Phase Two Pt.2

The day after my previous round of intense practice, I returned to the training chamber, feeling both excited and apprehensive. From the moment I stepped through the doors, I sensed a new level of challenge looming on the horizon. Rem, standing at the console with her usual confident posture, gave me a nod of acknowledgment. Her expression told me that she had a fresh set of tests in mind, ones that wouldn't necessarily be easy.

"Today," she began, "I want to continue working with live targets. You showed promise the other day, but now we need to refine your skills further." Her words were firm, underscoring the seriousness of the training ahead.

The first hour flew by in a blur. I focused primarily on my accuracy and on scaling back the raw power of my attacks so I wouldn't inadvertently obliterate the surrounding environment or innocent targets. I couldn't believe how draining this exercise was, both mentally and physically. I felt my muscles tense each time I readied a shot, and I had to maintain pinpoint concentration to keep the energy in check. Yet even as fatigue crept up on me, I realized that Rem was indirectly teaching me another skill altogether: endurance.

At the end of the hour, she analyzed the data on a small screen. "All right," she announced, looking up. "You hit six out of ten targets within the allotted time."

I exhaled, catching my breath as sweat trickled down my face. "Not my best," I admitted, but I also felt a small sense of accomplishment.

"You're doing better than you were at the start," she pointed out, her tone encouraging. It was a reminder that progress doesn't have to be perfect—it just has to be consistent.

Feeling a renewed burst of energy swirl around me, I lifted my head to meet her gaze. "I'm ready to go again," I declared, eager to refine my aim further.

She gave me a slight smirk. "All right, let's push forward." Tapping a series of commands into the console, she initiated the next round. This time, the chamber began to produce fast-moving drones that zipped erratically around the space. Their unpredictable flight patterns tested both my reflexes and my ability to track multiple targets at once.

I inhaled deeply, then started firing concentrated energy bolts at each drone. The problem was, the moment I lined up a shot on one, it would duck away at the last second. I found myself missing repeatedly, and with each miss, frustration built in the back of my mind like a rising tide. My jaw clenched, and I could feel my heart rate spike with each near-hit that wasn't quite on target.

Rem's voice echoed through the chamber speakers. "Remember, you can stop objects in motion. Don't forget what you're capable of."

She was right—I had demonstrated before that I could manipulate energy in such a way that I could halt objects mid-flight. The realization cut through my frustration. Why had I been relying solely on direct blasts when I had a broader range of powers at my disposal?

I forced myself to slow down. Rather than fire recklessly, I focused on the hum of energy beneath my skin and let it flow outward. Arms extended, palms spread wide, and I generated a dome-like field of energy around myself—large enough to encompass the drones. Their chaotic movements continued for a second, but then they collided with my barrier and froze in place, trapped by the energy I was emitting.

I glanced over at Rem, whose expression had shifted into an approving nod. "Good job," she said. "You're learning to adapt more quickly."

She deactivated the drones, which fell harmlessly to the ground. Then she turned to me with an appraising look. "You're looking more comfortable with your abilities."

Confidence buzzed through me like a current. "I think I'm getting the hang of it," I answered, dropping the energy field. "Let's keep going. I'm ready."

Rem raised an eyebrow, a half-smile curving her lips, and swiped her fingers across the console. This time, the environment around us changed into something much more elaborate: a bank interior, complete with teller stations, furniture, and a large open foyer in the center. Police sirens flared in the background. A grim scenario played out in front of me: hostages kneeling on the bank floor, gunmen barking orders, and tension so thick it seemed to choke the air.

"All right," Rem said, her tone turning serious. "This simulation represents a hostage situation. You need to neutralize the hostile without harming the innocent. It's not just about raw power this time; it's about controlling a crisis and protecting lives."

I surveyed the scene. Outside, through large glass windows, I could see holographic police officers holding their positions behind squad cars, sirens flashing. They shouted warnings, but none dared to breach the building because the gunmen had threatened to harm the hostages if anyone approached.

I took a steadying breath. "All right, I can handle this," I muttered under my breath, but I felt the weight of responsibility settles on my shoulders. Typically, my approach was to barge in, blitzing through any threats with energy blasts. But that strategy could backfire in a room full of innocents who could be hurt by collateral damage.

At a glance, I noticed multiple access points: the main entrance, a back entrance, the roof, and possibly an air duct system. The front and rear entrances were blocked by armed hostiles, each brandishing a firearm. They were positioned near a cluster of hostages, making a direct approach too risky.

I weighed my options. The vent system might allow for stealth, but I realized that removing the grate would create too much noise in the otherwise tense silence. The roof was probably my best bet for a covert entry.

Maneuvering quickly, I slipped out of the immediate simulation line of sight and scaled the side of the building—thanks to a subtle augmentation of my powers that allowed me to cling to surfaces more effectively. Once on the roof, I discovered a hatch that presumably opened into the bank's upper level. After easing it open, I could see one of the gunmen stationed about six feet away.

There was no clear shot from that angle, and if I tried to blast him, the noise or bright flash could alert the others. Instead, I recalled a skill I possessed—illusionary telepathy. If I could manipulate a person's perception, I might persuade them to vacate the area willingly. Channeling a precise amount of mental energy, I wove an illusion into the gunman's mind, nudging him to step away from his post and exit the building without causing a ruckus.

