The young man squatted on the cold, damp ground, chains rattling as he shifted. The metal links dug into his skin, chafing against his wrists and neck, but he barely noticed the pain anymore. His orange hoodie, torn at the cuffs and stained with dirt, blended almost perfectly with the orange spotlight that bathed him in a harsh, artificial glow. The light cut through the thick, impenetrable darkness that surrounded him, casting long shadows on the concrete floor. Beyond the two-meter radius of the light, the world dissolved into a black void, so deep and empty it seemed to swallow everything.

His long, scruffy blonde hair hung over his face, obscuring his features, but even through the tangled mess, his eyes were striking—one a piercing green, the other a deep brown. Despite the chains that restrained him, his gaze was sharp, defiant, a silent challenge to whoever was watching.

He had been here for what felt like hours, the silence only broken by the occasional clink of the chains as he shifted or the distant, faint drip of water echoing in the darkness. Finally, growing impatient, he tilted his head, the chain around his neck tightening painfully as he did. His voice, laced with irritation, echoed in the oppressive stillness. "What kind of stank-ass place is this? Like, come on, y'all, if you're gonna kidnap me, at least put me in a place that doesn't smell like my socks after I don't wash them for a month."

His words hung in the air, unanswered. But then, just as he was about to speak again, he heard it—whispers. Faint, indistinct, coming from all around him, yet not loud enough to make out any words. They teased the edge of his hearing, more like the rustling of leaves in the wind than actual voices.

He snarled, pulling against the chains with a burst of frustration. "Speak the fuck up, dickheads!" His shout reverberated through the darkness, but again, there was no response. Only the whispers, swirling around him like a cruel mockery, leaving him to wonder just who—or what—had him in their grasp.

The air grew colder as the old voice boomed from the shadows behind him, deep and resonant, echoing through the void like the toll of a massive bell. "Subject 2769-M, formally known by the code name 'Misfit,' a human capable of killing a Vorath-class Voidstalker by imitating their attacks."

Misfit clenched his teeth, a flicker of memory crossing his mind—darkness, searing pain, and a shadowy figure collapsing in a heap at his feet. He spat on the ground, the saliva landing with a wet smack on the concrete. With a casual twist of his bound arms, he managed to angle them behind his back just enough to flip the middle finger towards the voice. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he spoke, his tone mocking. "So that's what that shadowy little bitch was."

The whispers returned, more insistent now, a chorus of hissing voices that seemed to circle him like vultures. They were unintelligible, but there was a hunger to them, an eagerness that sent a chill down his spine.

The voice in the void spoke again, cutting through the whispers like a knife. "We'd like to strike a deal with you, Mr. Misfit. If you agree, you'll have your freedom. But should you choose not to, you shall be immediately terminated."

Misfit felt the chain around his neck tighten as he threw his head back in a defiant gesture. His grin widened, the thrill of danger making his heart pound. "Ohhh, well isn't this interesting? Go ahead and say it."

For a moment, the room was silent, the whispers fading into an expectant hush. Then the voice spoke again, measured and deliberate. "We'd like you to keep a few entities in check, young, inexperienced entities to be exact."

Misfit's smile grew, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. "So, babysitting duty, huh? Gotta say, this ain't the deal I was expecting." He tugged at the chains again, testing their strength, though he already knew they wouldn't budge. "But, you know, I'm a sucker for a good challenge."

The voice did not respond immediately, as if weighing his words. Then, with a gravity that made the air feel even heavier, it spoke again. "These entities are not to be underestimated, Misfit. Their power is untamed, raw. They could bring about an end far worse than the Voidstalker you felled."

Misfit chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Sounds like fun. But if you think I'm just gonna take orders without knowing what I'm getting into, you're dead wrong. So, tell me, what's the catch? Or better yet, what's in it for me?"

The voice lingered in the air, the unseen presence almost tangible. "Freedom, Misfit. The kind you've never known. And perhaps... a chance to uncover the truth behind your existence."

Misfit's eyes narrowed, the smirk fading as curiosity gnawed at him. The truth? That was a word that carried weight, especially in a world as twisted as his. He tilted his head, considering the offer, the chains clinking softly with the movement.

