Cour limped down the corridor, desperately putting some distance between himself and the draining room, cables and tubes dangling behind. The same that seconds ago had been connected to his body both to nurture him and sap the rejuvenated essence back. He had tried to remove the mask while rushing towards the door, only to wrap its strap around his neck and have it hang tight over his back. It didn’t bother him, not when he was already stepping on broken glass, flesh, splintered bones, and machinery parts while dragging whatever residue had managed to stick to his bare feet. Suffocation could wait for now in this spectacle of gore and gears.

“What the—?” Shouted someone from within one of the side rooms Cour now passed by heading towards the stairs, unaware of the chaos that had transpired in the lowest of the cells.

Just by looking up from the foot of the stairs, he could catch the lights flickering where the floor met the ceiling on the upper level, playing games on a tired Cour who still struggled to hold himself upright.

He heard voices behind him just as he began climbing up.

“What is going on here?” That same man from before said, stepping out into the corridor. His voice cracked when the scene struck him. “We have a situation... Fuck… Something happened at either Lab C-Zero, C-One or C-Two and has escalated out of control. The whole place is a mess.”

Cour knew the moment his eyes were on him. It was hard not to see the crawling mess of a young man who’d lost all sense of dignity going up on all fours. It was all a person needed to arrive at a conclusion.

“The subject in Containment Zero has escaped,” he heard the man say in a failed attempt at keeping his worried voice steady. “A damage report cannot be provided currently, but he could be near full capacity and thus is considered a Threat One or Two. Backup is required.”

Two more sets of steps followed Worried Voice. One accompanied by a female voice, apparently enthralled by the destruction originating down the corridor.

“This… This is something else. I've never witnessed this much destruction. The sheer amount of raw, uncorrupted energy... You can almost feel it crackling in the air. If subjects at Containment Zero are capable of this... Now I understand why those assigned to Containment Zero required weekly checks and stimulants to keep up with—.” She was cut short by the third person out the door.

“This is the second time this month that Subject Three has tried to escape," they said, identifying Cour at a distance. "Maintenance won’t be happy about it.”

Cour was already out of sight when he heard them again snapping at one or both of their companions. “Do not touch anything! Subject Three is highly dangerous and his matter requires refinement before anyone should even attempt to breathe in its proximity. Put on your masks now and get back inside. Lock the door and isolate the room.”

As Cour reached the landing, he was met with another long corridor, which branched off at the very end, if his eyes didn’t deceive him.

Not wanting to waste any time, he used the walls to prop himself up and resumed his half-run. He set aside the strap biting into his neck once more. Doors slammed shut in his wake around him, followed by a hiss that Cour could only recognize as a confinement measure he was too familiar with. Murmurs grew and died inside as he left them behind.

The even floor beneath him dug the bits and pieces of glass that pierced his skin even farther, flattening their edges entirely. The longest one broke through the bridge of his right foot—a pendulum slicing across his skin with every move. He spared it but a glance.

“Now!” Ordered a deep voice farther down the path, noticing his slight distraction.

A stunning force hit him hard in the chest, cutting his breathing short. He felt its energy rushing inside him, his back arching, his mind spinning wildly. Other bursts of energy flew past him, going wide.

Cour pushed against the electrical current and was narrowly able to dodge the next barrage by throwing himself against the wall. The spells illuminated the corridor in a flash. Thankfully, no one had anticipated his move.

His dizziness increased, clouding his thoughts… but this attempt paled in comparison to previous ones. Or that’s what he told himself, but the place's layout had evidently been transformed.

“Cease fire and drop Barriers A, C, and B in that order!” Deep Bellow barked over Cour’s panting before projecting his voice toward him. He didn't shout but merely infused his words with power before whispering them. “You know the drill, Subject Three. Do not resist. There is no need to take this any further. Collaborate and no punishment shall follow. And so on.”

Cour’s growl came out as a cough. He scratched at his own neck, drawing blood from reopened wounds until his fingers pulled the strap of the mask free with a rough pull that almost knocked him off balance. The pain surged from his right feet and his reddened eyes stared at the sharp glass protruding from it. He crouched and closed his trembling hands over it, feeling tubes on his back grazing against his spine. He ignored them, he had other plans.

He yanked the glass free, a groan escaping him as he pushed himself up off the floor. He was a hunched figure. His eyes scanned the way ahead but found no one amidst the beeping of the descending barriers. They were slow, slower than him even in his current state. Cour was certain his captors knew this and must’ve prepared other means, as always. But he could barely walk, let alone think straight. He couldn’t remember the last time he actually thought. He was mainly acting on instinct. And those instincts screamed at him. They cried.

Glass in hand already cutting his palm, Cour drew on those instincts to dart beneath Barrier B. Barrier C wasn’t a concern of his; he wasn’t going back. Not this time. He’d fight through an army of lab-armed personnel if need be.

Another bolt hit the floor a couple of feet ahead of him. It crackled intensely before fading.

“Stand down, Subject Three!” That same man, Deep Bellow—who Cour noticed was invisible—warned.

