First Movement X

The imposing gates of the Humanity Stronghold Kingdom (HSK) loomed before Wrex Stroggan, their sleek metallic surface shimmering with a faint blue hue under the morning sun. The sheer scale of the facility struck him—a fortress of innovation, discipline, and control. Around him, recruits bustled through the gates, some eager, others indifferent, but all clad in standard-issue uniforms bearing the insignia of the 8 Superentis.

Wrex adjusted the strap of his pack, still uneasy about the idea of entering such a regimented institution. Setent’s words rang in his head: “The truth is up there, but you need to train and learn a lot to get there. Even then, you might end up brainwashed like them.” Wrex wasn’t sure what to make of that cryptic remark, but his curiosity—and growing ambition—compelled him forward.

The interior of the HSK was a marvel of human ingenuity. Holographic panels floated mid-air, displaying schedules, training assignments, and motivational messages. The facility was immaculate, with walls that shimmered like glass but emitted a faint hum of energy. The logo of the 8 Superentis—a symbol of infinity intertwined with a representation of the Montlaif—was omnipresent, etched into every surface.

As Wrex made his way through the halls, he passed a group of trainees gathered in front of a shrine-like structure in the atrium. At its center was a vessel containing a small sample of Montlaif, encased in a transparent field. The liquid sparkled as though it held the cosmos within, its soft glow casting an ethereal light.

The trainees knelt in silence, their heads bowed. A holographic projection of a calm, authoritative figure floated above the vessel, delivering words that felt more like a sermon than an explanation.

“Montlaif is not merely a resource,” the voice intoned. “It is a gift, a divine revelation that brought humanity out of its darkest days. It binds us together, nourishes our world, and ensures that our future remains bright and prosperous. Trust in its power, for it cannot be corrupted, nor can it falter. The future is unshakable, for it is built upon the foundation of Montlaif.”

Wrex’s gaze lingered on the scene. The reverence in the trainees’ expressions was unsettling. It wasn’t just respect for a revolutionary resource—it was worship.

“Still amazes me how far we’ve fallen,” a voice behind him muttered.

Wrex turned to see Errick, his old mentor, standing with his arms crossed.

“They call it progress,” Errick continued, his voice tinged with sarcasm. “But it looks a lot like blind faith to me. Montlaif may have saved us, but people forget—it’s just a tool. And tools can be used, misused, or broken.”

Wrex found himself in a room that felt more like a simulation chamber than a traditional gym. The walls were sleek and dark, the floor covered in a material that shifted texture under his feet. A single console stood in the center, glowing faintly.

“This is your first test,” Errick announced, gesturing to the console. “Here, you’ll face yourself—literally.”

Wrex raised an eyebrow. “Myself?”

Errick smirked. “The HSK doesn’t train you against generic opponents. Instead, we build a profile based on every piece of data the system has on you. Every fight you’ve had, every decision you’ve made—it’s all here. The system will create a version of you, not just physically but mentally. If you want to progress, you’ll have to defeat it.”

Before Wrex could process the implications, Errick pressed a button on the console. The room darkened, and a figure materialized in front of him. It was like looking into a mirror, but this doppelgänger carried an air of menace. Its movements were fluid yet mechanical, its eyes glowing faintly with a blue tint.

The fight began with a rush of motion. Wrex barely had time to react as his opponent lunged forward, striking with precision that mirrored his own. He blocked the blow, his muscles tensing as he realized the clone wasn’t just mimicking his style—it was improving on it.

The doppelgänger adapted quickly, exploiting weaknesses in Wrex’s stance that even he wasn’t aware of. Each strike forced Wrex to rethink his approach, pushing him to his limits.

“You’re fighting yourself,” Errick’s voice echoed from the sidelines. “Every mistake you’ve made, every doubt you carry—it knows them all. Use your instincts. Adapt!”

Wrex gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay calm. He began to notice patterns in the clone’s movements, subtle tells that betrayed its next move. He countered with a swift kick, catching the clone off guard and sending it staggering backward.

But the fight was far from over.

After the simulation ended, Wrex sat in the recovery chamber, nursing a sore shoulder. Around him, other trainees exchanged stories of their matches, their excitement palpable. But one conversation caught his attention.

“You know, they say Montlaif isn’t just a resource—it’s alive,” one trainee whispered.

“Alive? Come on,” another replied, laughing.

“I’m serious! The government keeps saying it can’t be tampered with. That it’s incorruptible. How can they know that unless it has a mind of its own?”

“Even if it does, who cares? Montlaif is perfect. It’s the reason we’re living like this, not scavenging for scraps like the old days.”

Wrex’s stomach churned. The faith people had in Montlaif and the technology derived from it was unsettling. It was as though they believed humanity’s problems had been solved forever, that the future was immune to failure.

As Wrex exited the training room, his thoughts were a whirlwind of questions. He was so lost in thought that he almost didn’t notice the figure brushing past him in the hallway.

“Hey, watch it,” Wrex muttered, but the figure was already gone.

It wasn’t until he reached his quarters that he noticed the slip of paper tucked into his jacket pocket. He unfolded it carefully, the faint smell of oil and machinery clinging to the paper.

“The truth isn’t just up there—it’s buried in the past. Find the cracks, and you’ll find the way.”

Wrex sat in his quarters, staring at the cryptic note as the weight of realization settled over him. He knew deep down that this world, with all its utopian façade and technological marvels, was under constant surveillance—every move, every word meticulously monitored. The idea that they could already be watching him sent a chill down his spine, but he resolved to tread carefully, formulating a plan to stay one step ahead.

For now, that plan remained shrouded even to himself, a flicker of an idea yet to take shape. But one thing was certain: he couldn’t trust anyone, not fully. The walls around him, for all their perfection, felt like a cage, and Wrex was determined to find a way to escape their watchful eyes.