The numbness lasted exactly forty-seven minutes.
I counted every second from my narrow cot in Quarters Block-C, staring at the ceiling tiles while Kane's drugs fought whatever was growing inside my chest. Forty-seven minutes of blessed emptiness. Then the feeling crept back in, slow and persistent as poison.
I sat up, pressing my palms against my temples. The fluorescent strips above buzzed like angry wasps, casting everything in harsh white light. My room was exactly six feet by nine feet—I'd measured it thousands of times. Gray walls, gray floor, gray blanket. A sink, a toilet, a mirror bolted to the wall that showed my reflection in pieces.
Silver hair sticking up at odd angles. Blue eye, red eye, both bloodshot from the injection. Pale skin that never saw real sunlight.
I looked like what I was: a science project gone wrong.
The comm system crackled to life. "Genesis-007, report to Lab-3 immediately."
Kane's voice. Still calm, still clinical. But underneath it, I heard something new. Disappointment, maybe. Or calculation.
I pulled on the standard-issue black tactical suit and boots. Everything fit perfectly because they'd designed my body to exact specifications. Height: five-foot-eight. Weight: one hundred thirty-five pounds. Muscle density: forty percent above human average. Bone strength: triple-reinforced with experimental compounds.
Built to last. Built to kill. Built to obey.
The hallways of Genesis Labs stretched out in perfect straight lines, all polished metal and security cameras. My footsteps echoed off the walls, keeping time with my heartbeat. Other doors lined the corridor, each one sealed shut. Behind them, I knew there were other rooms like mine. Other experiments.
But I was the only one left walking these halls.
Lab-3 sat at the end of the main corridor, behind a door marked with biohazard symbols and warning signs in three languages. I'd been there before, for routine maintenance. Upgrades. Adjustments.
This didn't feel routine.
I pressed my palm to the scanner. The door hissed open, revealing a room that smelled like ozone and fear. Banks of computers lined the walls, their screens flickering with data streams I couldn't read. In the center, a metal chair waited—thick straps for wrists and ankles, electrodes hanging from mechanical arms like silver snakes.
Dr. Kane stood beside it, adjusting settings on a tablet. He'd traded his lab coat for surgical scrubs, his gold glasses reflecting the computer screens.
"Punctual as always," he said without looking up. "Sit."
The chair was cold against my back. I didn't resist when he fastened the straps—leather reinforced with steel cable, designed to hold someone with my strength. The electrodes touched my temples, my throat, the base of my skull where the neural interface chip was buried.
"Your blood work came back interesting," Kane murmured, connecting cables to a central console. "Dopamine levels elevated. Oxytocin present in measurable quantities. Cortisol patterns consistent with emotional distress."
He said it like he was reading a grocery list.
"These chemicals have no place in your system, Null. They interfere with cognitive function. Cloud judgment. Make you weak."
I tested the restraints. They held firm.
"The injection I gave you was a temporary measure. But clearly, the corruption runs deeper than I thought." Kane moved to the main console, fingers dancing across holographic controls. "We're going to perform a more thorough cleansing."
Red lights began flashing on the machines around us. Something hummed to life, building power like a storm gathering strength.
"This might be uncomfortable," Kane said.
The first jolt hit my brain like lightning.
Every muscle in my body seized. My vision went white-hot, then black, then white again. The taste of copper flooded my mouth—I'd bitten my tongue. The electrodes burned against my skin, sending fire through my nervous system.
But I didn't scream.
"Interesting," Kane noted, watching readings scroll across his tablet. "Pain tolerance remains extremely high. But neural activity shows concerning patterns."
The second jolt lasted longer. My heart hammered against my ribs, trying to break free. The straps cut into my wrists as my body thrashed involuntarily.
Still no sound passed my lips.
"Talk to me, Null. What are you experiencing?"
Through gritted teeth, I managed, "Nothing."
"Lie." Kane increased the power. "Your brain is practically lighting up like Christmas. Something is happening in there."
The third jolt came with no warning.
This time, the electricity didn't just attack my body—it reached deeper, into places I didn't know existed. Memories that weren't supposed to be there. Images hidden behind walls of code and pharmaceutical fog.
A woman's voice, soft and warm.
"Hush now, little one. You're safe with me."
The vision hit me like a physical blow. Someone was singing—a lullaby I didn't recognize but somehow knew every word of. Gentle hands touched my forehead, brushing hair away from my eyes. Hair that was brown then, not silver.
"Sleep, my brave girl. Dream of better days."
I could see her face now, blurry but kind. Green eyes full of tears. A lab coat stained with something dark.
"I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."
"No," I whispered, and wasn't sure if I meant the memory or the electricity currently frying my brain.
Kane leaned closer. "What did you say?"
Another jolt. The woman in my memory reached for me, but her image shattered like glass. I tried to hold onto the pieces, but they slipped away like water through my fingers.
"You're fighting the treatment," Kane observed. "That's not supposed to be possible."
I opened my eyes—when had I closed them?—and found his face inches from mine. Behind his glasses, his pale eyes were bright with scientific curiosity.
"What did you see?" he asked.
"Nothing."
"Your neural pathways are creating spontaneous connections. Accessing data that should be completely blocked." Kane's voice carried a note of excitement now. "This is unprecedented."
He turned back to his console, making notes, adjusting settings. The machines around us hummed louder, building to something that felt dangerous.
"Sir?" A new voice cut through the sound of electricity and computers.
