VLAD

T he images come unbidden. My brows twitch as I see myself going deeper and deeper into a foreign landscape, the entire scenery unfamiliar and confounding.

Yet one thing is for sure.

This is me.

"You have twenty minutes to complete the task," a voice rings out through a speaker.

I look around me, establishing my environment.

The room is the size of a stadium, bleak gray walls surrounding it.

In front of me, there are a few walls that look like obstacles, all of different sizes, obscuring what lays behind them.

There is a big board close to the ceiling displaying the names of all the participants, each having a zero next to it—the score for today's game.

To my right and left, I see other children, all around my age. They are in a tense position, their eyes focused as they are waiting for the signal.

I don't know how I know that, but I just do.

In fact, the entire situation feels somehow off. I feel like myself, but yet my mind feels empty for some reason. There's a steely determination to win against all odds. I see it clearly how the only thing that matters is victory.

Aside from that, I can't feel anything.

There's no fear, no worry—nothing. I pat myself down to make sure my weapons are in their designated spots, and at the same time I get the opportunity to check that I am in fact human.

There's a hollowness in my mind that I've never encountered before. Even in my worst moments, I've never been this empty. Like my entire body is just a case housing an absent consciousness.

Still, there's a sharpness to my gaze as I filter and catalogue everything around me. I take note of how many people I'm competing against and I'm making ten simultaneous plans—one for each potential move my enemy might make.

"On your positions," the voice from the speakers announces, and I flex my knees, ready to take off at the designated time.

My hands are wrapped around the hilts of knives secured to my waist, and I know that I will let no one beat me at this.

In fact, my mouth pulls up as I imagine the river of blood that will flow from my hands—the only positive emotion I've felt so far.

The signal is given and everyone starts running.

I don't know much about the obstacles or what lays behind the walls, but I know that nothing can stop me.

I pass the first wall, and I see from the corner of my eyes a small automatic weapon hidden in the floor. It's swift and silent as it opens up and starts shooting toward us.

One boy gets nabbed in the arm, while another gets shot in the face, his entire skull exploding before my eyes, pieces of blood, bone and brain matter scattering across the floor with some landing on me too.

I smirk as I duck and dodge, watching the twitch of the weapon closely and calculating angles.

From the first moment I noticed it, I started observing for patterns, the way the body would slightly tilt to one degree in either direction before loading up to shoot.

A matter of focusing on even the tiniest movement, and I'm able to calculate the place the bullet will land.

While everyone is trying to haphazardly avoid the incoming bullets, I know exactly where they will hit a second before they do.

Luckily, my body is well trained, and there's no delay between my mental command and the execution of the movement. Fluidly moving through the bullets, I'm rushing toward the point of origin, jumping in the air and landing right behind the barrel of the gun.

I know I have a couple of seconds at most before it turns toward me, so I channel all my strength in my arm, grabbing the metal body and wrench it from the floor, throwing it backwards. And because I'm keeping track of the limited time, I don't linger.

The board displaying our names suddenly changes to show the dead, as well as the ones advancing to the next level. I look up to see my name in white with a one hundred score next to it.

The first round.

Somehow, I know that I need to reach one thousand points to be crowned the winner. Ten rounds to be won, ten rounds to show how much I've improved.

There are other people too running around me, all of them having the same intense concentration, keeping their eyes on the prize.

It's still too early in the game to start fighting one another, the trials just beginning. Yet I know that whoever will reach the end with me is already dead, and my eyes filter around the room, studying each person to ponder my competition.

A smile pulls at my lips as I realize that this will be a piece of cake. The harder part is getting across all the obstacles.

With no time to linger, I hurry forward, the next stage of the test starting. Passing by yet another wall that delimitates the trials, I find a pit filled with vipers that takes up all the space in this enclosed area. And in order to advance to the next level, I have to cross it.

Fast.

There's a small rope tied from one end of the pit to the other, crossing right over the vipers. The rope is maybe the size of my palm in thickness. Enough to accommodate one foot at a time.

