Darkness.
It was all Kim Ha-jin had ever known. His earliest memory wasn't of a lullaby or the warmth of a mother's embrace. It was of cold, sterile walls and the smell of chemicals that burned his nose. He was seven years old when he first realized he was nothing more than a number—Subject 045.
The orphanage had been a lie. The kind caretaker who promised him safety was nothing more than a broker, and the warm meal he'd been given was his price tag. He was sold to them—a shadowy organization with no name, no face, and no conscience.
For weeks, Ha-jin had screamed for someone to save him. His cries went unanswered. The experiments began immediately: injections of unknown substances, exposure to extreme conditions, and forced endurance tests that pushed his frail body to its limits.
By the time he turned eight, the fear had dulled, replaced by a quiet, simmering anger.
---
"Subject 045, commence Phase Three."
The voice crackled through a speaker, emotionless and detached. Ha-jin's small frame trembled as he stood in the center of the test chamber. Around him were armed guards, their rifles trained on him. In front of him was another boy, no older than ten, his eyes wide with terror.
A glint of metal caught the light as a knife was tossed at Ha-jin's feet.
"Terminate Subject 051."
The boy whimpered, his hands bound behind his back. "Please," he begged, tears streaming down his face. "I don't want to die."
Ha-jin looked at the boy, then at the knife. His hands clenched into fists.
"I won't do it," he muttered, his voice hoarse from weeks of screaming.
"Refusal is not an option, Subject 045," the voice replied coldly. "Proceed, or you will be terminated as well."
Ha-jin's heart pounded in his chest. He wanted to refuse, to fight back, but he had seen what happened to those who disobeyed. The bodies. The blood. The cold, indifferent way the guards dragged them away like broken toys.
The boy sobbed louder, his knees buckling. "Please! I don't want to die!"
Something inside Ha-jin snapped.
With shaking hands, he picked up the knife. His grip was clumsy, his palms slick with sweat. The boy's cries filled the room, a sound that would haunt Ha-jin for the rest of his life.
"I'm sorry," Ha-jin whispered.
The blade came down.
---
That night, Ha-jin didn't sleep. He stared at the ceiling of his tiny cell, the boy's blood still staining his hands. He didn't cry. The tears had dried up long ago. But the rage inside him burned brighter than ever.
If they wanted a weapon, he would become one. But not for them.
---
By the time he was twelve, Ha-jin was no longer the frightened child who had been dragged into the facility. He had learned to suppress his emotions, to become the perfect subject. He aced every test, survived every experiment, and followed every order. The scientists called him a prodigy. The guards feared him.
But Ha-jin had a plan.
He memorized the layout of the facility, noting every blind spot and weak point. He studied the guards' routines, their habits, their weaknesses. He knew the organization would never let him go, but he didn't care. He was no longer a boy waiting to be saved. He would save himself.
---
At fourteen, the opportunity finally came.
An alarm blared through the facility, red lights flashing as chaos erupted. A containment breach. One of the other subjects had gone berserk, taking out several guards before being subdued. In the confusion, Ha-jin slipped away, his stolen keycard granting him access to restricted areas.
He moved like a shadow, his years of training paying off as he navigated the labyrinthine halls. His heart raced as he approached the exit, the cool night air beckoning him.
But freedom came at a cost.
"Stop right there!"
Ha-jin froze as a squad of guards rounded the corner, their rifles aimed at him.
He didn't hesitate.
With a roar, he charged forward, his stolen blade cutting through the air. The fight was brutal, messy, and short. By the time it was over, Ha-jin stood amidst a pile of bodies, blood dripping from his wounds.
He stumbled out into the night, the stars above him blurring as his vision faded. For the first time in years, he felt the chill of the wind on his face.
But his freedom was short-lived.
A sharp pain blossomed in his side as a dart pierced his skin. He collapsed to the ground, his body refusing to obey him. As the world went dark, the last thing he saw was a pair of boots approaching him.
"You're not going anywhere, 045," a voice sneered.
Darkness claimed him once more.
---
Kim Ha-jin didn't escape that night. But he didn't give up, either. Each failure, each punishment, only fueled his resolve.
He would get out. He would make them pay.
And when he did, the world would tremble before the shadow they had created.