A thick, suffocating silence filled the laboratory. The Old Doc stood frozen, his sharp mind struggling to comprehend what his eyes were seeing.
''What am I looking at?''
Xander sat on the surgical table, his thin, scar-ridden frame barely capable of supporting itself. His hands—dislocated at unnatural angles—hung limply at his sides, yet there was no sign of pain on his face.
Instead, his dull, brown eyes studied them with something closer to mild intrigue as he pressed them to the table he was on and put them back in place.
The Old Doc inwardly cursed. ''This shouldn''t be possible.''
Test Subject XA-777 was a failure among all the other Test Subjects due to how weak it was. Its body was below average in every measurable category, and after the last experiment, it should have been too drained to even sit up, let alone... move freely. Not to mention the restraints. Those should have kept him locked in place with no room to so much as twitch.
''So why is it free?'' his scientific mind couldn''t help but ponder.
As if reading his thoughts, Xander chuckled. "C''mon, Doc, don''t think too hard about it. At your age, it might be the thing that finally makes you croak."
Immediately, something snapped in the Old Doc''s head. His instinct finally roared to him about the danger he was in. He swiftly moved to tap on his pad—
But Xander had already expected that.
A blur of frail limbs and weight slammed into him, sending both of them crashing to the floor. The impact knocked the pad from the Old Doc''s grasp, sending it skidding across the bloodstained tiles.
For a moment, the two struggled. Xander''s fingers, long and bone-thin, wrapped around the Old Doc''s throat, pressing down with all the strength his emaciated body could muster. The Old Doc, despite being a scientist and not a fighter, instinctively fought back. He clawed at Xander''s wrists, his nails digging into malnourished flesh, but Xander didn''t loosen his grip.
"Ahhh, you have no idea how long I''ve waited for this," Xander sighed, as if reminiscing about an old memory rather than strangling a man. "For years, I wasn''t sure if I''d ever get the chance. But thank the gods—actually, no, fuck the gods—seems like you fucks finally let their guard down. Took you long enough."
The Old Doc gurgled, his breath wheezing as he fought for air. His eyes bulged slightly, but Xander wasn''t paying attention to him anymore. He was too busy talking, taking advantage of the moment to let out years of pent-up frustration.
"For my entire fucking life, you fuck have ripped me apart from the inside out just to find whatever success you''re looking for, and to be honest you almost got to me really," Xander said, still relishing the moment he was in.
"I just wished that one day, you fucks would actually get tired and stop but after the first 5000 experiments—yes I did keep count. It wasn''t that hard when you kept mentioning the numbers of each fucking one! But what was I saying, Ah yes!"
Xayn tightened his grip around the old man''s throat, "I realised that you would stop. So did you know what I did. I decided that I would make you fucks stop. Not by pleading, or by achieving whatever you are trying to achieve—No, I would make you stop by killing every single one of you."
"And you know, I almost thought about waiting longer. Maybe kill you later, after I take care of Fat Doc and Ugly Doc first. But when you didn''t notice my restraints loosening from the constant chest explosions, well, I just had to take the chance" he said with a grin, tightening his fingers.
"Don''t worry, though Old Doc. I''ll make sure to send those cretins down to meet you real soon. Consider it my final courtesy."
The Old Doc''s vision blurred. He had minutes, maybe even seconds left before his body shut down. Desperation clawed at his failing mind as he forced his trembling hand toward the pad on the floor. If he could just—
Xander''s eyes flicked downward. "Oh, no you don''t."
With a grunt, he used every ounce of his dwindling strength to slam the Old Doc''s head against the cold floor. Once. Twice. The scientist''s body convulsed as his head cracked before finally going limp, his arms falling to the ground lifelessly.
Xander took a deep breath, feeling his pulse steady as he sat back on his heels. His fingers ached, his muscles screamed, but he didn''t care. The Old Doc was dead.
"Damn," he muttered, shaking out his sore hands. "You really didn''t wanna go, huh? It''s common courtesy to let the younger generation have their turn, y''know."
He chuckled to himself as he patted down the Old Doc''s coat, rummaging through the pockets. His fingers brushed against cold metal, but it was just a pen. A few other miscellaneous tools. And... some old photos. Xander squinted at them.
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A woman, a child. Family?
"Tch." He shoved them back. "Don''t care."
That was when the voice rang out.
"Dr. Veran? You''ve gone silent. Has something occurred?"
Xander froze for only a second before exhaling.
He knew he was in trouble. If he made a sound, they''d know something was wrong. But if he stayed quiet for too long, they''d figure it out anyway.
Well... it was a dilemma.
Or it would be if he gave a damn about caution.
A slow grin spread across Xander''s face. His golden eyes gleamed with something new. Something dangerous.
"Let''s get this over with," he muttered, stepping towards the digital pad. "I never liked dragging things out anyway."
Xander grabbed the pad from the floor and stared at its screen, momentarily dazed. This was the first time he had ever held technology before. The only reason he even knew what it was came from years of observation—watching the Old Doc use them, hearing Ugly Doc drone on about how a "lowlife failure" like him would never get to experience even the most basic of pleasures of life and shit like that.
