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jeonslvz · 3 days ago

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Chapter 01: 0232

In a brutal training facility, survival means obedience—until the Stealth Chief sets his sights on you and asks you to join him and hos unit.

A/n: Wow, I forgot how simple and calm the beginning was—honestly, a good refresher for me while I look things over. Anyway, don’t worry—it’ll start picking up speed, and then you’ll want these simpler times back. I will say this to current you: pay attention. Pay attention well. There are a lot of hidden things I’ve put in, which make this fanfic even more thrilling ro write and read. XD

Wc: 3k

warnings: none, besides a random cut of time lol. short i know, but the deeper we get, the longeer they’ll be. Also jeon being hot!

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1:00 a.m. was the only time of day anyone in this organization got any real “private time”—the only window where sleep wasn’t interrupted by barking orders or endless drills. The only hour when the oppressive weight of the facility’s routines seemed to lift. The only time you saw him.

Jeon—the leading Chief Commander of Stealth—drifted through the halls like a ghost, silent and detached, always searching for something only he seemed to understand. No one dared ask what. Most weren’t brave enough to meet his eyes, let alone speak to him.

But your personal mission today? Breakfast.

Yeah, the cafeteria opened officially at 3:00 a.m. started serving food at 6:00am, and closed down at 7:30am sharp. But everyone knew: if you weren’t there early, you didn’t eat. The phrase “the early bird catches the worm” applied ruthlessly here. Warm food was a currency. And in this place, skipping breakfast didn’t just mean hunger—it meant weakness. You couldn’t afford that. No rookie could.

Creeping around after curfew wasn’t something you wanted to do. But everyone learned fast: if you wanted to survive, you had to adapt—even if that meant breaking the rules. Especially if that meant punishment. But punishment from who, exactly? You hadn’t been assigned a specific unit leader yet. Not officially. The entrance exam last week had been brutal. Grueling. Now it was a waiting game—to find out which division your performance had earned you a spot in: medical, arms, strategy, stealth, infiltration, or the less talked-about units that operated in shadows.

Some people got lucky. Others didn’t. And then there were those who looked lucky, but were just well-connected. Rumors floated through the halls and cafeteria—some candidates had strings pulled for them, pushing them into elite units without earning it. But rumors in this place changed with the wind—swept away just as fast as they formed, cleaned off like the sterile gray floors.

You pressed your back to the wall in the hallway, dimly lit by overhead panels that flickered every few seconds. You didn’t know your way around well yet, but you did know how to get to the cafeteria. That part, at least, had become routine.

With a quiet sigh and a hesitant glance down both ends of the corridor, you darted across, tiptoeing silently, distributing your weight just right to avoid the squeak of boots against tile. Your shoulder met the cold metal of the cafeteria door. You inhaled slowly, pushed it open inch by inch—just enough to slip through—and slid inside before gently easing it shut. The soft click of the lock was the sweetest sound of the night.

You were in.

The cafeteria was massive. Sterile. Designed more for efficiency than comfort. Rows of long metal tables extended in tight symmetry, benches attached to each one with no legroom to spare. The floors were gleaming white tile, every inch scrubbed and re-scrubbed by the cleaning crew who worked just before the chefs arrived. The overhead lights were off, leaving only the moonlight streaming in through narrow vertical slits near the ceiling. It cast harsh, silvery beams across the space, creating sharp shadows under tables and benches. It was like stepping into a liminal dreamscape—almost peaceful, if not for the constant knowledge that you could get caught.

There were no posters. No decoration. Just walls in flat shades of grey, and a faint chemical scent clinging to the air from whatever they used to sterilize the surfaces. Vending machines sat dark in the corners. The large industrial kitchen sat behind a closed steel counter window, its heavy shutters still drawn down for the night. You could already smell traces of what was to come—bread, grease, faint hints of brewed coffee not yet served. It was just enough to drive you mad with anticipation.

