Kane
I sat in the room, staring at the sterile white walls. They seemed to stretch endlessly in every direction, offering no escape. The harsh fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, and the smell of antiseptic lingered in the air. I should have been freaking out. I should have been screaming, panicking, demanding answers. But instead, I just felt tired. My head ached, the dull throb a constant reminder of the bullet that had nearly killed me. If I weren't so exhausted, I might have felt more freaked out. But after everything that had happened, I was way past the point of panic. The fear that had initially gripped me was long gone, replaced by a strange numbness.
No one had bothered to give me a soda. They weren't even bothering to treat me like a person anymore. It was like they expected me to just sit here and wait for whatever came next.
This place? It felt like a corporate hellhole, and I was just the next test subject in a long line of experiments.
I couldn't help but mutter to myself, my voice barely above a whisper, "If they wanted me dead, they would've done it already. Probably just trying to figure out how to sell me to the highest bidder."
I let out a bitter laugh, but it didn't feel funny. It felt more like a coping mechanism. I glanced around the room again, my eyes darting from corner to corner, searching for any clue as to where I was or why I was here. The walls were bare, the furniture sparse. The chair I was sitting in felt like it was made of concrete, unyielding and uncomfortable. The floor, shiny and white, seemed to reflect my thoughts—cold, empty, and endless.
Suddenly, a voice broke through the silence, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. It was calm, too calm, as if the speaker had done this a thousand times before. "How are you feeling?"
I glanced up, blinking as the voice registered. Standing in the doorway was a woman in a white lab coat. She wasn't particularly tall or short, but there was something imposing about her. Maybe it was the way she held herself—so stiff, so controlled. She looked like someone who had sacrificed everything—family, friends, maybe even her own humanity—all in the name of science. The coldness in her eyes told me she wasn't here to play nice. She wasn't here to ask how I was feeling to make small talk.
She was here to get answers.
I forced myself to sit up straighter, not wanting to give her the satisfaction of seeing me slouch. "Me? I'm great," I replied flatly, trying to sound as unbothered as possible. "Really, just peachy. I've always wanted to be kidnapped by random strangers and locked in a white room. It's a dream come true, actually."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't respond to my sarcasm. Instead, she stepped forward and pulled a small device from her pocket. It was sleek, high-tech, and vaguely ominous. It looked like a scanner, the kind of thing you'd see in a sci-fi movie right before someone was about to get dissected.
I didn't trust it.
"Listen," I said, trying to buy myself a little more time to think, "before we get into the whole 'you're an anomaly' bit, let me tell you a story. It's way more fun than whatever you've got on your little clipboard."
She didn't seem amused by my attempt at humor. She didn't even blink. But she didn't stop me either. Maybe she thought I was stalling or trying to play some psychological game.
"Alright," I began, leaning forward in the chair, willing myself to focus. "So yesterday, I was doing the job your people hired me for—finding the 'package,' making people disappear, you know the drill. Anyway, I ran into this guy, Galick. Huge deal, way too big for his britches. We got into a disagreement, and, well, he shot me. Right in the head. Blew a hole through my skull, right through the eye."
I watched her face carefully as I spoke, looking for any sign of emotion. She was like a statue—cold, impassive, unreadable. No reaction. Not a twitch. Whatever.
"Next thing I know, I'm in this cold, black void," I continued, letting the story unfold as I spoke, "Can't feel anything. Can't see anything. Thought I was dead for sure. I mean, how could I not be? Bullet to the brain? Classic kill shot. But then, out of nowhere, this voice comes at me, deep and ancient, like it was from the very core of the universe."
I paused for a moment, watching her. She didn't interrupt, so I kept going.
"The voice says I'm dead. And I'm like, 'Yeah, no kidding, Sherlock.' But then—get this—it tells me I'm not actually dead. Not like you think. I've got a choice to make. I can either stay in that void, drift away into nothingness, or come back to life and make the world bow down to me."
I let the silence stretch out, letting her stew on that for a moment. I could see the scientist staring at me, her lips pressed into a thin line. She was trying to keep her face neutral, but her eyes betrayed her interest. She was buying it. Good.
