Nathan braced himself, fingers digging into the cold metal of the cot as two GRA agents entered his cell. The first agent, tall and wiry with an expression that could curdle milk, gestured at him with a clipboard. The other, a younger recruit with nervous eyes darting around the sterile room, looked more like he was there to observe than enforce.
"Well, Nathan, back again for more?" The wiry agent's voice was laced with condescension, his gaze cold and calculating.
"Didn't know I'd be getting a return invite, no," Nathan muttered, masking his nerves with a dry smirk. He wanted to keep his tone light, almost casual, but the weariness clinging to him was impossible to shake.
The younger recruit shifted awkwardly, as if unsure how to react to Nathan's defiance. "Listen," he stammered, glancing at the wiry agent. "It's… just routine. For the records. Nothing personal."
The wiry agent snorted, dismissing his partner's attempt at diplomacy. "Let's skip the coddling. Bring him in. We've got tests to run, and I don't like wasting my time."
They dragged him down the hallway, his feet barely touching the ground as they passed row after row of thick, reinforced doors, each one sealing off a nightmare he could only imagine. The facility was silent, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights and the buzz of security panels.
Once they reached the testing chamber, the agents shoved him inside. This room was colder than the others, the air tinged with the scent of antiseptic. Nathan's eyes flickered to the new setup—an assortment of devices, tubes filled with odd, dark liquid, and electrodes coiled like hungry snakes waiting to bite.
"Take a seat," the wiry agent ordered, his smile almost sadistic. "We're going to see what makes you tick."
As he sat down, Nathan's wrists and ankles were strapped to the chair with cold metal clasps. A thick, leather band held his chest in place, making each breath feel like a fight. He suppressed a shiver, gritting his teeth as he looked up at the array of sensors and cameras trained on him.
The young recruit fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable with what was about to happen. "This seems… excessive, doesn't it?"
"Rookie mistake," the wiry agent sneered, not bothering to look at his colleague. "You treat anomalies like him with kid gloves, and they'll eat you alive. We're doing him a favor, really. Testing his limits, preparing him for his real potential—if he has any."
Nathan's fingers curled around the armrests, his knuckles white as he endured the first jolt of electricity that coursed through his body. The shock wasn't unbearable, but it was the precursor to a long chain of relentless, grueling tests. The GRA wasn't playing around anymore.
Hours slipped by in a haze of pain and half-consciousness. They pushed him through an endless sequence of endurance tests—starving his senses with flashes of light, drowning his hearing with white noise, breaking his concentration with random, disorienting bursts of sound.
Nathan's mind began to slip, his grasp on reality loosening as each test clawed away at his resolve. Somewhere in the swirling fog of pain and exhaustion, he heard the wiry agent taunt him.
"What's wrong, Wilson? Not as resilient as you thought?" He leaned in, his face a blur. "They say you're special. That you've got potential. But look at you now, barely keeping it together."
Through the haze, Nathan managed a shaky grin. "You'd be surprised what I can survive."
The agent's smile faltered for a moment, just long enough for Nathan to savor a small victory before another shock rattled through him, more intense than before, leaving him breathless, barely clinging to his senses.
When they finally unshackled him and led him back to his cell, Nathan stumbled, his legs weak and his mind reeling. The young recruit looked as if he wanted to say something—an apology, perhaps, or maybe just an offer of water—but a sharp glare from his superior silenced him.
As the door closed, sealing him once again in solitude, Nathan collapsed against the cold wall, gasping for air. He was broken, his body exhausted, his mind frayed, yet somewhere within him, that flicker of defiance still burned, faint but resilient.
A faint glow caught his attention. He looked down, seeing the corrupted symbol on his palm throbbing with a strange, dark light. The System's signal cut through the fog of his thoughts, filling his mind with a single, repeated word.
Endure.
It was more than a message; it was a mantra, a demand, urging him to press on despite the agony, the despair. The System was calling him, keeping him tethered to some greater purpose even as he felt himself teetering on the edge of oblivion.
"I'm not done yet," he whispered, voice ragged but determined. His gaze hardened, fueled by the faint but persistent glow of the symbol.
Hours later, as he lay in a restless, half-conscious state, the world around him shifted. A searing wave of heat washed over him, so intense it felt as if he were burning alive from within. He gasped, his vision blurring as the walls of his cell seemed to melt, giving way to a strange, surreal landscape.
This time, the vision was sharper, more vivid. He found himself standing on an expanse of cold, metallic ground stretching endlessly, illuminated by the dim, eerie glow of floating structures that defied all sense of logic. Jagged pillars rose from the earth, wrapped in chains of dark metal, their surfaces etched with strange symbols that pulsed in sync with his heartbeat.
An oppressive silence hung in the air, heavy and thick, broken only by the faint hum of the realm itself. This was no ordinary Void—it was darker, more hostile, a place where reality itself seemed to waver, teetering on the brink of collapse.
In the distance, shadows moved, slithering through the metallic structures, their forms shifting, changing, as if they were watching him, observing his every move. His chest tightened as he met their gaze, feeling their silent judgment, a cold acknowledgment of his presence here.
And then, just as suddenly as it had appeared, the vision faded, the metallic realm dissolving into darkness. He was back in his cell, the harsh, sterile light piercing his eyes as he blinked away the disorientation.
Nathan struggled to catch his breath, his skin slick with sweat, the heat still lingering, as though a fragment of that realm had followed him back. He knew now, with an unsettling certainty, that these visions weren't mere dreams. They were calls—echoes of something vast and ancient, something that existed beyond the GRA's comprehension.
The door to his cell opened, and he looked up to see the wiry agent standing there, flanked by two guards. The agent's smirk had returned, sharper than before, his eyes glinting with cruel amusement.
"Rise and shine, Wilson," he sneered. "You've earned yourself a promotion."
Nathan felt his pulse quicken. "Promotion?"
"Not the good kind," the agent replied, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "We're moving you to a high-security cell. Seems the higher-ups don't trust you to keep things… contained."
The guards stepped forward, gripping him by the arms and hauling him to his feet. The wiry agent leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper.
"They've seen the anomaly mark on you," he murmured, his tone gleeful. "It's only a matter of time before you're classified as a Hazard-Class. Maybe then they'll finally see what makes you tick."
As they dragged him through the corridors, Nathan felt a strange calm settle over him. Yes, they had noticed the mark, the faint glow that betrayed his connection to the Void Realms. They saw him as a threat, something to be contained, dissected, broken. But he was no ordinary captive, and the System's commands echoed louder than ever, guiding him, urging him forward.
As they reached the new cell, the door clanged shut behind him, sealing him in yet another cold, unforgiving prison. But this time, he welcomed it. He could feel the heat of the Primordial Fire within him, the visions of the Void Realm pulsing in the depths of his mind, a promise of power just beyond his grasp.
The System's final message flickered in his vision, a single, ominous word that sent a shiver down his spine.
Endure.
And he would—until the day came when he could finally turn the tables on his captors, shatter their chains, and reclaim his freedom.