For two months, Noah had been planning his escape from this hellhole. Two months of counting ceiling tiles, memorizing guard rotations, and fantasizing about all the creative ways he'd make Francis pay once he got out.
But first, he had to actually get out.
Noah knew exactly what this place was, he'd seen the movie, after all. This wasn't some legitimate medical facility trying to cure cancer out of the goodness of their hearts. This was a mutant processing plant, pure and simple.
The serum they'd pumped into his veins on day one wasn't medicine, it was a catalyst designed to activate dormant X-genes using the adrenaline produced by extreme stress. In other words, they tortured people until their bodies evolved superpowers as a survival mechanism.
Charming business model, really.
The successful test subjects didn't get to walk free with their shiny new abilities. Oh no, that would be far too humane. Instead, they got fitted with neural inhibitor collars and sold to the highest bidder like prize livestock.
Welcome to Francis's Mutant Emporium, Noah thought grimly. We turn your loved ones into super-powered slaves! Family discounts available!
But Noah had something Francis didn't know about, something that might actually give him a fighting chance.
Focusing past the lingering pain in his nervous system, Noah pulled up the interface that had become his lifeline over the past two months. The familiar display materialized in his mind's eye, looking like something between a video game menu and a fever dream.
ULTIMATE TALENT ACQUISITION SYSTEM
The screen was filled with locked achievements, each one representing a different superhuman ability:
[Title: Ultimate Lucky Student (Locked)]
[Title: Ultimate Fighter (Locked)]
[Title: Ultimate Marksman (Locked)]
[Title: Ultimate Detective (Locked)]
The list went on and on, dozens of incredible talents that could turn him from Francis's favorite chew toy into something approaching a threat. But they were all grayed out, waiting for him to meet their unlock conditions.
All except one.
At the bottom of the list, blazing like a neon sign in Vegas, was an achievement that made Noah's heart skip a beat:
[DEATH'S LEAST FAVORITE PERSON, COMPLETED]
[Unlock Condition: Survive fifteen near-death experiences (15/15)]
[Title Awarded: Ultimate Stuntman]
[Unlock Available]
"Holy shit," Noah breathed, staring at the notification like he'd just won the lottery. Which, in a way, he had.
For two months, every torture session had been slowly filling that progress bar. Every time Francis had pushed him to the brink of death, every time his heart had stopped or his brain had started shutting down, the counter had ticked up by one.
Fifteen times he'd stared the Grim Reaper in the face and somehow crawled back.
Fifteen times Francis had "accidentally" gone too far and had to resuscitate him.
And now, finally, it was paying off.
Noah didn't even hesitate. He mentally selected 'Yes' with the enthusiasm of a kid opening presents on Christmas morning.
[UNLOCK SUCCESSFUL!]
[Title: Ultimate Stuntman]
[Description: A performer who makes the impossible look easy, someone who laughs in Death's face and lives to tell about it]
[Primary Ability: Immortality]
Noah's brain short-circuited for a moment as he processed that last line.
"Immortality?" he whispered, wondering if the electrical torture had finally scrambled his neurons. "Did I just... did I just unlock immortality by getting my ass kicked repeatedly?"
It was insane. It was impossible. It was,
Actually, knowing his luck, it was probably exactly the kind of ridiculous power-up that would come from a system based on a murder mystery visual novel.
Leave it to me to turn getting tortured into a speedrun achievement, Noah thought with the kind of manic glee that comes from being tortured for two months straight. Take that, Francis, you discount Mengele wannabe.
Before he could fully process what had just happened, warmth began spreading through his body like liquid sunlight. It started in his chest and radiated outward, flowing through his bloodstream like the world's most pleasant injection.
The changes were immediate and dramatic.
First, his vision sharpened. He'd been nearsighted since middle school, but now every detail of the dimly lit warehouse snapped into crystal-clear focus. He could see individual dust motes floating through the air, could read the faded serial numbers on equipment across the room.
Then came the healing.
Two months of systematic torture had left Noah's body a roadmap of damage, cracked ribs, damaged organs, muscles torn from electrical stimulation, and about a thousand other injuries that Francis had been kind enough to inflict. The accumulated damage had been a constant background of agony, like trying to function while being slowly eaten alive from the inside.
But now that warm current was flowing through every cell, every damaged tissue, every broken piece of his anatomy. He could actually feel his bones knitting back together, could sense torn muscle fibers weaving themselves whole again. Years of needing glasses vanished as his corneas reshaped themselves to perfect clarity.
It was like watching a movie in reverse, every wound Francis had given him undoing itself in fast-forward.
For the first time since arriving in this nightmare, Noah felt... good. Not just "not dying," but actually, genuinely good. Like he could run a marathon or bench press a car or maybe, just maybe, punch Francis hard enough to send him into low orbit.
Now that, Noah thought, flexing his newly regenerated fingers and marveling at how they moved without pain, is what I call a comeback story.
He sat up slowly, testing his restored body. Everything worked perfectly. Better than perfectly, actually, he felt stronger, faster, more alert than he'd ever been in his life.
Around him, the other test subjects continued their chorus of misery, most of them too broken to notice that one of their fellow prisoners had just undergone what could charitably be called a "significant upgrade."
Noah looked down at his hands, hands that had been shaking with nerve damage just minutes ago, now steady as rocks, and smiled for the first time in two months.
It wasn't a nice smile.
"Francis," he murmured, his voice carrying a promise that would have made the doctor very nervous if he'd been there to hear it. "I think it's time we had a little chat about your customer service."
Time to see what 'Ultimate Stuntman' can really do.
_________________________________________________________________________
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