AN: Hey guys, I decided to upload this chapter early because it was so short... But the next one is probably gonna be pretty lengthy so I hope its ok XD

I also got a comment earlier this week about the title of my story - I never really put too much effort into it, so if you guys can think of better ones, then feel free to leave some recommendations!

Andddd if some of my older readers have noticed, I changed the description of my story (it's an excerpt from a later chapter XD)~

I would love if you guys would tell me whether you guys like it or not :) ... maybe I just at descriptions ._.

So... Enjoy the chapter!

I’ve learned only one thing since I got here. I’m not quite as smart as I thought.

It took a couple of days before I realized that being excused from all classes wasn’t a reward. It was a punishment—for losing sight of my goal. For getting off course.

I’m not here to make friends or rescue damsels in distress. I’m here to win the prize I’ve been promised. I forgot my mission. And I’ve been sentenced to solitary confinement for my crime.

The gym has every type of exercise machine ever built. I spent the first two days torturing muscles I’d never used before. Running marathons on the treadmills. Shadow-boxing on the enormous red exercise mat.

When the other students showed up in the gym at 5:00 p.m. for their self-defense class, I was annoyed that they’d invaded my private space. But soon I began looking forward to their arrival each day. I even asked the instructor for permission to take part in the lessons.

By the end of the first week, five o’clock couldn’t come fast enough.

You’d think that watching someone work out for ten hours a day wouldn’t be terribly entertaining. But I seem to be the most popular show in town. \

The catwalk glass is always transparent first thing in the morning. It fogs and clears at least a dozen times throughout the day. If I’m completely still, I can hear the sound of footsteps.

I resist the urge to shout curses at the ceiling or fling weights at the walls. I’m not sure I’d survive if Jungyeop took my single hour of human contact away. And I doubt that’s the worst that could happen.

He can do whatever he wants to me down here. There’s nothing I could do to stop him. And that must be the lesson he’s trying to teach me.

After the solitude had turned into torture, I tried holding imaginary conversations inside my head. Sometimes with Myungsoo. Sometimes with Sunggyu. Then one afternoon I heard the sound of my own voice.

I’d been speaking out loud.

The catwalk glass was clear. No one was watching, but I had no idea how long my lips had been broadcasting my thoughts.

The watchers couldn’t know about Sunggyu, and I didn’t want them eavesdropping when I spoke to Myungsoo. So I tried to fill my brain with nothing but static. The effort made me angry.

That rage became my constant companion.

Every night, I pace my cage. Anything, anything, I tell myself. You have to do anything. I no longer care if anyone’s watching behind the mirror. I have to keep Myung and Sunggyu from visiting me in the darkness, so I stage executions inside my head.

I murder my father the way he murdered his. Or I beat him until his face is as broken as Myungsoo’s was. Every morning, I emerge from a dream in which I’m drenched in his blood.

Jungyeop must have known this would happen.

• • •

If my calculations are correct, when I wake up tomorrow, I’ll have two days left in the Incubation Suites. Forty-eight hours that might as well be forever. At least today appears to be drawing to a close. It’s already five o’clock, and my fellow newbies have filed into the gym for self-defense training. I have no idea what’s happened to them over the past weeks, but the difference is startling.

Their accents are gone, and their posture is perfect. Even Alex speaks in clear, well-formed sentences that make me wonder if he might actually be sentient. They removed the bandages from his nose yesterday, and I can see they made a few improvements. It’s straighter. More refined. I guess it helps to be handsome if you’re completely insane.

Sungyeol is poised and deadly, even with deceptively lanky limbs—like a giraffe with a pistol and a PhD.

I haven’t heard Key talk in days, but for a while he spoke like a television news anchor.

Sungjong doesn’t smile as much anymore.

Our self-defense instructor, Mr. Won, knows there’s nothing he can teach me. And it’s pretty obvious that thugs like Alex are the reason these classes exist. But the three other newbies had so much to learn that Mr. Won couldn’t teach them alone. I’ve been paired with Sungyeol from the very beginning. Alex has Sungjong. The instructor works with Key, who needs the most guidance.

He didn’t pay much attention during the first two weeks of class. When he should have been watching the instructor, his eyes were always pleading with me. He gave up the day they removed the stitches in my forearm.

The next time I saw him, he’d slipped back into his trance.

Key probably thought I’d never figured it out, but I always understood what he was trying to say. That the chip can be removed before the incision has healed. The information never made much difference to me. I just wish I’d been able to ask how he knew. But there was never a chance to speak privately, and I couldn’t risk more punishment.

Key must have seen something in rehab—something that scared him. After I rescued him from Alex, he tried to warn me. But Key shouldn’t have wasted his time.

I’m already long past saving.

• • •

Today I’m supposed to be attacking Sungyeol, but he’s decided to turn the tables. He’s on the offensive now, and I’m the one deflecting blows.

The boy holds a grudge. He really wants to hurt me. I suspect he’s been practicing at night in his cell.

Sungyeol must know he has no chance of winning. I had done this for years while he had learned for merely weeks. But I have to admire his persistence. I even consider letting him land a punch. But he suddenly stops throwing them. The catwalk has fogged over.

At this point, we all know what that means.

Mr. Won looks up and nods. He’s been expecting our visitors.

“Sungyeol, Sungjong, and Key—clear the mat!” he calls out. “Alex and Flick, let’s see what you’ve got.”

The people up on the catwalk want to be entertained. I imagine Jungyeop and my father standing side by side, and the rage returns in a rush. A demon of unimaginable power overtakes me.

I now know exactly how it feels to be possessed. If you don’t try to fight it, it feels f—ing fantastic.

I can tell from Alex’s grin that he’s been waiting for this opportunity. He’s probably been strategizing for weeks. I doubt he’ll let me get close enough to drag him down to the floor. He’s taller than I am, and his reach is much longer.

Anyone watching would assume he had the edge. But when his fist comes flying through the air, I dodge it with ease.

I’ll draw the first blood this time.

I hit with far less force than I’m able to muster. Just a quick jab to the jawline. He responds with a blow that might have knocked out most of my teeth if it hadn’t missed my face by an inch. This time I target his pretty new nose. He forgets his plan and rushes straight for me.

A quick kick to the knee sends him down to the mat. There’s more than enough time for me to go in for the kill, but I let him jump back to his feet. I don’t want the fight to end. It’s not about winning.

I want Alex to suffer.

I stalk him around the gym, throwing punch after punch—but always giving him just enough time to recover. He’s battered and bloody, barely able to stand. But he won’t admit defeat, and that’s exactly what I’ve been counting on.

Suddenly Alex’s arms drop, and he’s no longer looking at me. He’s staring up at the catwalk instead. I assume it’s a trick. He’ll clock me as soon as I turn around. But then I notice that everyone else in the gym sees the same thing he does.

The glass has cleared. A message has been sent. Our visitor is calling an end to the fight.

It’s a beautiful girl, and she’s up there all alone. It’s hard to be certain from this distance, but she doesn’t seem old enough to be an employee or alumnus.

She looks like an angel. The kind you put on top of a Christmas tree. I expect her to flutter down from the heavens, but she just smiles and walks away.

“Rusalka,” Alex mutters under his breath.

“Who?” I ask. “Do you know that girl?”

Alex grins. A thin stream of blood trickles from the corner of his mouth; then he spits two teeth on the floor.