Chapter 10: The Help

Carter and Ambrose's room

Challenge: The Familiar Betrayal

The yellow door slammed shut behind them, sealing Carter and Ambrose inside a dimly lit hospital ward. Rows of beds stretched endlessly, their occupants hidden beneath thin white sheets. The air smelled of antiseptic but beneath it lurked something rotten.

Carter narrowed his eyes. Something about this place felt wrong. His Berserker's Endurance made him resistant to physical pain, but this? This was something else entirely.

Ambrose, ever silent, scanned the room with sharp, calculating eyes. His golden gaze flickered between the beds, taking in every detail.

Then, the System's voice cut through the stillness:

[Welcome, Survivors.]

[Your test begins now.]

[Objective: Locate the correct patient and administer the cure.]

[Failure to do so before time runs out will result in termination.]

A metallic click rang out, and a medical tray materialized on a nearby table, neatly arranged with syringes filled with an unknown substance.

Carter scoffed. "A cure? For what?"

As if in response, the patients began to stir.

The first sheet slid off, revealing a frail figure.

Carter's breath caught in his throat.

It was his sister.

"Emily?" His voice cracked.

The woman on the bed turned to him, her glassy eyes filled with pain. Her lips trembled. "Carter… help me."

His heart pounded.

Emily had been dead for years.

He turned, more sheets rustled. The figures beneath them sat up one by one.

His mother. His father. His younger brother. Every patient in the room was someone Carter had lost.

His heart pounded as he stepped back, his hands shaking. "What the hell…?"

Ambrose remained motionless. Watching. Observing. His expression is unreadable.

Carter's confusion deepened. He turned to Ambrose.

"Ambrose." His voice came out low, wary. "Who do you see?"

Ambrose, standing motionless beside him, barely flicked his gaze toward the beds. "No one."

Carter's breath hitched.

"No one?"

He looked back at the beds. His entire family was here. Yet Ambrose saw nothing?

His grip on the syringe tightened. A slow, uneasy feeling crawled up his spine.

"What do you mean, 'no one'?" His voice hardened. "Are you telling me you don't see anyone in these beds?"

Ambrose tilted his head slightly, unbothered. "That's correct."

Carter's jaw clenched. His instincts screamed at him. Something wasn't right. How was it that every single patient in this trial was someone from his past, yet Ambrose had none?

His mind raced. He had felt from the start that Ambrose was different. Cold. Detached. Came out from nowhere. But this?

Carter's grip on the syringe tightened. His pulse pounded in his ears.

"Do you not have a family?" His voice was barely above a whisper, yet it cut through the air like a blade.

Ambrose didn't answer right away. His golden eyes, unreadable as always, lingered on Carter for a moment longer than necessary. 

Then, with a slight tilt of his head, he simply said:

"Not in the way you do."

Carter stiffened. That wasn't an answer.

His suspicions deepened.

But before he could push further...

"That doesn't make sense. The System wouldn't just single me out like this," he muttered. 

A voice spoke behind him.

"Carter."

He turned.

A figure stood by the medical tray. It was Ambrose.

But Ambrose was right beside him.

Carter's breath caught in his throat.

Two Ambroses.

One of them smiled. "You have to give the cure to the right patient."

His mind reeled.

The illusion had shifted, warping reality around him, but the only person duplicated was Ambrose.

Why?

Carter clenched his fists. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He was done playing games.

He locked eyes with the Ambrose beside him. "Tell me right now. Who the hell are you?"

He stared at him, his pulse quickening. "Are you even real?"

Ambrose didn't respond.

Silence.

Then, a voice behind Carter spoke. "You have to administer the cure." Carter spun around.

His eyes darted between the two figures. One was standing beside him. The other near the medical tray. Identical.

One of them was fake.

The second Ambrose spoke again, voice calm and steady. "Carter, you just have to make the right choice."

It was perfect. The same expression. The same posture. The same lack of emotion.

Carter gritted his teeth. His mind screamed at him to think, to focus, but the presence of his dead family, the suffocating atmosphere, the way both Ambroses were just standing there.

It was too much.

His breath was ragged. He had to choose.

His grip tightened around the syringe.

He lunged.

The needle sank into the chest of the second Ambrose.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then, the fake Ambrose smirked.

"Wrong choice."

Pain exploded in Carter's chest. He staggered backward, choking as an invisible force crushed his ribs.

The illusion shattered.

The patients melted away, their forms twisting into grotesque shadows with jagged grins.

Ambrose, the real Ambrose, stood motionless, watching as Carter struggled.

Carter's vision blurred. He let out a guttural scream.

And then,

He was gone.

Nothing remained but the cold, empty air.

Ambrose exhaled slowly, adjusting his gloves. He walked towards the tray, ignoring the lingering remnants of Carter's presence.

He picked up the correct syringe, administered the cure to the real patient hidden among the illusions, and the room unlocked.

The yellow door disappeared.

And just like that, he was somewhere else.

—

When Arya was yanked into the darkness, the world around her twisted violently. One moment she was in the operating room, the next, she was in what looked like a mechanical void, endless corridors shifting and pulsing as if alive.

Cold fingers brushed against her skin, unseen figures whispering in her ears.

You don't belong here.

A sharp pain shot through her skull, and she gasped. Her Structural Insight ability activated instinctively, allowing her to perceive the room's hidden mechanics, shadows that weren't real, walls that weren't solid.

It was all an illusion.

But that didn't mean it couldn't kill her.

The hallway ahead suddenly shifted, forming an exit, but her instincts screamed that it was a trap. The real exit had to be somewhere else.

A whisper behind her.

Turning sharply, she found herself face to face with… Zack.

"Come on," he urged, his hand outstretched. "I found the way out."

Her breath hitched. The System was trying to trick her again.

She studied him carefully, scanning for inconsistencies. Then she saw it, his shadow was flickering unnaturally, like a broken reflection.

"You're not real."

"Of course I am." Zack's smile didn't reach his eyes. A shiver crawled up her spine.

Then, a sudden burst of movement. A hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her back just as the fake Zack lunged.

Arya gasped, looking up. Ambrose.

His Unyielding Shield ability flared as the illusionary Zack's attack phased right through him, dispersing into nothing.

"Move," Ambrose ordered, pulling her toward the real exit, the one she hadn't noticed before.

She didn't question it. She ran.

Just before they crossed the threshold, she glanced back. The fake Zack's face twisted into a grotesque, inhuman grin before vanishing into the void.

And then, they were out.

Gasping for breath, Arya looked up at Ambrose, chest heaving. "You… how did you know?"

Ambrose simply adjusted his sleeves, expression unreadable. "Because I saw the truth."

Arya swallowed hard, staring at him. For the first time, doubt wavered. Maybe he wasn't the enemy she thought he was.

Maybe, just maybe… she could trust him.