The sterile white of the medical bay was a prison Lin Feng could not fight his way out of. The official reason for his confinement was "post-combat observation." The real reason, he knew, was that he was now the most valuable and volatile weapon in the East Asian Community's arsenal, and his new handlers were terrified of him.
The victory had left a deep, resonant ache in his body. The old wound in his shoulder, a legacy from his final, disastrous mission in the special forces, throbbed with a phantom pain. But the new wound was deeper. He could feel the power he'd channeled from the Titan's core, a chaotic, alien energy that had settled in his bones, humming just beneath the surface of his own lightning. It was a constant, low-grade fever, a reminder of the price he had paid.
His "observation" was conducted by a single person: Dr. Anya Sharma. She was a top-level neurologist and bio-energetics specialist, brought in from the EAC's most advanced research division. She was professional, her questions precise, her smile a carefully calibrated instrument of calm reassurance. Lin Feng distrusted her from the moment he saw her.
"Your body is a unique biological engine, Commander," she explained during their first session, her fingers dancing across a holographic display showing his real-time cellular activity. "The energy you channeled... it has created new neural pathways. We need to understand the new limits. The new dangers."
The sessions were grueling. They were not medical examinations; they were stress tests. Strapped into a diagnostic chair, he was run through complex virtual reality combat simulations designed to push his power to its absolute breaking point. All the while, Dr. Sharma monitored his biometrics, her calm voice a constant presence in his ear. "Push a little further, Commander. Let's see where the threshold is."
He was a soldier. He knew the difference between a doctor and an interrogator. Her questions were too specific, probing not just his physical state, but his psychological one. His reaction times. His aggression levels. His response to simulated betrayals by his VR teammates.
He became certain he was being watched by more than just the doctor. During one particularly intense simulation, as he unleashed a controlled burst of lightning to take down a virtual target, he deliberately let a fraction of the energy arc outwards, a small, seemingly accidental EMP.
For a single, beautiful half-second, the simulation software glitched. The VR world vanished, and the monitors in the room displayed their raw data feeds. His eyes, trained to find a threat in a microsecond, saw it.
There were two outgoing data streams from his diagnostic chair. One was a standard, green-coded feed labeled EAC MEDICAL COMMAND - ARCHIVE. The other was a heavily encrypted, blood-red feed, its destination a masked alphanumeric string, its project designation simple and chilling: PROJECT OVERSIGHT.
He saw his own file being uploaded: a full psychological profile, a detailed analysis of his power's new, unstable properties, and a calculated projection of his potential loyalty degradation under stress.
The simulation flickered back to life. But the damage was done. The sterile white room, the calm doctor, the concerned questions—it all coalesced into a single, familiar, and soul-crushing memory.
A firefight in a rain-swept jungle. His team, ambushed. The intel had been perfect, they'd said. A simple extraction. But the intel was a lie. He remembered his point man, Li, screaming his name as a sniper's bullet found its mark. He remembered carrying Li's body back, the mission a catastrophic failure. They had called it his mistake, a commander's error in judgment. It was the "official" reason for his honorable discharge. But he had always known, in the deepest, coldest part of his gut, that they had been set up. They were a sacrifice, a pawn in someone else's game.
He was a pawn again.
When the simulation ended, he disconnected himself from the chair, his movements calm and deliberate. Dr. Sharma gave him her professional, reassuring smile. "Excellent work, Commander. We're making real progress."
Lin Feng looked at her, and for the first time, he saw past the doctor's mask to the handler beneath. The trust he had tentatively placed in the EAC, the belief that this time, the mission was righteous, shattered into a million pieces.
"Yes, Doctor," he said, his voice a dead, flat calm that was more terrifying than any shout. "We are."
He walked out of the medical bay, the weight of a second betrayal settling over him like a shroud. He was a hero to the world, a symbol of unity. But in his own heart, he was once again a lone soldier, surrounded by enemies who wore the same flag.