The screech of metal against metal pierced the suffocating darkness, a sound that could make a saint curse and a sinner pray.
Two hulking guards in blood-stained uniforms shoved open the rusted iron door, their boots echoing like death knells against the concrete floor. Between them, they dragged a hospital gurney that had seen better decades, its wheels squealing in protest.
Strapped to that gurney like a Thanksgiving turkey was Noah Malachi.
Eighteen years old, lean build, and currently experiencing what could generously be called "the worst Tuesday of his life." Thick leather restraints bit into his wrists and ankles, holding him so tight he could barely twitch, let alone escape. His dark hair was matted with sweat, and his clothes, what remained of them, clung to his body like a second skin of misery.
The room they wheeled him into was a surgeon's nightmare brought to life. Dim, cramped, with an operating table squatting in the center like a metallic altar of pain. The overhead lamp flickered with the enthusiasm of a dying firefly, casting sickly shadows that danced across peeling walls. The air reeked of copper, antiseptic, and something else, something that made Noah's stomach clench with primal fear.
Standing beside the operating table, adjusting surgical instruments with the casual precision of a maestro tuning his orchestra, was a man in a white coat that had seen better years. His back was turned, but Noah could feel the malevolence radiating from him like heat from a furnace.
Oh, fantastic, Noah thought, his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged bird. The psychopath's ready for round... what was this, fifteen? Twenty? I've lost count.
"Well, well," the man in the white coat said without turning around, his voice carrying the kind of cheerful menace that belonged in horror movies. "Look who's back for another session."
The guards hoisted Noah onto the operating table with all the gentleness of dock workers handling cargo. The metal was cold against his back, cold enough to make him gasp through gritted teeth.
"Francis," Noah muttered, the name tasting like ashes in his mouth.
The man finally turned around, revealing a face that would have been handsome if not for the complete absence of human warmth in his eyes. Dr. Francis, though Noah was pretty sure that wasn't his real name, smiled the kind of smile that belonged on a shark.
"Still calling me by that name, are we?" Francis approached the table, his footsteps measured and deliberate. "I do admire your persistence, even if it is completely pointless."
He leaned over Noah, close enough that Noah could smell his cologne, something expensive that did nothing to mask the underlying scent of sadism.
"Now then, let's try this again, shall we? The same questions I've been asking for... oh, how long has it been now? Two months?" Francis's gloved fingers traced the edge of a particularly nasty-looking scalpel. "How did you infiltrate our facility? Our security cameras didn't catch you. Our motion sensors didn't detect you. You simply... appeared."
Noah's mind raced. The truth, that he'd been sitting in his apartment playing mobile games one second and strapped to a torture table the next, was about as believable as a unicorn riding a bicycle. And even if Francis believed him, it wouldn't change anything. This place was a black site, a hole in the world where people disappeared and never came back.
He'd learned that the hard way over the past two months of creative torture.
"Still playing the strong, silent type?" Francis picked up a device that looked like it belonged in a medieval dungeon rather than a medical facility. "That's fine. We have all the time in the world."
The device hummed to life with an electric whine that made Noah's teeth ache.
"You know," Francis continued conversationally, as if they were discussing the weather instead of impending electrocution, "most people break after the first week. You've been remarkably resilient. I almost respect that."
Almost.
Noah felt the cold touch of metal electrodes against his temples. His breath came in short, sharp gasps.
"This little beauty," Francis explained, his voice taking on the tone of a proud father showing off his child's art project, "delivers precisely calibrated electrical impulses to your nervous system. Not enough to kill you, death would be counterproductive, but more than enough to make you wish you were dead."
The smell of ozone filled the air. Noah's muscles tensed involuntarily.
"Last chance," Francis said, his finger hovering over a big red button that screamed 'DO NOT PRESS.' "Who sent you? What organization are you working for?"
Noah's throat was dry as sandpaper, but he managed to croak out: "You know what, Doc?"
