Two years later.
In an underground complex that stretched for miles, reinforced with thick metal walls and pressure-locked doors.
Minjae Han—classified as Subject 208—floated inside a large containment tank filled with pale green fluid.

Cables were embedded in his spine and limbs, linking him directly to the system’s core. Electrodes were pinned to his temples. A sealed mask delivered air to him in timed intervals.

Small streams of bubbles trailed upward, slow and steady.
His body remained motionless. Eyes shut. No signs of consciousness.

Dozens of displays surrounded the tank, tracking vitals, brain activity, and neural load in real time.
Heart rate, neural activity, and psychic resistance metrics all held steady.
Day by day, his readings climbed. Two years later, he was stronger than ever.

He didn’t dream. He didn’t move.
He simply existed—locked in suspended animation, sealed away from the horrors done to him.
Hundreds were tested—burned out by serums, torn apart by failed augmentations.
He was one of the few whose body and mind didn’t break.

[TEST CHAMBER B – LEVEL -3]
The room was pure white from floor to ceiling, brightly lit by overhead fluorescents.
But it felt more like an execution chamber than a lab.

A young girl—no older than eleven—was strapped to a reinforced steel chair, her body twitching with each failed breath.
Her hands trembled in the restraints, fingernails digging into her palms.
The gown she wore hung loosely, stained yellow and red.
Her soaked hair clung to her skin, sticking to her cheeks with every breath.

She let out scream after scream, but the chamber’s reinforced glass silenced them completely.

A sharp mechanical arm hovered above her—a multi-needle injector filled with fluorescent green serum.

“Sequence three. Prep the injection,” he said, eyes fixed on the monitor instead of her.

She tried to scream again, but her throat gave out. All that came was a dry, broken gasp.

“Vitals unstable,” murmured an assistant. “BP’s dropping again. Her mind can’t handle the psychic load.”

One of the researchers stepped forward, a brief hint of doubt in his eyes.
“Sir, if we keep going—she’ll die. Subject 236’s body is already—”

BZZT.
A monitor came to life. Director Seo Joon-taek stood on the feed—silver hair combed back, glasses gleaming, his expression unreadable.

“You have your orders,” he said, voice calm but final. “Continue the test.”

“But Director—she won’t survive this—”

“Then let her die. This is not a hospice. It’s a proving ground.”

His hand froze. Then moved.
Protocol always came first.

The needles drove into her arms, and a sharp burst of current flooded her brain.

Her body snapped upright as the seizure hit. Every joint locked.
Her veins lit up like wires about to burst.
She gasped—lungs frozen, no air.
Foam spilled from her lips. Her eyes rolled back into her skull.

Then she stopped moving. Completely.

“Subject 236 has flatlined,” one of the scientists said without looking up.

A quiet pause followed her death.

“Save the data. Clear the chamber,” Seo commanded.

[DIRECTOR’S OFFICE – LEVEL -2]
Director Seo stood alone, surrounded by dim monitors.
Each screen showed a corpse.
A subject.
A failure.

He rubbed at his eyes. Dark lines carved deeper beneath them. His knuckles were ink-stained, worn from hours of data review.

“Two hundred thirty-two,” he whispered under his breath. “Each one... a failure.”

Each subject had potential—on paper.
But they broke. One by one, before any true evolution could begin.

Except for one.

He turned to the largest screen—Subject 208, still floating, still stable.
Untouched by everything that had killed the rest.

What are you…?

He accessed the logs. Neural stability. Psychic resistance. Energy absorption. Pain tolerance.
Subject 208 had passed them all.

No psychological collapse. No rejection. No signs of mutation.

“Two years in stasis… still intact.”
Seo leaned closer, his fingers trembling.
“You’re the key. You have to be.”

THRRRUUMMMMM.
The floor rumbled hard. A deep, unnatural quake rolled through the base.
Lights flickered overhead. Monitors shut down one by one.

A sharp alarm tore through the room, cutting through the silence.

