Chapter Three – Level One
Click.
The lights returned—blinding and immediate. No transition. No warning. Just white.
Leo's eyes burned as the floor beneath his feet shifted subtly, guiding him toward a narrow corridor. The door behind him sealed shut with a sound that felt final—like the last page of a book being stapled.
No words. No directions.
Just movement.
Each of them—Leo, Zeke, Mikael—was taken by separate mechanical pathways, corridors splitting off like veins. There were no windows. No clocks. Just walls made of something soft, gray, and uncomfortably silent.
Leo's room was small. No more than a cell. Not even a bed. The air was cool, but not enough to hide the underlying sterility. It smelled like a hospital trying to disguise itself.
In the center sat a single chair. Chrome, sharp, and bolted to the ground. The kind of thing you didn't sit on voluntarily.
Still… it was the only option.
Leo looked around. In the top corner—just above the angle of comfort—a small black camera blinked red.
He snorted. "You're watching me. Of course."
His voice bounced back at him, hollow and unwelcome.
He stepped forward.
The chair made no sound as he sat, but the chill of it reached into his skin. The moment his back touched the support—
BZZT.
The black screen in front of him flickered to life.
"Initiating Neural Sync...
Brace for Calibration."
Leo didn't even have time to breathe.
A sharp electric current shot through his spine—not pain, exactly, but not comfort either. It was like his mind was being unraveled and rewired all at once. Every nerve screamed in static. His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched involuntarily.
Then came the flashes.
Images. Impossible to hold onto. A football soaring through a storm. Fans roaring. Grass tearing beneath boots. A stadium on fire. A scoreboard blinking.
Then black.
Then—
A voice.
Not from the screen.
Not from the walls.
Inside his skull.
Calm. Robotic. Unnervingly intimate.
"Evolution System: GLARE
The more you dazzle, the farther you go.
Repeat… and you fade."
Leo's breath caught in his throat.
GLARE? What did that even mean?
His vision pulsed—white fading to red, back to white. Sweat dripped down his temples. He tried to move but couldn't. The chair held him like a promise.
Then the current stopped.
Leo gasped. His limbs felt loose, shaky. Like he'd run a full ninety in 40-degree heat. He slumped forward slightly, catching his breath. The room was dead silent again, but something inside him had changed. He could feel it. Like a new pulse under his skin.
Then, a quiet click behind him.
A small door opened in the far wall.
And on the screen, in calm white letters:
"LEVEL 1
Survival Rate: 23%
Progression Rate: Individual
Elimination is permanent."
Leo's lips parted slightly. Not in fear—but in understanding.
This isn't just survival.
This is evolution.
He whispered to himself:
"Either I amaze them to death… or die unseen."
In another room, Zeke sat with his eyes shut.
He had refused to react the moment he entered. The chair? Just a chair. The screen? Just more tech. But when the current surged into his body, he couldn't pretend anymore.
His foot kicked out instinctively.
He gritted his teeth, jaw trembling.
Then the voice came. Crisp. Low. Inescapable.
"Evolution System: CONTROL
Play their minds…
Or let your own betray you."
Zeke opened his eyes.
The voice was gone, but the message lingered.
Control? That wasn't about passing. Or dribbling. It was about pressure. Decisions. Tempo. Influence.
He chuckled bitterly, running a hand through his damp curls.
"This is like a digital curse… Who built this hell?"
But no one answered.
The door opened. The next stage called.
And Zeke, still breathing hard, stood up slowly. Mind racing.
Mikael, meanwhile, hadn't moved since entering his room. He sat like he'd been waiting his whole life for that chair.
When the current hit, he blinked once. No scream. No twitch. Just a brief narrowing of the eyes.
He welcomed it.
Images came—tackles, bloodied noses, boots slamming into chests. Goals. Red cards. Applause and boos that bled together.
Then the voice came:
"Evolution System: STRIKE
No target? No existence."
A smirk crossed Mikael's lips.
He leaned back, relaxed. His voice was quiet. Measured.
"Finally… something that rewards cold blood."
When his screen displayed the Level One data, he stood without hesitation.
His path was forward.
Nothing else existed.
Three doors opened.
Three players stepped out into different hallways—narrow, sterile, and humming with distant mechanical life.
Somewhere deep in the compound, behind steel walls and white lights, the next stage waited. No team. No allies. No rules.
Only progression.
Leo walked slowly, hands still trembling, but his eyes were focused. Ahead, the floor shifted subtly again—guiding him toward his next task.
He glanced at the ceiling, as if something might be watching.
"Glare," he muttered. "So they want a star."
He snorted.
"They want dazzle? Fine."
A memory flickered—Dani's voice yelling on that dusty pitch, "Don't try to show off again!"
And his own reply, from the past: "I just want to know if I'm actually good."
Now, that question wasn't optional.
He had to be.
Three dots moved.
Three players.
Each room now dimmed, each chair reset.
Three screens remained lit, their systems now embedded into living minds.
Leo Varela: GLARE
Zeke Thomas: CONTROL
Mikael Sorensen: STRIKE