The guard room buzzed with tension as several guards scrambled to equip themselves, checking their weapons and fastening their gear with swift, practiced movements. A low murmur of voices filled the space, laced with uncertainty and suspicion.


    "This whole thing is weird as hell," one guard muttered as he loaded a cartridge into his stun baton. "Why were only six of us sent to the lab? If it was an actual security breach, shouldn''t we have all been mobilized from the start?"


    "Maybe they didn''t think it was serious at first?" another suggested. "XA-777 is supposed to be one of the weakest test subjects. Wouldn''t need a full squad to handle something that''s barely stronger than a sickly rat."


    "Then why are we all being called in now?" a third guard countered. "If it was so weak, how did it get out of the lab? And if it didn''t, why the hell are we mobilizing at full force?"


    The room fell into an uneasy silence. Paranoia crept into their expressions.


    "Actually," one of the more jittery guards began, rubbing his gloved hand over his shaved head, "XA-777 was always kinda… weird. You ever wonder why it had an entire facility to itself? Even Specimen OP-123 has to share a containment cell with others. XA-777 is supposed to be weak, but then why does it get its own space? Why keep a low-level failure locked up like some kind of world-ending threat?"


    The unease in the room thickened.


    "Enough with the damn theories," a gruff, older guard barked, his voice slicing through the tension. "This isn''t some cafeteria gossip session. You''re all getting paid to do a job, so do it. Questions are for lunch breaks. This is not a lunch break."


    The room snapped back into order as the guards tightened their grips on their weapons, gathered their nerve, and began filing out in formation. But as the last two prepared to leave, the older guard raised a hand, stopping them.


    "One of you stays behind," he ordered. "Guard the room in case the test subject circles back. Can''t leave this place completely unmanned."


    The two remaining guards exchanged uneasy glances before one finally nodded and stepped back. "Fine. I''ll stay. Just don''t forget about me when the action''s over."


    The older guard grunted in response before disappearing down the hallway with the rest of the squad. The lone guard exhaled, closing the heavy door behind them. The sudden quiet was unnerving, leaving only the dull hum of overhead lights and the distant wail of the facility''s alarm system echoing through the corridors.


    He made his way to the storage room, glancing over the empty weapon racks. All the ranged weaponry had been cleared out—only a few stray stun batons remained. He picked one up, feeling the weight of it in his hand, and sighed. "Great. If it really is a breach, I get stuck with the damn nightstick."


    His thoughts wandered to his family—his wife, his kids—waiting for him back home. This was just another shift, another paycheck, another night of standing around guarding things that, in truth, he didn''t really understand. The less he questioned, the easier it was to get through the day.


    A sudden knock on the door made him jump.


    His heart pounded as he turned toward the sound. Who the hell—?


    His colleagues had already just left. He hesitated before stepping closer, gripping the baton tightly.


    "Who is it?" he called out.


    "It''s me," came a familiar, gruff voice from the other side. "Need a few more stun batons."


    The older guard.


    Something about the request didn''t sit right. The entire squad had just left—why would they suddenly need more weapons? He distinctly remembered everyone grabbing their share, even the six that had initially gone to the lab.


    "Thought you guys took enough," he said, narrowing his eyes at the door.


    "Turns out we didn''t. Open up."


    A flicker of doubt ran through him, but he shook it off. He couldn''t afford to overthink things. He exhaled, unlocked the door, and pulled it open—


    And was met with a nightmare.


    Standing in the doorway, a twisted grin on his face, was Test Subject XA-777.


    The moment the lone guard saw the twisted grin of XA-777, his instincts kicked in. With a startled grunt and an unsteady step back, he swung the stun baton in a wide arc, aiming straight for Xander’s skull. But Xander was already moving, his frail, malnourished body lunging forward instead of dodging.


    His bony shoulder slammed into the guard’s midsection. It shouldn''t have been enough—his sickly frame should have crumpled against the muscular man—but the sheer shock of seeing the supposedly weak test subject standing in front of him had already thrown the guard off balance. He stumbled backward, his feet fumbling against the floor, and fell hard onto his back with a grunt.


