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# Chapter 2 — Processing
A sharp alarm shattered the silence.
My eyes snapped open.
For one glorious second, I forgot where I was. Then reality caught up.
Secret underground laboratory. Human experimentation. Thirty-one percent survival rate. Questionable life expectancy.
Right.
The ceiling speakers crackled, dropping a cold, synthetic voice into the room. "All subjects report to Processing Hall A. Failure to comply will result in disciplinary action."
I stared at the white tiles above me. Nothing says good morning quite like a professionally delivered threat.
The transmission cut off, leaving a few seconds of heavy silence before the reinforced door slid open with a metallic hiss. Three heavily armed guards stood waiting outside—silent, motionless, and completely expressionless. At this point, I was beginning to suspect emotional reactions were against company policy.
I sat up slowly.
Despite the looming existential dread, I'd actually managed to sleep. Not well, and certainly not comfortably, but sheer exhaustion had eventually overpowered the terror. A luxury mattress turned out to be surprisingly effective at helping a person ignore the possibility of imminent death.
Who knew?
I swung my legs off the bed and stood. The ceiling camera immediately rotated, its lens tracking me.
Of course it did.
I gave it a small, sarcastic wave. The camera did not wave back.
*Rude.*
After changing into the standard white uniform and clipping the plastic ID card to my chest, I stepped into the corridor. Down the line, cell doors were sliding open one after another. Subjects emerged in absolute silence. Nobody looked rested. Dark circles, bloodshot eyes, and pale faces were the uniform today. Most of them had clearly spent the night trapped inside their own heads, drowning in panic.
One girl appeared to have cried herself to sleep. Another looked like she hadn't closed her eyes once. I couldn't blame them; yesterday's announcement had a way of ruining a person's evening.
Across the corridor, a door opened and Anita stepped out. She just stood there for a moment, the dark rings under her eyes looking significantly worse than yesterday. Not even a minute of sleep, then.
Our eyes met. She hesitated, then moved closer as the guards started barking orders, organizing us into rows.
Neither of us spoke at first.
Finally, she broke the silence. "You slept?"
I blinked. Out of everything happening right now, *that* was her opening question?
"A little."
Her expression shifted from exhaustion to outright disbelief. "*A little?*"
"Yeah."
"Aren't you scared?"
Now *that* was a more reasonable question. I thought about it for a second, then shrugged. "Terrified."
She stared at me, trying to solve an impossible puzzle. "You don't look terrified."
"Years of corporate employment," I sighed. "It permanently damages your ability to react appropriately to a disaster."
For a second, she looked completely lost. Then a tiny laugh escaped her—small, brief, and gone almost instantly. But it was there. And for a moment, the suffocating fear in her eyes eased just a fraction.
"I'm Anita."
"Razz." I paused, glancing down at the crisp white card resting against my ribs. The unfamiliar name stared back at us in block letters.
**SUBJECT: INALA**
"I guess I'm Inala now."
"That's a strange name."
"Tell me about it." I still had no idea where they'd gotten it from. Maybe a code, maybe a designation, or maybe some scientist had just smashed his face into a keyboard and called it a day. All felt equally plausible.
Before the conversation could go any further, a guard stepped up. "Move."
The lines shuffled forward.
Several rows ahead, the guy who'd been praying yesterday was still at it. He muttered under his breath, head down, hands tightly clasped. If the situation kept deteriorating like this, I might start accepting applications from every major religion simultaneously.
The deeper we marched into the facility, the more a heavy knot tightened in my stomach.
Yesterday had been terrifying, but today was somehow worse because I was wide awake, and I had the time to actually *notice* things.
Security cameras blanketed every square inch of the corridors. Automated turrets tracked our movement from recessed wall compartments. Energy barriers hummed behind reinforced bulkheads, and armed guards stood every few meters.
Everything about this place delivered the exact same message: *you are not escaping. Ever.*
The corridors widened gradually, eventually opening up completely. Massive reinforced doors stood ahead—at least twenty meters tall, the kind normally associated with military bunkers or supervillain headquarters. They began sliding apart with a low, mechanical rumble.
And then I saw what was waiting on the other side.
My footsteps faltered.
Hundreds of people filled the chamber. Transparent pods stretched across the polished floor in neat, terrifying rows. Scientists moved between them with tablets, doctors monitored glowing biometric displays, and technicians adjusted heavy machinery. Armed guards stood near every single exit, while enormous screens covered the walls, flashing graphs, statistics, biological diagrams, and scrolling data.
The room didn't feel like a laboratory. It felt like an industrial processing facility. A factory.
And the products were people.
