The city roared beneath him—cars honking, people shouting, the distant hum of life continuing as if nothing had happened. As if a man hadn't just ripped apart a top-secret facility with nothing but his own body.
Kisimoto crouched on the rooftop, heart pounding against his ribs. His fingers tightened around the stolen towel, the fabric damp from his still-sweating grip. The world still felt wrong.
Too slow.
Every sound reached him sharper, clearer, as if he had tapped into a different frequency of reality itself. He could hear conversations from blocks away, the crackle of a streetlight buzzing, the faint thump of a moth colliding against glass.
His body ached. Every nerve screamed. But the adrenaline was stronger.
Then—
A whisper.
Not a voice. Not a sound.
A presence.
Somewhere in the shadows, someone was watching him.
LOCATION: UNDISCLOSED
A dimly lit room. Screens flickered, displaying grainy security footage of the facility's destruction. A dozen figures sat around a long table, their faces hidden in darkness.
"He's awake," a woman's voice said, cold and sharp.
A man in a suit exhaled, lacing his fingers together. "Of course he is. Subject #040 was never going to stay dormant forever."
The screen zoomed in, enhancing the footage—Kisimoto standing amidst the debris, steam rolling off his skin. The moment his body vanished in a blur of speed.
"Three years of conditioning," another voice scoffed. "And he still resisted."
A pause.
Then the first voice spoke again.
"Send in Alpha."
BACK TO KISIMOTO
The moment the whisper brushed his mind, he moved. Instinct. He didn't question it. He leaped.
His muscles tensed—ankles flexing, knees bending—and the next thing he knew, he was midair, soaring across rooftops. He landed with a roll, the towel still clutched in his fist.
Another whisper.
A sharp pang at the base of his skull, like a blade slicing through his thoughts.
Someone was reaching into his mind.
His breath hitched. His vision flickered. His knees buckled.
And then—
A hand on his throat.
A body slammed him into the concrete.
Pain exploded in his back as his skull cracked against the rooftop edge. Stars burst in his vision. His limbs twitched, but his attacker had already pinned him, their knee pressing against his ribs.
Kisimoto's eyes focused.
A woman.
Dark tactical suit. Short black hair. An earpiece glinting in the neon glow of the city. Her expression was blank. Mechanical. Like she wasn't even human.
"You don't belong out here," she said, voice devoid of emotion.
Then she pressed two fingers against his temple.
A flood of white noise filled his head. Pain surged through his skull.
Memories flickered.
His mother's voice. His sister's laughter.
Then—static.
A blackout.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
TO BE CONTINUED...