    Xander wasted no time. He was on the guard in an instant, hands clawing at the baton, trying to wrestle it from his grasp. The guard, still dazed, recovered quickly and reasserted his grip. He twisted his wrist, pressing a hidden switch on the baton. A sharp, crackling buzz filled the air as electricity surged through the weapon, and he slammed it against Xander’s ribs.


    Pain exploded through Xander’s nerves, his entire body seizing for a brief moment. The guard expected him to convulse, to scream, to lose all control—but instead, Xander only grit his teeth, his breath hitching, his muscles twitching in resistance.


    The pain was familiar. Expected. He’d been electrocuted so many times in that wretched lab that his body almost welcomed it now, like an old enemy he knew too well as it only made his mouth fill with a bit of blood.


    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Then an idea struck him.


    With a crazed grin, Xander snapped his head forward and spit a mouthful of blood directly into the guard’s face. The warm, sticky fluid splattered into the guard’s eyes and mouth, blinding him, disorienting him. The guard coughed and gagged in sheer disgust, momentarily losing focus.


    "You’re making this too easy," Xander rasped, his voice filled with cruel amusement.


    Seizing the moment, he slammed his bony, trembling hand directly into the guard’s mouth, forcing his fingers past his lips. The guard''s eyes bulged in horror as Xander shifted the still-active stun baton towards his own forearm, sending the crackling electricity straight through his arm and into the guard’s mouth.


    The effect was instantaneous. The guard convulsed violently as electricity surged through the soft tissue of his mouth, frying his nerves. His body spasmed, jerking uncontrollably as muffled, garbled screams erupted from his throat. Xander, despite his own pain, grinned wildly, his lips curling like a mad man.


    The guard, driven purely by survival instinct, released the baton and shoved Xander away with every ounce of strength he had left. Both of them fell back, gasping. Xander’s entire body twitched, his muscles rebelling from the repeated shocks, but he still forced himself to move.


    "Fucking hells…" Xander spat, tasting more blood. "I swear, if I wasn''t so used to this shit, I''d be a corpse by now."


    The guard, now on all fours, was struggling to regain himself. He coughed, saliva and remnants of blood dripping from his lips, his breath ragged and panicked. His vision was swimming, the world around him reduced to blurred shapes and painful ringing. But he had to get up—


    Xander wasn''t about to give him the chance.


    Lurching forward, he snatched the stun baton from the ground and, instead of activating it again, looped it under the guard’s throat like a bar. Then, pressing his foot against the back of the man’s neck, he pulled back with all his strength.


    The guard’s body jolted in realization, his fingers scratching desperately at the baton as his airflow was completely cut off. His arms flailed, his muscles bulging as he struggled, but Xander had leverage on his side. With his foot pinning the back of the guard’s neck and his bony arms pulling the baton deeper into his throat, the poor bastard had nowhere to go.


    "You guys… you really like making me work for it, huh?" Xander grunted, sweat dripping from his brow as his arms burned from the effort. "You could just die quicker and save me the trouble, but nooo—" He gave an extra pull, forcing the baton deeper. "—you just have to drag it out."


    The guard''s face turned deep red, veins bulging across his forehead. His hands grasped wildly, fingers digging into Xander’s arm in a final desperate attempt to pry himself free, but his movements were slowing. His body was betraying him.


    His mind screamed. I can’t die! I still have my family—I still have…


    His vision dimmed. The last thing his conscious mind saw was the twisted grin of the XA-777 looming over him, those wild eyes filled with something between hatred and amusement. A demon—no an abomination in human skin.


    Then darkness.


    Xander finally let go, panting heavily as he let the body slump to the floor. His arms were trembling, the weight of exhaustion crashing onto him like a tidal wave. He dropped back, breathing deeply, staring at the ceiling.


    "Damn…" he muttered between breaths. "I swear, this shit is more exhausting than getting tortured."


    He let himself lie there for just a few moments before forcing himself up. There was no time to rest. He still had things to do.


