The man strode across the sterile laboratory, his white coat trailing behind him like a ghost. The faint hum of overhead lights and machines buzzed in the background, a sound as unrelenting as his thoughts. Albert's fingers brushed against the clutter on his desk before settling on a worn radio. His voice, sharp and clinical, pressed a button and began speaking a clinical stoic tone.

“I need Edwin out of my lab and back in his cell,” He delivered the command without hesitation, his tone devoid of humanity.

Pssst-!

The radio sputtered to life with a burst of static. “Copy that, Sir Albert. On my way,” came the reply, clipped and obedient.

Albert walked over and flipped a switch near the door. A flood of harsh, sterile unforgiving light spilled over the room, revealing every merciless detail—stainless steel instruments stained with crimson smears, the lifeless boy strapped to the steel table, the puddle of blood forming on the cold metal table—dripping onto the floor like a metronome. Albert’s gaze lingered on Edwin who laid limp and unresponsive. For the briefest moment, something broke through his meticulously constructed façade.

Guilt.

It was fleeting, like a shadow passing over his features, but it struck with enough force to tighten his throat. His fists clenched at his sides before he forced them to relax. He exhaled slowly, his breath trembling ever so slightly.

“This is all I can do,” he murmured to himself, the words hollow. His eyes darted to Edwin once more, softening imperceptibly. “This time… this time, I’ll succeed. I will make it work and end your suffering. Happy fifteenth birthday, Edwin.”

The words were hollow, like an empty promise whispered to the void.

Tsss-!

The steel door hissed open, cutting through Alberts brief moment of vulnerability. A mountain of a man stepped inside, his frame nearly filling the doorway. His bald head gleamed under the unforgiving lights, and his polished boots clacked sharply against the tiled floor. His expression was unreadable. Without hesitation, he snapped a crisp salute, the motion almost militaristic in its precision.

“Have a wonderful day, Sir!” the man boomed, his voice deep enough to rattle the air.

Albert nodded curtly, his focus already elsewhere.

"No dinner for him tonight. Bring him back to me twenty minutes after breakfast tomorrow."

“Understood, Sir. See you then.”

The man lowered his arm and moved toward the table with surprising grace for someone his size. He pressed a hidden button beneath the edge, releasing the restraints with a hiss. Edwin's limp body sagged into his arms like a broken marionette.

Albert turned sharply, his coat flaring behind him as he exited the room. The door sealed with a hiss, the sound cold and final. However James noticed the look on Albert’s face. Something was different about him today.

“Judging by his face, it must not be something good.” He groaned under his breath.

The man shifted and adjusted Edwin's weight on his shoulder, glancing at the boy’s fragile, unconscious body. His lips twisted into a faint smirk, more pity than malice.

"Poor bastard," he muttered, his tone more resigned than cruel. "Just another shitty day in paradise.”

James turned and walked to the metal door. Flashing his ID against the scanner, the door opened with a loud hiss.

The corridor stretched before him, its white walls devoid of life or warmth. The overhead LEDs buzzed like insects, their cold light reflecting off the polished floors. Each step echoed loudly, amplified by the emptiness of the space. The air reeked of antiseptic and chemicals, sharp enough to sting the nose.

James let his thoughts wander as he walked. I hope this ends one day. Maybe... maybe this kid will actually give us the cure.

In his years as Edwin's Keeper, James had learned three unshakable truths:

1. Albert's orders were absolute. To disobey was to risk banishment beyond the walls of the Fallen City, a fate worse than death.

2. No questions could be asked about Edwin. His role in finding the cure was sacred, shrouded in secrecy.

3. Never, under any circumstances, grow close to Edwin.

These rules were his guideline as Edwin’s Keeper. These rules were easy enough to follow and allowed him many privileges he wouldn’t be able to get otherwise. The rules acted like his shield, his anchor in a world that had long since lost its morality. Following them came easily now. The longer he worked, the easier it became to see Edwin as less than human—a tool, a means to an end.

