A subtle hum crossed Ethan's mind, dragging him out of his thoughts.
AION's interface flickered and reorganized its projection.
New data invaded his visual field, tracing an upward curve in the subject's vital signs.
The subject's eyes snapped open.
No warning. No transition.
Ethan didn't flinch, but his mind was already analyzing every detail.
The first thing he noticed was the color of the eyes: they weren't bloodshot. It wasn't irritation or subconjunctival hemorrhage. The entire iris had changed color, dyed a deep, almost luminescent red, with an irregular black edge as if the pupil had tried to consume it all. AION confirmed:
[Altered pigmentation. Anomalous presence of modified chromophores in the iris pigment epithelium. Partially refractive crystalline composition.]
Ethan approached with slow steps. His right eyebrow lifted, barely a millimeter. But he said nothing about it.
"Subject six," he said in a mechanical tone. "Can you hear me?"
It was routine. In the five previous experiments, that question had only received screams, convulsions… or meaningless words. This time, he expected nothing different.
The subject moved a finger.
Then the neck.
And upon sensing the presences around him—the Vesper soldiers, the tense gazes, Ethan's breath—he growled. A low, animalistic sound reverberated in his throat. He began to struggle against the straps, muscles tensing beyond normal. The metal stretcher creaked.
Ethan didn't flinch. He only sighed.
A group of three Vespers lunged instantly, pinning the subject down. They forced him to lie back. His movements were aggressive, almost reflexive.
"Same as always…" Ethan murmured, resigned.
He turned around unhurriedly, walking toward the tray of instruments. His hand was already reaching for the sedative. The whisper of metal was familiar. The sound of another failure.
But this time, the pattern broke.
The subject, seeing the black armor surrounding him, seemed to stop. Something flickered in his red gaze. His breathing, previously erratic, stabilized for an instant. And from his throat came a voice: broken, dry, but conscious.
"Le... let me go... please..."
The Vespers stopped.
They didn't release him. But their faces under the visors tightened. That phrase wasn't in the script.
Ethan froze mid-motion.
The sedative vial hung suspended in the air. His pupils contracted. He placed the syringe on the tray with a dry sound and turned slowly, as if afraid to break the illusion.
The subject was still struggling with the Vespers, as if his consciousness had only just begun to emerge from the depths of a sea of chaos.
"Let... me... go..."
The soldiers pressed harder. One growled through clenched teeth.
"Stay still!"
And the subject stopped moving—and fell silent.
Ethan approached again. This time, with quicker steps. Not urgent. Fascinated.
He looked the man in the eyes. That red still burned intensely, like embers still lit after a wildfire. But now, behind that unnatural glow, there was something else.
It wasn't fury or emptiness.
It was fear.
And fear, Ethan thought, was an unmistakable sign of consciousness.
Every rational being that perceives its surroundings, that anticipates pain or death, develops fear. It's not a blind instinct like that of a wild beast. It's the response of a mind that understands consequences.
That trembling glow in the subject's eyes had not appeared in any previous experiment. Never. What stood before him wasn't a shell possessed by rage or a body teetering on mental collapse. It was someone.
Someone who understood where they were.
Someone begging to live.
The words he had spoken earlier weren't hallucinations or meaningless repetitions. They had been clear, desperate… human.
As if afraid he had imagined it, Ethan asked again.
This time, his voice lowered a bit more. He clenched his fists, nails digging almost imperceptibly into his palms. His joints tensed. His eyes shone—not with hope, but with a quieter, more dangerous emotion: expectation.
"Subject six… can you hear me?"
The silence that followed lasted barely five seconds, but in Ethan's mind, it was an eternity compressed into tension.
Until, at last, the subject's eyes seemed to focus a little more. The wandering gaze fixed on him. His mouth slowly opened. Breathing was hard, speaking even harder... but he did it.
"Y... yes..." he uttered, brokenly.
It wasn't a scream.
It wasn't a spasm.
It was a response.
Ethan opened his eyes wide. A spark of astonishment crossed his face for just a second.
Then he inhaled deeply, closed his eyelids, and as he exhaled… all emotion dissipated. His expression returned to its usual form: cold, analytical, unshaken. He had regained control.
"AION, project the subject's information."
A translucent tab appeared in his vision, superimposed over the environment. Essential data flowed in real-time:
[Name: Han Biao (Internal designation: Subject 6), Sex: Male, Estimated age: 38 years, Race: Human, Prior physical condition: Moderate malnutrition, multiple bruises]
[Current level of homeostasis: Stable, Heart rate: 52 bpm, Blood pressure: 130/90, Neurological status: Functional synaptic activity]
Ethan didn't hesitate; he spoke in a firm voice without raising it.
"What is your name?"
The subject, now with stabilized breathing and no resistance in his body, took a couple of seconds to process the question. He blinked forcefully, as if retrieving scattered fragments of identity. His lips moved slowly. He seemed to be fighting against the stiffness of a throat that didn't fully belong to him.
"H... Han... I'm... Han Biao," he responded, haltingly.
His voice was deep, rough, almost foreign. The vibration in his vocal cords was unstable. AION discreetly notified:
[Slight hypertrophy in laryngeal muscles. Possible accelerated regeneration of the laryngeal epithelium. Adaptation in progress.]
As if his phonatory system were reconfiguring, regaining functionality.
Ethan nodded once, briefly. He continued the interrogation.
"Do you remember where you are?"
"In... a... some kind of... prison. They brought me... put something... inside... arm..." he panted at the end, writhing as if still feeling the needle under his skin.
"Do you know who I am?"
The subject hesitated. His gaze clouded, as if memory was mixing with blurry images and overlapping emotions.
"A... cultivator... evil one? A demon? No... I don't know... forgive me... please... you... were... speaking... ritual... blood... you submerged me... in blood..."
His voice broke. The body trembled slightly.
Ethan didn't interrupt him. His eyes remained fixed on the interface, watching the neurological indicators fluctuate:
[Synaptic activity – Prefrontal cortex: 82% and stabilizing]
[Dopamine and norepinephrine levels: Elevated, but within range]
[Limbic resonance: Acute fear peak → transitioning to conscious alert state]
[Hemispheric coherence: 91% – compatibility with lucid consciousness]
The first few seconds showed overflowing activity, an emotional storm—likely fear and adrenaline—but little by little everything was realigning. As if his mind, still dazed, was starting to fit back into itself.
Ethan said nothing.