You padded toward your corner. Your spot. The back-left table in the farthest edge of the room, hidden from sight of the door, blind to the corner security cameras that rarely worked anyway. It was where shadows pooled the thickest. Where light didn’t reach. And more importantly—it was warm. Or cold, depending on the building’s heating cycles. But either way, it was familiar.

Zipping up your issued black jacket, you slouched down onto the cold bench and swung your legs up to stretch across it. You lay flat, pressing your body against the steel like it was a blanket, adjusting your ID badge on your chest until it sat just right. You closed your eyes. You had five hours. Just enough for a nap before the kitchen opened and you could finally have that steaming cup of tea you prepared for yourself mentally. A small ritual that still made you feel human.

But the quiet didn’t last.

The door creaked open.

You froze.

Who? Your breathing slowed to a crawl, shallow and precise. A single rustle of your jacket sounded like thunder to your ears.

Whoever it was—they stopped. No more footsteps. No shifting weight. No breath.

Your heart dipped low.

Shit. They were trained. Trained to hear the softest movement. Trained to hunt. And now they were hunting you.

“You know you can’t be in here. It’s past walking hours.”

The voice echoed through the cafeteria like a cold blade. You clenched your jaw. Stayed still. Begged your body not to give you away.

“The longer you resist,” the voice called again, tone amused now, “the harsher your punishment will be.”

The moonlight betrayed nothing. You wore all black. The shadows cloaked you well. You were invisible. Maybe. Hopefully.

You remembered something from orientation: higher-ups were allowed to test rookies at random. Some claimed it was part of final placement—an unofficial, unannounced round of testing to determine who belonged where.

You held your breath and shifted your breathing to your diaphragm. Smooth. Quiet.

Then footsteps.

Right toward you.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” the voice sang—closer now. Too close.

A hard bump struck the side of the table.

Shit.

You rolled off like a crumpled piece of paper, falling flat-faced onto the cold tile floor.

Silence.

Then slow movement. You pushed yourself up, head low, arms shaking.

A finger—rough, calloused—touched under your chin.

You looked up.

Jeon.

The last person you wanted to see tonight. And the one person you feared most.

His eyes scanned you up and down, cold and clinical. You felt his gaze like a branding iron. Sharp. Dissecting. The kind of look that made you feel exposed.

You flinched.

“Jeon…” you breathed, wide-eyed.

He let go, cocking his head slightly. Then, with no hesitation, he reached down and plucked your ID badge from your chest.

He hummed, turning it over between his fingers.

“0232, huh?” he smirked, mocking the way the number clung to your identity in this place like a collar. “Not bad moves for a rookie. But not good enough for my crew.”

He tossed the card onto the table. It skidded and fell to the floor with a dull clatter, just like your pride.

“You’d be better off in Medbay or the reload center,” he added with a shrug.

Your fists clenched.

“What makes you think I want to be in Stealth?” you shot back. “I signed up for Seduction and Agility. Sniper training.”

Jeon raised an eyebrow. “You? You don’t have what the Seduction Unit requires—attraction, distraction, power.”

He stepped closer.

You backed away.

“Is this an invitation or a beatdown?” you muttered, glaring.

“Both,” he said simply. “I’ve watched you. You’ve got the highest survival instincts I’ve seen in months. I could make a woman out of you. But sneaking in here? During my walking hours?” He towered over you. “You could’ve gotten both of us into trouble.”

You stared up at him, pulse drumming in your ears.

“Seriously—you’re blackmailing me to join?”

He leaned in.

“You don’t see it, do you?” His voice dropped. “This position we’re in? It’s already a liability. If a camera caught us… what do you think the rumors would say? You snuck out. I was here. Two people. One story. And it won’t be pretty for you, rookie.”

“Sir—”

“No, sir. Not here. Try again, 0232.”

You swallowed hard.

“Jeon,” you said, carefully. “I don’t think Stealth is my strong suit. If you caught me, then it’s clearly a weakness. Seduction was my goal from the start.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Don’t lie. People don’t learn how to shut doors silently. Or how to choose blind corners. That’s survival instinct. Trained. Experienced.”

