PHOENIX

1. 21

A sterile, clinical scent filled the dimly lit laboratory. The only sound in the room was the steady beeping of a heart monitor and the occasional shuffle of feet on the cold, tiled floor. Fluorescent lights flickered above, casting a harsh, artificial glow over the motionless figure lying on the examination table.

A man in a pristine white lab coat stood beside the bed, his sharp eyes fixed on the frail-looking boy bound to it. The boy couldn't have been older than eighteen, his sunken cheeks and pale complexion evidence of prolonged deprivation. His arms and legs were secured with thick metal restraints bolted to the frame, preventing any chance of movement.

"21... 21, can you hear me?" the scientist asked, his voice devoid of emotion.

The boy stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering before they finally opened. A fit of violent coughing wracked his body, his chest rising and falling erratically as he struggled to breathe. His lips parted as if to speak, but only a hoarse wheeze escaped.

"Now," the scientist commanded, his tone sharp and final.

Without warning, the bed beneath the boy gave way, the metal frame plunging through a hidden trapdoor. A mechanical hiss filled the air as the floor split apart, revealing a massive, cylindrical glass chamber below.

The moment the bed crashed into the chamber, water surged in from all sides, flooding the space in mere seconds. The boy barely had time to gasp before the icy liquid engulfed him. He thrashed wildly, instinct kicking in as he fought against the restraints. His limbs jerked, muscles straining, but the metal shackles refused to give. His fingers clawed at the binds, his chest tightening with the desperate need for air.

Outside the glass chamber, a group of researchers in white coats observed in eerie silence, their faces unreadable. The lead scientist lifted a hand.

"Activate the restraints."

Several buttons were pressed simultaneously, and a faint hum resonated through the room. The metal cuffs around the boy's wrists and ankles released a strange, jelly-like substance, which slithered out in thin tendrils, dispersing into the water.

The moment the substance made contact with his skin, the reaction was immediate. An agonized, soundless scream contorted the boy's face as the chemical burned through his flesh, even beneath the water. His struggles became more erratic, his body convulsing as the searing pain coursed through him.

Yet, despite it all, he didn't die.

Minutes stretched on—five, ten, fifteen. His movements slowed, his body no longer thrashing but merely floating above the sunken bed. Thirty minutes passed, and the boy remained alive. His eyes, once filled with terror, now stared blankly ahead, lifeless yet aware.

The scientist watched with a satisfied smirk.

"The experiment was a success," he murmured, his voice filled with an almost reverent awe. "He will be our greatest creation... our most treasured possession."

He turned away, confident that the boy—Experiment 21—was no longer a mere test subject. He was something far greater now. Something beyond human.

And there was no escape.