I turned my head—as much as the restraints allowed—and saw a woman standing in the doorway. Red hair, sharp green eyes, expensive black suit that didn't quite hide the weapons she carried. A scar ran along her right cheek, pale and jagged.
She didn't belong here. Nobody came to Genesis Labs without clearance, without reason, without Kane's permission.
"Ms. Cross," Kane said, his excitement fading into irritation. "You're early."
"Traffic was light." The woman—Cross—stepped into the lab, her heels clicking on the metal floor. "I hope you don't mind me observing."
"Actually, I do. This is a delicate procedure."
Cross smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "The families are very interested in Genesis-007's development. Especially after last night's... irregularities."
My blood went cold. The families knew about the failed mission.
Kane's jaw tightened. "The situation is under control."
"Is it?" Cross moved closer to my chair, studying me like I was a bug under glass. "She looks distressed."
I met her gaze and saw something unexpected there. Not the clinical detachment I was used to, but something that might have been sympathy. Or calculation. With someone like her, it was hard to tell the difference.
"Null doesn't experience distress," Kane said. "She experiences system malfunctions. Which I'm in the process of correcting."
Cross pulled out a small device—some kind of scanner or recorder—and pointed it at me. "Heart rate elevated. Stress hormones through the roof. Brain activity off the charts." She looked at Kane with raised eyebrows. "If this is how you correct malfunctions, I'd hate to see your idea of routine maintenance."
Kane's finger hovered over the console. "Ms. Cross, I really must insist—"
"Oh, please. Continue." She waved a hand dismissively. "Don't let me interrupt your work."
But she was interrupting, and we all knew it. Her presence changed the dynamic somehow, added a new tension to the room. Kane looked uncertain for the first time since I'd known him.
"Very well." Kane activated another sequence. "But I warn you, this next phase may be... intense."
The fourth jolt felt different. Instead of raw electricity, it was more focused, more surgical. It carved through my thoughts like a scalpel, cutting away pieces of me I didn't even know existed.
But this time, instead of losing the memories, I held on tighter.
The woman with green eyes was crying now, holding me against her chest.
"They'll come for you soon," she whispered. "But remember—you are not what they made you. You are more than the sum of your parts."
Her hands were shaking as she injected something into my arm. Something that burned, but not like Kane's drugs. This burned like hope.
"Your name," she said, her voice breaking. "Your real name is—"
The memory shattered as Kane increased the power. I arched against the restraints, every nerve ending screaming. But I didn't let go. I couldn't let go.
Because that woman had loved me. Whatever they'd done to my memories, whatever walls they'd built in my mind, that much was clear. Someone had loved me once.
"Fascinating," Cross murmured, studying her scanner. "Her neural patterns are unlike anything I've seen."
"The corruption is deeper than anticipated," Kane admitted, sweat beading on his forehead as he worked the controls. "But not irreversible."
"Are you sure about that?" Cross stepped closer to my chair. "Null? Can you hear me?"
I managed a nod, though my head felt like it was splitting open.
"Do you know who I am?"
"Elena... Cross," I gasped between jolts of electricity.
She smiled—genuinely this time. "Very good. And do you know why I'm here?"
Kane shot her a warning look. "Ms. Cross, please don't interfere with the subject during treatment."
"The subject has a name," Elena said coolly. "And she's clearly experiencing significant trauma."
"She's experiencing system maintenance."
"She's experiencing torture." Elena's voice carried an edge now, sharp enough to cut. "The families may have commissioned Genesis-007, but we didn't authorize this level of... enthusiasm."
Kane's hand froze over the console. "I was given full discretion regarding her psychological conditioning."
"Were you? Because I have orders to observe and report. And what I'm seeing here might concern some very important people."
The electricity stopped. My muscles unclenched slowly, like I was deflating. The absence of pain was almost as intense as its presence had been.
Kane stared at Elena for a long moment. Then he began shutting down the machines, his movements sharp with frustration.
"The treatment is incomplete," he said.
"The treatment is suspended," Elena replied. "Pending review."
She moved to my chair and began unfastening the restraints. Her fingers were gentle, careful not to aggravate the burns the electrodes had left on my skin.
"How are you feeling?" she asked quietly.
I flexed my hands, testing my range of motion. Everything hurt, but I was functional. More than functional—I was angry. And anger was something weapons weren't supposed to feel.
"Fine," I said.
Elena's green eyes searched my face. "Are you?"
For a moment, I almost told her the truth. Almost said that I felt like something was breaking apart inside me, like cracks were spreading through a foundation I'd never known I had.
Instead, I stood up from the chair and straightened my shoulders.
"Ready for my next assignment," I said.
Kane looked pleased. Elena looked skeptical.
"Good," Kane said, regaining his composure. "Because you have one. Shadow family has requested your services for tomorrow night."
He handed me a file folder, thick with photographs and intelligence reports. "High-value target. Time-sensitive mission."
I took the folder without reading it. My hands were steadier than they had any right to be.
"Dismissed," Kane said.
As I walked toward the door, Elena fell into step beside me.
"Null," she said, her voice low enough that Kane couldn't hear. "If you ever need anything. Anything at all. You know where to find me."
I stopped walking. "I don't even know who you are."
"Yes, you do." Elena smiled again, and this time there was something predatory about it. "You know exactly who I am. The question is—do you know who you are?"
Before I could answer, she was gone, heels clicking down the corridor toward the exit.
I stood there for a moment, holding the mission file and trying to ignore the echo of a lullaby in my head.
"Your name," the memory whispered. "Your real name is—"
But the rest was silence.
End of Chapter 2