Alone in Room 9, Alex reaches a quiet, irreversible conclusion. There is no escape. No mercy. Only a purpose. And from now on, he isn't waiting for answers. He's making one.
---
The lights dimmed for the night cycle.
That was the only thing in the entire facility that resembled a routine. Every twenty-four hours—though time here had no meaning—the white overhead lights faded to a dull blue.
It wasn't dark. It never got dark.
They didn't want the subjects to sleep, just to submit.
Alex sat in the center of Room 9.
Cross-legged. Bare-chested. Silent.
The skin across his shoulders had started to thicken—not visibly, but he could feel it. Like pressure plate armor forming beneath the surface. His joints didn't ache anymore. They clicked. Clean. Mechanical.
He hadn't spoken in days.
No one had spoken to him directly in that time either.
They just watched.
Sometimes whispered.
Sometimes adjusted the tests.
Sometimes removed the people he almost cared about.
And now she was gone.
The girl from 10B.
Not even a name.
Just a quiet face. Two fingers raised. A slight look that said I see you.
And they ended her like she was an error in code.
Alex didn't cry.
He didn't clench his fists again.
He just breathed.
Even. Measured. Calculated.
---
Above him, the camera tracked his movements.
In the booth, one of the researchers yawned.
> "He hasn't moved in an hour. Flatline behavior. Emotional suppression or total neural collapse?"
> "Does it matter? He's not rejecting the graft. That's what counts."
> "Still. The quiet ones worry me."
---
In the middle of Room 9, Alex opened his eyes.
No rage.
No panic.
Just clarity.
And a single whisper that no one could hear—not even the microphone in the ceiling.
> "I'm going to kill every single one of you."
---