Room 9 is unlike the others—no restraints, no straps, just commands. HYDRA watches how Alex moves, reacts, obeys. But in his silence, something deeper begins to shift.
---
The lights in Room 9 were wrong.
Too clean. Too flat.
The walls were all the same brushed steel, but unlike the cell before, this place had no smell. No blood. No food trays. It didn't feel like a prison.
It felt like a showroom.
Alex sat in silence.
His arms rested loosely at his sides, fingers twitching slightly every few seconds. It wasn't nerves. It was pressure. Deep in his joints. Like something wanted out.
A speaker clicked on above the corner of the room.
> "Subject 16A. Rise."
Alex didn't move.
> "Repeat: rise."
He opened his eyes.
Stood.
The speaker continued in that dead, clerical voice:
> "Move to northeast quadrant."
He glanced at the diagonal line on the floor. Stepped over it. Stood in the corner.
> "Kneel."
He lowered himself.
> "Stand."
He rose again.
The entire thing took less than two minutes.
Then a panel slid open in the wall.
A black box emerged—simple, cube-shaped, no sharp edges. Made of some dense composite material. It dropped onto the floor with a thud.
> "Lift the object."
Alex stared.
Then walked toward it.
He gripped it with both hands. It was heavy—too heavy for normal arms. But his didn't feel normal.
He lifted.
The box came up like it was made of foam. One hand. No strain.
He didn't blink.
> "Hold position."
He stood for thirty seconds.
Then a new voice, whispered behind the glass:
> "Too easy. Increase density factor by sixty percent next round."
> "Noted. Subject has no visible discomfort. Strength adaption appears inherent, not learned."
Another pause.
> "Subject 16A. Place the object down."
He obeyed.
---
Alex moved back to the wall.
Sat down again.
The lights dimmed slightly.
But he didn't relax.
He was watching now—every shadow, every flicker of motion behind the glass. Not with panic. Not even with fear.
Just… calculation.
They weren't hurting him today.
Which meant tomorrow would be worse.
---