The room smelled of metal, burnt flesh, and thick smoke that choked the lungs. All eyes were on the experiment chamber, hands trembling with sweat over the control console.
Not a single word came from the professor in response to the agony screams from the subject.
The professor stood silent, his glasses reflecting the horror in Sector 13.
The staff wore long white lab coats, just like the professor. That outfit meant nothing.
But to the subjects, they looked like angels of death.
Every time one of them came into the subject quarters and took someone out, it was a sign of inevitable suffering—and unfortunately, none of the subjects could refuse.
Some lived and suffered. Some died and were discarded. Some died and were brought back using machines for specific reasons.
Nothing about it was pleasant for them—the subjects.
Freedom was an impossible dream. They were destined to live to fulfill the adults ambition.
They didn't know love, fear, or sadness—those were aspects they were not allowed to have.
White lights hung low along the corridors. The walls were white, the floors also the same—only their hair offered any difference. It was a sight that would make anyone uncomfortable.
Sector 13 was the most hated place by the subjects. Not because it was ugly or suffocating—but because anyone brought to Sector 13 had slight chance of returning alive.
And if they did survive, they were thrown into isolation chamber—cold and empty.
For those who died, maybe that was the only way to escape this facility.
How ironic, right?
Even so, the subjects had no choice. They had to bear all the suffering in the hope that the paradise of freedom promised by the professor would come true—whether in months or in years.
Inside Sector 13, the staff were starting to show signs of concern, even though they knew exactly what kind of subject was being tested.
The professor remained quiet, focusing intently on his favorite subject.
[Vital signs detected]
[Initiating bone reconstruction]
[Initiating body cellular reassembly]
[Initiating flesh and skin regeneration]
[Initiating organ recovery]
[Subject 497 Vital Signs: Stable]
[Body temperature: Normal]
[Death Probability: 0.1%]
"Professor!" called the head of Sector 13's lab.
The middle-aged man, half his face covered by an iron mask, turned to listen.
The results were exactly as expected—and hoped.
"The fragment fusion process is successful. Post-trial data shows a death probability rate below 1%."
"If he wasn't compatible with Shigo, I would've never implanted that fragment into him."
"Not only that—his recovery speed and cognitive function have improved significantly. This is the result we've dreamed of," the professor explained, spreading his arms proudly.
The staff behind the laboratory's control computers began clapping.
They were happy. They were proud. And... they were relieved.
Their years of research had finally paid off. With the impressive abilities of Subject 497, they could manifest the most terrifying weapon ever created.
It wouldn't die, wouldn't break, constantly evolved, constantly adapted. No one would be able to defeat it. The professor's dream had finally come true.
"Congratulations, Professor."
"A brilliant achievement. They'll love this."
"I'm feeling optimistic about future trials with other subjects."
The professor had never been this happy, this calm, or this satisfied in his entire life. He had created many medicines—none brought him joy.
He had developed many vaccines—none gave him peace. He had received countless awards—none satisfied him.
But now, in the lab of Sector 13, the 51-year-old professor finally felt everything he had ever wanted.
"End the experiment and open the chamber."
BLAST!
An explosion happened elsewhere in the facility, the shockwave rumbling through the walls. The water sprinklers activated—everywhere.
The emergency sirens howled like air raid alarms. The white lights turned to flashing red, adding to the terror flooding the place.
The professor turned, never expecting this secret facility to be breached by outsiders.
He had no choice—he had to initiate the emergency protocol he had. But it was the best course of action.
"Activate Protocol 99-A!"
"But isn't that—"
"Just do it!"
"And secure Subject 497 befo—"
STAB!
The professor fell silent. His eyes widened as something pierced through him from behind.
A blade had stabbed into his back and burst through his chest. Staff members screamed and rushed to save him.
"PROFESSOR!"
The man turned his head and saw Subject 497 standing right behind him, completely naked, dried blood on his pale skin, messy hair, and empty eyes full of hatred.
No. They hadn't been able to remove the anger and hatred.
Because rage comes from suffering, and there had never been anything pleasant in all the experiments they had done.
