The air around the unfinished subway line reeked of rust and mold. Concrete dust clung to our shoes, and water dripped steadily from a ceiling that hadn't seen light in years.
Kang's flashlight swept across piles of old machinery and twisted rails. "Creepy," he muttered. "Why do we always get the haunted-looking ones?"
"Because we're the unlucky ones," I said.
He chuckled nervously. "At least you admit it."
We pressed deeper. The tunnel stretched ahead like a throat swallowing us whole. The silence wasn't just absence—it was waiting.
"Signal's dead," Kang whispered, checking his phone.
"Of course it is."
I stepped forward. My Truthseeker sense—the quiet whisper that tugged at lies and hidden paths—felt oddly numb. The air itself was honest here. Too honest.
Then we heard it.
A scrape.
Something dragging across concrete.
Kang swung the flashlight toward the noise—and froze.
A figure lurched out of the dark, tall and wrong. Flesh hung in strings from its bones. Its mouth was a hole too wide, teeth cracked like broken glass.
"Jesus—"
It screamed.
Kang fired his sidearm. The bullets hit, but the thing didn't stop. It leapt. I shoved Kang aside, rolled, and felt its claws slice across my coat. Pain bit into my arm.
"Run!" I yelled.
The ghoul came again, faster than anything should move. My instincts screamed. I twisted, barely dodging. My Truthseeker vision flickered—brief yellow light tracing the creature's motions—but its truth was fractured, unreadable. Lies and truth bled together until everything was chaos.
It slammed me against the wall. My breath exploded out. I stabbed upward with my knife, slicing its neck—but black liquid splattered, burning my skin.
I was losing.
Then—
BOOM!
The creature jerked as something invisible smashed into it, sending it sprawling.
Three figures stepped from the shadows.
The first—a man in white gloves, immaculate even in the grime—walked like he owned the darkness. The second, a woman with short hair and a scar across her lip, hummed softly, the tune eerie and sweet. The third, wearing cracked glasses, raised a small, vintage camera and clicked once.
The ghoul roared and lunged.
They moved like shadows. The woman's hand twisted in the air, and chains of pure light wrapped around the monster. The man in gloves drew a slender blade and drove it cleanly into the creature's skull. The one with the camera recorded it all in silence.
It was over in seconds.
The ghoul collapsed into black ash, leaving only the stench of iron and something faintly rotten.
I pushed myself up, coughing. Kang was pale.
"What… what the hell was that?" he whispered.
"Not human," I said, staring at the three newcomers.
The gloved man turned toward me. His expression was unreadable, eyes dark and calm. "What are you two doing here?."
"should you also be here ," I said, trying to sound braver than I felt. "But thanks for the assist."
He didn't answer.
The woman stopped humming. The camera clicked once more.
I blinked—and the world tilted.
My vision blurred, sound distorting into low hums. The ground slipped away beneath me.
Then, nothing.
When I came to, I was sitting on a wooden chair. My wrists and ankles were bound by coarse rope.
The room smelled of damp earth and old metal. Bare bulbs buzzed weakly overhead.
Basement.
Cold.
Underground.
The camera man stood in the corner, filming quietly. The woman sat on a crate, swinging her leg, humming again. The gloved man was right in front of me, rolling up his sleeves like a doctor preparing for surgery.
"Where am I?" I rasped.
"In a place where questions don't matter," he said. His voice was gentle, almost kind.
I tugged at the ropes. "Untie me."
He ignored that. "You regenerated in the field, didn't you?"
I froze.
He smiled faintly. "I saw your wound close before you lost consciousness. That isn't something ordinary."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You will."
He picked up a small, sharp blade from the table beside him. The metal gleamed dully under the light.
"Let's test it."
Before I could move, he grabbed my left hand and—
SLICE.
Pain detonated through me. My finger hit the floor with a dull tap.
I screamed, jerking against the ropes.
The woman kept humming. The man with the camera adjusted the focus.
Blood poured down my hand, hot and red. My pulse hammered in my skull.
"What the hell are you doing!?" I shouted.
"Observation," the gloved man said calmly. "You'll understand soon."
Five minutes passed.
Then it started—my skin tightening, blood reversing direction, bone stitching. The finger grew back, slow but certain.
All three watched silently, like scientists observing a rare insect.
"Incredible," the gloved man murmured. "Regeneration rate: high. Possibly adaptive."
The woman tilted her head. "How high do you think?"
"If it continues like this," he said, "he might surpass us someday."
"Should we keep him alive?" the camera man asked softly.
"For now."
He raised the blade again.
I thrashed, pleading, but the ropes held firm. He cut deeper this time—across my shoulder, then my thigh. The pain was so intense it blurred my vision, but I couldn't pass out. My body refused.
Tears burned my eyes. I could barely think, only feel.
Why?
Why me?
The humming grew louder, almost soothing if it weren't soaked in madness. The woman watched me like she was enjoying a concert.
"Stop—please—"
The gloved man paused. "Pain triggers regeneration. It's necessary."
He cut again.
Another scream tore out of me, raw and broken.
Minutes stretched into forever. Each wound closed only for another to open. The camera clicked endlessly.
At some point, I started laughing—hoarse, hysterical, meaningless. The pain and confusion blurred into one endless hum.
I wasn't sure if I was still human.
Finally, the gloved man wiped the blade clean. "That's enough for today."
The woman stopped humming. The camera clicked once more and stopped.
"His endurance is remarkable," she said.
"Indeed." He leaned down, meeting my unfocused eyes. "If he survives the night, he's one of us, definitely he is like us.
His voice was soft, but the words struck like thunder.
One of them.
Unlimiters.
I tried to speak, but nothing came out. My body trembled, barely held together by will alone.
Darkness began to eat the edges of my vision.
The last thing I saw before it all went black was the gloved man's calm smile.
"Rest, Mr. Mystery," he whispered. "Tomorrow, the real test begins."