Considering I've had extensive balance training over time, crossing it would be a piece of cake. The only issue is that the vipers have already been agitated and they reek of violence as they hiss at me.

The moment my foot will hit that rope, I know they will pounce on me. I bet Miles is looking from the sidelines, enjoying the grotesque show we're putting on for him.

And if he wants a show, he will have one.

I still, watching how a couple of girls hurry on the rope, banking on speed to get to the other side. Although their movements are not slow, they are certainly no match for angry vipers.

The snakes attack from all directions, going for their legs and scaring them into falling down into the pit.

Their screams echo inside the room, and I lower my gaze, my lips pulling upwards as I watch tens of vipers coil over their bodies, their venom being injected into their skin.

I let another boy shoot his shot too, and I'm not surprised when he too ends up falling down, the vipers taking him by surprise.

There are more behind me watching with trepidation, probably trying to calculate how to best weather this.

I take a step forward, and with a quick glance toward the pit, I decide my time has come.

Placing my entire body weight on the tips of my toes, I concentrate on regulating my breath and slowing down my heart beats.

When I know I'm close to a catatonic state, or as I like to call it, quiet, I move.

One foot on the rope, my eyes are shrewdly assessing the situation downstairs, my ears perked to hear every sound made by a sudden attack.

I move quickly, and not even three steps later the first viper attack comes. Jumping up, I watch as it skids past the rope before lowering itself back in the pit.

My feet land back on the rope, my balance in check as I lean forward, the arch of my foot making contact with the small surface. I don't waste time as I prop myself on my hands, doing a somersault in the air while avoiding two more incoming vipers.

I thrust my body forward to cover as much distance as I can, my breath slow and calm.

This is key.

I can never let panic take over me. The moment I allow that, it's game over.

And so I continue to do a combination of jumps, high somersaults and hand walking on the rope, twisting around to avoid the snakes, sometimes using my feet to kick them.

Just as I am closer to the other end, I hear a hiss nearing and I realize it's coming from behind me.

From the proximity of the sound, I realize I have no time to duck. So I just turn around, my arm stretched out as my hand catches the head of the viper mid-air, my fingers squeezing its jaw shut so it's unable to bite.

Before I get rid of it, though, I force its sharp teeth into a patch of material from my clothes, pressing forward until the venom starts seeping from its glands. Gathering it tightly, I secure it in a makeshift pouch.

Flinging the viper away from me, I jump on to the firm surface of the other side.

Not wasting another breath, I quickly hurry to the next trial.

A small chamber with a floating target, I pick up a small set of knives. The instructions are pretty simple. The target is touch sensitive, and every time I hit the center, I earn ten points. Ten throws and that's it.

Coincidentally, this is one of my favorite tests, since my aim is pretty darn perfect, if I do say so myself.

Glibly grabbing the knives, I let my eyes follow the target around for a bit, trying to learn its patterns. Since I'm convinced that a computer is controlling the movements, I know there must be a hidden pattern that will allow me to guess the next position.

Surely enough, a few seconds and I note a slight undulation, the target doing two ups before going once down. Then it goes twice down before going once up. The rhythm is repeated, but instead of a straight line, the target is moving in circular motions. Still, the pattern is clear.

I close my eyes, relying on my hearing as I count the positions.

Aim.

The knife embeds itself right in the middle, a loud noise denoting the added points next to my name on the screen.

A smug expression on my face, I just continue to anticipate each position, throwing knives right and left.

In no time, I've accumulated the highest number of points possible, finishing the trial.

Next are a few similar ones involving a combination of weapons and explosives.

The first one is still testing our aim, but also our reflexes as we assemble a weapon from zero in order to shoot it at different targets.

The second one is a bit trickier, as it asks us to detangle the wires from a complex C4 explosive.

The amount of C4 isn't too much, but it's enough to blast the one person who is messing with the wires. And so it is a life and death situation.

Luckily, I've been paying attention to all the lessons, and I've memorized every single piece of information.