Kai Langford - Jan 2116.
Recount of Jul 2114 to 2116.
"Kai."
The voice is distant, muffled, like it's coming from underwater. I don't want to open my eyes. Everything feels heavy and wrong.
"Kai Langford."
My name cuts through the haze, sharp, commanding and my body reacts before my mind does. I jolt upright, gasping, heart pounding, the world around me snapping into focus in one disorienting blur.
My head is pounding, my mouth tastes like metal, and my skin burns beneath something cold and tight around my neck. The lights hum overhead, harsh and sterile. I blink, trying to focus, white walls, a bed, a door with no handle. Cameras in the corners.
Where am I?
I push myself to the edge of the bed, my pulse hammering. My memories are fractured. Shards of noise, shouting, the vial, Noah's voice somewhere in the chaos and me begging Father for help... Then nothing.
I can feel something wrapped around my neck and my hand flies to my throat. It feels like a metal collar, biting into my skin and panic crashes through me, raw and animal. I stagger off the bed and scan the room, searching for any weakness, a vent, a latch, anything.
"Where am I?" My voice comes out hoarse, shaking.
"You are in the containment facility," the voice replies, cool and detached. Father?
Containment? The word hits like ice water.
My chest tightens before my mind can even catch up. I stumble back, staring at the blank walls around me, they are sterile white, no windows, just a single metal door and a large mirror.
"No," I whisper, shaking my head. "No, no, no"
I rush to the door and start pounding, the sound echoing off the walls, hollow and desperate. "Let me out!" I shout. My voice cracks halfway through, but I keep hitting it, harder each time.
The speaker above the door stays silent. Just static and that low hum that fills every room in this place, the kind of sound that makes you feel small and isolated.
"Hey!" I yell again, slamming my fist against the metal. "Can you hear me? You can't just lock me in here! Let me out!"
Nothing, but I know they're watching.
My breathing starts to quicken. The air feels thinner, heavier, pressing in against my ribs. I hit the door again and again until pain shoots up my arm, but I don't stop. I can't.
"Where's Noah!" I shout, louder this time, voice breaking on his name. "You can't keep me here!"
Still no response. Just that cold mechanical hum.
I pound harder. The edge of my hand connects wrong, sharp pain flashing up through my knuckles. I hit again anyway, until I feel the skin tear. Warm blood smears across the door, streaking red over grey metal. My breath comes in short, ragged bursts now.
"Please!" I choke out. "Just tell me what's going on!"
Nothing.
My legs start to shake, and I rest my forehead against the door, sweat and blood mixing under my palms. Every part of me feels too tight. The silence on the other side is worse than any answer could've been.
My hands tremble uncontrollably, but the urgent need to escape keeps me going and I begin to punch the door again.
Why am I here? What is happening? Where's Noah?
Then a sudden sharp voice appears "Stop, Kai."
The authority in it makes me hesitate, breathing hard. I look around, trying to see where my fathers voice is coming from, but there's only that dark mirror staring back at me.
"Your genes have now been mutated, and you have awakened a power," the voice continues. "We are going to study it and we will need your cooperation."
My stomach drops. Study me? None of it makes sense. "Tell me where Noah is?" I demand. "I need to see him, please, just tell me he's okay."
A pause. Then, coldly, "Noah doesn't want to see you. Your uncle is dead because of you and you nearly got Noah killed too."
The words hit like a blow. My throat closes. "No…" I shake my head, backing away from the mirror. "That's not true. I…I didn't mean for…"
"You also killed a man," the voice cuts in, lower now, like a blade. "Did you really think they'd just let you walk free after that?"
My knees give out and I hit the floor hard, palms trembling. The air feels thinner, like it's being sucked out of the room. I see Noah's face in my mind, his expression, the fear… and guilt claws through me until I can't breathe.
Then the lights flicker. Something moves, no, responds. Shadows pool from around me, stretching outward as if alive. I can feel them, pulsing like a second heartbeat. They twist toward the mirror, drawn to it, pressing against it from my side until the glass shivers under the strain.
The shadow lashes out, hammering against the glass again and again, each impact louder than the last. But my mind feels foggy, like I'm slipping out of sync with everything around me. I can't focus. I just need to get out.
Cracks begin to bloom across the mirror's surface like spreading frost, thin and jagged, crawling outward with every hit.
Then pain. A blinding surge of electricity rips through me, every nerve catching fire. The collar burns against my skin, and I scream until my voice breaks. My body jerks, then collapses, limbs refusing to move. The shadows retreat as quickly as they came, leaving only silence.
I lie there on the cold floor, staring at the cracked mirror. I don't understand what's happening.
And then darkness…
_____________________
The first few months blur together, just a mix of anger and exhaustion. Every day feels the same, the same cold walls, the same stale air, the same cameras watching every twitch of my hands. I lose count of how many times I punch the wall, again and again, until the skin on my knuckles splits and blood streaks down my fingers. They never stop me though. Maybe they want to see how long I'll last before I break.
