Time bends strangely for those who walk near gods.
In the span of a blink, I had lived lifetimes.
A sea of silence.
A throne in the void.
A whisper that rippled across reality.
And now... I opened my eyes.
Not groggy. Not dazed.
Fully present, as if I had simply stood up from my seat.
But one truth gnawed at me like rust chewing through steel:
I had stayed in that place for far too long.
At least half an hour, if not more.
Yet when I looked around—nothing had moved.
The researcher near the door was still fumbling with the lock, hand mid-turn, as if frozen in time.
No… not frozen. Just never moved to begin with.
He was locking the door when I faded into the abyss.
He was still locking the door when I returned.
And in that moment, I realized—
Time doesn't flow in lines there.
It folds. Bends. Loops like a noose.
Moments later, the vehicle hissed to a stop.
We had arrived.
The door groaned open with pneumatic reluctance, spilling cold, dry air into the transport.
The scent hit first—industrial, metallic, like sterilized rust soaked in electricity.
Fluorescent beams above flickered erratically, illuminating concrete walls coated in flaking white sealant.
Every surface was too clean and somehow still felt dirty.
The floor beneath my boots pulsed faintly with vibration—a heartbeat of machinery buried deep below.
Somewhere in the walls, a low hum buzzed like caged static.
It never stopped. Not even for a breath.
Heat pressed in—not the warmth of summer, but the suffocation of recycled air, slightly too warm, slightly too human.
I waited, as always, until the others exited.
Not from cowardice.
From habit.
Because the most honest version of a man is the one who thinks no one is watching.
I studied their backs, their steps, and their pacing.
Measured the rhythm of their hesitation.
The stiffness in their necks.
Among them is a traitor.
Not a spy. Not a double agent.
A traitor.
The word didn't just accuse—it sentenced.
It dripped with finality. He used it deliberately.
What does a traitor want?
To kill us?
To sabotage the data?
Or perhaps... they want nothing.
They just want chaos. An ending.
A scream in a system that insists on silence.
And yet... "There is a traitor among you," he had said.
Singular. One.
I have to assume—even in His most withered, broken form—He doesn't make grammatical mistakes.
Even then, when His body collapsed in twitching fragments and unholy light… the one thing I remember above all else:
"His knowledge didn't feel deep. It felt endless."
As if He didn't study the universe—He remembered it.
We reached our assigned quarters.
No comfort here.
Metal floors. Cold walls.
One fluorescent light that flickered like it had a grudge against peace.
The bed creaked like a dying hinge when I sat on it. The mattress was thin, dense—more plank than cushion.
Everything smelled faintly of copper, bleach, and something older.
I'd be sharing this tiny cell with Dr. Ayush Khanna—genetic engineer, obsessively neat, and oddly fond of outdated myths.
He once told me over instant noodles that he believed monsters weren't born but "invited" by certain frequencies of fear.
"We don't mutate because of radiation," he had said, his tone disturbingly calm.
"We mutate because we're ready to be something else."
He was already unpacking.
Charts. Data. Field kits arranged with surgical precision.
"First-timer?" he asked, eyes still on his laptop.
"No," I replied calmly, tossing my bag onto the bed.
"Just the first time I'm watching the monster from inside the cage."
He snorted. "Cryptic. You one of those poetic types?"
"Only when I'm out of facts."
That got a small smile out of him.
He didn't ask for more.
Smart man.
I spent the next hour watching him out of the corner of my eye.
Friendly. But guarded.
Normal.
Too normal.
And in this place?
No one here is normal.
That night, as I lay down, I noticed it again—
the hum in the walls. The faint clicking of unseen circuits. The groan of temperature regulators fighting to imitate breath.
Sleep came with effort. Not because of fear.
Because of tension coiled deep in the air itself.
I lay without fear—but not without weight.
The world around me could burn, and I'd remain untouched.
Invulnerability is a strange prison—it locks out danger but locks in helplessness.
I didn't know how He did it. Or if it was even real.
But truth doesn't always ask for belief.
Sometimes, it simply arrives. Uninvited.
And stays.
What can you do when you're spared from the storm… but still drenched in dread?
You survive. That's all that's left for those who can't be killed—but can still be broken.
And I couldn't afford to be careless.
Not now.
Because I can't forget—
There's an enemy here.
If I fail to uncover them, and we all die, it'll be chalked up as a simple wildlife attack.
No evidence. No report.
Just statistics and condolences.
And yet… this is the perfect opportunity.
A place where science brushes shoulders with death.
Where forbidden knowledge hums in the air like static.
As a man driven by curiosity—no, as a mad scientist—how could I not explore?
Rumors whispered of new isotopes.
Elements unrecorded.
Compounds that mutate reality itself.
"And while I'm at it," I smirked, "I don't even have to worry about tasks."
He said:
"You need not lift a finger. Everything will come to you."
That line was prophecy. Or a curse. Maybe both.
The first night, I moved carefully.
Personal quarters were off-limits, so I focused on light conversation.
Watched how people responded.
How they joked. Fumbled.
Avoided.
By the end of the evening, I came to one realization:
Everyone here is insane.
Not clinically.
But behaviorally.
Too eccentric. Too obsessive.
One man whispered Latin proverbs like prayer beads.
Another wore sunglasses at night, muttering that the moon was judging him.
Another kept rubbing his palms with copper, claiming static was "building spirits in the skin."
And me?
Well... let's just say I now understand how Hamlet must've felt around me.
No subtle clues. No smoking gun.
Just brilliant weirdos packed in a bunker, playing with gods and data.
I lay on my bed. Eyes closed. Pretending.
Then—actually fell asleep.
Nothing happened.
We were scheduled to be here ten days.
Nine days left.
But the longer I thought, the more annoyed I became.
"He warned me. A traitor."
So it must be serious.
Life-threatening.
Otherwise, why even say it?
He could've told me the name.
The face.
The motive.
Instead, I got riddles. Mysteries. Theater.
"What am I, a contestant? This isn't a game show."
"I'm risking my life for you, and you're feeding me cryptic suspense?"
Still… He did say no mutant will harm me.
And here, surrounded by bleeding-edge security and tech, I don't need to worry about the humans either.
So… should I be content?
"No," I whispered to myself.
"I'll abuse every ounce of power He gave me."
My lips curled into a smirk.
Unintentional.
Just excitement.
Day Two — The First Move
It happened the next night.
The mineral water supply — tampered.
Its pH level had dropped.
Significantly.
In plain terms?
Our only drinking water had turned acidic.
Someone tried to poison us.
The official report?
"Chemical accident."
But no one here was a fool.
Everyone had their doubts.
Quiet ones. Controlled ones.
Still, it was Mr. Zakir, a quiet geochemist, who noticed the pH imbalance first.
He moved without panic.
Took readings twice. Checked the taps. Raised the alert.
He saved us.
"An accident," they said.
But I knew.
The traitor had made their first move.
"The first move wasn't meant to kill. Just to make us doubt the board itself."
"Let them play their game," I murmured.
But I wasn't smiling anymore.
Every silence felt loaded. Every face looked away just a second too soon.
The longer I waited, the louder the world became.
And when the time comes…
I just hope I'm fast enough."