Leo's eyes fluttered open, heavy as though weighted with chains. A suffocating pressure pressed down on his chest, crushing, He jolted upright with a sharp gasp, lungs burning for air. This time, however, no shackles bound his wrists. No iron bit into his skin. The silence of the room was absolute, broken only by the soft thud of his heartbeat.
A gentle knock at the door cut through the stillness, pulling him from the haze. A youthful voice called from the other side, calm and almost casual:
"May I come in?"
Images flickered in Leo's mind—shards of memory, fear interlaced with mystery, shadows from a past he could not fully grasp. His reply came hoarse, barely above a whisper:
"Come in."
The door creaked, and a young man stepped through. He was close to Leo's own age, his blond hair catching the dim light, his green eyes watching him with a curious glint. A faint, almost uncertain smile tugged at his lips. He extended his hand in greeting but hesitated for a heartbeat before speaking, his tone disarmingly warm:
"Hello. I'm Tyler… Do you remember me?"
Leo blinked, confusion flickering across his face. His voice faltered, bewildered:
"What?"
Tyler scratched the back of his head, his grin turning slightly sheepish.
"Well… the first time we met, I was a roasted chicken. How could you forget? But—" his eyes sharpened with strange amusement—"you'll remember this."
He slipped out briefly, only to return cradling a small child in his arms. She was delicate as a porcelain doll, her sapphire-blue eyes clear as a summer sky, her lips a tender shade of rose.
Leo's breath caught in his throat. His hand trembled as the little girl's voice rang out, sweet and piercing, like an arrow to his heart:
"Daddy!"
Her tiny arms reached toward him, trembling with longing. Her eyes glistened with unspoken yearning, brimming with trust. Leo froze, torn apart by the jagged pull of fear and remorse. Then—almost against his will—his arms lifted, gathering her fragile form against him.
For a fleeting moment, warmth seeped into his chest. But the moment shattered as Tyler's sharp voice cut through:
"That's enough hugging. Mr. Christopher wants you both." His expression hardened as he gently pried the girl from Leo's arms. "Go on ahead," he told her firmly. "We'll follow."
"But I want to stay with Daddy!" she protested, her voice quivering.
Leo forced a small smile, masking the storm inside him. Holding out his pinky finger, he linked it with hers, a solemn oath wrapped in innocence.
"I promise," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "We'll catch up. You go on ahead."
Her eyes brightened with fragile hope, and with a final glance, she slipped away.
The two remained together in the heavy silence. Then, without warning, Tyler's fist crashed forward with brutal force. A sickening crack followed as blood sprayed from Leo's nose.
"Aaah!" Leo cried out, clutching his face. "What's wrong with you—why are you hitting me?"
But the blows didn't stop. One strike after another rained down, merciless, each punch breaking him further, shattering bone and breath alike. Pain swallowed him whole, dragging him under like a tide. Tyler's expression, however, was disturbingly serene—his lips curved into a smile of grim satisfaction as Leo's body slumped beneath the relentless assault, battered and covered in darkening bruises.
The world dimmed. Consciousness slipped away.
But Tyler wasn't finished. He seized a basin of water and hurled it over Leo's limp body. The icy splash dragged him violently back to reality. Leo awoke with a gasp, trembling, only to find Tyler's iron grip locking him in place.
"Drink it," Tyler ordered, shoving a vial of bitter liquid against his lips. "Hurry. Christopher doesn't like to wait."
Leo tried to resist, but the strength had long drained from him. The foul liquid burned his throat as he swallowed. Almost instantly, the effect was uncanny—bruises faded, pain ebbed, bones no longer screamed. Within seconds his body was restored, as if nothing had happened at all.
Slowly, shakily, Leo rose to his feet. His eyes lifted toward Tyler, who now lounged on the edge of the bed, his expression hardened with hate.
"Get up," Tyler spat. "I healed you. But I couldn't let you go without settling the score—for what you did to Lisa."
"Lisa?" Leo repeated faintly, his mind reeling.
"Yes. The girl who was here. Lisa—the one you tried to sell." Tyler's gaze darkened. "If Christopher didn't despise interference in his trainees' trials, I would have made you pay more dearly. Now move. You still have a test to take."
The word test echoed inside Leo's skull like a curse. Regret pressed down on him, heavier than before.
"It's your final test," Tyler added coldly.
Leo followed him down into a shadow-drenched cellar. The air was damp, suffocating. In the corner sat Christopher, poised on a chair, methodically polishing a pistol with an almost tender precision. At his side, Lisa slumped in another chair, asleep, her breathing soft and even.
