The city echoed with screams—not of joy…
…but of misery.
Cries of desperate people filled the air.
These were not ordinary screams. They were cries unheard by those at the top—blended with blood and tears. Cries of hunger. Cries of hopelessness. From people living on the streets, under bridges, behind trash bins—soaked in rain and urine, sleeping beside rats and stray dogs.
This… was the new normal.
He had no name.
He was born in the restroom of a convenience store. His mother left him there—blood still dripping from her body. A week later, she returned.
Not to care for him…
But to sell him, for gambling money.
A scientist bought the infant to be used for experimentation. They branded him as Number 545 and referred to him only as "It."
Not a child.
Not a person.
Just… a test subject.
"They didn't give me a name. Just a number—and a purpose."
"I became a prisoner of science before I could even speak."
They rewired his brain like a machine. They performed gene editing. His first dose left his body weak—he couldn't walk straight. He had no appetite. It was as if his body was using its last remaining strength to survive the serum injected into him.
And slowly… they forgot he was ever human.
"Every day for summer, they injected me with cognitive accelerator drugs."
He gained the ability to absorb entire books just by reading them once. But in exchange, he couldn't sleep. He suffered from constant anxiety; his senses were overwhelmed beyond human limits.
"They called it progress. I called it never-ending suffering."
They locked him in a dark, silent library.
He was forced to read every book. If he stopped reading—even for a second—they electrocuted him. He became fluent in every language.
But forgot the sound of his voice.
"Every time I cried from the pain, they made me forget why I cried—until eventually… I felt nothing."
No emotion. No tears. Just a shell.
But deep within the silence of suffering, a small part of him refused to die. A faint image of his true self still clawed toward freedom, still trying to escape the darkness.
With every tear that fell and every shock that drained his body, this part of him grew stronger.
Even when they erased his emotions, they couldn't kill his soul.
But then… that flickering image vanished.
Something else awoke.
No longer a boy begging to be free…
…but a being born to destroy the world that chained him.
The child who lost his emotions now had only one left: rage.
That flicker of his humanity—the part of him that tried to escape—was no longer him.
It had become something new.
Something separate.
A consciousness forged from wrath, fear, pain, and hatred.
A new version of himself, built entirely from everything he was forced to repress.
But the real him… was still trapped.
Trapped behind the dark figure—the manifestation of his broken mind.
But the truth is…
I'm still a prisoner.
Not behind walls.
Not bound by chains.
But by the monster I've become.
Now, all that's left of the real him is hiding behind the darkness—a shadow carrying all the pain, agony, rage, and fear he tried to bury.
They thought their experiment was a success.
They believed they created something smart.
Obedient. Controlled.
But they didn't create a weapon.
They created a curse.
A curse born from torment.
They laughed. Applauded. Celebrated.
As if admiring a corpse that they somehow made dance.
As I watched them celebrate…
…I made a plan.
Not to escape.
Escape is for the weak.
I don't run.
I evolve.
And when I take my revenge—
I won't be bound by chains anymore.
One by one…
They will kneel before me.
Not because I told them to…
…but because they will have no choice.
I won't scream.
The world will.
A guard opens Nexar's cell.
Nexar slowly lifts his head. His eyes blank, his voice cold.
"You shouldn't have opened that door."
"Now… let's show them what we are."