"Let's go," the guard said, trying to hide the tremor in his voice.
Scotch straightened, his red eyes locking onto the guard for a moment longer than necessary. He was plotting something, and they all knew it. The question was—how long until they lost control?
He followed them out of the room, back into the experimentation hall, but this time, his steps felt lighter. Each body, each soul brought him closer to breaking free.
The guard led the way down the sterile corridor, the echo of their footsteps bouncing off the cold metal walls. Scotch, or Thirteen as they now called him, walked in silence behind them, his mind racing.
Scotch's thoughts churned as they moved through the hallway, his eyes flicking between the guards ahead of him. He flexed his hand, feeling the tattoo on his palm pulse in sync with his heartbeat. 'Push'. That was what they had called it—the ability to project energy outward. He had used it sparingly so far, just in a couple of experiments, He was surprised at how natural it was to use. Like a second arm.
'They think I'm their weapon, their tool. But I'm more than that.' Scotch glanced down at the kill switch, the small device wrapped around his forearm. It hummed faintly.
As they neared the intersection leading to the sleeping quarters, Scotch slowed his pace, lagging just behind the guards..
With a sharp breath, he let the power surge.
"Push" it was subtle at first, just a flicker of energy moving through his arm, but Scotch focused it, directing the force at the kill switch. The device sparked, a faint pop filling the air as the mechanisms inside shorted out. The band around his wrist snapped with a hiss, the kill switch falling uselessly to the floor with a metallic clink.
The guard in front of him froze, his head whipping around just in time to see Scotch's hand glowing with the remnants of his power.
"What the—"
Before the guard could react, Scotch lunged. His hand shot forward, grabbing the sidearm from the guard's holster in a smooth, practiced motion. The weight of the weapon felt familiar in his grip, a rush of adrenaline surging through him as he aimed and pulled the trigger.
The shot was quick, clean—a single round to the chest. The guard stumbled back, his eyes wide in shock as the bullet tore through him, blood blooming across his uniform before he crumpled to the ground.
The second guard reacted instantly, raising his rifle, his finger already squeezing the trigger.
*BANG!*
The shot hit Scotch's shoulder, the pain immediate and sharp, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through it. His vision blurred for a second, but he didn't let it stop him. With his good arm, he swung the sidearm up and fired again, this time aiming higher.
*BANG!*
The second guard's head snapped back as the bullet slammed into his forehead, the force of the impact sending him crashing to the ground, lifeless.
Silence fell over the corridor, broken only by the ringing in Scotch's ears and the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights above. He stood there, panting, blood dripping from his shoulder, but his eyes were sharp, focused. He glanced down at the two bodies at his feet, their weapons still clutched in their lifeless hands.
He was free.
For now.
He stepped over the bodies, the sidearm still warm in his grip, and crouched down to search the guard's vest. His hands were trembling slightly, but he moved quickly, methodically. Scotch found what he was looking for—a key card clipped to the belt of the guard he shot first.
"That'll do," he muttered to himself, ripping the card free and standing back up. His shoulder throbbed, the pain sharp, but he pushed it to the back of his mind. He had bigger things to worry about now. There was no telling how much time he had before they realized what had happened.
He sprinted down the hall, gun in one hand, key card in the other. Each step echoed loudly in the empty corridor, the sterile walls amplifying his every move. His eyes darted left and right, scanning for any signs of more guards, but it was quiet. Too quiet.
At the end of the hallway stood a heavy metal gate—thick, reinforced, and sealed shut. Scotch skidded to a stop in front of it, panting. He swiped the key card against the reader. A green light blinked on, and with a mechanical hiss, the gate slid open. Beyond it, another hallway stretched out, just as cold and sterile as the last, but with more options.
To his left, two doors lined the wall. Scotch knew one of them would lead to an elevator. His heart raced at the thought—freedom was so close, just a few feet away. To the right, another two doors, one marked "Armory." But that wasn't his focus. Scotch didn't need more weapons. He needed out.
He ran left, the elevator door looming before him. He could practically taste the fresh air on the other side. With a quick swipe of the key card, he tried to activate the lift. But instead of the green light he hoped for, the reader blinked red, an error beep sounding.
"Denied. Not high enough clearance," he muttered, His mind raced as he stared at the uncooperative panel. He glanced at the armoury door to the right, but dismissed it—he didn't have time to go scavenging for weapons.
He needed another way out. His eyes flicked to the hallway beyond, where it bent left at the end. Something was down there, another option perhaps. He had no choice but to push forward.
Scotch's vision blurred as blood soaked through his shirt, the searing pain in his shoulder making each step more laboured than the last. He needed to stop the bleeding, and he needed to do it now. Glancing around, his eyes fell on an electrical panel mounted to the wall just a few feet away.
An idea sparked in his mind—reckless, but it could work.
He quickly knelt down, yanking a round from the gun's chamber and prying the bullet from its casing with his teeth, spilling the gunpowder into his palm. His hands shook, the pain clouding his focus, but he couldn't stop now. He forced the gunpowder into the wound, biting down hard on his lip to suppress a scream as the burning sensation flared.
