The moment my mind cleared, I was back where it had all started—near the security desk, standing beneath the glaring fluorescents. It felt like waking from a dream that wasn’t mine. The last thing I remembered was the voice: cold, detached, and absolute. Then the memories came flooding back.

  The evaluation. The thousands of choices. The directive. adapt… or perish.

  My hand shot instinctively to my Glock, the grip familiar, grounding. Around me, the museum was quiet, but it wasn’t the usual peace I’d grown used to. It was the silence of people holding their breath, trying to process what they couldn’t yet explain.

  I scanned the crowd near the lobby. Fernandez was leaning against the wall, his thermos of coffee forgotten at his feet. Andrews stood a few paces away, looking pale and shaken.

  The faint hum of voices started to build—patrons stirring from wherever they’d been frozen. Tourists. Families. School groups. Confusion turned to murmurs, and murmurs grew louder as the museum began to wake up like a disturbed hive.

  People stumbled into the main lobby from the exhibits, their expressions ranging from confusion to outright panic. Cell phones came out, hands tapping frantically at screens.

  “No signal,” a woman muttered, holding her phone in the air as if searching for a better connection. Another person tried the same, their face twisting with frustration.

  The first scream wasn’t loud. Just a single, sharp cry from someone in the back of the lobby. But it spread like wildfire.

  In seconds, the noise escalated—people shouting, kids crying, the sound of bodies pushing and shoving as the crowd surged toward the main doors.

  Fernandez pushed off the wall, crossing to my side. “Archie, man, what’s going on?” he asked quietly, his voice tight.

  I moved on instinct, stepping on top of the security desk, my voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the noise.

  “Everybody calm down! Stay where you are!” my tone carrying the authority of a drill instructor. “We’ll figure this out, but panicking isn’t gonna help!”

  It worked for half a second. Then someone shouted, “The doors are locked!” and the chaos erupted.

  A mass of panicked bodies slammed into the glass, hands hammering on the push bars, but the exits didn’t give an inch.

  “This can’t be happening,” someone wailed.

  Andrews, shoved his way through the growing crowd toward me. “Boss, what the hell are we pose to do now?” he asked, his face rosy.

  “I don’t know,” I said, scanning the crowd.

  “Let us out!” another voice screamed, raw and desperate.

  Two men broke out into a scuffle near the front, one shoving the other aside as if being closer to the door would make a difference. The second man staggered back, his heel catching on the edge of a bench before he hit the floor with a heavy thud.

  “Stop!” I barked, my voice sharp enough to cut through the all the chaos.

  Heads turned, their faces pale and desperate. The Glock at my side wasn’t raised, but it didn’t need to be. The sight of the uniform and the steel at my hip was enough to quiet most of them.

  Suddenly a chime rang inside my head followed be the voice, cutting through the growing silence. It wasn’t just me, everyone heard it, as people looked like they were all listening to the distant voice.

  ...

  The air in the exhibit was thick with tension. Mr. Davis stood at the front of the group, his face tight with determination as he pointed toward the main hall.

  “Main entrance is this way. Security’s bound to be there, and we’re not doing any good standing around.”

  “Unless the doors are locked,” Connor muttered, his voice low but clear enough to draw attention. He fidgeted with his phone like it was some kind of safety blanket.

  “We don’t know that for sure,” Davis said, cutting off further argument. “And until we know, we stick together and head for the most logical place.”

  The group shuffled forward reluctantly, heads down and muttering. Dare lingered near the back, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, watching everything with a calculating gaze.

  Jace, his dull sword slung over his shoulder, leaned toward Marcus. “Why are we even listening to this guy? I don’t see how standing by the front door helps.”

  Marcus, adjusting half-plate armor he was liberating from a mannequin, snorted. “Beats me. We’re better off figuring stuff out ourselves.”

  Dare eased closer, his voice smooth and low. “Patience, gentlemen. Let him run the show—for now.”

  Davis turned sharply, his irritation barely contained. “Something to share, Vaughn?”

  Dare’s smile was all teeth. “Nothing, he said, nothing you’d want to hear, he finished under his breath,” holding up his hands. “Just keeping morale up.”

  Davis’s jaw tightened, but he turned back toward the group, gesturing for them to keep moving. Dare lingered near the edge of the group, his eyes scanning the students and chaperones with an air of easy confidence. But beneath his calm exterior, his mind was racing, cataloging every face, every nervous tic, every flicker of power he had gleaned so far. Izzy was the lynchpin. That much was clear.

