"Hooo... let's go."
He muttered the words under his breath, inhaling deeply, steadying his core before launching himself upward in a single, forceful burst.
BAM
The cables strained. The elevator lurched violently beneath him, shifting downward, almost activating the emergency brakes, its worn structure unable to withstand the sheer force of his leap. The metal groaned, the floor bending under pressure, threatening to give way entirely.
Kevin barely acknowledged the instability. His focus was singular. He was focused on the opening above. The way forward.
His body pierced through the hatch like a stone tearing through paper. It turns out that the hatch is made from a metal weaker than the whole elevator.
As Kevin propelled himself through the flimsy hatch, the stale air of the elevator shaft swallowed him. The darkness stretched upward—four floors of reinforced steel and concrete standing between him and freedom.
"I don't know who, but that guy is definitely a lunatic."
Kevin cannot help but curse.
Even though he can understand the thought process of the creator to keep the intruder or failed experiments trapped underground, still it does not feel good when Kevin himself is suffering under someone else's scheme.
Well, it's a little frustrating.
After all, there were no easy exits, no ladders inside the underground floor to escape in case of emergency. Only the vertical corridor of cold metal and his own raw strength.
He wasted no time.
"It's now or never."
His fingers clawed into the shaft wall, piercing through like a knife through flesh. Despite the newly acquired superhuman strength, his muscles screamed in pain, but hesitation was a luxury he couldn't afford.
He keeps climbing the vertical corridor by carving a footing for himself inside the metal-encased concrete-filled walls through brute force.
"That bastard would have definitely made fun of me by saying that I look like a lemur if he looked at me right now."
Kevin cannot help but smile a little, thinking about the teasing words David would throw at him after looking at Kevin's current way of climbing.
"I hope he is fine."
Just thinking about his friend and his unknown condition after he managed to follow his tracks after kidnapping further enforced his decision despite the possible risk.
He knows that the ground floor should be the fastest escape, yet the riskiest route is the heart of enemy movement, the point of highest resistance.
Still, there was no alternative. The deeper floors were a maze he refused to navigate because he would end up wasting his precious time, and if he wasted time searching, the enemy would accomplish his goal of delaying him.
The unknown reinforcements would arrive. And his fate would again fall into the hands of his enemy; it's like being buried alive in a steel coffin.
Kevin increased his speed; his grip tightened, tendons coiling like steel cables as he drove his feet into the wall. Cracks splintered outward, rubble crumbling beneath his heels as he carved his path skyward.
Every movement had to be precise. One misstep, one weak foothold, and he'd plummet back into the elevator's ruin.
Above him, the dim outline of the next floor's barrier loomed. His destination. He clenched his jaw. His only way out was through here.
Kevin's hands clawed into the elevator gate, his fingers sinking into the cold metal as he pulled himself level with the ground floor. His breathing was steady but sharp, each inhale pushing through the tension that gripped his muscles like a vice.
He knew that behind this closed metal door lay either his greatest obstacle or his swift downfall. Freedom or entrapment. Triumph or disaster. There was no middle ground.
If the worst had happened, reinforcements could already be waiting, their weapons trained, their orders clear. He could either fight through them or be dragged back into the depths from which he'd barely escaped.
Kevin pressed his ear against the metallic gate, straining to catch any sound—a shuffle of boots, a whispered order, the click of a safety being switched off. Anything that could give him a clue, a fraction of a second's advantage.
Nothing.
Heh.
A smirk curled at the edge of his lips, a fleeting moment of amusement at his own predicament.
"Looks like I have no choice, huh?"
He exhaled through his nose, forcing his hands to press harder, his fingers digging into the metal's stubborn surface.
A groan echoed through the gate as he exerted his will upon it, warping its structure, reshaping it with sheer brute force. His body thrummed with exertion, the pressure mounting until—
SCREEEE
The gate gave way. A sharp, grating howl of metal reverberated through the silence as he tore the elevator doors apart, forcing his entry onto the ground floor. He squared his stance, body coiled like a spring, expecting the inevitable wave of incoming attacks—gunfire, electrified batons, the crushing force of an organized ambush.
