The last thing Jason remembered of Earth was the choking grip of his stepfather's calloused hands. His vision had dimmed around the edges like the slow collapse of a tunnel. The words—"You're just like your mother. Worthless."—were spat with venom and stank of liquor. But even in those final moments, he had fought to breathe. To live. To prove that he wasn't like them—wasn't like *him*.
But there was no one to save him. No neighbors to interrupt. No mother to shield him. Just the sound of fists on flesh and the eventual fading of everything.
And then light.
A searing, golden explosion of energy blinded him. No pain. No sound. Just overwhelming sensation.
When his eyes opened again, it wasn't to a hospital or morgue. It was to the unrelenting sun of a vast, alien desert.
---
He stumbled across the dunes, barefoot and disoriented, the soles of his feet cut and burned by the hot sand. The air was dry and acrid. Every breath scraped his throat like sandpaper. His shirt, already torn and bloodstained from his past life, now clung to him with sweat.
The desert seemed endless. Nothing but rust-colored hills, occasional whips of wind, and a scorching sky.
He had no idea where he was. He remembered dying. He remembered that unmistakable certainty of death. But he was here. Alive. Reborn in a hellscape.
Thirst clawed at him by the second hour. Hunger gnawed by the fourth. By nightfall, he had collapsed, curled beneath a rock outcropping, trembling in the cold.
He thought maybe he'd die again. That this was a sick second chance designed to fail.
But fate wasn't so kind.
---
They came the next day.
First, it was the drones. Silent and black, skimming the sky. Jason stood, squinting into the sun, arms raised to shield his eyes. He thought it might be help.
He was wrong.
The drones emitted a high-pitched tone that made his vision pulse. Within minutes, black-clad operatives rappelled from a hovering craft. They moved like ghosts, too fast, too practiced. Jason tried to run, legs wobbling beneath him.
A net fired from a launcher caught him mid-sprint. He fell hard, coughing as the sand rushed into his mouth. A sharp sting pricked his neck.
Darkness.
---
**Cadmus Underground Facility**
He woke strapped to a gurney under blinding fluorescent lights. The room smelled of antiseptic and metal. Cold cuffs bound his wrists and ankles. He tried to move but felt like his limbs were dipped in lead.
Footsteps echoed from beyond a reinforced door. A man entered, tall, sharp-featured, and dressed in a pristine white lab coat. His eyes held no warmth.
"You're awake," the man said. He tapped something into a data pad. "Subject X234.001 has regained consciousness. Begin Phase Two."
Jason opened his mouth, but no words came out at first. His throat was raw.
"Where... am I?" he croaked.
The man didn't answer. He nodded at an assistant, who rolled over a tray of tools. Needles. Scalpels. Syringes.
"Why are you doing this to me?" Jason asked, panic building in his chest.
"Because you don't belong," the man replied clinically. "We detected anomalous energy signatures when you arrived. You arrived with no identification, no digital footprint, and your DNA is unlike anything native to Earth. That makes you *interesting*."
Jason flinched as the first needle entered his arm. Blood was drawn. Then tissue samples from under his fingernails. Saliva. Spinal fluid.
He screamed.
No one listened.
---
They called the man overseeing the experiments *Doctor Cayden Ross*. He became Jason's tormentor. Clinical. Methodical. Always wearing that same emotionless expression as he cataloged everything about Jason's body and behavior.
Ross had a cruel efficiency. "Subject shows elevated muscle density and nerve conductivity. Resistance to sedatives increasing. Possible regenerative properties. Recommend extended stress testing."
Each day was a new test. New pain. They electrocuted him to monitor nerve response. Deprived him of food and sleep. Measured his vitals under extreme duress. Submerged him in tanks to monitor oxygen deprivation.
Jason begged. Then cursed. Then cried. Nothing changed.
Eventually, he stopped asking why.
But somewhere in the darkness of his cell, rage began to simmer.
He memorized the faces of the guards.
He noted the times meals were delivered.
He listened to the code inputs at his door.
And he waited.
Because one day, *he would be free*. And when that day came...
They would all pay.
---