Just as Ethan reached the laboratory door, Dr. Carlton stepped forward and blocked his path. The guard beside him instinctively straightened. Carlton lifted a hand to silence him, then fixed his gaze on Ethan with clinical intensity before speaking in a deceptively calm tone. "Number Fifty-Eight," he said, studying his pupils, "why are you so obsessed with standing in the sunlight?"
Ethan's heart skipped once, but he forced his expression into something secretive and unhinged. He glanced around the room as if checking for hidden listeners, then leaned forward slightly and lowered his voice. "I'm planning something big."
Carlton arched a brow, clearly entertained despite himself. "Oh? And what would that be?"
Several researchers paused their work to listen, curiosity outweighing professionalism. Ethan met the doctor's eyes and answered with complete seriousness. "Me? I'm going to plant the sun."
The room went silent. Carlton's expression flickered through confusion, irritation, and finally regret. He looked as though he had just realized he had tried to have a rational conversation with someone officially labeled unstable. Before the silence could settle, Ethan added earnestly, "If possible, I'd like a room with a larger window. For medical reasons."
That was the final straw. Carlton's composure cracked as he snapped, "Take him away!" His voice echoed off the sterile walls as frustration spilled over. "I knew it. I knew I couldn't produce a stable Compound V using subjects with compromised mental profiles. You can't stabilize chaos with more chaos."
He paced a step, anger simmering. "I told Vought months ago that we needed better raw material. Pull in vagrants from the city, people off the grid. Those are viable candidates."
Inside the lab, Roger Lang and the other assistants kept their heads down. No one volunteered a response. By the window, Lamplighter flicked his lighter shut and spoke with a faint, knowing smile. "You understand the logistics, Doctor. It isn't that simple to relocate civilians without attention. The military watches Vought closely."
Carlton did not argue. He stripped off his lab coat, tossed it aside, and stormed out without another word.
On the walk back, the guard chuckled. "You've got talent, kid. I haven't seen him that pissed in months." He nodded toward the window overlooking the parking lot, where Carlton's car was already pulling away. "Looks like he's heading to Vought Tower. Might be a bad week to be homeless."
Ethan didn't answer. The request for a larger window had been dismissed, and that was what mattered. Back in his cell, he returned to the narrow strip of sunlight and resumed his routine. It was another bright day, and even that thin beam was enough.
Around noon, he overheard enough hallway chatter to piece things together. Carlton was dissatisfied with the current test pool and believed the slow progress of his Compound V refinement was due to inferior subjects. The implication was clear. His next round of experiments would be delayed.
That meant time.
Time to stand beneath the sun.
Time to accumulate role points.
Time to grow.
Inside the small room, Ethan aligned his body with the slanted beam of light, adjusting angle and posture to maximize exposure. The panel numbers climbed steadily. Early gains had come easily, but now the required points for each threshold had doubled. The System demanded more commitment for less visible progress.
It didn't matter.
He treated every patch of sunlight like oxygen.
Even the guards watching the feeds eventually stopped reacting. To them, the patient in Cell Seventeen had simply developed a fixation. If anything, they seemed relieved he wasn't screaming.
Days blurred together. Meals marked the passing of time more reliably than clocks. At sunset, as the final strip of light vanished behind the building's perimeter fence, Ethan transferred the day's accumulated points into the template.
This time, the notification sound was different.
[Unlock Progress Reached 10%]
[Ability Unlocked: Superhuman Physique]
A surge of heat flooded his body, spreading from his spine into his limbs. It wasn't pain. It was reinforcement. Muscle fibers tightened. Bone density thickened. His senses sharpened slightly, as though the world had shifted into higher resolution.
He pulled up the panel to confirm.
The new line glowed faintly beneath Destruction Ray.
Testing cautiously, he clenched his fist. The motion felt heavier, denser. According to the System's assessment, he was now resistant to conventional firearms and possessed partial immunity to ballistic impact. Not invulnerable, but far from fragile.
The upgrade wasn't perfect. A high-caliber round at close range would still hurt. But tranquilizer darts, rubber rounds, standard sidearms? Those were no longer guaranteed threats.
More importantly, his endurance had increased.
He could take damage.
He could move through resistance instead of folding under it.
For the next several days, no one summoned him to the lab. Carlton remained absent, reportedly in dispute with Vought's upper management. Half a month passed without a new injection.
That suited Ethan just fine.
He observed security patterns carefully. The laboratory route was the optimal escape path. It bypassed multiple layers of reinforced barriers that separated the main wards from the exterior exit. Breaking out directly through his cell would trigger alarms and require breaching successive checkpoints.
The lab offered proximity to doors, corridors, and fewer obstacles.
He continued storing role points rather than spending them immediately. The cost curve had increased again, and conserving resources for a larger jump made strategic sense.
Destruction Ray and enhanced physique were sufficient for phase one.
The Seven's top-tier powerhouses were still headquartered elsewhere. If he moved now, the resistance here would be manageable.
Two more days passed.
That night, after finishing another bland meal, Ethan lay on his bed, eyes half-closed. Just as sleep began to settle over him, the metallic click of his door unlocking sliced through the quiet.
He opened his eyes instantly.
The iron door swung inward, and the broad-shouldered guard stepped inside.
It was late.
Dinner had already been delivered.
Ethan rose slowly, confusion masked behind a blank expression. The guard shut the door behind him, and a grin spread across his face—slow, deliberate, predatory.
The look was unmistakable.
"I figured we could have a little fun," the guard said, stepping closer.
In the security room, the night-shift operator noticed the feed and hesitated. After a brief pause, he pressed a button and angled the camera away. What happened off-screen was no longer officially visible.
Inside the cell, the guard glanced up at the redirected lens and smirked. "Party pooper," he muttered, then turned his attention back to Ethan.
He loosened his belt.
"Relax," he said with a laugh. "I'll make it quick."
Ethan stared at him without expression.
A faint red shimmer began to gather in his eyes.
"What?" the guard snapped suddenly, unsettled by the calm. "You got something to say?"
Ethan's voice remained level. "You wanted to show me something, right?"
The temperature in the room spiked.
Before the guard could react, two thin crimson beams erupted from Ethan's eyes. They crossed the short distance in a fraction of a second, striking with surgical precision.
There was a flash.
A smell.
Then silence.
The beams vanished instantly.
The guard froze, eyes wide in disbelief. A heartbeat later, his legs buckled. He collapsed to the floor, body curling inward. His hands trembled as they hovered uselessly near his ruined lower body, terrified to make contact.
Pain overtook him completely.
His face drained of color. His mouth opened in a scream that barely produced sound. Sweat poured down his temples as his body shook uncontrollably.
Ethan stepped closer and looked down at him.
"I saw it," he said quietly. "Now what?"