After the challenge, the bruised and dirty participants filed out of the room with the ring in it and down another hallway to a dining area. It was set up like a cafeteria, with long tables in the center of the room and an area with food on the side.

Hudson was painfully hungry, so he didn’t care that the only food available was a thin, goopy gruel of some kind and pickled vegetables. He loaded up his bowl as high it could go, then pulled Vince with him to snag a seat.

The top group of participants from the daily Challenge were all sitting together, including Clara, who had a seat on one of the end tables. They were clearly stand-offish, and wanted nothing to do with the other participants in the trial. Hudson ignored that and sat down in an open seat next to Clara – he had questions, and he wanted some answers.

“So are you in this S.E.C.T. thing?” Hudson asked Clara.

She studiously ignored him and focused intently on her breakfast.

“I’ll take that as a ‘yes,’” Hudson said. Maybe he should ask something more provocative.

“Do you help with the kidnappings?”

That question got her attention.

“What kidnappings?” she blurted out.

“Ah. Well, the ones where middle-aged ladies ask you for a glass of water then drug you and carry you out of your apartment. Those kidnappings.”

“Clara…” one of the men to her right spoke up. He had a rough-looking scar above his left eye. Hudson thought he recognized him as the one who had gotten first in the challenge trial.

Vince was snorting into his gruel. “Hang on a second. You got kidnapped by an old aunty? Now I know you’re telling the truth. No one would make that up about themselves.”

“That ‘old aunty’ was a fourth degree black belt,” Hudson said defensively. “And she tricked me.”

Vince gave him a thumbs up. Hudson resisted the urge to throw his bowl of gruel at Vince’s face.

“She would have mopped the floor with anyone here,” Hudson said. “And she wouldn’t have needed to play rock-paper-scissors with a bunch of cheaters either.”

“Rock-paper-scissors? What’s that?” Clara asked, puzzled.

“That game your ‘friends’ here were playing while you got knocked out fighting Vince and I,” Hudson said.

“While you were off fighting by yourself – that game, whatever it was they were playing instead of fighting each other.” He felt a smidgen of empathy for Clara; she’d been fighting them by herself while her friends hadn’t helped. He had done a lot of work by himself without any help from his coworkers, and knew how that felt.

“Oh, you mean breath-blood-bone. That’s what it’s called,” she replied. “And they weren’t leaving me out. That was the plan.”

“Clara!” the man said more insistently, staring her into silence.

So they know each other, and they have a plan. Hudson thought through some of the ramifications of that information.

First, people apparently wanted to be in this trial, or were prepared to take this trial. And they were a part of some organization called “S.E.C.T.” – the name that he had seen posted in the hangar where they had arrived and that their robotic-voiced captor, Director Ix, had referred to.

Secondly, the organization had something to do with “cultivation” – it was the “Society for Exploring Cultivation Techniques” – and perhaps cultivation was another name for breathing techniques. Clara had been using a technique, and it had made her faster and stronger.

Thirdly, if these people planned for it, then they knew things about the trial ahead of time. How would they know? If they had completed it and gotten out somehow… and then told others about it…

He started at a sudden revelation. He could get out too. Maybe everyone could get out? Or maybe only the top participants? Or… maybe only the ones that survived? Rule #1 was survival, after all.

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Hudson’s head was starting to overheat. A familiar anger was also stirring in his chest, but he tamped down it hard, almost reflexively. He wasn’t a detective, but he was going to figure out what was going on here. If these ten people were prepared, had a plan, and were sent into the trial, what about the other twenty-plus people? Why were they here? What was S.E.C.T.?

What was his breathing technique? Was it a cultivation technique? How did it make him faster and stronger while he was using it?

And most importantly, why was he here? What did all of this have to do with him?

He finished eating his breakfast in silence. Vince looked like he wanted to talk to Hudson about something, but every time he started to open his mouth, he’d look over at Clara and her group, then close his mouth and sit back.

Finally, he leaned over and whispered to Hudson, “Remember – you owe me one – we need to talk later, ok?”