And yet, cracks had begun to form. Tiny fissures in his carefully constructed apathy.

"Keep your head down," James murmured to himself, his voice barely audible over the echo of his boots. "This job's all I've got. I

After what felt like an eternity of identical halls, James arrived at a reinforced steel door. The reinforced steel door loomed at the end of the corridor. James pulled his ID badge from his pocket, swiped it across the scanner, and waited. A low beep signaled the door's release, followed by the hiss of hydraulics.

Inside the cell, the air was colder, heavier. Without ceremony, James lowered Edwin's limp body onto the concrete floor. The boy's thin frame landed with a dull thud that echoed in the silence.

James lingered for a moment, his gaze fixed on Edwin. The boy's pale skin seemed to glow under the harsh light, every bruise and scar a testament to the life he'd been forced to endure. James's jaw tightened.

“You’ve got some real shit luck being here, kid,” he muttered under his breath. “But hey, thanks to you, my life’s a hell of a lot easier.”

He turned and left, the door sealing shut behind him with a hiss, leaving Edwin alone in the suffocating silence. Darkness swallowed the room, save for a faint glow seeping through the crack beneath the door—a weak reminder that something still existed beyond these four walls.

James’ heavy footsteps faded into the distance, leaving only silence and the rhythmic drip of water from a distant, unseen pipe.

———///////———

I woke to the stifling grip of the dark.

The first thing that hit me was the stench—a rancid cocktail of sweat, rusted metal, and something far worse. My stomach churned, bile rising in my throat as I struggled to sit up.

The space was suffocatingly small, no bigger than a closet. My hand brushed against something cold and unyielding—a bucket, its foul contents sloshing faintly with the movement. Beside it, a metal toilet stood mockingly close, its edges crusted with grime.

A faint light seeped through the gap beneath the steel door, just enough to illuminate the outlines of my prison. Shadows danced eerily on the walls, elongating the cramped space into something even more sinister.

Pain surged through my skull—a sharp, relentless throb, as though my head were caught in a vice. I clutched my temples, my fingers digging into my skin as I fought the wave of nausea that followed.

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“My head…” I croaked, the words rasping out of me.

The pressure grew unbearable. I doubled over, retching violently. Hot bile burned its way up my throat, spilling onto the floor with a wet splatter.

Sploosh!

Gasping for relief, I crawled to the toilet, plunging my head into the frigid water. The icy liquid shocked my system, soothing the fire in my chest as I drank greedily. The taste of rusted metal clung to my tongue, but I didn’t care.

When I finally pulled back, collapsing onto the concrete, reality sank its teeth in.

I’m not free.

Flashes of memory struck me like jagged shards of glass. Electric shocks. The cold bite of restraints. The sterile glow of the lab. My body trembled, every nerve raw and exposed.

I’m nothing more than an animal in a cage.

…

Why did he stop?

The thought clawed its way to the forefront of my mind, insistent and sharp. My limbs ached, my head swam, but the question remained. Why had the man—in the white coat—left me here instead of finishing whatever experiment he had started?

The faint glow beneath the door offered no answers, only a reminder of how small and powerless I was. My chest tightened as the weight of my situation bore down on me.

I don’t know how much longer I can survive this.

The more I tried to piece it together, the sharper the ache in my head grew. Thoughts unraveled like threads, slipping out of my grasp, leaving nothing but fragments and frustration.

Grrrrr-!

The growl tore through the silence, a gnawing reminder of my neglected hunger. I hadn’t eaten in… who even knew? Time felt meaningless here, lost in the blank monotony of the room.

I scanned the space again, desperate for distraction. The bucket in the corner—its bottom stained with what could only be vomit—reeked faintly even from a distance. The toilet, mercifully clean, sat squat in another corner, a grim necessity. Beneath my feet lay a threadbare rug, worn thin and fraying at the edges. It wasn’t much, but it was all that separated me from the cold, unfeeling floor. A small grace. A cruel mockery.