But there was nothing.
No bullets. No blades. No guards charging forward with tactical precision.
Only a single woman.
She sat with composed elegance beside a glass reception table, the kind found in every building entrance. Her posture was effortless, her expression unreadable.
Across from her sat another chair—vacant, waiting, as if placed there specifically for him.
Kevin narrowed his eyes. His gaze roved over the woman in front of him, dissecting every detail with surgical precision.
Late thirties. White lab coat, crisp and immaculate, not a single wrinkle marring its pristine fabric. Her dark brown hair was tied neatly into a ponytail, as if she had been prepared for this encounter long before it ever happened. A slim, practical watch hugged her right wrist—a silent guardian of time, ticking away with quiet assurance.
The spoon in her grip stirred her tea with lazy, methodical motions. She wasn't rushing. She wasn't nervous. She wasn't surprised.
She was waiting.
Behind her, Kevin could see the exit. Beyond the glass doors, torrents of rain spilled from the heavens, creating a moving curtain between him and the outside world. It didn't matter if it rained or if the sun blazed down—what mattered was that he could see it. The way out. His escape.
And her.
A scientist? A doctor? A lunatic with a meticulous sense of fashion?
Beautiful, perhaps—but insanity didn't discriminate based on appearance.
"Wait—who said beautiful women couldn't be crazy?
The thought flickered through his mind before he could stop it. He almost sighed.
"Maybe I'm becoming racist… No, sexist? No, that's not it… Fu#k it."
"Focus, Kevin. Focus."
His own internal scolding did little to stop his mind from wandering. He had spent too much time absorbing the convoluted discourse of online debates—pointless, exhausting, an abyss of opinions colliding like untamed beasts.
Wasted brain cells. Wasted time. Another self-reprimand.
"Maybe this is a side effect of whatever experiment they ran on me."
After all he have never done so much overthinking in his whole life.
He shifted his stance, exhaling slowly. The woman's intentions remained unclear, her presence an anomaly in this carefully constructed chaos.
This wasn't how encounters played out—not in books, not in movies, not in the predictable rhythm of conflict.
And that made her dangerous.
"Let's see what you have in store for me."
Kevin started forward, his steps measured and deliberate.
For the first time since he had emerged onto the ground floor, the woman's gaze lifted.
Dark brown eyes met his newly acquired dark green ones—her interest piqued, her smile widening with something unspoken.
She didn't flinch.
Neither did he.
Four steps away.
She turned her face toward the table, picking up the inverted cup and tilting the pot of tea over it, pouring with unhurried grace. The liquid spiraled into the porcelain, steam curling upward in delicate wisps.
She picked up the spoon again.
"How much sugar would you like in your tea?"
Her voice was light, smooth, and effortlessly detached.
Silence.
Her brows furrowed slightly at the lack of response.
When she looked up again, she froze.
Kevin was no longer standing in front of her.
Instead, he had sidestepped, weaving out of her peripheral vision and moving toward the exit at an accelerated pace. His strides were sharp, efficient, and almost impatient.
She blinked.
Isla's fingers clenched against the spoon.
"WAIT!"
"You should at least listen to me!" she called, frustration biting at the edges of her words.
Only a single voice answered back—casual, dismissive, cutting through the rain-soaked air like a dagger.
"Sorry, but I don't drink tea with old women."
Kevin's voice rang out just before he broke into a full sprint, straight toward the exit.
Isla's veins throbbed, but she kept her calm.
"Stop him."
She shouted.
The moment her voice resounded, several people in security guard outfits carrying weapons similar to the one in the lab appeared from every corner that could be used to remain concealed.
They just took their position while keeping their aim straight at Kevin.
They did not move toward Kevin to intercept him because a different group of 9 people wearing blood-stained lab coats had blocked the exit.
"I knew it; things are going a little too well."
Kevin muttered under his breath as if cursing his luck, but the wide grin on his face and adrenaline rushing through his body said otherwise.