The buzzing pierced his silence first, but it was no ordinary sound. It was a relentless flutter, a harsh wave of vibration, like a swarm of steel bees trapped inside his skull, struggling to escape violently. He opened his eyes with immense effort, only to be greeted by a liquid shroud of scorching white light, twisting maliciously in the ceiling smoke, as if a living creature mocking his weakness.
The air in the room was heavy as lead, sharp and acidic, carrying the piercing metallic scent of cold rust mixed with coagulated fresh blood. His trembling hand reached for his face, only to touch a thick, sticky layer covering his skin entirely—warm at his fingertips, meaning the catastrophe had occurred moments ago.
He slowly lifted his head, and the scene sharpened. The walls were pale gray, charred at the edges with frightening precision, as if fire had targeted specific points. The paint peeled like acid-burned skin, and the rough cement floor bore dark footprints leading to the door, dragging behind them streaks of dried, brownish blood.
In the corner, a massive metal table lay overturned, emanating the smell of alcohol and disinfectants. Scattered across it were delicate drilling tools, gleaming surgical scalpels, and empty glass syringes tainted with dark blue liquid remnants. Beside them, a torn paper strip bore a frantic, jagged handwriting:
> "Test 12 – Control Failure — Maximum Integrated Energy Exceeded."
He turned toward the mirror, but his reflection was obscured. Half of it was shattered in a strange geometric pattern, like an internal explosion. His face remained unclear, but the eyes… they did not belong to him. The pupils expanded and contracted with animalistic speed, as if a breathing entity lurked beneath his skin.
Raising his left arm, he noticed a laser-etched tattoo:
> Subject-12
As he tried to pull himself upright, a metallic, cavernous voice echoed in his head:
> "Wakefulness confirmed. Vital signs stable. Mental stability weak. Test not complete."
Suddenly, the buzzing stopped. The air trembled around him as though immense energy had passed through. The piercing lights went out, plunging the room into absolute darkness, where not even a hand could be seen. In that void, he heard approaching footsteps, heavy and confident, accompanied by the cold, deadly rasp of a knife being drawn from its leather sheath.
He lunged forward, ignoring the muscles tearing with pain, aiming for the edge of the overturned table to use as a shield. A cold, fragmented whisper echoed close by, origin unknown:
> "I… am the executor… do not move…"
A brief flash of light cut through the darkness. A sharp electric jolt struck his left arm—no stab, just a precise shock aimed at the tattoo, which flared into a fiery red glow.
Then a calm, masculine voice spoke, unnervingly near:
> "There is no escaping. The protocol ties escape to death. You belong to the lab, Subject-12."
His body lifted from the ground, screaming in agony as the tattoo pulsed violently under his skin, becoming the source of the lethal energy, like another consciousness controlling his movements.
In an instant, time froze. Every cell remembered what it was before becoming a mere number. And then, with a faint red blaze, a violent crack echoed, as if the lab itself was screaming, and Subject-12's soul began a new journey between pain and liberation.