Alex is escorted by guards to a new test chamber—Room 9. It's his first time walking since waking. What he sees along the way will stay with him forever.
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The door to his cell opened with a loud magnetic click.
No warning.
Alex turned his head just slightly.
Two guards stepped inside. Same armor. Same black faceplates. One carried a shock baton; the other held a small metal tablet that beeped in sync with something pulsing inside Alex's chest.
> "Subject 16A. Movement protocol. Stand."
Alex didn't move at first.
Then—slowly, methodically—he stood.
His bare feet hit the cold floor with a quiet thud. The guards didn't flinch, but he saw one adjust his grip on the baton.
His body still ached, but differently now. Less like damage, more like... restraint. His muscles didn't feel tired. They felt like they were holding back. Waiting.
One guard motioned to the door.
He walked.
The hallway outside was wider than expected—brushed steel floors, faintly glowing blue lines along the seams, and those damned lights overhead, always humming.
Cells lined the corridor on both sides.
Thick doors with number-letter codes: "3C." "5A." "7D."
No windows.
Only observation slits above eye level—barely wide enough to see out of if you knew where to look.
Alex didn't turn his head, but he saw movement inside one. A boy his age—or maybe older—sat on the floor, rocking slightly. His mouth moved like he was talking to someone. But he was alone.
They passed another room. Screaming. Short. Cut off.
He didn't flinch.
They reached a wide, silver door at the end of the corridor marked with a glowing red LED sign:
> ROOM 9
The door split down the center and slid open with a pneumatic hiss.
Inside: silence.
No furniture. No sink. No cot.
Just four walls. A ceiling camera. And a single black line painted across the floor, diagonally—like some forgotten geometry puzzle.
The guards walked him in.
Then turned and left.
The door sealed behind him with a dull boom.
Alex stood there for a moment.
He looked up at the camera.
Didn't say anything.
Then he moved to the far wall and sat down, legs folded beneath him.
---
Somewhere behind the glass, a voice noted quietly:
> "Subject has not resisted. Neuromotor coordination appears stable. Begin next-phase observations."
---