Jack stood in the center of the cell, staring at Michael and Emily. He hadn't spoken yet. His hand still trembled from signing the contract. He could hear the hum of the chip in his neck like it was warning him not to mess this up.
Michael leaned against the wall, arms crossed. Emily stood quietly, chewing on her lip. They waited.
"They offered me a deal," Jack said. "A new program. It's called the Hero Program."
Michael scoffed. "Another twisted challenge?"
"Not exactly," Jack replied. "It's structured. Teams. Gear. They want to train us—to make us into public heroes. They said if you both sign the same contract I did… you can come with me."
Emily's eyes narrowed. "And if we say no?"
"They'll separate us," Jack said quietly. "I go on alone. You stay here. Or worse."
There was silence.
Michael broke it. "You signed it?"
Jack nodded.
Michael grunted. "Fine. At least this one sounds like it comes with upgrades."
Emily looked hesitant… but she slowly nodded. "Okay. I'll do it."
---
A day later, all three of them were loaded into a private transport plane. No chains. No collars. Just guards and silence.
Through the small window beside Jack, the clouds parted—and he saw it.
An island.
Green, alive, surrounded by water that shimmered like glass. For a moment, it didn't feel like they were prisoners. It felt like they were being given a chance.
Emily leaned closer to the window. "Is that it?"
Michael raised an eyebrow. "Looks like a rich kid's vacation spot."
Jack didn't speak. He just stared, waiting for the catch.
---
The moment they landed, they were moved to a sleek white facility. It didn't look like a prison. The floors were spotless. The air smelled like salt and flowers. No guards barked orders. People nodded at them as they passed.
Then they reached their new room.
It was huge.
Three separate bedrooms branched off a common area with couches, a screen, even books. Each room had its own bed—big, soft-looking—and its own bathroom.
Emily ran into hers and gasped. "There's a mirror. A real mirror."
Michael threw himself onto his bed and laughed. "Okay, I'm not complaining."
Jack looked out the window. The ocean stretched far into the horizon.
Peaceful.
But he didn't trust it.
---
Then the intercom buzzed:
"All three of you, report to the gear room. Follow the blue hallway lights."
They followed the glowing trail through twisting corridors until they arrived in a massive open chamber.
A woman in a black uniform waited, arms behind her back.
"This is the gear room," she said. "From now on, you'll be allowed to choose and customize equipment based on your abilities. You'll be evaluated during every round, so pick carefully."
Panels in the walls slid open to reveal racks of gear—some metallic, some glowing, some terrifying.
---
Jack's Gear
Jack moved silently, his eyes skipping over the guns and blades. He stopped in front of a half-face mask, sleek and smooth. It seemed… quiet.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Echo Mask," the handler said. "Helps you focus on individual sounds—tracks movement, heartbeats, isolates noises during combat. It also filters auditory overload and suppresses external chaos."
He slipped it on.
Instant silence. The voices dulled. He could still feel them, but now they were distant.
"I'll take it," he said.
Then he spotted a matte-black bodysuit with red lines and built-in micro-pistons. He ran a hand across the back. It felt like armor—but moved like cloth.
"GravSkin," the woman said. "Shock-absorbing suit. Protects your body when you fall, get thrown, or impact hard surfaces. Built for users with chaotic movement or powerful summons."
Jack nodded. "Perfect."
---
Michael's Gear
Michael strolled past the fire gauntlets and combustion packs until he saw something slimmer—sleek underarm tubes that pulsed faint orange.
"Suppressor Shots," the woman explained. "Short-range fire bursts with higher precision but less damage. Helps you control your aim without burning down the room."
Michael hesitated, then equipped them. His fire synced with the tech, and a small burst fired out. Clean. Sharp. Focused.
"…Nice," he muttered.
Then he saw a wrist-mounted nozzle. "What's that?"
"Burner. Focuses fire into a hot stream. Can melt metal, cut doors, burn through restraints."
Michael grinned. "That one's mine too."
---
Emily's Gear
Emily lingered at the edges of the room until something drew her in—a silver-blue forearm device, thin but sturdy.
"That's a Water Beam," the woman said. "Turns your power into a concentrated blast. Think of it like a cutting laser—but made of high-pressure water. Can slice through armor. Drains water fast though."
Emily slowly strapped it on. She tested it.
A razor-sharp stream shot forward, cutting clean through a steel panel.
Her eyes widened. "That was me?"
"Yes," the handler replied. "But you'll need this to keep going."
She handed her a blue metal backpack with glowing tubes and a mist vent.
"BackWater Pack. It pulls moisture from the air and refills your supply. It connects directly to the beam and helps regulate your hydration and power output."
Emily slid it on. It felt light—almost like nothing at all.
She smiled softly. "I feel... strong."
---
Jack looked at his team. They were fully suited, fully armed, standing taller than they had in months.
It wasn't freedom. Not yet.
But it was the closest they'd come.
And the next test was waiting.