He paid him no heed and kept advancing, now almost at the bifurcation. Those attacks might as well be illusions, though his chest begged to differ. His next obstacle, Barrier A, awaited him at either a right or left turn. Without a thought, he turned right, springing off his left leg and kicking down hard to regain momentum.

A second blast struck from behind, carrying the kind of power that only a point-blank shot could have harnessed. It caused some of the nozzles piercing his back deeper, poking his insides like needles, while knocking the wind out of him. He fought against the growing current of pain and caught himself before tumbling to the floor. The void was calling already.

"I believe I've made myself clear, though it's always the same with you."

Deep Bellow's voice came from close behind. He'd probably cast the unforgiving bolt whose energy now spread through Cour's back, seeking to inflict even more agony. That was always a thing with their attacks, they were built to continue burning away a successfully hit target. To Cour, it was a reminder of the daily torture down here, the constant unrelenting torment to which he was subjected. They'd even managed to make food torture.

He turned to stare back, his eyes darting once again, unfocused. He needed someone, or something, to retaliate against, to release the pent-up adrenaline and rage. He needed to throw the damned, bloodstained glass he still held onto before it buried into his palm. But only a long unevenly lit corridor faced him. An empty one but for a detail. Ahead of him, he watched as Barrier A finally touched the floor and clicked, blocking off any possible exit. He could only yell. That was his initial instinct. But the foam frothing at his mouth was the only thing that came out of him. He spat a white thick stew that soon mingled with the blood clots that had stuck to his dried gums. His muffled screams then turned into a violent cough, and the vomit that had ever so slightly been gathering in his throat sprouted all over the floor and his torn feet.

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Cour shook off the initial shudders, but he was not prepared for the sudden convulsions that came over him. His legs buckled. Having nothing to grab onto—never mind that he wouldn’t have been able to support himself—, he fell onto a puddle of his own making.

“Don’t fight it,” Deep Bellow mocked him, surely grinning when Cour retched. “This isn’t the first time you’ve ever experienced Starvation, right? Such things wouldn’t happen if you’d just collaborate like the rest.” Cour heard the footsteps circling around him, like a wolf hunting its prey. He was well accustomed to this guy’s ramblings. “Such selfishness will be the end of you, Subject Three. Your childish tantrums will have to stop at some point, no one likes a man-child, despite of what you think.”

He felt the invisible man settling down close by with a sigh. That irritated Cour more than it should’ve. Everything did, as a matter of fact.

Trying to get his body to shun the shaking and respond to him, he bit down his tongue. Sharp pain gave way to a necessary focus and he swung the glass blindly in wide arcs.

“My, my,” Deep Bellow answered. “Almost got me there.”

Something grabbed Cour’s arm mid-air and held it at an awkward angle. He felt the muscles in his chest tense and stretch. He gritted his teeth, still spewing fluids.

“You’re lucky your little attempt happened during my watch. We both know that some of my colleagues are less… tolerant, and tend to cut to the chase. You’d think that you would’ve learned from last time, and the time before that, and those before it,” he paused and got up, taking Cour’s arm to its limit. “What would you say they’d do if they found out you attacked someone, a Supervisor, mind you, with this sharp weapon?”

He seemed to be genuinely waiting for Cour to respond, either ignoring his current condition or testing his endurance, yet he only got back a grunt.

“Let’s picture a hypothetical scenario in which you manage to cut through my skin and draw blood. Let's say you even manage to knock me out,” Deep Bellow paced as he spoke, lifting Cour up slightly and dragging him along towards the blocked exit. Cour became the image of a hovering figure, one arm reaching upwards, drool dripping down. He continued: “Your body has already endured a lot, more than it should’ve, and you’ve lost way too much… stuff. Making it past Barrier A would’ve been a miracle, I’d say. But still, even your feeble mind ought to know that said barrier isn’t the last of it. Did you honestly think you’d leave behind the facility by just scurrying past what would essentially be the first of our defenses?”

A belly laugh escaped his captor—one that could’ve once deceived Cour—masked in a warmth alien to his sentiment. Such a laugh would fill a heart with joy somewhere far away from this cursed place.

“Fuck... you…” Cour’s first words in days came out raspy. “I don’t need your pity.”

He’d anticipated a violent reaction from his assailant, but he did not expect to be launched upwards and slammed against the ceiling, missing the flickering lights. His head bit into the stone and his vision darkened. Warmth covered the crown of his head.

With eyes unable to focus and his head a mess, Cour, for all he knew, could’ve been lying on the floor—the world wasn’t behaving as usual.

He took the time to empty what little remained in his stomach.

“Pity? I spare you no pity,” Deep Bellow’s eyes tracked him as he fell. “I’m way past that, Subject Three. Cattle cannot be pitied. The mere fact that you speak repulses me. You’d make my job easier if you’d just screamed, cried and resisted. It’d make this chasing game fun.” As Cour touched the ground, Deep Bellow stepped on his side, deliberately pressing down the equipment connected to his body, and jerked his right arm back up. “In fact, your begging has driven insane some of our better assets, and your insults have rekindled long-forgotten moralities in others. But what has really gotten into most of us is your lack of cooperation.”

