A pair of eyes fluttered open, their pupils contracting against the blinding fluorescent light above. He stood in a glass pod, his body bare except for a hospital gown that clung to his damp skin. The air was sterile and still, punctuated only by a subtle vibration accompanied by a soft, rhythmic drone-like mechanical whisper. His mind felt like a jigsaw puzzle—fragments of memories flashing before him. The system, Plagueborn, had been initiated, and other experiments were suspended in tanks alongside and parallel to his own pod.
Confused by what was happening, he raised his hand and clenched it into a fist repeatedly, his expression puzzled. He then touched his head slowly, as if savoring the sensation of his hand on his skin. His attention shifted to the light coming from a computer screen, as though it held the key to making sense of the situation. Drawn to the computer-lit screen, he began to stir, his gaze darting around the enclosed space. As he attempted to move his leg, he noticed it was pressed against the glass of the tank, and he stared at it with a bewildered expression.
He looked confused. He pulled his finger back and then slowly poked the glass tank. His eyes furrowed as he tilted his head slightly in a mix of curiosity and uncertainty, his finger still hovering hesitantly near the surface as if testing whether it was truly there while his gaze flickered back and forth like someone learning something new, trying to make sense of the invisible boundary.
His breath came in short bursts as he started to press his hand frantically against the transparent wall that served as a barrier, leaving smudge streaks in his wake. He started to stare around the confined space with the realization that they were probably trapped. He pounded on the glass; the sound was hollow and unyielding, and his movements grew erratic and more desperate with time.
With one final desperate punch, the glass gave way and shattered into a cascade of jagged shards. The force of the break threw him forward, and he tumbled out, crashing onto the floor. His hands scraped, and trembling droplets of blood smeared across the ground. Fragments of glass clung to his skin and clothes, and for a moment, he just lay there gasping for air, the overwhelming relief of freedom and the sting of pain.
Before hitting the ground, the last thing he heard was that the Plagueborn system installation had been initiated. The sound of the voice seemed familiar, as if it were not his first time hearing it. Puzzled, the man started looking around while holding onto his head and groaning in pain, hoping for a clue as to where the sound came from. But right now, something else had his attention; it was displayed on one of the monitor screens.
Then just like that, as if what had happened beforehand had never happened...
He sat up abruptly, his muscles tight and his heart racing. The room was eerily empty, clinical in its design, with white walls that seemed to stretch endlessly. Something about the silence was oppressive, like the calm before a storm. He swung his legs over the broken glass of the pod and stood, his bare, cold feet contacting the cold floor with blood on his feet as he began walking.
The torn skin knit itself together while pushing the fragments out of the wounds as if an invisible thread was pulling the two edges of the wounds together and closing them. This was followed by a bruise fading from dark purple to pale yellow and entirely vanishing with every step he took. All traces of blood were absorbed back into the smooth, unblemished surface of his feet.
He staggered forward, amazed at his body's quick recovery, allowing him to move freely and reducing his discomfort. Yet the shock was overpowered by the tremendous rush of adrenaline and disorientation. Flashes of chemical formulas, anatomical diagrams, and the term "Plagueborn" in strong, scarlet letters were interwoven with strings of incomprehensible code on the monitors' screens, which flickered unpredictably.
The soft hum of machinery grew louder, shifting into a rhythmic, ominous thrum that reverberated through the room. He approached the closest monitor cautiously, his movements hesitant but driven by an innate need to understand.
Then he heard something else that was splitting his head apart; he clutched it in pain: "Subject 001: System Integration at 67%—Viral Symbiosis Stabilizing."
Upon hearing those words, the term viral symbiosis stirred something in the recesses of his mind. His breath hitched as he stared at the screen, his reflection faintly superimposed against the data—a face he barely recognized. Pale, sharp features marred by faint shadows under his eyes, his expression a mixture of fear and determination.
He started gasping for breath to fight a searing, unbearable pressure at the center of his skull as if it were being pried open by a pair of invisible hands. The pain radiated out in a jagged wave, accompanied by a sickening crackling sensation that reverberated through the bones. Every nerve felt exposed, raw, and screaming in agony while molten heat spread across his scalp, threatening to consume all coherent thought. It was an excruciating, all-encompassing torment as though the very fabric of his mind was being torn in two.
His body wavered as the pain overtook him; his legs buckled, causing him to lean to one side, and a sharp gasp escaped his lips before he eventually fell to the ground. He clutched his skull, the source of his agony. His vision began to blur, and upon closing his vision, he tried his best to hold on to consciousness. He needed to make sure he saw it: a picture of his face on the computer, and the last thing he could read next to his picture on the computer was Karnak.
"Subject 001: System Integration at 80%—Viral Symbiosis Stabilizing." The voice continued as his vision blurred and faded to unconsciousness... with his last words being, 'K...kaa...Karnak.'"