I suddenly missed spreadsheets. Spreadsheets rarely killed anyone. Usually.
The crowd kept pushing forward. The scientists barely even glanced at us—most were far more interested in their data points than the actual humans generating them.
One woman walked directly past a crying teenager without a hint of acknowledgment. Another adjusted a setting on her tablet, casually stepping around a subject having a full-blown panic attack on the floor.
Nobody cared. Or maybe caring wasn't in the job description.
Eventually, everyone was funneled into the center of the chamber. Hundreds of frightened people. Hundreds of potential test subjects. Hundreds of numbers.
A platform rose smoothly from the floor, and an old man stepped onto it.
The first thing I noticed was his hair. It looked like he'd personally lost a fight against a high-voltage outlet—wild white strands exploding in every direction. Dark circles hung under bloodshot eyes, and his lab coat was stained, wrinkled, and appeared to have survived several scientific catastrophes.
None of that was the problem, though. The smile was the problem.
It wasn't cruel, malicious, or even particularly threatening. It was *excited*—the exact kind of manic energy children get right before tearing into birthday presents.
Except his presents were human beings. Which made it infinitely worse.
He spread his arms wide. "Welcome, subjects!"
Nobody looked particularly welcome.
The smile widened. "Today marks the beginning of humanity's next evolutionary step."
The screens lit up behind him, displaying rotating DNA strands, biological diagrams, cellular structures, and genetic sequences. Most of it went completely over my head, not because it was too complicated, but because I was entirely focused on the psychopath giving the presentation.
"The Awakening Serum stimulates dormant genetic pathways," he explained, gesturing wildly at the displays. "Subjects who survive gain access to supernatural abilities."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd. Hope, fear, disbelief, and excitement all competed at once. Superpowers had a way of improving morale, even in a dungeon.
Then the scientist casually added, "Subjects who fail will be disposed of."
Silence. Complete, absolute silence. The excitement evaporated instantly.
He didn't seem bothered by the shift. If anything, he looked pleased. And suddenly, I understood exactly what we were dealing with. This wasn't a man who enjoyed hurting people; that would have been easier to process. This was worse. Suffering wasn't his goal—results were. Human lives were just resources to him. Variables. Numbers inside an equation.
As a casual afterthought, he added, "The current survival rate is approximately thirty-one point eight percent."
The room exploded.
"What?!"
"Thirty-one percent?!"
"That's murder!"
"Let us go!"
Someone attempted to rush the platform, but a guard tackled him to the stone instantly. A woman burst into heavy tears; a young man dropped straight to his knees. The chamber descended into pure chaos.
*Thirty-one percent.* Those weren't odds. Those were gambling-addict odds.
I glanced sideways. Anita had gone completely pale, her hands clenched so tight her knuckles were stark white. For a second, she looked ready to faint. When she caught me looking, she immediately turned away, trying to swallow the panic.
Everyone here was terrified. Some people were just better at hiding it.
The scientist waited patiently for the panic to burn itself out. Then, he waved a dismissive hand. "Oh, relax."
Every single survival instinct I possessed activated simultaneously. Whenever a scientist tells you to *relax*, somebody is about to have a terrible day.
"The first stage isn't particularly dangerous."
And there it was—the second most dangerous sentence a scientist could utter.
Several people in the crowd looked visibly relieved. I was not one of them.
"We will inject a specialized serum into your bodies." The displays shifted behind him, the DNA strands rotating slowly. "The serum itself does not grant powers. The human body cannot naturally channel Universal Energy."
*Universal Energy.* Interesting name. Terrifying implications.
"The serum modifies your physiology and prepares you for Awakening."
I folded my arms, my jaw tight. So this wasn't even the dangerous part. Mandatory suffering before the real suffering. Wonderful system.
The guards began aggressively directing everyone toward the pods. The sheer efficiency of it was unsettling—no hesitation, no confusion, and absolutely no discussion. They'd done this before. Many, many times.
I stepped toward an empty pod. Passing Anita's row, I noticed her climbing into hers. She hesitated briefly on the ledge, then stepped inside. Our eyes met through the thick glass. Neither of us spoke.
*Good luck* felt entirely meaningless. *Stay alive* felt too obvious. *See you later* felt dangerously optimistic.
The pod door sealed shut with a heavy hiss. A moment later, mine did the same.
Mechanical arms descended from the ceiling above. One carried a syringe—a massive, industrial-looking needle that seemed entirely too enthusiastic about its purpose.
The needle pierced my arm.
For one agonizing second, nothing happened. Then, pure agony tore through my body.
