Follow my substack to know the struggle behind every chapter
https://substack.com/@mrgarg/note/c-278465807?r=2m84ng
Chapter 13 Welcome to Bloom
Ira and I returned to Bloom several hours after the mission. The moment our hover car passed through the facility gates, armed security personnel escorted us straight to a large conference hall. When I walked in, I recognized faces — the survivors. Everyone who'd passed their final test was gathered there.
At first nothing seemed off. Then I started counting. My expression stiffened. Nearly forty people were missing. No empty chairs, no explanations — just absence. The final test had picked its winners and buried its failures. Nobody asked where the missing subjects had gone. Nobody needed to.
A few people looked relieved. A few looked proud. Most looked exhausted. I probably looked the same.
A man stepped onto the stage — our instructor. I'd only recently learned his name. Karan. For the first time since I'd met him, he wasn't smiling.
"Look around." The hall went silent. "Remember these faces." He let the silence hold for a moment. "Because everyone else is dead."
The words landed like a hammer. Some of the newer operatives flinched. I stayed still. Death had become far too familiar by now.
Karan folded his hands behind his back. "Bloom does not reward talent. Bloom does not reward effort." His gaze swept the room. "Bloom rewards results. And survival."
Nobody disagreed. The forty missing faces were proof enough.
For a moment I wondered how many of us would still be alive in a year. Probably fewer than anyone wanted to admit.
"Congratulations," Karan continued. The word sounded strange coming from him. "You are no longer cadets. You are no longer experimental subjects."
A few surprised expressions surfaced around the room. Even I looked up at that. *Experimental subjects.* Interesting choice of words.
"You are now operatives of Bloom."
Some people looked proud. Others looked nervous. I felt neither — I still wasn't sure whether Bloom was humanity's greatest protector or its most sophisticated nightmare.
"Bloom exists for one purpose," Karan said, voice going colder. "To ensure the survival of humanity." He paused. "No matter the cost." For a brief moment, something dangerous flashed in his eyes — something fanatical. Then it was gone. "You are dismissed."
That was it. No medals, no celebration, no speeches about friendship. Just a promotion and a reminder that people had died.
Very Bloom-like.
Handler 245 escorted me to the medical wing immediately after. The place looked more advanced than anything I'd ever imagined — white corridors stretching endlessly, floating holographic displays, machines humming behind transparent walls. Some devices looked capable of curing cancer. Others looked like they could cause it. The doctors ran a full examination with equipment that would've made Earth's scientists cry — with joy or jealousy, probably both.
After the scans, I was directed into a cylindrical medical pod. The lid sealed shut, warm liquid surrounded me, and soft blue light filled the chamber. For a few seconds nothing happened.
Then the itching started. Every damaged muscle seemed to repair itself at once — fractures reconnecting, bruised organs recovering, the whole body knitting back together from the inside. Not painful, just incredibly uncomfortable, like being eaten alive by microscopic ants.
An hour later the pod opened and I stepped out feeling better than I had in months. The broken rib, the damaged arm, the internal injuries from the speedster — all of it gone.
Future medicine was terrifying.
Afterward, I received a new uniform. Black, simple, professional — the kind of clothing that immediately told everyone you either worked for a secret organization or were about to commit several felonies. I changed and stared at my reflection for a moment.
For the first time since arriving in this world, I actually looked like part of Bloom.
That realization wasn't comforting. A few months ago I'd hated this organization. Now I was wearing its uniform.
Life was strange.
Handler 245 handed me a black card next. "Your operative identification." I turned it over — surprisingly heavy, with tiny silver lines moving beneath the surface like flowing liquid.
"What does it do?"
"Grants access to restricted areas appropriate to your authority level."
Then she handed me another object: a sleek metallic watch.
I stared at it. Finally, a futuristic smartphone. Civilization had been restored. Humanity's greatest invention — the ability to procrastinate with advanced technology.
As we walked through the facility, 245 ran through my new privileges. Training halls, libraries, research archives, selected classified files. That last one immediately caught my attention. Knowledge was always useful, especially in a world where I knew almost nothing.
"Bloom classifies operatives according to both power level and contribution. You are currently classified as E-Level."
"Because I'm an E-rank awakener."
"Correct."
"And if I get stronger?"
"Your authority will increase."
Simple enough. Then a question that had been bothering me for months resurfaced — how did people actually become stronger here? Nobody had ever bothered explaining it.
"How do I increase my power level?"
