Hal and Sam descended the wide staircase in silence, their footsteps echoing through the vast, dim corridor ahead. Outside, the rain had tapered off to a light drizzle, its soft patter barely audible through the thick walls. The scent of wet earth and concrete drifted in faintly from the open end of the hallway.
Hal glanced at Sam's back as they walked. He wore a loose flannel shirt, the collar slightly askew beneath a weathered trucker cap. But beneath the casual layers, Hal could make out dark bruises along his neck and forearms—faint, but unmistakable.
"You okay?" Hal asked, his voice low. "Did the doc do something to you?"
Sam turned halfway, brow furrowed. "What? Naw, hold on—what in the world are you talkin' about?"
"The bruises," Hal said, gesturing to his own neck.
Sam followed the motion, then looked away. "It ain't nothin'. Just… a little mishap, is all." he mumbled, already moving again.
"That's a lot of bruises for just one accident."
"It's just part o' what I can do," Sam shot back. "It happens now and then, that's all. Ain't nothin' to fret over. We're doin' fine here—safe as can be. They're just watchin' us 'cause, well, we're somethin' new in this world."
"A new thing?" Hal echoed. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You really don't remember a dang thing, do ya?" Sam muttered. "What'd the doc say it was—amnesia?"
"Something like that."
Sam let out a dry chuckle. "Can't say if you're lucky or just plain cursed."
They reached the main doors of the building. Sam paused, standing before the heavy double doors, glancing up at the security camera perched in the corner. He gave a casual wave. A moment later, the doors clicked open, and a burst of cold air swept into the corridor, stinging Hal's face.
The ground squelched beneath their boots, slick with fresh rain. A thin mist curled over the distant edges of the compound, where the land met the fog like a memory half-forgotten. From where Hal stood, he could see the outer perimeter—a high, gray wall crowned with watchtowers. Each tower bristled with turrets, silent but menacing, scanning the area with unblinking precision. Beyond the wall lay only wilderness—trees, hills, and an oppressive quiet.
"This here's the yard," Sam said, gesturing to the stretch of concrete and grass before them. "That dorm on the right? Empty—ain't nobody usin' it. Over on the left's the trainin' building. You'll be sharin' the gym space for now, 'til they get a read on what you can do. Once the doc figures out your power, they'll likely set you up with your own spot—same as they did for the rest of us."
Hal nodded absently, eyes drifting up toward the overcast sky. Gray clouds hung heavy and unmoving, blotting out the sun. "What's your power, Sam?"
Sam hesitated for a beat. "Me? I take off like a dang cannonball."
"You can launch yourself?"
"Yep. I can do it whenever I want," he said with a wry smile, brushing a hand over one of the fading bruises on his arm. "But landin' ain't exactly graceful—that's why I'm always beat to hell."
Hal narrowed his eyes. "So if you can blast off like that… why haven't you blasted your way out of here? This place looks more like a prison than a rehab center."
Sam was quiet for a moment, then said, almost too softly, "Maybe that's just what I need… a cage." He turned his head slightly, voice losing its edge. "Anyway, I couldn't leave even if I wanted to. There's some kinda force field 'round this whole place. Top-notch stuff—alien tech, far as I've heard."
Hal blinked. "Alien tech? Sam, what happened to the world that I don't remember? You keep saying we're new… that mutants are new. But why?"
Sam stared at the wet ground beneath his boots, jaw tightening. "What happened?" he muttered. "Half the folks on Earth just up and vanished, that's what happened. And we're the side product of it."
Before Hal could press him, Sam turned and started walking back inside, boots slapping wetly against the ground.
Hal stood there for a long moment, frozen at the threshold, staring into the fog.
"...Half the folks?"