I step closer to the little boy first. His thin chest rises and falls in weak, shaky breaths. His eyes don't even focus; they just stare through the ceiling, exhausted and lifeless. The woman on the other side looks the same — like both of them are silently begging someone to just end it. If only their regenerative ability wasn't working against them, healing them just enough to keep the torture going.
Regeneration, my foot. It's not a gift. It's a curse when humans get their hands on it.
I reach out and touch the boy's hand. His skin is cold and rubbery, covered in faint needle marks. He doesn't even flinch.
He doesn't look at me.
He doesn't react.
Nothing.
Just an empty shell, like he's already lived through every cut, slice, burn, and whatever worse these monsters tried on him.
My throat tightens for a second, but I swallow it down.
Great. Cool. Thanks, NBRC, for turning a child into a breathing corpse. Truly inspiring.