As Leo stepped closer, "I assume," Christopher said, his voice sharp as a blade of ice, "you know this is your last test."
Leo remained frozen, his mind scrambling to process the terrifying new reality Christopher had unveiled. Just then, Tyler, moving with the quiet efficiency of a shadow, pulled aside a heavy velvet curtain. Behind it, slumped on the floor, was a man — a scarecrow of a human being. The raw, hideous marks of torture and starvation were etched onto his body. The man weakly lifted his eyes, locking them onto Leo's, a silent, desperate plea for his life.
Christopher stroked Lisa's head with a disturbing, then suddenly brought the pistol's hammer back, placing the cold metal firmly against the child's temple.
"What are you doing! Stop!" Leo shouted, a raw, desperate cry of horror.
Christopher gave a harsh, cynical laugh. "What, the man who tried to sell her to monsters is worried I might harm her now? How amusing." He raised his pistol, and a shot whipped past Leo's face, grazing his cheek with a burning, stinging line.
Leo froze, while Christopher smiled with a sickening confidence, blowing the smoke from the gun.
Tyler, with a silent, stepped back, his eyes fixed on the unfolding drama.
He pressed the heavy, cold revolver into Leo's trembling hand, the weight a sudden, stark reality.
Meanwhile, Christopher took center stage once more, his own pistol leveled with chilling precision at Lisa's innocent, small head.
"You know this is your final test, don't you?" he stated, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to slice through the stale air.
Leo remained utterly silent.
"Fine, I don't need your answer," Christopher continued, a sliver of cruel amusement playing on his face. "You know that with every test, the clock shrinks, and the time for this one is ten seconds."
"What do you mean?" Leo managed to stammer, his throat tight with a sudden, suffocating panic.
Christopher's smile widened, revealing teeth that looked too sharp in the dim light. "You have ten seconds to aim that pistol at that man and kill him. Fail, and I'll empty my cylinder into this little one's head."
"What!" Leo cried out, a raw, strangled sound of horror. But the appeal was useless; Christopher had already begun the countdown, his voice a metronome of impending doom: "Ten. Nine. Eight..."
Leo's body was a live wire of dread, every muscle tense, the unfamiliar weapon heavy and alien in his grip. His eyes, wide and frantic, darted between the child — the unwitting hostage — and the unknown man, a simple soul who had done nothing to deserve this monstrous fate. A silent, frantic scream echoed in the chambers of his heart: How could he take an innocent life?
The count was nearing its end. Five. Four. Three. There was no longer a choice, only a horrific inevitability. A sudden, chilling composure settled over him. His frantic tremors stilled. With a single, fluid movement, Leo pivoted toward the target, his feet anchoring firmly on the cold floor. He brought the weapon up, his arm extending, the sight aligning with deadly, unexpected precision.
The shot cracked, a deafening explosion in the confined space, a brutal punctuation mark in the silence. The bullet found its mark — dead center in the man's forehead. Life, in that single, catastrophic instant, simply evaporated.
Yet, there was an unsettling lack of the expected remorse on Leo's face as he instantly turned his attention back to Lisa.
"A clean shot. Directly in the brow. Such accuracy," Christopher drawled, a strange, calculating intensity in his voice. As he spoke, he smoothly brought his own pistol up, now pressing the cold muzzle against the back of Leo's skull.
"You finally slipped up," Christopher announced, his voice suddenly hard and devoid of any previous pretense. "I knew my suspicion was right from the beginning. Who in the hell are you?"
Leo's composure shattered, replaced by a fresh wave of naked fear. "What do you mean?" he whispered, the sound barely audible.
"I've been watching you since the very beginning," Christopher declared, his voice a low, venomous hiss directly into Leo's ear. "Every single action has been suspicious! In the first test, you survived the poison without so much as a tremor. And beyond that, that strange energy that seemed to engulf the room, muffling the sound, shielding you."
"And at the pool," he continued, a cold chuckle escaping him, "you feigned drowning. Said you couldn't swim, didn't you? Yet, when the oxygen ran out, your legs began to kick with the practiced rhythm of a seasoned swimmer. Even exhausted, you tried to attack me, and your movements were calculated, deliberate — not the wild thrashing of a normal man."
"And now…" he paused, pressing the muzzle harder against Leo's head, "a bullet in the center of the forehead? Do you take me for a fool? Any novice can hit a target, but to hit it dead center of the brow... that only happens if you're accustomed to it! You were trembling the entire time, yet in the final second, your body stabilized. Your eyes pierced that target with a lethal, steady focus. You didn't hesitate for a moment to take that life! You should be an actor, Leo. Your performance has been absolutely flawless."