Testing, testing.

"Number 679, step forward."

The woman's monotone voice echoed throughout the white halls, bouncing off the linoleum floors.

It blared through the intercom, although the woman with the disembodied voice was nowhere to be seen.

Within the halls, there were only potential participants.

Dean leaned back against the wall, observing everyone that was there. To be honest, he was surprised.

The amount of participants vastly outnumbered his expectations. Looking around, despite the fact that over 600 individuals had already disappeared into the doors that lined the halls, there were still a couple of hundred meandering outside.

It was the following week, early on a Saturday morning, and it was the first day of trials. After their shift, Viktor and him had met up the following morning for breakfast, and called the number available on the newspaper clipping.

They were given information about the date and time for the initial trials, and informed to be there in a timely fashion.

It might be more difficult than we thought to get approved?

Dean thought idly, but looking around, he shook his head.

Although there were a lot of participants that were young….

He glanced to his left, where a man with yellow teeth was hunched over, scratching his arm furiously.

There weren't a lot of healthy individuals.

He wasn't surprised. The type of people that offered themselves up to be lab rats at the very least couldn't be mentally okay.

He stood alone in the corridor.

Viktor had already disappeared behind the doors. He didn't know how the testing had gone. After all, nobody who had entered the doors so far had come out. Nobody knew how many individuals would pass the selection, or even if anybody had passed so far.

Still, Dean had faith.

After all, it would be pretty anticlimactic if they failed to enter the trials after their posturing.

"Number 681, step forward."

The woman's voice resounded once more, waking Kamen from his stupor.

Checking his slip, he nodded and stepped forward.

'That's me.'

Above one of the many doors that lined the halls, a screen flashed with the number '681' in blue neon. Actually, he thought it was quite game-like.

Opening it up with no hesitation, he stepped through.

Within was a monochrome room, entirely white with a similarly white desk in the middle. Behind the desk were three individuals, researchers he assumed, from the white coats that they wore. And behind these researchers, were two doors.

"Please, have a seat."

The lady in the middle motioned towards an outlier in the room, one of four black rolling chairs, that stood directly across from them.

Obliging, Dean moved to take the seat while analyzing the three researchers. The lady who spoke was unassuming, with shoulder-length brown hair and glasses. She had a very forgettable face.

To the left was a man with a squarish-face that looked like he was honest. To his right was a man with sharp features. If one was kind, they would say dignified. Otherwise, you could plainly say that he looked like a rat.

"Participant name?"

The lady in the middle spoke again, glancing up from her clipboard.

"Dean Prosper."

"Okay Dean, the trial process is divided into three parts. We're going to ask you a couple of questions, have you fill out a questionnaire, and then, for the next section you'll be tested on your physical condition."

Jotting something down, the woman quickly explained the process without looking up to see him nod his affirmation.

"First, are you taking any sort of prescription medicine…."

The lady droned on and on, asking all sorts of inconsequential things, like his current place of work, what his childhood was like, and how he would describe his social life.

She asked a question, and then he spoke, and the three of them quickly wrote something down on their clipboards.

He wondered duly if he should be revealing this much information to individuals just because they were wearing lab coats. He didn't think there was much value to the information, but it's not as if they were things he would tell a stranger.

They glanced amongst themselves, nodding as if their was some sort of secret significance to his answers.

After a series of questions, he was presented with a pencil, a booklet, and a scantron in typical standardized testing fashion, and filled out the questionnaire under their expectant gazes.

He could tell by the types of questions that it was somewhat like a standard personality test. Rather than assessing patterns of behavior, it seemed as if they were trying to intuit his attitude about himself.

Thrilling.

As he filled out the pages, the researchers discussed in hushed whispers amongst themselves, doubtless comparing notes on his psychological state.

Setting the pencil down, he gazed at the answers one more time in boyish fashion, before sliding the booklet forward and folding his hands.

Without a word, the squarish-faced man stood up and motioned him to follow, walking into the door on the left.

It looked a little like a doctor's office, albeit being white just the same as the prior room, and he motioned Dean to sit on a stool near a sterile counter.

"Have a seat, please." the man said, rummaging through the counter. "We're going to be drawing blood for the physical examination."

Dean sat with his back straight upon the wooden stool, watching warily as the man removed, prepped, and inserted the needle into his forearm, drawing a healthy heaping of blood.

Taking the needle, he proceeded to inject the liquid into a vial, mark and tag it, before carrying it into the previous room.

After a few moments he returned, wrote something on his clipboard, and then tore off a slip of paper.

The man looked Dean over with a smile.

"We'll review your application and the forms you've filled out," he said. "If we determine you're suitable for the research, you'll receive a call in the next few days."

With that, the man smiled and waved him away.

"We'll be in touch."