Every muscle locked up instantly. Every nerve ignited, feeling like molten metal had been poured directly into my veins. My vision blurred into a white haze. A scream ripped itself out of my throat, completely obliterating any dignity I had left.
Around me, hundreds of other screams erupted simultaneously. Pods shook violently as people collapsed, convulsed, and slammed against the transparent walls. The chamber became a symphony of raw suffering.
I barely noticed any of it. The pain consumed everything—my thoughts, my breathing, my consciousness, my reality.
Then, through the blurring haze, I managed to spot Anita a few rows away. She was down on one knee, one hand pressed firmly against the glass, fighting against the shockwaves running through her. For one terrifying second, I thought she was going under.
Then, she forced herself upright.
A strange wave of relief hit me. It was bizarre; I'd known her for less than twenty-four hours, but seeing her stand made the pressure in my own chest ease.
Elsewhere, things weren't going nearly as well.
A young man a few pods over suddenly vomited dark blood. Scientists rushed toward his station as the monitors erupted with frantic alarms. The pod hissed open, and his body collapsed onto the floor, completely motionless.
Nobody stopped the experiment. A scientist barely looked up from his tablet, entered a data point, and moved right along. Like updating a row on a spreadsheet.
My stomach turned. So much for *not particularly dangerous*.
The pain kept building—higher, sharper, tighter—until something inside me suddenly shifted. Beneath the overwhelming agony, I felt something else. Something completely impossible.
An awareness.
I could feel energy. Not floating around me, but pulsing *inside* me. It mapped to every heartbeat, every muscle fiber, every internal organ. Streams of power flowed through my body like rivers of liquid light, and somehow, I could sense all of it—every single movement, every fluctuation, every tiny connection.
For a moment, the sheer wonder of it made me forget the pain entirely. The sensation was incredible. Terrifying. Beautiful. Completely alien.
I stared inward, utterly fascinated. Then, a stray thought surfaced.
*Hold on. Did I just unlock Observation Haki?*
The absurd joke was the only thing that prevented me from panicking. Barely.
Several minutes later, the blinding pain finally subsided, and the pods slid open.
Survivors stumbled out onto the polished floor. Some cried openly, some shook uncontrollably, and others collapsed immediately into heaps. Medical teams wheeled away three tightly covered stretchers. Nobody looked at them. Nobody wanted to admit what they were seeing.
I searched through the dazed crowd until I finally found Anita. She looked completely exhausted, shaken to her core, and broken in that quiet way people get when they've endured something they haven't fully processed yet.
But she was standing. For some reason, that felt like a massive victory.
The scientist climbed back onto the platform, his manic smile somehow looking even wider than before. "Excellent."
That word was rapidly becoming the most concerning sound in my vocabulary.
"The preparation phase is complete." The room went completely quiet. "Only one stage remains."
The giant screens changed, flashing images of burning worlds, frozen wastelands, endless black oceans, and storm-covered skies. Impossible landscapes—places that simply shouldn't exist.
"You will be exposed to energies originating from different dimensions." A visceral chill moved through the room. "The altered genes within your bodies will attempt adaptation. If adaptation succeeds, you will awaken supernatural abilities."
A small, fragile, and incredibly dangerous thread of hope appeared in the air.
"If adaptation fails, you will die."
And just like that, it was gone.
The scientist looked around the chamber, studying us, evaluating us. He looked exactly like an artist examining an unfinished, messy piece of work.
"Resonance Trials begin tomorrow."
Then the guards started moving, shoving us toward the exits. Presentation over.
As the crowd shuffled out, something on one of the giant overhead screens caught my attention. Most people were fixed entirely on the survival rate, but my eyes caught a small counter ticking away in the bottom corner.
**CURRENT FAILURES: 247**
I frowned. The number flickered, changing in real-time.
**CURRENT FAILURES: 248**
Someone else had died. Just now. Somewhere deep inside this facility, another life had been reduced to a statistic, one more number added to a database.
The scientists didn't care. The guards didn't care. The researchers didn't even blink.
And for the first time since arriving in this nightmare, I understood exactly what we were to them.
Not patients. Not prisoners. Not even people.
We were data.
The guards marched our line back to the detention wing. Nobody spoke. Nobody argued. Nobody even tried to resist—the energy simply wasn't there anymore.
Anita walked silently beside me, her face completely pale, her hands still trembling as her eyes remained fixed on the floor.
I wanted to say something reassuring to her. Something comforting. Something useful.
I had absolutely nothing.
Tomorrow we'd be exposed to energy from other dimensions. Tomorrow we might gain superpowers. Tomorrow we might die.
And somehow, all three possibilities felt equally likely.