Elias Carter sat in the corner of his cell, his knees pulled to his chest, staring at the faint crack on the ceiling. He had memorized every detail of this place—the size of the room, the sound of the air vents, the cold touch of the walls. It wasn't out of curiosity. It was survival. Anything to keep his mind from splintering.

The bracelet on his wrist blinked faintly: E-498. That's who he was to them. Not Elias. Not even a person. Just an expendable number on a clipboard.

Somewhere down the hall, a scream echoed. Shrill, raw, and unrelenting. The sound of someone breaking—or being broken.

Elias closed his eyes, letting out a slow breath.

"They're testing someone else. Probably a C-Class, maybe a D," he thought. The screams were too human for an A or B. Higher ranks didn't scream. They fought. Or they were too powerful for the scientists to push too hard.

But people like Elias? People like him were easy to replace.

The facility, officially called the Enhanced Individual Management Project, was more of a slaughterhouse than a laboratory. Funded by the Council of the Black Rose, it was sold to the public as the pinnacle of human advancement. A shining beacon of progress in a fractured, chaotic world.

But the truth?

The truth was something far darker.

EIMP was where dreams came to die. Where babies, taken from their mothers at birth, were stripped of their humanity and molded into weapons. Out of every thousand infants chosen, only a fraction survived. The rest—well, Elias had stopped counting the body bags years ago.

The ones who lived were ranked. E-Class to SSS-Class, based on their abilities. The higher your rank, the more valuable you were. The lower your rank, the more expendable.

Elias was at the bottom. E-Class. Failed potential. Disposable trash.

"Do you ever think about what's outside this place?"

The voice had been soft, barely audible over the hum of the dampening fields. It had belonged to Subject E-512, a girl in the cell beside his. She'd asked him that question weeks ago—maybe months. Time didn't mean much here.

He hadn't answered her then. What was the point? The only "outside" that mattered was the incinerator where they sent the bodies of failed experiments.

But now, her words lingered.

What is outside?

He tried to picture it sometimes. Blue skies. Fresh air. Maybe a world where people called him Elias instead of E-498. A world where no one was ranked by how dangerous they were, where he didn't have to dissolve pieces of metal until his fingers bled just to prove he deserved to exist.

But it was a fantasy. Nothing more.

A sharp buzz jolted him back to reality. The steel door to his cell slid open, revealing a guard in black tactical gear. Behind him, a scientist in a white lab coat carried a clipboard, his expression disinterested.

"E-498," the scientist said without looking up. "You're scheduled for testing."

Elias swallowed the lump in his throat and stood. There was no use resisting. He'd tried once, years ago. The punishment had been swift, brutal, and designed to remind him of his place.

As they led him down the corridor, the fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He passed rows of identical cells, each one housing a subject like him. Some stared blankly at the walls. Others huddled in corners, whispering to themselves.

This place eats people alive, Elias thought.

He was shoved into the testing room, his wrists and ankles secured to a platform. The restraints were cold against his skin. In front of him, a block of reinforced steel sat on a pedestal.

"You know the drill," the scientist said, not bothering to look at him. "Dissolve it."

Elias placed his trembling hand on the steel. His fingers tingled as the molecules began to break apart, but it was slow—painfully slow. Sweat dripped down his forehead as the effort made his head pound.

Behind him, the scientist sighed. "Pathetic."

Pathetic.

The word stuck to him like a brand. He wasn't angry. He wasn't even ashamed anymore. He was just tired.

But deep down, beneath the exhaustion and hopelessness, there was something else. A flicker of defiance.

One day, he thought. One day, this place will burn. And I'll make sure I'm the one to light the match.

The restraints were removed, and Elias was dragged back to his cell. As the door slid shut behind him, he leaned against the wall, his fists clenched.

He didn't know when or how, but he knew one thing for sure: this wasn't the end.