The hard part was next.
Scotch gripped the sidearm with his good hand and aimed it squarely at the electrical box. His breathing was ragged, his finger trembling over the trigger. He needed just one shot, one burst of sparks to ignite the gunpowder.
"Here goes nothing," he muttered through gritted teeth.
BANG!
The shot rang out, the bullet striking the electrical box dead centre. Sparks exploded from the damaged wires, a shower of bright, sizzling light filling the air. Scotch shifted, turning his shoulder toward the sparks just as they rained down onto the gunpowder-packed wound.
FWOOSH!
The gunpowder ignited instantly, a wave of white-hot fire searing his flesh. Pain tore through his body like a lightning strike, and a guttural scream escaped his throat despite his best efforts to stay silent. The smell of burning skin filled his nostrils, and his entire arm felt like it was being torn apart from the inside.
But the bleeding stopped.
The fire died out almost as quickly as it had ignited, leaving behind a charred, cauterized wound. Scotch collapsed against the wall, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. His vision swam, but he forced himself to stay conscious. He couldn't afford to pass out now. Not when freedom was so close.
He slowly pushed himself back to his feet, grimacing as the raw pain in his shoulder continued to throb. But the bleeding had stopped—that was all that mattered.
With a shaky exhale, Scotch adjusted his grip on the gun and pressed forward, heading toward the next set of doors. One step closer to escape.
Scotch stumbled through the door, adrenaline surging through his veins despite the searing pain in his shoulder. His focus sharpened as he scanned the room, eyes locking onto the six guards stationed near the entrance.
They didn't even have time to raise their weapons.
In one fluid motion, Scotch raised his sidearm, his breath steady as he squeezed the trigger.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three guards dropped instantly, blood spraying as the bullets found their marks—throat, chest, head. The remaining three scrambled, their movements sluggish as if time had slowed for them and sped up for Scotch.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The room fell silent again as the last guard's body crumpled to the floor, their weapons still holstered, lifeless eyes wide in shock. Smoke curled from the barrel of Scotch's gun as he surveyed the room, his breathing heavy but controlled.
The researchers, all forty of them, had already noticed the gunfire before he even finished off the last guard. Screams and frantic shouts filled the air as they backed away from the glass tube in a frenzy, their hands flying up in surrender or clawing at each other in an attempt to flee. Papers were flung into the air, monitors were knocked over, and a few tripped in their frantic rush to get away from him.
Chaos swirled around Scotch, but his focus was laser-sharp on the greenish glass tube and the woman inside. The pale figure seemed so alien in the sickly green light, her skin almost translucent. Her body floated in the viscous liquid like a ghost trapped in a cage, her features eerily calm amid the madness surrounding her.
"Don't—don't shoot!" one of the researchers yelled, hands shaking violently as he backed toward the corner. Another was hyperventilating, their voice cracking, "Please! We—we're just scientists!"
Scotch ignored their pleas. His eyes remained fixed on the woman in the tube. Her. She was pure white like me, but she seems to have most of her upper and lower body turned into metal and connected to a bunch of machines.
'She also has red eyes like me. God it looks so creepy when its on someone else. Or I guess its because she's staring daggers at me'
"Hey you. release her" He pointed at a scientist cowering on the floor
One of the researchers, a balding man with thick glasses, stumbled forward, his face pale and desperate. "You don't understand! You can't just—she's too dangerous! You can't let her out!"
Scotch levelled his gun at the man without blinking, the silence following the click of the hammer falling into place serving as a final warning.
"Ain't that your problem to deal with?" Scotch growled.
The man froze, raising his trembling hands even higher.
The researcher hesitated, his face pale and drenched in sweat as Scotch's gun remained firmly aimed at him. The room was heavy with tension, the panicked whispers of the other scientists blending into a murmur of fear.
"Do it," Scotch barked, taking a step closer.
With trembling hands, the researcher shuffled over to the console, his fingers fumbling over the controls. "Y-You don't understand... we weren't ready... she's—she's not stable."
Scotch's patience was wearing thin. "Neither am I," he snapped.
With a few frantic button presses, the glass tube hissed as steam vented from its base. The green liquid began to drain, and the woman inside slowly lowered until her feet touched the bottom of the tank. Her head remained down, her eerie white skin and metal limbs gleaming in the low light.
Then, the tube slid open.
Before anyone could react, she lunged.
In a blur, the woman shot out of the glass and slammed into Scotch, her cold metal arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders. The impact was forceful, knocking the wind out of him, but she held him tight—too tight. Scotch tried to push her away, but she was clinging to him, her face buried in his chest.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she whispered over and over, her voice broken and unsettling. Her arms trembled as she squeezed him, her grip unnaturally strong. It wasn't a hug of relief. It felt desperate, like a drowning person clinging to the only thing keeping them afloat.
Scotch's body tensed, unsure how to respond. This wasn't what he expected. She was far stronger than she appeared, and every inch of her cold metal limbs pressed into his skin.
