Kain pushed Mira behind a rusted support beam.
"Stay hidden," he whispered. "No matter what."
"What about you?" she shot back, eyes wide with fear.
"I'll lead them off. Same plan as before."
"No!" Mira grabbed his sleeve. "We stay together! That's how we survive!"
Kain shook his head. "They're after me now. You're still a shadow."
Above them, metal scraped against concrete. A plasma torch started cutting through the collapsed hatch entrance.
They had seconds.
Kain pulled Mira's hands free from his sleeve.
"You run when you hear them come in. Take the waste tunnels north. Find the outpost near the scrap belt. You remember the old supply chain?"
Mira's lips trembled. "Kain—"
"Repeat it."
She swallowed. "North tunnels. Outpost. Scrap belt."
"Good girl," he said, forcing a smirk.
The torch broke through. The hole widened, orange sparks lighting the shaft.
Kain stood up.
"No—Kain—!" Mira grabbed at him, but he was already stepping forward into the open.
The first soldier dropped through the hatch, landing in a crouch.
Kain moved first.
He grabbed a chunk of broken piping from the rubble and swung hard.
The pipe cracked against the soldier's helmet. The man staggered, but didn't fall.
Another soldier dropped in right behind him—faster, prepared. He raised his plasma rifle and fired.
The shot missed, striking the wall inches from Kain's head.
Kain lunged, driving his shoulder into the soldier's chest.
The man grunted but stayed on his feet, powered armor absorbing most of the impact.
Another drone zipped into the chamber, bathing the room in red scanning light.
"SUBJECT VOSS LOCATED," the machine blared.
Kain cursed under his breath.
The first soldier recovered, swinging a heavy baton at Kain's ribs.
Kain blocked with the pipe, but the force rattled his arms. Pain shot up to his shoulders.
He fought dirty—stepping in close, slamming his forehead into the soldier's faceplate.
The visor cracked.
The soldier reeled back, cursing.
Kain grabbed his baton and ripped it free.
He spun—only for the second soldier to tackle him from the side.
They hit the ground hard.
Kain struggled, thrashing, landing wild blows wherever he could—fists, elbows, knees. But the soldier was bigger, stronger, and armored.
Hands clamped down on his wrists.
A third figure dropped from above—the squad leader.
"Tag and bag him!" the leader barked.
Mira screamed from the shadows. "Kain!"
"No!" Kain shouted. "Run! Go, Mira! Now!"
Through the red haze of rage and fear, Kain saw her hesitate.
Then she ran.
Small, fast, darting into the tunnels like a ghost.
The drone swiveled, tracking her, but the soldiers didn't follow. Their orders were clear.
Kain was the prize.
He fought harder.
Got one hand loose.
Swung the baton upward, cracking it into the second soldier's side. A hollow thunk echoed through the chamber.
The man grunted and rolled off.
Kain scrambled to his feet.
He didn't get far.
The squad leader stepped in, fast and brutal, and jammed a stun prod against Kain's chest.
Pain tore through him like wildfire.
Every muscle locked. His body seized. He dropped, convulsing on the floor, gasping for air.
Through blurred vision, he saw the leader pull out a black band with glowing blue wires.
A suppression collar.
Hands yanked Kain upright.
The collar snapped tight around his neck with a mechanical hiss.
Kain tried to fight, but his arms wouldn't respond properly. His body felt heavy. Sluggish. Controlled.
The leader stepped in close, visor reflecting Kain's face—bloody, bruised, defiant.
"Subject secured," the leader said into his comms. "Priority extraction to Helvault."
He turned to the others.
"Clean up. No witnesses."
Kain's heart dropped.
He struggled again, but the collar's suppression field crushed his strength.
"Leave them alone," he rasped.
The leader didn't respond. He didn't have to.
The soldiers moved, rifles raised, toward the direction Mira had run.
Kain forced his legs to work.
He charged the leader—weak, stumbling, but he didn't care.
He had to stop them.
The leader backhanded him hard enough to knock him flat.
"Stupid," the leader muttered.
Kain's world spun. His head rang like a broken bell.
He tried to crawl.
Hands grabbed him. Dragged him.
The world narrowed to the feel of rough metal under his fingers.
To the sound of Mira's last shouted word, echoing through the tunnels.
"KAIN!"
He blacked out before he could answer.