But the moment the shadows start to move beneath me, the collar would snap to life. A surge of electricity tears through me, white-hot and unbearable, forcing me to the ground. Every time it happens, I swear I can still feel it burning in my veins long after the shock ends.
At night, it's worse. Sleep doesn't bring peace, just nightmares. I see Noah lying there, broken, or Owen's face twisted in horror. Sometimes I wake up gasping, drenched in sweat, my heart pounding so hard it hurts. Other times, I wake up on the concrete floor, dizzy and shaking, with no memory of falling.
My father hasn't spoke to me since the day arrived at this prison. Not once. But I know he's there. I can feel him, just beyond the glass, standing in the dark, watching. Taking notes. Studying me like I'm another one of his experiment.
The thought makes my stomach twist. I slam my fist into the wall again just to feel something real, to drown out the fear with pain.
If he's watching… I hope he sees what he's created. But deep down I know he will just looking at me like a wild animal locked in a cage.
_________________________
As time went on, the anger burned itself out. It didn't happen all at once it was more like a slow extinguishing. Every punch against the wall hurt less, not because I was healing, but because I stopped feeling. One day I woke up and realised I couldn't remember the last time I'd shouted, or cared enough to.
I stopped eating properly. The food always tasted the same anyway, like cardboard and nothingness.
I'd push the food around the tray until someone came to take it away. The guards stopped reacting to me; I stopped reacting to them. The walls blurred into one endless white. My body stayed alive, but the rest of me… I think it shut down.
That's when the experiments began.
At first, it was simple observation, readings, notes scribbled behind glass. Then they started testing my limits… how much of my power I could produce, how far I could push before my body started to give in.
Some days, I was strapped to monitors, wires digging into my skin as the room filled with the thick pulse of darkness spreading from me. The air would turn heavy, cold, and then… my nose would start bleeding. Sometimes I'd drop to one knee, gasping, trembling so hard I could barely breathe.
They always stopped the experiments just before "Burnout" could set in. It took me a while to understand what that meant, but over time, it became clear… Burnout was just their clinical word for death.
The endurance tests were the worst. They'd time me, push me past exhaustion, past pain, until my vision blurred and my heartbeat stuttered.
Dr. Sora Williams, along with is assisstant Dr. Thomas, were the only people who ever spoke to me like I was human. Williams voice was calm, professional, but not cruel. He'd talk to me between tests, explain what they were doing, what they were learning. He never mocked or punished me. But his kindness had limits, it was data he wanted, not me. Still, it was enough to make the silence a little less unbearable.
Dr. Thomas, on the other hand, was always quiet, the kind of quiet that made you forget he was even there until things went wrong. When the experiments pushed too far, he was the one who ended up carrying me to the infirmary, my body bruised and barely holding together.
___________________
When my birthday came around, something in me cracked. I didn't even realise the date at first until I saw the mark on the calendar outside the testing room. The thought of Noah hit me like a wave. I wondered if he was okay. If he even thought of me anymore. Or if he hated me like Father said he did.
I hope he's not alone… No, Finn will be with him. The thought brings a flicker of relief.
That day, I couldn't bring myself to fight. I just kept thinking, What's the point? I didn't want to be their weapon. I didn't want to live like this. So when they ordered me to shape my shadows into weapons for the exercise, I obeyed, but not in the way they expected...
"Okay," Dr. Williams says, adjusting his glasses as his pen scratches across the clipboard. His voice is steady, clinical, the kind that doesn't leave room for humanity. "After the previous tests, we've confirmed you're capable of forming solid constructs using shadow matter. Let's see if you can maintain precision with smaller objects."
He glances up briefly, eyes flat behind the glass. "I'd like you to create a dagger."
The guards at the edge of the room shift slightly, hands on their weapons, as if they expect me to attack them.
I stare down at my hands. They're trembling, though I'm not sure if it's fear or exhaustion anymore. The room hums around me, fluorescent lights, machines, the low buzz of containment fields.
A dagger...
I let the shadows swirl in my hands, rising like smoke, then hardening into form. The blade takes shape slowly, long, curved, black as oil with a faint, glassy sheen that catches the light. It's beautiful in a way that makes my chest ache.
Dr. Williams watches, unimpressed. "Good. Stability looks consistent. Now I want you to create a-"
But I'm not listening anymore.
Something in me just… snaps. Quietly, without warning. Like a thread pulled too tight, finally breaking.
I look at the dagger, at my creation, and for the first time, I see a way out.
There's no hesitation. No dramatic pause. Just movement.
Before the guards can react, I turn the blade inward and drive it into my stomach.
The sound it makes isn't what I expected, it's soft, almost delicate. Like breaking through ice.
For a moment, I just stand there, watching the black smoke curl around my fingers, the cold seeping deep into my gut. The pain isn't sharp. It's distant, muted. Like my body's already decided it's not worth fighting anymore.