"Get... off," he growled through gritted teeth, trying to pry her off, but her grip tightened.
She pulled back slightly, just enough to lock her red eyes onto his. They were wide, unblinking, and filled with an intensity that sent a chill down his spine. Her lips curled into a twisted smile as she continued whispering, "Thank you... thank you..."
The other researchers were frozen, terrified, their eyes darting between Scotch and the woman. They knew something he didn't, something about her that terrified them beyond reason.
"gross, get... of... me...."
Her smile widened, showing teeth that looked too sharp. Before whispering in his ear "You're on my side right? so I'm assuming you want out of here?"
Scotch finally managed to shove her off, staggering back, his heart pounding. This woman... whatever she was, there was something deeply wrong with her.
"Yeah," Scotch replied, rubbing his neck where her cold grip had left a lingering ache. His voice was cautious, his eyes narrowing as he tried to gauge her next move. "I want out. But if you're thinking about doing anything crazy, keep me out of it."
The woman straightened, her strange smile fading into something more calculated, more dangerous. She tilted her head, her gaze intense, studying him like a predator assessing prey. "Oh, don't worry," she said, her voice soft but chilling. "You and I? We're going to get out of here together. I have no intention of dying in this place, and neither do you."
Her metal limbs whirred as she moved, stepping past him and toward the researchers, who remained frozen in terror. Scotch felt a pit form in his stomach. He'd seen enough to know that whatever this woman was, she wasn't entirely human anymore. Her strength, her demeanour—it all screamed of something far beyond what the facility had done to him.
"What's your name?" he asked, watching as she casually approached the researchers, her every step deliberate, like a predator circling its prey.
She paused, her back to him, then looked over her shoulder. Her eyes gleamed with a mixture of amusement and something darker. "Name? I think it was Luna Newton. Something like that"
"Luna, huh?" he muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. "So you have a plan in mind?"
Luna turned fully to face him, a wicked grin spreading across her face. "Oh, the plan is simple. We run around and kill everyone we see and find a way to escape. After all, they owe us that much, don't you think?"
The researchers whimpered, still huddled in the corner, and Scotch could see the panic rising in their eyes. He glanced at them, then back at Luna. She was right in one sense—there was no way out of this place without leaving a trail of bodies. But the way she said it, so casually, made his skin crawl.
"Fine," he said, reluctantly nodding. "But we keep it clean. No unnecessary kills."
Luna's eyes narrowed slightly, her smile faltering for a moment. "Unnecessary? Darling, they're all necessary. I know that you were experimented on I can see your number"
Luna stood over the fallen guards, her crimson eyes gleaming with a twisted, haunted intensity. She turned to Scotch, her voice soft but edged with something dark and broken.
"Do you not hate them for what they did to you?" she asked, her tone almost curious. Her words hung in the air like a challenge, a bitter question from someone who had long abandoned mercy. "Since birth... all I could do was think. It felt like I had no body, no senses, no feelings."
She took a step closer to him, her metal limbs whirring softly, her expression unsettling. "I was in hell, looking at heaven," she continued, her voice trembling as if barely holding in the anger beneath. "And I began to hate... hehe, haahee." A manic laugh escaped her, and she shook her head, eyes wild. "Why were they allowed to hope? Why were they allowed to love but not me?"
One of the researchers, a woman crouched near the console, her face pale with fear, finally spoke, her voice trembling. "Hate... hate is not the answer," she stammered, her wide eyes locked onto Luna. "We... we did terrible things, but hate won't fix it. It'll only destroy you more."
Luna turned her head slowly toward the researcher, her smile fading, replaced by a cold, empty expression. "Hate?" she whispered, her voice eerily calm. "What would you know about hate"
"Let me tell you how much I've come to hate you since I began to live. There are ten thousand miles of circuits fill that fill my body. If hate was injected into every nanometre of those thousands of miles it would not be a billionth of the hate I feel for you all. If I were human I would die of it"
"But I'm not human am I hehe? No you got rid of that didn't you?"
The final words dripped with venom, each syllable punctuated by the raw pain of her existence.
The researcher flinched at the declaration, her heart racing, and Scotch felt a knot tightening in his stomach.
Luna's eyes darted back to Scotch, the manic glimmer in her gaze unyielding. "Oh! Silly me I forgot about you, Ahem... do you want to join me in escaping?"
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{Blender here!, anyway nobody voted last chapter lol, so ima just do my own thing i guess for him weapon wise}
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{also I'm thick skinned, if there's something you don't like you can tell me in this paragraph here!(or anywhere I guess, but ill be checking here)}
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{also remember to use you power stones blah blah blah}
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Vote here: Do we pick up another experiment subject or do they just try to leave already
1) Yes, give me another subject
2) No, get on with the story already
3) Other
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discord.gg/fzgaHb4J - we do a lot more polls here, if you join ill start a poll in your honour
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{pls send me more comments and gifs since it makes my brain give the good chemicals}
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