Subject 497 had hold that fury for a long time—waiting for this exact moment, especially when the professor's experiment had finally succeeded.
"Y-You... dare to disobey orders?" the professor asked.
"Deactivate the subject!" the professor yelled.
[ERROR!]
[Subject deactivation failed]
"WHAT?!"
Without a word, Subject 497 pulled the sword—grown from his wrist—free, and began tearing the professor apart from behind. The old man screamed in agony.
"AAAAAAHHHH!"
"Professor!"
Subject 497 kept tearing without pause, repeating exactly what he remembered from his sixth experiment: his body stabbed by thousands of blades and knives, flesh torn, limbs severed, bones shattered.
Now, he was doing the same thing to the professor, with an eerie expression—flat and cold.
Soon, the professor died, his body destroyed and torn apart. He bled out, vital organs destroyed. Subject 497 stopped.
"M-Monster!" screamed another staff member.
Panic broke out as the staff fled Sector 13 to save themselves. Subject 497 walked out, still unclothed, following the corridor where the staff had escaped.
He raised his hand to shoulder height and fired thousands of bone-manifested bullets from his fingers. They shot out rapidly, tearing through the fleeing lab staff, killing them instantly.
The once-secret medical facility had fallen into complete chaos.
Between the invasion of an unknown group and the rampage of Subject 497, the place was littered with corpses—some shot, some burned, some beheaded, some melted by acid.
He continued walking down the corridor, searching for them—those adults in white coats.
He stopped. Ahead was a door labeled D-109. Without an access card, he simply burned the door with high-temperature flames.
Eventually, it melted, revealing a black-haired girl sitting on the floor, knees hugged to her chest. Her white uniform bore the ID: S-501.
"You're not one of them?"
"You stink—like burned flesh."
"I'm looking for the adults."
"Too bad. I'm not one of them."
Subject 497 didn't respond and walked on to another room, forcing it open. He opened every room—killing anyone with white coats, unless they were another subject.
Because to him, other subjects had suffered the same pain. They didn't need to suffer any longer.
A foreign army unit arrived, clad in full tactical gear and bulletproof vests. They moved in with rifles, marching in formation.
"A subject has escaped," one of them said.
Subject 497 saw them. In his eyes, they were just more adults—those who caused his suffering, who brought endless death. He turned savage.
He stretched his hand and launched another bone bullets—but they stopped.
The entire area around Subject 497 and the soldiers turned black-and-white, monochrome.
The sirens fell silent. Even the sound of a heartbeat vanished. The area was now a soundless void, for reasons Subject 497 couldn't understand.
"Let me handle this."
A woman stepped forward from the soldier ranks, wearing a white blouse and black slacks. She stood directly in front of Subject 497.
His bullets faded. All forms of attack vanished. Subject 497 froze, eyes blank, unsure what was happening.
But he was already adapting.
The long-haired woman turned to read the ID number on his uniform. She pulled out three pieces of candy and crouched in front of him, offering them.
"Do you want one?"
In the silence, only her voice could be heard—clear and warm. It immediately caught Subject 497's attention. She was an adult—but with powers like a subject.
"Are you one of them?"
Subject 497 tried to speak, but no sound came out. Still, the woman smiled, understanding what he meant. She continued offering the candy.
"No, I'm not."
Cautiously, warily, Subject 497 took one piece, unwrapped it, and ate it. His eyes widened. He hadn't expected something so small and orange to taste so good and refreshing.
Not one—he took the remaining two and popped them both into his mouth.
For the first time, Subject 497 felt joy... from eating candy. His eyes closed, and the corners of his lips curled into a slight smile.
Yes. This woman was not like them.
She might be... his savior.
The silence disappeared instantly. Subject 497 could hear again. But he collapsed, clutching his head—by a loud buzzing.
Not just him—the soldiers felt it too. The difference was, they recovered within minutes. But for Subject 497, the center of the silence, it would take hours.
With a gentle touch from the woman's hand, the pain eased, and he felt calm again.
Subject 497 opened his eyes and saw his savior standing right in front of him. She said something that caught his attention.
"Would you like to come with me?"
"Where?"
"To get more candy."