I exhale, shaking off the fatigue as I step forward. Just what kind of hell have I been thrown into?

  As I walk through the doorway, I step into a massive open space with towering ceilings. About a dozen humans of various ages are gathered there, all wearing the same form-fitting suits as mine, the fabric pulsing with faint lights, probably monitoring our vitals. Some of them are showing off their abilities, a woman flicking tiny flames between her fingers, a man levitating inches above the floor. The room hums with raw energy, and for the first time, I realize I’m not alone in this nightmare.

  All eyes turn to me as I step forward, their expressions ranging from curiosity to outright evaluation. I can feel them sizing me up, judging whether I’m a potential ally, a rival, or just another soon-to-be failure.

  A tall, muscular guy with a shaved head strides up first, his posture oozing confidence. His narrowed eyes lock onto me with the sharp intensity of a predator.

  "Another lab rat joins the race," he says, his voice carrying a mix of challenge and amusement. "I'm Marcus. What's your trick, new blood?"

  I fold my arms, not eager to play into his game. "What's yours?"

  Marcus smirks at my response, as if amused by my resistance. He extends his hand, palm up. In an instant, a crackling blue energy dances between his fingers, intensifying until it spirals into a small, swirling vortex of electrical current. The air around him crackles with static, making the hairs on my arms stand up.

  "Bioelectrical manipulation," he says with evident pride. "I can generate, control, and absorb electrical currents. Been here three months and ranked second in combat trials." The electricity dissipates as he closes his fist. "They call me 'Surge' now. We all get designations based on our abilities."

  Marcus steps closer, his imposing frame towering over me. "But you didn't answer my question. What can you do, new blood?"

  Before I can respond, a woman with striking violet eyes approaches. Her dark hair is pulled back in a tight braid, and a thin metallic circlet rests on her forehead.

  "Give him space, Marcus," she says, her voice carrying authority despite her slim build. "Not everyone needs to peacock their abilities the moment they wake up."

  She turns to me with an appraising look. "I'm Elara. I was brought in four months ago. Telepathic abilities." She taps the circlet. "They give us these to keep us in check until we 'learn proper control,' or at least that's what they tell us."

  Marcus crosses his arms, the form-fitting suit accentuating his muscular physique. "Like it or not, we're all part of this now. The aliens call us 'Ascendants.' They claim the strongest of us will be given leadership positions when we're eventually sent back to Earth." His tone carries an edge of skepticism, as if he's not entirely convinced himself.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  "If they release us," Elara corrects. "Nothing is guaranteed."

  Around us, other enhanced humans demonstrate various abilities—a young woman manipulating the density of objects, twins creating sonic disruptions, a middle-aged man with remarkable healing capabilities.

  "The hierarchy here is simple," Marcus continues. "Perform well in tests, advance in rank. Higher ranks get better quarters, better food, more freedom. Fail to progress..." He gestures toward a separate area where several humans sit listlessly, looking defeated. "You join them. Those whose powers didn't develop as expected."

  Elara studies me with curious intensity. "I sense significant power in you. The aliens were excited about your arrival, more than usual. What exactly can you do?"

  The room has grown quieter as more of the enhanced humans turn their attention to me, waiting for my demonstration. In this new world of power and hierarchy, first impressions matter.

  "Telekinesis," I say simply, raising my hand and lifting a nearby water cup without touching it. The liquid inside remains perfectly still as I rotate the cup in mid-air before setting it down gently.

  Marcus nods, looking somewhat impressed despite himself. "Not bad for a newbie. Telekinetics are rare, only a couple others in the facility that I know of, and neither with your level of control on day one."

  Elara steps closer, lowering her voice. "There's something you should know," she says, glancing around to ensure no alien observers are nearby. "These 'Ascendant' roles they promise us? It's not what they claim."

  She guides me to a corner of the room where surveillance appears minimal. Marcus follows, his competitive demeanor shifting to something more conspiratorial.

  "The Elite Program isn't about helping humanity evolve," Elara continues. "We're being bred for combat. Gladiatorial games for their entertainment and gambling."

  Marcus nods grimly. "Different alien factions bid on us like racehorses. They enhance us, train us, and then pit us against each other in their arenas. Winners bring prestige to their owners. Losers..." He draws a finger across his throat.

  "How do you know this?" I ask, keeping my voice low.

  "I can read their minds, partially," Elara taps her circlet. "This limits my range, but sometimes when they're excited about a match, their mental barriers weaken. I've seen glimpses of massive arenas, crowds cheering as enhanced humans fight to the death."

  "The ranking system, the privileges, it's all designed to make us competitive, to turn us against each other," Marcus adds. "The more aggressive we become, the more valuable we are to them."

  Around us, the other enhanced humans continue their demonstrations, oblivious to the true purpose of their powers, or perhaps choosing to believe the aliens' promise of future leadership.

  "The 'tests' are just preliminary bouts," Elara explains. "They're assessing our combat potential, seeing which of us will make the most entertaining fighters. They've been doing this for years, harvesting humans from across Earth."

  A chime sounds overhead, and a door at the far end of the room slides open. Two blue-skinned aliens enter, accompanied by a human wearing an elaborate uniform adorned with what appear to be alien symbols of rank.

  "Attention Ascendants," the human announces. "Those designated for advanced training, report to Sector 7. New arrivals will remain for baseline assessment and facility orientation."

  As some of the enhanced humans file out, Marcus gives me a meaningful look. "Whatever powers you have—develop them quickly. Survival here depends on strength and strategy."

  Elara touches my arm lightly. "Be careful who you trust. Some have fully bought into the aliens' propaganda. Others..." She glances at the departing group. "Others have made private arrangements with their 'sponsors' for privileges."

  The uniformed human approaches me, tablet in hand. "Subject 7249, you've been assigned to Domicile Block C. Follow me for orientation."