Is this my life now?

The thought clawed at me as I curled in on myself, knees tucked to my chest. My stomach growled again, louder this time, an insistent gnashing that was impossible to ignore. Hunger turned my insides to lead, twisting painfully with each pang.

I forced my gaze around the room again, hoping—foolishly—for a scrap of food hidden somewhere, anything to take the edge off. But the walls closed in, as small and oppressive as they’d been moments ago. There was barely room to stretch without touching the cold, unyielding floor.

“I hope I get to eat soon,” I mumbled into the quiet, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Sinking back down, I leaned against the wall opposite the door, trying to steady myself. There was nothing else to do but wait.

Footsteps occasionally thudded past outside the door, heavy and unhurried, but they always faded quickly. My only companion was the empty ache in my stomach and the slow crawl of time. I started counting, anything to measure the silence.

One minute.

Five minutes.

Thirty.

An hour.

By the time I reached what felt like an hour and a half, the monotony shattered. A sound—a faint, metallic squeak—caught my attention. A cart. It stopped right in front of the door blocking the light from seeping in.

Then, with a jarring clang, the steel door swung open. The hulking figure in the doorway was instantly familiar. The burly man. He scoffed, tossing a small container into the room like it was trash. “Here’s breakfast,” he grunted before slamming the door shut behind him.

I stared at the container, heart thudding. My first instinct was caution, but hunger drowned it out. I lunged for it, prying it open with shaking hands. Inside was a modest meal: two water bottles, gelatin, mashed potatoes, carrots, beets, and two chicken drumsticks. To someone else, it might have looked pathetic. To me, it was a feast.

At least they have the decency to feed me.

I wasted no time, scooping mashed potatoes into my mouth as fast as I could. The warm food was a balm, easing the ache and steadying my trembling hands. I washed it down with a careful sip of water, forcing myself to think through the haze of desperation.

One drumstick vanished next, the meat rich and comforting. Then the carrots, then the beets. Another drumstick. I rationed the water carefully, knowing I’d regret it later if I drank too fast. By the time I reached the gelatin, sweet and cool against my tongue, I felt almost human again.

When it was over, I hid the second water bottle behind the toilet, a small insurance for the unknown ahead. Full and finally sated, I collapsed onto the rug. Sleep swallowed me quickly, dragging me into a dreamless void.

Clunk!

The harsh sound jolted me awake. My eyelids fluttered against the sudden, intrusive light.

The burly man loomed over me like a shadow. “Let’s go,” he growled, grabbing my arm and hauling me upright before I could fully process what was happening.

“Where… where are you taking me?” My voice cracked, hoarse from disuse.

He didn’t answer, his silence a wall as solid as the steel door that clanged shut behind us. He dragged me into a blinding corridor, my legs stumbling clumsily beneath me as I struggled to keep pace.

What is this place?

The hallway stretched endlessly, lined with sterile white walls and glaring fluorescent lights. Doors punctuated the space at regular intervals, each one identical, each one locked. The disorientation was nauseating, the memories of my first waking moments here swirled in my mind.

This must be some kind of lab or facility.

The man’s grip was iron, his pace relentless. I watched him carefully, searching for an opening, something I could use.

“What’s your name?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “I’m Edwin.”

Nothing.

“Do you know how old I am?”

Still nothing. His silence bit harder than any words could.

Guess I won’t be getting anything useful out of this guy.

Eventually, we stopped in front of a massive steel door. The man pulls his badge to a scanner.

Beep! Hisssss-

The door slid open with a mechanical hiss. In that brief moment, I caught a glimpse of his badge: James McCain. Private Guard.

James. I hope I can get you to talk.

The room beyond was a nightmare given form. The steel table in the center was the first thing I noticed, its surface reflecting the harsh glow of the overhead lights. Around it, machines hummed softly, their screens blinking with unreadable data. Wires snaked across the floor, a chaotic web that made the room feel alive, pulsing with a sinister energy.

