project: Genesis

San Francisco, California – 2:14 AM

The streets were quiet, blanketed in the eerie glow of flickering streetlights. The occasional passing car sent streaks of white and red across the damp pavement, but otherwise, the city felt lifeless. The distant hum of the Golden Gate Bridge, the gentle crash of waves against the shore, all of it seemed to blend into an unsettling silence.

Darius Wilson had always heard stories about people disappearing in the middle of the night—urban legends, whispers of unmarked vans, of missing persons cases that were closed before they even began. He never thought he would be one of them.

As he walked home from his late-night shift at the diner, the cold air pricked at his skin. His hoodie was pulled tight over his head, hands shoved deep into his pockets. The streets were empty, but something felt... off. A chill ran down his spine, and he quickened his pace.

Then, the headlights came.

A car—silent, slow—pulled up beside him. A green Prius.

Darius barely had time to react before the door swung open, and a pair of gloved hands grabbed him from behind. He thrashed, his voice lost in the sudden suffocation of a cloth pressed against his face. The sharp, chemical scent of chloroform burned his lungs. He kicked, he struggled—but the darkness came fast, swallowing him whole.

When Darius woke, his body felt like lead. His head throbbed, and a metallic taste lingered in his mouth.

He was seated in a cold metal chair, hands bound behind him, ankles strapped to the legs. The room was dim, the only light coming from a buzzing fluorescent bulb overhead. The walls were concrete, smooth and featureless—sterile, lifeless.

The air was thick with an antiseptic smell.

His pulse pounded in his ears. Panic gripped his chest.

Where the hell am I?

A soft sound reached him—a voice. Muted, whispering. He turned his head slightly, blinking past the haze in his vision. There were other voices. Low mutters, frightened sobs.

Children.

Darius's breath caught in his throat.

The door creaked open. Footsteps—calm, deliberate. A man stepped into the room, dressed in a long white lab coat. He was older, maybe in his fifties, with thinning gray hair and sharp, calculating eyes behind wire-framed glasses.

He studied Darius like one would examine a test subject, not a person.

"He's awake," the scientist murmured, glancing at a clipboard in his hands.

A second figure entered—a man in black tactical gear, his face hidden behind a mask. His posture was rigid, disciplined. A soldier.

"Restrain him properly. I don't want another repeat of Subject 48."

The soldier moved forward. Darius tried to speak, but his throat was dry, and the words came out hoarse.

"What the hell is this?!"

No answer. The soldier grabbed his arm and injected something into his vein. A cold rush spread through his body instantly. His limbs grew heavy, his mind foggy.

The scientist nodded, satisfied.

"Let's begin."

Pain.

Raw, searing pain shot through Darius's body, burning through his veins like liquid fire. He screamed, his muscles locking up as his back arched violently. His skin felt like it was being peeled away, his bones twisting under an unseen force.

The scientists watched, fascinated.

"Increased nerve response," one noted.

"Heart rate spiking—260 bpm."

"Mutation is triggering earlier than expected. His body is resisting the adaptation process."

Darius's screams turned into guttural, inhuman sounds. His fingers curled, his nails digging into his palms until blood dripped onto the cold floor beneath him. His restraints creaked under the pressure of his struggling.

Then—something snapped.

The air around him shifted. Heat radiated off his skin, and for a brief moment, the room flickered like a mirage. The scientists stepped back, murmuring in alarm.

Darius ripped through the restraints.

The metal bent like paper beneath his grip as he shot forward, his body moving on sheer instinct. The nearest scientist barely had time to react before Darius lunged—only to be cut off by a sudden, sharp pain in his neck.

A needle.

Everything blurred.

Darkness swallowed him again.

When Darius woke again, he was in a different room. This one was smaller, lined with padded walls. There was no door—at least, not one he could see. Just dim, sterile lighting from above.

His body ached, but the searing pain from earlier had faded to a dull throb. He felt... different. Stronger. Like something inside him had shifted.

And then, he noticed her.

Across from him, sitting against the wall, was a girl.

She looked about his age, maybe a year younger. Slender but not frail. Her black hair was long and tangled, her skin pale against the white padding. But what stood out the most were her eyes—glowing green, softly illuminating the space around her.

She was watching him. Silent. Unmoving.

Darius shifted uncomfortably.

"Who the hell are you?"

The girl tilted her head slightly, as if analyzing him. Then, she finally spoke.

"Eve."

Her voice was calm. Too calm. Like she had already accepted whatever nightmare they were living in.

Darius swallowed hard.

"Where are we?"

Eve's glowing gaze never wavered.

"A place where they break people like us."

A pause.

"Welcome to hell."