  The group reached the modern military exhibit, and Tyrell Hayes stopped in his tracks, his eyes locking onto a mannequin posed with an M27 rifle. Without hesitation, he stepped forward and yanked the replica free.

  “Yo, check this out,” Tyrell said, tilting the gun in his hands. “Look kinda real, doesn’t it?”

  “It’s not,” Davis snapped, his tone razor-sharp. “Put it back Tyrell.”

  But Tyrell wasn’t listening. He pulled back the charging handle with a click that sounded far too satisfying for a replica. He aimed down the sights, tilting the stock against his shoulder like he’d done this a hundred times before. “Man, this is bullshit,” he muttered, lowering the rifle with a scowl.“What’s the point of calling me a Sharpshooter if I can’t shoot shit?”

  Davis strode forward, his patience fraying. “Enough! It’s a prop. Not a weapon. Now put it back before you—”

  “—figure out how to use it?” Dare’s voice cut in, smooth as silk.

  Davis turned on him, eyes blazing. “Vaughn, not now. I’m trying to keep things under control.”

  “Are you?” Dare replied, arching a brow. “Because it seems like everyone here is holding back. Acting like things are going to go back to normal if we just find a security guard

  Davis stiffened, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Dare replied, his tone laced with quiet authority. “And so do you. So stop pretending, Davis. Stop acting like this is just some bad day at the office. If we don’t start figuring it out, fast...

  Tyrell didn’t move, his knuckles white against the stock. “You must have seen it too? The different versions of yourself. I’m a Sharpshooter or whatever, but what’s the point if all I’ve got is this fake-ass rifle?”

  The students murmured among themselves, their nervous energy crackling in the air. Izzy shifted uncomfortably at the back of the group.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “Enough of this nonsense,” Davis barked, turning to address the group. “You’re letting the stress get to you. Whatever you think you saw or felt, it’s just—”

  “Real,” Dare interjected smoothly, his voice slicing through Davis’s protest. He stepped forward, his expression calm but commanding. “Whatever you think it is, Davis, it’s real. “We all went through the same thing.” he said, his gaze sweeping the group. “The evaluation. The voice. This isn’t just some weird day at the museum—it’s happening. Right here, right now.”

  “That doesn’t mean we should—” Davis began, but Dare raised a hand, silencing him.

  “we all got something, didn’t we? Titles, classes, whatever you want to call them. If we’re stuck in this… situation, wouldn’t it help to know who can do what?”

  “That’s not—” Davis started, but Dare didn’t even look at him.

  “Jace,” Dare said, cutting him off, “you’re the captain, right? Got any insight to share?”

  Jace squared his shoulders, gripping the sword with both hands. “Yeah. I’ve got something. Says I’m stronger, faster. I can feel it when I move.”

  “Damn right,” Marcus chimed in, stepping forward with a grin. He flexed his arms, his muscles bulging against the seams of his shirt. “I’m strong as hell now. Class says Brute.”

  “Exactly the kind of thing we need,” Dare said, nodding appreciatively. “That’s the spirit. Who’s next?”

  A murmur rippled through the group, students glancing nervously at one another. Tyrell shifted his weight, still holding the rifle. “I already said mine’s Sharpshooter. Not that it helps without real weapons.”

  “Sharpshooter, Brute, a fast captain,” Dare said, gesturing at the group. “We’re shaping up to be a pretty capable team, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, if we were in a video game,” someone muttered from the back.

  Dare ignored the comment, his gaze sliding casually toward Izzy. “Miss Hart,” he said smoothly, his voice as gentle as ever, “what about you? What class did you get?”

  Izzy stiffened slightly before answering. “I… I don’t think it’s important.”

  “Don’t be shy,” Dare said, his smile warm. “Everyone’s sharing. It’s not like anyone’s judging.”

  “Yeah, come on, Miss Hart,” Marcus added, his grin widening. “You gotta have something, right?”

  “She probably got some teacher class or something,” Tyrell joked, earning a few chuckles from the group.

  “Seriously, though,” Dare pressed, his tone soothing, “it might be useful. You never know.”

  The murmurs grew louder, the weight of the group’s attention bearing down on her. Izzy glanced around, her expression tightening. “I… I got Equipment Enhancer,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

  Dare’s smile widened, just slightly. “Now that’s interesting,” he said, his tone inviting. “What does it do?”

