Eric 's breath hitched as he backed away from the bleeding boy.
"Wait—what do you mean 'before the hunger wins... You mean...I would...?" Eric whispered his eyes still trained on the boys palm.
But the boy had already slumped back down, trembling.
Eric didn't wait for a clearer answer. He stumbled out of the room and shut the door gently behind him. The hallway outside was as silent as he had left it. The talking people must have walked away. The fluorescent lighting buzzed faintly overhead.
He moved deeper into the facility, not knowing exactly what he was searching for. An exit? He doubted whoever brought him here would let him walk out.
The hunger was still gnawing at him, but something sharper had taken root now, curiosity, fueled by fear. He needed answers.
Half a dozen doors down, Eric walked down the empty laboratory hallway that smelled weirdly like a hospital corridor. He walked carefully and tentatively with his bare feet till he found what looked like a monitoring room with computers. Loads of screens, and a long desk with office chairs. It looked like someone had just vacated the room. Which means Eric was not alone.
One of the monitors flickered softly with security feeds. Eric could see the white hallways he had just trekked through, empty rooms… and one screen showing the bed he had just woken up from.
His stomach turned.
Eric moved to the desk. On it, a digital tablet was unlocked, displaying an open document. Curiosity won, as Eric bent to read the entry.
Subject 446C: Eric Nolan.
Status: Activated.
Notes: Hunger cycle initiated ahead of schedule. Accelerated bonding. Requires monitoring.
"Breakthrough potential: High."
Logged by: Dr. A. Arthur
He stared. Mouth dry. His palms grew sweaty while cold flushes racked through his entire nervous system. No way. No fucking way.
Arthur.
As in—the Arthurs.
His foster parents.
His family.
He scrolled further.
His eyes fell on names and numbers of other files. Other kids. Teenagers and young adults. One marked "Subject 36B – failed." Another: "Subject 34C – aggressive variant. Reconditioned. Needs monitoring"
His chest tightened.
There was a folder labeled "Diary Entries – Anna A."
Anna A. As in Anna Arthur. His foster mother. He tapped it.
Voice memos. Typed notes. Logs of his foster mom detailing test results, symptoms, behavioral changes. She sounded calm. Cold. Clinical.
Like she wasn't writing about children.
Eric felt like he might vomit.
He quickly downloaded the files onto a storage key plugged into the station and yanked it free. He shoved it into his pocket, just as he heard a sound behind him:
A soft clap. Slow. Measured.
He froze.
Then turned.
Mr. Arthur was standing in the doorway.
Still dressed in his perfect gray sweater and slacks. Not a drop of blood on him. He looked exactly like the man who used to drive Eric to school and ask how his grades were doing. The man who promised to give him a life outside of the rough and crazy one he used to know.
But his eyes…
They weren't kind anymore. They were clinical. Chilling. Curious. Predatory.
"Eric ," Mr. Arthur said smoothly. "You weren't supposed to be awake yet."
Eric 's throat felt like sandpaper.
He took an instinctive step back, gripping the storage key in his pocket like it was a weapon—even though it wasn't.
Mr. Arthur looked at him the way someone might look at a project that had gotten up and walked off the table.
"This… isn't how we wanted it to go," Mr. Arthur said softly, almost disappointed. "You were supposed to sleep through this phase."
Eric stared at him. "You drugged me."
Mr. Arthur didn't blink. "We sedated you. That's different."
"You lied to me," Eric hissed. "You adopted me. You promised—"
"We promised you a future," Arthur cut in, voice calm. "And we meant it. I meant every word of what I said to you, Eric . I promised to grow you and make you great. You're part of something much bigger now, Eric . Something… evolutionarily significant."
Eric 's heart was slamming against his ribs, but his voice stayed low, deadly.
"You...You experimented on me."
Arthur's lips curved. Not quite a smile. "We enhanced you. Or… tried to. You're not a victim, Eric . You're a breakthrough."
Eric felt it again, that flash of fire under his skin. The bubbling anger. The pounding in his head. He tried to breathe through it, but it came with a wave of that hunger, hot and violent and wrong.
Mr. Arthur's eyes flicked to his clenched fists, the way his jaw was locking.
"Yes," he murmured. "It's starting. Stop fighting it, Eric . You'll only delay the process and drag out your suffering. Come. Let me help you"
Eric took another step back, toward the hall. He didn't trust himself to say anything as wave after wave of pain, and blinding hunger raked his very soul.
Arthur didn't move. But he raised his voice, just enough for it to echo down the corridor.
"Subject 34C."
A pause. Then, Eric heard footsteps.
Heavy. Slow. Deliberate.
Eric turned toward the sound, pulse roaring in his ears.
And there he was.
A boy, maybe a year older than Eric stepped I to the medium sized office. He stood tall, shirtless. His pale skin stretched over muscle. His body was covered in scars, burns. Bite marks, maybe. But his eyes were alive, burning gold and inhuman. His lips curled into a grin as he saw Eric , like a wolf spotting prey.
Arthur gave a single nod.
"Retrieve the data," he said. "Do not kill him. Not yet."
34C tilted his head, grin widening. "No promises." the other boy said with a crazy glint in his eyes. Eric ran.
His bare feet slapped the cold tile as he tore down the corridor, lungs burning, heart thudding like it was trying to shatter his ribs. Every light above him flickered past in a blur. Alarms didn't blare. No red lights. No doors slamming shut.
This was what they wanted. They planned it all along. They wanted him to run.
They wanted to see how fast he could go. How long he would last. The thought almost stopped him cold.
A snarl echoed behind him. Low, guttural, animalistic. Eric didn't look back.
He turned left into another hallway. Eric made another turn. He didn't know where he was going, just that he had to keep moving. He passed a room full of restraints, another lined with empty metal beds. All of it cold. Clean. Unforgiving.
Then—glass. A window looking into another chamber. His reflection flashed for a second as he passed.
He stopped and then backed up. His eyes.
They were darker now. Nearly black. And glowing. Just slightly.
His breath hitched. A new pulse throbbed under his skin—hot, wrong, but powerful.
He noticed that the feral boy was no longer behind him. In fact, all he heard was silence.
Then—slam!!
A door flew open. Fast footsteps, heavier than they should be. 34C was coming.
Eric spun and ducked into the nearest open room. He dove behind a wheeled cabinet, barely managing to stay quiet as the footsteps got closer. Closer.
Too close.
He crouched there, every muscle trembling, trying not to breathe too loud. The hunger was rising again, pulling at his stomach, making his vision sharpen.
He could smell 34C now. Blood. Sweat. Metal.
A shadow passed the doorway. Then another...
With a soft whoosh, a head leaned in. 34C sniffed the air. Like a dog.
He didn't speak, just let out a soft chuckle. Then moved on. Eric didn't dare move.
Not yet. He waited until the footsteps faded, then counted to ten, then twenty—then bolted again.
But something was different. He wasn't just scared now. This wasn't just about fear,
He was changing.
His hearing was sharper. His movements quicker. His thoughts were clearer, even as they screamed danger. Whatever they had done to him, it was still unfolding. It was still happening...
And he wasn't sure how much longer he would stay in control.