He scoffed inwardly. That ugly bastard. Xander might have looked like a patchwork of mismatched flesh, but he still had a higher chance of getting some than that grotesque, self-important son of a bitch.
Shaking off his train of thought, Xander turned his focus back to the pad in his hands. He didn''t have the faintest clue how to use it, so he simply started pressing buttons at random. The screen flickered with incomprehensible data and security logs.
Then, he saw it—a big, red button.
A wicked grin curled his lips.
Now, Xander wasn''t exactly the most educated individual when it came to technology, but he knew one universal truth. Big red buttons were meant to be pushed.
So he did.
Instantly, the pristine white lights of the lab shifted into a deep, pulsating crimson. A deafening alarm wailed through the corridors, a relentless, shrill blaring that screamed emergency.
"What the hell—?!" A voice crackled through the intercom, startled. "What''s going on?" The panic in the speaker''s voice was evident, and Xander could practically hear the frantic scrambling on the other end as they pieced together what was happening.
Then came the dreaded realization: "ALERT! Subject XA-777 has breached containment! I repeat, the test subject is loose! All units, report to the experimentation lab immediately!"
Xander tilted his head, amusement flickering in his brown eyes as he glanced down at the dead Old Doc. "Well, looks like you got me the welcoming party after all, Doc. How thoughtful of you."
***
The clanking of boots against cold, steel floors echoed through the facility as a squad of six guards rushed down the dimly lit corridor. Their stun batons hummed with energy, rifles clutched tightly in their hands.
"Why the hell is this happening?" one of them muttered, panic lacing his voice. "They told us this was impossible! The subject is supposed to be extremely weak!"
"Maybe the experiments turned it into some kind of monster..." another whispered, the paranoia already sinking in.
That suggestion did nothing to ease their nerves. If anything, it made the situation worse.
When they had been stationed in this facility, they had all considered it a blessing. Not only did they have to look over only one Test Subject, but this one had nothing dangerous or special about it compared to the more dangerous ones like OP-123 or VL-001.
Now they were being told this supposed failure experiment had some how breached containment. They were quite rightfully paranoid and fearful.
The supposed leader of the group, a slightly braver soul, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders. "Get a grip! There''s six of us and one of it. No way in hell it''s going to survive an attack from all of us. Stay sharp, and don''t let your guard down."
They reached the steel door, standing before it as tension filled the air. No one wanted to be the first to go in, but orders were orders. Swallowing their nerves, they unlocked the door, their weapons at the ready, and burst inside.
Their senses were immediately assaulted by the overwhelming stench of iron. The room was painted in horror—blood, shredded flesh, and unidentifiable organs splattered across the walls and floor.
And in the center of the grotesque scene, sitting eerily still atop the surgical bed, was a lone figure.
Pale, skeletal, and covered in fresh scars, ''XA-777'' sat motionless, his head tilted down just enough to cast a shadow over his features.
He resembled a living corpse with how still he was and the cold temperature of the laboratory did nothing to ease that.
"M-MONSTER!" one of the guards shrieked, and in sheer terror, they opened fire.
Their weapons clattered to the ground as they hurled whatever they had at him—batons, rifles, even a helmet. The idiots had some how forgotten it was possible to shoot.
The ''monster'' before them didn''t even move, simply toppling over like a lifeless corpse.
A beat of silence passed. Then another.
One of the guards cautiously stepped forward. "Did... did we get it?"
And as they approached the body, they realised something. Since when was XA-777 wearing a lab coat, and when did it have so many wrinkles.
As if on cue, a loud metallic slam echoed through the chamber.
The guards spun around in horror to see the heavy steel door behind them shut tight. Their breath hitched.
"No..."
Realization hit them all at once.
"NO! OPEN THE DOOR!"
Panic ensued as they banged on the steel, screaming for someone—anyone—to let them out. Their cries were desperate, their fear palpable.
The only thing they could hear on the other side was a menacing cackle, like some sort of witch or demon laughing at them.
Meanwhile, just outside the room, Xander stood casually, stretching his limbs as he admired his handiwork.
"Well... that was easier than expected," he muttered. He had anticipated some resistance, maybe even a struggle. But those idiots had just strolled right into the cage.
He scratched his head, slightly disappointed. Was this divine intervention? Some miracle of fate?
...Nah. If there was one thing he was sure of, it was that the gods weren''t on his side. Never had been, never would be.
Those guards were just plain stupid. Very poor design in his opinion.
If the gods did actually do something other than be worshipped, they should be very disappointed in the low-grade mental activities of their creations.
But no matter. He had more pressing concerns.
His eyes flickered toward the dimly lit corridors ahead. To his knowledge, there were way more guards in this facility than just those six.
And to be honest?
He had no clue where the hell he was and how big this facility was.
But he knew exactly where he needed to go to find out.
With a sharp, predatory grin, Xander began make his move.