pulled out his own phone. “Let’s exchange numbers. Oh, I’ll also add ‘Fat Morona Clinic’ to my notes app.” He exaggerated his movements with a playful smirk, enjoying the moment.
Lorian chuckled. “It’s Fata Morgana, but I’ll text you the details later.”
Should anyone deem Lorian’s humor dark and merciless, Arnold's could be described as refreshingly innocent, as if the inner child in him remained very much alive. Perhaps he was indeed youthful in spirit, or it could be that this semblance of naivety shielded him from the grief of his prior misdeeds. Indeed, there is often peace in not knowing.
As they exchanged their numbers and addresses, Lorian and Arnold noticed Dr. Young emerging from the building.
Dr. Young's command sliced through the air with a sharp edge, his tone brooking no dissent. "The winners,..." he declared, his gaze sweeping over the assembled group, "...are to follow me into the van. Miss Sharon will see to the others, guiding them to the bus."
Behind him, a sleek black van waited patiently; its engine purring softly.
Lorian and Arnold exchanged a glance, a silent acknowledgment passing between them.
"Hey, brosky," Arnold said with a big grin, his excitement shining through. "Let's hang out after all this, yeah? We can use some of that cash we just got and grab some lunch together."
"I'll try...no promises though," Lorian replied with a small smile, appreciating the offer of companionship amidst the uncertainty of the trial. He welcomed the chance to unwind with someone amiable like Arnold.
Lorian nodded and moved toward the van. Stepping inside, he found it empty. He made his way to a seat and sat down, his gaze wandering aimlessly. As he tried to steady his focus, fatigue tugged at him. With a sigh, he closed his eyes, thinking to himself, 'A quick nap wouldn’t hurt.'
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A man in the black hoodie slouched on the stairs, fidgeting with a small plastic baggy between his fingers as he observed the two men in the distance.
He muttered into his earpiece, his voice raspy and jittery. "Subject 21's loosening up, man. Looks like he's getting cozy with Subject 20. That guy Arnold's charm's like freakin' magic, ain't it? Bet that slick bastard's gonna pop a vein when he gets his reward," he chuckled, a cloud of smoke billowing from his lips.
A voice crackled through the receiver, devoid of emotion. "Watch your mouth Ester. This is not your local dive bar."
The hooded guy grunted in response, flicking the butt of his cigarette onto the ground. "Yeah, yeah, got it, boss. Just callin' it like I see it."
With a sigh the voice from the receiver continued, "Subject 21's background is just what we're looking for. No immediate concerns or complications." The orders were clear. "Send all reports to the Mercenary Division and Lord Kaiser on behalf Division C. Let's see what they'll put that Arnold up to."
As Arnold's gaze shifted from the departing Lorian, he noticed the hooded figure sitting alone. With a burst of energy, he bounded over with a friendly grin, his approach exuding warmth and camaraderie, his booming voice cutting through the quiet air as he exclaimed,
"Hello, friend!"