Sarah lies strapped to a cold metal table.
Doctors and scientists move briskly around her, adjusting instruments, murmuring to one another.
“Next time,” she says through a shiver, “if you could put a blanket on the table, I’d appreciate it. It’s cold on my back.”
Across the corridor, Thomas watches from his cell.
“Guard,” he calls out.
The guard doesn’t even look at him — just presses a button.
VVVNNNNNNT!
The sonic device activates, flooding the room with sound.
Thomas drops hard, blood leaking from his ears and eyes.
He steadies his breathing, forcing himself calm, then lies flat on the floor.
As the guard reaches for the switch again, Thomas growls through the pain.
“I can’t wait to kill you. You see what’s happening here.”
The weapon still hums.
“You’re in a cage,” the guard says. “You’re not killing anyone.”
He twists the dial higher.
Thomas clenches, screams once — then goes still.
The pain levels out.
Shock hits.
Then clarity.
Then mobility.
Sharpness returns.
“I am going to send your head to your family,” Thomas says evenly.
The guard turns the intensity up again.
Thomas screams — but his mind doesn’t dull.
His thoughts stay clear.
His vision remains steady, even as blood runs from his eyes and ears.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
The guard leans down, laughing in his face.
“Cut my head off?” he says, smiling. “I wonder how long it’ll be before they actually cut yours off.”
Three doctors approach Thomas’s cell.
“Prepare him for surgery.”
The guard turns the intensity up again and holds it there.
Thomas lets out a long, intentional scream — his body shaking violently.
“Looks like he’s ready for surgery,” the guard says, pleased.
The switch clicks off.
The doctors rush in, lift Thomas, and move him toward the door.
Just as they cross the threshold —
Thomas explodes into motion.
He shoves the doctors aside and snaps the guard’s neck in a single twist.
Across the room, another guard fires —
Thomas shoots back, dropping him instantly.
A bullet tears into Thomas’s side.
It heals as he moves.
The remaining doctors press themselves against the wall, frozen with terror.
Thomas rushes to Sarah, tearing free her restraints.
“Let’s go.”
He pulls her into a brief, fierce embrace — then they move fast toward the exit.
The door won’t open.
They sprint to the other side.
That door won’t open either.
A voice crackles through the intercom.
“Put down the weapon and return to your cells.”
Thomas levels the weapon at the door.
“Open it before I start killing these doctors.”
“Do you suspect we have a shortage of doctors?”
Thomas grabs an older, heavyset man by the collar, dragging him forward.
“I will kill him.”
“No,” the voice replies calmly. “You won’t.”
A second voice joins in — cold, clinical, detached.
Subject: Arthur Hammond — capable of violence but avoids harming innocents when possible.
Subject: Sarah Hammond — non-violent, will harm only as a last resort.
Thomas and Sarah lock eyes.
Thomas fires at the door, trying to blast it open. It doesn’t budge.
He seizes the doctor again.
“You miscalculated,” Thomas says. “I’m Thomas — not Arthur.”
The system voice responds instantly.
Subject: Thomas Hammond — capable of violence. Will lash out.
Will not harm innocents unless necessary.
Thomas scoffs.
“Who said they’re innocent? They know why they’re here. They hear our screams.”
His voice rises — raw, furious.
“A good person would stop when we cry.
They’d stop when we beg.
They’d stop when we scream in agony.”
He lifts the doctor’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes.
“These people are far from innocent. And when they lie on their deathbeds, they won’t regret what they did to us —
only that they didn’t get what they wanted from our agony.”
“Then kill him,” the intercom voice says coldly.
“Kill them all.”
“The door will not open until that weapon is on the floor and you are back in your cell.”
Thomas looks at Sarah and tosses her the weapon.
“Maybe we can short out the door.”
He crouches by the panel, using a scalpel to probe the seams, working into the security housing.
The voice cuts in again.
“On the other side of the door are fifty men. Weapons drawn.”
A beat.
“There is no escape.”
Thomas holds out a hand.
Sarah tosses the weapon back — perfect coordination, even in hell.
Thomas turns toward the doctor.
The doctor offers a smug little smile, certain the moment has passed.
Thomas answers it.
He slams the weapon into the doctor’s face.
The man drops instantly, blood pooling beneath him.
“It hurts, right?” Thomas says softly.
“Think about that while you’re cutting us open.”
He flings the weapon at the remaining doctors.
They scream and dive away.
Thomas kneels beside the bleeding man — calm, lethal.
“I told you — you can’t replicate us. Not like this.
We’ve tried.”
He stands and pulls Sarah into a protective embrace — exhausted, defeated, unbroken.
They turn back toward their cells.
But Sarah stops.
A tear slips free.
Something inside her breaks loose.
She spins back, runs to the doctor who performed the autopsy on her, and kicks him hard — knocking him onto his side.
“You’re a monster!”
She kicks him again.
Another sharp, trembling blow.
One more.
And one more.
No one moves.
No one breathes.
They only watch.
Thomas steps in, gripping her arms, pulling her into a firm embrace.
“Long after they’re dead,” he murmurs, steady and low, “we’re the ones who have to live with what we do here.”
Sarah shakes against him — fury and grief tangled together.
Thomas walks her back to her cell.
She steps inside, eyes burning.
He moves to his own.
“Cowards,” he says as the door closes.
The doors seal with a heavy click — lights turning red.
Ten guards rush in moments later — rifles raised, shouting orders —
trying to restore order
to a room that suddenly feels colder
than it ever has before.
Please consider following, commenting, or leaving a review.
Thank you for reading.
