Ethan's wrists ached where the new restraints cut into his skin—sleeker than the arena collar, but no less humiliating. Mr. X insisted they were "precautionary." Ethan knew better.
A transport drone whisked him down a sterile corridor at breakneck speed. The walls were glass on one side, steel on the other, revealing glimpses of the facility's interior: weapons labs, surgical chambers, and holding cells filled with subjects. Not prisoners—"assets."
One room housed a child, no older than twelve, practicing hand-to-hand combat against a mechanical armature. Another revealed a woman wired to machines, her eyes lifeless but glowing with that same artificial blue Ethan had seen in the enhanced fighters.
He looked away.
This was no prison.
It was a forge.
And they were making weapons out of people.
"Where are we going?" Ethan asked.
The escort, a silent man in a black uniform with the silver insignia of Mr. X's private security, didn't respond. He kept his hand near the sidearm at his belt. Smart.
The drone halted outside a thick reinforced door. It slid open with a hiss, revealing a chamber unlike any Ethan had seen so far. It was warm. Comfortable, even.
Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with rare old tomes. A crackling fireplace flickered in the far corner. In the center stood a single round table with two chairs. Mr. X sat in one, sipping something amber from a crystal glass.
Ethan was pushed forward.
"Remove his restraints," Mr. X said without looking up.
The guard hesitated. "Sir, protocol—"
"I gave an order."
A pause. Then the guard complied, unclasping Ethan's restraints. The moment they dropped, Ethan flexed his hands, tempted to lunge.
Mr. X looked up, eyes cold and unreadable. "If you were going to try to kill me, you'd have done it already. Sit."
Ethan did, reluctantly.
"You want something," he said.
Mr. X smiled faintly. "I want many things. But let's start with you. You're not like the others, Ethan. You're the product of something very specific."
Ethan said nothing.
Mr. X continued. "You're not enhanced, not exactly. No implants, no artificial conditioning. And yet, your vitals during the last trials? Extraordinary. Adaptive threshold beyond normal limits. Hormonal regulation under extreme stress. Almost… too perfect."
"I train harder than your lapdogs," Ethan said.
Mr. X chuckled. "You think brute effort made you this way? No, Ethan. You were made."
That made Ethan's stomach turn. "You're lying."
"Am I?" Mr. X leaned forward. "You remember your parents?"
Ethan's mouth went dry.
"Thought not. Because there are none. You were born in a vat, trained in a facility like this one. But unlike the others, your record was scrubbed. Hidden. Someone spirited you away."
"Who?"
"Unknown. We've been trying to find out for years. Imagine our surprise when you resurfaced—unregistered, unmonitored, but oh so… efficient. The arena was meant to break you. Instead, it revealed you."
Ethan's chest tightened.
It couldn't be true.
Could it?
"You're lying," he repeated, quieter this time.
Mr. X swirled the drink in his glass. "Believe what you like. But here's the truth: I could kill you, dissect you, and still not get the answers I want. Or… you could work with me. Willingly. Help unlock your own past."
"By helping you create more monsters?"
"No." Mr. X set the glass down. "By helping me build something new. A correction. Humanity is already breaking itself—war, famine, corruption. I'm trying to mold what comes after."
"You're building killers."
"I'm building survivors."
They stared at each other, the fire crackling between them.
"You don't have to trust me," Mr. X said. "Just play along. For now."
"And Kai? The others?"
"They're safe. As long as you remain useful."
Ethan's jaw tensed.
Mr. X rose. "Rest. You'll be transferred to R&D in the morning. You'll meet the team, participate in tests. Controlled ones, this time. No more bloodsport—unless you disappoint me."
The guard returned and motioned Ethan to follow.
He didn't resist.
The quarters were spartan but clean. A bed. A sink. A surveillance camera in every corner.
Ethan sat on the edge of the mattress, hands buried in his face.
Born in a vat?
It felt absurd—but deep down, something clicked. The flashbacks. The missing childhood. The muscle memory he never remembered learning.
He stood and paced.
They were using him.
But he could use them, too.
Let them think he was cooperating. Let them put him near their systems, their labs. He'd learn everything he could.
Then he'd tear this place down from the inside.
But first, he had to survive.
Morning brought new restraints—not shackles, but a thin ring around his wrist. A biometric limiter. It pulsed with light.
His new escort led him through the research wing. Unlike the arena level, this place was immaculate—floor-to-ceiling screens, scientists in sleek uniforms, robotic arms moving delicately over transparent bodies on surgical tables.
They arrived at a laboratory labeled Project Echo.
Inside, a tall woman with silver-streaked hair looked up from a screen. Her eyes were sharp and tired.
"Dr. Lang," the escort said. "This is Subject A-17."
"Ethan," he corrected.
Dr. Lang studied him. "You're the anomaly."
"I get that a lot."
She motioned to a medical chair. "Sit."
Ethan obeyed, tense as robotic arms scanned his vitals.
"Any pain?" she asked.
"Only when I think about being here."
She didn't smile.
"I read your file," she said. "And what little there is of it. You shouldn't exist. You weren't in any batch. No DNA tags. But your readings are near-identical to our first-generation prototypes."
"You created them?"
"I designed the interface. The enhancements. But I never signed off on using children. Or putting them in cages."
"And yet, here we are."
Lang sighed. "I made compromises. Mistakes. I don't intend to repeat them."
"Why am I here?"
"To help us understand the outlier. If I can reverse-engineer what makes you stable—what kept you human—we may be able to fix what's broken in the others."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. "Fix? Or control?"
"Depends on who you ask."
Hours passed in a blur of tests—bloodwork, neurological scans, simulated combat in controlled environments. Ethan played along, but never let his guard down.
At lunch, he was taken to a mess hall—sterile and quiet, filled with others like him. Or close enough.
Enhanced soldiers sat at spaced-out tables. Few spoke. Most had the distant, fractured look of people barely hanging on.
But one pair of eyes caught his attention.
Kai.
Bruised, but alive. Sitting with two others. When their eyes met, Kai's face lit up.
Ethan was about to approach when a guard stepped between them. "No interaction."
"I just want to talk—"
"Not yet," said a voice behind him.
Mr. X stood in the doorway, hands clasped.
Ethan froze.
"We'll schedule a reunion," Mr. X said calmly. "After progress is shown."
"You're a coward."
Mr. X only smiled. "And you're the key to everything."
That night, back in his quarters, Ethan waited until the cameras went into standby mode—he'd learned their rhythm by now.
He pulled the flash drive from a slit in his boot, one he'd hidden back in the control center.
Carefully, he inserted it into the wall panel interface near his bed.
A static screen blinked. Then data.
Blueprints. Floor plans. Guard routes.
And something more.
Project Helix.
He skimmed the files. The truth hit like a hammer.
Project Echo was never the real goal.
It was Helix.
A directive to wipe out the enhanced soldiers and replace them with a perfected version—based on his DNA.
Not a weapon.
A template.
A new generation, forged from him.
Ethan stared at the screen.
He wasn't just trying to escape anymore.
He had to stop this.
Because if Mr. X succeeded…
He wouldn't need fighters in cages anymore.
He'd have an army of Ethans.
And the world wouldn't stand a chance.