Kyle woke to cold steel against his wrists.
His head throbbed. His limbs felt like lead. His blood—his power—was sluggish, like it had been drained away.
Sedatives. Suppressors.
The Order knew exactly how to handle people like him.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
A dim, sterile light flickered above him. The air smelled of metal, antiseptic, and something wrong—the faint stench of dried blood.
He was in a cell.
No windows. Just gray walls and a single steel door. Shackles bound his wrists and ankles, thick chains bolted into the floor. His hoodie was gone, replaced with a plain, worn-out shirt. His body ached, bruises blooming across his ribs from Graves' hits.
But none of that mattered.
"Gia," Kyle rasped. His throat was dry, his voice barely a whisper.
He twisted, scanning the cell—and froze.
She was there.
Curled up against the far wall, arms wrapped around herself. Her clothes were intact, but her wrists were cuffed, and a faint red mark lined her cheek—someone had hit her.
Kyle's fingers clenched into fists.
The moment he got out of these chains, someone was going to bleed.
Gia stirred at the sound of his voice, her eyes fluttering open. The second she saw him, she moved.
"Kyle!" She scrambled toward him, only to be yanked back by her cuffs. Her breathing was fast, panicked. "Are you—are you okay? What did they—?"
Kyle forced a smirk. "Tch. You look worse than me."
Gia scowled. "Shut up."
The tension in her shoulders didn't ease, though. Her hands trembled against the chains. She was scared.
Kyle exhaled, forcing himself to sit up. His body protested, but he ignored it.
"Did they hurt you?" His voice was softer now.
Gia hesitated. "…No. Not really."
Kyle didn't believe her.
Before he could press further, the steel door slammed open.
A chill ran down Kyle's spine.
Two guards stepped in, their expressions blank beneath their visors. Between them stood a man.
Not Graves. Someone worse.
Dr. Vance.
Kyle had heard the name before. A high-ranking scientist in The Order. The one who experimented on people like him.
Vance adjusted his glasses, his face calm, almost bored. "Good. You're awake."
Kyle's jaw tightened. "And here I thought I was having a nightmare."
Vance ignored him, stepping forward with a clipboard in hand. "Kyle Moreau. Age seventeen. Blood Weaponry anomaly. Hunted for three years. You've been quite troublesome."
Kyle smirked. "You sound obsessed."
Vance finally looked up. His gaze was sharp, calculating. "Tell me, Kyle. Have you ever wondered why your blood manifests the way it does? Why your abilities are so… unique?"
Kyle didn't answer.
Because, yeah—he had wondered.
But he wasn't about to give this bastard the satisfaction.
Vance sighed, shaking his head. "No matter. You'll find out soon enough." He gestured to the guards. "Take him."
Kyle's chains rattled.
The guards moved fast. Before he could react, they yanked him forward, unlocking the bolts from the floor but keeping the shackles tight. Gia shouted his name, struggling against her own restraints.
Kyle thrashed.
Too slow. Too weak.
The sedative was still in his system, dulling his reflexes. One guard punched him in the stomach, and his body buckled.
"Kyle!" Gia's voice was frantic.
Kyle gasped, barely staying on his knees.
Vance tilted his head. "You're resistant. Good. That means we can push further."
Kyle glared up at him. "I swear, I'm going to—"
"Yes, yes. Kill me, gut me, make me bleed." Vance waved dismissively. "Very dramatic. Unfortunately, you'll be a bit preoccupied with the testing."
Kyle's blood boiled.
The guards dragged him toward the door. He fought. He struggled. But his limbs refused to obey.
He caught one last glimpse of Gia—her terrified eyes, her hands trembling against the chains.
"KYLE!"
The door slammed shut.
And Kyle knew—this was only the beginning.
________