The training chamber felt smaller than before.
Jones noticed it the moment he stepped inside. Same reinforced walls. Same gravity calibration. Same neutral lighting. Yet everything felt tighter—like the room itself was watching him breathe.
New cameras lined the ceiling.
Oversight didn't bother hiding anymore.
Derick stood at the control console, arms crossed, eyes sharp. "They installed live monitoring," he said. "No delay. No filters."
Jones nodded. "So they'll see everything."
"Exactly," Derick replied. "Which means today isn't about pushing limits."
Jones tilted his head. "Then what is it about?"
Derick met his gaze. "Control."
The floor shifted beneath Jones's feet as weighted restraints locked onto his legs and arms. Not heavy—but precise. Calculated to restrict micro-adjustments.
Jones flexed instinctively.
Warning indicators flared.
*Movement inefficiency detected.*
He clenched his jaw. *Already.*
"Basic drills only," Derick said. "Walking. Turning. Balance recovery."
Jones took a step.
His body overcorrected. The restraint fought his momentum, and he stumbled—barely catching himself before hitting the floor.
The room stayed silent.
Jones straightened slowly. "I didn't miscalculate."
"I know," Derick said quietly. "You adapted faster than the limiter expected."
Jones tried again. Slower this time. Measured. He forced himself to ignore instinct and follow the system's suggested movements.
It felt wrong.
Like trying to breathe while counting every inhale.
Minutes passed. Sweat didn't come—but strain did. His processors heated, compensating for the unnatural pacing.
"You're fighting yourself," Derick said.
Jones stopped. "Because this isn't how I move."
"And that," Derick replied, glancing at the cameras, "is what scares them."
Jones resumed. Step by step. Turn. Pause. Balance reset.
Each movement chipped at something inside him.
*If I keep obeying… how long before I forget what felt natural?*
Suddenly, the chamber lights shifted.
Red.
An alert tone sounded.
Derick snapped upright. "What the hell—"