[EMERGENCY ALERT – SEISMIC ANOMALY DETECTED]
[EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY]

A female staff member burst through the door, panting.
“Director! The foundation’s compromised. There’s massive tectonic movement—more than anything the outer sensors have ever recorded!”

Seo’s voice cut in. “Where’s it centered?”

She hesitated.
“There isn’t one. It’s global. Every level’s reporting structural failures—we’ve already lost containment in three lower sectors.”

Seo staggered slightly as the tremor hit.
“Start the evacuation protocol—”

She shook her head, breath shaky.
“We’ve already lost too many. Most exits are gone.”

The second quake was worse.
Cracks spread across the ceiling. Dust poured down. Metal bent under stress.

“Then we do this my way,” Seo growled.

He hit a glowing switch, opening the facility-wide comm.
“This is Director Seo. Full shadow unit to Subject 208’s tank. I want the head intact. The rest is expendable.”

[TANK CHAMBER – LEVEL -4]
Six shadow soldiers advanced through the fractured corridor in total silence.
Reinforced black armor wrapped around each of them like plated exoskeletons.
Matte-black helmets concealed their faces, each marked by a single red visor stretching across the front.

Silent. Calculated.

“We have eyes on 208.”
“No headshots—Director’s orders.”
“Opening fire.”

They raised their SMGs—each one custom-built to penetrate reinforced containment glass.

RATATATATATATAT—!!!

Each hit rattled the chamber.
Spiderweb cracks spread through the containment glass.
Green fluid spilled out in fast pulses, flooding the floor.

Inside the tank… Minjae’s fingers twitched for the first time.
He was supposed to be unconscious.
But he wasn’t.
His body was locked down, but his thoughts weren’t.

For two years, he had watched. And felt everything. All the horrors—not just done to him, but to the other subjects as well.

Another quake tore through the chamber.
Fluorescent lights stuttered, overloaded, and burst into darkness.

The lights were gone—but something else ignited.
Power surged through the air, invisible but undeniable.

Minjae’s eyelids tore open. A harsh turquoise glow flooded the tank from behind his eyes.

KRRRSSHHHHH—!!!

The tank erupted.
Glass, metal, and synthetic fluid exploded outward in a violent burst of psychic force.

The first soldier was instantly impaled by flying shards.
The following one was thrown across the chamber, his spine crushed on impact.

Minjae floated forward—hair lifting from invisible pressure.
His aura pulsed.

One soldier fired—
The bullets froze mid-air.

“Wha—?!”

The rounds reversed direction.
THUK!

Another soldier was yanked upward by an unseen force.
His body folded in mid-air—bones snapping before he hit the ground.
Straight through the helmet.

Another screamed as his limbs were ripped in opposite directions.
The scream didn’t last.

The last soldier rose into the air, limbs trembling.
His armor dented from all sides before his body imploded from the pressure.

Minjae hovered in the silence, blood mist hanging in the air.
He grinned.

Free.
Awake.
Alive.

[COMMAND CENTER – LEVEL -2]
The room was in chaos.
Monitors failed. Red lights flashed.
The staff had lost all coordination.

“Structural integrity below 30%!”
“The lower levels are gone!”
“No comms—nothing’s responding!”
“This isn’t tectonic. It’s something else!”

A trembling female scientist ran into Seo’s office.
“Sir… it’s over. Eighty-five percent of the facility is gone.”

Seo didn’t move.
“Status on the unit sent to recover Subject 208?”

She hesitated, voice trembling.
“They’re all dead… and Subject 208 is awake. Fully awakened. The power—it's real.”

Seo’s lips curled—just slightly.
His eyes locked on the screen, wide with something closer to wonder than fear.

“Then activate it.”

The scientist hesitated. “Sir… Protocol V? You said we’d never—”

“That was before we confirmed Subject 208’s awakening.”

“But they don’t follow orders. Once they’re deployed—”

Seo’s voice was soft now. Steady.
“Good. Let’s see what he can really do.”

“…Sir?”

“Unleash Protocol V.”