The electronic sliding door opened slowly, revealing a sterile room bathed in pale white. Blue-green LED light washed over digital screens and dangling cables. At the center stood a metal chair surrounded by gleaming neural scanners—like iron skulls hungry for knowledge.
Kaivan sat still, his body looking small amid the cold machinery. His hands rested on his lap, his gaze vacant. Scanner light reflected in his eyes, making him seem like part of the machine itself.
Levan entered with steady steps. His white coat was immaculate, black hair slicked back, a clipboard in his hand like a blade of knowledge. His smile wasn't warm—it was the smile of an intellectual predator starving for secrets.
"We're still curious about your brain, Kaivan," he said flatly, yet with unmistakable scientific excitement. He set the clipboard aside and calmly pushed Kaivan into position inside the scanner, like placing a chess piece on the board.
Kaivan drew a slow breath. The machine whined as green laser light swept over his skin, piercing neurons and fragments of memory. Seconds passed in suffocating silence.
He closed his eyes. In the darkness, visions of his past surfaced—his friends, blood-soaked battles, nights when he cried alone. Here, under the cold light of the laboratory, all of it was nothing more than raw data.
It was impossible to tell how much time had passed before the scan finally ended. With slow, unsteady steps, Kaivan descended from the machine. His shoulders trembled—not from exhaustion, but from a hollow sensation quietly eating away at him.
Levan approached, a clipboard still held firmly in his hands. "Kaivan," he called, his tone that of a teacher addressing a gifted yet unmanageable student. "How does it feel to have your brain capacity increased by fifty percent?"
Kaivan turned his head slowly. His eyes carried a strange contrast—human calm layered beneath the cold clarity of a machine. "Nothing feels different," he replied flatly. "I can simply control my body and thoughts more precisely. For example…"
He picked up four pens from the metal table. His movements were fast and exact, like a machine executing a flawless sequence. One by one, he threw them toward different corners of the room. Each pen ricocheted perfectly and landed inside a separate pencil holder. Soft metallic chimes echoed through the laboratory, freezing the air.
The scientists fell silent. A woman with her hair tied back held her breath, while an elderly man with glasses began scribbling rapidly on his tablet.
Levan smiled faintly. "So your accuracy has improved?"
Kaivan crossed his arms. "Not accuracy. I only calculated the rebound angles and the force I applied. Everything moved exactly as I intended."
Silence settled in. Only the hum of machines and the tapping of fingers against touchscreens remained.
Then a quiet whisper slipped through the stillness. "His brain is perfect… Isabel, Raphael, and Felicia also showed a twenty percent increase… how did he distribute it?" The old man's voice was barely audible—but Kaivan heard every word.
His body stiffened. A cold wave spread from his chest. Isabel—always cheerful. Raphael—burdened by a dark past. Felicia—his unwavering protector. They, too, had become subjects of experimentation.
Horror sank its teeth into him. Behind the smiles and the promise of help, they were being altered—physically and mentally. Their emotions, their memories… perhaps even now, being reshaped without their knowledge.
Kaivan looked at Levan. His gaze was empty, yet a storm raged beneath it. Without another word, he turned and walked away. His footsteps echoed sharply, as if marking something inside him finally cracking.
As the laboratory door sealed shut, the system's voice rang out, cold and mechanical. "Subject Kaivan log data: stable. Capacity has reached target levels. Potential exceeds human limits."
Outside, Kaivan stood before a large glass window, watching the dim lights of the research room reflect back at him. His hand tightened around the iron railing.
"Let it be only me…" he whispered, barely audible. "They are not tools… and I won't let them be touched again."
In the reflection, his eyes looked empty—yet deep within them, a small flame flickered, ready to set the world ablaze.
That night, the bunker sank into silence. Corridor lights swayed gently, casting sharp shadows across the steel floor.
Holding his breath, Kaivan moved through the halls. His footsteps made no sound, his body pressed close to the walls, every motion smooth and deliberate—like a ghost that refused to be seen. He reached his room, glanced quickly to both sides, then climbed into the ventilation shaft above the ceiling, vanishing into the darkness.
The vent was narrow and cold, filled with dust. Kaivan's small frame made it easier for him to slip between the gently vibrating metal pipes. His left arm braced against the slick surface, his breathing nearly silent—only the pounding of his heart echoed in his ears.
Several minutes later, he arrived above the archive room. Through the vent grille, a dim blue light spilled from computers and rows of neatly arranged shelves. He carefully loosened the vent bolts, then dropped down without a sound. Both feet touched the metal floor in perfect silence.
Kaivan scanned the room. Labels on the lowest shelf caught his attention.
Human Enhancement Experiment.
His hand trembled as he pulled the folder free. He opened it slowly, his breath catching in his throat.