Francis raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Finally ready to talk?"
"Yeah." Noah met his eyes, summoning every ounce of defiance he had left. "I've got something really important to tell you."
Francis leaned in closer, anticipation written across his features like a kid on Christmas morning.
"The thing is," Noah said, trying to keep his voice steady, "I'm actually from a secret organization so secret that even we don't know we exist. It's like Fight Club, but with more torture and worse catering."
Francis blinked slowly, clearly not expecting that response.
"Oh, and before you fry my brain," Noah continued, warming up to his performance, "I should probably mention that I've been trying to reach you about your car's extended warranty."
The confusion on Francis's face was almost worth the impending electrocution.
"Also," Noah added quickly, seeing Francis's finger twitch toward the button, "has anyone ever told you that you look exactly like a discount Tom Hiddleston? Like, if someone ordered Loki from Wish dot com?"
Francis's eye twitched. "Are you... are you making jokes? Right now?"
"Hey, if I'm about to get my brain scrambled like Sunday morning eggs, I might as well go out with some dignity. Speaking of which, is this the part where you tell me your evil plan? Because I've got to say, the whole 'mysterious torture facility' thing is very 2010s. These days, the real villains just steal personal data and sell it to the highest bidder."
For a moment, just a moment, Francis looked genuinely offended by the suggestion that his torture operation was passé. Then his expression darkened like a storm cloud, and Noah knew he'd pushed his luck as far as it would go.
"You think this is funny?" Francis's voice dropped to a whisper that was somehow more terrifying than any shout. "You think this is some kind of game?"
The electrode pressed harder against Noah's temple.
"Let me explain something to you, you smug little, "
BZZZZZZT.
Noah's eyes snapped open to the sound of suffering.
The sterile hell of the operating room was gone, replaced by what could only be described as a warehouse of broken dreams. Dozens of hospital beds stretched out in rows like soldiers at attention, each one occupied by someone who'd clearly seen better days. The lighting was dim, casting everything in shades of despair and resignation.
Moans, whimpers, and the occasional scream echoed through the space. The air tasted of disinfectant, unwashed bodies, and crushed hope.
"Ugh..." Noah tried to sit up and immediately regretted it as pain shot through his body like liquid fire. Every nerve ending felt like it had been dipped in acid and set ablaze. His muscles spasmed involuntarily, and cold sweat beaded on his forehead.
Well, he thought through the haze of agony, that was thoroughly unpleasant.
Francis had been thorough, he'd give him that. The electrical torture had left Noah feeling like he'd been struck by lightning while simultaneously being eaten alive by fire ants.
But he was alive. Broken, battered, and feeling like death warmed over, but alive.
And that was all he needed.
Fighting through the pain, Noah closed his eyes and focused inward, reaching for the one thing that had kept him sane through two months of hell, the one thing that might actually get him out of here.
In his mind's eye, a familiar interface flickered to life:
ULTIMATE TALENT ACQUISITION SYSTEM
[Player: Noah Malachi]
[Gender: Male]
[Age: 18]
[Current Talents: None]
[Achievement Points: 0]
[Status: Probably should have stayed home and played video games]
It was insane. Impossible. A game interface that had somehow followed him from his old world into this nightmare.
But it was also his only hope.
Alright, Noah thought, gritting his teeth against the pain. Time to figure out how to turn a gacha system into an escape plan.
Because honestly? Anything beats being Francis's favorite lab rat.
________________________________________________________________________________
It's been… well, 9 months since my last fanfic. Life kinda hit me hard—exams, a ton of other stuff, basically too busy to even breathe. But now I finally got some time, and I figured, why not? So here I am, back to writing again!
Thanks for sticking around, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Let's get this story rolling again!
💎 Power Stone Bonus! 💎
Drop some stones if you want extra chapters:
100 stones → 1 extra chapter
300 stones → 2 extra chapters
500 stones → 3 extra chapters
The more stones you drop, the more story you get.