I hear shouting, the guards yelling, boots hitting the floor, someone knocking over a tray. Dr. Thomas rushing towards me.
Everything starts to tilt. The lights blur, stretching into long, white streaks. My knees buckle, and the floor rushes up to meet me.
It's strange, how calm I feel. The noise fades, the chaos dissolves. My heartbeat slows, steady and heavy in my ears.
For once, there's silence.
As my vision begins to fade, my mind drifts to Noah, sitting at his desk, brow furrowed in quiet concentration, the tip of his pen tapping against his notebook as he tries to untangle another impossible equation. He looks up for a moment when I call his name, that familiar crease still between his brows, and mutters that he's not hungry. I can almost hear myself teasing him, trying to make him take a break, trying to make him eat.
The memory feels warm at first, gentle, safe, but it starts to fade at the edges, colours bleeding into black. I try to hold onto it, reaching for that small light in the dark, but my fingers won't move anymore.
My heartbeat slows, a heavy echo against the floor. The world narrows to the thought of him, the sound of his quiet laugh, the way he always smelled faintly of coffee and old books, the one person who still looked at me like I was more than what they made me.
That image of Noah, bent over his desk, a soft glow of lamplight haloing his shoulders, stays with me as everything else dissolves into black.
And for the first time, I don't fight it...
But then my eyes suddenly snapped open. When I woke, I was in the infirmary. My stomach was wrapped in thick bandages. I just lay there staring at the ceiling, feeling smaller than I ever had before. I couldn't even die right.
Then he came.
The door opened, and for the first time in months, my father stepped inside. His face was unreadable, the same cold detachment he always wore. I tried to sit up, but the cuffs around my wrists and ankles stopped me.
"Father…" My voice cracked.
He looked down at me, expression sharp as a blade. "You're a disappointment, Kai. You tried to destroy everything I've built, all the research, the progress. Do you have any idea what your weakness almost cost us?"
I wanted to scream, to tell him I didn't ask for any of this. But all that came out was a broken whisper. "Please… just let me die."
His eyes hardened. "No. You don't get to die. Not until you're useful"
That seemed to be the end of the conversation when suddenly…
"If you behave, if you get stronger, if you listen to instructions, then maybe, one day, I'll let you see Noah again."
Everything inside me froze. Noah.
It was the only thing that made me stop fighting the restraints. If there was even a chance… a single, fragile chance…
And from that day forward, I trained harder than ever. I learned to shape my shadows into blades, shields, wings of smoke. I learned to move them as if they were part of my body. Every cut, every ache, every drop of blood was a step closer to the only thing that mattered.
Seeing my brother again.
______________________
As time went by I learnt to put all my energy into getting stronger.
My fists slam into the heavy bag again and again. Each strike is precise, mechanical, a way to keep me distracted. Shadows along my arms stir without me thinking, like they're alive, feeding off the tension coiled tight inside me.
It helps me to punch harder. Faster. Each blow is desperate, trying to push the thoughts away, trying to drown out the guilt and the rage that bubble under my skin. Sweat stings my eyes, but I wipe it away without stopping.
The gym is silent except for the thump of my fists against leather and the slap of my feet on the floor. Shadows pool under the lights, thickening around me, twisting and curling like the anger inside me. I barely notice the ache in my arms, the strain in my legs. The air feels thick, almost heavy, like it's pressing against my lungs.
I go for another punch, lose myself in it, and then there's a bang. Something hits the floor, clattering sharp against concrete. My fist freezes mid-air. Heart hammering, breath ragged, I spin, eyes darting around the gym.
And there, face down on the floor, is a person.
I haven't seen another kid in over a year. I freeze, my shadows coil and disappear. My mind races faster than my body. Who is this? How…? I step closer, muscles tense, shadows twitching at my feet as if they can sense the stranger.
"Are you okay?" My voice is quieter than I intended. The boy stirs, blinks up at me, hair falling over his green eyes.
I reach down, hand steady but cautious. He takes it and I haul him upright, my strength keeping him steady as he brushes off dust, awkwardly trying to regain composure.
For a split second, our eyes meet. He seemed to hesitate. Did I scare him?
I step back slightly, I study him carefully, senses sharp. Is he a friend or a threat?
He lets out a small, nervous laugh. "haha… well, that was awkward. Thanks for helping me up," he says, rubbing the back of his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips.
I nod, a faint acknowledgment, but inside, my thoughts whirl, questions, unease, a strange curiosity I can't shake. Why is he here? Who is he?.
He holds out his hand, and I take it, shaking firmly.
"I'm 012," he says.
012? My confusion spikes.
"I'm Ka-" I start to say, but he darts forward, pressing his hand over my mouth. My words catch in my throat.
"Shh! We're not allowed to say our names, remember?"
I freeze, too tired to argue. Then it hits me, guards shouting numbers instead of names.
He seems to realise what he just did, and quickly pulling his hand away from my mouth while taking a cautious step back.
"I'm… 004," I whisper back.