I smirked. Now I had her attention.
"So, naturally, I made the smart choice. Came back. I came back with a little… extra. A gift, if you will." I leaned forward a little more, dropping my voice for effect. "Now, I'm here. Alive. But with a new set of abilities—powers I can't fully explain. But I'm guessing that's exactly why you guys brought me in, right? You probably want to study me, figure out how I pulled off the 'impossible,' as you like to call it."
She didn't say anything immediately, and I almost thought I'd lost her. Maybe she wasn't buying it after all. But just when I was about to dismiss her, she spoke.
"Your story is… unconventional," she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. "And we've heard similar accounts from others. People who have undergone… extraordinary experiences, only to return with abilities that defy explanation."
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? So I'm not the only one? Good to know. I was starting to think I was special."
She didn't take the bait. "We believe your resurrection is tied to something unique in your genetic makeup. It's not just the bullet wound, Kane. You were clinically dead. For a full minute."
"Yeah, yeah," I cut her off, waving a hand like it was no big deal. "I know. I've heard it all before. But why don't you tell me something I don't know, huh? Like why I'm still here."
She studied me intently, her lips pressed into a thin line. I could tell she was measuring me, analyzing my every word, every movement. It was like I was the specimen, and she was the researcher.
Her jaw clenched slightly. It was a subtle movement, but I caught it. Good. I could tell I was starting to get under her skin.
"You'll have to understand," she said, her voice softer now, almost careful, "Your return to life is unprecedented. The implications for our research could be… enormous. Your mind, Kane, it's not like it was before. Your body, your abilities—everything about you is… altered."
I shrugged, playing it cool. "Yeah, well, that's what happens when you get shot in the head and come back from the dead. You get some upgrades. Not that I'm complaining. But I'm guessing you didn't bring me here to have a nice chat about my near-death experience."
I leaned back in the chair, giving her a lazy grin, making sure to keep my posture relaxed.
"No," she replied, her voice a little tighter now. "We need you to help us understand how you came back. How you survived. How your abilities work. It's not just about study, Kane. We believe you could be the key to something much bigger."
I chuckled, folding my arms across my chest. "Sure, sure. And I'm supposed to believe that? You guys kidnapped me, kept me in this fancy white room, and now you expect me to just roll over and help you with your little science project?"
Her gaze hardened, her expression darkening. "We're not playing games, Kane. This is bigger than you."
I leaned forward in the chair, my voice laced with sarcasm. "And yet, here I am," I said with a shrug, "Still sitting in this chair. Not exactly shaking in my boots, doc."
There was a long silence between us, the tension in the air palpable. She was losing patience, I could tell. But I wasn't about to make it easy for her. I wasn't going to give her anything, not without knowing more about what was really going on here.
"Fine," she said finally, her voice tight with controlled frustration. "We'll see how long that attitude lasts."
The door slid open behind her with a soft hiss. She turned on her heel, her lab coat fluttering slightly as she walked out without saying another word. The door closed behind her with a faint click, and I was left alone with my thoughts.
I leaned back in my chair, muttering to myself, "Yeah, I'm sure we will."
Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours. Time seemed to blur. Eventually, I was escorted out of the room. I had no idea where I was going or what would happen next. They moved me through a maze of sterile hallways, all identical in their cold, clinical design, before finally opening a door into a larger room.
Inside, I saw a handful of people scattered around, looking just as out of place as I felt. Misfits, I thought to myself. They didn't belong here. None of us did. But then again, neither did I.
I was pushed into one of the empty chairs in the circle and forced to sit. Fenix, shot me a quick glance before greeting me with a curt "Hi." It was clear from his stiff posture that he wasn't happy to see me. He didn't seem too thrilled to be in this mess, either. He was probably just as pissed off as I was that we'd both been dragged into whatever this nightmare was.
Before I could say anything back, a screen lowered from the ceiling, drawing everyone's attention. The room grew still, the buzz of conversation falling silent as all eyes locked onto the screen.
What now? I couldn't help but wonder. What fresh hell were they going to throw at us next?