Subdue-X

A Twisted Obsession

Christian didn’t find me in time. He didn’t find me at all.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I laid on the bed like a plank of wood, the crinkling of the sheet the only sound in the room. He probably wasn’t even searching. He could be drinking red wine at his desk, unbothered, or dreamlessly sleeping. The thought didn’t bring me comfort, only a hollow ache deep in my chest.

A cold, gloved hand gripped my forearm, its touch startling in the dim blue light. I tried to pull away, to sit up, but my limbs refused to obey. Panic flared as I realized I had no control over my body. This wasn’t how I saw myself dying. Who can even imagine dying like this?

Pin’s face appeared above me, illuminated eerily by the glow of the screens. He continued his work without a flicker of concern, not even acknowledging my sudden jolt of panic. His hands moved with a calm precision, selecting tools and syringes from the tray beside him.

I sucked in short, frantic breaths, my chest rising and falling rapidly. Pin’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing through the mask. “Our goal isn’t to kill you,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. He pointed at the screen, where numbers blinked steadily, cold and indifferent. “Our intention is to keep you alive.”

I tried to control my breathing, but it was useless. Each inhale was shallow and uneven, my chest tightening as fear clawed at my insides. “That’s your intention,” I gasped out, my voice choppy and uneven. “But can you convince me I’m going to pull through?”

“No,” he answered bluntly.

“And if I do?”

His eyes flickered, as if considering the idea of a successful outcome for the first time. “I’m still figuring that out,” he admitted, his tone clinical, detached from the humanity of the situation.

Tears stung at the corners of my eyes as I tilted my head back against the stiff mattress. This wasn’t just a trial with risks—it was something far more dangerous, far more reckless. A procedure that should never be attempted, and yet here I was, a sacrificial lamb in the hands of those who saw this as necessary.

These people weren’t just scientists—they were driven by a hunger for results, for some twisted sense of accomplishment that even they didn’t fully understand yet. What kind of minds saw this as necessary, as something to be pursued at all costs? It wasn’t about saving lives—it was about proving a point, pushing the boundaries of human endurance until there was nothing left to break.

Pin was the one orchestrating this madness, not Christian. He wasn’t my savior; he was my executioner, my handler in this gruesome experiment. He needed someone for this program, and I was the unlucky one who showed up. The screen in the corner displayed the word “SubdueX,” the name of whatever hellish substance was about to be pumped into my veins. My head sank further into the thin padding of the mattress as I tried to distract myself, to focus on anything other than what was about to happen.

But there was no escape.

Pin filled a syringe with a dark navy-blue serum, his hands steady, methodical. Without warning, a sharp, cold stab pierced my arm. I twisted my head in pain, a cry catching in my throat as the liquid crawled through my veins like shards of glass. The sensation was unbearable, excruciating. It was as if my body knew this substance was wrong, that it was an invader, a poison that was tearing through every fiber of my being.

Pin pressed down on the plunger with relentless force, the serum surging into my bloodstream. The pain was persistent, crawling under my skin, into my chest, my lungs, every part of me. I fought to keep my eyes open, to stay conscious, but the agony was overwhelming. My vision blurred as I saw Pin wiping the blood from my arm, preparing another syringe.