Ah, fuck it. I touch the screen without further hesitation. I've already chosen the path of independence, might as well commit fully.

  The tablet's display transforms instantly, shifting to a dark interface with minimal green text. A loading indicator pulses for several seconds before a message appears:

  "Connection secured. Proximity network active. Welcome to Umbra."

  The screen fills with what appears to be a messaging system, along with several unlabeled folders. A new message appears as I watch:

  "New blood. Smart choice rejecting the sponsors. This is your unofficial orientation to independence. First rule: never mention Umbra on monitored channels. Second rule: data chip goes under your mattress when not in use, signal can't penetrate the composite materials. Meeting tonight, service tunnel J-17, access hatch in shower unit. 2200 hours. —M"

  Must be from Marcus. I slip the chip out of the tablet and the regular interface immediately returns. Holding the small device in my palm, I can feel its subtle warmth, some kind of continuous power source rather than the standard facility technology.

  Following the instructions, I lift my thin mattress telekinetically and slide the chip underneath before settling everything back in place. No sense taking unnecessary risks until I understand more about my new situation.

  My cramped quarters feel restrictive after my previous accommodation, but there's a strange sense of liberation in knowing I'm no longer directly under alien control. The monitoring devices I can detect are older models, less sophisticated than in the sponsored sectors.

  I explore the small room thoroughly, testing each surface with my telekinetic awareness. Behind a loose panel near the sanitation unit, I discover a small cavity, perhaps left by a previous occupant. A perfect hiding spot for anything I might need to conceal in the future.

  My tablet chimes with a notification, reminding me that Training Access in Facility 7 begins in thirty minutes. No time to waste, I need to maintain my physical and telekinetic development, especially now that I've chosen independence.

  I check my reflection in the small mirror above the sink. Same face looking back at me, but something's different in the eyes. More confident, no longer a trapped lab rat. Well, maybe just no longer a lab rat, I'm still trapped after all.

  There's still plenty of time until the service tunnel meeting tonight. For now, I need to see what kind of training facilities are available to independents like me. If I'm going to survive without sponsor protection, I'll need every advantage I can get.

  As I exit my quarters, I notice other independent assets moving through the corridor, each maintaining a careful distance from the others. Some bear the obvious marks of combat, scars, burns, irregularities in their enhanced physiologies. Veterans of the path I've just chosen.

  One woman with jagged scar tissue running down her left arm notices my scrutiny. "Fresh independent?" she asks, her voice surprisingly gentle despite her harsh appearance.

  "Just made the choice," I confirm.

  She nods once. "Training Facilities are shit compared to what you're used to, but it's enough if you know how to use it. Watch out for the monitors, they focus more on behavior than abilities there."

  Before I can thank her, she continues down the corridor, disappearing around a corner. My first interaction as an independent, brief but informative.

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  I follow the directions on my tablet through a maze of utilitarian corridors, mapping the new route in my mind and extending my telekinetic awareness to sense potential threats. I descend through two levels via a service elevator that creaks ominously. The deeper sections of the facility lack the polished aesthetic of the upper levels, exposed pipes run along ceilings, lighting flickers intermittently, and the air carries a faint metallic tang.

  Facility 7 comes into view as I round a corner, a repurposed storage area rather than a purpose-built training space. The entrance is marked by a simple scanner that pulses green when I press my palm against it. The door slides open with a grinding sound, revealing what passes for independent training resources.

  "Fuck," I mutter under my breath as I take in the scene.

  The space is about a quarter the size of the sponsored training bays, with equipment that looks at least two generations out of date. About fifteen other enhanced humans are scattered throughout the facility, each carving out their own small territory among the limited resources.

  The reinforced walls show signs of damage, scorch marks, impact craters, and what looks like acid burns from various power manifestations. Several monitoring devices hang from the ceiling, their tracking lights following movement throughout the room.

  A burly man with stone-like protrusions similar to Fissure's modifications is using a weight system that seems designed to test enhanced strength. Nearby, a woman with strange silver eyes manipulates sound waves, creating visible distortions in the air. In the far corner, two fighters spar within a crudely marked circle, their movements suggesting speed enhancement.

  I'm assessing the telekinetic training options when someone approaches from my peripheral vision, a thin man with half his face covered in a web of geometric scars.

  "New independent," he states rather than asks. "Looking lost."

  "Just getting oriented," I reply, keeping my voice neutral.

  He points toward a section of the facility equipped with various objects of different densities, metals, synthetics, and what appears to be specially weighted compounds.

  "Telekinetics work there," he says. "Equipment's shit compared to sponsored bays, but the basics are covered. I'm Vex. Spatial distortion."

  "Gary," I respond. "Telekinesis, mainly."

  Vex nods, the geometric scars on his face shifting slightly. "Word travels fast. You're the one who beat Fissure in observation. Then told the Crystalline Consortium to fuck off."

  I don't correct his characterization, instead moving toward the telekinetic section he indicated. The area contains basic lifting objects, precision targets, and a few damaged molecular density analyzers for measuring telekinetic output.

  As I begin warming up, lifting several metal spheres simultaneously, I notice the other independents watching me with varying degrees of interest. My performance in the observation match hasn't gone unnoticed, even down here.

  A woman with iridescent scales covering portions of her skin approaches, observing my practice. "Not bad," she comments. "I'm Iris. Chronomancer, minor time manipulation."

  "Gary," I reply again, maintaining my focus on the floating spheres.

  "Most of us use different names down here," she says, her scales shifting color slightly. "Facility designations are for those who buy into their system. You might want to consider something new."

  Before I can respond, an alarm blares briefly, causing everyone in the facility to pause their activities.

  "Heads up," Vex calls out. "Sponsored visitors."

  The main door slides open, and three enhanced humans enter, all bearing the distinctive crystalline implants of the Consortium. Their training attire is noticeably superior to the worn garments of the independents, and they move with the confidence of protected assets.

  The lead fighter, a tall woman with crystalline growths protruding from her shoulders, scans the room until her eyes lock onto me.

  "There he is," she says to her companions. "The one who refused Consortium sponsorship."

  The atmosphere in the facility shifts instantly, tension crackling through the air as the independents subtly position themselves. Some move closer to the walls, others drift toward the exits, while a few, including Vex and Iris, casually reposition themselves near me.

  "Consortium doesn't usually bother sending representatives down here," Iris murmurs, her scales flashing warning colors. "Seems you've made quite an impression."