Clad had always led a quiet, ordinary life. Living with his parents in a modest apartment above their small family store, he had spent his days helping with inventory, arranging shelves, and attending to the occasional customer who wandered in for snacks or daily essentials. School had never been his priority. After dropping out a year earlier, he found comfort in the rhythm of the shop—the predictable routines, the simple conversations, the small victories of counting cash at the end of the day.
His parents worried about him sometimes, gently nudging him to reconsider his path, but Clad brushed their concerns aside. There was a strange contentment in his solitude, in the normalcy of the mundane. He had no great ambitions, no thirst for glory. He had learned to value life as it came, quiet and manageable.
One rainy afternoon, Clad woke feeling unwell. A mild fever, congestion, a sore throat—it was nothing serious, just a cold. He trudged to the shop anyway, determined to keep up appearances. But that day, the world shifted in an instant. As he stepped out of the shop to grab a drink of water, a van pulled up silently beside him. Before he could react, two figures emerged, quickly restraining him.
Panic surged through him, sharp and immediate. "Hey! What's happening? Let go!" he shouted, struggling against their grip. His parents, watching from the shop window, could only scream, powerless. The world blurred as the van doors slammed shut, muffling the cries and rain outside.
Hours—or perhaps only minutes—later, Clad awoke in a sterile underground chamber. The air was cold and metallic, filled with the low hum of machinery and distant footsteps. He tried to move, only to find himself strapped into a chair, his arms and legs immobilized. His heart pounded in his chest as the realization hit him: he had been kidnapped.
A man in a lab coat approached, calm and deliberate. "Clad," he said, voice clinical and measured. "You've been selected."
"Selected? For what?" Clad's voice was raw with fear and disbelief. "I'm sick… I mean, I had a cold. I didn't do anything wrong!"
The man didn't answer immediately. Instead, a syringe appeared, and before Clad could react, a sharp sting pierced his arm. Heat and pain exploded through his veins, spreading rapidly. It wasn't debilitating like he expected—it was more like his body had been awakened, alive in ways it had never been before. His senses sharpened, his mind racing through calculations and probabilities instinctively.
"This… what is this?" Clad whispered to himself. His heart pounded, but there was something exhilarating beneath the fear, something that hinted at untapped potential.
The man spoke again, now explaining calmly. "We are government scientists. Lab-grown DNA can provide human beings with extraordinary abilities if integrated properly. Most people fail. Many die. You, however, have shown signs of adaptability."
Clad's mind refused to process the words. "Adaptability? Abilities? I—I'm just a normal kid!"
"Normal is irrelevant," the man said. "You have potential. You will survive where others could not. But only if you cooperate."
Clad tried to protest, but the logic was undeniable. He had no allies here, no escape. He was alone, a pawn in a game he hadn't even known existed. Fear gnawed at him, but beneath it burned a spark of curiosity—what was he capable of? What had they done to him?
Hours passed, or perhaps a day. The scientists monitored his reactions, explaining the situation in fragments, showing him the rudiments of what was expected. They mentioned other test subjects, some alive, some not. He would not be left to die, but only if he agreed to participate in their experiments, only if he embraced the path that had been thrust upon him.
Then, he was moved again—this time into a familiar room, dimly lit, cold, and imposing. And there he saw him: Cliff. Another boy, battered and bandaged, yet calm, seated in an identical chair. Clad's chest tightened; he could see the same fear and exhaustion mirrored in Cliff's eyes.
Clad's first words were sharp and defensive. "Who are you? Why am I here?"
Cliff's voice was quiet, measured. "You've been chosen, just like me. They'll explain everything. I know it's terrifying—but you're not alone. Not anymore."
Clad's mind raced. "Chosen? For experiments? To—what? Die?"
Cliff nodded slowly. "Some will die. Many have. But we survived. That's rare. You've been selected because your body can adapt to what they inject. You're stronger than you think."
Clad's stomach churned, a mix of fear and awe. The room felt suffocating, the air thick with possibility and danger. For the first time, he realized the ordinary life he had known—the shop, the quiet evenings, the comfort of routine—was gone.
Cliff continued, his tone almost casual, yet laced with the weight of experience. "They pay well. Enough to survive comfortably. And we're not alone anymore. You'll join me. We'll work together. It's easier than facing this alone."
Clad hesitated, the shadows of his former life clashing with the harsh reality before him. Fear screamed, but pragmatism won. Survival demanded cooperation.
"Fine," he said finally. "I'll join. I have no choice."
Cliff offered a faint smile, eyes reflecting the same exhaustion and pain Clad felt. "Good. You won't regret it. Not entirely."
As the restraints were removed and the two boys were escorted from the room, Clad's mind swirled with questions, fear, and anticipation. The scientists spoke again, their voices cold but informative. "We've captured over 250 failed experiments on a remote island. You two will confront them. Your combined power is essential."
Clad's chest tightened. This was more than survival—it was war, a test of strength and skill, of mind and body. The world he had known was gone, replaced by a landscape of danger, power, and uncertainty.
He glanced at Cliff, feeling a strange mixture of dread and determination. Whatever lay ahead, they would face it together—or die trying. And for the first time, Clad felt something he hadn't in years: purpose.