GATE: First Encounter

Chapter 26

When Virel's door slid shut behind me with a metallic chime, the corridor's hush collapsed on me like an avalanche. One phrase kept blaring inside my skull—an alarm that wouldn't stop: "...no subject has ever survived."
My steps struck the metal deck in a steady rhythm, yet I didn't really hear them. All I heard was the rush of blood in my veins and my heart pounding against the bars of my ribcage like a desperate prisoner.

The shock had passed, leaving a sticky, cold truth that seeped into my bones. I was no longer a prisoner, no longer a hostage. I was a test specimen whose next move—and lifespan—had already been penciled in. My pace slowed, then halted. In the middle of the passage, beneath the dim blue wall-strips, I simply stood there. For a heartbeat, the sheer pointlessness of my existence in this universe knocked the air from my lungs.

"Yaren..." I whispered into the depths of my mind. My voice was no longer shaking—just tired, but knife-sharp, the tone of an ally demanding answers from a traitor. "Did you know? Was this experiment the plan all along?"

When Yaren spoke, the old mechanical timbre was gone. Warmer now—almost alive. It felt tuned to a private frequency only I could hear, matching the storm inside me.

"No, Okan. That level of data was sealed under top-tier protocol—beyond my initial access. But once Valsera spoke, I traced every term she used: 'cell engineering,' 'Serynox,' 'failed subjects'... They connect. They draw a clear map."

A surge of anger rose. "A clear map? I'm being marched to my death and you call it a 'clear map'!"

"Emotional state registered: anger, fear—expected. We can't let them consume you. We have to focus."

"Focus?" I hissed. "I'm about to become a lab rat—experimented on!"

"No," Yaren answered, a steel certainty that startled me. "Our odds of survival are low, but not zero. We must push them higher. You'll become a battlefield, and no warrior enters a fight unprepared. Build strength, and I will be your armor, Okan."

That last line sliced through the noise—a battlefield. In the middle of my helplessness, the word sprouted a fragile seed of hope.

Still wrestling with those thoughts, I turned down the hall leading to my quarters—and saw the shadow at my door. Lynx. But not the usual easy-moving Lynx. Shoulders slumped yet posture rigid, as if bearing an invisible load. Her fists were clenched so tight her claws must've been digging into her palms. Her tail hung motionless—an ominous sign for someone usually so kinetic.

I approached quietly. No words were needed.

"I heard," Lynx said, voice rough and hard—as if scraped out of her throat.

I met her gaze. "How much?"

"Enough," she muttered, eyes dropping to the deck. "That cursed project." When she looked up again, a storm raged behind her eyes—anger, helplessness, the searing shame of a warrior forbidden to act. "I can't let it happen. We can't."

I managed a weary smile. "How will you stop it, Lynx? Even the commanders are shackled."

Lynx stepped closer, closing the gap. The fire in her stare seemed to light the dark corridor.

"I can't stop them," she said, fury contained by grim acceptance. "But I can prepare you. Listen, Okan. What they'll do will eat your mind, your spirit—everything. I've heard plenty about that project, and every story ends badly. Your body and your will are the last patch of ground you control. If that ground is rotten, one tremor and everything crumbles. First we shore it up."

She paused, drew a steady breath. Her words were no longer a suggestion; they were a vow.

"If your body is going to be a battlefield, then we train on that field ahead of time. On their terms, in our own way. Endurance, pain threshold, breath control—when your mind wants to quit, your lungs mustn't. Your muscles must hold you upright. We won't give them the weak, helpless subject they expect. We'll give them a fighter."

Those words fanned the ember inside me back into flame. Instead of waiting passively for death, I finally saw a tangible line of resistance.

"How?" I asked. "I can't just walk into the training hall."

"You won't," Lynx said, resolve carving her features. "There's an old cargo bay—off the grid, doesn't even show in the system anymore. Simulators are dead, but the space is ours. I'll push you to the breaking point there—and then we'll push the point farther. When they come, this body will be iron."

I studied her unflinching expression. This wasn't pity. It was a torch held aloft by a fellow warrior in the dark.

The suffocating helplessness that had dogged me since Virel's office fractured, replaced by something cold, hard, and keen: a decision.

I straightened my exhaustion-weighted frame, squared my shoulders, and locked eyes with Lynx. In those eyes there was no fear now—only tempered steel.

"When do we start, Lynx?"

For the first time that day, a tight but respectful smile curved her lips—the look one fighter gives another who has just accepted an impossible mission.

"First light tomorrow."