The Cruel Horizon

Dr. Briggs crosses his arms, his sharp eyes fixed on the equipment. "We should also measure his neurological responses while he's under the influence of the sedative. His brain activity might provide more insight into the interaction between his body and the foreign entity."

Dr. Chen nods in agreement, already adjusting the electrodes attached to Obinai's temples. The screen nearby flickers to life, displaying a live feed of Obinai's brain activity—bright, erratic waves that pulse and spike with unnatural rhythm.

"This is remarkable," Dr. Chen murmurs, leaning closer to the monitor. His voice carries a tinge of awe. "His brain is processing information at an accelerated rate, even in this state. The foreign cells appear to amplify not just physical regeneration but also cognitive functions."

Briggs hums in thought, his fingers tapping against his elbow. "Enhanced cognition? That could explain his resistance to the sedative. His mind is working faster than the drug can suppress."

Obinai, slumped in the chair, feels their voices drift in and out of focus. His eyes flicker open briefly, taking in the room, the gleaming equipment, and the detached expressions on the scientists' faces. 

Dr. Briggs steps away and returns moments later, carrying a sleek scanner that resembles a futuristic helmet. Its surface gleams with embedded nodes, and faint lines of light pulse across its contours. "This should give us a deeper look," he announces, setting the device over Obinai's head. The helmet hums to life, emitting a faint blue glow as it begins scanning.

"Subject's brainwave patterns are stabilizing," Chen reports, his voice rising with excitement. "The foreign cells are actively interfacing with his neural pathways, creating new synaptic connections. It's as if his brain is rewriting itself in real time."

Briggs adjusts the scanner. "This level of adaptation is unprecedented. If we can isolate the mechanism…"

Their conversation is interrupted by the sound of Crowe clearing his throat. He steps forward, his boots clicking on the tile floor. His piercing blue eyes settle on Briggs. "And what's the next step?"

Briggs exchanges a look with Chen before retrieving a small, sleek handgun from a nearby tray. The polished metal glints under the lights. "This is a Sig Sauer P320," Briggs explains, handing the weapon to Crowe. "Modern, reliable. Perfect for testing the subject's regenerative limits."

Crowe takes the weapon, his fingers running over its grip with practiced ease.

"What exactly are we testing?" Crowe asks, his tone neutral, almost bored.

Chen steps forward, his clipboard held tightly in his hands. "We need to observe how his body responds to a major trauma—specifically, a gunshot wound to the chest. The foreign cells should prioritize critical damage and accelerate healing."

Crowe nods, his expression impassive. He turns to Obinai, who watches him with heavy-lidded eyes clouded by drugs and fear. "You ready for this, kid?" 

Obinai forces his head to lift slightly, his gaze unfocused. "Jus'… do it,"

Crowe chuckles, raising the gun. His finger hovers over the trigger as he studies Obinai, who clenches his fists weakly against the restraints.

"Any last words?" Crowe taunts, tilting his head.

Obinai's lips curl into a faint sneer. "Go… t' hell," he mutters just loud enough.

Crowe leans in slightly, his smirk widening. "Kid, I've been there for years," he says coldly. Without another word, he pulls the trigger.

The gunshot shatters the tense silence, echoing through the room like a thunderclap. Obinai jerks back in the chair, the force of the impact slamming into his chest. Pain explodes through him, white-hot and all-consuming. He gasps, his mouth opening in a silent scream as his vision blurs.

The scientists rush forward, their eyes glued to the monitors. "Heart rate dropping," Chen reports, his voice clipped. "Healing factor initiating. This is it."

Through the haze of agony, Obinai feels his consciousness slipping. The edges of his vision darken, and a faint, chilling laughter echoes in his mind—familiar yet unknowable, as if it had always been there, waiting.

The last thing he sees is Crowe, standing over him with the gun still in hand, his cold gaze unflinching...

And then, darkness envelops him completely...

**

As Obinai lies motionless in the cold, sterile room, the scientists stir. Dr. Chen leans over him, extracting the bullet from his chest. The metallic instrument gleams under the harsh fluorescent light, its tip stained crimson. Chen holds the bullet aloft for inspection, its surface warped and slick with blood.

"Bullet extracted," Chen announces, his voice steady. He places it into a sterile container with a soft clink.

"Clean the wound and record the healing process," Crowe orders, his arms crossed as he observes from the corner of the room. 

Dr. Briggs nods, carefully swabbing the wound with antiseptic. "Recording data," he says, tapping furiously on his tablet. "Regeneration appears to be initiating. Tissue around the injury site is already repairing at an accelerated rate."

Crowe steps forward, leaning in to examine Obinai's chest. The flesh knits itself together with an almost unnatural speed, pink scar tissue forming before the scientists' eyes. "Remarkable," Crowe mutters under his breath, though his tone remains detached. "Make sure all stages are documented."

Briggs hesitates, glancing at Obinai's unconscious form. "Sir," he begins, his voice tentative, "if we were to apply additional stimuli while he's unconscious, we could—"

Crowe cuts him off with a sharp glare. "We adhere to protocol," he says firmly. "No testing while the subject is unconscious. We're not savages."

Dr. Chen raises an eyebrow but says nothing, exchanging a subtle glance with Briggs before returning to his notes. The two scientists pack up their equipment, carefully stowing away the instruments as the hum of the monitors fills the silence.

Once the room is cleared, Crowe watches them exit. His footsteps echo as he approaches Obinai, staring down at the boy's battered but rapidly healing body. For a moment, his expression flickers— unreadable—before he turns and strides out of the room, the door hissing shut behind him.

**

Left alone, the room grows eerily silent. Obinai's body remains still, but beneath the surface, something stirs. His breathing quickens, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. His hair, damp with sweat, begins to grow, each strand lengthening and bleaching to a pure, unearthly white. His brow skin deepens in hue at his fingertips, the change spreading up and fading into his forearms until they are an obsidian black.

His closed eyes flutter open, and they are no longer the same. The sclera darkens to a pitch-black void, and his irises ignite with a brilliant, golden light that seems to pulse like a heartbeat. The golden glow illuminates the dim room, casting fleeting shadows on the walls.

A slow, unsettling smile spreads across his face. He sits up with a smooth, almost predatory grace, his movements fluid and deliberate. His laughter begins softly, a low chuckle that builds into a wild, unrestrained array of sounds echoing off the cold metal walls.

"Yes!" he exclaims, his voice a strange blend of his own and something otherworldly. "This is it. Humanity's brilliance... without the crutches of mana, aura, or ki. Their progress is staggering—raw, unfiltered intellect honed into power."

He pauses, his golden eyes flickering as he looks down at his darkened hands. He flexes his fingers, marveling at their strength, their weight. "To rival even the ancients," he murmurs, his tone reverent yet laced with something feral. "They've gone so far. But... not far enough."

The laughter comes again, sharper this time, resonating with madness. "Just a little longer," he whispers, his voice dripping with anticipation. "A few more days, and then... then, I'll begin the collection."

His words trail off as his golden eyes dim, the brilliance fading like a dying ember. His hair retracts, returning to its original state, and the deep black of his hands fades, leaving behind only the battered boy from before. Obinai slumps back into the chair, his body limp and silent once more...