Hal stood in the infirmary, staring at a nondescript door near the back wall. He'd searched the room top to bottom, but the blood samples were nowhere to be found. This door was the last place he hadn't checked.
He opened it slowly. Behind it, a narrow stairwell led down into darkness.
The air grew colder with every step he took. His footsteps echoed along the concrete walls, the silence amplifying the tension pressing on his chest. At the bottom, he found another door—thick, reinforced steel.
Hal clicked his tongue. Another one. Another obstacle in his way.
He let the frustration boil. Turned it into fuel. His hands glowed faintly with a red shimmer, and with a low grunt, he peeled the door open, metal groaning as it bent to his will.
Inside, the basement lab hit him with a sharp, sterile scent—antiseptic and something… synthetic. It wasn't like the infirmary above. No bandages, no medicine. Just rows of machines and chemical containers. Beakers, vials, solvents—more a chemistry lab than a medical facility.
Hal scanned the room with growing unease. Nothing here looked like it belonged in a hospital. He walked deeper, eyes scanning for anything familiar, until he spotted a large centrifuge and several unfamiliar machines. And then—at the very back—a tall, humming fridge.
He opened it.
Inside, rows of vials. Blood samples. Dozens. Some are frozen. Most used. Labels he recognized—his own name, Dani's, Roberto's, Illyana's. All of them are cataloged like specimens in a lab.
Anger welled up in his chest.
He slammed the fridge shut and turned, spotting a nearby computer. He moved toward it, switched it on—only to be greeted by a password screen.
Of course.
Hal sighed sharply, rubbing his face. No time to waste. S.W.O.R.D. would send someone soon—if they hadn't already.
He clenched his fists. The orange glow that had been quietly simmering around his body began to ripple—then pulse—then flare.
Boom.
A shockwave erupted from him, tearing through the lab in an instant. Chemicals spilled, machines cracked apart, glass shattered. The fridge blew open, blood samples flying out and splattering across the floor. The computer sparked once, then went dark.
Hal stood in the center of the destruction, breathing heavily.
He didn't look back.
He turned and walked out, leaving the ruins behind.
—
Dr. Gregor stirred, wincing as a sharp, blinding pain pierced her skull. Her vision swam before finally settling enough for her to recognize the room—one of the empty dorms in the main building. It was dark, the only illumination coming in brief flashes from the red emergency lights pulsing through the glass panel above the door. The alarm still echoed, relentless and shrill.
"W-What…?" she whispered hoarsely, her voice cracking. And then it hit her—the memory of what had happened. Of Hal.
She clenched her fist, unsure what to feel. Anger? Fear? Regret?
The door creaked open. Light spilled in—and standing in the doorway, framed in that flickering red, was Hal. His expression was unreadable.
"Well, doctor," he said, stepping inside. "Looks like the roles have flipped."
"Hal…" Her voice was weak, strained. "You have no idea what you're doing… The defense system—it'll kill you. They built it to—"
"Oh, I'm aware." Hal interrupted, his tone casual. "It already tried. Pretty clever setup you've got. One turret down, and another rises to take its place. Classic numbers game. That's how you fight mutants. With more tech than we can break."
"Why are you doing this?" she asked, desperation creeping in. "You think the outside world is better than this place? Hal… it's not."
"No, it's not." He crouched in front of her, his gaze steady. "And I know what comes next. We'll be hunted by the government. Tagged. Maybe even killed. But at least we didn't become a black ops for politicians."
Gregor hesitated. "You… read the files."
"S.W.O.R.D.," Hal said. "That's your puppet master, right? A spin-off of SHIELD, I assume?"
Her eyes widened. "How do you know about SHIELD? I thought you'd—"
"It's hard to lie to someone," Hal said. "But half-truths? Those are easier. You just have to believe them yourself."
She stared at him in silence, as if seeing him for the first time.
"Who are you, really?" she whispered.
"A mutant," Hal replied simply. "No government records, no history, no ID. Just someone who woke up and realized he wasn't sick—he was special. And that people like you were trying to turn that into a weapon."
Gregor looked away. "It's not my call. I was assigned to care for you."
"And you did," Hal said, his voice flat. "By logging our personalities. Testing our limits. Obeying kill orders for anyone too dangerous to keep around."
