Chapter 154: Welcome to the Island of Misfit Toys

The door hissed open before me, an invitation to step forward into a sterile white corridor. Behind me lay the smoking ruin of what had once been a combat simulator, now reduced to twisted metal and scorched concrete. I sucked in a deep breath, tasting the metallic tang of heated alloys and the acrid bite of fried circuitry. My little temper tantrum had certainly left an impression.

The corridor stretched ahead, blindingly bright and utterly silent. No congratulations, no fanfare, no guidance. Just a clean, antiseptic path forward.

’How very on-brand for this place,’

I thought, rolling my shoulders to loosen the tension.

’All style, zero substance.’

I took a step, then another, my footfalls echoing against the seamless walls. Every fifty feet, a section of the corridor ahead would illuminate with a soft green glow, followed by the silent parting of another door. The floor sloped downward at such a subtle angle that I might not have noticed if I wasn’t looking for it. They were taking us underground, away from the prying eyes of whatever audience had been watching the preliminary tests.

My vision flickered, that telltale sign of Nel preparing to grace me with her digital presence. Sure enough, her voice sliced into my consciousness, cool and clinical.

[Nel]:

[Performance analysis complete. While your final score was... acceptable, your engagement with a lesser, auxiliary AI like VEGA was noted. Such unprofessional conduct is inefficient and reflects poorly on your primary System administrator.]

Oh, someone’s jealous.

’It was a performance, Nel,’

I projected back, letting a hint of amusement color my thoughts.

’All for the audience. A dominant display against the local talent makes for better drama. Better drama means more entertained gods. And more entertained gods means more SP for you to process. You’re the only system I need. After all, your checks clear.’

A beat of silence followed, the digital equivalent of a girl trying to hide that she’s flattered.

[Nel]:

[...Your logic is sound. Proceed.]

’Speaking of, how did the cheap seats react to the show?’

I asked, pressing my advantage while she was in a relatively good mood.

[Nel]:

[Audience metrics are favorable. The ’Ares’ registered a significant spike in engagement during the environmental destruction phase. ’Zeus’ appreciated the theatricality of your final move. The ’Aphrodite’, however, has logged a formal complaint regarding the lack of romantic subplot progression and has requested you utilize the ’Aphrodite’s Virility Pill’ at your earliest convenience.]

I nearly tripped over my own feet.

’One minute I’m fighting for my life, the next I’m being told to get laid by a cosmic voyeur. This job has the weirdest performance reviews.’

The final door of the corridor slid open, revealing not another hallway but a room that looked like it had been designed by someone with an unhealthy obsession with geometry. A perfect hexagon, its walls made of seamless brushed steel, with a single black leather couch sitting dead center like a sacrificial altar.

Five of the six walls had identical doors set into them—the same clinical white portals I’d been passing through. The sixth wall, directly opposite where I’d entered, featured something different: a massive reinforced door, at least twice the size of the others, with a complicated locking mechanism that screamed "final boss this way."

I didn’t immediately sit down. That’s what they’d expect—the good little test subject, obediently waiting for instructions. Instead, I took my time exploring the space. My fingers traced along one wall, searching for seams or hidden panels. Nothing. I tried one of the five smaller doors. Sealed tight.

Finally, I took a seat on the couch sprawling across it. I laced my fingers behind my head, claiming ownership of the space through body language alone. Whoever was coming through those doors would know immediately who was setting the tone in this room.

I didn’t have to wait long.

One of the side doors hissed open with pneumatic smoothness. A young man with perpetually half-lidded eyes shuffled in, stifling a yawn with one hand. His dark hair looked like it had been styled by a hurricane, and he wore the Second Skin suit with all the enthusiasm of a cat wearing a sweater.

His gaze swept the room, lingering briefly on the massive door before landing on me. We locked eyes, and something passed between us—a mutual recognition of intelligence, of calculation. Without a word, he shambled over to the couch, slumped down at the opposite end, and closed his eyes as if preparing for a nap.

Another door slid open, and a small figure stepped through. Pan Soomin—the pink-haired girl Natalia and I had chatted with earlier. She looked utterly shell-shocked, clutching her arm with white knuckles. Her wide eyes darted around the room like a cornered animal until they found me.

I gave her a slow, deliberate nod.

’You made it.’

She didn’t speak, but she straightened her posture slightly, taking up a position near the wall, as far from the couch—and its occupants—as possible.