“Sniper unit, remember?” you offered weakly.

“You fumbled a basic pistol during evaluation,” he snapped. “Sniper Chief wrote you off immediately.”

You winced.

He reached into his pocket and tossed you a room key.

“You’ve got 20 minutes. Get your stuff. Transfer to the female dorms. And pray I come up with a mild punishment for all the curfew violations.”

You snatched the key and sprinted, panic flooding your body.

You didn’t even notice you’d left your ID on the floor.

Jeon watched you disappear.

He bent down, picked up your card, and stared at it.

Trouble. That’s what you were.

A wild thing, crashing into waves with no fear of drowning.

He sighed. Checked the camera’s angle.

Then vanished into the shadows, just like you always imagined a ghost would.

Bags packed—two, exactly—and the bed was cleared for clean-up. Not to mention the change of shirt and your jacket now tied loosely around your waist. It was about time for a change.

Walking out of your dorm room in silence, you checked the halls and listened carefully for footsteps before making your way toward your new home. Was traveling at these hours allowed for room transfers? Yes, in fact—it was one of the few reasons late movement was permitted. As long as your purpose was legitimate and backed by a high-ranking officer, signed off by a chief, you were fine.

Luckily for you, the chief arranged everything. No issues would arise—as long as you acted accordingly.

Strutting the halls in your new freedom, you let the color-coded, no-text signs guide you to the right floor. Using your new access card, you unlocked the designated stairwell—different from the public ones—and began climbing toward Floor 3. Stealth’s level. It wasn’t too high, thankfully, though you had a feeling these floors weren’t designed for comfort.

The higher you got, the less signage you saw. There were no words anywhere. No floor numbers, no room names, not even directional arrows. Just colored strips that ran horizontally along the walls, barely noticeable unless you knew what to look for.

You remembered the tip a Low- level had whispered to you once: the colors aren’t for style—they’re for survival. And that dark gray line stitched into Jeon’s jacket zipper? That tiny cue told you exactly which color to follow.

Smart.

Pulling your card from the left pocket of your sweatpants, you pressed it against the code reader at the stairwell exit. A buzz. A green light. The door clicked.

You turned left, toward the women’s dorms—a detail you made sure not to mess up again. (You’d made that mistake once already. Never again.)

There were three halls ahead, one of them lit by the soft glow of an open door. Room 9101, bold black numbers stamped on the frame.

“How inviting he is,” you muttered, dragging your tired body forward. The scanner blinked green again. You stepped inside.

Plain. But… nice.

The room was dark and clean. A new mattress sat atop a box frame, still wrapped in plastic with a printed label that read 230904. Nearly a year old. From the look of the polished wood floor and the untouched coat of light gray paint, the room had been renovated maybe a month ago. Strange. It felt prepared. Like it had been waiting for someone.

How long has he been watching me?

The thought sent a quiet shiver down your spine.

You placed your bags by the bed, pulled out the small pocketknife you’d hidden for emergencies like this, and sliced through the mattress plastic. It tore easily, crinkling loudly in the quiet room before you tossed it aside.

Inside the closet, neatly stacked, were the sheets. You remembered that from a girl who’d once been punished with cleaning duty—for badmouthing a higher-up. You found that hilarious. Cleaning as punishment for gossip? Almost charming in a twisted way.

Sitting on the fresh sheets, you unpacked the basics: hygiene supplies, folded undergarments, and the issued garments everyone wore. Not much else.

There was a small shopping area on base, a sort of gift shop where items changed weekly—snacks, essentials, even cozy socks or shoes. It kept people from sneaking out for what they needed. With the weekly points system, it functioned like a paycheck, rewarding improvement. You’d already picked up some new non-squeaky shoes—lifesavers when running the halls.

You glanced around at your new space. It wasn’t luxurious, but it was safe. Warm. Fresh sheets still held the scent of linen softener, and as you exhaled, the fear of being homeless within the facility ebbed slightly.

Only to be replaced by a new one.

