The atmosphere in the training hall was tense.
Bright fluorescent lights beamed down on the students as they gathered around the combat arena, the hum of mechanical gears filling the air. The walls were reinforced with steel, a testament to the destructive power of the training sessions that took place here.
Today's lesson was combat training.
A row of combat droids stood at the ready, their metallic bodies gleaming under the lights. These weren't just simple machines—they were designed to mimic real opponents, programmed to analyze weaknesses and exploit them in battle.
Hope stood among the other students, waiting for his turn.
As the instructor called out for weapon selection, he stepped forward without hesitation and picked his choice:
Twin daggers.
They weren't ordinary daggers—curved like sickles, the blades sharp enough to cut through flesh like butter. They fit comfortably in his hands, the weight familiar, almost natural.
The instructor, a tall, battle-worn man with sharp eyes, scanned the group.
"Alright, begin!"
With a sharp motion, he signaled the start of the match.
The Battle Begins
Hope dashed forward, his movements practiced but not yet flawless. He still had gaps in his form, slight missteps in his footwork, but compared to when he first started? He was getting better.
His target—a humanoid combat droid—moved with terrifying precision, its glowing eyes tracking his every step.
Hope ducked under a sweeping punch, the air whistling above his head. His sickle-daggers flashed.
SLASH!
He carved a deep gash across the droid's metallic chest, sparks flying as its armor was torn open. But the machine didn't falter.
With inhuman reflexes, it retaliated, aiming a vicious strike at his ribs.
Hope barely twisted out of the way, feeling the wind of the impact brush against him. Too close.
He gritted his teeth and countered, his body moving on instinct. His daggers hooked into the droid's shoulder joint—CRACK!—tearing through synthetic muscle.
One of its arms jerked and malfunctioned, but it still fought on, swinging wildly.
Hope weaved through its attacks, landing precise strikes wherever he could.
He wasn't the strongest.
He wasn't the fastest.
But he knew how to fight smart.
Exploit weak points. Move efficiently. Conserve energy.
The instructor watched from the side, correcting students when needed. Some were hesitant, struggling to keep up with the relentless droids. Others were overconfident, leaving themselves open to counterattacks.
Hope?
He fought calculated and relentless—not perfect, but improving with each exchange.
The Voices Begin
And then—
The disturbance started.
A whisper.
Low, distant, crawling at the edges of his mind.
Hope ignored it.
Another attack came—he parried it, retaliated, and pressed forward.
But the whispers grew louder.
The voice was his own.
"You can never escape me."
His breath hitched for a split second, his focus wavering.
The droid took advantage, its metallic fist slamming into his stomach.
"Gh—!"
Pain exploded through him as he was knocked back, his boots skidding against the floor.
His grip on his daggers tightened.
Focus. Focus. Focus.
"You're doomed."
His own voice mocked him, laughter echoing in his skull.
Hope gritted his teeth, fighting through it.
The droid lunged again. He sidestepped, slashed across its knee joint, and brought it down.
Even as the whispers clawed at his mind, even as sweat dripped from his face, he kept fighting.
He wouldn't stop.
Not now.
Not ever.