The creature's taunting eyes stayed locked on Subject 0173 as the life drained from them. His breath fogged the air in sharp, uneven bursts. He watched, fists still tight, his chest heaving like he'd run a marathon. His eyes darted between his bloodstained hands and the crumpled figure at his feet.
Brown muck oozed from the beast's split abdomen, pooling beneath him. His large intestine dangled loosely, swaying like a broken pendulum, spilling its contents onto the ground. The creature dropped to its knees with a wet, hollow THUD. His eyes, dimming but still full of defiance, met 0173's one last time before his body pitched forward. His head lolled to the side, tongue slack and lifeless on the concrete.
The world grew still.
0173 didn't move. Didn't blink.
His breath hitched, heart thudding louder and louder. Blood dripped from his knuckles, warm against his fingertips. He stared at his hands, eyes wide with disbelief. His chest rose and fell as his mind scrambled for an explanation. "I… I did that."
His breath caught in his throat. He pressed his lips together, eyes narrowing, and squeezed his arms tightly across his chest. The pressure of his nails digging into his forearm helped slow the adrenaline rushing through his veins. The sharp sting of pain grounded him. His breath, shallow at first, finally evened out.
Then, he laughed. It wasn't a slow laugh. It was loud, raw, unhinged.
"YEAH! THAT'S RIGHT!!" he roared, throwing his arms wide. "THAT'S WHAT YOU GET!" He stomped in a tight circle, eyes wild, his grin too wide. He swung his foot into the beast's chest, once, twice, then a third time for good measure. Each kick sent a wet THUMP through the air. "YOU HEAR ME UP THERE?! YOU SEE THAT?!"
He glanced up.
The blinking red light of a security camera stared back at him from the corner of a building, its lens tilted down like an all-seeing eye. Its red dot pulsed like a slow, steady heartbeat. 0173 felt it watching him. Judging him.
"You watching, huh?!" he sneered, raising both middle fingers in defiance. He waved them high in the air, grinning like a madman. "Y'all ain't got nothin' on me! YOU HEAR ME?! NOTHIN'!"
He stayed like that for a moment, teeth bared, middle fingers pointed at the heavens like they were thrones he'd just claimed. But slowly, his arms lowered. His grin faded, and he glanced toward the alleyway. His eyes narrowed. "Gotta keep moving."
---
Fake Town - Main Street
0173 walked cautiously down the center of the street, his footsteps crunching against broken glass and loose debris. The air was still. Too still. No more echoes of footsteps. No heavy thuds of Titans crashing through buildings.
His eyes darted to the side. The heat that had been surging through his body earlier was gone. No more warmth. No more power. His body felt normal. Human.
"So it's finally gone, huh?" he muttered, stripping off his jacket. He flicked it over his shoulder, wiping sweat from his brow with the sleeve. The cold air nipped at his exposed arms, but for once, he didn't mind. It was better than burning up from the inside out.
He glanced down the street. The "shops" lined the road on either side like some mockery of a real town. There was a laundromat up ahead. He'd passed it earlier when he was running from the Muscle Twins. His eyes squinted in thought.
"Yeah… yeah, that'll work."
He jogged toward the laundromat, eyes flicking to every alley and shadow, half-expecting something to pounce at him. But nothing did. The doors swung open with a soft jingle. Inside, the hum of washing machines filled the air like the gentle buzz of insects.
His breath fogged the glass door as he checked the machines. One still had water inside. Perfect. He stripped his clothes piece by piece, tossing them in. Blood. Sweat. Muck. It all had to go. He turned the dial, hit start, and leaned against the wall, eyes scanning the room.
No cameras here. No blinking red lights.
"Finally," he muttered, letting himself exhale.
He sat down by the corner, knees up, head down. He stayed like that for a moment, heart still beating a little too fast.
---
Later...
The backpack was heavier than he expected, but it felt good. Food, medical supplies, extra clothes — all tucked away neatly. He'd looted every store he could find. Pawnshop. Grocery store. Pharmacy. All of it. His supplies were tight, his head clearer than it had been since this nightmare started. But there was one place left.
The police station.
It sat at the end of Main Street, its tall wooden doors standing too perfectly straight compared to the warped, crumbling buildings around it. The mural on the wall beside it was all wrong. Shadows didn't fall the way they should have. He squinted. It wasn't a real building. The brick, the structure — it was all a flat mural, printed like wallpaper.
But the doors were real. Real wood. Real hinges. And there was cold air leaking from the gap between them.
"Yeah... that's not suspicious at all," 0173 muttered, eyes narrowing. "I know a trap when I see one."
He adjusted the black leather Mil-Tec gloves on his hands, flexing his fingers. He'd found them in the pawnshop, and they fit like a second skin. Hard-knuckled. Perfect for fighting.
He tightened the strap on his backpack. His gaze lingered on his hand, and he remembered the moment he'd punched Mr. Muscles. His fingers curled into a fist, and a familiar heat bubbled up from deep inside. His muscles flexed.
He felt it this time.
"Let's see something real quick," he muttered. His eyes darted to the closest wall.
He stepped up to it, eyes scanning the rough brick, his breath fogging in sharp, slow puffs. His heart thudded steadily.
"Come on... come on," he muttered, fingers flexing. He braced himself, exhaling slowly. Power coiled in his arm like a loaded spring.
"DO IT."
He threw his punch.
BOOM!
Bricks exploded in every direction. A thunderous crack echoed through the alley. Chunks of stone scattered across the ground like loose dice. Dust rained down on him, his breath visible in short, foggy puffs. He stepped back, staring at his hand like it belonged to someone else. Slowly, he flexed his fingers, watching them move like clockwork.
No pain. No bruises. No broken bones.
He grinned.
"I knew it," he whispered.
He flicked his gaze back to the police station. His eyes stayed on the crack where cold air seeped through. "Alright. Let's see what's behind door number two."
He pushed against the door.
It groaned in protest, the hinges creaking like they hadn't been used in years. But it opened. An icy gust hit him like a truck.
"What the hell—?" he shielded his eyes as the storm blew snow into his face. His eyes watered, stinging from the cold. Snow and ice stabbed at his skin like frozen glass. "No way... what is this?"
The air smelled like frost. Real frost. His boots crunched against packed snow as he stepped inside, boots leaving deep prints. He pressed forward, boots crunching with every step.
Behind him, the doors slammed shut with a metallic clang.
He spun around, eyes wide.
"HEY!" he pounded his fist on the door. "HEY, OPEN UP!"
No response. The cold bit harder.
0173 took a deep breath, turned back to the storm, and squinted into the white haze. Somewhere ahead, faint shapes moved like shadows flickering just out of sight.
"I knew it," he muttered, hugging his jacket tighter around himself. "Another damn trap."
The snowstorm howled, cold and merciless. But he moved forward.
Because forward was the only way.