Beach.
He awoke when something rough and damp brushed against his skin. The ocean breeze carried the scent of salt and rot, sweeping across his face as the sun burned down from above.
"Where… am I?" he whispered hoarsely. His eyes were heavy, covered by a coarse piece of cloth. His body trembled. Naked. Abandoned.
Then, a sharp female voice pierced the silence.
"He's alive."
"Wake him!" barked another voice, firmer.
"Yes, Ma'am!"
A moment later, something cold and metallic pressed against his temple. A gun barrel.
His eyes flew open. Blinding sunlight.
But it wasn't the sun that shocked him most—it was the two armed women in full camouflage gear, staring at him like he was some forbidden artifact released from a cryogenic vault.
"GET UP!"
Instinct took over. He stood instantly. The cloth fell. He was completely naked.
One of the women sneered. "Don't want to put it on? Stay naked then—we've seen worse."
Still dazed, but with a flicker of modesty intact, he grabbed a burlap sack nearby and wrapped it around his waist.
Who are they? Who am I? his thoughts spun.
A lean woman jabbed his back with the barrel of her rifle. "No funny moves. Walk!"
The other—wearing glasses and a tight bun—lifted a military tablet and scanned him.
"Height: 195 cm. Pulse: normal. Musculature… above human baseline. Not a mutant. Not a perfect clone. Not a standard subject. But… stable."
Mutant? Clone? What are they talking about?
He said nothing. He didn't even know his own name.
But one thing was now certain—he wasn't human.
---
Hours later – underground facility.
WEOO—WEOO—WEOO—
Alarms screamed. Red lights flashed. A thin veil of smoke leaked from melting wires along the concrete walls.
"System breach!" shouted the woman with glasses, her eyes glued to the screen. "They know we've taken the subject!"
From behind a steel-reinforced door came the sound of scratching. Not human. Not animal. Something metallic clawing its way in.
The lean woman raised her weapon. "V Foundation. They won't let the subject live."
On the floor, the man—their 'subject'—sat motionless. But his senses flared. Sharpened. He smelled gunpowder, acid, and blood. He felt footsteps above the ventilation shaft.
"They're entering from the right corridor," he said softly.
The woman with glasses spun to him. "How do you know that?!"
BOOM!
The door exploded. White smoke flooded the room. Shadowy figures emerged—silent, breathless. Not human.
The lean woman fired first—ratatatat!—one fell. But it got back up. Crawled up the wall, across the ceiling. Spiderlike.
"BREACH THE SIDE WINDOW!" the woman with glasses yelled.
The man didn't move. But his body did.
Something inside him stirred.
Flickers of memory: numbers, coordinates, voices in a language he didn't understand. He didn't know who he was.
But he knew one thing:
He could destroy them.
"You kidnapped me... now you want my help?"
The woman with glasses gave a bitter smile. "You're Mirage-9. You're... not human. But you're the only one who can stop them."
BOOM!
Another figure entered. Larger. Colder. Cables wrapped around its neck like vines. It smiled.
"Hello, brother. At last... we meet."
The lean woman fired. Too late.
The creature leapt.
Mirage-9 stood.
He raised a hand—and caught the thing mid-air.
"I'm not your brother. And I don't belong to anyone."
He slammed the creature into the wall.
CRASH.
Silence. Even the alarms stopped.
The woman with glasses trembled. "That… wasn't human."
Mirage-9 looked at his palm. Thin smoke rose from between his fingers. No wound. No pain.
Only awareness.
"Unlock my cuffs," he said flatly.
---
The woman hesitated. One hand hovered over the control tablet, but her eyes were still wide with disbelief.
"I said unlock them," Mirage-9 repeated—calm, but firm. Too calm for someone who'd just flattened a biomech like it was made of paper.
The lean woman aimed her rifle. "Don't. He could activate completely if we—"
Click.
The electronic cuffs released. He stretched his arms. No explosion. No sudden violence. Just… silence.
"Thank you," he said, grabbing a cloth from the bench and draping it over his shoulders. He wasn't ashamed—but not because he lacked shame.
He just didn't have many options.
"I need answers," he said.
The woman with glasses tapped her tablet. A holographic screen lit up:
[V FOUNDATION – CLASSIFIED]
"Answers don't come cheap. But you've paid in full," she said. "Your name is Mirage-9. You're part of Project MIRAGE. Nine subjects were created. Eight failed. You… woke up."
"Woke up from what?" he asked. His head throbbed. Flashbacks: white lights, weeping voices, a woman singing in a language he couldn't name.
"From death," the woman whispered.
The lean woman interrupted, "We have to go. This base isn't safe anymore. Reinforcements will arrive in ten minutes."
BOOM!
A monitor exploded. An automated voice echoed:
"SELF-DESTRUCT SYSTEM INITIATED. T-MINUS 300 SECONDS."
"Four minutes and fifty seconds," she muttered.
Without waiting, Mirage grabbed a weapon from the wall. Studied it for a second. Slung it over his shoulder like he'd been trained for this his entire life.
Even though he didn't know who he was.
"Where are we headed?" he asked.
"Omega-3 outpost, 12 kilometers from here," replied the woman with glasses.
He looked at the wall. Calculated.
"Through the back vent. Fastest way. You coming?"
The lean woman narrowed her eyes. "You sure you know the way?"
"I'm not sure who I am. But I'm sure about that," he said, pointing to the vent above. "That way's clear—for now."
Without waiting, he leapt. Three meters—cleared in one motion. He peeled the vent open like it was foil.
The two women stared at each other.
"If he's really Mirage-9…" whispered the lean one, "…we may have just unleashed the most dangerous thing on this planet."
The woman with glasses gave a dry smile.
"Or maybe… its only hope."