He woke up drowning.
Not in water.
In cold.
The floor under his cheek was smooth and frozen, leeching heat from his skin. Metal, not stone. Sterile. Manufactured.
For a second, Kain couldn't remember what happened. His brain refused to work. His body refused to move.
Pain flickered across his ribs. His back spasmed like it had been torn apart and glued back wrong.
Memory rushed in next.
The soldiers.
The collar.
Mira running.
Kain forced his eyes open.
White light stabbed into them.
Everything was too bright, too sharp. Like someone had polished the world clean of color and life.
He was in a room the size of a processing hangar, lying on the floor in a row of other kids. Dozens. Boys, girls, even younger ones — none older than eighteen.
Every one of them wore the same thin gray tunic. Every one had the same metal band locked around their necks.
Some were unconscious.
Some sat up, staring blankly at the walls like animals in a cage too small to stand.
A few cried silently.
Kain pushed himself up on trembling arms.
The moment he moved, a sharp sting jabbed into the base of his neck.
He grunted in pain.
The collar.
He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to tear at it.
No. Think. Don't make it worse.
He woke up drowning.
Not in water.
In cold.
The floor under his cheek was smooth and frozen, leeching heat from his skin. Metal, not stone. Sterile. Manufactured.
For a second, Kain couldn't remember what happened. His brain refused to work. His body refused to move.
Pain flickered across his ribs. His back spasmed like it had been torn apart and glued back wrong.
Memory rushed in next.
The soldiers.
The collar.
Mira running.
Kain forced his eyes open.
White light stabbed into them.
Everything was too bright, too sharp. Like someone had polished the world clean of color and life.
He was in a room the size of a processing hangar, lying on the floor in a row of other kids. Dozens. Boys, girls, even younger ones — none older than eighteen.
Every one of them wore the same thin gray tunic. Every one had the same metal band locked around their necks.
Some were unconscious.
Some sat up, staring blankly at the walls like animals in a cage too small to stand.
A few cried silently.
Kain pushed himself up on trembling arms.
The moment he moved, a sharp sting jabbed into the base of his neck.
He grunted in pain.
The collar.
He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to tear at it.
No. Think. Don't make it worse.
He glanced at the others.
Most of them looked half-dead already.
A boy near the end of the row was hunched over, rocking slightly, whispering to himself. A girl with a shaved scalp sat cross-legged, staring at her hands like she didn't recognize them.
Kain scanned for threats.
No guards inside the room.
Just the cameras.
Just the collar.
The collar…
He touched it carefully, fingers brushing the metal. Cold. Seamless. Embedded with tiny sensor nodes.
No latch. No release. Probably locked magnetically.
And the sting earlier—
A built-in punishment system.
Step out of line, get zapped, Kain thought bitterly.
The design was clean. Brutal. No wasted effort.
Whoever built this place didn't want prisoners.
They wanted test subjects.
Footsteps echoed.
Kain froze, head snapping toward the far wall.
A seam appeared — a sliding partition he hadn't noticed before.
It hissed open.
Three figures stepped through.
All wore Helion white.
Full sterile suits, breathing masks, datapads in hand.
They moved with the same careful detachment as the soldiers—like they weren't looking at people. Just inventory.
The one in front, a thin woman with short gray hair under her mask, stopped and began calling names.
"Subject A-11. Step forward."
A girl three spots down from Kain stood, wobbling on thin legs.
"Subject D-7. Step forward."
A boy with blood crusted on his lip obeyed without speaking.
One by one, the line thinned.
Kain stayed still.
Waiting.
Thinking.
Okay. They're picking selectively. Testing something. No obvious order. Not size, not strength. Random? No. They have data. They're seeing something we don't.
He swallowed hard.
His pulse hammered.
When the woman's eyes scanned his section, he met them full on.
Unblinking.
A stupid instinct.
Predators picked off the weak. Everyone in Drossveil knew that.
But here? Maybe it was the ones who showed fight they wanted most.
Sure enough, her gaze lingered on him half a second longer.
She tapped her datapad.
"Subject V-9. Step forward."
Kain didn't move.
Not at first.
Every muscle screamed to stay where he was. To vanish.
But the collar around his neck buzzed — a sharp warning jolt — and he gritted his teeth and stood.
Slow. Careful.
The guards outside the door didn't react. They didn't need to.