"Alright," he finally said, his tone losing some of its earlier bravado. "You got my attention. But just remember—if you try to screw me over, I'll rip apart your precious little entities and anyone else who gets in my way. Deal?"

The voice responded without hesitation. "Deal."

And with that single word, the chains binding Misfit's wrists and neck began to loosen, the metal links clattering to the floor. The spotlight above him dimmed, and the darkness began to recede, revealing the faint outlines of a room beyond suddenly the ground rumbled beneath Misfit as an enormous metal door groaned open, the noise reverberating through the chamber. The door was at least ten meters tall and wide, its heavy steel reinforced with thick rivets. As it slid open, the room was flooded with bright light, and in marched dozens of heavily armed men, their boots pounding in unison against the cold concrete floor. Each man wore combat gear—bulletproof vests, helmets, and masks emblazoned with a strange, angular arrow symbol painted in vivid red.

They moved with practiced precision, forming a tight circle around Misfit, their rifles raised, fingers resting lightly on the triggers. The air was thick with tension as they closed in, their silence speaking volumes. Misfit's gaze swept over them, his eyes narrowing as he counted. One hundred and three.

His voice cut through the tension, calm but carrying an unmistakable threat. "One hundred and three men, of which only one is going to leave here today if you don't step the fuck back."

As he spoke, Misfit casually wrapped a length of the loosened chain around his palm, the metal links clinking ominously. His defiant stance made it clear he was ready for a fight.

But before anyone could act, the same commanding voice boomed through the room, echoing with authority. "Stand back."

The armed men hesitated only for a split second before obeying, stepping back in unison to clear a path. Misfit watched as the circle opened up, allowing a single figure to step forward. An old man, his back slightly hunched but his steps firm, walked toward Misfit. He was dressed in a long, dark leather coat that swept the ground as he moved, and he leaned heavily on a cane with a polished wooden handle. His eyes were sharp, assessing Misfit with a mixture of curiosity and calculation.

Misfit smiled, his earlier irritation giving way to a bemused expression. "Hello, Mr. Annoying Voice. Do tell me more about this deal."

The old man stopped a few feet from Misfit, his eyes sweeping over him from head to toe before settling on his mismatched eyes. His voice, though now softer, carried the same authority as before. "Follow me first, and instead of calling me 'Annoying Voice,' call me Dr. Killet."

With that, Dr. Killet turned on his heel, not waiting to see if Misfit would follow. Amused and intrigued, Misfit unraveled the chain from his palm, letting it fall to the floor with a clatter. He began to walk beside the old man, his curiosity piqued.

They moved through a series of long, dimly lit corridors, the walls lined with steel panels and occasional security cameras that tracked their every step. The silence between them was heavy, broken only by the sound of their footsteps echoing in the narrow space. Misfit glanced at Dr. Killet from time to time, studying the man who had been the voice in the darkness. The old man walked with a purpose, his cane tapping a steady rhythm on the floor.

Finally, they reached a large clearing, where a sleek black helicopter sat on a helipad, its rotors still and silent. The helicopter looked like it had seen its share of battles, its surface marred by scratches and scorch marks, but it was clearly well-maintained and ready for action.

Dr. Killet paused at the edge of the helipad, turning to face Misfit. His expression was serious, almost solemn. "This helicopter will take us to the facility where you'll be briefed on your assignment. It's not a simple task, Misfit, and it's not without risks. But if you succeed, you'll gain the freedom you've been denied for so long."

Misfit tilted his head, his grin returning as he considered the offer. "And if I don't?"

Dr. Killet's eyes hardened. "Then your life ends here. Simple as that."

Misfit chuckled, the sound low and filled with dark amusement. "Well, when you put it like that, how can I refuse?"

Dr. Killet didn't respond, instead nodding toward the helicopter. Without another word, Misfit stepped forward, the thrill of the unknown fueling his every move. As he approached the helicopter, its doors swung open, revealing the dimly lit interior lined with sleek black seats and glowing control panels.

Misfit climbed inside, followed closely by Dr. Killet, who took a seat across from him. As the doors closed and the helicopter's rotors began to spin, lifting them off the ground, Misfit couldn't help but wonder what exactly he had just signed up for but ultimately it didn't matter as he had a feeling he was about to bath his fists in blood once more, just the thought of it made him smile sadistically.