Pain became the baseline.
Kael learned this within three cycles.
Not days. Not nights. The Freezer didn't allow those words to retain meaning. Time was measured in cycles—periods marked by tonal shifts in the walls, changes in temperature, and the opening and closing of doors.
Cycle One taught him what cold did to flesh.
Cycle Two taught him what it did to thought.
By Cycle Three, Kael understood the real purpose.
They weren't testing how much pain he could endure.
They were measuring what remained when pain became normal.
He sat cross-legged on the floor of Hall D, breath slow, hands resting on his knees. The cold pressed in from every direction, not aggressively, but insistently, like a question that refused to be ignored.
Around him, other Unrankables did the same.
Some shivered uncontrollably.
Some sat unnaturally still, eyes glazed, breathing shallow.
A few—too few—looked comfortable.
Kael watched the blond boy from orientation lean back against the wall, arms folded, eyes closed as if napping. The red light above his collar glowed steadily.
F-061, Kael recalled.
Arrogant. Confident.
Untouched.
That was new.
"Baseline assessment begins now," the disembodied voice announced.
The temperature dropped another degree.
Kael's teeth clenched automatically. The warmth in his chest stirred, pressing outward in response. He forced it down, remembering the ice bath. Remembering the alarms.
Control it.
The girl—F-093—sat across from him. Her eyes flicked open briefly, meeting his.
She gave a single, almost imperceptible shake of her head.
Don't.
Kael swallowed and focused on his breathing.
In.
Out.
The cold seeped deeper.
It wasn't just on his skin anymore. It slid beneath muscle, beneath bone, until it felt like his thoughts were slowing, thickening, as if moving through syrup.
That was when the whispers started.
Not voices.
Impressions.
Fragments of sensation that didn't belong to him.
The smell of ozone. The echo of screaming metal. A flash of heat so intense it bordered on pain—
Kael gasped and nearly lost control.
That's not mine.
His heart raced. He looked around wildly.
No one else reacted.
The whispers faded as quickly as they'd come, leaving behind a lingering sense of unease.
Hallucinations, he realized. Already.
"Baseline readings acquired," the voice said.
The temperature rose slightly—just enough for relief to feel like a reward.
Kael exhaled shakily.
That was when the doors opened.
"Combat pairs," the voice continued. "Proceed."
The room stirred.
Unrankables rose to their feet, some eagerly, some with visible dread. Names—numbers—appeared in the air above the exits, pairing them without explanation.
F-117 / F-061
Kael felt his stomach tighten.
The blond boy opened one eye and smiled.
The combat chamber was smaller than the orientation hall, circular and enclosed, with a floor made of some dark, rubberized material that absorbed impact and heat alike.
No weapons.
No armor.
Just bodies and fire.
The temperature inside was warmer than the rest of the Freezer. Not comfortable—but permissive.
"First to incapacitation," the voice announced. "Begin."
F-061 moved instantly.
Kael barely had time to register motion before a wave of heat slammed into him, forcing him back several steps. The blond boy's aura flared bright orange, flame licking up his arms like living things.
"Slow," F-061 said, grinning. "They really did pick trash sometimes."
Anger surged.
The embers in Kael's chest roared in response, heat flooding his limbs. He raised his hands instinctively—
No.
He remembered the bath. The alarms. The compression.
Kael didn't release the fire.
Instead, he watched.
F-061's flames weren't wild. They followed patterns—spirals, controlled bursts, calculated angles. Ranker-level technique.
He's copying something, Kael realized. Or he learned it before.
The next strike came fast, aimed at Kael's chest.
Kael stepped aside at the last second, heat grazing his sleeve. He felt something shift inside him—not power, but understanding.
The technique wasn't about output.
It was about pressure.
Compression before release.
Kael inhaled.
And compressed.
The fire inside him condensed, folding inward instead of expanding. His skin burned faintly, veins glowing just beneath the surface.
He thrust his palm forward.
The air cracked.
A narrow lance of white heat shot forward, slicing cleanly through F-061's flame and slamming into his shoulder.
F-061 screamed and stumbled back, clutching his arm.
"What—what the hell was that?" he gasped.
Kael stared at his own hand, heart pounding.
I didn't create that, he realized.
I rewrote it.
The chamber fell silent.
"Incapacitation achieved," the voice said after a pause. "F-117 victorious."
The doors opened.
F-061 was dragged away, eyes burning with something far more dangerous than pain.
Hatred.
Later, in the recovery hall, Kael sat on a bench, shaking.
The adrenaline was wearing off.
The consequences weren't.
His head throbbed. His thoughts felt… misaligned. Like something had been nudged out of place.
Was that me? he wondered. Or did something else act through me?
F-093 sat beside him without asking.
"You broke his technique," she said.
"I didn't mean to," Kael replied.
She studied him carefully. "You didn't break it. You understood it."
"That's worse," he muttered.
A shadow fell over them.
The gray-haired man stood there, hands clasped behind his back, eyes unreadable.
"Interesting adaptation," he said. "You didn't just burn. You analyzed."
Kael looked up at him. "Is that bad?"
The man smiled faintly.
"No," he said. "It's rare."
He turned to leave, then paused.
"Baseline adjustment approved," he added. "Monitor F-117 for cognitive drift."
Kael's blood ran cold.
"Cognitive drift?" he asked.
But the man was already gone.
F-093 leaned closer. "They noticed you."
Kael laughed weakly. "That was always going to happen."
She didn't smile.
"No," she said. "Not like this."
As the lights dimmed and the hum of the Freezer deepened, Kael closed his eyes.
For just a second, he felt it again—that sense of not being alone in his own head.
Something was watching.
Learning.
And it wasn't part of the Freezer.