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, glancing at the time.

Breakfast is near.

Grabbing your keycard, you unlocked the door again. You had to be more careful now. This card tracked your entries and exits, flagged your logs, updated your data to the new room. A whole new network. A new set of strategies to learn just to survive the breakfast rush.

Thank fuck the dorm entrance was carpeted. No creaky tiles like the ones in the trainee sector. And the doors here? Smooth, soundless.

That alone felt like a weight off your shoulders.

You spotted the elevator nestled near the entrance. Its sleek metal doors reflected the overhead lights. You pressed the button for Floor 0 and waited quietly, stealing one last glance at the fake plants that lined the corner of the hall.

The doors opened.

And suddenly, a hand touched your shoulder.

You froze.

You’d heard nothing—no door, no steps, no breath.

Turning slowly, you saw him.

Jeon.

Again.

Acknowledging his presence with a nod, you stepped into the elevator without a word. He followed. The doors closed behind you.

“You’ll get used to it,” he said, voice low, almost amused. “Though leaving your card in the cafeteria? Rookie move for someone now ranked.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but his hand was already reaching into his back pocket. He unclipped your missing ID badge and slid it casually into your jacket pocket.

His hand brushed your hip.

You blinked.

He wore a fitted black crewneck shirt—short sleeves clinging to his biceps, showing off a strong back that tapered lean to his hips. His tattoos stretched across his arms like inked ribbons of shadow. They looked carved rather than printed. Real. Intentional.

“Not used to me yet, huh?” he chuckled, his tone light—but his gaze wasn’t.

You shook your head silently, your eyes trailing from his piercings to his face.

He looked at you the way you’d look at a toddler discovering something for the first time—amused. Curious. Too patient.

“Get used to it,” he said, his voice dipping as he caught your gaze lingering. “And stop staring. That’s not how you treat your chief.”

You nodded, forcing your eyes forward.

He exhaled.

“I can’t call you by that number anymore. You’ll need to discard that card after breakfast. Drop it off at the office.”

His voice tightened with something unspoken. Like that card meant more than it looked.

“Will I get a name?” you asked quietly.

Before he could answer, the elevator dinged. The doors opened.

Without thinking, he moved—steering you sharply to the side, away from the camera angle. You caught on and ducked into the blind spot without a word.

Smart.

You followed him through the next hall, falling into step just a little behind—almost like a shadow.

Or an off beat echo of him.

The cafeteria felt safer. You didn’t know why, but it did. Something about the open space, the lighting, the predictable routines.

“You will,” Jeon finally answered, taking a seat by the window. “Well….maybe, not up to me tho”

You tilted your head slightly, and he noticed.

“You don’t know, huh?” he mused. “The windows here only let light in during the night. You can’t see in. But we can see out.”

Privacy glass. Tactical.

“But your concern should be the cameras. If you’re gonna sneak around, you better learn where they are.”

You let out a soft “oh,” followed by a quiet “ah.”

“Why are you helping me, Jeon?” you asked, bolder now, sitting across from him.

He looked at you hard.

“Your survival,” he said plainly. “There aren’t many of us left. And there’s a reason. People get replaced. Forgotten. Or worse—eliminated. If not by the missions, then by other means you really don’t want to discover.”

You stared.

“I’m in charge of you now,” he added. “You reflect my team’s teachings. Whether you’re training alone or paired. You succeed, or you stain our reputation.”

You swallowed. “So everyone with a name… earned it. It’s like a rite of passage?”

He nodded. “Basically. If you’ve got a name, it means you’re needed. Wanted. You’ve become an asset.”

Then he paused. Looked toward the clock above the door.

06:00.

“Grab your food. Meet me at Medbay. Bring your card.”

He stood, heading for the line, grabbing a tray and a cup as he went. He looked back once, checking to see if you followed.

“That was an instant order,” he said sharply.

You jumped up and followed.

Medbay? Wasn’t I supposed to discard my card?

Forget that. There was a shipment of bagels and fresh pastries today.