  “I don’t know,” Izzy said quickly. “It didn’t explain much.”

  “I bet it’s got something to do with fixing stuff,” Marcus said, laughing. “Like, ‘Hey, Miss Hart, can you fix my armor?’”

  “Maybe,” Dare said, his tone thoughtful. “Or maybe it’s more than that.” He gestured to Jace’s sword. “Why don’t we try it out?”

  “What? No,” Izzy said, shaking her head. “I don’t even know how it works.”

  “Nothing wrong with trying,” Dare said smoothly, stepping closer to her. “We’ve got nothing to lose, right? And if it works…” He let the sentence hang, letting the group’s curiosity fill in the blanks.

  Jace stepped forward, holding out the sword. “Come on, Miss Hart. Just see what happens.”

  Davis shoved forward, his voice sharp. “That’s enough! She’s not a lab rat for you to experiment on!”

  “I’m not forcing anything,” Dare said, raising his hands. “She’s part of the group, just like the rest of us. We’re all in this together, right?”

  “Yeah, together,” Tyrell said, stepping closer. “Come on, Miss Hart. You said you’re an Enhancer. Let’s see what that means.”

  Izzy’s eyes darted to Davis, but his protests were drowned out by the group’s growing insistence. Finally, her shoulders sagged, and she reached for the sword with trembling hands.

  She gripped the dull blade, her knuckles whitening as she concentrated. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a faint glow spread from her hands to the weapon, and the dull edges began to sharpen. The steel gleamed with a deadly edge that hadn’t been there before.

  “Holy shit,” Tyrell breathed.

  Jace held the blade up, testing the balance of the sharpened sword, giving it a lazy swing that whistled faintly through the air. “Damn. This feels... lethal.”. “Now this is a weapon.”

  Davis stepped in, his voice rising over the murmurs. “That’s enough! This is dangerous, and we’re not—”

  “Dangerous?” Dare interrupted, his voice calm. “No, Davis. Dangerous is pretending we’re still living in yesterday. its not a coincidence that we are surrounded by all these weapons with someone that can enhance them from mere replicas The system didn’t put us here for a museum tour. It’s time we caught up.”

  Tyrell’s eyes lit up, his attention darting back to the rifle in his hands. “Alright, let’s try this next,” he said, stepping forward.

  “Absolutely not!” Davis snapped, planting himself firmly between Tyrell and Izzy. His face was flushed, his voice strained but resolute. “This stops now. No more experiments. No more weapons. We need to focus on staying safe, not arming ourselves like this is some kind of goddamn war!”

  Jace’s laugh was sharp, cutting through the tension. “War? Mr. Davis, are you blind?” he said, turning to the display behind him. His eyes locked onto the centerpiece: a rocket launcher resting on a mannequin’s shoulder. “Because I’m pretty sure it’s already a war. And guess what? We’re losing.”

  “Jace, don’t even think about it,” Davis warned, his voice low and firm. But the edge of panic in his tone didn’t go unnoticed.

  Jace ignored him, striding toward the display with purpose. He reached up and yanked the weapon free from the mannequin’s grip, its bulk looking almost comical in his hands—but his grin said otherwise. “This is more like it,” he said, hefting it onto his shoulder.

  “Jace!” Davis barked, his voice cracking. “Put it down! That’s not a toy!”

  “Neither is the sword,” Jace shot back, his grin widening. “And last I checked, we’re not playing house anymore.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Davis muttered, running a hand through his hair. He turned to Dare, his frustration boiling over. “You want to step in here? Or are you just going to stand there with that smug look on your face?” “You’re supposed to be an adult here, Vaughn. A teacher. You should be helping me de-escalate this, not stoking the flames!”

  Dare tilted his head, his hands still tucked into his pockets. His smile was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. “What do you want me to do, Davis? Tell them to pretend this isn’t happening? They’re adapting. Maybe you should try it.”

  Jace swung the rocket launcher down to inspect it, his movements casual but deliberate. “What do you think, Miss Hart? Think you can do your thing on this bad boy?”

  Izzy took a step back, her eyes wide. “I don’t... I don’t think it’ll work on something like that.”

  “You don’t know until you try,” Jace said, his tone coaxing but edged with impatience. He extended the weapon toward her, the implication clear.

