— Remember: you can't hurt me more than they already have.
He sat down, leaning his back against a metal pillar, and unbuckled the black leather belt from his waist. He swept his hair off his neck, clenched the belt between his teeth, turned away, and shut his eyes tight. My heart clenched painfully. *Nothing. We'll be even.*
I slowly closed and opened my eyes again. Raised my hand, palm facing him. The dim lights in the boiler room flickered violently, like burnt-out bulbs.
He breathed heavily, gritting his teeth harder with each second. His body trembled under unbearable pain. With a twisted face, I increased the pull. A muffled, barely suppressed groan escaped his throat.
Suddenly, his skin split open—and a small metal piece shot out. I flung it to the floor with a sharp flick of my wrist. It landed with a faint metallic *clink*. The lights stabilized.
He froze. Looked at me. At the object. Back at me. Slowly stood up, ran a shaking hand over his neck, still disbelieving. Then he stepped toward the small device lying on the ground.
He crouched, picked it up, and studied it closely.
— Such a tiny thing… and yet it caused so much trouble.
He turned to me. Warm gratitude shone in his usually cold blue eyes.
— Thank you, — he exhaled. His lips trembled into a smile.
I nodded, wiping a drop of blood from my nose.
— And you know… — he straightened up. — Now I can come with you. Because of you.
I nodded again, a faint smile touching my lips. I wouldn't be alone.
— Now we won't have to crawl anywhere, — he smirked. — We'll just walk right out.
Something in his tone made me uneasy. There was a dark, ominous edge to his words.
— But how? — I frowned.
He answered only with a confident, unsettling gaze, then walked to the wall. High up, near the ceiling, was a small ventilation window—a sign that fresh air lay beyond the thick concrete.
— Watch, Eleven. Watch and learn.
He raised his hand—just like I did when I tried to control my telekinesis. But what was he doing? He didn't have this ability. Or did he?
The lamp above me flickered—off, on, off—blinking at a furious pace. I looked at him. He stood with his back to me, slightly hunched, head lowered. His arm remained pointed at the wall, where cracks began to spiderweb outward, dents forming with each passing second. Dread washed over me—dread of this man. Or… not quite a man.
Suddenly, a deafening crash exploded through the room. Dust poured into my eyes like a storm. I squeezed them shut, shielding my face with my arms. Everyone in the lab must've heard that. They'd come running now—and we were finished…
I cracked one eye open.
The boiler room was flooded with bright daylight. In the wall, a gaping hole gaped wide open. He stood there, breathing heavily, wiping blood from his nose.
Then he suddenly spun toward me.
— Run.
I stood frozen. Blood trickled from his nose, his hair stood on end, and the whites of his wide, wild eyes were streaked with red. A fresh scratch bled crimson on his forehead—likely from a flying piece of debris.
— I said, *run!*
With a low growl, he strode to me, grabbed my arm, and dragged me toward the breach. I couldn't resist. Confusion and fear twisted into a single, gnawing horror inside me.
— Wait. — I braced my feet into the ground, tensing. — How did you…
— Eleven, — he cut me off. — We're alike. You and me.
He let go of my hand and pushed up the sleeve of his white shirt, revealing his wrist. I froze.
A brand. A number. Zero, zero, one. *The First.*
Slowly, as if in a dream, I wrapped my fingers around his wrist—turning it so my own number became visible. One and eleven. How… strange…
— But what…
— Details later. Run. I'd really rather not have to dodge the bullets that'll come flying at us if we stay here. Trust me, it's not exactly a walk in the park.
Shaking, I nodded. He pulled me forward again.
— There they are! Stop!
I cried out in terror, stumbling. The First cursed.
— Duck and zigzag. But keep running. Fast. Go!
He released my hand and veered sharply to the side. Then came the sound that froze my blood—a gunshot. Followed by a rapid series of more.
I darted wildly from side to side. Bullets whizzed past, missing me by inches, exploding into the ground close enough to kick up dirt in my face.
Ahead loomed a rusted fence topped with barbed wire. Desperately, I glanced back at the First—and my insides turned to ice.
He'd been hit.
Blood streamed from his elbow in crimson rivers, dripping onto the earth, leaving a faint but visible trail. We were doomed.
He stumbled. Once. Twice. In moments, he wouldn't be able to move at all. And even if he fought through the pain and weakness, the fence would stop us.
Gritting my teeth, I raised my hand mid-stride, not daring to hope. But the iron bars screeched and tore apart, flying outward to form a wide gap.
— Good job… Eleven, — the First rasped. — I'll cover you. Run.
I shook my head violently, tears welling in my eyes.
— Run! — he roared, shoving me hard through the opening. I tripped over a rock and tumbled head over heels across the dirt. Trees flashed before my eyes. Dry leaves. Clods of earth. And…
The First.
He stood on the lab's side of the fence, blocking the hole with his body. With nearly imperceptible head movements, he deflected entire streams of bullets. But his legs were buckling. His arms trembled. Just a little longer—and he'd collapse.
No.
I slowly rose to my feet. And stretched my hands forward.