The third door opened with more force than necessary, as if whoever was on the other side had kicked it rather than waited for the automation. A boy with spiky, ash-blond hair practically bounded into the room, radiating restless energy. His grin revealed teeth that were slightly too sharp, and he moved with the casual swagger of someone looking for a fight.

"Well, well," he barked, laughter riding underneath his words. "Looks like they’re putting all the freaks in one basket. Should be fun." His eyes lingered on Soomin for a moment too long.

Great. The obligatory loud-mouthed wild card with boundary issues. Every team needs one, apparently.

Before I could decide whether to address him, the fourth door opened. The blue-and-pink haired girl I’d mentally dubbed "Bubblegum" in the staging area stepped through. She moved with effortless confidence, her modified tech humming softly as she took in the scene—the lazy genius, the terrified powerhouse, the loudmouth brawler, and me—without a flicker of surprise.

Her eyes met mine. "Nakano," she said, her voice a cool alto. "Figured I’d find you here. You made quite a mess."

The blond boy turned to her, his attention immediately diverted by a new target. "And who are you, sweetheart?"

Bubblegum didn’t even glance in his direction. "Someone who’s ranked higher than you," she replied before taking a seat on my arm on the couch, crossing her legs. The dismissal was so complete it was almost beautiful.

The final door opened. A skinny boy with glasses and the nervous energy of a caffeinated squirrel stumbled in, clutching a datapad like it contained the secrets of the universe. He took one look at the assembled group and went visibly pale.

"Oh, wow," he muttered, his eyes widening behind the thick lenses. "We’re a team?"

"Seems that way," I finally said. "Though I don’t believe we’ve all been properly introduced." I turned my gaze to the nervous kid with the datapad. "What’s your name?"

The boy jumped slightly at being addressed. "Oh! Um, I’m Jacob Williams. Rank 15. I have an Ocular Aspect. I can... um... process information really fast and see patterns others miss." He adjusted his glasses with a shaky hand.

The lazy genius finally opened one eye, regarding us all with languid disinterest. "I’m going to save us all some time," he drawled. "We’re the anomalies. The wildcards. The ones who don’t fit neatly into their precious ranking system." He closed his eye again.

"They’ve put us together because they don’t know what else to do with us."

Asshole locked eyes with me. "Should be a fascinating team exercise."

"If that’s what this is," I said, my gaze shifting to the massive door. "A team exercise."

"What else would it be?" Jacob asked, confused.

I smiled thinly. "Well, they did just rank us. Put us in a room with no windows, no cameras that we can see. One big door at the end..." I let the implications hang in the air.

Yuna caught on immediately. "You think they might pit us against each other? Some kind of elimination round?"

"Why assemble a team just to break it apart?" lazy guy murmured, finally sitting up slightly. "Unless the test is to see which of us survives."

Soomin went even paler, if that was possible.

"Wouldn’t be the first time a Hunter program used lethal methods to trim the fat," the asshole said, but his casual tone had an edge to it now.

The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The initial wariness transformed into something sharper, more dangerous. Each of us reassessed the others, no longer as potential teammates but as possible opponents.

I watched the dynamic shift with internal amusement.

’Paranoia is such an effective tool for control.’

I’d planted the seed, and now I could sit back and observe how each of them reacted under pressure.

"Of course," I said with deliberate casualness, "it could also be exactly what it seems—a team formation for the final test. The ranking might determine our roles, not our worth." I stretched lazily. "After all, they’ve invested considerable resources in evaluating us. Killing off the top performers now would be... inefficient."

The tension in the room didn’t dissipate entirely, but it shifted again. Uncertainty replaced outright hostility.

"He’s right," Jacob said suddenly, looking up from his datapad. "Historical data shows that NVA trials typically conclude with a cooperative challenge designed to test team dynamics under pressure." He pushed his glasses up. "The elimination rounds occur during the individual phases, which we’ve already completed."

"So we’re supposed to be one big happy family now? Just like that?"

"No," I replied, meeting his gaze steadily. "We’re supposed to be functional. There’s a difference."

Before anyone could respond, a deep, mechanical groan emanated from the massive door. The complex locking mechanism began to move, segments rotating and realigning with pneumatic hisses and metallic clicks.

We all turned to face it, instinctively moving closer together.

The final test was about to begin.