He stood, the red light catching the edge of his silhouette like fire. "Care's a funny word, doctor."
Hal let out a quiet chuckle. "I can feel your fear, doctor. It's buried deep, but it's there. You know that odd sensation I told you about before? That pressure I feel around people? Like gravity pressing on my chest? I think I finally understand what it is."
Gregor didn't say a word.
"You're scared," Hal continued. "But you're holding it in. Trying to keep your composure, to seem in control. That pressure I feel—it's repressed emotion. Fear that turned to guilt. Rage that turned to frustration. Doesn't matter what it is. The harder someone tries to bury it, the louder it screams to me."
Gregor swallowed hard, her gaze dropping. "What do you want from me, Hal? You've got me locked up, you can escape. Or… are you here to torment me first?"
"I just want the password to your tablet," Hal said calmly. "So I can shut off the defenses. Disable the force field."
"You won't get far," she replied. "The barrier isn't controlled from here. It's triggered externally. As for the tablet… I can't help you. I won't."
Hal smiled again, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Want to know another secret, doctor? My powers—they come from emotions. The stronger the feeling, the stronger I get. Rage fuels my strength. Will shapes what I create. If I can imagine it, I can make it real."
"Willpower isn't an emotion," Gregor muttered. "Maybe your little theories are just that—stories. You sound like you've read too many comic books."
"Maybe," Hal said, his voice smooth. "But I've never been this close to raw fear before. Yours, specifically. I've never tried channeling that."
The color drained from Gregor's face. "You don't want to do this," she whispered. "You'll prove them right—that you're dangerous. A threat to humanity."
"They already think we are," Hal said softly.
He stared into her eyes—and then, his own began to glow a brilliant, piercing yellow.
A shift filled the room. Cold. Hollow. The fear inside her surged like a wave crashing into him—shaking, frantic, and wild. Hal let it in. Drew it close. Invoked it.
And as her pupils widened, her breath caught.
"W-What…?" Gregor's voice trembled as she backed away, crawling until her back hit the wall.
Hal took a step backward too—just in time to see something flicker into existence where he'd been standing. An illusion. Of himself.
But he wasn't alone in it.
A man lay on the ground, bloodied and barely breathing. Gregor's eyes widened.
"E-Erasmus?" she whispered. "H-How? This… this isn't real. I'm hallucinating. Hal—what did you do?"
Hal said nothing. He simply watched.
The illusion smiled—a twisted, wicked grin stretched across its face. Then it turned to the man on the ground. Without a word, the illusion-Hal grabbed the man by the throat and slammed him hard against the wall.
"Wait—wait!" Gregor cried, scrambling to her feet. "Is this an illusion?! No—please—not again!"
The illusion tightened its grip. The man gasped and struggled. And then—snap.
The sound of a neck breaking echoed through the small room like a gunshot.
Gregor screamed and turned away, sobbing. But her grief burned into something else. Something hotter.
"I'll kill you," she hissed through her tears. "You monsters. You abominations of nature! You should never have existed! You were born from the blood of the vanished! Your lives—they should've gone to the ones we lost!"
She surged toward Hal, grabbing him by the collar and slamming him against the wall with all her strength. It did nothing. He didn't resist. Didn't react.
"I should've killed you all when I had the chance," she spat. "I should've ignored the orders. I should've put every last one of you down like the dogs you are! After what your kind did to my husb—"
She froze.
A faint gasp escaped her lips.
A glowing sword construct had appeared—silent, sudden—piercing clean through her chest. Heart and lungs both.
Gregor staggered.
"Y-You… I… hope…" Her voice faded.
She collapsed. Dead before she hit the ground.
Hal leaned against the wall and vomited. The rush of emotion, the sick weight of what he'd just done—what he'd witnessed through that illusion—twisted his stomach into knots. His head spun.
He looked down at her lifeless body, struggling to feel anything but numb. She had reasons—twisted, bitter reasons. If some mutant had killed the man she loved, maybe this was all she had left. Maybe, in her place, he would've done the same.
But he wasn't her.
He wasn't on her side of the story.
He was the mutant.
Without another word, Hal stepped out of the room. He closed the door gently behind him and walked away.
He didn't look back.