Alex is awoken for yet another "combat compatibility trial." But this time, the opponent is another subject. And this time, Alex doesn't just survive—he makes a choice.
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The alarm didn't blare this time.
It buzzed—soft and steady, like a bedside clock. As if waking someone for breakfast.
Alex opened his eyes in Room 9.
He hadn't been sleeping. Just waiting.
The door slid open.
Two guards entered. Same armor. Same silence. One of them had dried blood on his boot. Not his, Alex noted. It didn't look fresh.
They didn't speak.
They didn't cuff him.
They just gestured to the hallway.
He followed.
This time, they didn't go toward the testing cells. They took a turn—down a corridor he hadn't seen before. Narrower. Dimmer. No door numbers. Just walls that seemed to close in the longer they walked.
They stopped at a reinforced door.
The panel beside it buzzed green. The door opened.
The guards shoved him in without warning.
Alex stumbled, caught his balance, and looked up.
The room was square. No windows. No cameras in plain sight.
But there was someone else inside.
A boy.
Maybe a year older. Barefoot. Wild-eyed. Shirtless and twitching.
His face was bruised. His mouth hung open, breathing fast. Skin marred with old injection points and fresh track lines.
Alex recognized the look in his eyes instantly.
This one was too far gone.
The door sealed behind him.
A voice echoed from a hidden speaker.
> "Subject 16A. Compatibility Trial. Neutralize Subject 11D."
Alex didn't move.
Neither did the other boy.
Then 11D roared—no words, just rage—and charged.
He was fast.
Faster than anyone should be.
Alex tried to sidestep, but the boy slammed into him, fists swinging. One punch cracked against Alex's jaw. His head snapped sideways.
The second hit didn't land.
Alex caught it.
And then—
Everything stopped.
Something flared behind his eyes. Heat—not from the hit, but from somewhere deeper. Like a buried circuit breaking open.
The air around his hand shimmered.
A pop of pressure. The boy's arm jerked backward as if pulled by an invisible wire.
Alex's vision blurred for half a second—gold around the edges.
Then he shoved.
He didn't touch the boy.
But the kid flew ten feet across the room and hit the wall hard enough to dent the steel panel.
Silence.
Then groaning.
11D tried to get up—half-rising on one arm.
Alex walked forward slowly.
No orders.
No fear.
He knelt beside the other boy.
Their eyes met—just for a second.
There was no sanity left in 11D. Just reflex. Animal rage.
Alex didn't feel sorry.
He didn't feel anything.
He placed a hand on the kid's shoulder.
And without thinking, without willing it—
He crushed the air around his neck.
Not with fingers.
With force.
An invisible hand—his own—squeezed until the boy's spine snapped with a sharp, wet crunch.
Then nothing.
Just silence.
Alex stood.
The blood on the wall steamed slightly.
Somewhere behind the unseen glass, scientists scrambled.
> "He used force compression."
> "Not muscle. Not kinetic. Telekinetic potential confirmed."
> "Do we engage tranquilizers?"
> "No. Let him finish."
Alex turned toward the wall.
The mirror. The voice.
His chest rose and fell slowly.
His voice was calm. Low.
Dead cold.
> "Let me out."
He stared directly at the glass.
> "Or I'll make a door with your skulls."
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