The simulation chamber was a vast, hollow cathedral of cold steel and dampened sound until the projectors hummed to life. In a heartbeat, the reality of the facility fractured.
The gray, sterile walls vanished, replaced by the vibrating, claustrophobic interior of a Svyatogor cargo boggie.
The realism was sickening. Borislav's tech was top-tier, and he clearly wasn't holding back. I could feel the rhythmic thrum-thrum of the heavy iron wheels on the tracks beneath my boots—a vibration that traveled up through my shins and settled in my teeth.
The air inside the boggie was heavy with the simulated scent of hot oil, scorched ozone, and the metallic tang of old rust. Outside the reinforced windows, a blurred landscape of Russian tundra whipped past at two hundred kilometers per hour, a dizzying smear of white and gray.
"Suits active," Borislav's voice crackled over the intercom, sounding like a distant god.
"Feedback threshold is at eighty percent. If you get hit, the haptic suit will simulate the trauma. You feel the sting, you feel the burn, and you feel the shock. If your vitals hit zero, you fail the cull. Don't die; I've spent too much on your training to watch you flop on the floor like a fish."
I adjusted the straps of the heavy haptic vest, the sensors biting into my ribs like cold teeth. Every time I shifted my weight, the dull throb in my neck reminded me of the night before—the phantom sensation of Miran's iron grip still lingering on my skin.
"Stay sharp," Miran's voice cut through the simulated roar of the wind.
He didn't look back at me, but I could see the lethal tension in his shoulders. He was already moving toward the first security gate—a forest of shifting red laser grids that hummed with a low, deadly frequency.
"Junseo, take the flank! Watch the ceiling vents!" I ordered, trying to force my voice into a position of authority. "I'll handle the floor sensors. Miran, keep the perimeter clear."
Junseo moved with a grace that usually surprised people who only saw his playful side. He didn't hesitate; he launched himself toward the side of the car, hooking his boots into the recessed ridges of the cargo crates.
He climbed with the agility of a spider, his eyes scanning the darkness above for the automated turrets we knew were hidden in the shadows.
"I've got eyes on the heat signatures in the vents, Hyung!" Junseo shouted over the noise. "They're tracking us. Don't stay in the center!"
I didn't need to be told twice. I dropped to my stomach, sliding across the vibrating floor.
The metal was cold and slick, and as I pulled my tool kit from my belt, the train "lurched" into a sharp, simulated rail-curve.
The gravity in the chamber shifted violently. The floor tilted, and I lost my footing, my boots sliding across the metal—straight into Miran's path.
I slammed into his back with enough force to knock the wind out of me. His body was like a wall of solid granite, immovable and radiating a heat that felt far too real for a hologram. Before I could scramble back, the car entered a 'dark zone' simulation. The lights failed instantly, plunging us into a strobe-lit crimson nightmare of emergency red pulses.
Miran's hand shot back with predatory speed, grabbing the front of my tactical jacket and hauling me up until my boots barely touched the floor. In the cramped, heaving space between the massive cargo crates and the pulsing laser wall, there was nowhere to go. He backed me into a corner, his large frame shielding me as a simulated turret dropped from the ceiling, its barrels glowing with heat.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
Pulse rounds hissed past us, thudding into the crates behind my head with a violent, bone-shaking thump. We were pressed chest-to-chest, the haptic vests vibrating in a chaotic, synchronized rhythm. I could smell him—the sharp, expensive tobacco, the scent of rain-chilled stone, and the salt of sweat.
"You're shaking, Thief," he whispered, his voice a low, guttural vibration against my forehead.
"It's the floor... the vibration," I gritted out through clenched teeth, though my heart was hammering against my ribs for a completely different reason. My hands were trapped between our chests, my palms resting against the cold, hard plates of his vest.
His face was inches from mine, his blue eyes glowing with the reflected red light of the emergency strobes. In this half-light, he looked less like a teammate and more like the reaper. His hand didn't move from my waist; his fingers dug into the fabric of my suit, anchoring me against him as the train "shook" again.
"Focus," he rasped, his gaze dropping to my mouth for a split second—a flicker of something dark and hungry—before snapping back to the turret. "If you trip again, I won't catch you. I'll let the sensors fry you where you stand."
"I don't need you to catch me," I hissed, even as I involuntarily leaned into his heat, my breath hitching in my throat. The proximity was suffocating; it felt like the air in the boggie had been sucked out, leaving only the scent of him.
"Liar," he breathed.
Suddenly, a loud clack echoed from above.
"Hyung! Miran! Get down!" Junseo's voice screamed.
High above us, Junseo had reached the turret's manual override. He was dangling precariously from a support beam by one hand, his other hand jammed into the turret's housing. He had bypassed the primary shielding, but it had triggered a feedback loop. A bright arc of blue electricity shot out, hitting Junseo's haptic suit.
He let out a strangled cry, his body jerking from the simulated shock, but he didn't let go.
"I've got... the manual... lock!" Junseo gasped, his face twisted in pain as the eighty-percent feedback surged through his vest. "Go! Now! I can only hold the turret for five seconds!"
The moment snapped. Miran shoved a pulse-pistol into my hand, his palm lingering against mine just a fraction of a second longer than necessary. The friction felt like a live wire.
"Junseo! Drop and roll!" Miran barked, breaking the heavy tension as the turret began to spin wildly. "Seol-wol, the vault.
Move like you want to live!"
I scrambled toward the far end of the car, my skin still tingling where Miran had touched me. The simulation was becoming a blur of high-stakes adrenaline and a confusion that I couldn't afford. As I reached the biometric lock of the vault, I realized the prize wasn't just behind a code—it was a dual-key system, meant to be operated by two people simultaneously.
"Miran! I need you!" I shouted over the roar of the wind and the hiss of escaping steam.
"It's a synchronized bypass! I can't hold the frequency alone!"
Miran was there in an instant, crowding into my personal space again. He didn't just stand next to me; he reached around me, his arms caging me against the cold steel of the vault door. I could feel the steady, powerful rise and fall of his chest against my shoulder blades. My fingers were shaking as I held the wires open, the blue light of the vault's screen illuminating our faces.
"Steady," he murmured, his voice right at my ear, the heat of his breath sending a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the freezing tundra outside.
His hands covered mine on the control panel, his long fingers guiding my movements. It was a strange, silent dance of precision. We were a heartbeat away from the blueprints, and a heartbeat away from the tension finally snapping.
"Three... two... one..." I whispered.
The vault door hissed, the heavy bolts sliding back with a thundering mechanical groan. But as the door swung open, the red lights didn't turn green. They turned a blinding, violent purple.
"Warning," a computerized voice echoed through the chamber. "Structural integrity compromised. Detonation in thirty seconds."
"It's a trap," Junseo yelled, dropping from the ceiling and landing hard next to us. "Borislav rigged the vault to blow if we took too long!"
Miran didn't hesitate. He grabbed the cylinder containing the blueprints with one hand and wrapped his other arm around my waist, pulling me back toward the exit.
"Run," Miran commanded, his voice like iron.
But the floor beneath us began to "break" away—a simulated derailment. The car tilted at a forty-five-degree angle, and the sound of screeching metal filled the air. We weren't just fighting a clock anymore; we were fighting a collapsing world.