The cold room was silent, save for the faint hum of machinery.
Bright, sterile lights reflected off sleek glass walls, rows of lab equipment, and computer monitors flashing with incomprehensible data.
Adam sat in the middle of the laboratory, restrained by a thick, gleaming steel chain that looped tightly around his neck, arms, and torso.
The chain, an unnaturally sturdy alloy, was anchored to the base of the chair he sat on.
It was an attempt to subdue him—an attempt that only added to the tension in the room.
Around him, scientists shuffled nervously, murmuring amongst themselves as they worked.
Glass test tubes rattled on their racks, and the occasional burst of static from nearby communication devices punctuated the otherwise oppressive silence.
Suddenly, the air grew heavy, almost electric. The glass tubes lining the walls began to tremble.
Hairline cracks formed on their surfaces, spreading like spiderwebs.
The scientists froze, wide-eyed, before one exclaimed, "The pressure in the room—it's increasing!"
Adam stared at the cracks forming around him, a wave of unease washing over him. Did… I do this? he wondered, clenching his fists in frustration.
Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to relax, trying to quell the growing intensity of his emotions.
As his heartbeat steadied, the eerie vibrations in the room faded. The trembling glass stilled.
One of the senior scientists, a gray-haired man with weary eyes, stepped forward and said shakily,
"Sir… we apologize. We should've sought your consent before attempting these tests."
From the corner, a voice interrupted. It was the general, a tall, imposing figure clad in a crisp military uniform.
He stood with his hands behind his back, his steely gaze locked on Adam.
"We mean you no harm. We just need a few samples to run our analysis," he said.
His voice was firm but strangely calm, as though he were addressing a volatile weapon rather than a young man.
Adam narrowed his eyes at the general but gave a reluctant nod.
"Continue," the general ordered.
The scientists hesitated, exchanging nervous glances before approaching Adam again.
One of them—a younger man with glasses perched on his nose—moved closer.
He reached for a lock of Adam's hair, gripping it firmly in an attempt to pluck it.
But despite his effort, the strand remained unyielding, as though fused to Adam's body. The scientist struggled, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, until Adam shot him a glare.
The young man released the hair instantly, stumbling back. "I-I just needed a DNA sample!" he stammered.
Adam's voice cut through the room. "If you want my DNA, why not take my saliva instead?"
The suggestion caught the room off guard. The scientists looked at each other, then at the general, who nodded.
Emboldened, the nervous young scientist grabbed a test tube from a nearby tray and approached Adam cautiously.
"Would you… mind spitting into this?" he asked awkwardly, holding out the tube.
Adam leaned forward despite the chains and complied.
A small glob of saliva hit the bottom of the tube, but the moment it touched the glass, it began to bubble and evaporate, disappearing entirely within seconds.
The young scientist froze, his eyes widening in disbelief. "What… just happened?"
The others in the room rushed forward, whispering frantically as they inspected the now-empty test tube.
From the back, the senior scientist exhaled heavily and muttered, "This won't be as simple as we thought."
He straightened, addressing the team. "Let's proceed with a blood sample. That might yield better results."
The scientists nodded in unison. A nurse handed over a sterilized syringe to the same young scientist, who once again stepped forward.
His movements were slow and deliberate as he approached Adam, who watched him warily.
I hate needles, Adam thought, his stomach churning. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the prick.
The scientist positioned the syringe against Adam's arm and pressed down. Instead of piercing his skin, the needle bent with an audible snap.
Shocked, the scientist held up the ruined syringe, staring at it as though it had betrayed him.
Another scientist, taller and with an air of impatience, stepped forward. "Move aside. Let me handle this."
He grabbed another syringe and attempted the procedure himself.
But as soon as he applied pressure, the same thing happened—the needle twisted and broke as though it had struck solid steel.
The scientists murmured in frustration, their whispers growing louder.
Adam, still unaware of what had happened, opened his eyes. "What's taking so long?" he asked, glancing at the syringe in the scientist's hand.
He noticed the bent tip and frowned. Did I… do that too?
From across the room, the general spoke, his tone clipped. "Keep trying. If standard procedures fail, explore other methods."
The senior scientist nodded. After a brief discussion, they decided to conduct a full-body scan.
One of the assistants brought forward a large, rectangular device resembling an oversized metal detector.
As they prepared the machine, one of the scientists hesitated.
"General, the metal chains might interfere with the scan. Should we remove them?"
The general's response was immediate. "No. The chains stay."
They proceeded regardless, but as the machine hummed to life, the results were inconclusive.
Every attempt to penetrate Adam's skin—be it with needles, scans, or force—ended in failure.
The senior scientist finally admitted defeat. "This… This subject is far too resilient for our equipment. At least, not with our current technology."
The general's face remained stoic as he turned to his soldiers.
"Take him back to his holding cell. We'll conduct the next phase later."
The soldiers escorted Adam out of the lab, his chains clinking softly with every step.
He was returned to the same cold, dimly lit room where he had been kept earlier.
The walls were made of reinforced steel, and a single, flickering light bulb hung from the ceiling.
Adam was secured to the chair once more. One of the soldiers tightened the chains while the others exited silently. The general lingered behind, studying Adam with an inscrutable expression.
"We couldn't get any medical results, but there's no need to worry. Physical tests are next. Let's see how strong you really are," he said before turning and leaving the room.
As he walked down the corridor, a junior soldier caught up to him. "General, what should we feed him? Should I arrange for—"
The general cut him off, his voice cold. "Nothing. Let him starve."
The soldier froze, visibly uncomfortable, but didn't protest.
The general continued walking, his boots echoing against the polished floor as he headed toward a more opulent section of the facility.
The general arrived at a three-story building that stood apart from the rest of the compound.
It was pristine, its exterior polished to a mirror-like sheen, guarded by two soldiers who saluted sharply as the general approached.
Inside, the ground floor buzzed with activity. Dozens of male and female soldiers sat at terminals, speaking into radios and monitoring screens filled with live feeds and data streams.
This was the command center, the nerve hub of the operation.
The general ascended to the first floor, stopping in front of a door marked Meeting Room.
He knocked twice, the sound firm and commanding. A soldier opened the door, saluting as the general stepped inside.
The room was dimly lit, dominated by a large table surrounded by eight other generals.
They were all clad in immaculate suits, their faces grim as they watched a live feed displayed on a screen at the far end of the room.
The screen showed Adam, still restrained and seated in his cell, his expression a mix of anger and exhaustion.
Without acknowledging the others, the general took his seat at the table.
Behind him stood his assistant, notebook in hand, ready to record anything of importance.
The atmosphere in the room was heavy with unspoken tension as the generals began their deliberations.
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To be continued...