Hope rubbed his eyes, still groggy from sleep.
The echo of the bell still rang in his ears, a sharp, piercing chime that had pulled him from unconsciousness.
His eyes darted around the room.
The skinny one, the muscular one, and the silver-haired girl were already awake, moving with familiar ease, as if they had done this a hundred times before.
Hope, on the other hand, had to take a moment to shake off the lingering haze of sleep.
"What's the bell for?" he muttered, voice rough from just waking up.
The skinny one turned slightly, casting him a glance.
"It's a call to the hall," he explained in a matter-of-fact tone. "Announcements first, then breakfast."
Hope nodded absently.
That last part caught his attention.
"Food is good," he thought, his stomach already preparing itself for a meal.
For a brief second, he could almost taste it.
Warm food. Real food.
Not the half-rotten scraps he had stolen back in the outskirts. Not the bland, tasteless synthpaste he had eaten earlier.
Actual food.
The thought made his mouth water.
He quickly wiped the corner of his lips, making sure no one saw him.
The last thing he needed was to look like some hungry dog.
As they stepped out of the room, Hope took in the crowd forming in the hallway.
Young people around his age—or a bit older or younger—were moving hurriedly, all heading in the same direction.
It was a sea of faces, some eager, some nervous, others completely expressionless.
Hope studied them as they moved.
Some were tall and broad-shouldered, their movements controlled, almost military-like.
Some had an air of confidence, walking as if they belonged here.
Then there were others like him—drifters.
People who looked out of place, their eyes darting around, their postures unsure.
It wasn't hard to tell the difference between those who had been trained for this and those who had survived by sheer luck.
Hope wasn't blind to where he stood.
He had no training.
No family legacy.
No powerful connections.
Just a scavenger who had beaten the odds once.
But once wasn't enough.
Not here.
Hope shook off the thought and blended into the moving crowd, keeping a low profile as they made their way into the hall.
The Hall
The moment he stepped inside, Hope's eyes widened slightly.
The gathering hall was massive.
Rows of metal chairs filled the space, sectioned off into different areas.
A large platform stood at the front, with a long table where several figures were seated—most likely supervisors or higher-ups.
At the very center of the platform was a podium, where the main speaker would stand.
The walls were lined with large screens, currently displaying a symbol—a black emblem, shaped like a rising flame, encased within a circle.
Hope memorized it instantly.
"The Government Institute's insignia."
There was a low hum of voices as people settled into their seats.
Hope found himself guided by the flow of the crowd, ending up near the middle row, sitting beside the skinny one while the muscular one and silver-haired girl sat to their right.
As he sat down, he noticed something.
A distinct separation among the people in the hall.
The front rows were filled with those who had straight backs and focused expressions—people who had been trained for this life.
The middle and back rows were filled with the rest—people like him, who had barely scraped through their first trial.
"Tch. Even in a place like this, there's a hierarchy," Hope thought, clicking his tongue.
Before he could think too much about it, the chatter around him died down.
A sharp sound rang through the hall.
A single step.
Boots against the metal floor.
Hope's gaze snapped toward the podium, where a figure was walking onto the stage.
A man.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wearing a high-ranking military uniform, with a long black coat draped over his shoulders.
His presence alone was commanding, his movements precise, as if calculated down to the millimeter.
The hall fell into silence as he stopped at the podium.
His eyes swept over the crowd.
Cold. Analytical.
He had the look of a man who had seen battle, who had walked through blood and emerged unshaken.
Then, he spoke.
"Welcome, Awakened."
His voice was deep and steady, carrying an undeniable weight.
"You are here because you survived."
A brief pause.
His gaze moved over them again, and Hope felt as if the man was looking straight into his soul.
"But survival is not enough."
The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
Hope's fingers curled slightly.
"Not for what comes next."