The days blurred together as I trained in agility, hand-to-hand combat, and self-defense. Every repetition felt like an extension of my growing prowess, honing my skills until I could evaluate and react to any situation in an instant.

By the end of the week, Dr. Meyers said, "I think you're ready for the next step."

I raised an eyebrow, excitement barely contained. "What's the next step?"

"Weapons training," he said, matter-of-factly. "By the end of next week, you'll be able to field strip, reassemble, and shoot any type of firearm with deadly accuracy."

The thought made my stomach churn. I had never even held a gun, let alone fired one. But the challenge stirred something in me—a strange mix of fear and thrill.

Dr. Meyers walked me back to my room. His fingers briefly brushed against mine as he said, "You should get some rest. It's a big day tomorrow."

A spark of electricity shot through me at his touch, and I pulled away quickly. "Goodnight," I mumbled, slipping inside and closing the door behind me.

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, but sleep was elusive. Flashes of color filled my mind in chaotic bursts—disjointed images that made no sense. I bolted upright, my heart racing, drenched in cold sweat. What am I so scared of? I wondered, hugging my knees to my chest. It was just a nightmare. I took deep, slow breaths, forcing calm back into my body, and eventually drifted back to sleep.

The next morning, I awoke to the sound of the IV pump chiming beside me. After disconnecting it, I stretched and began my new morning routine—a series of yoga poses that helped center me before the day's challenges.

I found Dr. Meyers already waiting in the training center. "Morning, Doc," I chirped, eager to begin.

"Good morning, Alex. I trust you slept well?"

I hesitated, not wanting to mention the nightmare. "Slept like a baby," I lied with a forced smile. "Let's get started."

He strapped me into the familiar chair, the cables attached to my head. "We'll start with handguns and work our way up," he said, his fingers turning dials on the control panel.

The upload of data was always uncomfortable—the surge of information pouring into my mind, my muscles tensing against the restraints. Even though the process was brief, it felt like an eternity.

When it was over, I exhaled sharply, relaxing back into the chair as Dr. Meyers unstrapped me. He led me to the training floor, where a long table materialized, covered in disassembled gun parts.

"Five minutes," he said, standing behind the observation glass. "Assemble as many as you can. Starting...now."

The timer beneath the window began to count down. My hands moved on autopilot, assembling each weapon with precise, efficient movements. When the buzzer sounded, six guns lay fully assembled in front of me.

"A Ruger, a Glock, a Browning...well done for a first attempt," Dr. Meyers said, impressed. "Now, let's see how well you've put them together. Start with the targets at twenty-five yards."

The shooting range unfolded before me. I donned ear protection and loaded the first magazine into the Ruger. With my feet planted firmly, I disengaged the safety and squeezed the trigger. The shots came fast, each one hitting the paper target with exacting precision. As I emptied the clip, I ejected it, loaded the next, and repeated the process with each gun.

Satisfied, Dr. Meyers extended the range to fifty yards. Again, I fired twenty shots from each gun. When I was done, Dr. Meyers' voice crackled through the speaker. "Astounding. Look at this."

I frowned, thinking I had missed, but the video feed showed the opposite—each shot had landed through the same hole as the previous ones.

"That's a success," Dr. Meyers said with a smile. "Now, take a short breather while we set up the next test."

I rested in the chair, an IV refueling my body as Dr. Meyers prepped the next program. This time, I'd be handling long-range rifles. The new upload hit harder than the last, the data searing through my brain, my body aching as it absorbed the knowledge.

The rifle tests went smoothly, my accuracy perfect at every distance. With each test, the challenge increased—wind, height, and shifting conditions simulated real-life variables. But it wasn't until I found myself on top of a simulated building, looking down on a crowded city, that something broke.

My vision blurred, flashes of color and images ripping through my mind. I fell to my knees, hands clutching my head as the chaos overwhelmed me. Colors. Sounds. Shapes. A hand reaching for me—trying to catch me as I fell. Then, blackness.