There he sat behind a cluttered desk. His head didn’t even lift as we entered. “Place him on the table,” he ordered, his voice as heavy as the machines that surrounded him.

“Yes Albert, Sir!”

So that’s his name.

McCain yanked me forward, and I didn’t resist. My body moved on autopilot, betraying me. I climbed onto the table, cold metal biting into my skin as restraints snapped into place around my wrists and ankles.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My pulse roared in my ears, each beat a desperate cry to run. But there was nowhere to go.

Relax your body. Close your eyes.

The voice wasn’t Albert’s. It came from somewhere deep inside, calm and commanding. Familiar yet unknown. I didn’t question it. I obeyed.

My muscles loosened as I exhaled slowly. My heartbeat steadied. For the first time since waking here, I felt something I couldn’t name at the time. Readiness.

Then, it began.

Bzzzzzzt!

A surge of icy energy raced through me, flooding my veins with cold fire. It spread like liquid lightning, electrifying every nerve. My body jolted against the restraints, but the pain didn’t consume me like before. It was sharp, but bearable.

I cracked one eye open, catching McCain’s retreating form as the door hissed shut behind him. He didn’t look back.

Albert’s voice cut through the haze like a scalpel. He wasn’t talking to me but instead into something in his hand.

“Personal notes,” he muttered, his tone clinical. “The vial extracted from the subject has yielded no significant results. The subject adapts to stress protocols faster than anticipated. Intensified testing will be necessary.”

A pause.

Then he continued, each word carving dread into my soul.

"A decision will have to be made soon... A purer source might be required. I am running out of options."

Albert's voice hung in the air, his words sharp and clinical, devoid of emotion. The soft hum of the computer filled the silence as he stopped the recorder, his fingers swiftly navigating a program on his monitor.

I need to get out of here. He’s going to kill me.

The screen came alive with a human figure diagram, sectioned into zones-left arm, right arm, legs, chest, head. Each area glowed with shifting colors: blue, yellow, orange, and red. Data scrolled alongside, jagged graphs pulsing like the erratic heartbeat of a machine. His eyes locked onto the figure's temperature reading: 97.8ºF-steady but unremarkable.

Albert's fingers danced over the keyboard, making incremental adjustments to a label marked "output." A subtle click was the only warning before the world inside me exploded.

An energy surge rippled through my body— violent, all-consuming. It was fire, pure and unrelenting, coursing through my veins. Heat erupted within me, searing flesh, burning through muscle, and tearing at the edges of my mind. My back arched violently against the restraints, every nerve screaming.

I gasped for air, my chest heaving, lungs grasping at the cruel emptiness. My teeth clenched so hard I thought they might shatter, my muscles locked in a torturous dance of resistance. And still, the heat grew.

It wasn't fire anymore. It was lava, molten and alive, churning in my veins, clawing at my insides. Time lost all meaning-seconds stretched into unbearable eternities. I gritted my teeth harder, desperate to hold on, but I was breaking, splintering under the weight of it all.

Every fiber of my being begged for release.

My body was failing, shuddering violently against the pain. My vision blurred-colors bled together, light turned to shadow, and shadow threatened to consume me.

I couldn't fight anymore.

So I surrendered.

I let go of the fight, of the pain, of the world.

My consciousness retreated, slipping into the dark corners of my mind, fleeing from the firestorm that had become my reality.

The heat, the agony, the desperate clamor of my body-they dulled, faded into echoes.

And then there was silence.

Weightless, formless, I floated in a boundless void. No heat, no pain, no light-just endless darkness. A black sea stretched infinitely around me, cradling me in its cold, indifferent embrace.

I couldn't move. There was no body to command, no limbs to flail, no lungs to draw breath. I simply drifted, a small, fragile speck in the vast abyss.

For the first time in what felt like centuries, there was peace. A hollow, aching peace.