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Chapter One: guinea pig
My name is (). At least, that's what I think it is.
I'd been summoned by a king before—well, that's what I'd always heard happens in stories. Heroes get pulled out of their normal lives, granted special powers, and sent to save worlds. But for me? It wasn't anything like that.
I glance down at my phone. A message from my mom flashes across the screen: "Go buy some groceries, Shakir. Love you!" She always calls me "Shakir" — just a nickname, but it's the only one she uses.
I step off the bus, my oversized grey tracksuit dragging a bit, black pants blending into the dark evening streets. My short afro and dark brown skin feel like they belong to some other life, some other person. But now, I don't even know where I am.
I walk toward the grocery store, the neon lights of "Eldi" casting an eerie glow. The automatic doors hiss open as I enter, but something's wrong.
Before I can think, a violent force pulls me off my feet. It's as if I've been thrown from a height, falling face-first into the cold, unforgiving ground. My stomach churns, nausea flooding my system as the world spins around me. I can't focus. My ears ring, and I vomit.
I try to push myself up, but my legs betray me, slipping in my own mess. Panic starts to seep in, but I can't even process what's happening. I manage to steady myself against something hard. My vision is still blurry, but I'm slowly becoming aware of my surroundings.
Pods. Transparent pods, lined up in rows. The thick glass distorts what's inside, but it's not hard to figure out. Dead bodies. Human and animal alike, all twisted in their final moments of life.
The sight makes my stomach twist with a fresh wave of dread. I try to stand again, my legs shaking with weakness, but I can't make myself move. The world is too loud, too strange. I can't even begin to understand where I am or how I got here.
Footsteps echo in the silence. At first, they're distant, but they grow louder, drawing closer. I want to scream, to run, but my body refuses to cooperate. I just sit there, eyes darting around, desperately trying to piece together what's happening.
And then, the lights flicker on, blinding me for a moment. As my vision adjusts, I see a shadow standing before me. I can barely make out his silhouette against the blinding light, but one thing is clear: this man is dangerous.
"What happened to me?" I manage to croak, my voice weak and ragged.
The man doesn't respond immediately. He stares down at me coldly, as if I'm just another piece of furniture in his lab. Then, his voice comes—a mocking, detached tone.
"Nr. 888. Looks like a success. At least you didn't die."
The words hit me like a slap to the face. I try to focus, but everything about this situation feels wrong. This wasn't supposed to happen. I was supposed to be home.
"Who are you? What did you do to me?" I ask, struggling to keep my voice steady, but fear creeps in, betraying me.
He doesn't answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, examining me with cold eyes. "Hmm, looks like you're not completely useless after all."
"Who are you?!" I repeat, more forcefully this time, my patience running thin.
The man's gaze flickers down to my phone, still clutched in my hand, displaying the message from my mother. He smirks as he reads it, eyes narrowing with contempt.
"Shakir, huh?" He scoffs. "Mama's boy, I see." His tone drips with disdain, like a cruel reminder of everything I've left behind.
I'm still trying to process it all. How am I here? Where am I? Why am I alive when the others—those others—are dead?
Before I can ask another question, the man—Dr. Theon Draxler, as I would later learn—snatches the phone from my hand. His fingers brush against mine, and I flinch instinctively, but he doesn't seem to notice.
"How interesting," Dr. Draxler mutters, turning the phone over in his hands. "I thought you'd be more cooperative. But maybe we'll break you in, too. You'll make a fine subject."
And then, without warning, something cold and sharp presses into my neck.
I gasp, my pulse racing as I feel a sharp, burning sensation spread through my veins. Green, glowing liquid floods my system. I scream, a guttural cry from deep inside me, as my body begins to seize.
The world blurs. My mind spirals into chaos.
And then, nothing.
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I wake up—disoriented, terrified, and strapped into a chair. My hands are cuffed, my legs bound. The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth. Panic spikes again, but it's muted, like a distant echo.
I try to move, but my body feels like lead. I'm not alone.
There are other pods around me. More experiments. More people—or creatures—locked away like I am. I can't tell who or what they are. Their faces are twisted in agony, eyes wide open but empty, and it makes my blood run cold.
"Dr. Theon Draxler," I hear someone mutter from across the room.
A man steps forward, clipboard in hand. He's in his thirties, wearing a lab coat, his face covered in shadow. He glances at me once, his expression unreadable. His gaze shifts back to the pods.
"I'm not the only one," I whisper to myself. It's a cold, terrifying realization, but it's the only thing that makes sense now.
I'm part of something bigger. And it's worse than I could have ever imagined.