  “No,” Davis said, “Absolutely not. She’s not touching that thing.”

  Jace’s grin vanished, replaced by a scowl. “You’re not in charge here, old man.”

  “The hell I’m not,” Davis shot back, his voice rising. “I’m not letting you turn this into a—”

  “A survival scenario?” Dare interrupted, his voice smooth and calm. “Because, Davis, that’s what it is. Whether you like it or not.”

  Davis countered, his voice shaking with anger. “These are children! They’re not soldiers!

  “And yet,” Dare said, his tone sharpening just enough to draw attention, “they’ve got powers. Classes. Abilities. You really think that was meant for show-and-tell?”

  Jace, growing impatient, shoved past Davis, thrusting the rocket launcher toward Izzy. “Come on, Miss Hart. Do your thing.”

  Izzy shook her head frantically. “I can’t—”

  “She said no!” Davis shouted, grabbing Jace’s arm and yanking him back. The movement was reflexive, desperate.

  Jace turned on him, his face darkening. “Get your hands off me,” he growled.

  “Enough!” Dare’s voice cut through the brewing chaos, sharp and commanding. He stepped forward, his movements fluid, his presence suddenly oppressive in its subtlety. One moment, he was watching from the sidelines; the next, he was between them, his hand resting lightly on Davis’s shoulder.

  “Everyone, take a breath,” Dare said, his voice calm but unyielding. “No one’s forcing anyone to do anything. Right, Jace?”

  Jace hesitated, his grip on the launcher tightening. “Yeah. Sure.”

  Dare’s hand lingered on Davis’s shoulder, his grip light but deceptively firm. He leaned in, his voice low and velvet-smooth, just for Davis to hear. “You keep pushing like this, you’ll make yourself a problem, Davis. And we both know how problems get solved in situations like this.”

  Then, louder, Dare straightened, his smile plastered back in place, his tone light and disarming. “Miss Hart, if you’re not comfortable, we’ll leave it. No one’s forcing anything.” The smile never reached his eyes.

  Izzy flinched at the shift in his tone, glancing nervously between Dare and Davis. Her hands trembled and she could see the tension in Davis’s body, the way his hands had balled into fists at his sides. They were both in danger—she could feel it radiating off Dare like static electricity.

  She glanced at the rocket launcher, then back at Davis. He gave her a firm, reassuring nod, but the worry in his eyes told her everything she needed to know: if she didn’t at least try, Dare wouldn’t let this go.

  Her voice wavered as she spoke. “I... I’ll try.”

  “No!” Davis barked, but his voice was drowned out by the murmurs of the group.

  “It’s fine,” Dare interjected smoothly, cutting Davis off with a calm wave of his hand. “She’s offering. Let her.”

  Izzy hesitated, then slowly reached for the rocket launcher. Her fingers brushed against the metal, cold and heavy in her hands. She closed her eyes, trying to focus, to summon the energy that had flowed through her before.

  The group watched with bated breath, their murmurs falling into a tense silence. Jace and Tyrell leaned forward, their eyes locked on the weapon, anticipation crackling in the air.

  A faint glow flickered at Izzy’s fingertips, a pale shimmer of light barely visible against the dark metal of the rocket launcher. For a moment, it seemed like something was happening—like the replica might shift, might transform.

  But then the glow sputtered, dimming and fading entirely. A sharp crackling sound, snapped through the air, and Izzy yelped, pulling her hands back as if burned.

  “Shit,” Jace muttered, his expression darkening. He tossed the weapon to the ground with a metallic clatter, glaring at Izzy. “What the hell was that? You said you could enhance stuff.”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Izzy stammered, her voice trembling. “I—I don’t even know how this works!”

  Davis stepped in, his voice sharp and unwavering. “That’s enough. She’s not your tool to play with.”

  Jace sneered but didn’t argue, though his frustration was palpable. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword, the muscles in his jaw twitching.

  “I got something better,” Tyrell cut in, lifting the M27 rifle he had been cradling like a prized possession.

  Things are starting to fracture.

  Walker’s waking up into a new reality—and Dare? He’s already ten steps ahead, pulling strings while Davis tries to hold things together with duct tape and denial.

  What do you do when the people you’re supposed to protect start seeing you as the weakest link?

  Next chapter: Walker makes a choice. The kind you can’t take back.

  Adapt fast. Level up faster.