"AHHHH!"
Lifting his upper body sharply, Joe screamed at the top of his lungs.
He quickly placed a trembling hand against his chest, feeling his heart still beating rapidly—a desperate, frantic drum against his ribs. His bedsheets were soaked through with sweat from the nightmare he’d just had. A few moments later, his entire body, from his neck down to his toes, began to ache with a dull, throbbing pain.
"Crap... a nightmare," Joe muttered to himself, gasping for air. "Another one. I haven’t been getting the best sleep."
He tried to climb out of bed, but every part of his body screamed in protest. Every muscle fiber protested. When he finally managed to stand up, he turned around to look at the bed. There were dark, noticeable bloodstains on certain parts of the white sheets. Some of his deeper wounds were still in the middle of healing, and others had opened up in his restless, panicked sleep.
There was nothing severe, thankfully. Medical staff were constantly on site to clean his wounds and ensure Joe didn’t get any type of infection. But as he looked at the stains, he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. If he did have an infection, at least that would be a concrete excuse for him to not come in. A legitimate reason to run.
As he made himself a quick, tasteless breakfast, he could feel his hand shaking. Part of it was from pain, but the other, larger part was pure, unadulterated fear.
When he finally sat down to look at his food, he placed both hands on his head, gripping his hair tightly.
"I used to look forward to heading in and seeing the others," he whispered, the words heavy with despair. "Hanging out with Max, training with Stephen, and seeing what would happen next. Even the painful training or the scary fights, I knew I would come out better from it at the end of the tunnel... but now, I don’t want to go in... I don’t want to feel pain anymore."
Everything was getting to Joe. The psychological effect of what was happening was growing exponentially, crippling his will.
He didn’t feel any nearer to unlocking this special power that everyone else had achieved. He wondered why he was so slow. Why was he the last one?
Along with that self-doubt, he knew for a fact that Aron would be upping the pain and the suffering he had to go through today. Going in, knowing that your body was going to be tortured more than it was the day before, took an immense amount of his will just to show up.
After finishing his barely touched food, he was meant to head over to the training center, but he just sat in his seat for a long time, staring into space.
"If I give up though, if I don’t turn up, then what am I meant to do exactly?" Joe asked the empty room. "I already ran away from home, and it’s only because of Max’s money that I’m able to live in such a place on my own."
He swallowed hard, trying to justify the terror he felt. "I enjoy helping Max. I want to. But isn’t he asking a bit too much of me?"
The thing was, when Joe thought about it logically, if he didn’t do this, then what was he meant to do? His whole life he had been a delinquent with horrible grades. Part of the fear of quitting was the money aspect—he would never have a job that would pay this much. The other, crushing part of it was letting Max down, and letting everyone else down, as everyone had managed to accomplish something monumental while he lagged behind.
In the end, though, the faint spark of loyalty and hope flickered to life. Joe decided to go. Maybe today would finally be the day he could unlock it. The more he was scared of what was going to happen to him, the higher chance there was that things would work out, right?
When Joe turned up at the training center, Aron was already waiting.
The intense pounding and rubber bullets began immediately, quickly followed by the stinging cuts.
While taking the hits, Joe was starting to think, repeating in his head that he could die from the wounds. He looked at the flashing dagger and thought: If I don’t move, I’m going to get stabbed.
During all of this internal monologue, that was when Aron, the cold observer, noticed something crucial.
Joe was fighting worse than ever. He wasn’t trying to get a hit on Aron like all the rest of them. His genuine fight-or-flight response hadn’t been activated. He was just thinking too much, trying desperately to convince himself that this was a life-or-death situation instead of actually feeling it.
That was when Aron had decided to do something drastic.
Aron moved with blinding speed, a shift in his usual restraint, and he deliberately shoved the blade right into Joe’s shoulder.
It wasn’t a cut this time. He had stabbed him, and then pulled the dagger out with a sickening squelch.
"If you don’t get that treated and apply pressure, it’s going to get nasty," Aron stated, his voice flat, yet carrying a dark warning. "And next time, that might hit a more vital spot."
Blood immediately started to pour, and Joe, spurred by the sharp, terrifying reality of the deep wound, rushed to find the medical staff.
They were quick to treat him and stitch him up. Meanwhile, the others were standing there in disbelief, watching the medical team work.
"I knew that it might happen, because I could feel how little he was holding back when I was fighting him," Darno whispered, horrified. "But I didn’t think we would actually see him do it. Is he going to be okay?"
That was the question on everyone’s mind. After getting stitched up and told to rest, Joe was meant to return to the training center to try again after the wound was bandaged.
But when they stood there waiting, Joe never returned.
Instead, Stephen came back from the medical bay, his face grave.
"It looks like Joe has run away," Stephen announced, the words echoing heavily in the suddenly silent training room.