“Ahahaha, oh-oh～what are you doing now?!”

The next day, Ethan was led into the cold, sterile examination room. The white walls reflected the harsh, fluorescent lighting, giving the space an impersonal and clinical feel. The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, the sharp, chemical scent seeping into his nose, adding a layer of discomfort to the already tense atmosphere.

The doctor moved with practiced efficiency, opening a small, oval-shaped device, barely 2 centimeters long, its surface gleaming under the light. Ethan watched in curiosity and slight apprehension, his stomach twisting with unease. What exactly were they looking for?

Without speaking, the doctor applied a slippery lubricant to Ethan's bare stomach. The gel was cold, shocking his skin into an instinctive shiver. When the small device was placed on his skin, it began to move automatically across the slick surface. The sensation was odd, unfamiliar—ticklish, yet invasive. Ethan couldn’t help but squirm, the nervous tension breaking into fits of giggles.

"Ahahaha! Oh-oh, that tickles!" he laughed, trying to suppress the uncontrollable bursts, but something about the mechanical precision of the doctor's actions made him uneasy.

After removing the device, the doctor wiped his hands, his face a blank slate. He crossed the room to Ms. Lamaya, who stood silently behind a curtain. Ethan could only catch a glimpse of her through the thin fabric, but what he saw made his stomach churn—her expression was cold, almost lifeless, as her lips curved downward in a silent, disappointed frown.

“What’s going on? Hey, can someone tell me?” Ethan asked, his voice cracking with a mix of anxiety and frustration as he looked to the doctor’s assistant nearby.

The assistant, standing with a casual arrogance, smirked. There was something unsettling about the way his eyes glinted with amusement. “Well, the thing is,” he said, drawing out the words as if savoring them, “you’re not pregnant. Tsk, tsk, tsk. Not looking good for you.”

Ethan blinked, the assistant’s words slowly sinking in. Not pregnant? The absurdity of it struck him, and he burst out laughing, though the sound was hollow. “Hahaha! That’s great news! A guy like me, pregnant? That would’ve been a joke!”

Still laughing, Ethan strutted out of the room, but there was a strange weight in his chest that he couldn't shake. He glanced at the device on his wrist, which calmly reminded him that it was breakfast time at Omega Fortress. The bright, ordinary message felt disturbingly out of place after what had just happened. Why did this place feel so off?

He hummed to himself as he made his way to the central dining hall, trying to push the uneasy thoughts aside. But the moment he entered the hall, the sterile silence pressed in on him. Rows of identical tables stretched out before him, occupied by clones just like him. They ate mechanically, heads down, movements synchronized like well-programmed machines. The cold efficiency of the fortress was suffocating, its order and precision leaving no room for individuality or warmth.

Passing through the automatic sanitation machine, the blue lights scanned him, a ritual that ensured everyone remained sterile and "safe." But Ethan couldn’t shake the growing sense of detachment, as if this place was slowly erasing everything human inside him.

He continued to the serving area, grabbed a plate of potato salad and toast, and turned—only to freeze. Three men were approaching him, their heavily pregnant bellies grotesque and out of place in the sterile dining hall. Their eyes were cold, predatory.

“Move it,” George, the largest of the group, growled. His voice was low, filled with menace. Before Ethan could react, George shoved him, sending his tray crashing to the floor. The loud clatter echoed, but no one looked up. The other clones continued eating in silence, as if they were oblivious to the world around them.

Ethan’s stomach growled, the hunger twisting painfully inside him. Swallowing his anger, he crouched to pick up the fallen toast, but George wasn’t done. With a cruel smile, he stomped on Ethan’s hand, grinding it into the floor.

"Ahhh!" Ethan yelped, the pain shooting up his arm as he instinctively pulled his hand away. His vision blurred with tears of pain and frustration.

Suddenly, the air shifted. A heavy presence loomed nearby. Elia, notorious for her fierce temper and reputation, stood over them. Her cold, piercing eyes locked onto George, her silent authority radiating like a storm ready to break. George’s grin faltered, and without another word, he slunk away.

Ethan exhaled sharply, rubbing his throbbing hand. “Thanks, Elia. Those pregnant psychos—”

“Shut it!” Elia snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. Her eyes burned with anger, her face twisted in a fierce scowl. "You idiot! You ruined my plans."

Ethan stared at her, bewildered. "What? What did I do?"

“You don’t get it, do you?” she hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “In this place, if you’re pregnant, you’re in charge. You mess with them, and you’ll regret it. Next time, think before you act.” With that, she stormed off, her footsteps heavy, echoing through the hall like distant thunder.

Ethan watched her go, his mind reeling. This place… what kind of nightmare have I landed in? He needed to get out—fast.

After breakfast, Ethan sprinted down the long, dimly lit tunnel, his feet pounding against the cold, hard floor. As he neared the large steel door at the end, hope flared briefly in his chest. Maybe this was it—his escape.

But before he could reach the door, a red light flashed, and an ear-splitting alarm blared. Panic gripped him as two black-clad bodyguards appeared from the shadows, moving with swift precision. They grabbed him before he could react, their electric batons crackling ominously.

"Ahhh! Nooo!" Ethan screamed as the shock coursed through his body, his muscles locking up in agonizing pain. His vision darkened, and everything went black.

When he awoke, the world seemed distant, his head throbbing. He found himself in a spacious office, dimly lit and cold. The air was thick with tension, and the shadows seemed to stretch unnaturally long. In front of him sat a man, his back to Ethan. Slowly, the man turned in his chair, revealing a stern, unyielding face with thick eyebrows and broad shoulders. It was Jackson Wilson. His piercing gaze was cold, full of disdain.

"So, you're the one trying to escape?" Wilson’s voice was low, each word laced with authority and menace. Ethan’s heart raced as a chill ran down his spine.

"I-I-I just wanted to go outside for a bit… get some fresh air," Ethan stammered, his voice barely more than a whisper. He knew it sounded pathetic, but fear clung to him, making his throat dry and his thoughts scramble.

Wilson’s face hardened. “No one leaves this place,” he growled, slamming his hand on the desk, the sound echoing through the empty room.

"But why? This all seems so unreasonable!" Ethan’s voice rose in defiance, though his heart hammered in his chest.

"Fine. I’ll show you why," Wilson said darkly, activating a projector. The walls around them flickered to life, displaying terrifying scenes of chaos and destruction.

"Shoot her! Now! Kill her now!" The crowd in Times Square screamed, their voices filled with fear and rage as they pointed at a pregnant woman in the center.

Ethan watched in horror as the woman transformed into a monstrous creature, her body contorting, thick black hair sprouting as she became something… inhuman. Gunshots rang out, and the creature collapsed, but it was too late. More like her were coming, drawn by the chaos.

Wilson paused the video. "Now you understand. The world out there is destroyed. Omega Fortress is humanity’s last refuge, and you are lucky to be here.”

Ethan’s heart sank. Escape wasn’t an option. This fortress wasn’t just a prison—it was survival.