The morning didn't smell like the usual. Along with the scent of freshly made tea, there was another thing tingling Abraham's senses, the unfinished guilt. Abraham sat across from his mother, absently stirring his oatmeal.
She just asked casual questions about his job and he answered shortly. What was he supposed to say. That he almost got killed, or really killed someone. The image was sa aversive he almost puked. He pushed the thought away.
But his mother was smiling more than usual. She was happy and that's what that mattered.
The sunlight streamed through the kitchen curtains, soft and golden, the way mornings were supposed to feel ordinary. But nothing felt ordinary. Blood, screaming, the warehouse, the boy, it all pressed against his mind, uninvited and unrelenting. He shook his head slightly, trying to force normalcy, and muttered,
"Are you using the nebulizer?"
She gave a faint node, coughing slightly into her hand, showing as if the cough had gotten better. It hadn't.
"Make a list of the groceries, I will get them on my way back." He smiled at his mother, pushing his chair back as he got up.
"There is enough already." She waved her hand.
"Okay then, we will go together next time." He kissed his mother on her forehead.
By the time breakfast ended, Abraham made a decision. If stats mattered in this "game," if survival depended on more than luck, he had to train physically. He had to get stronger.
And for that reason, he walked into Inspire Fitness Studio. The smell hit immediately, metal, sweat, disinfectant. The music was loud, a rhythmic pulse that made the mirrors vibrate slightly. People moved everywhere, squats, push-ups, kettlebells, stretching, and all of them were oblivious to the war inside Abraham's mind.
"Hey!" a bright, youthful voice called out as soon as he stepped in. Abraham froze. A boy, maybe seventeen or eighteen, leaned against the reception desk, clipboard in hand, a wide, almost awkward grin on his face. "You here for the tour or—oh, membership?"
"Membership," Abraham said curtly. He didn't need small talk, he needed preparationand he was desperate enough.
"Right, we're a bit booked today. Lots of sessions going on, but we can...uh...schedule you with someone else, maybe start you with a general trainer?" The boy's hands fumbled with the pen on the clipboard.
"I mean, premium sessions are available, but they're really in demand."
Abraham's eyes narrowed slightly, scanning the boy's face. "I'll pay for the premium membership."
He didn't wait for the boy's reaction and dropped his card on the counter. The boy's eyes widened.
"Premium?" The voice wavered. "Uh… that's… okay, sure. Wow. You, uh… you're… well, you're dressed casually—uh, for premium membership. Usually people look…" His words trailed off, baffled.
Abraham gave a tight-lipped smile, remembering the way he looked in yesterday's hoodie and worn sneakers. He mentally noted to buy some good clothes for himself, not just for appearances but to feel like he belonged somewhere outside survival.
The boy cleared his throat and started leading Abraham around. "Okay, so here's the cardio area… stretching mats… lockers… shower…" The voice rambled but polite.
Abraham barely heard. His attention was scanning. Muscles, movement, form, the potential for control and awareness.
And then he saw him. Across the gym floor, near the squat rack, the man was spotting a client. Very calm, controlled and alive.
Abraham's chest tightened. The blood, the screams, the boy in the warehouse, they flashed behind his eyes. The man's hand gripping his collar. Dragging him from death. All of it.
Abraham swallowed. "That's him," he muttered under his breath, but the boy guiding him just glanced at him curiously.
"Excuse me?" the boy asked.
Abraham shook his head. "Nothing."
The boy paused. "Uh… the trainers are—"
Abraham didn't listen to the boy. He rushed towards the man.
"It was you right?" Abraham grabbed the man by his arm, it was strong, unyielding.
The man stared at Abraham for a moment and then freed his arm. There was a single flash of recognition before his expression went flat.
"I think you've got the wrong person" he replied, returning his attention back to his client.
"No!" Abraham almost shouted. "It were you..in the warehouse. You saved me there, you grabbed me when the hunters were firing, it was all blowing..."
"Stop!" The man glared at Abraham with such a sharp gaze that almost pierced him.
"I said you've gotten the wrong person." Each word was spoken with intense anger.
Abraham let go of the man, backing away a step. But the fear of death in that death game made him ask again.
"Can you just train me?" Abraham knew the man was stronger, in here and in the games.
"I need to focus on my client here. Will you please go the fuck away." It was not a request. There was something in the man's eyes. Anger? Fear? Abraham couldn't tell but it made him back away. And the man returned to adjusting the client's stance.
"Uhmm" the boy cleared his throat, "I will show you around more." Point
Abraham cut him off. "I need training with him. That one," he said, pointing without thinking, being determined.
The boy looked confused, then startled. "Uh… he's… well, he's… I mean, that's . He usually only takes advanced clients… I could assign you to—"
"No. I want him." Abraham's voice was firmer than he realized, almost desperate. "Please. I'll pay extra. I need him."
The boy studied him, hesitation written across his features. "Uh… okay… I guess. Premium membership covers… that. Right."
His voice cracked slightly. "You sure you can handle his sessions?"
