She thrashed weakly against the restraints, wrists rattling in the iron shackles.
The metal bit into her skin as she twisted and pulled, desperation giving her frail body sudden strength.
The sound of the chains clinking against the bedframe echoed through the sterile ward, a pitiful rhythm of resistance and fear.
"Please... please let me out..." Her voice was hoarse, broken from crying too long, but still trembling with the last threads of strength.
Tears cut lines down her gaunt cheeks as she struggled to lift her head.
"I have a little girl to feed," she gasped, her words hitching as though the weight of her plea might break her in half.
"Please... I swear I won’t tell anyone... just let me go..."
Her arms rattled the chains again, but they barely moved, cutting deeper into her bruised wrists.
The monitors attached to her body spiked erratically with her rising heartbeat.
Two researchers standing near her glass chamber paused, glancing up from their tablets.
One, a tall man with rimless glasses, watched her thrashing without the slightest flicker of pity.
"Stress levels are rising," he muttered clinically, tapping his screen. "Mark it down. Vitals still within tolerable range."
The other, a woman in a white mask, barely looked at the captive. She made a dismissive noise. "Ignore the outbursts. They’re all the same in the end."
The woman inside the chamber choked back another sob, her body trembling. Her cracked lips mouthed the word please over and over, like a prayer.
One of the researchers stepped into her chamber, a clipboard in hand.
Without hesitation, he reached down and gripped her chin, forcing her hollow eyes up to meet his cold stare.
His fingers dug into her gaunt face as he hissed, his voice low and cruel,
"Behave... or your little girl will be sent to lie here next to you."
The woman froze, her body stiffening in terror.
Her breath hitched, and the fight in her wrists collapsed into trembling stillness. Tears poured freely now, her lips quivering but unable to form words.
Satisfied, the man released her roughly, scribbling something on his clipboard as if the exchange was no more than a clinical observation.
In the other ward, a boy no older than sixteen whimpered, "It hurts... it hurts... make it stop..." His words slurred as his head lolled to the side.
Hunter’s fists tightened inside the white gloves, nails digging into his palms. His voice was low, guttural...What the hell are they doing to them??
Knight’s breathing grew heavier through the comm.
"See the people more closely, some of them are acting rabid and some are frail like dried to their skin to bone but still breathing..
This is something else... something bigger. Keep moving. Keep searching what are they upto."
Hunter forced himself to walk, mimicking the cold detachment of the other scientists.
A masked woman beside him spoke in a clipped tone.
Prepare Vial Forty-Two, set number three, for the next trial," one of the researchers instructed coldly.
"The samples from yesterday didn’t survive beyond the third stage."
"Not surprising," another replied flatly. "Their vitals were already deteriorating. The replacements came just in time."
Replacements. The word made Hunter’s stomach churn.
He slowed near one of the glass partitions. His eyes locked onto a girl, barely eighteen, her skin ghostly pale.
She stared at him with wide, desperate eyes, lips trembling as though she recognized his humanity beneath the mask.
Hunter’s throat tightened. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t reassure her—one wrong move and he’d be exposed. But inside, rage boiled like fire.
Knight’s voice came again, hard and resolute, cutting through the static in Hunter’s ear.
"Stick with them, Hunter. Blend in. We need to know what they’re doing on this scale.
This isn’t just some lab test with medicinal drugs, not the kind of routine trials where they see if a compound affects the body.
No..." his voice lowered, carrying a weight of grim suspicion, "...this is organized, calculated.
They’re building something—and it isn’t anything good. Whatever it is, it’s not meant to save lives. It’s meant to take them."
Hunter hummed lightly in response to Knight, forcing himself to appear calm, and followed the team deeper into the facility. They stopped at one of the last sections—a glass chamber holding the batch of people brought in just the previous day.
Every captive was cuffed tightly to the bed, their arms and ankles bound, their hollow eyes filled with terror or vacant despair. Among them, Hunter spotted two men he had seen earlier that morning. Both now wore clinical masks and gloves, moving with the mechanical precision of trained attendants. One was administering sedatives to a group of teenagers, while the other worked on the older captives, pushing needles into their veins.
Hunter’s gaze swept the room. More scientists and assistants lingered near the chamber, yet the old man—the one who had first led the captives underground—was nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly, one of the attendants finished his task and turned toward three figures standing at the front. He bowed deeply, his voice respectful, almost fearful.
"Greetings, Dr. Sidorov, Dr. Miller, and Dr. Lopez."
The trio gave curt nods in return.
Each of their gazes was sharp, calculating, dissecting every movement of the sedated patients as if they were puzzles to be solved rather than human beings.
The attendant began reporting immediately. "The subjects have been administered the base drugs. The compounds should be taking effect now."
Hunter’s brow furrowed behind his mask. His chest tightened as unease gnawed at him.
Drugs? What are they testing...? What the hell are they trying to achieve? He forced himself to stay still, a vigilant eye fixed on every detail.
Just then, a sound broke the quiet hum of the machines—one of the heart monitors began to drop sharply.
The green line beeped frantically, dipping lower with each second.
Hunter tensed. He’s dying...
Before he could react, Dr. Lopez stepped forward from the newly arrived team.
With deliberate calm, she set her briefcase down on a metal table and flicked it open.