The first thing he felt wasn't cold. Instead, he heard a sharp hiss as the liquid gave way to the steady grind of hidden machines.
Where is the fluid going? The question kept repeating in his mind as confusion quickly built up. What the hell is happening?
A calm, artificial voice filled the chamber, louder than the sounds of the machinery.
"WARNING: Cryo-stasis breach. Coolant integrity failure."
The shell clicked open. He fell out and hit a cold metal grate, wet with fluid. He pushed himself up, but his legs were too weak to stand. Gripping the edge, he swayed as his vision blurred and his head spun.
The steady, synthesized loop repeated: "WARNING: Containment door is unlocked. Environment exposure imminent."
I have to move. Now.
He pushed himself forward, fighting the nausea, and shuffled across the cold metal until he reached a glowing terminal in a nearby alcove. Holding onto the console for support, he blinked to clear his vision. When the display came into focus, he saw a folder next to the screen and picked it up.
Most of the file was blacked out, except for a few details that stood out.
NAME: JACE CALIX.
FATHER: C. CALIX.
CLASSIFICATION: EXPERIMENTAL HOST.
The betrayal hurt more than any pain. He remembered his father's cold face and the money changing hands. "This is for the best," his father had said. Jace's face twisted with anger as he whispered, his voice rough and broken.
"He... he sold me..."
He squeezed the paper so hard it tore. Realizing what he had done, he quickly pulled his hands away from the desk as if burned.
"Rot in hell," Jace cursed, his voice filled with venomous hate.
He dropped the file.
Lost in thought, he noticed something else on the desk: a heavy ring with a dull shine. He picked it up, hesitated for a moment, then put it on, feeling its weight steady him.
On a whim, Jace touched the ring to the side of the terminal. The screen flickered, a soft chime sounded, and one of the status lights turned green. He frowned and looked at the ring. It was a key, not just a keepsake. Maybe it was meant to help him get through this place.
Now it was about survival. Everything had changed. His mission was different.
Jace left the Cryo Bay and paused at the doorway, trying to figure out where he was.
"Great. A maze. Why is it never a straight line?" he muttered, speaking to himself and the empty darkness.
Shadows filled the corridor, making it feel like the inside of a sunken ship. The air was thick with ozone, old oil, and rust. His footsteps echoed as he walked down the narrow metal walkway, trying to find his way through the maze of halls.
"What in the world is going on here?" he muttered, looking at the next intersection.
Pipes ran along the low ceiling, dripping water, and faded warning stripes covered the floor. Every few steps, he checked the old, torn map bolted to the wall at each intersection:
SUBLEVEL B1 - QUARTERS
SUBLEVEL B2 - RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT
SUBLEVEL B3 - REACTOR
The map showed the truth: he was in a three-story underground bunker. It was more than a prison; it was a maze. Doors lined the hall, some locked with blinking red lights, others open to dark, empty rooms. Far below, he heard machines rumbling, water dripping, and a cold draft coming through the cracks. Everything around him felt abandoned and secret.
He followed the signs to the RESEARCH & DEVELOPMENT. The heavy door was crooked, its lock broken. Inside, the room was a mess. Glass crunched under his feet and the air smelled of old chemicals. Along the far wall, broken cryo-pods sat in ruins. Some were shattered and empty, others still fogged and silent. The main testing chamber's glass was cracked and had a large hole in the center. Rainwater dripped from above, forming puddles on the floor.
He moved past an overturned gurney to a research table covered with folders and loose papers. Most were ruined by water or blacked out, but one folder labeled FOOLS PROJECT stood out. He opened it and saw pages full of technical terms, diagrams of the human nervous system, and a list of names—including his own. Phrases like "subject viability," "core synchronization," and "cognitive bleed" jumped out at him. The file was heavily redacted, but it was clear this was not normal research.
A chill went through him. Who were the real fools: the subjects, or the people running the project?
He shoved the folder into his jacket, his heart racing. He needed to keep moving.
Jace went back into the hall and checked the map again, following faded arrows to the AVR. The door was open, and the room inside was small and tense, like a steel cave. Shelves were full of binders and tapes. A battered CRT television sat in the corner, connected to a console with strange buttons and a blinking port. Dust filled the air, and a harsh fluorescent light flickered overhead. The room felt full of hidden secret
How does this even work? Jace wondered as he ran his finger over the strange buttons. The technology was old.
Curious and desperate, he picked up a random tape. The worn label read: AUGUST 2040 - TEST 456. The date felt ancient. He put the tape into the machine.
The mechanism whirred to life, awakening a strange nostalgia as the screen flickered with restless static.
The static cleared, replaced by the grainy, flickering timestamp of an old security feed: AUGUST 2040 – TEST 456. A suited scientist, ID tag reading "Dr. Falmouth," entered the frame.
Two guards dragged a terrified, thrashing subject into the chamber, strapping them down onto a cold metal table. The camera lens caught every detail in washed-out monochrome: the subject's wild eyes, the glint of restraints. Another researcher appeared, cradling a thick, reinforced glass box that pulsed with a roiling, dark energy from within.
He set the container on the table beside the subject and, at Dr. Falmouth's nod, opened it. Instantly, formless black matter spilled out, writhing like living smoke. As the subject screamed and fought the restraints, the black matter engulfed their body, swallowing their features in shadow as the screams rose to a frantic, distorted pitch.
The technical display in the corner spiked with unreadable values, and the tape warped with static as the subject vanished beneath the seething darkness.
"What in the f–" Jace muttered, the question dying in his throat.
He turned off the machine. His face went pale and his eyes widened in shock. This wasn't a rescue—it was a disaster. Jace stood still as the cold crept into his bones. He took two deep breaths, trying to push the screams out of his mind.
I don't know what the fuck is that but I need to move.
He searched the room, opening desk drawers and moving stacks of binders. Behind a fallen chair, he found a dusty box with his name on it, the ink faded. Inside were fantasy novels with worn covers, some manga, and a few educational tapes.
One particular fantasy novel caught his eye—a book titled 'The Solo Leveler.' As Jace thumbed through the familiar cover, scenes from the story flashed in his mind: a lone protagonist, battered but never broken, climbing floors in a world filled with monsters and impossible odds.
For a moment, the flickering lights overhead seemed to cast his shadow long and solitary, just like the hero grinding alone in dungeons, leveling up with every hard-won victory.
He realized he was facing his own set of challenges, with no one to help him. Every step forward would take effort and determination. The thought gave him strength. If the Solo Leveler kept going, maybe he could too.
It hit him: someone had cared. The box was proof. Jace's frozen mask softened. A desperate glint of hope kindled in his eyes. Someone, somewhere, had preserved a piece of his existence.
He secured his base in the AVR lab, knowledge fueling a cold, desperate resolve.
His survival had just begun.