Experiment X

Extraction of X

The lead scientist chuckled, seemingly amused by his endurance. "Oh, you're a resilient one, aren't you? Makes it all the more enjoyable to see how much you can take." He sliced another line across Specimen X's chest, watching with morbid fascination as the wound sealed itself almost instantly. "We could do this all night, and you'd still be here, as perfect as ever. Fascinating."

The words clawed at him, stirring the hatred that he held deep within, a smoldering fire that he fanned with each insult, each jab, each taunt. He imagined the scientist's face contorted in fear, his eyes wide with terror as Specimen X turned the tables, made him feel the helplessness he so relished inflicting on others. The vision was intoxicating, a promise of future vengeance that he held onto as tightly as he held onto his silence.

And yet, despite his every attempt to banish her from his mind, Aria's image flickered back into his consciousness, her face hovering before him like a specter. He hated himself for wanting her here, for craving the quiet curiosity in her gaze, the way she'd looked at him not with cruelty or contempt, but with something that felt almost like understanding.

In his mind, he could almost hear her voice, soft and measured, devoid of the malice that permeated the voices of the other scientists. She was the only one who had looked at him as though he were more than a mere subject, the only one who had shown a glimmer of compassion, however faint. It was ridiculous, he told himself—she was just another scientist, just another cog in this brutal machine. And yet, the memory of her lingered, a quiet defiance against the harsh reality around him.

He gritted his teeth, forcing himself back to the present, to the pain that lanced through his body as another needle plunged into his arm. He didn't know why he wanted her here, why her absence left a hollow ache that only sharpened his anger. Perhaps it was because, despite everything, he had sensed something different in her—a vulnerability, a quiet strength that mirrored his own in ways he could not fully understand.

But it didn't matter. She was still human, still bound by the same twisted morals that drove these monsters to torment him. And yet, even as he told himself this, he knew he couldn't erase her from his thoughts. She was there, woven into his anger, his hatred, his desire for vengeance, a thread of hope that he could neither sever nor fully accept.

As the scientists continued their work, oblivious to the turmoil simmering beneath his stoic exterior, Specimen X vowed that he would hold onto this anger, this hatred. He would let it fuel him, let it burn through him until the day came when he could unleash it upon them, make them feel every ounce of pain they had inflicted upon him. And when that day came, perhaps he would allow himself to find her, to confront the quiet mystery she represented, to understand why, in the midst of his rage, she remained an unshakable presence.

For now, he would wait. He would endure, biding his time as the scientists laughed, jeered, and inflicted their petty torments. But someday, the tables would turn. Someday, he would break free, and they would know the true meaning of pain.

As the lab fell silent for a moment, Specimen X caught the metallic scent of blood mingling with antiseptic—a cruel perfume in this space of cold precision and human arrogance. The scientists busied themselves with more tools, sifting through vials and needles, oblivious to the wrath simmering just beneath the surface of his placid exterior. The pain was irrelevant now, his senses trained on the sound of their laughter, on the way they revelled in his suffering.

With a deliberate calm, he studied each of them, memorizing faces, storing away every nuance of their cruelty. One day he would remember every single one, their expressions etched vividly into his memory. One of them—a younger man with glasses that slipped down his nose as he worked—appeared nervous, as if he knew something was wrong but couldn't articulate it. A faint tremor ran through the scientist's hand as he passed the needle to his colleague, and Specimen X made a mental note. This one could be useful, he thought, his mind twisting toward tactics he'd planned and discarded in the past, waiting for just the right moment.

He almost chuckled, the impulse restrained as he let his gaze drift past the young man and onto the next—a woman who seemed almost bored by the night's proceedings, tapping her fingers on a tablet as she recorded his vitals. Her indifference cut through him almost as sharply as the blade they wielded; she cared nothing for the agony she facilitated, treating him as data, a collection of cells to observe and dissect.

A small, traitorous part of him wondered if Aria would view him this way, given the chance. He had sensed her curiosity, her strange fascination when she'd looked at him, and even felt it echo within himself. But what would happen when the layers of her humanity peeled back? Would she, too, come to see him as they did, something less than she? It was a maddening thought, and he pushed it away as quickly as it surfaced, refusing to give it power over him.

Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he could still see her face, the momentary softness in her gaze as she'd looked at him, not as a subject but as a being. She was the only human who seemed conflicted, the only one who possessed a sliver of doubt as to what they were doing to him. That hesitance, that small act of defiance in itself, was enough to brand her into his mind. It was a beacon in the endless, sterile corridors of this facility.

Just then, a sudden sting pierced his arm, snapping him back to the present. He could feel his skin crawl, his muscles instinctively tightening under the needle, even as he forced himself to maintain his composure. The older scientist, a graying, gaunt man with a permanent sneer, pressed down on the plunger, releasing a fresh surge of some chemical that burned through his veins like fire.

"Still no reaction," the scientist mused, feigning disappointment, as though disappointed that he couldn't break the specimen's calm. "You must be hiding some very deep secrets in that body of yours, aren't you?"

Specimen X met the man's gaze, allowing a flicker of his fury to show, a fleeting, feral spark that made the scientist's smirk falter ever so slightly. It was small, nearly imperceptible, but it was enough. He had rattled him, if only for a moment, and he took a grim satisfaction in that tiny victory.

The scientist moved on, oblivious to the slow, methodical thoughts running through Specimen X's mind. This one would be the first to go, he decided, watching the man's skeletal fingers dance over a scalpel with a casual cruelty that he found almost laughable. He would teach them all the true cost of underestimating him, of seeing him as a mere experiment, a plaything for their amusement.

As they continued their work, he drifted inward, summoning memories of his home—if he could even call it that. He remembered the vast, open spaces of his world, skies so different from the sterile gray of this facility, tinged with hues of gold and amethyst under suns that never set as early as they did here. His people, those who had lived beside him, were not beings of violence or conquest, but he had learned what it meant to protect. That instinct, honed across generations, had not dulled despite his captivity, and it now flared in his chest, alive with purpose.

They couldn't keep him here forever. The very thought brought a bitter twist to his lips, a smile that held none of the warmth it might once have contained. These humans thought they knew power, thought they understood control. But they knew nothing of him. Not yet. And when he finally did reveal his strength, his abilities, they would cower as he'd once seen others cower in the face of their own fear.

In the silence that followed, he almost wished Aria would appear, despite himself. He hated the idea, and yet, he wanted her there—someone to witness what he was, what they had reduced him to. Perhaps then she would understand what he'd endure. Perhaps then she would see the monster they were creating.

But Aria was nowhere to be found, leaving only these pale, leering scientists to bear witness to his torment. And when they left, when they were satisfied with the night's work, the silence that settled in the lab was a stark reminder of his isolation. He was alone in this fight, a solitary being surrounded by enemies who knew neither mercy nor remorse.

And he could not help but wonder how much longer he could bear it.