Pain wasn't new to you, but this? This was something different.
A dull ache throbbed at the base of your skull as you slowly stirred awake. Your limbs were stiff, your throat dry, and every muscle screamed like it had been through a war. Fluorescent lights above flickered, casting long shadows across the sterile walls of the cold metal room.
You were strapped to a steel gurney. Thick leather bindings held your arms and legs in place, and you could feel the pinpricks in your veins from constant IV drips.
Memories came in fragments—walking home from university, the sudden screech of tires, men in suits, a needle to the neck. Then nothing.
Until now.
Glass separated you from the room beyond. Men in lab coats—scientists, maybe—typed on digital tablets, occasionally glancing up at you. They spoke in hushed tones, but the comms system picked up their voices and piped them into your chamber.
"Subject 09 remains stable. Initial neurological scans show exponential growth in adaptive synaptic activity."
"The Repeater strain is working. His cells are mimicking the behaviors of energy absorption and distribution. Begin phase two."
You didn't understand it all, but one thing was clear—they did something to you. Changed you.
Your body trembled. You could feel something under your skin, like a storm trying to rip its way out. Your heart rate surged. The monitor beeped frantically, and the lights in the room dimmed for a second.
"Restrain him—"
The power flickered, and in that moment, something inside you snapped.
You didn't just pull against the restraints—you understood them. You felt the metal, the stress points, the heat of friction. Your muscles moved instinctively, copying the pressure required to burst the buckles. You hadn't been trained for this. You had never fought before. And yet, your body moved like it had.
Snap.
The first strap broke.
Alarms screamed as the room went red.
"Security to Sector 4! The subject is loose—repeat, Subject 09 is loose!"
You ripped the last strap and rolled off the gurney just as a door burst open and a squad of black-armored guards stormed in. One aimed a pulse rifle at you.
"On the ground, now!"
Your eyes locked on the weapon. A part of you dissected it instantly—like your brain had downloaded its function, its charge time, the arc of its blast. The guard fired, but you twisted aside at the last second, letting the shot scorch the wall.
Another charged with a shock baton.
He struck you across the ribs. Pain flared—but dulled instantly. Your cells shimmered under your skin, adjusting. Your nervous system rewired in real time, and the next strike landed with barely a sting.
You adapted.
With one fluid motion, you yanked the baton from the man's hand and slammed it into his chest, watching him collapse in a twitching heap.
You didn't stop to think.
You ran.
Corridors blurred as you sprinted through the underground facility. The layout came to you faster than it should've—like your brain was learning the architecture mid-run. You ducked through labs, leapt over crates, and avoided drones scanning for heat signatures.
By the time you reached the surface exit, your clothes were scorched, and your breath came in sharp gasps—but you were alive.
And free.
The elevator opened to a forest clearing. A concrete hatch hissed open behind you as you stepped out into moonlight.
Somewhere deep in the Adirondack Mountains.
You collapsed on the cold grass, staring at the stars.
You didn't know what you were anymore.
But you knew they would come for you.