245 glanced at me. "You can study the details in the library. But the basics: every awakened individual grows stronger by absorbing Universal Energy. Warriors, Psychics, Espers — all paths ultimately rely on the same source."
"So everyone uses the same fuel."
"Correct."
Different powers, same resource. That actually made sense. "How do they absorb it?"
"In ancient times, awakened individuals converted their own biological energy into Universal Energy. The process could take years."
"That sounds horribly inefficient."
"It was." For a moment I thought I caught the faintest trace of amusement on her face. "Modern civilizations developed meditation techniques — synchronizing the body with naturally occurring Universal Energy and absorbing it directly."
"So meditation makes people stronger."
"A simplified explanation. But yes."
I couldn't help smiling. I had somehow ended up in a science-fiction cultivation novel. Life really was unpredictable.
"Meditation methods vary in quality, efficiency, and compatibility," she continued. "The most advanced ones are heavily restricted."
"And I have access to them now?"
"You possess the required authority."
That was probably the best thing I'd heard all day.
Eventually we reached the residential sector. 245 stopped outside a door. "Your room." Then she turned and walked away — no goodbye, no congratulations, no motivational speech. Just pure professionalism.
I respected the consistency.
The room was a significant upgrade from before. My old room had screamed *test subject*. This one said *valuable asset* — large bed, private bathroom, workstation, entertainment system, even a small kitchen. Apparently human comfort became important once people survived training.
I sat on the edge of the bed and let out a long breath. For the first time in months, nobody was trying to kill me. Surprisingly relaxing.
Then I started thinking. Which was considerably less relaxing.
The first thing that hit me was something uncomfortable — I didn't feel guilty. I'd participated in an assassination. Not an accident, not self-defense, a deliberate assassination. And yet nothing. No guilt, no regret, no horror. I'd expected something.
Instead, just exhaustion.
Maybe Bloom had changed me more than I realized. That thought disturbed me more than the kill itself.
To distract myself, I activated the watch. It projected a small holographic assistant immediately. "Welcome, Operative Inala." At least the future came with helpful AIs. That was reassuring.
The device walked me through its features — communication, maps, training records, library access, news networks. The amount of information available was staggering.
Naturally, my first search was about Flex.
*Political developments following Flex's death.*
Thousands of results. After nearly an hour of reading, I understood why Bloom had targeted him. Flex's authority far exceeded his personal strength — he was only E-rank, but he belonged to the Night Organization, and more importantly, his father was one of its senior leaders. His death had triggered a political storm. News channels argued about responsibility, politicians blamed each other, conspiracy theories spread everywhere. The whole situation was a mess.
My next search was obvious. *Night Organization.*
Public records described it as a technological corporation specializing in advanced engineering and space travel. Nothing suspicious — at least not publicly. Then I accessed Bloom's internal records, and the information changed entirely.
According to Bloom, the Night Organization's true objective was establishing contact with alien civilizations — cooperating with them, possibly placing humanity under their protection. Bloom considered that idea incredibly dangerous. Their reasoning was straightforward: if a civilization powerful enough to travel between stars discovered humanity, there was no guarantee they'd be friendly. History was full of stronger groups exploiting weaker ones. Why would aliens be different?
I leaned back in my chair. The more I read, the more complicated everything got. Bloom claimed they were protecting humanity. Night Organization claimed they were securing humanity's future. Both sides believed they were right. Both accused the other of being dangerous.
This wasn't heroes and villains. Not anymore.
One phrase buried deep inside a classified report caught my eye. A single visible sentence, the rest redacted:
*"Comparative analysis with the Root Civilization development model remains ongoing."*
I clicked it immediately.
*ACCESS DENIED — REQUIRES D-RANK AUTHORITY*
I stared at the screen. Interesting. Very interesting. For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt like I'd found a thread worth pulling. And I fully intended to pull it.
Before sleeping, I searched for one last thing — the data Ira had stolen during the mission. Most files were still classified, but my new authority uncovered some details. The stolen information contained components for a next-generation spacecraft. Not a complete design, only fragments — yet those fragments had been valuable enough to justify assassination. Which meant the full project was probably far more important than anyone was letting on.
Exhaustion finally caught up with me.
Today had been absurd. Assassination, graduation, political conspiracies, alien civilizations, secret organizations. I lay back and closed my eyes.
Tomorrow I'll visit the library. Tomorrow I'd learn meditation. Tomorrow I'd start finding out just how strong I could become.
And somewhere along the way, I intended to find out what Bloom was really hiding.