Solflare: The Painter's Secret-Chapter 49: Handle Him

The female proctor shifted her gaze to Leon’s crooked belt, the untied lace, and the sweat still drying at his temple.

"The datapad," she stated in a flat voice. But it wasn’t a request.

Leon’s fingers, slightly numbed, fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out the sleek black device, its screen dark.

He turned slightly to Mr. Lee, then to the lady. He stepped forward and humbly placed it in her outstretched palm.

Her skin was cool when his index finger mistakenly scraped her palm.

She turned back to the screen now looming behind her and her colleague. The datapad lit up, followed by a soft chime.

With a press of a button, the data from the device erupted onto the wall, superimposing itself over the flowing combat analytics.

Graphs and numbers cascaded into view—heart rate spikes during his sprints, oxygen depletion curves, and a jagged line denoting perceived exertion.

She leaned in, her eyes tracking the information while she scratched her chin.

"Nice stats," she murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. Her fingers moved from her chin and traced a scrolling line on the touch-surface of the datapad.

"Only one task completed, and these readings..." she turned, looked at Leon’s face, then back at the large screen. "...impressive consistency in the anaerobic decay phase. Hmm."

A smile, thin and professional, began to build on her face. It held no warmth, only the satisfaction of a technician observing a well-calibrated instrument.

The colleague leaned closer to her shoulder, his arms folded over his broad chest. His gaze remained fixed on the physiological data dancing on the screen.

"He’s indeed becoming what we want," his voice echoed in a low rumble.

’Becoming what they want?’ The words coiled in Leon’s gut like cold wire. Confusion tugged on him as his expression shifted.

His gaze flicked from the cryptic screen to Mr. Lee, who stood impassive by the door, then back to the smiling proctors.

The lady looked up, her flinty eyes finding Leon’s.

"Step onto the platform, please," she instructed, gesturing with a tilt of her head to the center of the room.

There, a circle of polished blue metal, about two meters in diameter, flush with the floor.

Leon walked forward, swallowing a dryness in his throat. The soles of his boots made a soft, sticky sound as he stepped onto the cool surface of the circle.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, with a deep, sub-audible hum that vibrated in Leon’s teeth, a beam of pure white light lanced down from a discrete emitter in the ceiling.

It encased him in a cylinder of brilliance. The light didn’t hurt, but it felt present on his skin, and in his bones. It began to move, scrolling up and down his body in slow, meticulous passes.

On the large screen, another set of data wiped the one being displayed from the datapad.

A holographic schematic of a human cardiovascular system flared to life, and with a pulse of light, it labeled itself STORM, L.

A ghostly translucent image of his own skeleton resolved next to it, each bone highlighted. Neural pathways lit up like a lightning storm in a glass brain, showing synaptic firing rates.

More intimate scans followed: muscle fiber density maps, capillary networks around his organs, and even a fluctuating readout of hormonal level—cortisol, adrenaline, endorphins—all laid bare.

Leon stood rigid, trying to control his breathing, but the screen showed his heart rate climbing anyway. The beats are visualized as aggressive red pulses.

He felt like a specimen pinned under a microscope, his every secret unfurling for these impassive evaluators.

The scan lasted for ten minutes, a time measured in the frantic rhythm of his own exposed heartbeat.

The light beam retracted when the humming ceased. Though it was gone, it left afterimages that danced in Leon’s vision.

"You may step down," the female proctor’s voice shot up.

Leon moved off the platform on slightly unsteady legs as the afterimages also faded.

On the screen, his intimate scan vanished as quickly as it appeared. It got replaced once more by the generic streams of combat analytics and biometric feed from other, unnamed sources.

The proctor picked up the datapad from the console she had placed it on and handed it back to Leon.

"Your tasks await. Do as it says, and on time." The unstoppable but professional smile was still visible on her face.

Mr. Lee stirred by the door. "Leon, wait for me outside," he said in a tone that left no room for argument. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Leon took the datapad, its surface cool against his palm. He gave a stiff nod, turned, and left the room. The heavy door sighed behind him as he slammed it shut.

The hallway was empty, a silent tunnel of watching portraits. Leon leaned his back against the wall beside the door, holding his breath.

He tuned his ear to the muffled world beyond the shut thick wood.

At first, there was just the low murmur of the screen - the clicking sound. Then, footsteps moved further into the room.

A burst of joyous laughter boomed so forcefully it made the door tremble faintly against Leon’s shoulder.

His ears strained as he waited for words. For a moment, silence landed when the celebration subsided.

Then, a new, sharper conversation led through, voices lowered but tense.

"...have you told him?" A man’s voice, not Mr. Lee’s.

"Na." This reply came in a strange overlap—a feminine negation and an identical male one, spoken in unison.

"So what are you going to do? The window is almost upon us." The first voice sounded again, edged with impatience.

"Just give me time." Leon’s spine straightened; that was Mr. Lee.

"If you can’t do it, tell me. I’ll inform Hayes." A mixture of voices echoed, cold and clean.

"There’s no need." Mr. Lee’s reply sounded firm and final.

The conversation paused. Then, the first voice came in, dripping with disdain. "If he can’t, I will personally handle him."

’Handle him?’ Ice water seemed to flood Leon’s veins. Before he could process it, his attention was ripped away by a new presence.