The Academy's digital leaderboard updated—bold, bright, and irreversible.
1: Malik Barn
Ability: Adaptive Extraction
The hall fell into a suffocating silence. Heads snapped toward the screen. Gasps ignited like wildfire.
Frank, walking beside Malik, stopped mid-step. "What... the—?"
"I didn't—" Malik started, his voice barely audible.
After the group reunited, Peter leaned in, eyes sharp. "You didn't register this?"
"No," Malik said quickly. "Only us knew."
Xander's gaze flickered between the board and their faces. "Then how?"
Margaret was already rifling through her notepad. "Someone leaked it."
Frank's jaw clenched, eyes narrowing. "Who could—?" His gaze flicked suspiciously around the group, tension thickening like a storm cloud.
"Hold on," Peter raised both hands. "Let's not tear each other apart. Anyone could have overheard. Instructor. Spy. Tech."
"Or someone right here," Frank cut in. "He jumped to first again, but this time, his secret's out. Someone wanted that."
Malik took a shaky step back. "You think I wanted this? That I asked for the label 'Adaptive Extraction'? I don't even know what it fully means."
Margaret's voice dropped, sharper now. "It means you take what's not yours. That's how they'll spin it."
Back in the dorms, whispers followed Malik like a shadow storm. Some avoided him. Others stared, unblinking.
"Extractor."
"Mutant thief."
"Spy."
Malik locked his door tight that night, the walls closing in. "Why now?" he whispered to the dark. "Why reveal this now?"
---
The next day, Margaret summoned them all to the gym roof, where wind shredded silence through the metal beams.
"We're being watched," she said bluntly, placing a small device on the ground.
"A Sweeper. Military-grade. Picks up spy tech."
The scanner screamed red. Xander crouched beside it. "Not school. Frequency's off. Foreign."
"Invaders," Frank muttered. "Or maybe they've been here all along."
Margaret's voice tightened. "Someone's feeding them our data. They're using Malik to sow chaos."
Peter stepped forward, eyes hard. "We shut down. Stop training. Lay low."
"No," Malik said, voice firmer than before. "They want me scared. Isolated. If I hide, they win."
Xander exchanged looks with the others. "So we move forward. But smarter. Pretend to distrust each other."
Margaret finished, "But secretly, we train harder. Dig deeper. Find the leak."
Frank cracked a grin. "Bait the spy."
Peter nodded. "And when they come for us…"
"They'll learn," Malik said, "what adaptive extraction really means."
---
Elsewhere, deep beneath the academy, a masked figure watched the rooftop meeting through a hidden monitor.
"They're smarter than we thought," a voice murmured.
Another replied, cold and clipped: "Yes. But he's marked. One mistake, that's all we need."
The screen froze on Malik's face.
"Let the extraction begin."
---
The school schedule changed, with the tournament postponed; the students were allowed to explore, self-train, and have a break.
Malik stood before the sealed terminal in the basement archives. Its glow painted his eyes with cold light. The lock required advanced access and biometric approval, reserved for instructors and high faculty. Unless, of course, you had a certain ability.
His palm pressed against the scanner. Resistance hummed. Then—click. The door slid open.
The room was small but dense—old servers, banned research, redacted logs from before the Continental Academy even existed. Malik stepped in, heart hammering.
"If I know what I am... maybe I can control it."
He hadn't told anyone. Not Margaret. Not the group. This was too dangerous to share. If he was watched—and he knew he was—bringing others would only endanger them.
The lights flickered. A voice crackled behind him.
"You shouldn't have come here alone, Malik."
He spun.
The instructor who'd once tried to manipulate him—the one left hospitalized—stepped from the shadows. But no hospital bed this time. Just a smile, cold and slow.
"You just made this very easy."
---
Back on the roof, the group waited.
"He's late," Xander said, scanning the horizon. "Never misses rooftop."
Frank frowned. "Did he tell you where he was going?"
Peter shook his head. "I would've stopped him."
"I warned him," Margaret muttered, "not to carry this alone."
She pulled out the same scanner. A red blip blinked on the map. "Archives."
Xander arched an eyebrow. "Access there is restricted."
"Exactly," Margaret said, already moving. "We go. Now."
---
Inside the Archives, Malik sprinted through rows of cold bio-tech and containment cases. The instructor's energy surged—a wave of electromagnetic force collapsing the floor behind him.
"You're not even using your power," the instructor hissed. "What are you waiting for?"
Another surge nearly clipped Malik's shoulder.
"I don't need to fight you," Malik gasped, ducking under a beam. "I need to know what I am."
The instructor smiled darkly. "Answer? You were built. Not a mistake. A prototype. The perfect infiltrator."
Malik froze.
"Shelved. Too dangerous. Too unpredictable. Until someone—me—found a reason to revive you."
Malik's hands trembled. Lie? Trap? Or worse—the truth?
---
The group reached the Archives just as Margaret hacked the override panel.
Peter's voice was calm but tense. "Open the door. Get ready."
Frank vanished, slipping into invisibility.
The door burst open.
The corridor was empty. Silent.
Then—
A blast echoed deep inside.
They ran.
---
Inside, Malik crouched behind a toppled server rack, breath shallow, mind racing.
The instructor cornered him again.
But this time, fear was gone. Clarity burned instead.
"If I'm a weapon," Malik muttered, rising, "I'll choose who I fight for."
He charged.
The power snapped back.
The instructor's eyes went wide—abilities drained, hands falling limp.
Malik didn't stop.
He slammed the man against a wall. Silence.
Footsteps thundered.
"Malik!" Xander's voice.
They saw the wreckage, sparks, the unconscious man.
"What did you do?" Frank asked, stunned.
Malik turned, voice weary. "I tried alone. I was wrong. I need you."
Margaret placed a hand on his shoulder, steadying. "Next time, don't. You're not alone."
---
Later, the injured instructor was rushed again to the med-bay.
In a shadowed faculty hall, a masked figure whispered into a comm link:
"He accessed the prototype files. The group's bond is stronger than expected."
"Then we break it," came the reply.
"Understood. Initiating Phase Two."