The cold steel of the floor sent a chill up Allen's spine as he remained motionless, his mind spinning with fragmented thoughts. His breath was ragged, each inhale a reminder of the pain still lingering from his earlier torment. He clenched his teeth, flexing his fingers, feeling the rawness of his wounds, but something deeper gnawed at his mind.
Where was he? Why was he here? And more importantly... who was this masked figure standing before him?
Allen swallowed hard, his throat dry and coarse. He could feel the aura radiating from this person, an oppressive force that made the air feel heavy, unnatural even. This wasn't a normal human. No, this was something... different. Something far more dangerous.
His thoughts were in chaos, trying to piece together the last few hours—or was it days? It was impossible to tell. His body ached in ways that made it clear he had been unconscious for an extended period. He tried to steady his breathing, focus his mind, but before he could fully compose himself, the masked figure took a step forward.
"You seem lost in thought," the voice was smooth, but there was an underlying edge to it, like a blade hidden within silk.
Allen flinched, but quickly masked his reaction. "No shit," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "What the hell is this place? Who are you?"
The masked figure tilted their head slightly as if considering his words. "I ask the questions here, Number 749."
Allen tensed at the designation. Number 749. Not a name. Just a number.
"You must be wondering about many things," the figure continued, pacing slowly around the dimly lit laboratory. "But let us focus on something fundamental... Do you wish to be free?"
Allen frowned. He didn't answer immediately, the question hanging in the air like a noose waiting to be tightened. Freedom. What did that even mean?
He opened his mouth, hesitated, then finally responded, "I don't know."
Silence.
Then a chuckle. Low and quiet at first, but gradually growing. The masked figure stopped pacing, standing directly in front of him.
"No one does," the figure finally said. "Freedom is an illusion. It is simply a word that fools latch onto, believing it holds some grand meaning."
Allen narrowed his eyes. "That's a load of crap."
The figure sighed. "Perhaps. But tell me, if you were free right now, what would you do?"
Allen opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came. What would he do? He didn't even know where he was. He had no plan, no direction. Just a body wracked with pain and a mind filled with questions.
Seeing his hesitation, the masked figure let out a soft hum. "Exactly. You are bound by your ignorance, your weakness. Chains are not always made of steel, Number 749."
Before Allen could retort, the figure raised a hand. The chains binding Allen's arms and legs shimmered, then crumbled away like dust. Allen gasped, stumbling forward as the sudden loss of restraint made him lose balance. He instinctively reached for his wounds, but to his shock, they were gone.
The pain, the bruises, the cuts—all healed in an instant.
"What the—"
"You are whole again," the masked figure said. "Now, let us see just how useful you are."
Allen barely had time to react before the floor beneath him shifted, and in an instant, the lab faded away. A bright light engulfed his vision, and when he could see again, he found himself in an entirely different room.
A testing chamber.
Before him were various pieces of equipment: weight machines, high-speed treadmills, vertical jump testers, and even a grip strength analyzer. A set of targets lined the far wall, along with a long track that seemed designed for sprinting. The walls were sleek and metallic, screens embedded in them showing vitals and statistics.
Allen frowned. "What is this?"
"A test," the masked figure responded, appearing at his side. "We will determine the extent of your physical capabilities. Begin."
Allen scowled. He had no reason to comply. And yet, something in the figure's tone made it clear there was no option to refuse.
Gritting his teeth, he walked toward the first test: a grip strength analyzer. He placed his hand around the metal handle and squeezed with all his might. A beep sounded, and a number appeared on the screen.
46 kg.
Low. Extremely low.
Allen's eyes twitched. That wasn't normal. He wasn't some peak athlete, but he was stronger than this. Was his body weakened from whatever happened before?
Next was the vertical jump test.
He crouched, then pushed off the ground with all his strength.
41 cm.
Pathetic.
His sprint time? Slow.
His reaction speed? Below average.
Every test was the same. Weak. Inadequate. Useless.
Allen clenched his fists. His heart pounded in his chest, not from exertion, but from frustration. Whatever had been done to him had stripped him of everything. He felt like nothing more than a shell of what he used to be.
The masked figure watched him silently as the final results were displayed on the screen. "Hm. As expected."
Allen turned to them, rage bubbling beneath his skin. "What the hell do you mean, 'as expected'?!"
"You are nothing but a baseline human," the figure replied coolly. "Weak, slow, untrained. But that can change."
Allen gritted his teeth. "And what, you're gonna 'fix' me?"
The figure let out a short chuckle. "Fix? No. Mold? Yes."
With a wave of their hand, the room shifted once more. Allen blinked as he suddenly found himself in what looked like a fully equipped gym.
"This will be your new home for the foreseeable future," the figure said. "You will train here. You will break, rebuild, and become something more. Your current self is a liability. If you wish to live past fifteen, do not disappoint me."
Allen felt a chill run down his spine.
The masked figure turned away, pausing only to add one final command.
"Clean yourself. Then we begin."
As they disappeared from sight, Allen clenched his fists once more, a burning determination igniting within him.
If freedom was an illusion, then he would create his own reality.
One way or another.