The Rift changed everything. When the sky shattered, it wasn't just the land that was torn apart—something else came through. Creatures that shouldn't exist. Beasts twisted by the very energy that fractured the world. Some were mindless, acting only on instinct. Others were something far worse. But it wasn't just monsters that emerged. Some humans survived direct exposure to Rift energy, but they didn't walk away unchanged. Their bodies adapted, mutated, becoming something beyond human. The world called them Fractured.
The facility had no name, no markings. Just steel corridors, flickering overhead lights, and the constant hum of machinery. It was underground, beneath the ruins of the old world, hidden away like a wound left to rot. Those who lived here—the Fractured—were not prisoners, not soldiers. They were subjects. Broken by the Rift, changed by its energy. Less than human. More than human. And subjects had one purpose. To be tested.
He had been here for three months. Three months of the same routine—wake up, eat tasteless paste, endure the endless experiments. Some days, it was endurance tests. Other days, they were hooked up to machines that pulsed with Rift energy, watching as their bodies reacted, twisted, adapted. And then there was The Pit.
The Pit was not part of the facility itself. It was connected—a place beneath the place. Every one… no, two weeks, the guards would come. Names were called. No one could predict who would be taken. Some were chosen twice in a row. Others had never been called at all. He had been taken once. That was all it took to understand.
Three minutes. That was all you had to survive. No rules. No weapons. Just you and whatever they released. The first minute was chaos. Bodies scrambling, the weak being torn apart. The second was pain. The smell of blood filling the air, the distant screams of those who were too slow, too unlucky. The third? Instinct. Survival meant learning to stop thinking, to move without hesitation. He had survived. Many didn't. And those who died? Their bodies were disposed of, their remains studied. Weak subjects were worthless. The Collectors only cared about those strong enough to withstand further experimentation.
He never wanted to go back there. But in The Facility, wants meant nothing. The day of the trade was unexpected. The guards arrived early, their boots echoing through the corridors. More of them than usual. Whispers spread—something was happening. And then the selection began. It wasn't for The Pit this time.
They were being counted. Weighed. Evaluated. Not for experiments. For trade. It wasn't common, but sometimes, the Human Defense Force or the Rift Response Division came to buy Fractured—trade Rift Crystals and weapons in exchange for new soldiers. Most Fractured were stronger than the average soldier. They could endure the Rift's effects longer, survive in places normal humans couldn't. The Defense Force was desperate for manpower, and the Collectors had no shortage of expendable subjects.
"Subject 26B." His head lifted slightly at the sound. A guard checked a datapad, eyes flicking across the screen before nodding. "Confirmed. Take him." He didn't resist as they unlocked his restraints, only to replace them with heavier chains. Ten were chosen. He was one of them.
The Auction Grounds were cleaner than the rest of the facility. Bright lights, reinforced walls, and rows of Rift-powered technology on display. He stood with the others behind iron bars, chains still binding his wrists. Ten in total, lined up, silent. Beyond the bars, men in uniforms exchanged numbers, their voices cold. Ten Fractured for Rift weapons and Crystals. A simple exchange. They were not people. Just resources.
The final confirmation was given. A metallic beep echoed through the hall. The gears shifted. The gates opened. Armed guards stepped forward, unlocking the restraints just enough to allow movement. The chains remained—a reminder of who was in control.
"Move," one of them ordered. Subject 26B walked. They were taken outside the facility for the first time in months, loaded onto a transport vehicle. He did not know where they were going. He only knew that, whatever was next… It would not be freedom.
When he woke up, the cold bite of metal pressed against his wrists. His arms were still bound—not by the facility's restraints, but by new chains. He opened his eyes. A vast arena stretched out before him, its walls high, reinforced. Bright floodlights illuminated the sand-covered ground. Beyond the walls, soldiers stood, watching from elevated platforms. Their uniforms bore the insignia of the Human Defense Force.
He was not alone. The other nine stood beside him, chained just as he was. The weight of unseen eyes bore down on them. The test had not begun. But it would soon.