Hudson nodded and went back to shoveling gruel into his mouth.

After breakfast, the trial participants marched back into the hangar they had arrived in. The bus-like train was gone, although Hudson could see the tracks on the floor it had ridden on. He also noticed some new things in the hangar that had not been there previously.

Piled up against one wall of the hangar was a small pile of rocks. Hudson was by no means a geologist or mineral expert, but to his untrained eye, they looked like quartz with a slightly silvery sheen. He had certainly never seen a rock that looked like that before in his life.

Next to the pile of rocks were racks of equipment: pickaxes, hammers, canvas bags, and a few wheelbarrows. More concerning were the rack of medieval weapons: swords, spears, and what looked like a combination of both – a curved, sword-length blade attached to a four-foot long handle.

Director Ix’s voice echoed in the empty space. As always, it was disconcerting to listen to: strangely robotic as well as seeming to come from directly over your shoulder, even though no one was there.

“In addition to daily Challenges, participants may also earn trial merits by gathering resources from the rift. Equipment is provided. Lost equipment will result in penalties to trial merits. Examples of the necessary resources are available for review, and review only.”

Hudson heard some muttering from a few of the participants. Some rather unhappy muttering. Hudson imagined that besides the ten “cheaters” – he didn’t have a better name for them yet in his head – everyone else here was similar to him and participating in this “trial” unwillingly.

“Hey,” Vince whispered quietly to Hudson. “The robot voice said ‘may also earn,’ right? As in, you don’t have to, but you could?”

“Yeah, that’s what I heard,” said Hudson. “Why?”

“These guys, whoever they are, just bring us here and force us to fight each other? Then tell us to go use a pickaxe on some rocks? No way, man,” Vince said. “I don’t wanna do that.”

From the murmurs around him, it seemed like some of the other participants were picking up on the literalness of the instructions and thinking the same thing. One of them raised their hand.

Raising our hand to ask questions… it feels like I’m back in elementary school, Hudson mused. Bus ride? Check. Recess? That battle royale was close enough to count. Terrible cafeteria food? Check. Cool kid cliques? Check.

“Participant Jerry Thompson. You may ask your question.”

“Are we required to participate in this activity?” asked a nervous-looking man covered in dirt and limping slightly.

“No. Trial participants are not required to perform rift mining. It is highly recommended.”

There was a divide growing. People like Vince, who were choosing to just sit on the floor, either because they figured they wouldn’t be punished, or because they were no longer willing to follow directions after being beaten up in the morning’s challenge.

Then there were a few others, much fewer in number, who were looking through the equipment and picking out items.

The whole setup just didn’t make sense to Hudson. The “trial” itself was very confusing. Aside from the fact that cultivation or breathing techniques were somehow involved (since he had his Engine Breath technique and the cheaters at least had their techniques), what they were doing didn’t seem to have much of a point. Kidnap people? Have them fight against each other? Then use hand tools to… mine rocks? in a “rift,” if he’d heard that correctly?

In his analyst job out of college – well, former job now – Hudson had thought if he put his head down, worked hard, and did his own thing to the best of his ability he would be appreciated, rewarded, and have a successful career. That didn’t happen, obviously. He wasn’t sure what he could have done differently, or how he could have been successful at his old job, especially considering the teammates he’d worked with. But he was certain about one thing: keeping his head down, doing his own thing, and assuming things would go well was NOT the way to succeed.

Chiang-sensei had said “Trust no one.” Very ironic advice from someone who put a sedative in his water. While Hudson wasn’t sure about his fellow participants and whether he could trust them or not, there was one thing Hudson thought he could trust right now. The fact that the cheaters would know about this part of the trial and be planning to gain some kind of advantage from it.

“No, Vince,” Hudson said. “There’s gotta be a way through this, but sticking our heads in the sand won’t help. Take a look at the cheaters from this morning – where are they at? What are they doing? They have a reason to be here, and until we figure that out, I think we should copy them.

“So which one do you want? The hammer or the pickaxe?”