When I first opened my eyes, I wasn't in a bed or a familiar room—I was submerged in a tank, an incubator filled with a thick, amber fluid. My limbs floated aimlessly, weak and unused. A breathing tube was fastened into my mouth, feeding oxygen into my lungs. Panic swelled in my chest, but my body was too feeble to thrash, too numb to fight.
Around me, dozens of other tanks lined the cold metal walls, each holding another person—motionless, unconscious, suspended like me. We were like specimens in a grotesque laboratory. Every day, figures in sterile suits would approach with syringes. Needles pierced my flesh, injecting unknown chemicals into my veins. I couldn't count the days—it could've been weeks or months. Time didn't exist in that place. Only pain.
Eventually, I was removed from the tank. My body shivered violently in the cold air. They fed me strange tablets. Bitter. Metallic. Every time I swallowed them, a searing pain tore through my body, as if my insides were being burned and reforged. The agony would come in waves, leaving me breathless and broken.
Then, one day, everything changed.
Men in strange lab suits stood over me. Their faces were hidden behind dark visors.
"You're lucky to have survived the experiments," one of them said. "Now, you may proceed to our training regimen."
I was dragged—still weak—through a maze of corridors until we reached a vast chamber that resembled an ancient coliseum. But this was no place of glory. It was a place of torment.
Dozens of others were already there, undergoing brutal training. Some lifted boulders far larger than their own bodies, muscles trembling under the strain. Others slammed their fists into stone walls until both skin and rock broke. Blood stained the floor.
Screams echoed from every corner.
One group was forced to walk barefoot over molten rocks, their feet sizzling with every step. Another was strapped to electric chairs, enduring volt after volt of unrelenting shocks. And some... some were beaten mercilessly by masked instructors—until they collapsed, or until they died.
A man in a bizarre, armored suit approached me. His presence radiated authority—and danger.
He looked me over coldly and spoke in a low, mechanical voice.
"These trials are necessary. The experiments inside the incubator enhanced your latent potential. But to awaken it fully, you must undergo this training. If you survive, and if your strength meets our expectations, you will be promoted to the rank of soldier."
He paused.
"If you fail," he continued, "you will serve as a lifetime slave to the Roy family. You will have no name, no rights, and no voice. Disobedience will be punished by torture—until death."
He leaned in closer. "Do you understand?"
I looked into the reflective lens of his helmet. My lips trembled, but I forced the words out.
"Yes, sir."
"Good." His voice was devoid of emotion. "From today, you begin your training. Fight to be a soldier. It's the only way to live. Fail—and you will never speak for yourself again."
He turned away. "Begin."
And so it started. My body would be broken and reshaped. My will tested beyond the limits of sanity.
This was no longer about survival.
It was about becoming something more—or being nothing at all.