The collar would do the work if he tried anything.
He walked forward under the weight of a thousand cameras.
They moved the selected kids — maybe ten total — into a smaller adjacent room.
This one had clean walls, glass partitions, examination stations.
Medical machines Kain didn't recognize lined the far wall, blinking with cold, colorless lights.
They were herded into a line.
One by one, they were strapped into upright restraint rigs — steel frames with metal bands across wrists, ankles, and chest.
Kain didn't resist when they locked him in.
He noted every detail instead.
Pressure locks. No mechanical bolts. Electro-magnetic seals keyed to the collars.
Each machine connected by black tubes to a central tank filled with pulsing blue liquid.
The liquid shimmered unnaturally — almost alive.
Eidrix, Kain realized.
He'd only heard rumors. Street whispers about the red stone that could heal wounds… or kill faster than any poison.
But this wasn't stone.
This was liquefied.
Refined.
Weaponized.
The woman in the mask approached him with a small injector.
A tube snaked from the tank directly into the barrel.
Kain glared at her.
"You know," he rasped, voice dry from thirst, "there are better ways to ask for volunteers."
The woman said nothing.
She pressed the injector against the side of his neck.
There was a click.
Then fire.
Kain grunted, muscles seizing as the Eidrix serum flooded his bloodstream.
It wasn't like a drug.
It wasn't like pain.
It was worse.
Every nerve lit up at once. His vision doubled. Tripled. The world spun sideways.
The collar tightened automatically, reading his spike in vitals.
Still, he didn't scream.
Wouldn't give them the satisfaction.
His thoughts frayed at the edges.
Words slurred together.
But deep inside — where the pain couldn't reach yet — one thought anchored him.
Mira.
Run. Keep running.
The machines beeped and buzzed. Technicians recorded numbers. Adjusted dials.
Kain slumped in the restraints, gasping shallow breaths.
Across the room, others weren't as lucky.
Some kids convulsed violently.
One boy's restraints snapped from the sheer force of his spasms before two guards tackled him down.
Another — a smaller girl with a scar under her eye — went limp after thirty seconds.
Flatlined.
No one rushed to revive her.
One of the techs simply tapped her datapad and marked the body for removal.
"This isn't a test," Kain realized grimly. "This is culling."
Not about saving anyone.
Not about helping anyone.
Just seeing who survived the burn.
Hours passed.
Maybe days.
Time lost meaning inside the endless sterile lights.
Kain drifted in and out.
Flashes of memory filled the gaps — Mira's laugh, the way the dust smelled after rainstorms, the old slum rooftops where they'd race for scavenger coins.
Every time he almost gave up, he remembered her face.
Her running. Her escape.
And every time, he dragged himself back from the edge.
Eventually, the restraints unlocked with a hiss.
Kain slumped forward, barely catching himself on shaking legs.
Two guards grabbed him by the arms and hauled him into another room without ceremony.
This one was even worse.
It was a surgical bay.
Or a slaughterhouse.
Stained metal floors.
Operating beds with brown straps.
Empty tanks stacked against the far wall like discarded parts.
Kain was thrown into one of the beds.
More injectors loomed overhead.
He tried to fight. Kicked weakly. Bit one of the guards.
The collar shocked him again — full voltage this time.
He blacked out for a few seconds.
When he woke, metal clamps pinned his wrists and ankles.
Above him, a doctor in heavier armor adjusted a neural drill — a long, needle-like apparatus built to punch directly into the base of the skull.
Kain's heart hammered wildly against his ribs.
"No. No, no, no—"
He thrashed, but it was useless.
The drill came down with mechanical precision.
It pierced the side of his neck — not deep enough to kill, but deep enough to inject something into the brainstem.
Kain screamed hoarsely through clenched teeth.
He tasted blood in his mouth.
A chemical burn exploded through his skull.
Then silence.
Not because it was over.
Because something inside him… shifted.
Like a second heartbeat. A second mind.
Something alien uncoiled in his nerves.
Something waiting.
Above him, the doctor stepped back.
Data readouts blinked green.
The procedure was "successful."
Kain lay there, staring at the ceiling, breathing shallowly.
The pain hadn't stopped.
But his thoughts were clear.
Colder.
Sharper.
They think they own me, he thought.
They think this collar is enough.
They're wrong.
He closed his eyes.
And planned.