When he wandered off quietly, seemingly in a trance, I used the momentary gap to drop into the building and start making my way toward the main foyer, where the hostages were held. Anger and fear reverberated through the halls; I heard the gunmen shouting at the hostages to keep silent and stay low.

I crouched behind a stairwell, taking stock of the situation. Three flights of stairs diverged in different directions, and each flight was guarded by an armed individual. The bulk of the hostages were corralled in the center of the bank lobby, monitored by three more gunmen. I had multiple threats close to innocent people, which made my usual explosive attacks far too dangerous.

I muttered to myself, "I can't rely solely on telepathy now—there are too many of them." If I tried to influence all of them at once, I'd risk severe mental backlash or an incomplete illusion that could tip them off.

"If you need assistance, just ask," came Rem's voice, as though she were right there beside me. I glanced around, remembering that she was monitoring the simulation from the control panel.

I shook my head resolutely. "No, I can do this," I replied, more to convince myself than her.

Steeling my resolve, I vaulted over the stair railing into the open space of the lobby. With a surge of focused power, I generated a wide force field that enveloped everyone in the room—hostages and criminals alike. For a moment, they all froze, their movements halted by the shimmering barrier. Then I flicked my wrist, selectively freeing the hostages while keeping the robbers immobilized.

It worked. The frightened civilians scrambled away, most of them running for the main doors. "Go!" I shouted. "Get out of here!"

I planned to hold the criminals in place until the police stormed in. But as I corralled the last group of innocents out, a tearful woman shrieked, "My baby! She's still inside!" My heart dropped. I hadn't seen an infant.

In that instant, I felt my hold on the force field flicker. My stamina was waning, and fear jolted through me. "I'll find your child," I promised. "Now go, please!"

She nodded through her tears and stumbled out to safety. I forced myself to refocus, pushing aside the swirl of emotions. Upon reentering the main area, I scanned the balcony overhead. That's when I spotted a gunman—face hidden behind a ski mask—cradling a small bundle in his arms. The baby.

"You'll let us leave," the gunman demanded, "or the kid's done for."

My blood ran cold. This was exactly the scenario I feared: an innocent life in direct jeopardy. "Put the child down," I said firmly, fighting to keep my voice steady.

I caught a glint in his eye; he was smirking under that mask. "Too late," he taunted, then tossed the infant over the balcony. My heart nearly stopped. I was too far away to catch the baby with my arms, and my reserves of energy were nearly tapped out.

But my instincts propelled me forward. If I couldn't freeze the baby midair with my typical method, maybe I could influence the environment itself. I channeled energy into the floor, shifting its density so that it became as springy as jelly. When the baby landed, the surface cushioned the impact, bouncing the child back into the air for just enough time for me to dash forward and scoop them up.

A surge of relief coursed through me as I held the baby securely. Above me, the gunman raised a pistol, aiming directly at us. I created a small shield at the last possible second. Bullets ricocheted off the barrier, sending sparks flying. Right then, more shots rang out from the front doors—this time from the police. They had found their moment to breach and began taking the hostiles down one by one.

As soon as the final criminal was subdued, my energy field collapsed; I was spent. Sweating and shaking, I handed the unharmed baby to an officer. That's when the simulation flickered off. The bank, the police, the hostages—all vanished into thin air as Rem ended the scenario.

She stepped toward me, her expression composed but visibly proud. "Excellent job. You passed the hostage rescue test—no casualties, no crossfire mishaps."

My vision swam for a moment, and I realized how lightheaded I felt. The last hour of sustained power usage had taken a serious toll. Rem reached out, steadying me by the elbow. "Try not to black out," she half-teased, though concern was etched on her face. "You might be ready for phase three training. It usually takes a full week or more to get through phase two, but you've made remarkable progress."

Hearing that sparked a smile. Triumph mingled with sheer exhaustion, and I let out a long sigh. "Thank you," I managed, wiping sweat from my forehead.

Rem pointed at me. "You look like you're about to collapse. Take the rest of the day off to recuperate. Trust me—you'll need your energy for what's next."

Nodding gratefully, I followed her out of the training chamber. My mind churned with reflections on what had just happened, especially the moment I'd almost lost the infant. As soon as we were in the corridor, I turned back to glance at the sealed chamber doors, a wave of relief and pride washing over me.

Eventually, I found my way to my room. On the way, I noticed Booker, who stood pacing in front of my door like a caged animal. Even from a distance, I could tell he was upset—his posture was rigid, his face paler than usual, and his eyes brimming with worry.

"Booker?" I called softly, stepping closer. "Is everything all right?"

He spun around, meeting my gaze, and immediately pulled me into a tight hug. I could feel him trembling, and a thousand questions rushed through my mind. Once he released me, I saw tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Talk to me," I prompted, the taste of adrenaline still on my tongue. "What's going on?"

Booker inhaled shakily, struggling to regain his composure. Finally, he managed to form words, though his voice cracked with emotion. "It's about Aaliah..."

He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The dread in his voice made my heart seize up. Thoughts raced through my head, each more dire than the last. Had something gone wrong on her first mission? Was she hurt, or worse? I stared at him, waiting for the rest of his sentence, my mind already bracing for bad news.