The halls of Blackridge Academy pulsed with a quiet tension. Footsteps echoed on pristine tile, whispers fell silent the moment someone passed by, and every turn felt like it held a secret.
Ace moved through it all with practiced stillness. Three days had passed since the gas incident in his room—an unspoken message that he wasn't just here to survive classes. Someone had marked him. The red light on the lockbox, the hiss of gas, the strategically timed blackout—it wasn't just a test of reflexes.
It was a threat.
And a challenge.
Not from the school.
From someone within it.
He kept that knowledge close, tucked behind his unreadable gaze. Each day, he attended the brutal training modules—combat sparring, infiltration drills, tactical analysis. Each night, he studied student patterns like prey tracking predators. The instructors didn't just grade performance—they watched reactions. Decisions. Instincts.
Most students played along, trying to impress.
Ace didn't play.
He learned.
And he remembered.
Today's module: Scenario Warfare.
The simulated environment shifted with every alarm. Urban terrain. Rural ruins. Underground tunnels. Fifty students, all dropped into the same randomized simulation—missions assigned via headset, success or failure marked in real-time.
Ace stood on the metal platform, helmet in hand, eyes locked on the rotating projection above.
Scenario 7C: Urban Extraction.
Objective: Retrieve Package. Deliver to Evac Point B. Timer: 30 Minutes.
Easy enough on paper.
The platform buzzed. Doors opened.
"Let's see how many of you survive this one," barked Instructor Reznick, a towering ex-special forces operator with a broken nose and eyes like razors. "Remember—getting eliminated in here reflects how fast you'd die in the real world. Move!"
Ace slid on the helmet, secured the chin strap, and stepped into the sim chamber.
Darkness swallowed him.
Then—
Boom.
A flash of light.
Concrete alleys. Abandoned cars. Smoke rising from shattered windows. He crouched low, scanning left and right. Gunshots cracked somewhere in the distance. The HUD in his visor lit up with direction markers.
Evac point: 1.2 clicks northeast.
The package: being tracked by half the students.
Ace didn't care about the others. Not right now. Not until they became threats.
He dashed through the broken alleyways, boots silent on debris, every breath measured. His route zigzagged through blind spots, using shadows and overhead piping to keep his movement unpredictable. He climbed a collapsed scaffold and crouched on a ledge, overlooking an open square.
Five students were already there. One had the package—a glowing case chained to their wrist. The others argued, weapons raised.
"Split the reward!" one barked.
"We don't even know if it's real!"
"No way in hell you're walking out with it solo."
Amateurs.
Ace dropped down behind them without a sound.
Two swift moves.
The first guy slumped from a sleeper hold, the second crumpled under a stun baton swipe to the neck.
The others panicked.
"Who—?!"
Ace snatched the chained case mid-spin and vanished into the next alley, slipping between collapsing walls as gunfire sprayed behind him.
No hesitation.
No wasted motion.
No mercy.
The next twenty minutes were a blur of motion and instinct. He dodged ambushes, rerouted his path through collapsing scaffolds, and left three more students unconscious behind a derailed subway cart. One tried to bait him with a fake distress call. Another planted false markers to reroute competitors.
Ace didn't fall for either.
He reached the evac zone with four minutes left on the clock.
But he wasn't alone.
Two students already waited—one of them the bleach-haired boy from Day One.
Luca.
Still chewing a lollipop, as if this were a casual stroll instead of a simulation with simulated death.
The other was a quiet girl with pink-tinted lenses and a sniper rifle slung lazily over her back. She didn't flinch as Ace approached.
"You're fast," Luca said, voice casual. "That makes you interesting."
Ace didn't answer.
Luca tilted his head. "You came alone?"
"You didn't."
A smirk. "Touché."
The sniper girl stepped forward. "Drop the case."
Ace met her gaze. "You sure you want to do this now?"
She didn't respond. Just unslung the rifle.
The simulation didn't care who delivered the package.
Only that someone did.
Ace's foot slid back, shifting his weight.
"You get one warning," he said.
Luca chuckled. "You gonna pull rank on us, new meat?"
Ace didn't blink. "No. I'm going to break her jaw."
The girl pulled the trigger.
Ace dropped.
The shot went high.
He rolled, swept her legs, and drove his elbow into her side. The rifle clattered to the ground. She moved fast—reaching for a sidearm—but Ace had already kneed her wrist and slammed the butt of her own rifle into her helmet.
She crumpled.
Luca raised both hands, lollipop still in his mouth. "Alright, damn. I was hoping she'd last longer."
Ace didn't move. "You jumping in too?"
"Nah," Luca said, grinning. "I'm just here to watch the hierarchy shift."
Ace walked past him and slammed the case onto the evac beacon.
The simulation ended.
Everything went dark.
Then the lights came back.
Ace stood alone in the center of the chamber. Around him, the other students lay unconscious or dazed, slowly coming to. Medical staff rushed in. Instructors reviewed footage from their tablets.
A quiet nod from Instructor Reznick.
Ace stepped off the platform, unbuckling his helmet.
He didn't care about their scores.
He wasn't here to win points.
He was here to survive.
And someone out there didn't want that happening.
That evening, Ace sat in the mess hall, untouched food growing cold in front of him. Kiera dropped her tray across from him with a thud.
"Your sim footage is already going around," she said. "They're calling you 'Ghost C' now."
He didn't respond.
She leaned in. "You made a lot of people nervous today. Especially Class A."
"I'm not here to make noise."
"Well, tough. You just dropped a flashbang on the whole Academy. There are people here who've been planning their ranks for years."
"Then they should plan better."
Kiera grinned. "I like you."
He looked at her. "Why?"
"Because you're honest. And scary. That's a fun combo."
She pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and slid it across the table.
"A name," she said. "Someone's been watching you. Digging."
Ace opened the note.
It was a student ID. No picture. Just a name:
Sable Merrin – Class A
He folded it and tucked it into his sleeve.
"You trust your source?" he asked.
"I trust her enough to know that if you don't move soon, she will."
Ace pushed back his chair.
"I need eyes in Class A," he said.
Kiera leaned back. "Then you'll need allies."
He paused.
"You in?"
She raised a brow. "Thought you weren't here to make friends."
"I'm not."
"Good," she said, grabbing her tray. "Because neither am I."
Hours later, the lights in the dorm flickered again.
This time, there was no gas.
Just a knock.
Three soft taps.
Then silence.
Ace approached slowly, lockpick in hand.
When he opened the door, the hallway was empty.
Except for one thing.
A folded note, taped to the wall, with a red string pinned through it.
Ace tore it down and opened it.
I saw what you did. But that wasn't the real test.
The real one starts now.
– S.M.
He stared at the note for a long moment.
Then he looked up.
At the far end of the hall, a figure stood just out of range of the lights. Watching.
Still.