Cour’s face was pressed against the floor, tears running down his cheeks, all the while wishing he had the energy to fight the ripping of his flesh, this never-ending abuse. His chest was on fire, this Supervisor possessed sufficient strength to tear his right arm free. And he was proving it. Cour could’ve sworn he felt every fiber, every tendon in his muscles give in as they were unnaturally pulled taut.

A deafening crack pierced his eardrums, sending everything into a deep still silence. His eyes widened when his body relaxed. He saw his arm fall to the ground before his mind registered the information.

It was twisted, his elbow bent backward.

He could only manage a low mournful cry. His lungs were collapsed—they might’ve been punctured for all he knew. His strength was drained, depleted most likely, and his odds of escaping had just been snuffed out entirely.

Deep Bellow kicked him yet again, though he decided against channeling too much power into it after his last. This time it was his stomach the target of the iron-hard boot. Cour let out another guttural yelp.

“Again,” he said, this time coming into view, as the camouflaging shroud disappeared like a thin sheet, and crouched next to Cour to hold down his head. He spat his next words far too close to Cour’s face. “You’re lucky it was my watch, you bastard. A broken arm can be healed. Organs can be regenerated. But I doubt we’d be investing resources in you should you happen to be left in a vegetative state. I’ll be asking the staff to bring you a mirror so that you can take a good look at yourself and reconsider.”

What Cour really wanted was to take a good look at this man’s face, to let the image sink in. No Supervisor had shown their naked face. Some had mocked him, just like Deep Bellow. But none had dared to put aside their stupid magic and allow Cour a clear view.

His face was being firmly kept down, Deep Bellow’s finger strategically placed at the corner of Cour’s eye socket, already pressing his curious eye. The strain was more than worth it, but his body had already suffered enough trauma prior to the promised malfunctioning of the machine, and fatigue was kicking in. He needn’t lose an eye this time. He knew he’d get his revenge back, and they knew too: why else would they care so much for their anonymity?

“Subject Three has been neutralized following protocol for a Threat One.”

Deep Bellow had stood up at some point, having replaced his hand with the sole of a sticky boot.

Cour couldn’t hear whomever he’d contacted.

“Lifting Barrier A should be more than safe now. He’s not getting anywhere, not in his current state,” his chuckle was cut short and the man hesitated. If only Cour could grin. “Yes, Subject Three is conscious and alive, with minor injuries, necessary for his apprehension. He is lying next to me.”

Cour’s vision blurred for what seemed like seconds, but as it cleared, he found himself surrounded by new figures. Or that’s what he assumed, given that Deep Bellow hadn’t removed his boot from Cour’s face and he could see nothing above his knee. All he had in sight were new boots.

Someone else was talking. A regular down at Containment Zero, the room he’d been assigned to more often than not. Their tone was commanding, unsurprisingly, so Cour knew it was Bossy.

“Guile, you are well aware of what a Threat Level One entails,” their voice echoed throughout the corridor, articulating every word, every syllable perfectly. Cour had hated Bossy since the moment they'd met. “Subject Three is as dangerous as a swatted fly. A Starved that has been drained more than enough times to grant them the label of Exhausted in other facilities. Our Authority has only kept him around for the mere possibility of having a breakthrough… Look at me when I speak to you.”

“Sorry, Sir,” Deep Bellow, now Guile, quickly added. There was no trace of the cocky man who’d broken his arm.

“I do not recall asking for an answer,” Bossy snapped and pressed on. This was someone who enjoyed hearing themselves talk. “Such a display of whatever this is, Guile, is beneath you. I had personally recommended you for a position in my facility, and I do not like to be wrong. My personnel must know that a Starved’s threat can never escalate above a Threat Level Four.”

Bossy’s eyes were on Cour, piercing his back like the many other tubes there. He’d long phased out the pain and would soon do so with the rest.

“Nevertheless, I must commend you for only taking it a step too far, Supervisor,” their voice carried no irony nor respect. It was almost as if they were reading instructions out loud. “However, I will be requiring a full report of this little setback, should the Authority demand an explanation once more. Make sure to deliver it by midnight.”

They felt silent as different scribbles filled in the air.

Cour caught a pair of boots moving out of the corner of his eye, approaching the most polished pair and offering a quick whisper.

“Yes, I will need to know who declared such an incident a Threat Level One and spread this 'full capacity' nonsense too, thank you. I will personally investigate Containment Zero, interrogate any survivors, and assess the damages,” said Bossy, presumably back to whoever had spoken to them. “For now, let us escort Subject Three to another room. They appear to be less than able to stand up, let alone walk, so administer a dosage of their usual sedative to avoid any unwanted complications. This nonsense stops now.”

Despite him being at “full capacity”, whatever that meant, he’d been doomed to fail from the beginning. He’d been running on pure adrenaline. And as the last drops of it evaporated, Cour found no reason to stop the void from taking him back and was out even before noticing the needle.