Abraham ignored the implication, focused entirely on the man. He followed the boy as they walked across the gym floor, mirrors reflecting dozens of bodies, pumping iron, stretching, running. The normalcy made Abraham's unease sharper. Everything was calm, routine and mundane. And yet he remembered blood, screaming, and the warehouse. Everything felt like it could erupt at any second.
"Uhmmm, I will talk to Richard, see..uhmm... if he will take you as a client." The boy said, as he entered behind the reception desk after showing Abraham around. "Can you please fill in your details and come back tomorrow?" He handed Abraham some papers.
"No I will wait." Abraham took the papers. "I will wait til his session is over." He was desperate.
Almost an hour passed till he saw the man be freed of his client. The hour was more like a full day for Abraham. His life was at stack.
"I guess he is free now. I..I will go talk to him." The boy grabbed Abraham's attention as he was about to leave his desk.
"No. Let me." Abraham's hands were sweating, as he walked towards the man. Richrd gave him a glance, drinking water. He averted his eyes, pretending to ignore Abraham.
Humiliation and desperation twisted in Abraham's chest. He clenched his fists, forcing them to remain at his sides. "Please… train me. You know what's at stake." His voice wavered slightly.
Richard paused, just a slight flicker in his stance, and looked at Abraham. The gym continued around them, unaware. "I don't think I'm the right trainer for you. There are others—experienced staff. I suggest—"
"No!" Abraham interrupted, sharp, unpracticed. "I don't care. You saved me once. I need to survive again. I need… I need your guidance."
Richard studied him for a long moment, breathing controlled, eyes calculating. Finally, he exhaled slowly. "…Fine. One session. But you follow my instructions to the letter. No exceptions. No complaints. Understood?"
"Yes," Abraham said, voice firm, though his hands shook slightly.
Richard let him in a direction of an empty corner. There were a few instruments there and no people.
The session began but Richrd didn't waste time explaining the equipment or offering encouragement the way other trainers would probably do. Instead, he handed Abraham a thin clipboard and a pencil, motioning toward a quiet corner near the stretching mats.
"Write your height. Weight. Any injuries," he said curtly.
"I have already..." Abraham tried to say he had done that.
"Do as you are told." Richard cut him off.
Abraham scribbled the answers silently while Richard watched him with the detached focus of someone assessing machinery rather than a person. When Abraham finished, Richard took the clipboard and scanned the page quickly before placing it aside.
"Good," Richard said, stepping back. "Now start with warm-ups."
No instructions followed. Abraham stood there awkwardly for a second before beginning a series of stretches he half remembered from old YouTube videos. His muscles felt stiff, his shoulders tight, his breathing shallow. Every few seconds he felt Richard's gaze flicker over him like a scanner.
After a minute, Richard spoke again.
"Your core is weak."
Abraham paused mid-stretch.
"You compensate with your shoulders. That will injure you eventually."
Abraham said nothing.
"Your endurance is poor. Your breathing is shallow and erratic. Your posture collapses when you're under strain." Richard circled him slowly like a quiet predator studying prey. "And your stress markers are high."
"Stress markers?" Abraham asked.
"You clench your jaw every thirty seconds," Elias said calmly. "Your shoulders tense when someone drops a weight across the room. Your eyes scan exits every few seconds."
Abraham froze slightly.
Elias tilted his head. "That last one isn't necessarily bad."
Embarrassment crawled up Abraham's neck. He imagined how ridiculous he must look compared to the man who had moved through the warehouse like controlled steel while Abraham had been shaking and bleeding.
They moved into warm-ups. Push-ups. Bodyweight squats. Light mobility drills.
Within five minutes Abraham's arms were trembling.
Richard watched without commenting.
During a brief stretching break Abraham lowered his voice.
"I know it was you."
The man didn't respond.
He adjusted a barbell on the nearby rack as if he hadn't heard.
Abraham tried again.
"The warehouse. Mission one."
Silence stretched between them like a wire pulled tight.
"That was not my mission 1." Finally Richard spoke without turning around.
"And you shouldn't say that here."
Abraham's heartbeat quickened.
"I saw you," he insisted quietly. "You dragged me out. You saved...."
Richard moved suddenly, grabbing Abraham's elbow and steered him towards the far corner of the gym near the storage area where spare mats and resistance bands were stacked. The music was louder here, masking their conversation.
He stopped beside a rack of dumbbells and leaned slightly closer.
"If you read the contract carefully," he said in a low voice, "you'd know disclosure equals termination."
The words struck him like a bullet as Abraham's eyes widened and his mind flashed back to the endless clauses he had skimmed past before clicking ACCEPT.
"It is immediate elimination." Richard's tone was heavy enough to stress Abraham.
The system had been very clear about that phrase. Richard didn't say death. He didn't need to.
A cold realization crept through Abraham's chest.
"That's why…" Abraham murmured. "There's nothing online."
Richard nodded once.
"No missing persons connected to missions. No survivors talking about it. No forums or whistleblowers." His eyes remained steady.
"Reality gets corrected."
Abraham felt a knot in his stomach.
"The system scrubs it?"
"Something does."