Max woke up to the sound of slow, rhythmic beeping.
His eyes opened to a pale white ceiling.
A fluorescent light buzzed softly above him. The room smelled sterile—bleach and something else… old, maybe.
His body felt like it had been smashed to pieces and stitched back together with heat.
"Where…?" His voice cracked. Even breathing hurt.
He tried to sit up—groaned. His arms were stiff. His ribs burned.
Bandages. There were bandages wrapped tightly across his chest and shoulder.
The beeping grew faster.
A hospital?
But this wasn't any hospital he recognized. The walls were bare. No logos. No nurses. The windows were blocked by heavy metal shutters. The bed felt more like a stretcher.
His head throbbed. Flashes hit him all at once—
The rooftop.
That thing eating the guard.
The fire erupting from his chest.
The girl with white hair.
Max blinked. Something didn't add up.
"How… am I alive?"
He tried to remember how it ended—but it was all static.
The last thing he remembered clearly… was giving up.
Not fighting. Not surviving.
Letting go.
Then the fire.
Then her.
Then nothing.
He slowly turned his head.
There was a small table by his bedside with a glass of water, untouched. Next to it, a note.
He reached for it—hands trembling—and unfolded the page.
"Don't move too much. You're safe. For now.Stay put until we return.
– L."
"L…?" Max whispered.
He swallowed hard, trying to piece things together.
Why would she help me?
No—better question: why was I running from her?
The memory was foggy, but something was off. In the dream, in the pain, before the rooftop… he felt like he was fleeing something. Someone chasing him. A shadow. A pressure behind his back.
Not the monster.
Not fear.
Her.
Max's hand curled into a fist.
She said she was a "Virtue."
But nothing about this place felt virtuous.
He looked around again, this time slower.
There were no machines hooked up to him—just the heart monitor. The door had no handle from the inside. There was a camera above it, blinking red.
This wasn't a hospital.
This was a holding room.
A containment cell.
Max sat up fully now, ignoring the pain.
The fire inside him stirred again—low and quiet. Not roaring like before. Just simmering. Waiting.
"…I'm not supposed to be here," he whispered. "You didn't save me. You locked me up."
He turned back to the note, re-reading the last line:
"Stay put until we return."
A pulse of green flickered behind his eyes.
He sat up ignoring the pain.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed — wincing, cussing under his breath as pain shot through his ribs.
He stared deep at the floor.
"I can't stay here." Max whispered to himself.
The door opened.
And standing in the doorway was the girl from last night.
Same white hair. Same glowing eyes. Same expression — calm, unshaken.
Max turned his head towards her direction.
The burning pain in his chest increased at her sight.
"I see you're awake"
"Where the hell am I?"
The girl stepped inside, her boots echoing softly against the cold tile.
She didn't flinch at his tone. Didn't scold him. Didn't answer immediately.
Instead, she closed the door behind her with a click.
Max tensed.
"You're somewhere safe," she said calmly. "That's all you need to know right now."
"Cut the crap," Max snapped, his voice cracking with the strain. "This isn't a hospital. I'm not an idiot."
The girl's expression didn't change. "You're alive, Max. Be grateful."
"Alive?!" Max barked a laugh — hoarse, bitter. "You call this alive? I wake up strapped with bandages in a metal box with cameras in the ceiling. That monster was going to kill me. And then you show up and stop me from fighting. Why?"
A pause.
Then the girl stepped closer. "Because if you had fought any longer… you would've died."
"Then maybe I should've." His voice was low now. Dark. "At least that would've made sense."
Silence. The monitor beside him beeped faster again.
She watched him, unreadable.
"I didn't ask for this," Max muttered. "Whatever this thing inside me is... it isn't mine."
"No," she said softly. "It's not. And that's the problem."
Max narrowed his eyes. "What?"
She reached into her coat and pulled out a thin file. She dropped it on the metal table. His name was printed on the front. Inside, pages of data. Diagrams. Scans of his chest. One image stood out—a flickering green flame burning over a blackened organ.
"Vices don't manifest in normal people like this," she said. "Not unless they're… Cursed."
Max's eyes widened. "Cursed?"
"You were cursed, Max. But not by accident. Something chose you."
Max's fists trembled.
"It shouldn't be possible," she continued. "You're still human. But the fire you awakened… it came from a Pure Vice."
Max's mouth went dry.
The girl leaned in, her glowing eyes piercing straight through him.
"You're not like the others. You're something new. And that makes you dangerous."
"…Then why save me?"
She stepped back. "Because not all weapons are born evil. Some just need to be pointed in the right direction."
Max didn't move. Didn't breathe.
"And if I don't want to be your weapon?"
The girl stared at him. Her glowing eyes dimmed slightly. Her voice dropped.
"Then pray the others don't find out what you are."
Max's heart skipped.
The girl stepped forward again. She was closer now — not threatening, but not exactly gentle either.
"There are Virtues who won't hesitate. The moment they sense a Pure Vice inside you, they'll burn you to ash in a second. No questions. No mercy."
"Then why haven't you?" Max asked bitterly.
She tilted her head. For a moment, her expression cracked — a flicker of something deeper. Guilt, maybe. Or regret.
"…Because I saw you hesitate," she said. "That fire didn't erupt to destroy. It erupted when you gave up."
Max clenched his teeth.
"You didn't fight to live. You fought because you didn't want to die alone."
She placed the file down beside the bed.
"I'm giving you a chance to figure out what you are before they decide for you."
He looked down at his bandaged hands.
"I didn't ask for any of this," he said.
The girl turned to leave.
"No one ever does."
She paused at the doorway. Without turning around, she added—
"Max… the Vice inside you isn't sleeping. It's watching. Listening."
A cold chill spread across his spine.
"When it wakes up again… I won't be the one holding it back."
Then she was gone.
The door clicked shut behind her — and this time, it locked.
Max sat in silence, the low beeping of the monitor the only sound left in the room.
Outside, night was falling.
And somewhere deep in his chest…
The fire flickered.