    If something as simple as this was going to put him down for long, he might as well hand himself over now.


    Xander took a moment to survey the guard room now that the pesky obstacle was dealt with. He let out a breath, the slight tremor in his limbs betraying the toll that last fight had taken on him. Not that he’d let something as mundane as pain slow him down. He had more pressing matters to deal with.


    The room itself was nothing special—a sterile, lifeless space with cold metal lockers lining the walls and a desk cluttered with various junk. It was familiar to him, in a way. Out of all the places in this facility, he only really knew three: the laboratory where he was cut open and violated daily, his containment cell which served as his personal piss-and-shit bucket, and this very guard room. He had spent years memorizing every corridor they dragged him through, every turn, every step—because what else was there for him to do? Dream of freedom? No, that was foolishness. But now… now he had a reason to put that knowledge to use.


    He had considered going back to his cell, if only to make some kind of final statement. Maybe burn it down, piss on the ashes. But there was nothing of value there—no hidden mementos, no secret caches, just a testament to his suffering. Hell, even his drinking water came from the same bucket he pissed in. And food? Hah. He hadn’t eaten in over ten years. The bastards running this place realized early on that feeding him was a waste of resources when the recovery fluid they injected into him repaired the damage starvation should have caused. He didn’t even remember what food tasted like. But why was he even thinking about that? He was getting sidetracked.


    His goal was simple: find a way out. The guards weren’t permanent residents of this hellhole—they came and went. Which meant there was an exit, and where there was an exit, there had to be a way to locate it.


    He needed a map, or at the very least, some kind of direction. Weapons would be nice too, though all he saw left in the storage were those damn stun batons, which were about as appealing as licking a live wire at this point.


    Rummaging through the room, he came across another digital pad. His initial reaction was to curse his luck—another useless piece of tech he had no idea how to operate.


    But then he noticed something—an image displaying what looked like a layout of the facility. His eyes widened slightly.


    Could it really be that easy?


    He snatched up the pad and studied the screen with intense focus.


    Then his grin faltered.


    "I can''t read for fucking shit!"


    A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. Out of all the things those bastard doctors could have taught him—how to endure pain, how to stay alive despite being torn apart—they never thought to give him something as simple as literacy. He clenched his teeth in frustration, but then he caught sight of something familiar.


    A red symbol, marked prominently on one section of the screen. His mind clicked into gear.


    Red.


    Red was his lucky color today. First the big red button, and now this symbol. He grinned. Maybe it was a sign. Though if he had to pick, he still preferred brown—his hair color, after all.


    Comparing the symbol’s location to the surrounding layout, he realized that must be where he was right now. If he could follow the lines leading away from it, he could find the exit. He traced the paths with his finger, committing them to memory as best as he could.


    Now that he had what he needed, it was time to get the hell out of here.


    Grabbing one of the stun batons—better to have something than nothing—he turned towards the door, ready to leave. But as he moved, his gaze landed on the guard’s body.


    And then his brow furrowed.


    Now that he looked at him properly, he recognized the bastard. It was the same guard he had spat on earlier when they were dragging him to the lab. And, more surprisingly, the guy was still breathing.


    Xander tilted his head, considering this development. Was the bastard lucky or unlucky? Getting spat on twice—once with actual blood this time—getting left behind while his colleagues marched to their doom, then surviving all the shit Xander just pulled… He couldn’t tell if this man had the worst luck in existence or the best.


    A part of him entertained the idea of finishing the job. A quick stab, a bash to the skull—end it cleanly. But he dismissed the thought. Compared to the other scum in this place, this one was tolerable. He was gullible. Every time Xander faked those pitiful pleas, this guy fell for it.


    Every. Single. Time.


    It was stupid. It was funny. He kind of respected it in a weird way.


    “Guess I’ll let you have this one,” Xander muttered under his breath, shaking his head.


    With that decision made, he stepped over the unconscious guard and moved towards the door. He was done here. Time to find that exit.


    And maybe, just maybe, get a taste of the outside world for the first time in his miserable life.