Chaos erupts. The other men draw weapons, gunfire exploding from multiple directions across the hall. Civilians scream and drop to the floor. I duck to roll behind a pillar, everything in my body howling for me to run. This isn’t a small threat—it’s a coordinated attack. Assessing the situation in fragments between bursts of bullets, I count at least eight armed individuals among the crowd, all targeting what I assume are Syndicate officials.
I peek out from cover and fire at the nearest attacker, a lucky shot striking him in the shoulder. The impact knocks us both back, but he doesn’t fall as I do. Shit, I wouldn’t have expected guns to be so forceful. Before he can lift a weapon to me, I aim from my position on the ground, higher than the armor he must be wearing. Focusing on his exposed neck, I fire, and this time he drops.
I actuallyhit him!
A sharp pain explodes in my shoulder, pinning me back to the ground. Gritting my teeth, I push to face my attacker—a woman in server’s attire, now holding a compact weapon instead of a tray. The first I’ve seen aside from my mother. A finger hovers just above the trigger as a battle rages through my head. What did I come here for if I’m just going to harm the same people I’m trying to help?
No, that isn’t right. This isn’t real, I remind myself.You are one of them in here. You can’t save her.
Tossing aside every instinct I hold close to my heart, I raise my gun and fire twice, catching her once in the arm and chest. As she falls, I shift to new cover, determined to make sense of the situation. I need to identify the number of hostiles and if any are disguised as cowering civilians.
The moment I release my empathy, I’m stunned into stillness. I’m receiving feedback…I can sense the emotional climate of the room as if it were real. Just how advanced is this thing?
The emotions themselves feel dull, compared to what I’m used to, but it’s enough to help me distinguish between genuine terror and determination.
From a better vantage point behind an overturned table, I survey the room. The hostile emotions cluster in the crowd, little islands of deadly intent amid unending waves of fear. I count twelve in total. Four are already down; the three I encountered initially and the server I shot. Eight remain.
One hovers near the main entry, guarding the exit. Two are methodically gathering the Syndicate officials while the others are scattered throughout the crowd, picking off anyone who attempts escape or retribution.
I can’t take them all directly, not without killing myself and others. There has to be a better approach.
My eyes lock with an attacker across the room—a large man with a rigid manner who subtly directs the others. This is justlike chess…focusing on the key player is my way out. Our gazes meet, and in that moment I don’t think, I just push my powerhard, focusing all my will on him.
Kill your allies. They’re going to turn on you any moment.
I pour the paranoia into him, wrapping it in emotions centered around betrayal, suspicion, and rage. I make him feel as though his companions have deceived him—that they plan to eliminate him once the attack is complete.
His eyes widen. The weapon in his hand, previously aimed at a weeping official, shakily swings toward the nearest allied attacker. My jaw locks with the effort it takes to keep him feeling how I need as liquid drenches my lashes, splashing over both cheeks. I am wholly unused to others fighting my presence in their body, but he is wrestling with everything he has to gain back control.
After some struggle, I finally manage to tear through his last strand of defiance, and he fires three times in rapid succession, catching his companion in the back. Before the others can react, he swings to the next, ending their life.
Perfect. My arm lifts to wipe my brow before the rivulets of sweat completely blur my vision, only for me to remember I’m wearing this stupid mask. I hate this thing.
Shaking my head, I maintain control of the man, keeping his emotional pressure steady as he redirects his rage, eliminating his team one by one. Four down by his hand now, four more left, including him.
I’m so focused on my controlled attacker, I miss the movement to my left. Pain explodes through my skull as something impacts the side of my head, and my vision splits into fragments. My connection to the man snaps as I fall backward, causing a torrent of nausea to slam into me.
The barrel of a gun points at my face moments before a flash of light and absolutesearing pain?—
Then nothing.
I gasp for breath as the simulation ends abruptly, finding myself on my back in the familiar gray room. My head throbs with phantom pain that’s already fading. I blink rapidly, desperate to reorient myself to reality after the violent end of the simulation.
A few of the others applaud, and someone lets out an appreciative whistle. Pushing to my feet, my body fights a wave of dizziness as I repeatedly swallow the vomit my stomach attempts to purge. The band made the simulation so real that my body is struggling to recognize no actual harm occurred.
“Interesting approach,” Elias remarks, stopping in front of me and blocking the rest of the recruits from sight. “Using your empathy to turn an enemy against his allies was creative. Why did you choose him? There were others much closer to you that would have been easier for you to handle.”
I nod, working up an acceptable answer through my convulsing abdomen. “He was their leader.” Elias’ head tilts, and I take it as an eyebrow raised in question. Swallowing, I continue, “If I chose one of the others, the leader would have directed the rest of his people through their next move. I didn’t want them to get away, and I wanted them confused. Choosing him meant there was no one to give order, which caused chaos among their group and took the focus off civilians.”
The man in front of me hums, crossing his arms. I don’t think I’ll be able to explain further if he asks, my head still reeling from how impossibly real the simulation felt. From the cold marble to the acrid smell of gunpowder to the searing pain of bullets…it’s horrifying and fascinating what can be done in this room. I wonder if they use it as a torture device…
“Take a moment to recover. Simulation sickness affects everyone differently, but the symptoms will pass.”
As I step back to join the others, Brenner is called forwardfor another scenario. I lean against the wall, breathing slow and deep to quell the raging nausea. Eventually the dizziness subsides, though a dull headache lingers. I have a feeling it will stick with me the entire day.
Malcolm leans toward me from his place on my left. “That was impressive with the whole mind control thing,” he murmurs, knocking my arm in a strange gesture of comradeship. “Never seen an Empath do that without physical contact.” I shrug noncommittally, not wanting to draw attention to my abilities. The less they know about the full extent of what I can do, the better.
The next simulation begins, but my thoughts drift to my experience. The scenario didn’t feel random; it’s possible it was based on real events. Or perhaps this is just a way for the Syndicate to enforce the importance of their protection above everyone else.
