Justin POV
Yeah, they didn't fucking like what I did.
And now they're trying to break down the very reinforced door they built to keep their precious lab rats in.
Irony tastes fucking sweet.
I hear them out there—boots hammering on steel, shouts muffled by concrete walls, someone yelling orders.
And the door just holds.
Thick, reinforced, steel bolts—made to keep monsters like me inside.
Apparently, it's pretty fucking good at keeping them out too.
Poetic justice.
Their stupid cameras?
Shattered.
I took a piece of metal from the bed frame—rusted, sharp—and jammed it right through the lens.
Glass cracked, wires sparked, smoke curling up in the corner.
The red recording light died.
And for the first time since they shoved me in here, I felt like I could fucking breathe.
Yeah, they aren't pleased.
I can imagine them in their sterile observation room—white coats wrinkled, pens frozen over their little clipboards.
All that data they were so desperate for?
Gone.
