As Experiment 545 walked forward, the smell of blood and metal lingered in the air.
He led the other experiments with a smile, like a child tasting freedom for the first time in his life.
Behind him, the freed experiments followed in silence. They were terrified to make even the slightest sound or wrong move, as if the air itself would punish them.
As Experiment 545 guided them toward the control room, the lights above began to flicker.
The others froze.
Experiment 545 did not and remainde unfazed.
For a moment, the defective experiments felt an odd sense of relief—like a fragile hope had returned. Some even thought they would rather be experimented on again by the scientists than remain under Experiment 545's control.
Experiment 545 stopped walking. His voice cut through the silence:
"This isn't freedom. This is still part of their experiment. This is exactly what the scientists want."
The truth sank in—their "escape" was no accident. It was the next stage of the experiment.
A slow grin spread across Experiment 545's face.
"So this is still their game? Good. I'll play along… but with my own rules."
And under his breath, he murmured:
"They're waiting for me to rebel."
He continued walking toward the control room. But as they drew closer, something felt wrong—there were no guards. The corridor was empty, unnaturally so.
When they reached the main passage leading to the control room, the oldest experiment stepped forward, coming up behind Experiment 545.
A voice crackled over the intercom—cold and commanding, belonging to the head scientist:
"Let the leader believe he is free. Proceed with the plan. Observe his strategies."
Before Experiment 545 could react, he realized the old man—the one he had thought of as a grandfather, almost like a parent—was standing right behind him. His expression was unreadable.
The old man whispered:
"They weren't the ones who planned all this… I did."
Experiment 545 turned, confusion narrowing his eyes.
The man's voice deepened, his posture shifting with unnatural grace.
"I was the very first perfect experiment."
Slowly, his skin began to tear and peel—like an insect molting.
The trembling hands, the frail and decaying body he had shown before—vanished. Beneath the discarded shell stood a man radiating a predatory aura.
For the first time in years…
After the years of experiencing this feeling.
Experiment 545 felt something he thought he had lost forever.
Fear.
The old man, now appearing middle-aged and full of power, leaned close to Experiment 545's ear.
"Even you, 545. You are not their masterpiece. You are my offspring."
The lights flickered again—and Experiment 545 realized the flickers weren't warnings. They were signals.
When he looked around, he saw it:
The eyes of the other defective experiments—eyes that once looked away from him like prey avoiding a predator—were now fixed on him. But this time… it was the opposite.
They looked at him as if he were the prey.
And they… were the predators.
The old man's voice carried through the corridor:
"They think they created me. But I created them. Every scientist here moves according to my design. Every experiment born here was crafted from my genius, from my superhuman mind."
545's brows furrowed in confusion.
The man leaned in again, his voice sharp as a knife:
"But you, 545… You are different. You were never supposed to exist. And yet, look at you—every one of them fears you."
Experiment 545's voice trembled with both defiance and despair:
"I never asked to be born into this world. I never even dreamed of living. I never dreamed of being feared.
If this is what it means to live, then I don't understand why all the others cling to life… when living is not worth it."
Whispers rippled through the crowd.
The experiments—scarred, broken, trembling from years of torment—kept their eyes fixed on Experiment 545. But what shone in their gaze was not fear…
It was something far more dangerous.
Hope.
The whispers grew louder:
"He's the one."
"He can lead us out."
"He's not like them."
"Finally… a predator that preys on predators."
And in that moment, Experiment 545 realized…
Whether he wanted it or not—
The broken and the damned had chosen their king.
Experiment 545's voice echoed with cold command:
"Follow me… and you live.
Stand in my way… and you'll be nothing but a corpse on the floor."